But he’d been wrong. She’d lived in fear for months, but one night, he’d lost control and hit her hard enough to give her a black eye and a minor concussion. The evidence of physical abuse, along with her father’s money—and the fact that her father’s best friend was a judge—helped her buy her freedom.
And Joey’s, too. She received sole custody of their son and a no-contact order. Joey was nine years old now, and she was eternally grateful Anthony hadn’t seen his son since Joey’s first birthday.
But since Anthony’s untimely death last year during a crime bust, it was obvious he couldn’t have sent these letters. So who had? She could only assume they’d come from someone inside the Chicago Mafia. Most likely from Anthony’s uncle, Frankie Caruso.
She buried her face in her hands and fought the rising wave of helplessness. How long would she continue to pay for her naive mistake of marrying Anthony? This past year, since her ex-husband’s death, she’d thought she was finally safe. But now it seemed the Mafia wasn’t going to leave her alone.
Ever.
Taking several deep breaths, she did her best to control her fear. When she raised her head, she knew she had to take action. With trembling fingers, she went through her files to find the business card of a Chicago police detective who’d questioned her about Anthony last year. She needed to talk to someone who knew the truth about Anthony. Someone who understood how deeply infiltrated the Mafia was in this city.
Someone who would believe her—like Detective Nick Butler. They’d only met a few times, but she remembered him well. He was tall, broad shouldered with light brown hair and amazing blue eyes. In so many ways, Nick was the complete opposite of her ex-husband.
To be honest, Detective Butler hadn’t been very happy with her last year during his investigation of Anthony, but that knowledge wasn’t enough to stop her from picking up her phone and making the call.
If there was one thing she knew about Detective Butler, it was that he sincerely cared about justice. He’d worked against the Mafia before. She could only hope that he wouldn’t turn his back on her now.
* * *
Nick stared at the various reports spread over his desk as he tried to figure out a way to breathe new life into his dead-end cases. With his partner out on medical leave and the upcoming holidays, he hadn’t been assigned anything new. But working their old cases felt pretty much like beating his head against a brick wall.
When his phone rang, he answered it absently. “Detective Butler.”
“Good morning, Detective. I don’t know if you remember me, but my name is Rachel Simon.”
Nick straightened in his chair, his instincts on full alert. “Of course, I remember you, Ms. Simon. How are you and your son, Joey, doing?”
“Fine. Well, sort of fine. I, uh, have a problem I’d like to discuss with you. I think it’s linked to your past investigation....”
The subtle reference to the Mafia wasn’t lost on him. He was surprised to hear from Rachel after all this time, yet he couldn’t ignore the underlying hint of fear in her tone. He rose to his feet and glanced at his watch. “I can meet you now, if that works.”
“That would be great. Do you remember where my office is located?”
“Yes. I can be there in fifteen minutes.”
“Thank you.”
After ending the call, Nick slid his cell phone into his pocket and strode to the door. He remembered Rachel Simon very well, as he’d questioned her last year related to a missing-person’s case. Her ex-husband had been the prime suspect in the twenty-two-year-old model’s disappearance.
Rachel hadn’t been much help to his investigation, because she claimed she hadn’t seen or spoken to her husband in seven years. Which, based on the divorce settlement and the no-contact order he’d uncovered, was likely true. But at the time he’d felt certain she was holding back on him, that she knew far more about her ex-husband’s connection to the Mafia than she’d let on. And even then, her fear of her ex had been palpable.
Ironic how she’d contacted him now that she needed his assistance. And he couldn’t deny being curious as to what was going on.
The ride to the office building of Simon Inc. took less than his allotted fifteen minutes. He walked into the lobby and smiled at the perky redhead sitting behind the receptionist desk. “Good morning, I’m here to see Ms. Simon.”
“Yes, she mentioned you were coming.” The redhead wore a name tag that identified her as Carrie Freeman and she was young enough to make him feel ancient at thirty-seven. “Just take these elevators here to the tenth floor.”
“Thanks.” He pushed the elevator button, already knowing Rachel’s office was on the tenth floor. Once he arrived up there, he was greeted warmly by Rachel’s assistant, Edith Goodman. A far cry from the last time he’d been here, when the sixty-something-year-old had protected her boss like a mama bear hovering over her cub.
“Rachel’s waiting for you in her office,” Edith said. “Is there something I can get for you, Detective? Coffee? Soft drink?”
“Coffee would be great.”
“Black, no sugar, correct?”
He shouldn’t have been surprised she remembered, considering Edith Goodman ruled Rachel’s office with an iron fist. “That’s right.”
Rachel’s office door was open, and she met him halfway, offering her hand as he strolled toward her. “Detective, thanks for coming on such short notice.”
Her slender fingers were firm as they gripped his. She was as beautiful as he remembered, with her sleek blond hair framing her face and distinctive green eyes. But despite her smile, dark shadows hovered in her eyes. “I have to admit, I was intrigued by your call.”
Her smile faded, and she waited until Edith had handed him a mug of coffee, before inviting him inside her office. “Please, have a seat.”
He sat in the chair facing hers, and his gaze immediately landed on the two pieces of paper lying on her desk. They’d been turned toward him. He took a sip from the steaming mug before setting his coffee aside. He leaned forward and read the messages.
“You will repay your debt of betrayal.”
“You will scream in agony, suffering for your past mistakes.”
The threats were all too real and his protective instincts jumped to the forefront. He was angry at the idea of Rachel being stalked by some lunatic. He lifted his gaze to meet hers. “Who sent these to you?” he demanded roughly.
“Isn’t it obvious?” Rachel scowled and crossed her arms protectively across her chest.
“Not to me,” he said, striving for patience. “An ex-boyfriend? A disgruntled employee? You must have some idea.”
Her scowl deepened. “I don’t have a boyfriend, ex or otherwise, and a disgruntled employee would more likely try to sue me rather than send threats. I’ve received a few phone calls, too. The caller never speaks, but I can hear heavy breathing on the other end of the phone. Don’t you see?” She spread her hands over the letters. “These have to be from someone within the Mafia.”
He stared at her for a long moment, trying to figure out what was going on in her mind. Their last interaction hadn’t been entirely cordial, since she’d avoided discussing anything related to her husband’s ties to the Mafia. He sat back and reached for his coffee mug. “So you’re admitting that Anthony Caruso was involved with the Mafia?”
Her cheeks turned pink and she avoided his gaze as if embarrassed. “I told you that much a year ago,” she said defensively.
“But you claimed you didn’t know any details,” he reminded her.
“Look, Detective, my goal last year was to do whatever was necessary to protect my son. And I never lied to you about that missing woman. At the time we spoke I hadn’t seen Anthony in seven years, so I had no idea who he was seeing or who he was associating with.”
Читать дальше