Raw by Jo Davis Page B

the first two of them less than palpable. One, he could take the noisy service elevator. If there were suspects down there, his actions would alert everyone that he was coming. Like
that
wouldn’t earn him a bullet to the head in two seconds flat.
    Second, he could walk down all fifty-five flights of steps, sneak up, and get his pictures. If he didn’t expire of heart failure first. Not going to happen.
    That left his third and best option. Satisfied with a course of action, he took the regular elevator to the lobby, then descended the stairs the rest of the way to the basement. Then he removed the small camera from his pocket and listened.
    At first he didn’t hear a thing except for the strange pops and creaks of water in pipes, the air-conditioning units, and other noises echoing in the big basement. Those sounds served to hide his footsteps as he moved deeper into the bowels of the building.
    He was glad for the backup pistol strapped to his ankle, the one he couldn’t wear when he was with Anna outside work, for obvious reasons. But he wouldn’t blow his cover by drawing it unless he had no other option.
    Then, beyond the regular noises, the faint sound of murmuring voices reached him. Keeping cover behind some crates, he moved as close as he dared, making sure he could get shots of Hernandez and Keene speaking with a man Gray recognized all too well.
    Manuel “Manny” Delacruz. Brother to Gray’s most elusive nemesis, casino and hotel mogul Joaquin Delacruz. The Delacruz brothers had been under suspicion for years of various criminal activities—drug running, prostitution, and gambling infractions, for starters. Joaquin in particular was ruthless, letting nothing and nobody stand in the way of what he desired. The bastard had mocked Gray at every turn.
    â€œWhen is the wedding?” Manny asked.
    Wedding?
Frowning, Gray snapped some photos of the meeting.
    â€œSunday afternoon,” Keene answered. “We’ll have both catering vans ready to go at ten.”
    Hernandez chuckled. “One for the real event, one for the buyer.”
    â€œGood,” Manny said, pleased, and jerked a thumb at some heavy wooden crates behind him. “Get those empanadas ready to roll, right?” They all shared a laugh at his lame attempt at humor.
    The realization hit Gray like a bolt of lightning—they were using the restaurant’s new catering service to transport the blow and disguising it as pastries. Why the hell didn’t he catch on sooner? It made perfect sense. He only wished he had a recorder with him, but the pics and his testimony would have to do. Now he could alert Simon, and his partner could set up the sting.
    Their next exchange sharpened his focus again.
    â€œWhat about Joaquin?” Hernandez asked, and their humor died.
    â€œWhat about him?” Manny’s voice was cool.
    â€œHe still doesn’t know about this, does he?”
    â€œNo, and he won’t,” Manny snapped. “Not unless you want your tongue removed from your head. My big brother’s misguided attempts to go legit are going to get us killed, and I’m not going to allow that. Got it?”
    â€œSure, Manny,” Keene stammered.
    Their leader pinned the other man with his onyx gaze. “And keep your boss lady and her chef in the dark if you want to continue breathing. They’re both too sharp for their own good.”
    â€œNo way will we say a word.”
    With that statement, Gray was sure Anna was innocent, as was Ethan. Manny’s statement wasn’t definitive proof, but it went a long way toward easing his mind in regard to the beautiful restaurateur. He also figured Keene had just signed his and Hernandez’s death warrants by acting like a stuttering fool—unless they wound up getting busted first.
    Gray was about to turn when his shoe connected with something small and round, perhaps a screw. The tinkling of metal skittering across the