I Knew You Were Trouble

Chapter 1

Most people didn’t associate July in New York with thunderous, tropical rainstorms, but tonight I was grateful for the turn in the weather. Rain meant people put their umbrellas up and kept their heads down, and I didn’t want to be noticed.

Outside, it was dark and gloomy because of the rain. After the sun we’d been blessed with for the past few weeks, the change in weather had clearly driven folks inside. Even the homeless people who often took shelter in doorways in this part of the West Village had found somewhere else to sleep.

Eventually, once I was almost soaked to the bone, the green glowing light of the bodega came into view, and I ran the last few steps to get inside.

It really was a gross little store, with a couple of rows of metal shelves holding snacks and gum, and a fridge over on the far side containing dozens of brightly colored drinks and a measly selection of milk cartons.

On the counter sat a stack of sandwiches wrapped in plastic that you couldn’t pay me to eat.

It both looked and felt like no one had bothered to mop the floor in weeks.

The bodega was empty, except for Marcus, who was sitting on a stool behind the counter. The light behind him flickered as I tossed back the hood of my jacket and shook off the rain. Then I reached for the sign on the door and flipped it from OPEN to CLOSED.

‘Oh shit,’ he muttered.

‘Oh shit,’ I agreed as I strode over to him. ‘Hello, Marcus.’

‘Kendra,’ he said, turning on his oily smile. ‘We haven’t seen you in a while.’

He was right; I’d been off the radar, and that was exactly why I was here now – I needed to be brought up to speed.

I reached into my jacket and slapped a small stack of fifty-dollar bills on the counter, intentionally leaving my jacket open so he could see the gun holster strapped across my chest. Not that I thought he’d mess with me – Marcus wasn’t the type – but it never hurt to add a little intimidation to the conversation, just in case he got any ideas.

Marcus had pale, watery eyes and a very pathetic attempt at a beard, scraggly on his weak jaw.

Despite being skinny, he wore oversize T-shirts and baggy jeans that made him look practically malnourished.

It was a good example of how looks could be deceiving …

Marcus was one of the most well-known informants in New York’s criminal underworld.

And what better place for an informant than a bodega that blended in among the hundreds of others in the city, and could be visited by anyone without creating suspicion.

He reached out a hand and snatched the cash off the counter, tucking it away in his pocket before turning his attention back to me.

‘What can I do for you?’

‘The usual,’ I said drily, leaning against the counter.

By coming here tonight, I knew I’d soon become gossip that Marcus could trade across various criminal networks, and I’d considered that carefully before deciding to show face.

I could almost hear him now: Kendra Walker’s back on the scene.

No one knows where she went, but she’s back. I saw her myself.

I hadn’t actually left the city; I’d just indulged the complete emotional breakdown that was very overdue.

For the past couple of months I’d locked myself away in my late grandfather’s safehouse apartment in Harlem while ordering takeout and watching endless reruns of Friends.

Less than twenty-four hours ago I’d finally snapped out of it, forcing my pathetic self to get my shit together and go back to work.

Stopping in to see Marcus was tactical, in a way.

He’d get the word out about my reappearance quicker than I could myself, and I wanted people to know I was back and open for business.

‘Well, a lot happened in the past coupla weeks. Old Tommy Palmer died.’

‘Shame,’ I said, sounding bored even to my own ears.

Marcus shook his head. ‘You’re ice fucking cold, Kendra.’

‘What?’ I protested. ‘He was eighty-five and smoked two packets of cigarettes a day. The last of his nine lives ran out. It’s not exactly unexpected.’

‘His territory, though?’ Marcus said, raising an eyebrow.

‘Shit. Is there a gang war brewing?’ That was slightly more of a pressing concern – my family had worked with the Palmers for generations.

‘I don’t think it’ll come to that. Palmer’s grandson, Shane, has been doing some posturing.

I think he’ll take over the family business, no problem.

’ He gave me a sidelong glance, and I decided not to take the bait.

My own family business was experiencing turmoil, but there was no way I was giving Marcus free gossip.

‘If you were tempted to make an alliance …’ Marcus made a very suggestive gesture.

‘Ew, no,’ I said quickly, repulsed by the idea of getting together with Shane. ‘I’m absolutely not on the market. And you can quote me on that.’

