Chapter 4
Ringo
You’d think I’d be used to being ignored by now.
I cultivated the art of not being spotted, yet Ellie and the older bartender were hyper-aware.
I’d managed to slip past their radar the entire night until I made the mistake of eavesdropping on their conversation once it moved from the bar to the back.
The booth was built for secrets. High walls, shadowy lighting, the cover of a speaker mounted just off center from the high half wall and the bathroom hall. I couldn’t design a better blind.
And no sooner than I walked away, I felt her eyes on me.
Knowing I’d been made, I took the chair guaranteed to attract attention. Regular patrons avoided it, as if it had “reserved” on it. Only one of the stools there didn’t wobble. Which meant it was a solo seat.
Rosco kept me entertained between spurts of activity. I asked the usual questions. Where’s a good spot to eat? How does he think the local team is going to do? That sort of thing.
He pegged me as new to the neighborhood, but native to the land. Anything more foreign would raise suspicions.
And when Ellie finally emerged for the rideshare she’d called, I was waiting in my car parked across the street and slightly back so she wouldn’t spot me.
What I didn’t expect was the car two spots ahead to pull out in front of me.
I waited, giving another car space to fill the gap between me and whoever followed Ellie.
She hadn’t had more than thirty hours to relax at home before she picked up a tail. Don Manca would need to know.
The rideshare turned left into her condo’s parking lot. The black sedan hunting her braked but pulled past. He’d circle the block and return.
I flipped on my blinker and waited for traffic to clear before pulling into her lot. I took a spot near the dumpsters and got out.
Ellie was inside, no doubt thinking she was safe. But she absolutely wasn’t. I entered the lobby of the units across from hers so I could mark her position as she flipped on the lights in her home.
The living room light came on. Seconds later, the kitchen lit up.
I relaxed into the wait. There were two entrances into her unit.
The lobby door, which often didn’t lock behind her like it should.
This side’s lock had a misaligned bolt that made it impossible for the door to secure unless you lifted the door as it shut.
A familiar issue, sagging from wear, construction mistakes, or deliberate sabotage.
Like one heavy object dropped onto the handle which threw the whole mechanism out of alignment.
Then there was the slider she walked past. Her living room had a little balcony slab that was fenced off with a short, spiked fence. As if that was a deterrent?
One jump, a heavy screwdriver wedged into the frame corner, and with a twist-lift you were in. Unless you dropped the security bar into the track.
The curtains rustled, and Ellie bent over to lock it in place.
“Good girl.”
She stared out at the lot silhouetted by the lights inside. Her gaze slipped past me in the shadows. But she was searching for something.
A car parked near the entrance. The lights illuminated the side of her building.
Ellie slipped behind the curtains and flicked off all her lights.
If it were me, I wouldn’t have turned on the lights at all. But she was new to this.
Only the faint shift of the curtain gave her away this time as she watched the lot’s entrance. But nothing came from that direction.
As one who always looks for weak points, I monitored the shadows by the dumpsters. An alley led to the two bins hidden behind a wooden fence.
There was a gate there for tenants to drag their bags through. The path had been shoveled clean, and the melted snow puddles plaguing their trek had dried up today.
Ellie’s high bedroom window faced that breach.
I should have remained in my car. I’d be able to watch it better from there.
“Fuck.” Did something move behind the fence? I couldn’t tell. And I couldn’t just stroll over there without Ellie noticing. What I really needed was to be in her home, guarding her personally.
Don Manca was right. I was too emotionally close to this. Because my first thoughts after forming the desire to be inside with Ellie were not about protection at all.
Which meant I should leave. I should call for reinforcements to put on Ellie and focus on the business that brought me here.
But honestly? Business wasn’t why I came. Damn Conti, his dying wish or his stupid photo—not even all the money in the world was enough to drag me here.
Killing Ellie’s ex? Well… I should be doing that, not watching her like some pervert. My justification was simple. She’d draw him out. Sooner or later, Johnny Pornstach would want closure. Any man who fell in love with Ellie Jacobs would. It was inevitable, like the ocean tides, or death.
