Carol Ericson - Alpha Bravo Seal

“Nope.”

A smile tugged on her lips as she selected Dave’s number from her contacts. She’d pay good money to see a nude black-and-white photo of Slade Gallagher.

The phone rang once on the other end and then rolled into a recording. She puckered her lips and puffed out a breath. “His number’s no longer in service.”

“Damn. I wonder if it has anything to do with Lars.”

“We still have his address. Should we pay him a visit?”

“We’re close, right?”

“We could walk, or it’s a ten-minute taxi ride as long as we don’t get snarled in traffic—and here’s one now.” She raised her hand at two oncoming taxis, and the second one swerved up to the curb.

Ten minutes later, the driver dumped them off at the end of Broome, where she told him to stop. “It’s easier to walk down this street.”

They found Dave’s building, an old brick structure squeezed between a bakery and a taco shop. Nicole placed one foot on the first step and gripped the iron railing. “If he’s not there, should we wait?”

“You can leave him a note. Maybe the bakery has some paper or a napkin to write on, but give it a try.”

With Slade close behind her, she stepped up on the porch and reached for the bell. Before she could press it, the door swung open and a dark-haired man carrying a bicycle on his shoulder squeezed by them.

Slade reached past her to catch the door before it closed, but something about the man’s hair had her jerking her head to the side.

He’d set the bike on the sidewalk, and his eyes met hers with a flicker of recognition.

“Dave? Davey?” She descended the step and moved beside him. “I’m Nicole...”

She didn’t get a chance to finish, because Davey Pullman threw his bike at her and took off running down the street.

Chapter Four

Nicole stumbled backward and landed awkwardly on the bottom step at Slade’s feet with a bike on top of her.

“Are you all right?” He crouched beside her, lifting the bike from her legs.

She flailed at his arms as he tried to help her up. “Go after him. That’s Dave!”

“Are you sure you’re okay?”

“It’s a bike, Slade. Don’t let Dave get away.”

Slade jumped to his feet, shoved the folder of pictures into Nicole’s arms and launched down the sidewalk after the man running in the direction of the Williamsburg Bridge. Could he run across the bridge?

Dave seemed to be slowing down and probably didn’t realize he had company on his jog. Then he cranked his head over his shoulder, and his mouth dropped open. He swung back around and almost ran into the path of a taxi, whose driver laid on his horn.

Slade pumped his legs harder and caught up to Dave just as he started to enter a park. He didn’t want to hurt the guy, but he had shoved Nicole to the ground with a bike. He had to pay for that.

Slade ground his back teeth and took a flying leap at Dave. The smaller man’s body folded beneath his as Slade smashed him face-first into the grass.

Panting, Slade rolled off him, keeping a knee pressed to Dave’s midsection. “Why are you running? Nicole just wants to talk to you.”

Dave grunted, and a few seconds later his eyes bulged from their sockets.

Slade eased up on the pressure he was applying to the man’s stomach, but his knee beneath Dave’s rib cage was not the reason for his bug eyes.

Nicole rolled up beside them on Dave’s bike. She flicked the bell once before hopping off. “What is your problem?”

Dave finally found his voice. “I’m sorry I pushed you, but I don’t want to talk to you. I don’t want to be seen with you. I don’t know anything.”

Slade rested on his haunches next to Dave, still huffing and puffing on the ground. “Obviously you know something, or you wouldn’t have taken off like that.”

“And now we’re talking very publicly when we could’ve been having a nice conversation at your place.” Nicole waved her arms to take in the park. “Did Lars give you the Somalia footage or not?”

“I wouldn’t take it from him. If he wanted to gallivant all over the world getting himself in trouble, that’s his business, but I didn’t want any part of it.”

“Why did you think taking the film from him would be trouble for you?” Slade asked.

“Are you kidding?” Dave struggled to a sitting position and pulled a pack of cigarettes out of the front pocket of his pants. “Do you mind?”

Slade shrugged, and Nicole shook her head and said, “That’s why you can’t run very fast.”

Dave shook out the crushed package and retrieved a book of matches from his other pocket. He lit a cigarette with a trembling hand. “Lars stopped by my place with a crazy story about someone being after him. He suspected it had something to do with the film he’d shot in Somalia, because someone had broken into a place he’d been staying with a woman in San Francisco and stolen some film he had there, but the Somalia stuff wasn’t there.”

“Why did he connect that break-in to Somalia?” Nicole swung her leg over the bike and propped it against a park bench.

“He’d just heard about Giles, and after the theft in San Francisco, he felt like he was being followed.”

Slade glanced at Nicole. She’d had the same feelings.

“Did you see the film Lars was trying to give you?” Slade held his breath as Dave released another stream of smoke into the air between puckered lips.

“You mean the actual footage?”

“No. The physical thing—was it on a disc or what?”

“A little disc, like this.” Dave held his thumb and index finger about two inches apart.

“Did you send his letter to me?”

Nicole had perched on the edge of the bench and clasped her hands between her knees. She had a bloody scrape on her right wrist from Dave’s bike, and a flare of anger surfaced in Slade’s chest. The guy was a coward in more ways than one.

Dave took a long drag from his cigarette and emitted words and smoke at the same time. “I wouldn’t take any of it. He wanted me to hide the disc and send the letter to you if anything happened to him.”

“Do you know who sent the letter for him? Because I got it today.”

“I don’t know, and I don’t want to know. When I heard Lars offed himself, I was damned glad I refused to help him. Lars kill himself? You ever hear of anything more ludicrous?” Dave shook his head and crushed out his smoke. “They really were out to get him and that footage. If you’re smart, you’ll leave it alone.”

“I can’t. Someone’s after me, too.”

Dave’s head jerked up, and he pushed to his feet. “What is it with you people? Why go looking for trouble when it finds you, anyway?”

“Well, now I’m in it, and this guy—” she aimed her finger at Slade “—is going to help me get out of it.”

Was that what she thought? The pressure was really on, especially since this was an assignment way out of his comfort zone.

Slade rose to his feet and planted himself in front of Dave, in case he got any more ideas about taking off. “Who else did Lars see when he was in the city? Who else was here? We already know Paul Lund was out of town.”

“Is that how you found me? Paul?”

“I was looking at video from that party at Paul’s place almost two years ago. Were those all of Lars’s New York friends? Are they still here? Were they here when Lars was in the city?”

“There are probably only two people from that party Lars would’ve contacted besides me—Andre Vincent and Trudy Waxman.”

Nicole sprang to her feet and pulled her phone from the pocket of her sweatshirt. “Do you have their contact info?”

“I don’t, but Andre’s a sculptor. You should be able to find him, and Trudy’s an actress. She’s in some off-off-Broadway play right now. It’s at the Gym at Judson, that church in Greenwich Village.” Dave grabbed the handlebars of his bike and plucked out the folder Nicole had stashed in his basket and dropped it on the bench beside her. “Can I go now? That’s all I know about it.”