Todd’s snores punctuated the drive back to the Harbor Hotel, and Chase shuddered to think about more tragedy narrowly averted.
One dead body a week is more than enough.
Pulling into the spot in front of Todd’s room, he nudged the kid’s shoulder, eliciting a growl from the tired intern. “Wake up, sleepyhead. Or rather, wake up and go to bed.”
Without cracking his eyelids, Todd swung open the car door and yawned. “Thanks for the lift, boss. Are you off to meet Emma at the police station?”
Chase scrunched his forehead, confused by the question. “Why would you ask that?”
Todd yawned again, standing up out of the car. He slammed the door and leaned in the open window, squinting with bleary eyes. “I’m pretty sure I saw her there this morning, on my drive to the Center. She was chatting with some guy in the parking lot before she went inside. Maybe it’s about the body you guys found Wednesday night?”
Emma and Chase hadn’t discussed the details of the murder and arson with the intern, let alone the possible ties to organized crime. He’d given Todd the barest outline of the circumstances when he explained the kid had to do the second trip with Captain Wilbur alone. Had that only been the day before?
“She was supposed to call me when she woke,” Chase mumbled, looking down at his phone. As he checked, the missed call icon suddenly appeared. “Okay, that’s weird. I swear I’ve been checking my phone all morning.”
“Yeah, the girl at the bar said cell reception gets screwy sometimes when there are too many people in town, overloading the circuits or something.” Todd stepped away from the side of the car and gave a wave. “I’m headed for some sleepage. Give me a couple hours and I’ll be solid again.”
Chase nodded, distracted. Should he check the motel room, in case Todd was mistaken? He clicked the icon and saw the missed call was from an unidentified number. He dialed in for messages, and Emma’s cheerful voice filled the car. He checked his watch while he listened to her say she’d be making a quick stop at the police station and should be to the Center for Coastal Studies by 11:30 at the very latest, including walking time and taking into account that she’d probably run into one or more of her mother’s friends. He laughed out loud, remembering how late she’d been that first lunch date at Bubeleh’s, but sobered quickly. It was already after twelve. Either she’d been held up at the station, or she’d run into Tony Lenzi.
Neither prospect sounded good.
The phone vibrated in his hand. Without glancing at the screen he answered. “Emma?”
A very male chuckle responded. “No, Charles, it’s Donald calling you back.”
Chase tried not to let disappointment color his voice. “Good to hear from you. Did you find anything interesting?”
“Indeed I did.” Papers shuffled in the background. “It seems none of the permits to build the Eco Dawn project have been approved. The land purchase itself to site the facility is in process but stalled, pending environmental reviews. The company expended enormous sums in consulting fees over the last few months, and awarded signing bonuses to the contractors who won the bidding on the various construction projects.”
Chase frowned. “Signing bonuses? Is that normal?”
“Not in the slightest. Several pending lawsuits already sit queued in the hopper, from environmental, community action, and neighborhood groups, waiting for when the project tries to move forward.”
“Lawsuits, huh? So if the permits go through, the project still doesn’t break ground because it’s tied up in court.”
“Which can drag on for years.”
Chase didn’t think the lawyer needed to sound so impressed by the prospect. “What happens to all the money donated toward building this project?”
Donald chuckled again. “I happened to get my hands on one of the many contracts Eco Dawn signed with one of the subcontractors. Don’t ask how. But the contract provides for quarterly payments in the event of delays.”
“For how long?”
“Indefinitely. Chase, there’s something going on here that’s a whole lot bigger than you imagined. The intricacies of this scheme will bleed Eco Dawn and the mayor’s coffers dry and leave the city nothing to show for the investment.”
Chase blinked hard, trying to comprehend the extent of this deception. “How much are we talking? Thousands of dollars? Tens of thousands?”
“Millions.”
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Emma stepped out into the sunshine and breathed a huge sigh of relief. The last hour had been excruciating, testing the limits of her smile to the breaking point. She totally regretted her natural instincts to be polite, and hoped she wouldn’t have to see Agent Roth or his underlings again for a long, long time. Especially that jerk McKay. She shuddered to think he’d been stalking her last night.
Who am I trying to kid?