I smiled. He’d die all right. As I waited for the right diversion to slip out of the hiding spot I’d chosen, I plotted at least a hundred ways to murder the man who’d broken promises to my Ellie.
My heart sped up. My Ellie?
When had I claimed her? She wasn’t mine. In fact, she flew seventy-three thousand kilometers to get away from me. She cut her vacation short by three days to not see my face.
Yet, from the moment I first saw her, drunk, jilted, and belligerent, I claimed her.
There was something that sparked deep inside my chest that pushed aside every other thought and took notice.
I’d been working a complicated mission. Save Mario, my best friend, from dying.
That was easiest if I were the man charged with killing him.
I could eliminate all the competition if I was racing for the payout.
The target wouldn’t be on me. Yet being close enough to stab him was the perfect spot to trap others attempting to make the same mistake.
And then Ellie happened. She wore that damn glittery wedding gown.
Its design was guaranteed to catch the eye and tantalize the senses with little glimpses of flesh.
Its purpose was to scintillate a man into madness with the way it pushed her creamy breasts up to form two perfect spheres of temptation.
I blew out a breath. The nose of the black car was still in place. Whoever it was must be freezing their nuts off. March in Chicago was like a roulette wheel of weather choices. One moment sunny and mild, the next it would be icy rain driven by bitter winds. Even the nights were capricious.
The sedan’s lights came on and it pulled away.
I slipped out of the blind and circled the block to check the alley.
The plows had piled up a stubborn bank of snow that had deflated into a mass of gray and black ice clinging to the wooden privacy fence.
There were footprints grooved deep from tenants climbing it to reach the far corners of the bins.
I ignored those. The fresher ones weren’t deep because they hadn’t had time to melt.
Two stood out because they pointed the wrong way.
I couldn’t gauge the size because the snow melted into ice pellets— only the shallow shape of a work shoe was visible.
The shoe-wearer’s attention wasn’t focused on the dumpsters, but instead pointed toward Ellie’s bedroom window.
My imagination placed Johnny into those indents. His beguiling baby face peeking above the slats. His spindly arms clinging to the fence in a vain attempt to pull his body over.
What the hell did she see in him?
My hand closed, imagining the knife I’d cut his throat with. Generally, I didn’t hate my targets. They were a job, nothing more. The means to a very final end.
I followed the twisted trail of marks to the pavement. One drying footprint pointed out of the alley to the street.
He’d circled the block the same way I’d come, peeked into Ellie’s bedroom window, then got in his car and left.
I stood on the mark, and angled my body to see the world from his view. Something was off. A man obsessed wouldn’t exit cleanly. Especially not one twisted enough to peek over a fence into a bedroom window. I took a second and third look at the evidence and came up with more questions than answers.
Even the answers I could form pointed toward the conclusion that this man wasn’t stalking Ellie for the obvious emotional reasons. It was too…
Professional.
Damn it.
Now I really needed to plant myself at her side.
I hadn’t gotten a good look at the driver.
And the car was deliberately common. Nice enough to be out of the price range of street criminals, but not ostentatious, which would attract attention.
That attention to detail was something Mario would appreciate.
Johnny didn’t possess that subtlety.
I crept away and made a choice. I was damned, so I might as well enjoy the trip to Hell.
Fifteen minutes later, a car pulled into the lot. I got a message on my phone informing me of the delivery. I met the driver at the door to Ellie’s building and tipped him in cash.
Yes, that would stand out. But I wasn’t hiding anymore. I couldn’t.
I tapped in the code for Ellie’s unit and waited.
“Hello?”
“You didn’t eat supper.”
“What the—? Ringo, you fucking asshole. I’m sick and tired of—”
I cut her off. “You didn’t eat. I got food. Let me in.”
“Are you insane?”
“Obviously, let me in. It’s cold out here.”
“Freeze.”
The intercom shut off abruptly. I dialed her number, hoping she hadn’t blocked me yet.
“Who the, goddammit Ringo. Go to hell.”
“Mexican. Street tacos, enchiladas, and chips. It’s getting cold. Open the fucking door.”
“Or what?”
Well, that was an easy reply. “I’ll show you exactly how secure your so-called security is. Easy way or hard way, El, which is it?”
