public. If word of this meeting got out to Newcombe…
“The boss, he can make it worth your while if you help out now and again. Nothin’ big, just keep your ear to the ground and let him know if somethin’s coming down.”
Vince’s fingers curled into a fist. “You want me to be a freaking snitch—am I hearing you right, Tino? You lost your mind?” He took a step forward. “What the hell are you doing even asking me a question like that?”
Tino held up one hand. “Hey, listen to me, man. Shut up and let me finish.”
Vince turned on his heel. “I’ve heard enough.”
Tino grabbed Vince’s arm. “That’s what he told me to ask, bro, but that’s not what I’m asking.”
“It better not be.”
Tino’s eyes had sobered, but they still darted all around. “I can’t talk here. Let’s go somewhere else.”
If he had a brain in his skull, Vince would walk away now, but the weight of their history and the pleading in Tino’s eyes stayed him. His gut was greasy with an instinct that what he was about to hear would only make a complicated situation worse.
“All right. Head down the alley. I’ll pick you up at the other end.” Without waiting to see if Tino did it, Vince left.
But after he got in his car and drove around to the end of the alley, Tino never showed. Vince parked down the street and doubled back, but his friend was nowhere in sight. He edged back toward the bar through the shadows.
There he saw Tino in a heated argument with a guy whose every move screamed syndicate. The part of Vince that had known a scared nine-year-old boy wanted to rush to Tino’s defense—
But the experienced cop knew that to do so would sign Tino’s death warrant. Vince’s only choice was to leave and try again later to discover exactly what the devil was going on.
And hope Tino was still alive when he found him.
T HE TELEPHONE RANG while Chloe picked at her solitary salad. “Hello?”
“How are you, darling?” The soft, Southern tones of her mother’s Georgia upbringing slid easily through the line.
“Mother—” Chloe glanced at the clock. “Are you all right? I thought you and Daddy were going to a fund-raiser.”
“Oh, well, we were, but your father’s been working very hard lately, and we decided a night in might be the thing. Am I interrupting?”
“Only my dinner.”
“This late? Chloe, that job requires too much of you. Why, your father and I—”
Before the usual lecture could begin, Chloe interrupted. “It wasn’t work, Mother.” Not that her mother would like what she’d been doing any better.
“Oh. Well then, I hope it was something fun. Shopping with a friend or drinks with Roger, perhaps.”
“Just a little volunteering.” Though her mother would hardly consider the Women’s Shelter any less sordid than her job.
“That’s wonderful, dear. Junior League or your sorority?”
Her mother had too many sources in both for Chloe to lie. “I’m providing free counseling at the Women’s Shelter.”
“Oh, Chloe…” Silence hung in the air between them.
But instead of the long-suffering sigh Chloe expected, she heard what almost sounded like a sniff. “Mother? What’s wrong?”
“Nothing,” Dolores St. Claire breezed on. “I called because I’m planning a little dinner party to introduce Roger to more important backers for his campaign. As Roger’s fiancée, you’ll be a hostess.”
“We’re not engaged.”
“It’s only a matter of time. You haven’t gone out with anyone else in ages, and you two are a perfect match. You’re one of his biggest assets in the race.”
It sounded so cold, especially coming from her own mother. She didn’t want to be anyone’s asset. She wanted to be…more. No longer the good little Chloe who alwaysdid the right thing. A woman who, for once in her life, took a chance or two. Danced closer to the edge instead of always staying behind secure fencing. Except she didn’t know what edge.
And then she thought of
“The boss, he can make it worth your while if you help out now and again. Nothin’ big, just keep your ear to the ground and let him know if somethin’s coming down.”
Vince’s fingers curled into a fist. “You want me to be a freaking snitch—am I hearing you right, Tino? You lost your mind?” He took a step forward. “What the hell are you doing even asking me a question like that?”
Tino held up one hand. “Hey, listen to me, man. Shut up and let me finish.”
Vince turned on his heel. “I’ve heard enough.”
Tino grabbed Vince’s arm. “That’s what he told me to ask, bro, but that’s not what I’m asking.”
“It better not be.”
Tino’s eyes had sobered, but they still darted all around. “I can’t talk here. Let’s go somewhere else.”
If he had a brain in his skull, Vince would walk away now, but the weight of their history and the pleading in Tino’s eyes stayed him. His gut was greasy with an instinct that what he was about to hear would only make a complicated situation worse.
“All right. Head down the alley. I’ll pick you up at the other end.” Without waiting to see if Tino did it, Vince left.
But after he got in his car and drove around to the end of the alley, Tino never showed. Vince parked down the street and doubled back, but his friend was nowhere in sight. He edged back toward the bar through the shadows.
There he saw Tino in a heated argument with a guy whose every move screamed syndicate. The part of Vince that had known a scared nine-year-old boy wanted to rush to Tino’s defense—
But the experienced cop knew that to do so would sign Tino’s death warrant. Vince’s only choice was to leave and try again later to discover exactly what the devil was going on.
And hope Tino was still alive when he found him.
T HE TELEPHONE RANG while Chloe picked at her solitary salad. “Hello?”
“How are you, darling?” The soft, Southern tones of her mother’s Georgia upbringing slid easily through the line.
“Mother—” Chloe glanced at the clock. “Are you all right? I thought you and Daddy were going to a fund-raiser.”
“Oh, well, we were, but your father’s been working very hard lately, and we decided a night in might be the thing. Am I interrupting?”
“Only my dinner.”
“This late? Chloe, that job requires too much of you. Why, your father and I—”
Before the usual lecture could begin, Chloe interrupted. “It wasn’t work, Mother.” Not that her mother would like what she’d been doing any better.
“Oh. Well then, I hope it was something fun. Shopping with a friend or drinks with Roger, perhaps.”
“Just a little volunteering.” Though her mother would hardly consider the Women’s Shelter any less sordid than her job.
“That’s wonderful, dear. Junior League or your sorority?”
Her mother had too many sources in both for Chloe to lie. “I’m providing free counseling at the Women’s Shelter.”
“Oh, Chloe…” Silence hung in the air between them.
But instead of the long-suffering sigh Chloe expected, she heard what almost sounded like a sniff. “Mother? What’s wrong?”
“Nothing,” Dolores St. Claire breezed on. “I called because I’m planning a little dinner party to introduce Roger to more important backers for his campaign. As Roger’s fiancée, you’ll be a hostess.”
“We’re not engaged.”
“It’s only a matter of time. You haven’t gone out with anyone else in ages, and you two are a perfect match. You’re one of his biggest assets in the race.”
It sounded so cold, especially coming from her own mother. She didn’t want to be anyone’s asset. She wanted to be…more. No longer the good little Chloe who alwaysdid the right thing. A woman who, for once in her life, took a chance or two. Danced closer to the edge instead of always staying behind secure fencing. Except she didn’t know what edge.
And then she thought of
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