Six

Ava

My hair was still damp as I hauled my ass into the precinct. Thankfully, the roads were empty, the benefits of commuting at four in the morning weren’t lost upon me. But I wasn’t up this early just to avoid rush hour traffic.

“Agent Finley, in here,” Chief Wheeler called out to me as soon as I walked through the door. “We need your expertise.”

My phone had been buzzing with news updates. I knew the gist of it all. Two police officers had responded to an anonymous tip of suspicious activity outside of an old warehouse. Blood was found at the scene–more blood than anybody could have survived losing–as well as their cars, their walkies, and other gear. Everything was there except for the bodies. After searching the warehouse, dozens of illegal weapons were recovered—all belonging to the Russian Mafia. It’d been three days, and the Chicago Police still weren’t any closer to finding the missing officers. The Russians had been brought in for questioning, but their expensive attorneys stepped in, arguing that all evidence found at the scene had been circumstantial.

“Yes, sir,” I said, stepping inside of his office and closing the door behind me.

“Everyone has already been briefed. Officers Romoli and Briggs are the two missing officers. Romoli had been with the force for more than twenty-five years, and Briggs had just joined the force about a year and a half ago. Both were good cops and good men. The media is having a field day with this, already publicizing a million different theories. There are a couple of reporters pushing the story that they were killed by the Russian Mafia and people want answers. We need to be on top of our game out there. Please avoid commenting to the media about anything. I mean it, you all.”

I cleared my throat. I knew what I was about to say wouldn’t go over well with this crowd. But I knew what I was talking about. And it was my job to speak up.

“First of all, I don’t believe they were killed by the Russians,” I said.

“And why is that?” Wheeler asked me.

“Too sloppy,” I replied. “If the Russians had done it outside of their own warehouse, they would’ve done a better job of cleaning up the crime scene.”

“Who do you think did it then?” he asked. “And where are our men?”

“It’s hard to say without knowing more details, sir,” I said, pacing the room. “Were the officers responding to a call? Why were they out there alone?”

“An anonymous tip came in about two men with guns outside the warehouse. Briggs and Romoli went to check it out,” he said. “No one had any idea there’d be any mafia connections or else we’d have sent a team in to handle it.”

“What else did the tip say?” I asked, curious. “Can I listen to the phone call?”

“Sure,” Wheeler said. “I can let you do that. But the gist of the call was just what I said—two men were spotted down in the abandoned warehouse district with guns.”

“Did the caller leave his name? A contact number?”

“Nothing,” Wheeler said. “He said he wanted to remain anonymous.”

“Of course he did.”

“Are you thinking what I’m thinking?”

“That this was a setup? Maybe, but more than that, I think we have a snitch on our hands. Someone who knew about a deal going down and wanted to put a stop to it,” I said. “Your officers seized a small shipment of weapons, am I right?”

“Yes, ma’am,” he replied. “A small shipment, but one that’s worth getting off the streets, nonetheless.”

“So someone was dropping it off. The question is, who?”

Chief Wheeler remained quiet. He had no answer. That’s why I was there. I had an idea, but until I knew more about the Irish/Russian connection, I didn’t want to put that out there. Solving murders was a difficult task as is, but when it came to officers—members of the blue brotherhood—things could get messy quickly. Since we had no bodies, we had no way to know for certain if they were dead or alive. I assumed they were dead—and whoever took their bodies left one hell of a mess behind.

***

This should have been a simple job. It had been handled with so much carelessness, it should have been easy to catch whoever was behind it. And with a snitch out there, it should be ten times easier. Sooner or later we’d get another hint, get something more to go off of. For now, however, we were forced to sit on our hands and wait. Either for something–anything–from the homicide detectives or for the snitch to call back and tell us about another deal.

I wasn’t picky and would’ve been happy with either one at this point.

That afternoon, I listened to the call over and over again. Whoever made it had purposefully disguised their voice. More than that, they’d used a pay phone, making it next to impossible to track them down. Honestly, I didn’t even know there were payphones around anymore. They seemed like such a relic of the past. But our enterprising and clever snitch had managed to find one, making him as good as invisible. We’d gotten the location of the phone, but found it was a dead end. There were no cameras near the payphone that would reveal our mysterious caller–no nothing to help identify the snitch.

I was racking my brain, trying to find anything that could link the O’Brien Syndicate to the crime. Or let them off. I couldn’t go in guns blazing with nothing more than a hunch to go on. But I had a strong feeling this had to do with them.

“A couple of us guys are going to get some lunch, want to tag along?”

I’d been lost in thought and gave a slight start at the sound of his voice. I turned to find my oh so favorite officer–Officer Vaughn–staring down at me. He was smiling at me, a greasy, sarcastic smile. Not one that appeared friendly at all. In fact, the look behind his eyes seemed hostile at best. He wasn’t the one who’d asked me, though. The voice belonged to Officer Rollins, a younger guy who had a penchant for checking out my ass every chance he could get.

“No thanks,” I said with a friendly smile, turning my attention to Rollins.