Her sigh was audible. “What kind of street tacos?”
“Barbacoa. I’m not a heathen.”
The door buzzed, letting me know she’d unlocked it. I slipped in, and she opened her door. Light streamed from her apartment illuminating the hallway around her figure.
I had to ignore the urge to drop the food and bum rush her into her living room. She was way too trusting, and shouldn’t have opened the door before confirming it was me, not some random asswipe.
“Put the food on my table, then leave.”
“I’m not going anywhere.”
Her eyes spit fire. Instead of arguing with me, she lifted her phone. Her fingers scrolled on the screen.
“Are you calling the cops?”
“No. Don Manca.”
Shit. I grabbed the phone. “Don’t do that.” He didn’t like business calls in the early mornings.
“Give me my phone.”
Absolutely not. I did a quick calculation of time zone difference. He’d be awake, probably feeding goats or eating breakfast, but still. “Are you trying to kill me?”
Her eyebrow quirked up as if what I suggested was a novel idea. One worth exploring…immediately.
It was time to come clean. “You were followed.”
She scanned me from head to toe and back. “I see that.”
“Not by me. I followed the guy who followed you.”
Her nostrils flared. “You’re not scoring any points, dumbass.”
Yeah… I could see that. Time to regroup. “Okay, your sister worries about you,” I started.
“And she let me go home all by myself with Firenze as a guard right up to the ferry where she knew I’d be just fine without Don Manca’s dogs on my ass. And, speaking of dogs…what are you doing here?”
My brain scrambled for something other than the truth that crawled up my throat and begged to leak out. “I’m here on business.” Whew.
“Business.”
“Yes.”
Her eyes rolled upward, and she groaned before snatching the food from my grip. “If I’m going to go to prison for aiding and abetting, I’m eating first. Damn you.”
“Aiding and abetting what?”
Her glare said something, but I couldn’t figure out what. “You know what. Who’s the target this time, me?”
I got a little hung up on the way her yoga pants clung to her ass so my reply didn’t come out quickly enough to erase suspicion. “It’s real work. There’s a company here that—”
Her hand shot into the air. “Shut up. Don’t talk, I don’t want to know. I’m tired, still half drunk, and really don’t want to hear your voice.”
We should really talk about her anger. It was unjustified.
Maybe?
“Listen, I know we didn’t exactly part on the best terms, but you gotta—”
Ellie set down the bags and dug in a drawer while I was talking. I stopped when she pulled out a wicked-looking taser and then a fresh cartridge.
“Sweetheart. Put that down.”
She loaded it instead.
“Baby, those things hurt an awful lot.”
“Good.” She depressed the button and nothing happened.
“They also need to be charged once in a while.” Thank God.
She threw the whole thing at my head. I caught it, barely. “Let’s talk.”
Ellie went to the kitchen window and picked up a potted plant. The novelty pot was a heavy, white, ceramic piece cast in the shape of an octopus pointing middle fingers up from each tentacle. It would hurt like heck if it broke on my face.
“Okay, no talking. Let’s eat instead, please? Your poor plant doesn’t deserve to die because you’re mad at me.” Although, it did appear to be dying from embarrassment.
She stared at the vessel in her hands. It took her a long time to weigh the choice, but eventually she set it down, and I breathed a little easier.
I opened my mouth to ask about plates, but caught her glare before I could squeak out anything more than a “Wh—” Instead, I mimed the circular platter with my hands and pointed at her cabinets.
“I hate you.”
The h-word. Yikes. But I wasn’t being forcefully removed yet. Her hands were empty. And her phone was abandoned on the table.
I edged around her carefully, holding my hands high to show I wasn’t a threat to her.
After opening a few cabinets, I found plates.
Utensils were easier to locate. There were only three drawers in her tiny-ass kitchen.
One was situated between the dishwasher and the sink, so I opened that first and hit the jackpot.
I placed two settings on her tiny table as she unpacked the food.
There was a lot. I hadn’t really factored in much more than purchasing a variety so she could pick her favorites. I’d eat whatever was left. It didn’t matter much to me. Food was a means to an end.
Staying right at her side was the most important thing.