Chapter 11
Avery was silent for the whole ride, despite his attempts to carry a conversation. She was sulking. He tried to keep things light, but she was having none of it, and kept up her silence through the whole drive to the hospital. It was hard to believe she was the same woman who’d flirted with him yesterday over a diner counter. Patty seemed young, a little bored, and looking for something. Avery, not so much.
When they’d stepped through the hospital front doors a half hour later, they received more than their fair share of interest from the staff. Upon seeing them, the elderly receptionist’s eyes widened in alarm, then she lifted a phone receiver to her ear. When he and Avery stood before her, she set the receiver back in its cradle, clearly frightened. Vincent glanced left and right, wondering when security would arrive. He didn’t blame the woman for being alarmed. His two shiners and broken nose, plus his blood-stained flannel shirt was off putting, and Avery wasn’t looking as if she’d just attended a tea party, either. She looked rode hard and put away wet.
Deming arrived before a word was spoken, saving him from having to interact with the pearl-clutching receptionist. Vincent flashed his FBI credentials to soothe the woman’s fears, nodded, and then followed Avery and Deming down the hall. Benton met them at the open elevator, and then fed Avery a list of questions he wanted her to ask Pinnella. Riding up two floors, Benton was relentless.
“I want dates,” Benton said. “Anything he says that can’t be verified is useless to us.”
“Yeah, yeah, okay,” Avery said, eyes front, avoiding their looks. “I know what you want, but you’re cracked if you think he’ll squeal on Dante.” When the elevator doors opened again, she walked into the hall first. “He got me here, so he’s already won.”
Benton indicated the hall to the right, and led them toward the room with the uniformed officers milling out front. “How has Pinnella won?” Benton said. She shrugged.
Vincent caught her arm, making her stop. “What do you mean, he won?”
She narrowed her eyes, glaring at his hand on her upper arm. She tugged once, and he released her. “I’m saying that he used you to drag me here. Mission accomplished.”
“That’s obvious,” Vincent said. “He’s promised us information for a chance to speak with you. Are you saying he brought you here for a different purpose?” She shrugged again, acting as if she had no idea, but he didn’t believe her.
“The moment I step through the door and he sees me,” Avery said, “he has no incentive to tell you anything.” She walked away from them, walking toward the guarded door.
Benton and Vincent exchanged glances. “She doesn’t want to see Pinnella,” Vincent said.
“He tried to kill me,” Avery snapped, glancing at him over her shoulder, but she didn’t slow her gait. They caught up with her at the door, and greeted the uniformed officers.
“No one is going to kill you,” Benton said. “We’ll be in the room.”
“And when he says he won’t speak unless he’s alone with me?” She arched a brow, meeting Benton’s gaze, then Vincent’s and finally Deming’s. “You’ll sell me out quicker than a junkie jonesing for a dime bag.”
She glanced at the two uniformed policemen bracketing the door, as if calculating their effectiveness in battle. It made Vincent wonder what she feared? Pinnella was in his sixties. Sure, he was evil as shit, but more likely than not was in a leg cast, and hopped up on pain meds. He wasn’t a danger to anyone, least of all Avery, who was scary skilled.
Benton seemed to pick up on the same vibe Vincent had. Something wasn’t right here. Deming noticed, too. She was doing her profiler voodoo thing. He expected a data dump after this interview, and couldn’t wait to hear her analysis.
“Let’s get this over with,” Avery said.
Benton nodded to one of the policemen, who opened the door, then he and Deming walked in first. Avery followed, and Vincent pulled up the rear. Deming immediately sat on a chair in the corner, pulled out a small notepad and pencil from her suit jacket pocket, and did her staring thing: blue eyes laser focused on everything and everyone, seemingly unaware that she was being rude.
Pinnella’s brown eyes narrowed as he glared at them all filing into the room. His dark hair had been slicked back, he was clean shaven, and his johnnie seemed freshly laundered. He was pale, despite his swarthy complexion, and seemed frail lying in his hospital bed, his leg hooked up to a metal device that elevated it above the mattress. If Vincent wasn’t mistaken, the devise was attached to Pinnella’s leg via metal screws, and had to be painful. Strangely enough, Vincent didn’t feel an iota of sympathy for the contract killer.
“You’re not wearing cuffs,” Pinnella said to Avery. His New Jersey accent was pronounced. “So, you’re a snitch, you piece of—” He didn’t get to finish his sentence, because Avery’s fist connected with his nose. Pinnella’s hands covered his face, but it didn’t stop the blood from pouring down his chin and staining his white hospital gown.
