Chapter Three
Jace rehashed last night’s scene over and over in his head as he navigated the boat to the marina in Baton Rouge. It was a no-win situation. He didn’t have the luxury of giving into what he wanted. When he chose his profession, or when it chose him, he’d known he’d give up a regular life. That fact was drilled into him years ago when he lost the only person who gave a shit. He promised himself then he wouldn’t allow anyone to pierce his protective shell, but he never realized the true cost of his situation until last night. Either he lived a dead existence alone, or stuck his middle finger in the face of common sense and opened his heart to Ursula, which would kill one or both of them in the end. He was screwed no matter what he did, so he did what was best for Ursula, even though she didn’t see it that way.
His assumption was confirmed when the cabin door flew open and Ursula strode onto the deck without a word. She pulled the strap of her tote over her shoulder and dropped a paper shopping bag on the floor with a soft thud. Jace steered the boat to the dock and Ursula secured the bow. Jace cut the engine, jumped down, and tied off the stern.
“Burn that when you get back to your place,” she said, waving toward the bag.
He picked it up and found the black wig and clothes she’d worn for the hit inside. “That’s it then?”
Ursula shrugged. “My days as the Black Widow were dwindling. There’s been some online chatter on the dark web about me. Nothing specific, just things like ‘if she shows up, you’re a dead man’ sort of thing. It’s best if I moved on.”
“What’s next for you, Urs?” His eyes washed over her, trying to sear her form into his memory.
She shrugged, her gaze tipped to the deck. “Got another job offer. Maybe I’ll take it.”
His eyes widened. “Anyone I know?” It was the first he’d heard about it and he wondered what other secrets she carried.
She shook off his question. “I’ll never forget what you’ve done for me,” she said shooting him a half-smile.
Her expression sent him back to the day they met in her thwarted attempt to separate him of his wallet in a bar about three years ago. Ursula had soon discovered she’d picked the wrong man’s pocket. But Jace knew talent when he saw it. Instead of making her pay for her mistake, he’d offered her a job during his next hit. The target was a pimp who had a penchant for luring young girls into prostitution. The father of a girl who died alone in a seedy hotel after an overdose hired Jace when the pimp skipped jail time thanks to a judicial technicality in his murder trial. Many of Jace’s clients were loved ones of victims who looked outside the law for justice when court cases went the wrong way. Ursula had pulled the job off brilliantly. It took all of a few minutes for her to convince the pimp to meet her outside of the bar where Jace ensured he received exactly what he deserved. She’d worked hits with him ever since. She was a female version of himself which both amazed and scared the shit out of him.
“We had a good run, you and me. Hey, don’t go giving away my secrets,” he half-joked. Sure, he had secrets, but his success had more to do with skill and intuition.
“I’ll try, but just in case one slips out, I’ll tell you one of my best-kept secrets so we’ll be even.”
She moved to his side and Jace pulled her into his arms. “Shoot.”
Ursula’s gaze met his. “I’ve never loved a man I could conquer. And I never found one I couldn’t until I met you. I knew I’d never be able to conquer you but I also knew you’d never be mine.” She paused and closed her eyes. “That didn’t stop me from falling in love.”
His gaze bounced from her eyes to her mouth. Tipping his head until he was a whisper away from her lips, he savored her warm breath lingering on his skin for a long moment before saying the words he knew he’d regret forever. “You’re not in love with me, Urs. Neither one of us are capable of love. You don’t need anyone and neither do I. It’s just who we are.”
She opened her eyes. “You’re wrong, but you’re too pig-headed to see it.” She tilted her head and brushed a soft kiss to his cheek. “One day I hope you’re able to let some light into that very dark place in your heart. Goodbye, Jace,” she said before stepping onto the dock and throwing a final glance over her shoulder.
Her words hit him like a bullet to the head. He opened his mouth. ‘I’ll always be yours’ was at the tip of his tongue but he couldn’t get it out. “Take care,” he said, and just like that he’d won the world-class asshole award.
She shot him a tight smile, turned, and strode down the dock toward the tin-roofed marina. The purposeful swing in her hips was like a slap in the face, reminding him of everything he’d just lost. He wanted to jump from the boat, pick her up into his arms and drag her back to the cabin to finish what they’d started the night before. Jace usually got what he wanted, but there were exceptions, and this was one. A big fucking exception he’d regret. But he had no choice. Ursula deserved nothing but all of him and that wasn’t possible. So he’d sacrifice his heart to save hers.
