Authors: Penny McCall
“There’s a very important reason,” Patrice said. “Hurting her hurts you.”
“Right,” Vivi put in, “he’s going to be all broken up if something happens to me.”
Patrice ignored her. “I find it interesting,” she said to Daniel, “that you would sacrifice yourself for a woman who was a nuisance just a few days ago.”
“That’s why Flip and Hatch went after her at Boston Common. I was the original target—”
“But as soon as they told me you were protecting her, it was irresistible.” Patrice gave Vivi one of those down-the-nose superior looks. “She was easier to get to, for one thing. She won’t pick up a gun, for Christ’s sake.”
“I picked it up,” Vivi said, “I shot it, too. Just not at anyone.”
“Which only proves my point,” Patrice shot back. “God knows why you care about her, Daniel, but you do, and you’re going to have to watch her die, just like I lost Bobby.”
“Who’s Bobby?”
“Her brother, Bobby Flynn,” Daniel said to Vivi. “Long story short, I caught him selling drugs, he shot me, he went to jail.”
“And one of those animals in federal prison stabbed him to death,” Patrice said. “I spent all this time working my way into your trust, Daniel, so that when the time came, I could make you pay.”
“You’re avenging your brother’s death.”
“I’m finishing what he started,” Patrice said. “My father was killed by Sappresi’s goons, and it was left to Bobby to avenge his death and unite the families. But Bobby never could do anything right.”
“And Joe Flynn was just a figurehead.”
“Joe Flynn couldn’t strategize his way out of bed in the morning, but the families are run by men. So I let Joe do what he does best, which is talk. But I put the words in his mouth.”
“Let’s see if I have all this,” Daniel said to Patrice. “Avenge your brother, unite the mob, take over the city.”
“You forgot the part where I kill you.”
“That falls under the vengeance part of the program.”
“Oh, it does more than that. Taking out a federal prosecutor, especially one I’m known to be friends with, gives me credibility.”
Daniel moved a couple feet away from Vivi, and leaned against a half-stripped pickup. “You definitely take the prize for forward planning,” he said.
“Timing is everything,” she said. “I knew this moment would come, and I wanted to be ready.”
“Pull that trigger and you sign your own death warrant. At least two people connected with the FBI know you took Vivi hostage, and Tony Sappresi helped me find this place. He’ll trade you for a plea agreement in a heartbeat. Hell, he’d be happy to do the time. Fingering you would make him a hero to his bosses, instead of a disgrace.”
Patrice lifted one shoulder in an elegant shrug. “Tony can say whatever he wants. It’ll be hard to prove without a body.” And she cocked the gun.
Daniel’s first instinct was to put himself in the line of fire. He shifted away again. Patrice swung the gun his way, but Vivi jumped in.
“Hatch is really looking forward to pulling the trigger,” she said.
“I know,” Patrice said, “but it has to be me. It should have been me all along. I have to prove I can do my own dirty work before I can expect others to do it for me.”
“Well, I have to give you credit,” Vivi said. “It can’t be easy for you to murder someone you’re in love with.”
Hatch shifted ever so slightly, his gaze sliding from Patrice to Daniel.
“She’s just saying that to upset you,” Patrice said to Hatch. “It’s not true.”
“Really?” Daniel put in. “So all those times you wanted me to spend the night, you were lying?”
“Yes.”
“Every time I dropped you off, and you kissed me good night—”
“On the cheek,” Patrice said, her gaze shifting between Daniel, Vivi, and Hatch so quickly she had to be getting dizzy.
“But you pressed yourself against me, and, while I’m no expert on women, I figured out how to tell when a girl likes me in the seventh grade.”
Hatch went for his gun.
Patrice stepped in front of him again. “They’re just trying to make you irrational so I’ll send you away.”
“If we’re just trying to make Hatch irrational, deny it,” Vivi said.
“Shut up and go stand over there,” Patrice said to Vivi, pointing to a large, grease-stained tarp laid out on the floor about ten yards behind Daniel. There was nothing around the tarp to get splattered with blood, Daniel noticed. Not a good sign for anyone without a weapon. And he and Vivi were still in the direct path of Patrice’s gun.
But for once Vivi’s stubbornness was working in his favor.
“No way,” she said to Patrice. “If I go stand over there you’re going to try to shoot me.”
“I’m not going to just try.”
Vivi crossed her arms and held her ground.
“Hatch.”
Hatch jumped at Patrice’s command, but Vivi wasn’t cooperating. She didn’t run, not with a gun aimed at her, but she was agile, ducking and jumping out of the way whenever Hatch reached for her. Finally he snatched her up, carried her over to the tarp, and plopped her down.
“You have to get out of the way,” Patrice said to Hatch.
“She’ll run.”
“Not after I shoot her.”
Patrice was focused entirely on Vivi, and Patrice was juggling two guns. Daniel dove aside, away from Vivi. Patrice claimed she knew what she was doing, but she wasn’t going to pull a Wyatt Earp and blast away with both guns. Her first shot whiffed past him, and he was on her before she could squeeze off another.
Since he had her by sixty pounds or so, it was no contest, and Daniel wound up with all three guns. Unfortunately, he also wound up with Patrice and, unlike the guns, she wouldn’t stay where he put her . . . And where the hell was Vivi anyway?
