As Good as Dead (3 page)

The Penghetti brothers should he rotting in jail, maybe even facing execution, but thanks to their hit man and to Luke’s fears, they were still free to operate as though they were a mafia organization out of prohibition days. Only now it was drugs, not alcohol. Luke had heard nothing about the brothers since their case had been dismissed for lack of evidence. He blamed himself for that.

Luke couldn’t count the number of times he’d thought about going back and setting the record straight, even if it meant his own arrest or death, but there were more complications now than ever. Surfacing as Luke Delaney would not only endanger Angel and the rest of his family, but also his wife and child. Kinsey and Marie. He didn’t know if refusing to disappear would’ve changed things and he never would, because he had no intention of turning himself in now or ever.

Luke watched the crowd disperse. They’d be going to St. Matthews for food and fellowship. When his mother and sister reached the limos, he turned up his collar and turned his back on the grave and toward the cutting wind coming off the ocean. It was time to go back to what he now called home.

“Luke?”

Luke stopped, panic tearing through him. He turned slightly, and his breath came out in a rush as he recognized his best friend. “Nick.” Luke jammed his hands in his pocket and glanced around. They were alone except for the gardener, who was still digging around the plants.

“I wasn’t sure,” Nick said. “I saw you standing out here by yourself and... I kept telling myself it couldn’t be you, but something told me you’d be here. I knew you couldn’t stay away.”

Luke closed his eyes, wondering who else had seen through his guise. “Did you tell anyone?”

“No, of course not.”

“Then forget you’ve seen me. And don’t say anything to anyone.”

“I can’t do that.” Nick frowned, his eyes full of questions. “Not without some kind of explanation.”

Luke hesitated and glanced around again. This was a mistake, but he couldn’t put Nick off. “All right. Follow me to my hotel, and we’ll talk.”

Luke had checked into an older hotel in Lincoln City. He went there now, relieved in a way, but worried too. When he’d first gone into hiding, Nick had been his one confidant. Like the best friend he’d always been, Nick wired him money, paving the way for him to start his new life. Luke had told him only that his life was in danger, nothing else. And he’d cut off all contact with Nick after that. Now he had to weigh carefully how much he could tell his friend and hope Nick wouldn’t feel legally or morally compelled to tell his secret—or worse, arrest him for the shootings in Florida.

The watcher knelt at the far side of the cemetery, not thirty yards from where the service had been held, digging weeds and letting the moist earth seep into his blue coveralls. The mourners had all left except for the two men by the tree. He knew the cop and strongly suspected the guy with the beard was Luke Delaney. Who else could it be, keeping to himself like that—like some kind of criminal.

Both men made their way down the hill and got into their respective cars. The watcher brushed the dirt from his knee and hurried to his own vehicle, a rented gray Honda. Following at a safe distance, he pulled a cell phone from his pocket. It rang twice before someone answered.

“Hello,” came the familiar voice at the other end.

“He’s here. Just like you said he’d be.”

“Did he contact anyone?”

“A cop.”

“Then you’ll have to kill them both.”

“That wasn’t part of the deal.” He hauled in a ragged breath. He’d been hired to watch and report, nothing else.

“There’ll be a bonus in it,” his boss told him.

“What kind of bonus?” The watcher swallowed hard. He didn’t much like the idea of killing a cop, but if the money was right...

“Ten thousand.”

“For two men and one of them a cop? No way.”

“Fifteen thousand.”

“Twenty.”

“All right, but that’s it.”

“Good,” he said, not wanting to sound too anxious. “How do I get the money?”

“I’ll Express Mail it as soon as I see the pictures.”

“I have to take pictures?” He rubbed a hand through his damp hair.

“Is this too much for you to handle?” The voice came with a warning. “If it is, tell me now, and I’ll do the job myself.”

“N-no. I’ll handle it.” He hung up, his heart beating so hard he thought it would explode in his chest. He’d never killed anyone before—hadn’t ever intended to. For twenty grand, though, he’d do it. It shouldn’t be too hard.

He slowed his vehicle as Delaney and the cop pulled into the parking lot at the Sea Captain Motel north of town and almost into Lincoln City.