They’d already been watching her for weeks now, if those reports were to be believed. The idea gave her the creeps. Sure, it sucked to think Tony was a mobster, but he didn’t lie to her until he started in with the whole pretend relationship thing. Random guys following her, taking photographs?
That
was totally unacceptable.
At least she’d gotten the answers she was seeking about the fire, even if she didn’t like what she heard. Intimidation? Scare tactics from some Irish gangsters she’d never even heard of?
Damn right I’m scared, but I’m not sure why I’m the target audience!
Why would anyone want to scare her? Because of her job in the mayor’s office? More likely it was her connection to Tony. Everyone seemed to think she dated him.
Bingo.
The revelation frightened her. They all thought she was his
goomah
, whatever that really meant. Mistress? Bitch? Girlfriend? At this point it didn’t matter. All Emma knew for sure is it meant trouble. It already landed her on the FBI watch list, for one thing. And if those federal agents were correct and a turf battle was brewing, someone else already decided to use her as a pawn in their game.
They all think they found Tony’s weakness. Me.
Too bad it wasn’t true.
She checked messages to see if Chase returned her earlier call, needing to hear a friendly voice. Instead, Tony’s gravelly one filled her ear. “Babe, it’s me. I’m in town but don’t know where to find you. Meet me for lunch at that sidewalk café with the Jewish name. I could use some good pastrami to help me think.”
Listening to his request, she almost laughed out loud.
Lunch at
Bubeleh’s? Really?
That’s what started the misunderstanding in the first place. But she needed to see him. She needed to clear the air on a few things, not the least of which was the part about being his
goomah
. At least Bubeleh’s was a nice public spot, no chance for anything shady to happen.
Not waiting to hear the rest of the messages, she dialed Chase’s number to let him know her change in lunch plans. He picked up right away. “Emma! Where are you?”
“Hi to you too,” she started, but he continued speaking over her.
“Todd said he passed you at the police station, talking to someone. Do they have a lead on the arson investigation?”
“There are leads all right—” She stopped short. The door to the station swung open, Agent Roth and his cadre stepped out into the sunshine. Should she tell them about her phone call from Tony? No, she wanted to give him a chance to tell his side of the story first, without the added complication of the FBI making her wear a wire or Chase tagging along. If she told Chase, he’d definitely be seated next to her at the table. She turned toward the sidewalk and lowered her voice. “Listen, how about I meet you in an hour at that same pub by the wharf? I’ll explain then.”
He agreed and she said a hasty goodbye. Was she doing the right thing? After everything she’d been told about Tony and his involvement in organized crime, she still thought of him as her friend. He deserved a chance to explain. Was she taking a risk going to Bubeleh’s alone? The memory of Vito’s bruised face ran through her mind, and she dug through her bag for Jim’s business card. She dialed the number and it went straight to voicemail.
All the better
. “Hi, Jim, it’s Emma. I wanted to let you know I’m headed to Bubeleh’s right now to meet with Tony. I assume the FBI will be following me to play paparazzi, but just in case I wanted to call you. To let someone know where I’m going. Um, I guess that’s all.”
She tucked her phone into her pocket and headed for Commercial Street, reminding herself of all the reasons to keep Chase’s name out of this mess. Her mess. As much as it made her feel better to have him by her side, she needed to take care of this alone. She didn’t want to scare him away before giving their relationship a real chance.
Relationship. Was that what she had with Chase, her billionaire environmental superhero? She smiled, thinking the description didn’t begin to scratch the surface of his true identity. Thoughtful, sexy, caring, hot, witty, sarcastic, adorable…the list went on and on. There was no way she wanted to let his name get associated with some criminal turf war. She certainly didn’t want to drag him through anything she didn’t have to, like meeting Tony or the federal agent jerkoffs she’d been dealing with all morning. His presentation at the global climate change summit next month meant so much to him, and if she dragged him into this mess the press would never let up.
Married to the Mob
would become more than a Carnival theme, turning into a catch phrase for their unlikely hookup.
She couldn’t let that happen.
First things first. Time to hear Tony’s side of the story.
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Chase checked his watch, the car engine still running. He had an hour to kill before meeting Emma, not quite enough time to return and finish the comparisons in the lab or fill out the last of the paperwork. Not that he could concentrate after his little chat with Donald. Even the thought of sitting down to type made him antsy. He needed to do something, even if it was only to walk off some of the extra energy coursing through his veins.
