Lethal Legacy: A Novel (Guardians of Justice) (23 page)

For what felt like an eternity he stared at her, a pulse beating in his temple. But at last he rose, grabbed her arm, and yanked her to her feet. “Let’s try this again.”

He didn’t let go of her as they descended, or when he bent to retrieve his gun. Once he had it in his hand, he shoved her away and pointed it at her. “Lay on the floor. Face down. Put your arms straight out.”

Shaking, she lowered herself to the concrete and did as he instructed.

She heard him moving about, and then her legs were pulled together and she could feel him wrapping the towels around them again. This time, though, whatever he secured them with wasn’t a rope. It was even tighter.

“Roll onto your back and sit up.”

She did so, checking out her ankles. They were bound with a plastic restraint.

The kind cops like him carried.

“Put your hands behind your back.”

He disappeared behind her, and in less than thirty seconds her wrists were once again secured. Grasping her arms from behind, he dragged her back to the shelving post and trussed her tightly to it with the wire he’d used before.

She watched him pick up the dreaded strip of cloth, and her stomach clenched. “Please . . . no one can hear me down here and—”

“Unless you want another knee in the ribs, open up.”

Pressure built behind her eyes. This wasn’t a battle she was going to win. She opened her mouth.

He tugged the cloth tight, and once more it sucked the moisture out of her mouth. She gagged again.

This time he took no notice. After giving her bonds one final check, he rose and crossed to the steps, his earlier cockiness replaced by deadly intent.

The familiar beeping of the alarm sounded, followed by the opening and closing of the back door.

Once again she was alone.

But he’d be back. And the next time he left, she knew she’d be with him.

As a tear trailed down her cheek, she let out a shuddering breath—and sent a silent prayer heavenward.

Please, Lord, let Lauren get my message and pass it on to Cole. Because that’s my last hope.

“You think he’ll show?”

At Mitch’s question, Cole looked toward the entrance of the small, deserted park Marco Rossi—or Mark, as the man had corrected him during their brief phone conversation two hours ago—had specified as a meeting place.

“Yeah. Although he didn’t sound happy about it.” Cole burrowed his hands into the pockets of his slacks, wishing he’d brought his trench coat. St. Louis was chilly; this was full-fledged winter. But he hadn’t expected to be spending any time outdoors.

“It would have been easier for him if we stopped by his job site or met him at a nearby café.”

“I got the distinct impression he didn’t want to have to explain to anyone who we were or why we wanted to talk with him.”

“If he’s that obsessed about disassociating himself from his father, Rossi may be telling the truth. His son might not know anything about his life or his business.”

“We’re here. We have the time. It’s worth a try.” Cole tipped his head toward the entrance of the park. “Here he is. Right on schedule.”

Cole watched the tall, raven-haired man with dark eyes stride toward them. His work boots, jeans, flannel shirt, and thermal vest were a world removed from the suit and tie his father had worn this morning, but there was no disguising the distinctive Rossi features.

When he drew close, Cole stepped forward. “Mr. Rossi?”

“Yes. Detective Taylor, I assume.” He held out his hand, and Cole took it, then introduced Mitch. Mark shook hands with him too. “Thank you for keeping your identity confidential when you spoke with my boss.”

“We didn’t want to put you in an awkward position. Our research indicated you and your father are estranged.”

Mark snorted. “That’s a polite way of putting it. If I never see the man again it will be too soon. He’s scum.” He practically spat out the last word.

Cole exchanged a look with Mitch.

“Sorry if that sounds harsh.” Mark shoved his hands into the pockets of his vest, not sounding in the least sorry. “But it’s the truth. That’s why I keep my distance. We may share a name, but I want people to know that’s
all
we share.” He glanced around the empty park. “Sorry if this was inconvenient, but I wanted a place where there wasn’t any chance I’d run into someone I know. I did eat up a lot of my lunch hour getting here, though. So how can I help you? You said you were conducting an investigation that involved my father?”

Cole gave him a quick recap of the case. As he spoke, Mark’s lips thinned and compressed.

“Near the end of the meeting, I mentioned you,” Cole concluded. “Your father said you knew nothing about his business or his life.”

“That’s true. Nor do I want to.” The man’s eyes hardened. “But if you’re asking me whether I think your case fits his MO, the answer is yes. I did a lot of research on him in my younger years, and even though he was never convicted of murder, I have no doubt he arranged multiple hits. That was how the Rossi empire operated. If you were disloyal, you died. From what I learned, however, my father took great pains to cover his tracks. My guess is it will be very, very difficult to tie him to this crime.”

