Return to Poughkeepsie

  He retraced his steps through her growing-up years on the ride over to her residence. He’d tried to teach her, but she just showed limited capacity for the nuances of their business. She was one of his only two children, and her mother, his darling Diane, had been the one woman he’d ever really loved. Primo was his only boy, so he’d done his best to make him into something even though he came from the loins of the housemaid. Diane had passed more than ten years ago, but every day he wished she were still here. Mary Ellen had been her mother’s spitting image until she began messing with her face.

  Once inside her home, he pulled himself up her ridiculously long steps. She was so dramatic, fancied herself a Scarlett O’Hara as she traipsed down this grand staircase every day. His path was littered with dead bodies—men expertly killed. In his business he’d developed an eye for craftsmanship, and this assassin was the Picasso of murder. He held the doorframe at the entrance to her suite and caught his breath from the exertion. His daughter had been covered with a duvet, and a gorgeous woman in jeans lay close by.

  “Let me see Mary Ellen.” He nodded at the covered lump.

  His bodyguard reverently removed the cover from her face.

  “All the way.” He came closer.

  Mary Ellen’s eyes were wide open and her mouth a circle. All her color was gone, and the gash on her neck was more of an incision. An expert crime of passion. There was hate in this room with these two women.

  “Take a picture of my daughter. Bring the other one to my guest house here.” He turned to leave.

  “That’s it? You’re sure?” The mouthy guard was one of hers.

  He turned slowly until he found the one who spoke. “My men know what Mary Ellen needs now.”

  The man shook his head. “Wow, I expected more.”

  Rodolfo looked at his hands. They were old and that still surprised him, even after his body’s recent betrayal. How many men had he killed using only his thumb and forefinger? So many.

  “What’s your name?” The man answered a few times before Rodolfo heard him.

  “Anthony.”

  “Anthony. You’re never to talk to me. Ever. And as far as that one?” He pointed with his cane. “I’ll make pain her god. As a matter of fact, we’re going bring you too and teach you some respect.” He nodded to one of his men and turned away from his daughter’s body. He wished he felt more loss, but her face looked nothing like her mother’s anymore.

  32

  Unbreakable

  A LITTLE AFTER NOON, Beckett pulled into Jared’s driveway. Chaos met him with a shaking head.

  “Still singing the same tune?”

  “Says he hasn’t seen her. The whole place smells like bleach.” Chaos gestured to the house. “Vere is still at the place. I spoke to Florence, the director. And your dog is fine.”

  “Anyone call the cops yet?” Beckett pulled on fingerless leather gloves. They were the style he used to buy all the time when he was busting skulls.

  “No. Right now she’s not even missing. She’s a grown-ass woman. She can go where she wants.” Chaos looked pissed.

  “You got a thing for Chery?” Beckett went to the front door and “knocked” with his shit-kicking boots, splintering the shitty door.

  The tattoo artist shifted from foot to foot. “Nah. Just seems like a nice girl.”

  Jared didn’t answer, so Beckett kicked the door in the sweet spot as hard as he could. It flew open, bouncing off the wall inside. “Knock, knock, twat taffy. I’m here to murder your goddamn ass.” He inspected the house while Chaos crowded in behind him. “He’s still here, right?”

  “Yeah. Should be in the back bedroom cuddling a gun.” Chaos sounded fired up.

  Beckett kicked in a second door, and there was Jared: sitting on the bed, cuddling his gun.

  “Where’s Chery?” Beckett scanned the room. It was neat and tidy, unlike the rest of the shithole he’d just walked through.

  “I ain’t seen her. Go look at the store.” Jared sniffed and tried to look manlier, aiming the firearm at Beckett’s chest.

  “Point that gun at me, and I’ll shove it up your fucking ass.” Beckett opened the bathroom door and the smell of fresh bleach was strong enough to make him gag. “You motherfucker. Where’s her body?”

  Beckett’s heart sank. He knew. He’d known as soon as he heard from Chaos in Poughkeepsie—she was dead. He’d known since he decided not to kill Jared weeks ago that it was the wrong choice. Maybe that was his only gift: knowing when a murder should be committed.

