Edge of Sight

  “Isn’t Vivi with you?” Marc asked.

  Worry flared at the question. “No, I left her a message hours ago.”

  “Shit, Zach. She’s missing, too. Okay, I have an idea.”

  “It better be good.”

  “Does Sam have a cell phone with her? I can get JP to triangulate both their phones and get locations.”

  “Her phone’s waterlogged. And how the hell did JP get involved?”

  “By birth,” Marc said brusquely. “He’s family. How’d her phone get waterlogged?”

  “When we were forced off a bridge by a produce truck.”

  “Jesus.”

  “Listen, call everyone Vivi knows and find out whose car she borrowed. If she didn’t, then she can’t be far because she’s looking for me. And then get to Billy Shawkins’s house in Roxbury. Hale Street. Sam sent Vivi there today right before my car ended up in the bottom of a reservoir.”

  “Got it. So, what the hell are you driving?”

  “A nice Lexus I stole.” Behind him, about a mile away, the flashing lights of a cop car. “But Massachusetts’s finest is on my ass.” God damn it.

  “How close are they?”

  “Oh, he has me now.” He briefly considered trying to outrun the cop, but decided against it, slamming on the brakes and whipping to the shoulder. “He’s about to hit the jackpot. No license, no registration, no eyepatch. Just a gun I’m not allowed to carry and a car I stole.”

  “I’ll see if I can get help from JP on the other line.”

  “What can he do?”

  “You’d be surprised if you’d just give him a chance. Don’t hang up, and stall the cop.”

  He put the phone on speaker and tossed it on the passenger seat as he grabbed the Glock. When you only have one thing to live for and it’s gone, you can fuck the rules. Which was what he was about to do. He racked the slide and watched the cop get out.

  The cop started to walk to the Lexus; then his partner got out and called to him. The cop signaled for Zach to stay, and returned to his car.

  Zach watched, the weapon ready, his heart still hammering while he waited. And waited. And waited a good goddamn twenty minutes. Every car that passed physically hurt.

  Hurry it up, JP. Finally, the cop jogged back to the car.

  “Mr. Angelino?” he asked.

  “Yeah.”

  “We’re going to escort you into Boston.”

  “Thanks.” Zach kept the gun low as another cruiser flew by going west, made a sudden U-turn, and screamed in front of them.

  “Let’s go. Stay between us.”

  Zach pulled out as Marc’s voice came back on the speaker. “You okay?” he asked.

  “Have a police escort. Eating crow.”

  “Yeah, but there’s one catch,” Marc said. “They’re escorting you to the Southie police station.”

  “What? Why?”

  “Just be glad you’re not in cuffs in the back of one of those cruisers, man. I’ll meet you there.”

  “Check Shawkins’s house,” he demanded.

  “They’re sending somebody, but they want me to tell them everything Vivi told me. They’re looking for her and for Sam, Zach.”

  Zach could do nothing but drive, trapped by the cruisers, at least headed in the right direction. He hoped.

  CHAPTER 22

  Sam just kept her eyes closed and didn’t move. She tried to figure out where they were going based on general direction without being able to see the road, but after several police cars had zoomed by, sirens on, Larry forced Vivi off the highway onto side streets. Still flat on his lap with a gun jammed in her temple, Sam lost her sense of direction.

  And she really lost that growing sense of confidence that had been building for the last few days. How could she have talked to this man—the night of the killing and again in the police station—and not realized he was the man who shot Joshua Sterling?

  She tried to look but he held her firm with the barrel of his gun.

  How had he done it that night? Had he talked to her—flirted with her—at the bar, changed his hair and clothes, and slipped into the wine cellar to assassinate a local columnist? The door to the back alley had been left open, she recalled, giving him access to the wine cellar after he left the bar, exactly the route Zach had followed that morning.

  And Zach had pointed out that “Larry” wore a toupee, and makeup could cover the blemishes she’d seen on his face. But who hired him?

  Full-body fear wiped away the questions. What did it matter? Whoever Larry the lawyer really was, he had a gun to her head, and he was taking them both… somewhere.