To avoid detection the watcher drove past, then made a U-turn and went back. He pulled into the lot and parked at the far end near the second exit and across from the covered pool area. The men had gotten out of their cars and were climbing the outside stairs. Delaney stopped at room 229 and inserted a key.

Once both men had stepped inside, the watcher grabbed his bag and hurried to the pool building. Pleased to find the door ajar, he went into the men’s restroom to change. The musty smell of mold and chlorine made it hard to breathe. Unzipping the coveralls, he stepped out of them and straightened the shirt and jeans he’d worn underneath. The jeans were still damp at the knees. He stuffed the coveralls into his bag and, after using the facilities, went back
to his car. While he waited, he took his .45 out of the glove box and thought about how he’d pull off his assignment. He wouldn’t try to kill both men at once. That would be suicide. He’d have to wait until they separated. As soon as the cop left, he’d follow and take him out first. Then he’d come back for Delaney. With the semiautomatic, he’d get the job done and be out of town in minutes. He’d ditch the rental car after wiping away his prints. It would be a cinch.

Photos. The boss wants photos.
Where was he going to get a camera?

He remembered seeing a drugstore about a block away. He should have time to go there and get back before the two old friends finished yakking. Much as he hated leaving even for a minute, without a picture of the dead guys the shooting would be pointless. The boss had told him there’d be no money unless he had proof.

FOUR

T
he following Friday, Angel Delaney pulled the last box of clothes from her trunk and headed up the walk to her new home. It wasn’t new exactly; she’d grown up here. But according to the real estate contract sitting on the front seat of her Corvette, it was hers. Yes, she was moving in with her mother, but only because it seemed the thing to do. Besides, with the house now belonging to Angel, it was more like Ma moving in with her.

“Need some help?” Callen appeared in the doorway, looking more like a carpenter than a cop.

“Thanks.” Angel handed over the heavy box and kissed his stubbly cheek. He was wearing a white T-shirt and khaki cargo shorts. A leather tool belt hung around his waist. Angel thought he’d make a great model—especially with the sheen of moisture on his muscular arms and legs and the Sheetrock dust in his dark hair.

Callen had recently remodeled his own home and had offered to make some minor changes that would give Angel and her mother more space and more privacy.

Angel followed him down the hall to what was now her master bedroom suite, or would be as soon as the remodeling was done. She pulled aside the hanging plastic drop cloths meant to protect the rest of the house from dust. Not that it did anything of the sort.

Callen set the box next to the others on the newly carpeted floor.
She thanked him again and walked over to where a portion of the old house had been removed. “It’s coming along. I can hardly remember what it used to look like.”

“Like three small bedrooms coming off the hallway.” Callen chuckled. “Your brothers are mourning the loss of their rooms, but they’ll get over it.”

“They’ll have to. Besides, I don’t feel too sorry for them. It was their idea.”

Callen came up behind her and placed his hands on her shoulders. “Well, I had a little input. After all, one of these days you’ll marry me. We’ll probably live here and...” He paused to kiss her neck. “I thought it should be the kind of place we’d both enjoy.”

“Ulterior motives, huh?” She leaned back against him.

“You’d better believe it.” He rested his chin on her head, and they both looked out at the ocean. “This place has a great view. Almost as good as mine.”

“Hmm. Pretty soon I’ll be able to lie on my bed and watch the waves. Have I thanked you yet?”

“A few times.”

Angel thought back to when her mother had asked Angel to move in with her, the day after Frank had died. Her brothers and Callen had huddled with her and Anna, talking about what they planned to do with the place and how they would handle the finances. Angel had been surprised to learn that her father’s will stipulated she be given full ownership of the house and that Anna would continue to live there. It had been a manipulative ploy on his part. Before his death, he’d asked Angel to take care of her mother, and this was his way of making sure it happened. Angel could have refused and actually did object, saying her brothers should have a share. Tim, Peter, and Paul argued that they didn’t want or need anything. They finally agreed that if and when they ever decided to sell the house, Angel could share the profits with them. They also agreed to let Angel pay them back for the money they put into remodeling, if and when she had the money to do so.