  He spied a toothpick on the bedside table. “Chaos, go get me a handful of toothpicks from the kitchen.”

  “What the hell do you want? Get out of my house!” Jared scrambled to the other side of the bed and stood.

  “Do you know who I am?” Beckett crossed his arms in front of him.

  “No. But I heard stories. And I told a shit-ton of people all about you.” Jared was obviously used to setting the tone of the fear in a room.

  “Where’s her body?” Beckett acknowledged Chaos and took a handful of toothpicks.

  “You got to the count of three to get out of here. And take the fucking toothpicks with you.” Jared settled into a stance, holding the gun in front of him.

  “You’ll answer my goddamn question. You can do it now, or you can wait until I get creative. Do you remember how I almost killed you with a motherfucking hamburger? Imagine what I can do with these.” He fanned the little splinters of wood in his fingers like Edward Scissorhands. “Never mind, don’t hurt yourself. I’ll let you find out.”

  Chaos relieved Jared of his gun. The man had spent so much time in jail, stealing shanks from murderous bastards, disarming this still-drunk was a cakewalk.

  “Tell me where you put her body.” Beckett nodded at Chaos, and the man threw Jared to the bed. There was some serious anger in his movements.

  “Give me your hand.” Beckett nodded at Jared.

  “Fuck you!”

  Beckett smiled. “You’d like that too much.”

  When Beckett was done with Jared, the whimpering man was willing to tell him every secret he’d ever had. They went to the backyard, and Jared opened the combination lock to his shed with bloody hands, some fingers missing nails entirely.

  Beckett took a breath before stepping inside. All the things ahead of him flashed in his mind: telling Vere, figuring out how to make her comfortable—it was mind-boggling. Thinking of taking on her needs sent a new wave of respect for Chery flowing through him.

  Chaos began slamming at a huge wooden storage crate with a sledgehammer. Jared tried slipping out the door. Beckett caught him by the nape of his neck and squeezed.

  “The only reason you’re still alive is because I need to see how much pain you caused her. I’ll multiply it by a million before I kill you.”

  Jared still looked shifty, despite the pain he’d endured.

  The storage crate had been soldered closed—the hinges now nothing but melted lumps. But Chaos busted into it, forcing the lid open and cracking the wood. Inside, wrapped in a bedspread covered in blood, was the small shape of a woman. Chaos reached into his pocket and pulled out a switchblade. He cut the ropes around the neck and body.

  The gasp from the form made them all jump. Chaos reacted quickly, slicing carefully though the blanket until he got to her.

  “No. No. No. That’s not right,” Jared murmured.

  Chery’s eyes flew open, and she began to cry when she saw Jared’s face.

  Chaos stepped in front of her line of sight. “It’s okay. You’re okay. Beckett’s here, and Vere’s okay, yeah? Don’t fear him. You have help.”

  Beckett turned and smiled at Jared, throwing a punch that would put his lights out for a long time.

  Eve didn’t open her eyes when she woke. Instead she focused on her breathing, maintaining a slow, regular rhythm. Her head hung at an uncomfortable angle, but she let it remain.

  She used all her other senses to assess: her arms were bound behind her and her
ankles fastened to the chair she sat in. Judging from the thin, cutting pain, her restraints were plastic zip ties.

  The room was remarkably quiet. She thought she might be alone until she heard a person shift, clothes rustling. She’d marched right in and killed Mary Ellen in her own home. Stupid. A crime of passion. Since when did she have more passion than brains? Maybe for a long time now, actually…

  As far as she could tell, nothing had been done to her—yet. She’d have to open her eyes to get a full understanding of the situation. And when she opened her eyes, she’d also open herself to the pain that was surely headed her way. She lifted her head and found a man sitting at a table some distance away. She didn’t make a noise, just matched his gaze.

