Ava Gray - Skin Game

Goddammit. Foster had checked his record and said he had no next of kin. Well, no fucking way. He wasn’t going down for Wayne Sweet. They might suspect, but they didn’t know.

“That’s too bad. I’ll send the old gent a fruit basket.”

“Apparently Wayne was the only family poor Geller had left. He isn’t going to shut up until we find him some answers.” Though couched in innocuous terms, Serrano recognized that for a warning.

Sagorski may as well have said: I’m onto you. I’ll be digging in your trash, and I’m gonna keep coming until I find something.

“I’d want to know, too,” he said politely. “But if there’s nothing else, I have work to do.”

The cop rose, and with an effort, buttoned his suit jacket. “We’ll be in touch. If you think of anything that could help, let us know.”

“I’ll do that.”

Rage coiled through him, but Serrano waited a full five minutes before he picked up the lamp and hurled it at the door. His assistant came running, and she looked at the wreckage with wide eyes. “Everything all right, sir?”

“Fine,” he gritted. “Get maintenance up here, will you? Damn thing had a short.”

She scurried out as if she suspected he might launch something at her head next. Serrano swore over scaring her. He liked Sandy. The woman was a little timid, but she was efficient, and she didn’t pester him with things she could handle herself. More important, she was reliable and loyal; she’d worked for him for fifteen years.

He called Foster and left a message when the asshole didn’t answer his cell. “I want you up here as soon as you get in tonight. We need to talk.”

If he hadn’t been dumb enough to fall for Rachel Justice, Sweet wouldn’t have posted that video. Pasternak and Ricci wouldn’t have needed to go down for disrespecting him. They’d been his friends, once. Every rotten thing that had happened in the last six months could be traced directly to that bitch. And such irony—he’d wanted to go straight for her. Focus on his legitimate business interests, start a family. He hated how much he missed her, even now.

But she’d pay. And that would make everything else worthwhile.

Foster got the message marked urgent at four thirty that afternoon. He played it, deleted it, and ignored it. Whatever crisis Serrano was having, he could do it by himself. They were expecting him at Desert Winds to take care of Beulah and Lexie; he needed to sign the paperwork approving their transfer to an exclusive facility in Maryland. He was almost done here. It was time to start tying up loose ends in preparation for the greatest disappearing act of all time.

Even Houdini couldn’t better it, he thought with a wry half smile.

He parked the Altima and strode up the walk toward the building. The head day nurse ushered him into the director’s office, where everything was expensive and understated. He wouldn’t be surprised if the plaque that read “Donald Moody” was embossed with real gold. Moody was a tall, thin man with a cavernous face. To Foster, he looked more like an undertaker, which didn’t exactly recommend him as a manager for a long-term care facility.

Still, it didn’t take long to sort things out. When money greased the wheels, everything was easier. The director produced the documents and Foster started signing them with a flourish that wasn’t his own.

“We’re sorry to see them go,” Moody said.

You’re sorry to lose my payments, you mean. Foster could count the times he’d spoken to this man on one hand, including patient intake. He offered a polite smile and continued writing the name that wasn’t his own until he’d completed the stack.

Belatedly he realized the man was accustomed to acknowledgment when he spoke.

“I’m being transferred,” he explained. “But the care they’ve received here has been stellar.”

Moody smiled. “Glad to hear it. Obviously we take care of transport for you. You’ll be able to see them in Maryland next week.”

Foster calculated. Even if he hadn’t completely wrapped up, it would be good to get them out of Vegas. Things would be coming to a head by then. It could get messy.

“That sounds excellent,” he said, standing. “Is there anything else?”

“Not on our end.” Moody handed him his copies of the paperwork. “You’ll want to check with the facility in Maryland to make sure everything went smoothly.”

“I will. Thanks.”

They shook hands, and he left without seeing Lexie or Beulah. The old lady thrived on routine, so if he showed up on the wrong day, it would confuse her. He twinged with regret over needing to move her, as she’d gotten really used to this place, but it wouldn’t be safe for her to stay once things heated up. Whatever else could be said of him, he looked after his dependents.

Foster made his way out, long strides eating up the distance back to his car. He hadn’t spoken to Mia in days, but he knew she was here. After that near miss at the diner, she hadn’t wanted to talk to him. He realized he’d injured her vanity, but explanations would only make it worse; it was better to retain this layer of constraint. She’d called him a few days back, though, to let him know Kyra was on the way.

How he’d smiled over that. Yes, matters were coming to a head, after a long roiling boil. Staying at his apartment, knowing somebody had been inside, took all of his control. But he went about his usual routine, knowing that any deviation would give away the game, and he’d come too far to fail now.

After he left Desert Winds, he grabbed a meal and then went to work at the usual time. Serrano would be furious by now. Foster passed through the Silver Lady, answering a few questions from security personnel along the way. Then, using his personal key, he took the executive express elevator up to the penthouse office. As usual, Sandy was already gone when he stepped off the lift and into the antechamber, so he let himself in.

“Where the fuck have you been?”

“Off work,” he returned. “I’m not so much as half a second late, Mr. Serrano.”

“We have a situation brewing here. Why the hell didn’t you tell me Sweet had relatives, somebody to raise a fit when he went missing?”

Foster furrowed his brow, enjoying his part in the drama. “I checked his personnel file, sir. He listed ‘no next of kin.’ Would you like me to get it for you, so you can verify the documentation?”

The other man paced. “No, I don’t want to see the damn file. Why didn’t you dig deeper? I can’t afford to work with someone who’s sloppy.”

“With all due respect, sir, my job is chief of security, not chief of your personal Gestapo.” That subtle insubordination might be pushing it, but he needed to keep Serrano off balance or he might start looking too hard at various pieces of the puzzle.

Serrano narrowed his eyes dangerously. “For what I’m paying you, you’re my bitch, and you do whatever I tell you to do. If I say bark, you make some noise. Get me?”

“Woof,” Foster said.

“We could be in a world of shit over this.”

What’s this “we,” white man? For obvious reasons he kept the joke to himself, merely listened with a grave, impenetrable patience as Serrano outlined the travails of his day. He’d already known most of it, or at least suspected, but it explained why Serrano was so worked up.

“You want me to look into this Sagorski?” he guessed. “See what I can find.”

His boss nodded. “Yeah. There’s no such thing as a clean cop, just one who hasn’t been caught yet.”

“I’m on it.”

“That’s all for tonight. Oh, and make sure we run clean games for the next month or so. Tell the dealers. I don’t want to give them anything on me if they send undercover assholes sniffing around.”