Chapter 14
ASHER
Coming down from Willow’s heaven has become painful, but if we’re to keep her safe and happy, my brothers and I need to figure out who tried to poison her—and fast. Fortunately, we’ve made friends all over the city in the past few years, and we’re chasing down every possible lead.
“This is the right address?” Toby asks. He sits on his custom motorcycle, a V-twin beast with chrome steel details and leather-dressed saddle, across the street from a rundown apartment building in Hell’s Kitchen.
“According to Cole’s message, yes,” I reply.
I parked the Lexus a couple of blocks down, not wanting to stand out too much on this side of the city. We’re supposed to discreetly follow up on the information provided to us by Cole’s buddy in the NYPD.
Toby gives me a once-over and chuckles softly, shaking his head.
“What’s your problem?” I ask, slightly offended.
“Is this your idea of blending into Hell’s Kitchen?” he asks as he measures me from head to toe with a skeptical eyebrow.
I didn’t think my black tracksuit would be a problem. It’s supposed to be casual. “I’m not sure what the issue is,” I tell my brother.
“Obviously, it’s been a while since you’ve been out of Manhattan.”
“If this is the right address, then Brett Harvey should be there, right? First floor,” I say, trying to change the subject as I briefly go over Cole’s message once more. Cole is chasing down an avenue of his own, so Toby and I agreed to cover this side.
Toby won’t let go of my outfit issue just yet. Anything to lighten an otherwise somber mood, I guess. “You’re wearing a $2,000 Armani tracksuit in Hell’s Kitchen,” he says. “We must have different definitions of discreet.”
“It’s a tracksuit. Nobody gives a crap.”
A couple of young men in loose-fitting jeans and dark hoodies walk past us—both giving me a long, almost-dazzled look.
“That’s a nice tracksuit, man,” one of them says.
“Screams rich and asking for it,” the other guy replies and moves toward me.
Toby stands up from his bike and clears his throat, drawing their focus away. “Scram, children. You don’t want to pick a fight with us today.”
A few moments later, they’re at the end of the street, nervously glancing back at us and probably hoping we won’t go after them. I suppose there are benefits to having a brother who looks like he could murder you with his bare hands.
“Thank you,” I tell Toby with a curt nod.
“You’re welcome. Stick to jeans and a jacket next time.”
I roll my eyes as we cross the road. With our usual banter out of the way, we shift our focus to the building’s front door and the general layout of the street. Classic recon demands attention to detail.
Several cars are parked along the sidewalk. It’s close to noon, so few people are out at this hour. Most of them are probably at work or at school in this predominantly youthful neighborhood.
“Christmas Eve is tomorrow,” Toby says just as we’re about to walk through the front door of the apartment building.
“I know.”
“It’s going to be a weird one for Willow, given the circumstances.”
“I know that, too,” I reply and check the photo I have in my phone of this Brett Harvey guy, committing his face to memory: high cheekbones, blond hair with plenty of silver strands, dark brown eyes, white stubble, and a sharp jaw.
He looks like a hawk that would undoubtedly swoop down on his prey if she came into sight.
“Cole said we should do something for her,” Toby mutters, then stops to check the mailboxes while I look around.
“Already taken care of,” I say.
“Good. Found him. Brett Harvey. Apartment 3C,” he says, pointing at one mailbox in particular. “There’s a whole lot of envelopes crammed in there, though. I doubt he’s been here lately.”
I nod slowly and make my way up the stairs. Toby follows closely, keeping one eye on my six at all times.
“Over here,” Toby says when he reaches the door for apartment 3C.
I look both ways down the narrow, dimly lit hallway, not oblivious to the smell of stale takeout food and crushed cigarettes coming from somewhere nearby.
I hear the loud TV in someone’s apartment—they’ve got the news on, and it’s blaring.
Sirens wail two blocks over. There’s the honk of a horn, followed by a slew of curse words.
Toby gives me a curious glance, and I respond with a soft nod. He knocks on the door, but there’s no answer.
“Brett Harvey?” he calls out, ears twitching as he listens for any sign of movement from inside the apartment. We hear only silence, not even the slightest creak of a floorboard. “Brett?”