Avery stepped back, eyes still on Pinnella. “Show me respect, little man, or I’ll feed you your front teeth. We clear?” She shook out her hand, making Vincent think she’d reinjured it. He took it, and though she tried to pull it away, he wouldn’t let her, needing to make sure she wasn’t bleeding. She wasn’t. The rings probably protected her, as well as added more oomph to her strike. As soon as his grip relaxed, she pulled her hand back, giving her full attention to Pinnella, who was now wiping the blood off his mouth with his thin cotton blanket.
“You always were a bitch.” Pinnella pressed the blanket to his nose.
That’s when Vincent saw his pinkie ring, a replica of the six Avery wore.
Vincent made a mental note to ask her about the significance of the rings later, then stood back to watch the show. Avery and Pinnella were both Coppola Syndicate. One active, and the other…something else. It was rare to have this opportunity to view inners discussing syndicate affairs, and he was kind of excited to see what was said. Born to the syndicate life, a crime lord’s granddaughter, daughter, and his successor’s wife, Avery was royalty. Pinnella, however, was a relative newcomer, having worked his way from the ground floor up. His rap sheet was long. Pinnella chose the life, whereas Avery was doing her best to get out of it.
“You got her here,” Benton said. “Now talk.”
Pinnella glared at Benton. “That bitch assaults me in your custody, and you don’t see nothing. I’m sure my lawyer will make plenty hay with that, maybe even make you lose your job. That the “talk” you looking for?”
Avery caught Vincent’s eye, then shook her head and averted her gaze to the ceiling, the image of frustration. He could tell she had zero patience, which made him think she expected nothing from this interview. It made him think Benton should have given Avery’s opinion more credence than this piece of shit, Pinnella’s. The guy was a known killer, with no willingness to help the Feds. The longer Vincent stood there, watching the man tend to his bloody nose, the more he felt as if they were wasting their time.
“Assault?” Vincent lifted his brows, meeting Benton and Deming’s gazes. “You two see any assault?” Deming shook her head, and turned to Pinnella, weighing his reaction.
“This nose don’t lie,” Pinnella said.
Avery snorted. “Then it’s the only part of you that doesn’t. You’ve got ten seconds to tell me what you want to say, and then I’m leaving.”
Pinnella’s expression morphed from victim to cagey predator in a heartbeat. “I don’t think so. You’re going to want to know what I have to say.” Then he turned to Benton. “But I won’t say it in front of the Feds.” Avery turned to leave. “It’s about Millie!”
She stopped at the door, her hand white-knuckled as she gripped the knob.
“What about Millie?” Vincent had wondered if Pinnella dragged Avery here to threaten her, and now he knew. What had Avery called him? Pissant.
“Tell them to leave, Avery,” Pinnella said, “or I’m not saying shit.” He wrinkled his nose, as if trying to sniff, but nothing happened.
Avery surprised Vincent, surprised them all, especially Pinnella, when she threw open the hospital door and walked into the hall. Vincent followed, and shortly, so did Benton and Deming. They huddled around her, frowning, as Avery leaned against the wall, her arms folded over her chest. Vincent studied her face, searching for a hint of what she was thinking. Avery didn’t give much away, but he had to assume she was frustrated, maybe frightened.
Benton waved off the two uniformed policemen guarding the door. “Go take five, grab a coffee down the hall. Just give us a minute to talk in private.” The policeman and policewoman nodded, and left without a word. “Listen,” Benton said, “I know this is hard to hear. He’s basically threatened your little sister, but I can’t leave you in there alone with him.” Benton pressed his lips together, unwilling to bend, but Vincent could tell he was sympathetic. “I’m sorry. Truth is, I don’t trust you. If something happens to him while in my custody, that’s on me. If you kill him, you’ll have done the world a favor, but you’ll go to jail, and my career and this case will die, too. So, you in there, alone with him, is not happening.”
Avery glared. “I don’t kill people.”
Then she pushed off the wall and stepped toe to toe with Vincent, grabbing his T-shirt, pulling him close. Resting her forehead on his chest, she trembled, and he thought she was crying. He didn’t think twice, just wrapped his arms around her, but Avery shook him off and stepped back.
She moved so swiftly, so unexpectedly, none of them saw it coming. Then she was in Pinnella’s hospital room, door locked behind her.
“Well,” Deming said, “she’s a quick study.”
Vincent glared at Deming, while Benton banged on the door, looking left and right, presumably seeking someone with a key.
