Chapter 13
Sean
We’re still drinking our morning coffee at the kitchen table when Lillian receives a text message.
Jeff: Another property has become available. Meet me here at ten.
She clicks the included link, shares her screen, then whistles through her teeth. “Whoa. A money launderer’s dream castle. This might be the break we’ve been waiting for.”
Finishing off my joe, I place my mug on the countertop. “Tell him it’s me who wants the asking price, the cost of the upgrades, the final sales figures. No. Hold on. We should discuss this in person.”
“We?” Her laptop snaps closed. “Listen, I can do more damage alone. Guys like Jeff let their guard down with women like me. Something will slip that I can use to take him down. Please, Sean. Just this once. Let me take the lead. You can wait downstairs. I’ll bring my Taser, pepper spray, and my Beretta. ”
Scowling, I shake my head no. “We stay together. We’re a team.”
“We are, which means you trust me. I kick ass, too. This is important.” A junkie waiting for a fix, sweat trickles down her brow.
Dammit. How did I miss it? Being raised by a crime lord left more than psychological scars. She’s hooked on adrenaline, the rush from putting oneself in the direct path of danger.
“Okay. Let’s go.” It’s the wrong decision, but I have no fucking idea how to change her mind.
Later, with every goddamn nerve cell sounding alarms, I park the SUV in a lot.
As I walk her to the lobby, every eye follows her high red heels, bright red lips, and tight red dress.
Males desire her. Females envy her. If not for the oversized black denim jacket, she could be mistaken for an expensive escort.
In contrast, I wear pricey black jeans, a sports coat over a black sweater, and comfortable leather sneakers. Nothing flashy. No logos. I do, however, make a point of glancing at my understated expensive gold watch as I plop into a visitor’s chair.
Spikes clicking against the marble, butt wiggling, she struts to the front desk. “I’m here for Jeff Pearson. Sky residence.”
The sixtyish man narrows his eyes, picking up his phone to make a call. After hanging up, he escorts her to the elevator, reaches inside, then palms a button.
As the doors slide shut and she blows me a kiss, the building guy returns to his station.
“I wouldn’t let that woman out of my sight,” he says as if I have a choice.
Grunting something unintelligible, I snatch my cell and open the live feed from the camera hidden in Lillian’s necklace.
On my phone app, Pearson greets her, smiling like he’s won the lottery. The picture goes dark for way too long as he hugs her. After they separate, his gaze sweeps over her body the way men do when they’re imagining a woman in their bed.
“Thanks for coming on such short notice.” The suspect’s hand disappears, no doubt touching her face or hair.
Sensing I might go ballistic, Lillian turns toward a mirror. “No problem. Sean was busy. He sends his apologies. I’ll take pictures for him, if you don’t mind.”
“Of course not. It’s his money we’re spending, is it not? Allow me to show you around.” The view shifts from the living room to the kitchen, where cabinets line one wall.
“The pasta sink will go in the island here.” He points to the plywood subfloor. “Gold faucets, handles, and knobs. High-end appliances. We’re still picking out the tile. Come see the view.”
Lillian spins toward the windows, giving me a sweeping panorama of the Statue of Liberty, the Science Center, and the harbor beyond.
“Wow.” Her breath rushes out, distorting the miniature mic taped to her chest.
Feigning an old-money accent, Pearson shows off the bedrooms and the baths. When finished, he grins, pulling out a chair. “Sit. Please.”
“Why not leave Clark. Work for me?” The asshole sits so close, all I see is his white button-down shirt.
I swear I can hear him salivating.
“I don’t know…” Her demeanor turns playful. “First, I’d need to know you’re solvent. Study your accounts. Make sure I’m trading up.”
Fuck, she’s totally on point.
Jeff laughs, his voice even closer. “I assure you, there is no comparison.”
As I imagine my hands around his neck, twisting, Lillian rises. “Show me the hot tub?”
The slimeball chuckles. “Well, here’s a better idea. Why don’t we try it out?”
Oh, hell to the over my dead body. As I march to the security desk on the main floor, they walk across the living room into a long hallway lined with tasteful black-and-white photographs of Manhattan.
At the end, he opens a door. “Ladies first.”
Something in his tone is wrong. Very wrong.
Every muscle in my body tightens as she climbs the stairs.
Don’t go up there, babe.
Boom! The video goes dark.
A half second later, the whole building shudders. Screams erupt from everywhere. People fly past me and spill into the street, all of them pointing up.
No. No. No. Thankful I wore sneakers, I sprint toward the bank of elevators. All the damn cars are descending.
This is not happening.
How high is this building? Thirty stories? Forty? Inhaling a deep breath, I race up the stairs, taking them two at a time. As the hole in my leg burns, stitches pop, pulling under the stretch denim.
“Move!” Shoving through the crowd, not bothering to slow as I climb, I hit the upper floors. My clothes are soaked through, perspiration mixing with the cold, brown sprinkler water.
When I finally arrive at the door marked PRIVATE, smoke pours out from beneath. The metal handle is so hot, it burns my palms. Only a fool would open it.
Jesus. My mind spirals as I yank out my phone and call Dante. “The fucking penthouse blew up with Lillian inside.”
My boss pauses for a beat. “Sean? Back up. Where are you?”
There’s no time. “Lower Manhattan. Pearson was showing her a condo. I need eyes, now.”
Before he can answer, the wop-wop-wop of helicopter blades slices through the hiss of burning wood.
How the hell did Dante get air support here this fast?
“Is your bird here already?” I know it can’t be, but reality isn’t my strong suit right now.
At the same second, a grainy image flickers onto my screen. In it, the snake leans over Lillian, lips pursed.
“ARGH!” My fist slams into the stupid door.
Lillian. Are you there? Jesus, say something.
While my knuckles bleed, Dante talks me down. “Where are you, my brother?”
“I’m in the stairwell. That motherfucker’s helo is overhead. He’s moving her. Can you track it?” My heart thumps so loud, it drowns out the rotors. Images of how I almost lost her in Mexico flood my memories. I can’t go through that again.
“Get out of there,” my friend shouts. “Now. The roof’s about to collapse. You’ll be no help to her dead.”
As the building groans, cracks appear in the wall, zigzagging below me.
I’ve got seconds.
“Fuck me!” Turning, I scramble down the hundreds of steps, meeting firefighters halfway.
“Stop. Top floor. About to crumble.” Hands on my now-bloody thigh, I pant between breaths.
“Anyone else up there?” the first one yells behind his mask.
“Two were on the roof. Evacuating by air. The rest? I have no idea.”
“Go. Hurry. We got this.”
Squeezing past them and the medics, I finally reach the sidewalk. Gulping fresh air, I tilt my head back and search the sky, but the helicopter is gone.
My whole life just flew away.
“Dante.” Eyes on the black video feed, I tuck my chin. “Talk. To. Me.”
“Give me a friggin’ moment.” The silence lasts forever.
Finally, he returns. “Relax. They’re landing at Columbia Presbyterian.”
Relief hits so hard my legs give out, and I land on my ass. “Is she hurt?”
“No news yet. Grab a cab. I’ll let you know the minute I hear anything.”
My chest loosens as I end the call. This is exactly why she should not be doing undercover work. After I have her safely in my arms, I’m never letting her go.
End of discussion.