Ginny Aiken - Mixed Up with the Mob

“What’s this about ghosts, Agent Latham?”

David looked at Eliza Roberts, a brunette knockout with blazing green eyes. “Trust me, Eliza. There’s nothing to it. But something’s up with that DiStefano woman, and I’m going to find out what it is.”

“Good. Because as of now, she’s all yours.”

He gave her a nod. “Thanks. I was pretty sick of pushing papers between real jobs.”

She smirked. “Can’t keep you field guys in one place for long, can I?”

“Do you really want to?”

“Someone’s got to keep up with your paperwork, and no one can read what you guys call writing. But I’ll admit it’s a waste of manpower when you sit around for too long.”

That comment didn’t sit very well with David, but he knew better than to call her on it. Eliza Roberts was not one to mess with.

“What’s the scoop on Ric DiStefano?” he asked instead.

Her superior smile got under his skin. She wasn’t very likable.

“Here’s the file we have on him.”

The slim manila folder landed right in front of him on the vast expanse of polished wood. The Bureau didn’t provide such luxuries, not even for their Supervising Special Agents. The desk’s provenance, as well as that of Eliza’s pricey leather chair, was the subject of much speculation in the office.

“Not much here, is there?” he asked after he leafed through the few sheets.

“What you see is what you get. We got a heads-up from the SEC guys about six weeks ago. That’s what they faxed us.”

The tight electric rush he got at the start of an investigation zipped right through him. “So it’s a fresh one. Is anyone else on it?”

“No. I saw no reason to assign it. From where I stood, it looked like a typical SEC case. They’d just copied us on it because of the possible organized crime connection. I’m sure if they’d found more, they would have sent it on. And the connection looks pretty weak to me.”

David gave her a skeptical look. “Then why’d you send Maddox over last night?”

She turned to avoid his gaze—or so it seemed.

“He wanted to go,” she said. “And he said something about picking up your…grandmother. That doesn’t sound right, does it?”

“Maybe not, but yeah. I was on my way to pick her up when the deal with DiStefano’s sister came up. I’d been on the cell phone with Maddox, and I asked him to call 911 and to make sure she got home safe. And, sure, he did call 911, but then he also showed up at the scene.”

Alarm filled Eliza’s face. “But not with an elderly woman, right?”

“Sorry. Maddox brought her along.”

“What was he thinking? The cops had a hit-and-run and a five-year-old child to contend with. And Maddox went and made matters worse by bringing a frail senior citizen to the scene?” She shook her head. “I’m going to have to talk to him—”

“Don’t bother,” David said. “My grandmother’s anything but fragile. She’s nearly six feet tall, built like a battleship, has the instincts of a fox and the nine lives of a cat. She was in no danger. Believe me.”

Eliza’s frown didn’t ease. “That was a serious lapse in procedure, Latham. And you know it. Maddox does, too.”

“Cut him some slack, will you? I asked him to take care of my grandmother, and you sent him to a scene that was already under investigation by Philly’s best. I was there, too. Why would you want to divert Dan’s attention from his merry mob widow?”

Again, Eliza’s green eyes danced away from David’s gaze.

His instincts weren’t much shabbier than Gram’s. Something was happening. And Eliza knew it as soon as Dan called to tell her what David had witnessed. He doubted she’d had the gray Lexus under surveillance. That only left one other possibility.

“Why are you keeping tabs on Lauren DiStefano?” he asked.

Eliza jerked around to face him. He’d hit the nail on the head.

“I suppose I can tell you now that I’ve assigned you to the case,” she said. “We’ve been watching the house since the tip from the SEC. As soon as Maddox told me where your accident happened, I figured another pair of eyes wouldn’t hurt.”

“So why keep it a secret from me? As you said, you did just assign me to the case.”

She shrugged. “Habit, I guess. I like to play things close to the vest.”

David snorted. “Maybe too close. Either you give your field agents all the info, or you wind up with a mess, maybe even egg on your face. We can’t operate in the dark.”

She tipped up her chin. “Are you trying to tell me how to do my job, Agent Latham?”

He rolled his eyes. “I wouldn’t presume.”

She narrowed hers. “Good. Keep it that way.”

David took her response as dismissal. He went toward her office door. “I’ll be in touch.”

“Yes, you will. And one more thing, Latham.”

“What’s that?”

“Just see that you don’t pull a stunt like J.Z. on the Papparelli case, will you?”

He faced her in slow motion. “What do you mean by that?”

Eliza placed her hands on the top of her desk and locked her emerald gaze with his. “No fraternizing with the enemy…the subject of the investigation.”

In a flash, Lauren’s frightened face burst in his memory. Her clear green eyes, so different from the dark, unreadable emerald ones of the woman before him, seemed to reveal everything inside her.

Fear.

Horror.

Confusion.

Up until then, David hadn’t realized the strength of the pull Lauren DiStefano exerted on him. And J.Z.’s and Maryanne’s wedded bliss had nothing to do with it.

He left the office without another word.

At nine o’clock the next morning, Lauren dragged her sore, creaky body out of bed. The long soak in the Jacuzzi tub and the four tablets of ibuprofen hadn’t helped one bit. She felt as though the proverbial Mack truck had rolled right over her—twice.

The house was quiet. More than a hundred years ago the builders had made the walls so thick that they insulated the occupants from all outside sound. That was a blessing.

On the other hand, so much silence could also mean trouble. She did share the place with a normal, mischievous five-year-old. No noise often offered warning of a disaster in the making.

With great reluctance, she pulled her silk robe over the matching pajamas, and made herself walk the short distance to Mark’s bedroom. He could still be asleep. After all, they hadn’t made it to bed until well past midnight.

She opened the door and sighed in relief. The boy’s slight body lay right where it should be, on the custom-built racecar bed he loved.

Poor kid. He’d lost his mother to leukemia three years ago. Then Ric died in that horrible wreck. And now, he’d gone through the shock of a near miss with an out-of-control car. It was a miracle the child could sleep at all.

She closed the door and went downstairs. She needed coffee, a double-shot espresso, at the very least. Maybe then her blood would start to circulate. Something had to oil her beat-up muscles. She couldn’t waste a whole day on the old fainting couch in the library like some wilting lily from the Roaring Twenties.

Even though the aches and pains tempted her to do just that.

At the professional stainless steel machine, she poured roast beans into the grinder, buzzed them into fine powder, then pushed the appropriate sequence of buttons, and watched the contraption do its thing.

Her brother had been so proud of his espresso maker. “It’s just like the ones they use at Starbucks,” he’d said the day he’d had it installed.

She felt a pang of sadness. Ric hadn’t been able to enjoy it for long. Three months after installation, during which he’d been out of town on business more than once, he was gone.