“Quick study? What the hell does that mean?” Vincent said.
Deming stepped to Benton’s side, stopping him from banging. Then she put her ear to the door, listening, shooting Vincent an irritated glare. “You know exactly what I mean.”
And he did. Avery had played him. Played them all. To make matters worse, she’d done it openly. She’d warned Vincent that nothing would keep her from Millie, that if he or his team, or anyone for that matter, got between her and her sister, she’d wreak havoc and take names later.
“Stand back.” He’d kick the damn door in.
Benton shook his head. “No.” He pointed down the hall as the officers stepped into view. “They have a master key.” He waved them over. “Hurry up! I need this door opened now!”
* * * *
“Talk,” she said. “That door won’t stop them for long.”
Pinnella smiled. “I don’t need long. Mr. Coppola has a message for you.”
“Yeah? What does my dear ex-husband have to say to his long-lost wife?”
“He says, ‘Jason Chadwick is dead.’” His gaze dripped malice, as his nose dripped blood, smearing his tobacco-stained teeth. It gave him a ghoulish quality.
In the past, she’d “sparred” with “Fingers,” won some, lost some. They’d beaten and battered each other to a draw more often than not, and he hated her, but he wouldn’t dare to speak for Dante and lie, because it would inevitably get back to her ex. It would be cause for dismissal, and in their world, that meant a bullet between the eyes, so she didn’t bother to call him a liar. His expression told her he wasn’t bullshitting.
“Prove it,” she said, struggling not to show her fear.
Pinnella’s smile widened. “It’s easy enough to verify. We left his identification on the body.”
A tinny ringing in her ears competed with the sound of scraping metal on metal. It took her a moment to notice a key had inserted in the door’s lock. Everything seemed to move in slow motion, and it felt as if time were endlessly stretched before, so she curled her fingers into fists, felt the bite of her rings like an old friend’s embrace. Then she showed him her rings, wanting him to see the truth, because it would scare him, as he was scaring her.
“See these?” His eyes widened as he read the ring inscriptions, the initials. “Before I die, I’ll have yours, too.” He knew what she meant, knew what these rings implied, and she saw his fear. But it wasn’t enough. Not nearly enough.
She punched him. Then she punched him again, wiping his shocked expression off his face, and saw it turn to fear. Cuffed to the bed, he lifted a hand, attempting to parry her blows, but her rage blew through his defenses, and she landed punch after punch. He was just the messenger, sure, but he was an evil fuck.
The door burst opened. “Modena, get her out of here!” Benton said.
Too soon, she felt Vincent’s arm encircle her waist and drag her from the room. “Fingers” was unconscious, but she hadn’t noticed until she was in the doorway. If she was lucky, he’d stay that way until she escaped the Feds. Now, Pinnella was even more dangerous, because she’d told him something only she and Dante had known. In federal custody, he’d sing, and use that information to negotiate. Not about Dante. He’d never snitch on the syndicate’s boss, but he’d squeal like a pig about Avery.
“Stop!” Vincent threw her against the wall, and only upon impact did she realize she’d been fighting him the whole way out of the room. Her chest heaved. She couldn’t catch her breath. Bending at the waist, hands on her knees to support her weight, Avery focused on her bloody right hand. “What were you thinking?” Vincent was shouting. “You’d better hope he survives, or there’s nothing I can do to save you!”
Deming’s expensive shoes clicked on the tile as she approached, moving within Avery’s line of sight. “She’s having a panic attack,” the profiler said.
“She almost killed him!” Vincent sounded furious.
“I suspect, if she’d wanted to kill him, he’d be dead,” Deming said.
There was sudden silence, as if Deming had dropped a truth bomb, and everyone was processing what she’d said. All Avery heard was blood racing past her ear drums, she felt her heart beating a mile a minute, and her lungs burned as she struggled to breath. It was hard to focus.
Vincent grabbed her by the shoulder and stood her up, forcing her to meet his gaze. “What did he say to you, Avery?”
She swallowed. “Jason Chadwick.” It was hard to get the name out, but she managed to push it past her locked teeth. She felt on the cusp of throwing up, and the only thing stopping her was sheer willpower.
“What did she say?” Deming stepped close.
“Jason Chadwick,” he said, never taking his eyes off Avery. “Look him up in the databases. Avery,” he gave her a little shake, “who is Jason Chadwick?”
Deming groaned. “Did you know him?” She looked up from her phone, and Avery felt herself crumbling under the surety that she’d been right, that “Fingers” wouldn’t lie about something like that. “He was found beaten to death yesterday in a condo in the Back Bay of Boston. Who is Chadwick to you, Avery?”
