Ari found the outgoing e-mails on her phone, and let the cop read them.
The doorbell rang, which had to be the food he’d ordered.
“Hey, man,” he asked the cop. “Mind if I grab my wallet from upstairs?”
“Go ahead. I think my guy is done up there.”
O’Doul paid the delivery kid then set the bag down on Ari’s coffee table. “Coffee?” he invited the detective. He’d bought four cups for this very reason.
“Thanks,” the guy said. “Appreciate it.”
O’Doul gave Ari a smile and dug into the bag for sugar packets and cream. “Honey,” he said. It was too familiar sounding, but he wanted the cops to know he was watching over her. “You want me to get plates? I don’t want to get crumbs on your couch.”
Ari got up and went to the kitchen, returning with two plates.
O’Doul passed her a sandwich. And when she actually began to eat it, the satisfaction it brought him was something he’d have to examine later.
The detective began to pepper her with more questions. Why had she kicked Vince out? What did she know about his business?
“Not as much as you’d think,” she said with a sigh. “Three years ago he had several clubs. But I’m pretty sure he’s down to just one. And I think he owes some people money. He never told me his troubles directly, but I heard him on the phone sometimes, and his mood has been really foul since the fall. And that’s all I can tell you.”
“How long were you together?”
“Eight years.”
The cop raised an eyebrow. “Eight years? And you don’t know more about his business?”
O’Doul opened his mouth to express his displeasure at the cop’s tone, but Ari beat him to it.
“Look, I have my own job, okay? And Vince didn’t like that so much. And he had a big chest-beating macho streak. When things went wrong, I was the last person he’d tell. We didn’t do a lot of tell me about your day at work, honey. Besides—his club has a business office. It’s not like he was running the whole show out of my home. I showed his ass the door, and we have not had a conversation since.”
“Okay.” The detective rubbed his chin. “Then can you tell me who he worked with? You must have heard names, or answered calls.”
She cleared her throat. “The co-owned clubs were with the Pryzyks. They were brothers, I think.”
Pryzyk. O’Doul thought he’d heard that name on the news before.
“You ever meet them?” the detective pried.
“Once. Maybe a year ago? I met Vince at his office because we were going to the opera. And they were there. Not the most friendly people. I didn’t feel the urge to see them again.”
“So you never socialized with his colleagues?” the detective pressed.
O’Doul did not think Ari should have to answer all these questions.
“When I was young and working in Vince’s first club, I knew everyone,” she said. “They were my second family. But when I left to do training in yoga and massage therapy, I wasn’t around anymore. And the turnover in nightclubs is pretty high. All my favorite people moved on.”
“Okay,” the detective said, tapping his pencil on his pad of paper. “Can you tell me if Vincent ever said anything about drugs in his clubs?”
O’Doul felt his gut tighten, but he kept his face impassive. Buying pills in that club was the stupidest thing he’d ever done in his life. The buzz he got from them lasted a couple of hours each time. And now he’d be worrying about this shit for the rest of his career.
“Vince told me once that every club had problems with drugs—that it was hard to keep the dealers out. And then, sure enough, one of his clubs kept getting busted and they lost the liquor license. But he didn’t share specifics, and I didn’t ask because he was such a grumpy bastard all the time about it.” Ari looked the cop straight in the eye as she said it, and O’Doul hoped he would just leave her the fuck alone.
“To your knowledge did Vince Giardi ever decide to use the flow of drugs as an opportunity rather than a problem?”
Ari’s eyes widened again. “You mean . . . encourage the dealing?”
“Did he take a cut?” the agent asked point-blank.