  “We’re going back to Roxbury,” he said to Vivi. “So take this exit.”

  Back to Roxbury? To Billy? She managed to move her head a centimeter, but he just jabbed the gun harder.

  “Billy,” she whispered. “Is he—”

  “Not a word,” he said, a little sound of crazy in his voice that scared her as much as the gun. “Not a single word.”

  She defied him. “Why are you doing this? I couldn’t identify you. I’m no threat to you.”

  “You’re a plant and you have to be eliminated, and I have a plan to do that.”

  A plant? “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “Sam,” Vivi said, her voice oddly calm, “I got some of this out of him already. He thinks you were purposely placed to witness Sterling’s murder so the hit man can’t get his money.”

  “No, that’s not true,” Sam said, attempting to look up at him, but her head butted into the gun. “I was there by accident.”

  “Doesn’t matter. You saw.”

  “I didn’t see… you.” Could that help her? “I could never identify you,” she repeated. “Even now, I haven’t really seen you.”

  He choked softly. “As long as you’re alive, you are an impediment to my income. A Harvard girl like you should understand that.”

  She didn’t. She didn’t understand anything. Just that she was about to die, she’d never see Zach again, and she’d somehow dragged Vivi and Billy into her mess. She had nothing to lose, though. She would fight for her life. And theirs. As soon as there was a moment he didn’t have her a millimeter from death.

  “Take the back route,” he ordered. “The way we left.”

  “Is Billy okay?”

  “No,” Vivi said, disgust in her voice. “He’s breathing carbon monoxide and sitting next to a bucket of gasoline on top of a furnace with a pilot light.”

  Sam’s heart turned over and shattered. She’d done this to Billy. She’d somehow led him to Billy, who he thought could be bait, but he got Vivi instead.

  “Turn here, or I shoot her.” His voice was flat.

  “Why don’t you?” Vivi challenged, taking Sam’s breath away with shock. “Seriously, dude, if you want her dead, you got her. What the hell are you waiting for?”

  Sam tried to quell the gut-level response to tell Vivi to stop; she knew Vivi too well. Getting information was Vivi’s gift, and Sam waited silently to see if this tactic would work. If they got out of this alive, they had to know who the real enemy was.

  If.

  “I like to do things right,” he said in answer to Vivi’s question.

  “Then shoot us both and be done with it. Why are you making a side trip to Roxbury?”

  “To send a message, to avoid evidence, and to do this the right way.”

  “A message to who?” Vivi asked.

  He was silent, but she felt his body grow taut, and so did Sam’s. Don’t get too mad, Larry. Not enough to pull that trigger. “I just don’t like to be fucked with.”

  “Yeah, well, who does?” Vivi was so amazingly calm, just carrying on a conversation like they weren’t hostages, like they were just three friends driving through Boston.

  “They should have done the job themselves if they didn’t want to pay,” he finally said.

  “Who’s they?” Vivi asked.

  “They couldn’t do it right, not a job of this
level,” he said, clearly more to himself than to them. “They’re morons, trying to run you off a road and shoot you down in the street. Sloppy, unprofessional morons. At least they’re smart enough to call in a professional, but then they piss on me in their typical small-minded, cheating way. I’m going to get my proof, I’m going to get my money, and I’m going to put a few of those bastards in jail for blowing up a house.”

  Sam almost moaned. “Billy’s house?”

  “So they will not fuck with the Czar again. Okay, park the car right here on this hill, facing as it is now.” He laughed an evil laugh. “I know a secret way out.”

  The hill by Billy’s house. Oh, Lord, he was the Sears repairman. She and Zach had had him and let him go. She looked at him, and didn’t recognize him.

  The agony of that stabbed as hard as the gun.

  “Put the emergency brake on and leave the keys,” he ordered. “And, trust me, if you do one single thing that I don’t like, this woman is dead.”

  Sam felt the car stop; then Vivi turned the engine off. “Who are they?” she asked quietly.

  “The fucking Boston cops, of course.” He looked down at Sam. “Which is why I know you’re their plant. Who better to use as a witness than someone they’d all love to see dead anyway?”