He was her contact, the man she’d trusted to keep Millie safe. Dante had Millie.
Her vision narrowed, and the ringing in her ears grew louder.
“Catch her, Vincent. She’s fainting,” Deming said.
Just as Avery was about to protest, to tell the Special Agent she’d do no such thing, her knees collapsed, Vincent swung her into the cradle of his arms, and she fainted.
* * * *
“Hey,” Vincent said.
Avery was exhausted, but managed to open her eyes a slit. She heard a beeping and the back of her hand felt cold. They’d put her in a hospital bed and hooked her up with an IV. Vincent held her weapons on his lap. When she looked at them and raised her brows, he cracked a smile.
“The nurses took them off and threw them at me like they were poison. Takes all kinds, I guess.” He tilted his chin toward her. “How you feeling?”
She smacked her lips. “Thirsty.”
“Yeah, they said you had low blood sugar and were down a few quarts of fluids. I guess I’m not a good babysitter. You were starved and dehydrated. They say it’s a miracle you’d lasted as long as you did.”
“Don’t be stupid.” Her words lacked heat, because he was right. She’d neglected her health, lost time, and Millie was in danger. “This is my fault.”
“I ordered us a burger and fries. It should be here soon,” he said. She nodded, though food was the last thing on her mind. Millie had to be terrified right now. “Pinnella woke up.”
She felt a jolt of adrenaline, and from Vincent’s expression, he noticed. “What did he say?” she said.
He shook his head. “Lawyered up. Why don’t you tell me what happened in that room? Who is Jason Chadwick to you?”
“Just…someone I know. “Fingers” told me he’d died. I was just making sure the pissant wasn’t lying.”
“He dragged you to his hospital bed to tell you a mutual acquaintance was murdered?” Vincent didn’t hide his skepticism, and she didn’t have the energy to convince him otherwise. She had other problems. “He said it was about Millie.”
“He lied,” she said.
“I don’t believe you.”
Avery nodded, irritated beyond tolerance. Yeah, she was lying, but really? She was the one he didn’t believe? Didn’t the last two days buy her any leeway? “You believe Pinnella when he says it’s about Millie, but you don’t believe me when I tell you he lied.” She nodded again, pressing her lips together. “That’s some weird twisty shit trust issues you have. Is it because we’d kissed? Because you just don’t trust women? Or is it because it’s in your interest not to believe me?”
He stared, seemingly without emotion. “So, it wasn’t about Millie.”
She closed her eyes, and told herself not to hit him. “You know…whatever. It doesn’t matter. Believe whatever you want to believe.”
He inhaled sharply, showing the first crack in his composure. “You say that too much. It’s lost its meaning. Everything with you, Avery, matters, or you don’t notice it. Pinnella told you something that upset you so much you fainted. I’ve seen you in action. You’ve nerves of steel. What could that man possibly have said to you that is worse than a drugged-out killer holding a knife to your throat?” Jim, at the diner, had threatened Avery. Dante threatened Millie. It was a whole ‘nother ball game. “And so help me—” He closed his eyes for a moment, taking a beat to control himself. “If you say it doesn’t matter again, I’ll go apeshit on you. Now talk.”
She needed to get on the road, and there was no way they’d let her leave this hospital unless Vincent and his team were in tow, so she needed to work them. “I’ll take you to the files.”
Vincent leaned back heavily in the chair, looking as if she’d whopped him on the back of the head. “Files. That you claim don’t exist.”
She had to work with what she had, and the files were the only thing they wanted from her. Begging them to help her rescue her sister would give them leverage, and she had no illusions they’d use it to force her to testify against Dante. At least if she went head to head with her ex, she had a chance of survival, maybe negotiation. She and Millie could then run away again, and maybe build another life, farther away this time. If she partnered up with the Feds, she’d be no better off, back on Dante’s hit list, and Millie still on the chopping block.
“It’s the only way to end this,” Avery said.
“Tell me where they are.”
“Jersey,” she said.
“I’ll order plane tickets. We could be—”
She shook her head. “Dante has snitches in the FBI. You, me, driving. Or no deal.”
His eyes narrowed, and from his grimace she got the impression he was far from happy, but she was confident Benton would give her plan to drive the green light. The man was obsessed, and would give his left nut to take down Dante. Normally, she’d be rooting for him, but her ex was too dangerous. She needed him dead, or free, not captured by the Feds, and squealing on her. Nope, she needed Dante left alone, and her and Millie off the grid. Her best bet to do that required a road trip, ditching Vincent along the way, and setting up a meet with her ex to negotiate Millie’s release. She forced herself not to think of the “price” she’d be asked to pay for Millie’s return, because she knew Dante, and she feared fainting again.