A door opens behind us. I turn around to see an old lady with curly white hair and round glasses atop her nose, giving us the stink eye. With a smile, I show her Brett’s photo on my phone. “Good morning, ma’am. Have you seen him?”
“Who the hell are you?” she croaks, growing increasingly suspicious.
Toby takes the lead with a frown. “We’re Brett’s cousins, ma’am. Our father died, and we’re looking for him. Turns out the old man left him something in his will.”
“You came all the way out from Nebraska for this?” She sounds incredulous. “How loaded was your old man?”
“Extremely,” I reply.
She looks me up and down, eyebrow lifted. “I can see that. He ain’t here, though.”
“Do you know where we could find him?” Toby asks.
“No, he hasn’t been around in a while,” the old woman says. “His girlfriend used to pay for this place. I think she still does. I’m not sure. I haven’t seen anyone lately.”
“Lately as in weeks or days?” I insist.
“Do I look like I keep track of my shady-lookin’ neighbors?”
She does, but if I say so, she’ll take offense. Instead, I let my brother try to get more information out of her. Alas, before he can ask her another question, the old lady decides to shut the door in our faces. I hear the lock turn, sounding almost as offended as the woman herself.
“So Brett’s from Nebraska, apparently,” I conclude. “I thought he didn’t exist.”
“Brett Harvey clearly doesn’t. But you’re right, the guy pretending to be him is from Nebraska. At least we didn’t come out here for nothing.”
We’re about to head out when we hear footsteps coming from the other end of the hallway. I turn around just in time to see two hooded men dressed in black.
The lighting works to their advantage because I can’t make out their faces. Toby squares his shoulders to match their aggressive frames. They’re not here to talk, that much is obvious.
“Hey, fellas.” I try the peaceful method as they’re coming toward us. “Do you know a guy named Brett Harvey?”
They don’t answer. Their gloved hands bundle into tight fists. Immediately, my instincts kick in.
“Ash!” Toby growls.
“I got it,” I reply as the first guy to reach us throws a punch.
I dodge and respond with one of my own—a single but effective left hook.
Toby’s got the other guy in a headlock already, but I see the metallic glint of a blade coming out of his pocket.
“Watch out, knife!” I shout.
I drive my knee up into my attacker’s gut. I hear the grunt of pain and know I hit the right spot. Relentless, I serve an uppercut to the liver and slide to the side. At the same time, a short blade whizzes past my face.
He’s knifed up, too. Shit.
The adrenaline really kicks in.
I kick my attacker in the chest with full force and hear the ribs crack under the pressure of my boot.
Toby knocks his guy down altogether, and a knife slides across the dirty floor.
He’s about to immobilize the guy when the other one gets out of my reach and brings the knife up to Toby’s neck, forcing us to freeze.
“Stay away!” he snarls and helps his buddy up.
I recognize his eyes despite the rage and fear glimmering in them. Even beneath the hood, and in this terrible light, I notice enough to make my mental match.
“It’s Brett,” I tell Toby.
We can’t get any closer because he keeps slashing at us with his knife. I could try and disarm him, but the risk of something worse happening doubles as his buddy gets up and retrieves his knife.
Toby glares at them, moving his eyes from one to the other. “You can either try again or run,” he says. “But we will find you, Brett, or whatever the fuck your name is.”
They scramble back to the end of the hallway and duck down the emergency stairs. Toby and I follow, determined to get them while they’re on the move and not pointing those knives at us.
“Dammit!” I snap upon reaching the ground floor.
Toby looks around. “They’re gone. Son of a…”
I need a deep breath to gather my thoughts as I look at the building’s back exit. It’s unlocked. Anybody could easily come in and out of this place, and they knew we were here.
“Something’s going on here, Ash.” Toby matches my developing thoughts. “They were trying to scare us off, or worse.”
“But they underestimated us, so there’s that.”
“Fucking hell. That was him, wasn’t it?”
“Pretty sure, yes.”
Toby takes his phone out and dials Cole’s number.