Joel Rollins was around my age but had absolutely no ambition. No desire to move up the ranks. He seemed perfectly happy being a beat cop, working the streets. Nothing more, nothing less. He had blond hair, blue eyes, and was the all-American type of man most any mama would be proud to have over for dinner. Trouble was, my mama was dead. Had been for years.

As Vaughn continued to leer at me, I forced another smile that I hoped looked more genuine than it felt. “I’m just going to order in, I think.”

My phone buzzed in my pocket, which gave me the perfect reason to excuse myself. It was my personal phone, but they didn’t have to know that. Waving the officers away, I turned my back to them to check the caller ID and hurriedly answered the call.

“Hello, Ian,” I said, making sure the officers were out of earshot. “What a surprise to hear from you. What’s up?”

“Nothing much,” he replied. “Just wanted to see if you’d like to grab lunch?”

Apparently, everyone was thinking I needed to eat lunch today. As if in response, my stomach started to growl and the idea of eating wasn’t entirely unappealing. I hadn’t heard from Ian since he left me standing jaw agape at the Golden Shamrock three nights ago. I wanted to let him come to me—I never thought it would take this long.

“Sure, that sounds lovely,” I said, feeling the corners of my mouth curling up into a smile. “Just tell me when and where, and I’ll be there.”

“How about in twenty minutes at Catalano’s by the Pier.”

“Perfect.”

I hung up and checked the time. I had to leave right away in order to make it to the pier in time, but I didn’t think it was going to be a problem. If nothing else, it would be good to get out of the office for a little while. I was still waiting on the police report from the crime scene and some evidence that probably wasn’t going to be processed for a little while longer. It wasn’t like I was getting anywhere in the office at the moment. Might as well grab some lunch, right?

“Hey, I’m heading out for a bit,” I said to the chief as I walked by his office. “Call or text me if you hear anything.”

“Will do,” he said with a grumble.

I knew this was frustrating him as much as it was frustrating me. Sitting there waiting for the lab results was the worst part–especially with two of your own out there missing. Of course, people were out scouring the area for them, but we all knew the chances of finding them were slim to none. At least, finding them alive.

And if there had been some organized crime ring involved, there was likely no way we were ever going to find the bodies. The fact that they’d left such a mess in the first place gave me some small scrap of hope. Amateurs. Maybe they’d made a mistake that would lead us to them. Hopefully.

But for now, lunch.

***

“Sorry for being so late,” I said, joining Ian at a table.

He stood up and pulled my seat out for me–such a gentleman. It was hard to find a good man who still believed in chivalry in this day and age.

“No worries at all, sweetheart,” he replied with a broad smile. “It’s worth the wait to see you.”

I found myself blushing, even though I tried hard not to show it.

“I’m glad you called, Ian. I was beginning to wonder if I’d bruised your ego after not going home with you the other night. Just getting over pouting, are ya?” I joked, trying to lighten the mood.

“Aye, sweetheart, it’s been a long three days, business keeping my time occupied, unfortunately. You’re certainly a sight for sore eyes.” He shot a lustful wink in my direction, and I’m sure my cheeks tinged crimson. Way to turn the tables, Ian… Smooth.

“Lovely place,” I said, looking around at the restaurant that seemed a little bit too fancy for a lunch date.

We were one of few people there. I had a strong feeling the place was hopping come dinner time, as it held a refined ambiance and a sense of elegance—a stark contrast to the pub I’d met Ian at just two nights prior.

“A friend suggested I try it. Though I must admit, I’m not usually one for Italian food.”

“I’m sure there’s an Irish pub down the street,” I said with a laugh.

“I’m sure there is,” he said. “This place comes highly recommended, and I assumed this was my best shot at impressin’ ya.”

Impressed I was. I thought it was adorable that he’d try so hard to impress me. It was sweet. Charming, in a way.

“I’m just a down-to-earth type of girl, Ian,” I told him. “You don’t need to take me fancy places to impress me.”

“Aye,” he said with a wink, “but sometimes even the most down-to-earth girl deserves to be treated like a queen now and then, don’t ya think?”

I couldn’t deny that, so I didn’t try. Though, I had to admit that most men I’d dated tended to not believe in that philosophy in the least. It was a refreshing and very sweet change of pace for me.

“Thank you. Now what did your friend recommend we try?” I asked, opening the large menu.

“The lobster Florentine is to die for,” he said with a hint of skepticism in his voice. “Or so he said.”

Fancy. Probably a little too fancy for my tastes. Truth was, I wasn’t used to the fancier side of life. I’d meant it when I’d said I was a down-to-earth kind of girl.

A comfortable silence hung between us, the soft instrumental music setting the tone for the atmosphere, and I realized that of the few times we’d been together, the topic of conversation never weighed too personally. I’d wanted to intrigue him, and judging by our lunch date, I’d been successful. Next I needed to gain his trust then open him up like a soft oyster.

“So, what is it you do again, Ian?” I asked.

Without hesitating, he responded, “I’m a business executive. What is it that you do?”

I hesitated, considering his blanket response—but only for a moment—and hoped he didn’t notice my hesitation, brief as it was.

“I’m a secretary.”