  He did as she’d expected: alerting various people that she’d finally roused. They certainly had ways of waking her, so this was either poorly planned or part of the experience. The room had a single door, two electrical outlets, and one small vent for heat and air. The lack of windows meant it was either custom designed or remodeled to be a prison.

  Her chair was fairly comfortable, with some padding, but her hands and feet were totally secured. Her clothes were still on. The door opened and an elderly gentleman she suspected to be Rodolfo Vitullo, along with five other men, came through it.

  “Well, I have to commend you,” the geezer in charge said. “After seeing your work at my daughter’s house, my men insisted we bind you. They’re rarely this cautious. You are skilled.” He waved the guard away from the table and took his place, using his cane to balance himself. “Why don’t we start with your name? I’m Rodolfo Vitullo. I’ve been indisposed for a period of months, but I’m sure my reputation precedes me. I understand you and my daughter were quite close.”

  Eve said nothing. She catalogued the weapons the men had brought into the room so she’d know what she wanted when she got the opportunity to use them.

  “No? Nothing to say? I’m not surprised. I must confess, I’m an old man but you have piqued my interest. And not much peaks anymore, if you know what I mean.” He gave her a knowing look.

  “I’m actually trying not to think about your ancient balls, if that’s okay with you.” Eve smiled at him.

  “Feisty. Respect would suit you.” Rodolfo began coughing and hacked up something he spit in his employee’s coffee cup.

  The man closest to Eve produced a Taser and stepped closer to her. Eve refused to look at him, instead keeping her eyes on Rodolfo.

  “No fear? Impressive. Wasted effort, but good. Hmm.” He shifted in the chair, the metal legs screeching on the cement floor. “Don’t use that, Rogers. Go get her the one that plugs in—with the insertable attachments.”

  Eve knew then that it was going to be bad, worse than she could imagine, because this guy was old school. “You should have them get a thank-you card for me. Your daughter was a crackpot. She was going to drive your business into the ground. So soon, actually, that you’d probably live to see it.” She tried to shift her hands, and the plastic bit into bone. Whoever put the ties on had used all his strength to close them. The nerves in her wrist were on fire.

  “You know I’ll have you cry. You’ll beg for death.” Rodolfo stood and made his way slowly over to her.

  “Wouldn’t be the first time.” Eve returned his steely gaze.

  “Tell me your name, precious.”

  The man returned with a device that looked as old as the man. He plugged it in and untangled the cord.

  Rodolfo propped his cane against his hip and dusted off the device. He twisted a long, pointy cone onto it. The top, like the star on a Christmas tree, was a single, rusty barb.

  Jesus.

  “The insertable. Where do you think we should put it, boys? It can go anywhere.” Rodolfo grabbed Eve’s chin and handed the device back to the man who’d brought it. “Tell me your name.”

  The device made an audible hum, charging and warming when he switched it on. Its very tip began turning red. Eve refused to look directly at it, instead staring into Rodolfo’s cataract-filmed eyes.

  “Name?” He wrinkled his nose, and she could see the long hairs in it.

  Her voice was strong, but quieter than she’d intended: “Unbreakable.”

  33

  Painkillers

  KYLE WAITED FOR COLE in the hotel room. Rather than wear out their welcome at Blake and Livia’s, Cole had suggested they get a little spot of their own for the next couple days while the police finished up at their house. In a further show of chivalry, he was now buying her dinner downstairs, and she was starving. She looked at her chopped hair in the mirror, thinking back to the moment when she decided to cut it. It had been the hair or her wrists. Had that been just days ago?

  So much had happened since. She’d faced the very real possibility of her sister’s murder. She and Cole had been in charge of her niece and nephew while their parents were gone, maybe permanently. And then she’d helped a lady on the lam clothe herself. She snickered remembering that one, but it was a lot. All of it was a lot.

  Cole opened the door, juggling their food, and she went to help him. They made small talk: Was the line long? Oh, they were out of Coke? Simple stuff. Easy stuff.

  After they ate, Kyle finally decided to ask, because he hadn’t mentioned it. “Is my hair okay?”

  Cole regarded her and bit his lip. “I like it.”