As O’Doul watched, she went through about seventeen emotions. Disbelief. Fear. Disgust. “God, I don’t think so,” she said finally. “I mean, he’d never tell me if he did. But the thing about Vince is that he isn’t really a schemer. He’d rather pour you a drink and take a spin on the dance floor. Even when he was trying to build up his empire, it was all about the clubs themselves—which A-list celebs were going to show up, which DJs he could book. He got into the business because he wanted to party for a living.” She shook her head. “I don’t think he was the best businessman, honestly. I know he had money problems after the one club was shut down. He owed the Pryzyk brothers money, I think. Either that or he owed somebody else money, and he was trying to get the Pryzyks to help him.”
“Why do you think so?”
She shrugged and looked up at the ceiling. “His phone would ring with their name on the screen. He’d disappear into another room and argue for a while. I got the impression he wanted their help. But I never heard both sides of the conversation. That’s really all I can tell you,” she finished.
The cop took notes on a pad, writing furiously. “Okay. Thank you.” He looked up. “Have you ever heard the name Andre Karsecki?”
“Um . . .” Ari’s brow wrinkled. “No? Who’s that?”
O’Doul had heard it. “I saw it in the newspaper—an unsolved murder in a nightclub.”
The cop nodded, and there was an awkward silence.
Ari crossed her arms over her chest. “Look, I told you everything I know about Vince’s work. I wish I’d never met the guy.”
“We’re going to inventory the items from your storage room downstairs, and remove the computer we found there. Did you keep any valuables in that room?” the detective asked.
“Depends who you ask. The collection of vinyl albums is my uncle’s—they’re valuable to him, but I have no idea if they’re worth any actual money. Aside from a few pieces of old furniture I didn’t want, nothing else in that room was put there by me.”
He scribbled another note. “Any files? Any notes?”
“All Vince’s,” she said firmly. “When I looked through the window the other day, I saw a computer I’d never seen before. I have no idea how he was working out of that room. I changed the Wi-Fi password after he left, too.”
“There was a splice,” the cop said, still writing. “A direct line running from your cable connection.”
“Damn it!” Ari yelled. “That asshole.”
O’Doul reached for Ari’s hand and rubbed her palm. “When can she fix the lock again?” O’Doul asked. “It isn’t safe to leave that open. Someone could take advantage.”
“We’ll call you when we’re finished with our investigation,” the detective said, standing up. “Shouldn’t be more than a few days.”
“Like, maybe tomorrow?” O’Doul pressed. He didn’t mind being an asshole on Ari’s behalf.
“Maybe.” The guy was noncommittal.
“Uh-huh. And how does she get a restraining order against him?”
The detective offered a business card to him. “That’s not my specialty, but call my office line and ask my assistant to e-mail you the forms. She’ll need to go to the courthouse on Jay Street.”
Ari was the one to stand up and take the card from his hand. “Thank you. I’ll do that today.”
When the detective was finally ready to leave, O’Doul walked him out the door. The second the door shut, he turned to face Ari. “Are you okay?”
“Fine.” But her expression was closed off, like a door slammed shut. “You’d better report to the trainers’ office. They must wonder where the hell you are.”
She wasn’t wrong. But still. “Did Becca e-mail you some lawyers?”
“I’m sure she did.” Ari hugged herself. “Thank you for chatting up the cop. I know you were trying to help, but”—she traced a pattern on the wood floor with her bare toe—“I can take it from here.”
“Okay,” he said, because what was his choice? He took two steps and put his hands on her shoulders. “Be well.” He kissed her forehead. But, fuck. That wasn’t good enough. He wrapped his arms around her, wanting to feel her soft body against his one more time. She was kind of addictive.
She gave him a quick hug in return, but then pulled back. And he had no choice but to release her, fetch his stuff from upstairs and go.
So he did. But he knew he’d be thinking about her the rest of the day. No—the week. Whether she liked it or not.
* * *
After a quick stop at home, O’Doul headed over to the practice facility. The doctor did another concussion examination, thankfully clearing him to play. He didn’t even have to argue.
That done, he hit the weight room for an hour or so.
But on his way out that afternoon, Coach Worthington and the GM—Hugh Major—stopped him in the hallway. “Got a second?” Coach asked.