‘Suit yourself.’ Marcus shrugged. ‘Ned Howard got arrested again. He got caught moving on a tourist’s watch that he stole right off her wrist. But he knows a guy at the Ninth Precinct, so he’s out again already. What else, let me see … Vance Wilson’s mom is in town.’

Now that was interesting.

‘Oh?’ I said casually.

‘She had hernia surgery,’ Marcus said. ‘And, because Vance is such a good son, he moved her into that fucking palace he owns while she recovers.’

‘How lovely for her,’ I replied.

‘What about you?’ Marcus said with forced nonchalance, glancing between me and his phone screen. ‘Where have you been?’

I smirked at him and rubbed my thumb and forefinger together. ‘You know that’ll cost you.’

He pouted. ‘Can’t I ask as a concerned friend?’

‘No.’ We weren’t friends. ‘Are we done here?’

‘That’s all I have for you tonight.’

I nodded. ‘All right.’

‘Well, you know where I am if you need me,’ he said, turning back to his phone.

I’d bet a month’s income that he was texting any number of people right now, telling them that I’d finally been seen. I was under no illusion that Marcus was loyal to anyone except his own wallet.

I waved at Marcus over my shoulder as I walked back out onto the street, not bothering to change the sign on the door back to OPEN. He needed to know his place in the pecking order.

The rain was still hammering down but there were no cabs in sight, so I resigned myself to walking the few blocks over to Wilson’s club.

When I’d eventually turned my phone back on yesterday there had been a string of missed calls and texts from him, demanding that I come and visit him as soon as possible.

I didn’t trust Vance Wilson. Not one bit. He’d been one of my business associates for several years and I’d never had any trouble from him, but he was a well-known criminal and someone who could, given the circumstances, be very dangerous.

A cab drove past me, sending filthy water up over the sidewalk, soaking my shoes.

I bit back the string of curses I wanted to yell at the driver.

Yelling at cabs wouldn’t be a particularly unusual sight in this city, but I still didn’t want to draw any unnecessary attention to myself. You never knew who was watching.

The line outside Wilson’s club, Tanoshimu, was shockingly long, with people huddled under shiny black umbrellas as they waited to be checked off the guest list or find out if they’d be lucky enough to get in.

Against the odds, the dark bar with its frosted glass walls and extremely expensive cocktails had become popular, making it onto one of those ‘Best up-and-coming bars in NYC!’ lists.

This unexpected success had worked out perfectly for Wilson, giving him even more cover for his extensive money-laundering operations.

I completely ignored the line and went straight to one of the doormen, flipping my hood back so he could see my face.

‘Oh, hey, Kendra,’ Lucas said.

Unlike the other guys who worked the door at Tanoshimu, who tended to be jacked, steroid-using meatheads, Lucas was tall and lean, with a military haircut and heavy eyebrows that made him look pissed off all the time.

I’d learned that he couldn’t do much about that, and that he was rarely as annoyed as he looked.

He wouldn’t have been the guy I expected to be Wilson’s head of security, but his ability to blend in – either acting as a doorman, or a bartender, or just some guy in the club – meant he could be present without being obvious.

Tonight Lucas was dressed in his standard bodyguard/doorman uniform of a black suit with a black turtleneck sweater underneath. The turtleneck did a pretty good job of hiding the wire going into his ear, passing along important messages to and from the boss.

‘Hi, Lucas. Is Wilson in?’

He nodded. ‘He expecting you?’

‘No. But I’m pretty sure he’ll see me.’

‘All right, go ahead.’

He lifted the rope and gestured for me to enter without bothering to frisk me. Lucas would expect me to be armed. It was standard for our line of business.

The girl at the front of the line looked me up and down.

I knew what she saw: I was tall, for a girl, and broad across the shoulders because I liked punching stuff.

Mostly in the gym, but not always. My nose was a little crooked from the time I’d gotten punched back, but I liked that – it made me look mean.

Which was the same reason why I got my eyebrows tinted darker on a regular basis.

My preference for all-black clothing completed the look.

The girl staring daggers at me, on the other hand, was wearing a very short, very tight dress.

I wanted to tell her she looked fantastic – genuinely – but I didn’t think that would go down well.