Not what he wanted to hear. Stifling a sigh, Cole withdrew a business card from his pocket and handed it to Mark. “If by chance you have contact with him or learn anything relevant to our case, I’d appreciate a call.”

The man took the card. Read it. Pocketed it. “Oddly enough, he did make contact. Last week.”

Cole’s antennas went up. “Why?”

“When he got out of prison, he tried to connect with me. I blew him off, and he let it rest. But now I have a son, and the Rossis were always big on family. He sent a gift in the mail, but we refused the package. So last week he showed up at my door with a teddy bear. Gave a sob story to my wife about how he’s getting old and wants to spend time with his grandson. She fell for it. I didn’t.” His jaw tensed. “On one hand he wants to be a loving grandfather, and on the other he’s still setting up hits. How sick is that?”

Very. But Cole treated the question as rhetorical and let it pass. “You wouldn’t happen to know the names of any of his colleagues, would you?”

“Sorry. I wish I could help you.” Mark narrowed his eyes. “But I’ll tell you what. I don’t appreciate being dragged into his sordid affairs. So I think I’ll pay him a visit tonight to pass that message on. I can do a little digging while I’m there, if you want me to.”

Cole grabbed at the unexpected offer. “We’ll take any help we can get.”

“Consider it done. He’s gotten away with too many murders—and ruined too many lives. Mine included, for a long time. For him, being a Rossi is a status symbol. For me, it’s a stigma. I thank God every day I found a woman who was willing to marry me despite my family history. If her parents weren’t in poor health, we’d leave this town behind in a heartbeat.” He checked his watch. “I need to get back to work. If I ferret out any information that seems helpful, I’ll call you tonight.”

“I appreciate that.” Cole extended his hand, and the other man took it in a firm grip. After shaking hands with Mitch too, he turned and trekked back toward the entrance, leaving them alone in the silent park.

“That was interesting.” Mitch watched the man walk away.

“Yeah. He is one angry dude.”

“I might be too, if I had Rossi for a father.”

“At least he’s willing to help. And I’m glad we contacted him. He wouldn’t be going to see his father tonight if we hadn’t.”

“That doesn’t mean Rossi will tell him anything.”

“A mob boss who wants to see his grandson badly enough to tote around a teddy bear might open up a little if he thinks it will help his cause.”

“I’m not getting my hopes up. In the meantime”—Mitch looked at his watch—“we have a plane to catch . . . which I guarantee is overbooked. And we’re already cutting it close. I don’t know about you, but I do
not
want to spend Thanksgiving in Buffalo.”

“Me, neither.” He started toward the exit, and Mitch fell in beside him.

“So did you pick up the pies yet?”

Cole shot him an annoyed look. “I’m getting them tonight, okay? The bakery’s open late. Don’t you ever think about anything but food?”

“Sure.” He grinned. “Alison’s also on my short list of things to think about. Right alongside pumpkin pie.”

“I think I’ll tell her you said that.” Cole’s lips twitched as they passed through the iron gate at the entrance to the small neighborhood park and walked toward their car.

“If you do, I’ll share your Superman story with Kelly.”

Cole stopped abruptly and faced Mitch. “Alison told you about that?”

“Let’s see, how does it go?” Mitch tipped his head. “When you were ten, you decided your Superman cape gave you the power to fly from the garage roof to the deck. That bit of youthful exuberance and stupidity landed you in the emergency room. Eight stitches later, you were grounded for a month. Did I get it right?”

Warmth rose on Cole’s neck. “Alison is in big trouble. That’s a family secret.”

“I’ll be family soon.”

“Don’t remind me.”

Mitch chuckled. “How about this? I won’t tell your story to Kelly if you don’t tell Alison I put her in the same category as pumpkin pie.”

“Is that a bribe?”

“Think of it as a trade.”

“Deal.”

“Okay. Now let’s get on that plane and go home.”

Mitch struck out for the car again, and Cole followed, fishing the key out of his pocket. The trip had been a long shot, and so far it had been a bust. But maybe Mark’s confrontation with his father tonight would produce some usable information.

As he slid into the driver’s seat, Cole readjusted his priorities for the evening. He’d get the pies—but the first thing he planned to do when the wheels touched down in St. Louis was check his voice mail.

And hope Mark Rossi had left a message with some helpful news.

“Shaun. Shaun!” Lauren raised her voice, trying to catch her husband’s attention. But half a dozen of the under-ten cousins were in the midst of a raucous foosball tournament in her in-law’s basement family room, while the fathers cheered from the sidelines.