As if he could say no. He followed Coach into his office like a well-behaved player would. “Is there a problem?”
Coach shook his head. “Just wondering what you think of something.”
“Shoot.”
“How do you like the idea of Crikey fighting tomorrow night?”
O’Doul’s chin snapped upwards. “Why?”
“To take some of the pressure off you,” Coach said immediately. “Give your strain a little extra cushion.”
“I can handle it,” he said, sounding defensive as hell. But he didn’t want anyone easing off his duties. When the team started taking it easy on you, it was the beginning of the end. He was thirty-two, not thirty-eight.
“The kid wants to fight, though,” Hugh said, speaking up. “This guy Falzgar used to beat the crap out of him in juniors.”
“So we’re just gonna let him work out his vendetta in the middle of the game? That is not a strategy. And Falzgar is a leftie. Has Crikey fought a leftie?”
Frowning, the two people in charge of O’Doul’s life exchanged a loaded glance.
Fuck.
“We need you healthy,” Coach said. “You can take tomorrow’s fight. But only if you are a hundred percent sure you’re up to it.”
“I am,” he insisted.
He thought he’d be dismissed, but Hugh stroked his chin thoughtfully. “The salary cap means this team won’t ever have another dedicated enforcer. Every player is here for his skills.”
“I know,” O’Doul insisted.
“If the fighting gets in the way of your skills, it’s bad for the team.”
“True.” He grit his teeth to keep from saying more.
Finally, Hugh stood. “Rest up tonight.”
“Thanks, I will.”
He walked home, considering all the different options for resting up. He could go to the bar on Hicks and have a cheeseburger. He should check up on Ari to be sure she was okay.
Or he could go home and watch five dozen of Falzgar’s fights on YouTube.
Two of those things were fun and one would make him into a dreadful wreck of a human. And he already knew which option he’d end up picking.
TWELVE
WEDNESDAY, MARCH 16TH
14 Regular Season Games to Go
Kattenberger Model Predicts: 74 percent chance of a play-offs spot
After a two hour wait, Ari received an order of protection from a graying judge in a windowless courtroom. She spent some quality time on the phone with a lawyer Becca found for her. It was all quite boring and terrifying at the same time. Then she made a call to Uncle Alberto and confessed that his storage room had been broken into, and he made some anxious noises about his Brubeck on vinyl while she tried to reassure him.
Fun times.
She didn’t make it into work at all that day, and since Becca had told the trainer she’d taken a personal day, nobody said anything. But the team’s pain and injuries needed tending to, and she hated not being there to do it.
That evening Becca called, claiming that her live-in sister and baby nephew were driving her crazy, and asked if she could come and spend the night at Ari’s place. “I’ll bring a movie and some takeout,” she promised.
Ari accepted this thin ruse because she was still a little freaked out about her last two visits from Vince. So, after hanging up the phone, she charged upstairs to change the sheets on her bed. Although Becca would stay the night on the twin bed in the guest room, she still felt the need to banish any evidence of last night’s lapse in judgment.
Like the condom wrapper under the bed.
Her face began to burn as she plucked it off the floor and threw it away. She and Patrick must have had a lot of frustration to burn off last night, because it had been the best sex of her life. Her stomach shimmied just at the memory of the moment when he’d put his mouth . . .
Gah. She wasn’t going to tell a soul.
The doorbell rang, and Ari had a moment’s hesitation. What if it was Vince at the door? She tiptoed down the stairs. It rang again.
“Ari?” Becca’s voice called through the wood. “I have Indian food and a DVD of Magic Mike!”
She opened the door. “Well, step right this way.” I will not confess. I will not.
Becca walked in, handing Ari a bag of food. She kicked off her Dr. Martens and wrinkled her nose. “You look guilty. Why?”
“I do not!” Ari gasped.
“You so do. What happened?”
