CHAPTER 34
For the first time in a long time, Shane was in a good rhythm with work. He loved this feeling, this dance the Hudson Kings were so good at. Each man knew the choreography, and it was a thing of beauty to do your part to perfection knowing the guys on the other end were doing theirs too. And they were. The men of the Hudson Kings were the best.
Shane couldn’t help thinking, though, about what might have been. He could have laughed. He could have loved. Things were going well with the Hudson Kings, but he could have had so much more.
Cecily.
God. The feelings he had for her should have started to fade by now. He should’ve been back in his shell. He wasn’t. Not by a long shot.
“Moving,” Nick murmured into Shane’s ear.
“Go” time.
Blanking all other thoughts, Shane made a calculation about Nick’s time and distance. He pulled away from the curb at Spring and Sullivan, where he’d kept a low profile behind a bunch of tourists lining up for Cronuts at a famous French bakery. Both windows were rolled down, his steering elbow resting on the sill, eyes ahead.
From the corner of his eye, he saw Nick in motion. Nick crossed the street and headed directly for him, an anonymous businessman hurrying, crumpling an empty pastry bag while he juggled a cup of coffee.
Nick stepped into the street to cross again, appearing to head for the subway; Shane cut him off—typical New York driver asshole turning in front of a pedestrian.
As he passed, Nick looked pissed and flung his garbage toward the trash; at least that’s what it looked like on one side of the street; on the other side, anyone watching would see an annoyed businessman tossing a white piece of trash at the jerk who couldn’t respect a pair of newly polished wing tips.
The crumpled bag landed in the passenger-side foot well. Shane flipped him the bird and kept driving. Nick, you fucker. Nice touch with the trash in my car.
A subtle glance in the rearview mirror showed Nick drinking the dregs of his coffee before vanishing from sight.
Shane headed home, on high alert with the goods in his vehicle. He’d just called in the drop to Roth when a hell of a surprising name popped up on his phone.
“Shane? It’s Ally.” It was loud, with lots of ambient noise in the background, but the tension in her voice was unmistakable.
Shane tightened his hand around the phone. “Don’t hang up.”
“I won’t.”
“Are you in trouble?”
“I don’t know,” Ally said.
“Where are you?”
“In the bathroom at Grand Central Station. Food court level. I don’t know where to go. I tried to get into that safe room in Midtown. Did all the usual stuff to get there in secret. But I—I don’t have the combination anymore.”
“We’ll fix that. What do you need?”
“It’s about Cecily’s boyfriend. Ex-boyfriend. His name is James. He came to my work.”
Fury. Just red-hot fury. Shouldn’t have waited to finish this job to teach that bastard a lesson. Now the lesson is going to be a world of hurt like he’s never seen. He kept his voice even when he answered Ally: “Are you in danger right now?”
“I don’t think . . . I don’t know.”
But you’re scared shitless. “Are you in a stall?”
“Yes.”
“Did you sense anybody watching, following? Anyone see you go into the bathroom? Into the station?”
“I don’t think so. But I don’t know.”
“I want you to leave the bathroom and go hang out by the main clock in the terminal, be around people while you tell me what happened.”
The sound of a door swinging open and some crackling while Ally maneuvered and her voice came back on the line. “He came to my work, Shane. He was waiting, hanging around outside when I went to pick up lunch. He wanted to talk to me about Cecily. Asked me how to get her back.”
“Did he have a weapon?” Shane asked.
“No.”
“Did he threaten you in any way?”
“No. He was sweet. Really nice. Explained how he’d messed up. Sounded like the real thing. Wanted advice. Asked if jewelry would work or spa certificates.”
“What scared you, Ally?”
“He was smiling when he asked me to get in touch if I thought of anything. Gave me his business card and smiled. Really sweet and soft-spoken. I said I’d take it, you know, just to make him go away, but I think he knew I was lying. He said thank you all sugarlike, you know, but then I heard him. He whispered something really low I’m sure he didn’t think I’d hear or understand.”
Ally’s breath was coming in fits and starts now.
“But you did,” he confirmed.
“Good all-American boy. Wall Street banker type.”
“Yeah?” Shane prompted.
“Perfect accent.” She sounded like she was about to cry.
“What do you mean?”
“Perfect accent.” She was really trying not to cry now.
“Talk to me, Ally. I’m headed your way.”
“He called me a cunt, Shane. In Russian. He’s not who he’s pretending to be. I don’t know what you’re working on over there, but I’m scared for Cecily. She’s not at the apartment.”
Shane’s stomach just fucking dropped.
“I went over there after he left my office,” Ally was saying, “And I was waiting for a really long time at home, and then I saw this car waiting out front. A guy, he had, like, chicken pox scars all over his face. I took a picture of him. A tough-looking guy. Like I told you and Flynn, there’s been nothing for years, nobody on me. And now this. Something’s off. So I went out the back . . . just . . . went. And I called you. And I don’t know . . . I don’t know, Shane, but if I were you, I’d be really worried about Cecily.”