She finally caught his attention after she resorted to flapping her arms.

“What’s up?” He kept one eye on the game as he joined her.

“Your sister dropped your mom’s bowl of homemade cranberry sauce and I volunteered to go to the grocery store and get some of the canned stuff.”

He rolled his eyes. “That sounds like Caitlin. She’s always been a klutz. And my mouth’s been watering for my mom’s cranberry sauce for two years.” A shriek came from behind him, and he cringed. “Want some company?”

“The din getting to you too?” She grinned.

“Remind me never to complain again about the noise at our house when the twins get rowdy.”

“I’ll keep that in mind.” She took his arm. “We’re outta here. The decibel level is worse than a rock concert.”

“Joe!” Shaun called out to his brother-in-law. “Caitlin dropped Mom’s cranberry sauce. We’re going out to get some canned stuff. Watch the boys, okay?”

“Sure. Sorry about the cranberry sauce.” He gave them a sheepish smile.

“I grew up with her. I’m used to it.” With a wave, Shaun turned toward the stairs.

Three minutes later, after retrieving their coats, they stepped out into the cold—and quiet.

Lauren closed her eyes, took a deep breath of the frosty air, and smiled. “Peace.”

“Hey.” He took her hand, and she looked at him. “Thanks for being a good sport. I know this is a lot of family togetherness for an only child.”

She squeezed his fingers and tugged him toward the car. “No problem. As long as it’s only every two years.”

Unfortunately, their reprieve was shorter than she’d hoped. The store was less than a mile away, and in fifteen minutes they were once more in the car, mission accomplished.

“Are you ready to go back?” Shaun stuck the key in the ignition but didn’t start the engine.

“No. But we don’t have any excuse to delay. Do we?” She gave him a hopeful look.

“I haven’t checked my voice mail today. Have you?”

“No.” She picked up her purse from the floor and began to rummage for her phone. “It won’t buy us much time, but I’ll take whatever I can get.”

“Me too.” He pulled his phone off his belt and grinned at her. “Don’t rush.”

“Trust me, I won’t. I’ll even check the home machine.”

“Sounds like a plan.”

Angling away, she started with her work number, scribbling notes as she listened and returning a couple of calls that could have waited until after the holiday, just to eat up a few more minutes. Shaun seemed to be doing the same thing. His muted discussion about the pros and cons of different stone for a house he was designing was definitely not urgent.

Once she finished with work-related calls, she dialed into their home service. Only three messages. Too bad.

The first was a reminder about a dental appointment next week. The second was from the library, letting her know a book she’d reserved was waiting. The third, left three hours ago, was from Kelly.

And it was weird.

In the background, she heard Shaun close his phone and slip it back onto his belt. Shifting toward him, she frowned. “There’s a strange message on our home machine from Kelly.”

“What do you mean, strange?”

“Listen.”

She put the phone on speaker and replayed the message.

Shaun’s brow wrinkled. “What’s with the lunch bit? I thought she knew we were leaving last night?”

“She did. She also knows we won’t be back until Sunday, so why did she mention getting together Friday? And at Hacienda, of all places. She hates Mexican food.”

“The turkey comment is also odd. She knows you don’t like it.”

“It’s all odd. Including the hiking thing. Unless St. Louis has warmed up a whole lot since yesterday, she wouldn’t have ventured out. She only hikes in nice weather. Besides, she told me she was going to focus on cleaning her dad’s house so the realtor could show it Friday.”

The creases on Shaun’s forehead deepened. “Let’s listen again.”

Lauren keyed in the code, and the message replayed.

“She sounds out of breath,” Shaun noted. “Like she’s in a hurry.”

“Or scared.” A chill rippled through Lauren.

“Why don’t you try calling her?”

She was already punching in Kelly’s cell number as he spoke. After three rings, it rolled to voice mail. “Kelly, it’s Lauren. I got your message. Call me ASAP, okay?” She pushed the end button. “I’m going to try her home number too.”

When it rolled to voice mail as well, she left the same message. “It’s strange she’s not answering either phone.”

“Didn’t you tell me she might stay at her dad’s last night because her power was out?”

“Yes.”

“Try his number.”

“It’s been disconnected.” Lauren tightened her grip on the phone. “I’m getting really bad vibes, Shaun.”

“This does sound fishy.” He exhaled and tapped his finger against the steering wheel. “You could call that detective who’s been working on her father’s case. Ask him to look into this.”

“He’s in Buffalo. Kelly told me he wasn’t getting back until tonight.”

“Could you get a message to him?”