  “You hate it. I look like boy. You want a divorce.” Kyle stood from the table and sat on the bed.

  “No. No. And no.” Cole came and sat next to her. “I think it’s nice.”

  “You won’t touch me. I look like a fucking mushroom.” Kyle covered her face.

  “I didn’t know touching you was an option.” Cole ran his fingers through her hair, trailing them along the back of her neck. “This part? So sexy. Getting to see it all the time? It’s almost like an obscenity—a delicious obscenity.” He gently licked her skin and spoke against her neck. “You never, ever have to worry that I’m not attracted to you. I would be having sex with you as often as I breathe if you’d let me. I dream about you. When I dream of anything, it’s always you. And sometimes, you even have short hair in those dreams. How lucky am I? You’re my dream girl.”

  Kyle turned and buried her face in his chest. He smelled so good. How he could have skin that smelled like perfection, she didn’t know. She pushed him back on the bed and cuddled against him more.

  He continued to stroke her hair. “This has been a crazy couple of days. I’ve been praying so much.”

  She lifted her head. Damn it. She’d done it again: thinking about herself so much that she’d forgotten he was more than just her stable, comforting guy. He had brothers involved, he was worried about her, and he’d lost his baby too. Plus he’d had to figure out how to diaper Kellan. It had all been hard for him.

  “So what did Beckett say? Will he be back?” She looked into his eyes. They were a miracle, the color of prayers.

  “I don’t know. He was really thrown for a loop, worrying about those two girls in Maryland. I haven’t heard from him since he left.” Cole looked back at her and touched her cheek. “Love you.”

  “Back at ya, handsome.” She flopped against his arm and settled in. “So is it like a Big Love thing? Eve’s gonna be pissed.”

  “I didn’t get that impression. Chery was more just someone he wanted to help. They both were. He said he got a dog too.” Cole rolled onto his side and laid his hand on her stomach. Kyle readjusted it to rest on her left breast.

  “The girls have been lonely without you.” She smiled.

  “We’re only doing what you’re ready for.” He looked at her tenderly.

  “How about kissing and snuggling? Is that too blue-balltastic?” She kissed his lips.

  He smiled in between kisses. “It’s perfect.”

  They kissed and kissed, and Kyle felt herself relax. She boldly touched her husband everywhere until a cramp reminded her she was healing.

  “Wow.” She lay back on the pillows.

/>   “Pain?” He got up and found her purse, getting out two Advil.

  She swallowed them with the last of her dinner drink. “It’s like my body has to remind me I suck.”

  Cole exhaled. “I think your body needs an attitude adjustment. Seriously. Everything you have to do with that body makes me feel like a chump.”

  Kyle raised her eyebrow.

  “No, really. All of this is on you. I’m totally wishing I was a seahorse so I could carry a baby. You have periods, bring life into the world, secrete milk…I don’t know. All I can do is open jars and kill spiders.” He reached for her hand. “I wish there was more I could do. I mean, when will it be okay to tell you we will laugh again? We’ll never forget our baby, but we have to be on this planet. We owe it to each other, right?”

  “Yeah. I don’t know. I’ve got such guilt—about my mom, about how I lived, about stealing you from the church.”

  “I’m grateful to your mom every day. Does that make me a bad guy?”

  She pulled her hand out of Cole’s grasp. He shook his head and very purposefully took it back.

  “Because without her, there would be no you. And why do you have to feel bad about having had some sex along the way? So that’s how you handled sexuality: in excess. That’s who you are. You do stuff big. You love big. Your mistakes can be big. It’s this reckless girl who had the guts to make me fall in love with her at first sight. You willed that into existence. Tell me something.” He pulled her into his arms and tilted her face until she was looking in his eyes. “How does this feel? This. Right here.”

  She closed her eyes so she could gather the words. “Right. Soothing. Exciting.” She opened her eyes, and he was nodding.

  “As long as this feels right? We’re doing okay. I’m selfish enough to think all those other things happened so we could be right for each other.” He kissed her.