Damn it. “Patrick and I attacked each other like horny rabbits last night,” she blurted out. “But it’s never happening again.”
Becca’s eyebrows shot up, which was especially distracting because there was a barbell through one of them. “Wait. Patrick? As in . . . O’Doul? You call him Patrick? Nobody calls him by his first name.”
“Really? That’s what you find shocking about this?” She carried the food into the kitchen, trailed by Becca. “My life is a train wreck, and I just made it worse by screwing a client.”
“Let’s not be hasty. Was he good? Maybe it’s worth it.”
“It was epic,” Ari admitted, taking out plates and silverware. “Then again, for the past few years I’ve only had sex with someone who resented me half the time. So maybe my viewpoint is skewed.”
“God.” Becca let out a dreamy sigh. “These days, even a night with someone who resented me sounds appealing. Why do you think I own Channing Tatum on DVD? Because I get no action. All day I’m surrounded by hard bodies at work, and yet my vibrator is always on the charger.” She carried two dishes of curry to Ari’s table.
“You could hook up, though,” Ari pointed out. “It would be less scandalous for you to get busy with a player than for me. You don’t have to touch their bodies in the line of duty.”
“You’d think nobody would care,” Becca said, tearing a piece of naan bread in half. “But once when Castro was having a shitty day I got him drunk in a hotel bar. Nate saw us all cozy and laughing in a booth at the bar and got the wrong impression. He was cold to me for a while after that. So I’m not going there.”
A chill crawled up Ari’s back. “Seriously? Nate got mad?”
“Hell yes. I swear I didn’t imagine it. He was kind of a dick to Castro, too.”
“Shit,” Ari breathed. “I can’t risk my job. I’m going to swear Patrick to secrecy.”
“He’s a decent guy,” Becca said, helping herself to the lamb curry. “He puts up an asshole front, and he’s kind of an egomaniac. But he’s got that whole macho honor code thing working. So I think you’ll be fine.”
“Ugh.” If she’d been using her brain a
t all last night, she wouldn’t be in this predicament right now.
“How did it happen, anyway? Did he give you that overconfident squint and say, hey, baby, wanna bang?”
“No! Geez. We didn’t talk about it first. He got out of the taxi here and helped me make sure the house was secure. And then we just looked at each other and . . . it was like someone pulled the pin on a grenade. Kapow.”
Becca pinched the front of her shirt between two fingers and fanned herself. “Oh, man. Just once in my life I want to feel like that. I had so many bad first dates last year.” She stabbed a piece of lamb and laughed. “Nothing went kapow.”
Ari scooped up a forkful of buttery rice and tried to figure out why her encounter with Patrick had been so hot and frantic. It was just happenstance, probably. A loaded moment when they both had the same outrageous impulse, and a week’s worth of tension needing an outlet.
Instead of beating herself up about it, Ari would use the advice she gave her yoga students—acknowledge it and move on. It happened. It was spectacular. Now she would just let it go.
Letting it go meant ice cream, Channing Tatum, and Becca’s laughter. Ari was grateful for the companionship, and she forgot to worry about freaking Vince until her Katt Phone began chirping with text messages on the coffee table in front of her feet.
Becca paused the movie. “Should you check that?”
“Oh, I suppose.” But she was feeling too relaxed and happy to worry. And bad news from Vince—while there was plenty—tended to arrive via bricks and yelling. She scooped her phone up and checked.
Hi, sweetheart. I’m thinking about you tonight. Can you let me know you’re okay? She could practically hear Patrick’s gravelly voice when she read his words. A warm sensation settled just below her belly button.
“Omigod. Did O’Doul text you? You should see the look on your face right now.”
Ari’s chin snapped up. “He’s just making sure I’m okay.”
“Uh-huh.” Becca rolled her eyes. “If he’s on his way over here I’ll make myself scarce.”
“No! That is not happening. Start the movie. We’re just up to the good part.”