He ran his fingers through his hair and retreated into the cabin, which was like rubbing salt into a gunshot wound. From the stray tube of mascara to the blanket lying on the sofa which only hours before he’d draped over her shoulders, the entire place reminded him of Ursula. He took a deep breath and the light citrus notes of her perfume taunted his senses. He rubbed his eyes and flipped on the coffee machine. His gaze shifted to the paper cup with an herbal tea bag label dangling from the lipstick-stained edge, sending a stabbing pain to his heart. His arm flew across the counter sending the coffee maker and her cup to the floor with a crash. Jace pinched the bridge of his nose with his thumb and index finger. He had to get it together and fast. It was only hours since the hit, there were still tasks to finish, and he no longer had Ursula’s help. A change of scenery was in order. Fast. Jace locked the cabin behind him and headed to the marina.
****
“Heard the fish weren’t kind to you out there,” a gruff voice called from behind the counter as the rusty screen door squealed when Jace stepped inside the one-room building.
“The fish weren’t the only ones, Vic.”
Victor Flambuchi’s chuckle turned into a hacking cough as the man covered his mouth with his wrinkled hand. Vic was a New York transplant who made his living selling bait and taking tourists on fishing excursions.
“Thought you were quitting?” Jace said, pointing to a dusty ashtray filled with butts.
“I will when you do. Don’t go changin’ the subject. Miss Ursula was as pissed as a toothless piranha when she stormed through here. No pretty smile, and barely said hello. What’s wrong with you, man?”
Jace lifted his brows. “Me? Why are you assuming it’s my fault?”
Vic’s weathered fist bumped Jace’s shoulder. “It’s always our fault.”
Jace shook his head. He’d get no sympathy from the old man. His gaze tipped to the dark television screen which was usually tuned to the Weather Channel. “Flip that on for me,” he said. The Max Chantal story would be all over the news by now.
“Can’t. A gator bit through the cable wire outside couple days ago. Still waiting for them to come fix it. Damn southerners. If this were New York, it’d be fixed already. They operate at two speeds down here: slow and slower,” Vic grumbled.
Damn it. Times like this Jace wished he had a smart phone. Ursula could’ve pulled up the headlines on her phone or tablet. Now that he was solo he’d need to get on the grid whether he liked it or not. “You have today’s paper?”
Vic shuffled to the end of the counter and pulled a bound stack of newspapers from the floor. “Here. Make yourself useful and stick them over by the coffee pot.” A crooked finger tapped the stack and his eyes widened. “Looks like there was some excitement in New Orleans yesterday. That Giovanni mobster bought it between the eyes. Serves him right. What kinda mobster goes to Mardi Gras? It’s not normal. If he stayed on Mulberry Street he’d still be kickin’…” Vic continued his rant as Jace dropped the papers next to the coffee pot and poured himself a cup while scanning the headline.
Mobster Execution Rains on Mardi Gras Parade
Alleged newly elected kingpin of the Giovanni Mafia Family is shot dead while enjoying a private dinner with an unidentified woman on the balcony of La Boheme during the Royal Street parade Tuesday evening…
Jace skimmed the rest of the article. Satisfied nothing in the article indicated eyewitnesses saw anything to implicate Ursula or himself, his gaze moved to Max’s photo. He pulled the picture Brittany/Whitney gave him from his pocket and compared the two images. Max’s hair was longer in one, his eyes were wider in the other, but it was the same person. Why was a thread of doubt crawling up his back? He shook his head and tossed the paper on the stack. “I’m going to refuel, Vic. Put it on my tab. This, too.” Jace tipped the cup to the old man.
Vic waved his hand. “Meh, I’ll let the cuppa slide. Tastes like crap anyway.”
****
After refueling his boat, Jace drove a few yards downriver to a small dock leading to an equally small bungalow. Ursula used to tease him about how he placed more importance on his boat than his home. She was right. He’d spent more time on the boat and it was the perfect mode of transportation in his line of work. Roads could be shut down during an investigation; waterways weren’t as easy to close. He rented the bungalow from Vic as a place to park his truck and pretend to have some degree of normalcy. Who was he kidding? Nothing about his life was normal.
He unlocked the back door, threw his keys on the table, and poked the remote a few times, surfing the channels. He stopped when Max’s image flashed on the screen. It was the same photo printed on the front page of the newspaper. Seeing it a second time didn’t make him less troubled. There was something off, and he wished he knew what it was. He turned the volume up as a young reporter stood near the restaurant door Ursula stepped from the day before.
