Chapter 2
Jake walked Courtney to her car and opened the driver’s door.
“What was that all about?’
He shrugged. “She was pretty shaken at the bank. I followed her out and then spotted her sitting alone in there. I figured it couldn’t hurt to talk to her a little more. But she’s genuinely upset so I don’t think she was in on it.”
“Does she know you’re a fed?”
“No. She likely thinks I’m just a pain in the ass.”
Courtney laughed. “Beautiful and smart. I knew I liked her.”
Jake tugged on the helmet chin strap. “You ready to do this? Remember, act pissed at me so they won’t be suspicious when we break up.”
“You piss me off on a regular basis. Give me something more challenging, please.”
“Funny. Follow me to the public garage across from the Laundromat and I’ll jump in the car.”
This undercover assignment in Brighton City was the best gig he’d ever had. It had been sheer luck that he’d infiltrated the outer layer of the Cabacolli family, the city’s biggest organized crime element and major drug-trafficking operation. Who knew that his instinct to rush toward the car that veered off the road in front of him, crashed through the guardrail and plummeted down the hillside toward the river would open the Cabacolli’s front door? He’d yanked the unconscious driver out of the front seat of the BMW seconds before the engine caught fire, and dragged the guy to safety, spraining his ankle in the process. Since he’d never been to Pennsylvania before and he was miles from Brighton City, the local cops didn’t know him and he didn’t identify himself as an FBI agent. Same with the paramedics who loaded him and the driver into the ambulance and hauled them to the hospital.
Not identifying himself as a federal officer wasn’t unusual. He rarely revealed what he did for a living, even when he wasn’t working undercover. People acted differently in the presence of Special Agent Jake Manettia. He didn’t know why. Hell, he put his pants on one leg at a time, just like every other jemoke. Women especially went all gaga once they learned he carried a badge and a gun, and were much more willing to spend the night with him. In the early days, he’d taken all he could get but that superficial attraction had grown old. He was nothing special, just a boy from ’Bama temporarily assigned to a northern city and still trying to get acclimated to the cold and snow that accumulated in inches instead of a light fairy dusting that decorated the familiar horizons at home. Thank goodness it was spring now.
Jake didn’t know it at the time of the accident but the driver he rescued turned out to be Old Man Cabacolli’s stepson.
Jake had limped by Vinny Cabacolli’s room before leaving the hospital just to check on him, declined his offer to have a driver take him home, saying his girlfriend waited outside, and agreed to meet for a beer once Cabacolli was discharged as his way to say thanks. Even though he jotted his undercover cell phone number in the margin of the hospital dinner menu, Jake assumed he’d never hear from the guy again.
But Vinny made good on his promise, and a week later, Jake found himself throwing darts, shooting pool and drinking beer with the stepson of a major crime syndicate boss. Vinny Cabacolli had taken a shine to him and from there it progressed to a double date with the girls. He’d enlisted his partner’s help, although working undercover was always better as a solo performance, so their planned breakup should ensure she’d only have to play the role this one time.
This was Courtney’s first undercover challenge but she knew the drill. Never let your guard down and never disclose the truth. She’d picked up on the ruse with the bank teller right away, and played along. He felt confident she had his back, a given with partners.
~ ~ ~
Lunch went well. Courtney played the role of a bitchy girlfriend perfectly. He was ready to send her packing and they weren’t even an honest couple. She’d been that good. The flying eyebrows and quizzical looks told him Cabacolli noticed. When they said their goodbyes and hugged, Vinny whispered that they’d meet up real soon. Without the hoochies.
Jake nodded but inwardly cringed at the disrespect. Women were creatures to be revered. His mama had burned that into his brain, as had his three sisters. He adored women. They were his equal for sure and, in his case, most often his better. He loved a strong woman, but that didn’t mean she didn’t need to be pampered and comforted every once in a while. And loved.
During lunch his mind had wandered to the bank teller and his desire to comfort her, a complete stranger. She’d smiled bravely but her cow-brown eyes betrayed her. Such sad eyes. They reflected more than a bad morning staring down the nose of a gun. Prim and proper in a business suit with her hair tied back. Did she transform into an exotic lover once that chestnut-brown hair fell loose around her shoulders? When his jeans tightened in the crotch he reined in his thoughts. Undercover meant complete attention to the task and the subject. Diversions could be deadly.
The bank teller reappeared in his thoughts while he drove home. Kenna was an unusual name. It had to be short for something more formal. If his day cooperated, he’d wander into the bank tomorrow to make sure she was all right. He’d ask about her real name then. Right now, he needed some sleep. Working his primary assignment by day—Courtney’s corruption case—and hanging out with Vinny at night was taking its toll.
~ ~ ~
Mackenna would think twice the next time anyone suggested they spend a day at the mall. She visited every store, used every restroom, and watched two movies at the mall cinema. Her eyes burned, her head pounded, and her feet ached. Surely Arthur was moved out by now. It was after seven.