He finally saw her running through the place like the villain in that James Bond movie, ducking through stripped car bodies, jumping over dollies and toolboxes, catapulting off bumpers, trying to keep some large piece of equipment between her and Hatch at all times. Hatch lumbered along behind, shoving obstacles aside instead of going around them, two hundred thirty pounds of muscle guided by a pea-sized brain that was tunnel-visioned on Vivi.
“Hey,” Daniel yelled.
Hatch didn’t even break stride, but Vivi was distracted long enough to fall back within arm’s length just as they got to the tarp. Or maybe she let Hatch catch up. Either way, it was his downfall, literally. He lunged forward, his fingertips feathering through the ends of her long hair at the same time his feet slid on the grease-covered tarp and flew out from underneath him. He slammed flat on his back, his breath grunting out, three or four long, black hairs clutched in his right fist. He didn’t get back up.
Vivi turned around and took in the sight of Daniel holding a gun on Patrice. Her hands went to her hips, and she smiled full out, nodding once in satisfaction at a job well done.
“He would have let you go as soon as he saw that I had Patrice at gunpoint,” Daniel said to her.
She looked down at Hatch on the ground, his eyes rolled back in his head, wheezing in shallow breaths. “My way works, too.”
Chapter 28
THE BOSTON P.D.—LED BY OFFICER CRANSTON—
arrived to shut down the stolen car operation. The FBI collected Patrice and Hatch. Daniel went along to make sure they were incarcerated with Flip. Vivi tried to make a quiet retreat and found herself flanked by men in black suits, one of whom she recognized. Not to mention his nose was still taped.
“I gave you coffee,” she said to him.
“And now I’m going to give you a ride,” he said, looking more like it was revenge than repayment.
Probably he’d gotten in trouble for getting his nose broken. And failing to keep her under surveillance. Probably he wouldn’t make that mistake again. “Why am I being arrested?”
“You’re not being arrested,” the coffee drinker said with tangible regret. “You’re being debriefed.”
The man was going to need a lesson in stoic if he ever expected to be a really good agent. Maybe Daniel could teach him.
“I’m really tired,” Vivi said, not to mention heartsick. Daniel hadn’t even given her a second look. He’d just walked away like she’d never been anything to him. And who was she kidding besides herself? If she’d ever meant anything to Daniel, her tie to Anthony Sappresi and her lie about it had destroyed it. “Can’t we do this next week? Just about any day works for me.”
The coffee drinker and his partner each took an elbow and started walking. Vivi had two choices, go along peaceably or be dragged. She chose Door Number Three, digging in her heels, not going willingly.
They lifted and kept walking with her suspended between them. They weren’t even putting a lot of exertion into it. That was just adding insult to injury. “This is chauvinistic,” she said. “This is police brutality. I bet you don’t haul around drug lords like this.”
“Drug lords can have us killed.”
“I can put a curse on you,” Vivi shot back. “How’d you like to go bald?”
Their eyes cut to each other, and they put her down. Of course they were at the car by then, and the threat of hair loss didn’t keep them from bundling her into the backseat. The coffee drinker got in beside her and made sure her seat belt was good and tight. Vivi figured she was lucky he didn’t handcuff her to the shackle bolts set into the door. Or gag her.
“I can already see how this is going to go,” she said when the other agent put the car in gear and it glided silently away from City Salvage. “And not because I have special powers of insight.”
SHE WAS RIGHT, TOO. THEY DIDN’T BELIEVE A WORD she said, not when everything she knew had come to her psychically, and she was dealing with guys who were almost as fanatical about proof as Daniel.
She’d covered the story twice, and they weren’t letting her go. She was in a D.C. hotel with an agent stationed outside the door, and since the information was only flowing in one direction she had no idea what they had planned for her. When the phone rang, she figured it was one of two things: either they were going to ask more questions or they were going to have her arrested. It was neither of those. It was something she’d never even considered.
“Vivi?”
“Daniel,” she said back, managing to get his name out while the shock of hearing his voice equated to numbness. That split second passed, her heart shot up into her throat, and it felt like somebody was banging on cymbals about two inches from her head.
“Still not calling me Ace?”
Since that was obvious, she didn’t figure it needed a response. Not that she could talk anyway.
“How’s it going?” he asked.
Vivi put her head between her knees, waiting for the clanging and nausea to pass, and when it did the pain came rushing in, nearly as debilitating. But at least she could talk.
“You there.”
“Yes.”
“Say something.”
“You called me.” Not the most original or scintillating comeback in the world, but at least she got it out in a credibly even voice.
“Mike tells me you’re still being debriefed.”
“Did you call to gloat?”
“Actually, I was wondering why you hadn’t left.”
“What would be the point? Unless I’m planning to put all my belongings into a bandanna tied around a stick and haunt the train yards.”
“Not taking Maxine on the lam with you?”
“Maxine expects a regular diet of gas and oil, and in order to satisfy her appetite I need money. Money means customers, and that means going home. And the minute I hit my front door your buddies will arrest me again.”
“They’re not my buddies.”
She ignored his disclaimer. “And they’ll think I took off because I have something to hide,” she said, which was true if she considered her feelings for Daniel—although as far as she knew that wasn’t a jailable offense. As it was she’d left that out of the narrative. Falling in love had nothing to do with hit men and mob activity. It didn’t really have anything to do with her anymore either, except it would take longer to get over than the fear of death. “I figure they’ll ask me to recap the events at least one more time, two tops. Then they’ll let me go, and I won’t have to worry about the FBI again.”