  The first person Zach saw when he entered the South End police station was JP, who leaned against a wall, Styrofoam cup of coffee in his hand, deep in conversation with another detective.

  Marc came up beside him and put a hand on his shoulder. “O’Hara wants to talk to us.”

  JP looked away from his conversation and caught Zach’s gaze, nodding once in greeting. Zach returned the nod and walked off with Marc.

  “Any word at all?” Zach asked. “Did you go to Shawkins’s house? Has Vivi called?”

  “Negative to all. They sent a cruiser to Shawkins’s place and he’s not home. The house is empty.”

  “Did they search?”

  “No warrant,” Marc said. “But I spoke with the officer who went over there, and they did a pretty thorough walk-around. He’s not home and no one is inside. And we’ll get a court order for a search warrant tomorrow.”

  “I don’t need a fucking search warrant,” Zach practically spat. “Aren’t you worried about Vivi?” And Sam. Where was Sam?

  “Hell, yes, I am. Her boss said she missed a staff meeting, which isn’t that unusual. But she’s not answering her phone, and JP found out she hasn’t used it all day since I left her in town this morning. They don’t have a location on it yet.”

  They exchanged a look as the two detectives came around the corner, jackets off, guns on display. Ron Larkin’s tie was askew, but O’Hara was as smooth as if he’d just walked into the office.

  “Gentlemen,” O’Hara said, extending a hand. “We’d like to review some facts with you.”

  “Here’s the only facts you need to know, Detective.” Zach got right into his face, not caring he was covered in dried mud, not caring his scars were on full display, and sure as shit not caring that he hadn’t been asked. “Samantha Fairchild was abducted about an hour ago, shortly after an eighteen-wheeler tracked her to the middle of the state and attempted to kill both of us. It is your job to find her, and if you won’t, I will. And I don’t care what fucking laws I have to break or whose fucking neck I have to snap to do it.”

  “One more word and you’ll be arrested for threatening an officer.”

  Zach’s fists curled, but Marc got hold of him. “Hear him out, Zach, and get some more information. Where the hell are you going to go? They might have some clues.”

  His blood boiled, his whole being anxious to bolt and go… somewhere. Anywhere but here. O’Hara opened the door to an office and led them in. But the other detective, Larkin, held back and put a hand on Zach’s arm.

  “Listen, I’m kind of alone in the way I feel, but I really like your Sam, and think she’s getting the shaft. One of the cops who lost his job because of her happened to be O’Hara’s friend. So, you’re not going to get anywhere by pissing him off. But I want to help her. Do you have any idea at all where she might be? I’ll send somebody out.”

  “Detective!” O’Hara’s voice was sharp. “Close the door, and I’ll handle this alone.”

  Larkin gave his partner a quick look, and a half-assed shrug to Zach, then left, slamming the door. Inside, O’Hara was at a table, clicking a laptop and firing questions at Marc.

  “Did Ms. Sly say why she gave these computer files to your cousin and not the police?”

  “She said she didn’t trust the police,” Marc replied.

  Zach stayed standing, considering what would happen if he went after Larkin and took the help he offered.

  “Did she say if there were any other copies?”

  “For Chrissake, Detective, what difference does it make?” Zach exclaimed. “What’s on it tells you that the old guy who used to run the Irish mob is the father of the victim’s wife. Where the hell is she in all this?”

  “Under surveillance.”

  Behind his eyes—the good and the bad—tiny red spots of anger exploded. “You have her under your watch, but not Sam Fairchild?”

  “Surveillance, Mr. Angelino, not police protection. Because we consider her a person of interest, if not a suspect. Not a witness who has a record of making the wrong call.”

  Zach’s fist formed just as the door opened and a woman demanded their attention. “We have a homicide report that you’ll be interested in, Detective O’Hara.”

  And then his fist relaxed, his body suddenly numb, the surge of adrenaline that had just riled him turning to hot ice in his chest, strangling and suffocating.

  A homicide report.

  Sam. God, no, not Sam.