Vincent compressed his lips and nodded. “Fine. I’ll talk to Benton, but you’re not going anywhere until you’ve eaten and the doctor says you’re okay to leave.”
Three hours later they were in the parking lot of the hospital, standing next to a beige Ford Escort. Vincent was giving her an impatient and expectant look. “So?” he said.
They’d just survived a testy argument with Benton, who’d reluctantly agreed to allow Avery to keep her weapons. Vincent was the one that had convinced him with a snarky, do you really think she needs a weapon to kill anyone? Thinking to help, she’d mentioned she only used weapons when her opponents used weapons. That information had Benton lifting his hands in the air in disgust, and turning his back on them, walking away.
She’d shouted after him, “I don’t kill people!” Then glanced at Deming, qualifying her statement with, “on purpose.” Deming had snickered and followed the team leader down the hospital’s hall. Vincent hustled her to the parking lot, where he’d then handed her the knives, their sheaths, and her Glock.
“So, what?” she said. Adjusting the last of her sheaths into place, she then tucked her Glock in her waistband.
“You’re the only one that knows where we’re going, Avery. Where are the files in Jersey? Sooner or later, you’ll have to tell me.”
“Later is better.” She had to play him nice and easy. Less information meant she was less likely to be called on her shit.
He tilted his head, narrowing his eyes. “What if I promise not to tell Benton where we’re going?”
“I wouldn’t believe you.” She gave him an overly bright smile.
“What about if I promise only to tell them when we arrive?” He unlocked the doors and opened the driver’s side.
She slipped into the passenger’s seat. “Let me think about it.” The longer they lingered arguing, the more time Millie was with Dante.
Her ex had started a negotiation when he’d killed Jason and took her sister, so they started at Avery’s unconditional surrender. She had to counter that offer with something tempting enough to save Millie, and not die doing it. She feared her four-hour drive to Jersey wouldn’t be long enough to devise this Hail Mary pass.
Vincent gave her side eye as he slipped the key into the ignition. “When are you going to start trusting that I’m on your side?”
“I do trust you, Vincent.” Mostly. She trusted him to be consistently in the Fed’s corner. That meant she could trust he’d do what she predicted, and that made him relatively safe. “I just don’t trust your team, or the Feds that work behind the scene, so I’m keeping the details close to the vest. For now.” When he frowned, as if about to argue, she lifted a hand to stop him. “I don’t know them. Don’t ask me to put my life in their hands, and we’ll get along just fine. We both want Dante stopped, and the files will do it, so we go to Jersey.”
His irritation and stubbornness faded, and he nodded. He believed her. Enough, anyway, to be useful to her. He believed she trusted him, and because he was a good guy, he thought that meant on some level he could trust her. He must be thinking they’d had some sort of a personal breakthrough back at the cabin, and then at the hospital, because he was ignoring his instincts. Truth was, he shouldn’t trust her, and if he knew this trip was about saving Millie, he wouldn’t. He wouldn’t allow her anywhere near New Jersey. He’d see it as too dangerous, and a mission creep, because his priority was taking down Dante, not saving Millie.
“Okay, we’ll play it your way,” he said, “but know this…expect the leash to be short. You’ve used up all your leeway with Benton, the team, and yeah…me. Don’t test our patience.” He shifted into gear and pulled out of the parking space.
“Leash? I’m not a dog.” She folded her arms over her chest and sulked.
Normally, she would have dug in deep and tried her best to make him feel bad for the illusion to a pet, but she was feeling too guilty about her deception, even though the cause was good. Millie’s life was on the line, and she still didn’t have a plan to save her. Should she offer herself up in exchange? Dante might take that deal. Her death for Millie’s freedom?
Other than the obvious drawback of dying, that plan had other flaws. Avery wasn’t the teen he’d saved all those years ago, the teen he’d corrupted and then some. He knew she was dangerous, and wouldn’t trust the offer of exchanging her life for Millie’s. He couldn’t understand that kind of sacrifice and wouldn’t believe it. And Avery wasn’t the same person who’d left him three years ago, either.
She couldn’t kill Dante, couldn’t kill anyone, no matter how much they might deserve it.
She’d spent the last three years not being The Stinger, and she didn’t want to survive if it meant becoming The Stinger again.