She drove past the visitor’s parking spot assigned to her unit where Arthur always parked. The space was empty and her shoulders relaxed. The load of the day’s events sounded in her heavy footsteps as she climbed the stairs to her floor. Evicting Arthur should free her but Motorcycle Man was right. Tonight, it would’ve been nice to come home to somebody.
She didn’t reach for a light switch until she entered the kitchen, removed her shoes, and deposited her purse on the counter. She flicked the switch twice, yet the room remained dark. No matter. The apartment had been home for three years now and she knew the layout like she knew her birth date. She strode to the adjoining dining room. Odd. The chandelier didn’t switch on either. A power outage? She took a few backward steps toward the kitchen and checked the microwave clock, which shined like a star through the darkness. Her stomach knotted.
She strolled into the TV area and squinted, allowing her eyes to adjust to the dim light spilling in from the balcony door. No bulky shadows filled the room. She couldn’t discern the outline of the loveseat, didn’t see the shape of the lampshade on the magazine table between the two overstuffed chairs, nor any reflection on the flat screen. Oh my God, he didn’t.
Suddenly, the home she knew so well became foreign. She stretched her arms in front of her and felt the air while she maneuvered tentative steps back to the kitchen table. The flashlight app on her phone confirmed her worst fear. The rooms were empty. Arthur hadn’t merely moved out with his belongings, he’d taken everything. She executed a slow three-hundred-and-sixty-degree turn in the living room twice, as if seeing the empty space the first time wasn’t enough.
A sob caught in her throat when she entered the bedroom. Her lingerie, casual tops, and dressier T-shirts that she folded neatly and stacked in the bureau drawers lay piled in heaps along the back wall. He’d dumped her lotions and perfumes into the clear plastic waste basket from the bathroom and balanced it on top of the mountain of clothes. They hadn’t shared a bathroom because Arthur complained she was too messy. Nevertheless, the lights didn’t work here either. The linen closet was empty except for a four-pack of toilet paper. How generous of him. At least her makeup, bath products, and grooming accessories were still there. Of course, what need would he have of mousse and a blow dryer?
She rushed to the spare bedroom. Empty, except for the gray linen futon that converted to a sleeper. They’d only hosted overnight guests twice so the thing was practically new, albeit not the best substitute for an actual bed. Both times the visitors were Arthur’s friends too drunk to drive who needed a place to sleep it off. Neither had complained about comfort.
She waved the flashlight around the room and the beam illuminated a sheet of printer paper sitting on top of the cushion. He’d left a note. Have a nice life, bitch.
Mackenna spun around in disbelief. The bastard had taken everything, including the light bulbs.
She sank to the floor, dropped her head in her hands, and cried.
~ ~ ~
Mackenna’s phone rang beside her ear, jolting her awake. In daylight, the townhouse was bright and as empty as could be. She’d cried herself to sleep on the floor, curled into a ball. Her neck ached, and her tongue moved inside a mouth as gritty as sand. She stepped into the spacious living area and peered into the kitchen. No coffeemaker in its usual place on the counter. She’d kill for a cup of coffee. Finally, she remembered the ringing cell phone.
“Kenna? It’s Ted.”
“Who?”
The voice on the other end chuckled. “Your boss? Ted Gleaner? Remember me?”
She shook her head to clear her brain and stared at her watch. Almost nine-thirty. “Yes, sir. I’m sorry. You said I could take the day off.”
He laughed again. “I’m not calling because you’re not here at work, Kenna. I’m calling to check on you. Are you all right? Do you need anything?”
How about a house filled with furniture? Her stomach growled. Had Arthur cleaned out the pantry too? The fridge?
“No, sir. Thank you. I’m fine.” She was getting good at lying. First to Motorcycle Man and now her boss.
“I’d like to see for myself. May I take you to lunch today?”
“Sir?” Not another man hitting on her. Right now, she wasn’t too fond of the species.
“Lunch. You know, two people sit down at the table and share a light meal. Like soup and sandwich or a chef’s salad. I know you eat lunch because I’ve seen you doing it in the breakroom.”
“Are you asking me out, sir?”
He paused. “Well, I guess I could tell the higher ups that I’m ensuring the welfare of my employee but that doesn’t sound too appealing, does it? So yes, I’m asking you out. To lunch, Kenna, not a lifetime commitment.”
“Isn’t there a policy against employees dating, not to mention a supervisor and an underling?”
“Is that a no?”
Was it? “Would you mind holding for a minute, sir?”
Without waiting for an answer she laid her phone on the floor and walked to the kitchen. Even before she opened the refrigerator she knew it was empty, just like the pantry, except for the bag of condiment packets they’d collected from various take-out meals. No coffee. No food.
“Mr. Gleaner? Lunch sounds like a good idea. Where shall I meet you and what time?”
“You don’t have to meet me, Kenna. I can pick you up at your place.”
No! God no! “Thank you, sir, but I have some errands to run and I’d prefer if we met at the restaurant.”
“Ted.”
“Sir?”
“Not sir. And not Mr. Gleaner. My name is Ted.”
“Yes, sir, er, Ted. What time for lunch?”