Did Emma know about the trouble brewing below the surface at Eco Dawn? Could someone so sweet be involved with a scheme to bilk millions from investors and leave the city in even worse ecological shape?
He pictured Emma, lying naked underneath him last night. Tangled in the sheets this morning, warm and soft and so inviting. His pulse spiked at the memories, both sensual and sweet. He should’ve stayed in bed with her, waking her with kisses trailed down her neck while his hands explored all those wonderful curves he claimed the night before.
She had to be innocent of anything criminal, and he wanted to help untangle the web she’d been caught in. Which reminded him, this was Emma’s rental. Todd left theirs in the Center’s parking lot this morning. He rolled up the windows and switched off the engine. He’d confiscated the other key from Todd earlier, about the same time the kid started falling asleep in his coffee mug.
The walk and some fresh air would do him good. Help him think straight. The only part he hadn’t fully considered was the soaring mid-August temperatures. The sun blazed down through still, humid air so that the second block started to feel more like an endurance marathon. Sweat trickled down his forehead, making him rethink both his long pants and the cross-town trek. By the time he made it several blocks and stood at the mid-point of Commercial Street’s length, he longed for a sea breeze—any breeze at all, even a whisper would do—to cool the thick, damp air. He should’ve changed into his cargo shorts. Or put on a simple T-shirt.
A sidewalk vendor with a snow cone cart waved him over. “You look like you really need one of these,” the man said, his eyebrows drawn in sympathy.
“Thanks.” Chase gratefully took the cone and bit off a hunk of the cooling ice. He felt his core temperature drop almost instantly.
“Glad to help. You’re not from around here.” The vendor stated it as a fact, scooping another cone and dousing it with lemon-lime syrup as a line formed behind Chase.
“I work along the coast quite a bit, but there’s usually a breeze,” Chase said. “This humidity is brutal.” He took another soothing bite, savoring both the tang and the cold.
“Yeah, it happens sometimes in August,” the vendor agreed, taking bills from the next customer. “But you know what they say. If you don’t like the weather, don’t worry. It’ll change soon enough.”
Chase raised the cone in salute. “Thanks again.” He turned to continue toward the Center but the vendor called after him. “Five bucks!”
Chase turned. “Excuse me?”
“What, you think snow cones grow on trees? Five bucks.” He handed out another cone and accepted payment before pointing at the sign on the side of the cart, which indeed read, “Luscious Louie’s Snow Cones, $5.”
Chase shook his head and pulled out his wallet, handing the guy a bill before continuing down the sidewalk. This town kept surprising him.
Judging from the sheer number of people jostling along Commercial Street, the weekend had already begun in earnest. Flapper dresses and unique interpretations of goodfella garb mingled with tank top clad tourists. Pinstriped booty shorts paired with fedoras seemed to be a favorite on both men and women. Loose feathers from myriad colorful boas littered the pavement. Tourists crowded the sidewalk to the left, snaking in a line toward the sign reading Bubeleh’s Café. The heady scent of fish and chips permeated the air, memories of his first kiss with Emma searing through him.
A pedicab rang its bell too near his elbow, causing Chase to stumble out of the way, spilling lemon-lime syrup down the front of his shirt. “Sorry,” the cabbie called with an apologetic wave. Trying to wipe the stain while still holding the dripping snow cone, he didn’t notice the man walking straight toward him until they stood face-to-face. “Detective Wilton,” Chase said, trying not to sound surprised. “I’d shake your hand but…” He held up the remnants of dripping paper cone, plastered to his sticky hand. “I thought Emma was with you at the police station.”
Wilton looked him up and down, taking in the stained shirt and rumpled appearance. “She mentioned she planned to meet you for lunch. Is that where you’re headed?”
Chase frowned. “Not yet. I’m on my way to the Center for Coastal Studies for the rental car. My intern was in no shape to drive it back to the motel.” The detective looked away, but the expression on his face made Chase feel defensive. “He’s not drunk, not at this hour. He’s a good kid but he stayed out all night at a party and is exhausted. I didn’t want him falling asleep at the wheel.”