Marilyn Pappano - Criminal Deception

Despite the heat radiating from the coffee pots, ice swept through Joe. So it was no coincidence Smith was here. No more pretence. “Leave my parents out of this.”

Smith took a long, spice-flavored sniff of his tea and murmured appreciatively. “I’m not interested in your parents. I just want to find your brother.”

“Why?”

“The same reason as everyone else.” He drank the tea, then blotted his mouth with a napkin. “That was a tough thing-the mistaken identity bit. The Mulroneys didn’t even know Josh had a brother, much less a twin. And there you were, walking out of his apartment, getting into his car.” He shook his head sympathetically.

Can I borrow your car, Joe? We’ve got a hot date tonight. We’re going someplace special for my birthday.

Joe’s mind had fired in a dozen different directions. A serious date? In the weeks since Josh had introduced him to Liz, they hadn’t had one real date, mostly just takeout at home. And someplace special? And Josh wanted to use Joe’s Infiniti, wanted to return it to him smelling of her perfume, her shampoo, her everything.

Your birthday’s not for two more months, he’d said sullenly.

Yeah, but she don’t know that. Wink, wink, grin.

Joe had wanted to smash his fist into that grin. Instead, he’d traded car keys and walked out. Sixty seconds later, as he’d clicked the remote to unlock the door to Josh’s truck, a man in a black overcoat had approached and shot him twice in the chest.

Maybe this man? Joe looked closer at Tom Smith. He couldn’t say. The bastard had almost killed him, and he hadn’t seen a thing besides the coat. Height, weight, hair color, eye color, skin tone-he hadn’t had a clue. But he’d noticed the coat was Armani.

“It was a tough thing,” Joe agreed. “You can probably understand when I say that because of it, Josh isn’t particularly welcome around here. I’m all out of help to give him.”

“If he shows up, you want to make a call, you could make some money.”

“A reward for turning my brother in to people who want him dead?”

Smith gave him a long look, then reached slowly into his breast pocket and removed a silver card case. “The Mulroneys’ reward is bigger than ours,” he said as he slid a card out, then laid it on the counter between them. “But we, at least, can guarantee that we’re not going to kill him.”

Joe stared at the card but didn’t pick it up. Engraved on the left side was the Department of Justice seal and on the other was contact information: Thomas P. Smith, U.S. Attorney’s Office, Chicago, Illinois.

“We’re pretty well-dressed thugs, too, Mr. Saldana,” Smith said with a thin smile. “Or so your brother said.”

Heat warmed Joe’s cheeks-from standing too close to the coffee machines, of course. He turned away, fixed himself a cup of ice water and took a long drink before facing Smith again. “I haven’t had any contact with him since the shooting. He doesn’t even know where I am.”

“We need him at the trial, Mr. Saldana. The government has put a lot into this case and we don’t want to lose it because of him. We want to find him before the Mulroneys do.”

“If you can’t find him, how could they?”

Smith managed what Joe suspected was, for him, a smile, and his voice turned very dry. “They have resources we don’t.”

Joe left the card where it lay. “If you share any resources with them, tell them to stay the hell away from my parents and me. We won’t help them and can’t help you.”

“If they find Josh first, they will kill him.”

“Then maybe he’ll have the good sense to stay lost.” But even as he said it, Joe knew it wasn’t likely. Josh had a bad habit of relying on family and friends. He was willing to take care of himself for only so long, and the two months since he’d left Liz had already exceeded that limit. He was probably looking for Joe and their parents, and Liz, and the woman he’d dated before her, and the woman before her, at that very moment.

“If your brother lacks one thing in great abundance, it’s sense.” Smith finished the tea, then set the mug on the counter. “My cell number’s on the back of that card. If you change your mind-” Breaking off at Joe’s scowl, he rephrased. “If you hear from Josh, let me know. We can protect him.”

“Not from himself,” Joe muttered. And hadn’t Josh always been his own worst enemy?

Smith walked to the door before turning back. “Good tea. The cinnamon and cardamom were just right.”

“I’ll tell my taste tester.” Ellie would be pleased, but she was used to compliments on her taste. It was what made her restaurant one of the most popular in town.

As Smith got into a black rental, the bell rang again and Natalia stopped in the doorway. “Can we come in?” Twisting around her ankles on leashes were the hellhounds, both straining to venture farther inside. A new place with new smells and all new things to pee on.

“I think health department regulations prohibit it, and I’m sure my own rules do. But I’ll come out.” Sliding the business card from the stainless steel counter, he crossed the dining room in a few strides and stepped out into muggy warmth and an excited, eight-legged greeting.

Natalia untangled long enough to hand him one leash, then sat on the bench a few feet away. The striped awning overhead protected it from too much sun and the worst of the rain when it came, and it had an unobstructed view of the cars driving by. There was no sign of Tom Smith’s black rental.

Or Liz’s red one.

“Are you going to name these guys?” Natalia asked as the fuzzy one jumped onto the bench between them, rolled onto his back and splayed all four legs in the air with a noticeable lack of dignity while she dutifully scratched his belly. The female was too busy sniffing every inch of Joe to notice.

“They don’t respond to anything I call them.”

“‘Bad dog’ and ‘devil dog’ don’t count. They need proper names.”

“How about Goldie and Brownie?”

Natalia rolled her eyes. This morning they were violet. “Would you answer to Blondie?”

“For the right person,” he retorted, and an image of Liz popped into his mind. Damn it.

“How about Bear for this one?” Natalia gazed down at the fuzzy pup with more affection than she’d shown even Joe, and he was her best-maybe only-friend in town. “My mom used to sing a rhyme when I was little: ‘Fuzzy wuzzy was a bear. Fuzzy wuzzy had no hair…’” Her voice grew softer with each word until it trailed away, as if the memory were so burdened with emotion that she could no longer sustain it. It was, Joe realized, the first truly personal thing she’d ever told him.

He swallowed the curiosity, and the lump in his throat, and the urge to wrap his arm around her, the way he used to do with his younger girl cousins when they were kids. “Okay. Bear it is. So can I still call this one Bad Dog?”

Natalia continued to stare off into the distance for a moment, then drew herself together. She shook her head, straightened her shoulders and erased the emotion from her eyes. “No, you can’t. She’s very regal. You could call her Princess.”

“Or Queen Bitch.”

“Naming a pet is like naming a child. You have to choose a name you won’t be embarrassed to yell out the door.”

“I wouldn’t be embarrassed yelling Bad Dog or Queen Bitch,” he grumbled. “Neither would she. She’s probably proud of being both.”

The female ran to sniff a piece of trash that had blown against the curb, and Joe reeled her back in, winning in spite of her valiant effort to resist. Immediately, she turned, her nose quivering, and locked in on the business card he was tapping against his thigh.