Normally, Angel would have balked at being so blatantly manipulated by the men in her life. But she really did love the house and felt good about being there for her mother. The arrangement
seemed the perfect solution, since Angel could no longer afford to live in her ocean view apartment. She’d been a police officer with Sunset Cove and on a regular salary when she’d moved in. That had changed, hopefully for the better. She’d taken a forced leave and needed more time, so now she was on leave without pay. Recently, she’d begun working as a private detective for Rachael Rastovski, her favorite attorney and friend. So far the PI business had been less than lucrative. But she had finished up an investigation this past week and felt pretty good about it and the money she’d earned. Angel had solved the crime and ended up with a gunshot wound to the arm.

She couldn’t believe how much her brothers and Callen had accomplished in such a short time, but apparently, Tim had talked to their dad about the will right after the heart attack. Her brothers and a couple of hired laborers had been working since the day after the funeral, breaking out walls, rebuilding and pouring the concrete and framing in the new addition. When they were finished, she’d have a luxurious bathroom and master bedroom with a sliding glass door leading out to a private patio, which would, of course, have a Jacuzzi. Their idea of minor adjustments certainly didn’t fit with hers, but she wasn’t complaining.

Most of her stuff was in the garage, but she’d kept out a few things like clothes and kitchen and bathroom things.

“Any more boxes?” Callen said as he released her.

“Nope.” She stepped away, already missing the closeness. “That was the last. I put the others in the kitchen.” She chuckled. “Ma is already merging my stuff with hers.”

“She’s thrilled you’re moving back here.” Callen wore a pleased look as he hooked his thumbs on his belt.

“Apparently she’s not the only one.”

“I’m relieved. So are your brothers. Ever since that break-in at your apartment, none of us have been comfortable with you living alone.”

She still got a creepy feeling sometimes when she opened the door to the apartment, afraid of what she might find. It had been more than a break-in—the thugs had trashed everything in the place. She felt safer here but would never admit it.

Callen reached into a can for nails, which he dropped into a pouch on his tool belt. After pounding in several nails he tossed one aside. The action reminded her of something, and she chuckled.

“What’s so funny?” Callen glanced in her direction.

“Nothing, really. I just thought of a joke Pop used to tell about this builder. The guy would throw out about half the nails, and one day his boss asked him why. He said, ‘Cause they’re facing the wrong way.’”

Callen laughed.

“Wait, I’m not finished.”

“There’s more?”

“Yeah. The boss says, ‘You’re not throwing them out, are you?’ The guy says, ‘I was going to. You got a better idea?’ The boss says, ‘Yeah, just use them on the other side of the house.’”

“Cute.” Callen pulled several nails out of a pocket on his leather belt, tossing her the one that was facing the wrong way.

Angel tossed the nail back. She could have stood there all day watching Callen, but she had a massive list of things to do. “I’d better go help Ma before she gets all the boxes unloaded.” Stopping at the door, she said, “Not to rush you or anything, but when do you think you guys will be finished?”

Callen surveyed the king-sized mess. “Another week, maybe.”

“Okay.” She slipped out of the room and walked down the hall, determined not to show her disappointment. She’d spend another week sleeping in Luke’s old room, which was now their guest room.

Being in that room brought back far too many memories. Too much heartache. Was he alive? Dead? Why had he never contacted them? Would he ever? Why hadn’t he come to the funeral?

Maybe he had.
She thought about the mysterious stranger at the cemetery. She’d asked Nick about him several times, but he’d shrugged her off, saying it was someone he thought he recognized, but that he’d been mistaken.

It wasn’t Luke. But why can’t you stop thinking about it?

Going through the living room on her way to the kitchen, Angel
paused briefly to look at the red 1972 Corvette parked in the driveway. Luke’s car.

Luke had graduated from Harvard Law School with honors and moved to the Fort Myers area, where he took a job as assistant DA in the district attorney’s office. Everyone was so proud. But then came the terse note telling the family he was leaving and not coming back, and they were not to worry or try to find him. The note read like a will. In it he’d asked Angel to take care of his car.