“The Orleans Parish Coroner’s Office is holding the body pending dental records. Officials claim it’s normal procedure, however, Chantal’s wife claims they’re stalling and wants her husband’s body sent home to Long Island immediately so that arrangements can be made for his funeral…” the reporter rattled on.
Every nerve ending in his body bristled. There was something wrong. Very wrong. Jace closed his eyes and tried to recall anything unusual about Max while he watched him through the rifle’s scope. Max’s hairline was sweaty. He didn’t think much about it then. Jace chalked it up to Ursula’s seduction or the fact that Max wasn’t used to New Orleans humidity, but now that he thought about it, he was unusually sweaty. A knot formed in his stomach when he also remembered what Ursula said on the boat: “…he acted weird, especially when I tried to touch his head… Most guys love having a girl run their fingers through their hair. He must’ve had hair issues or something…”
His blood turned cold when he focused on the vision of Max’s face in his scope, the moment before he died. Max brushed a lock of shaggy hair from his forehead, revealing a piece of tape or netting. His hair was fake. Why didn’t he see it then? Jace yanked the photo from his pocket. The hair was different, and now that he thought about it, the guy on the balcony of the restaurant had a bigger nose and his eyes were smaller and set further apart. It wasn’t obvious until he thought about it. If he was right, the guy he killed wasn’t his intended target, and Max Chantal was still very much alive. “Shit, Ursula!” He picked up the phone and dialed her cell number. No answer. Grabbing his truck key and his revolver, he ran to his truck, started the motor, and threw it into reverse.
He hoped his suspicions were wrong. He hoped like hell he’d find a very angry Ursula alone in her apartment. She could kick him in the balls for all he cared. He just needed to know she was safe. He punched the gas pedal and steered toward her apartment complex a few miles away.
His truck’s brakes squealed as he pulled to a stop outside her building and left the motor running. Taking the stairs two at a time, he raced to her second-floor unit and pounded the door with his fist, calling her name. Nothing. It took him half a second to decide whether to pick the lock or kick the door in. Doors could be replaced. His boot landed next to the knob, sending the door slamming into the interior wall. He palmed his gun as he stepped into the dark apartment. “Ursula!” he called as he moved from room to room. Not only wasn’t she there, it appeared she’d never returned to her apartment after she left him that morning. The window shades were still drawn and a thin veil of dust covered the kitchen counter.
Jace closed the door the best he could and raced to his truck. There was only one other person he knew saw Ursula that morning. He turned the wheel and sped toward the marina. He skidded to a dusty stop in the marina’s dirt lot. “Vic!” Jace yelled as he tore through the empty building and out the backdoor leading to the dock where he spotted Vic with a group of men who appeared to be tourists in their Tommy Bahama shorts and Hawaiian shirts. “Vic!”
The old man left the group and hobbled to meet Jace. “What cha screaming about? I don’t get a visitor for days and suddenly it’s like Penn freakin’ Station around here. Must be a full moon or somethin’.”
“Did Ursula say where she was going this morning?”
“She didn’t say much of anything. Like I said before, barely a hi. She prolly went home.”
Jace shook his head. “She’s not there.”
“Shit.” Vic narrowed his eyes and rubbed his jaw.
“What?”
“I’m sure it’s nothing.”
“Damn it, Vic. If you know something, you better spit it out now.”
“I don’t ask a lot of questions, but I’m not blind either.” He poked Jace in the chest with his finger. “I’m pretty sure you two are tied into some unsavory shit which has nothing to do with fishin’, but I don’t say nothing to nobody.”
“What are you talking about?”
“Some goomba came in here after you left asking about Ursula. I didn’t tell him nothing.” Vic closed his mouth and nodded.
Jace’s heart pounded. He’d never forgive himself if something happened to her. “Where’d he go?”
“Don’t know. He walked out and that’s the last I seen him. I remember what he looked like though. Tall and bald. Didn’t see his eyes. Kept his glasses on. And he was driving a fancy car. Black with the windows tinted really dark. Ya don’t see cars like that down here.”
Jace raced out the door.
“Hey.”
He turned back and met Vic’s stare as he stood in the doorway.
“What the hell’s going on?”
Vic’s question mirrored Jace’s thoughts. All Jace knew was Max wasn’t dead and Ursula had been offered another job. He couldn’t help but wonder if the two pieces fit together in a fucked-up puzzle. “Your guess is as good as mine,” Jace said before he jumped into his truck and skidded out of the parking lot.