  “What is it?” O’Hara asked, walking out to talk to her.

  Zach inched toward the door, listening, catching bits of the woman’s words.

  “Vic is a female… one of the Charlestown… shot in the head. Vehicle owned by…” The rest of the words slipped away, like Zach’s whole world.

  His world, his heart, his life. Gone. Not Sam. Please, God, not after he just found her again.

  And, holy hell, not Vivi.

  He stood behind a chair, his fingers digging into the leather, his jaw clenched tight enough to break his teeth.

  O’Hara stepped back in, calm and cool. He pointed to Zach and Marc, using two fingers. “You stay here until I get back. Detective Larkin will lock this room, and no one goes near that laptop.” He started to leave, but Zach snagged his sleeve, whipping it around.

  “Who is it?”

  “We don’t have a positive ID.”

  Zach’s blood reached the boiling point as he fisted the shirt and his nostrils flared. “Who?”

  O’Hara just stared hard at him, then jerked his arm free. “It appears that Taylor Sly is dead, Mr. Angelino. So that little jump drive right there, that truly is the key to at least one murder and maybe more.”

  Relief washed through him. Taylor Sly, not Samantha Fairchild.

  Still, he wanted to go to the Charlestown wharf to see this female victim and verify the cop’s statement. He let go and nodded once, grateful for the information. Marc waved him out into the hall.

  “I heard,” Marc said softly. “The victim is Sly.”

  “Maybe.”

  JP marched toward them. “C’mere,” he said, taking them to a far corner in the hallway. “I have to talk to you.”

  They stood close together, the three of them in front of the large window that looked out over the parking lot. Over his shoulder, Zach watched as Larkin went back into the office that was supposed to be locked.

  “I have someone tracing the location of Vivi’s phone,” JP said softly. “Not supposed to, but at this point, I’ve cracked the rules pretty bad.” He looked hard at Zach. “No word on Sam?”

  “No.” Zach’s gaze moved to the parking lot, falling on a man who crossed with purpose in his gait. He looked familiar… Keegan Kennedy. The maître d?
?? of Paupiette’s. What was he doing here? He was on the phone, then snapped it closed, walking to a compact car in the parking lot.

  Over JP’s shoulder, Detective Larkin stepped out of the room they’d just been in, ending a call at the same time. And Zach’s gut flared like the Fourth of July over the Charles River.

  “C’mon,” he said to Marc. “Let’s go.”

  “Where?” JP asked.

  “Just…” Zach looked at him, then notched his head to include JP as well. “You, too.”

  They got into an elevator and beat Larkin downstairs, slipping out through the side door and into JP’s big 150 truck.

  “Pull around and see where he goes,” Zach said, after telling them who Keegan Kennedy was. Kennedy zipped a little white Prius around to the other side of the building, and Larkin walked out and around the front of the car. And got in.

  “Would you look at that,” Marc said. “Interesting bedfellows.”

  “Follow them,” Zach told JP. “Maybe they’re going to Charlestown.”

  But in two turns, it was apparent they weren’t going to Charlestown at all, and Zach had to make a decision. He went with his gut. “Stay with them, JP. I want to know where they’re headed together, and why.”

  Without arguing, JP drove down Mass Ave, staying well behind the Prius, but not losing it, until it turned onto St. Botolph Street.

  “Paupiette’s,” Zach said.

  “So the question isn’t why is Kennedy going with Larkin to work, but why is Larkin going with Kennedy to work?” Marc asked.

  “Not to work,” Zach corrected. “The restaurant is closed on Tuesdays.”

  The three-story brownstone on the corner was definitely dark and deserted. Marc drove down the street, slowing at the alley just as Keegan and Larkin turned the corner, toward the kitchen entrance that Zach couldn’t see from this position.

  “I know how to get into the basement,” Zach said. “And I happened to leave it unlocked when I left here this morning.”

  Marc looked at him. “You’re full of surprises today.”

  “Let’s do it,” JP agreed.

  Marc parked a short distance away, and they slipped into the alley and down the three steps to the basement entrance, and walked right in.