David ed. - Face Off (2014) Anthology

“Marty Glover?”

“Yeah. Exactly. We’ve suspected it for six months. Sure, the team was collaring suppliers and importers and meth cookers all over the city—except for one location. A big heroin distribution operation based in Red Hook, Brooklyn.” He tapped a file on his desk. “Glover was on their payroll and using Narc Four to take down their competition. The others on the team weren’t in on it. All they knew was that Glover had good sources.”

Markowitz waved at Lily’s weapon as if it were an irritating wasp. “Could you? Do you mind?”

She holstered the Glock, but kept her hand near the grip.

The COD continued. “But the Internal Affairs Red Hook operation against Glover had nothing to do with Verlaine or Pitt, or the torture-murders. It was just a coincidence the women were druggies, the victims. But then you started looking for connections. Glover freaked out. I thought he was gonna rabbit, go underground and burn the evidence. So I told you to back off. That’s all there was to it.”

Lucas asked, “What happened with Glover?”

“I didn’t want to move so fast but there was no choice. I called Candy Preston—from Narc Four—and we set up a sting to nail Glover. I had her use one of her snitches to offer him a payoff. Fifty thousand. I didn’t think he’d go for it, but he couldn’t resist. We got him on camera taking the bribe. It’s not as righteous a collar as we’d like—I wanted some of the Red Hook scum, too. But the prosecutor’ll work him over. He’ll give up names if we play with the sentencing.”

Lincoln gave him points for credibility. But he remained skeptical.

Lucas, too, apparently. He said, “Good story, Stan. But I think we’d all like confirmation. Who can we talk to who’ll vouch for you?”

“Well, there’s somebody who’s been in the loop from the beginning of the Red Hook op.”

“Who?”

“The mayor.”

Lincoln glanced toward Lucas and said, “Works for me.”

· · ·

Outside, they headed toward the accessible van, where Thom sat in the driver’s seat. He saw the entourage and hit the button that opened the door and lowered the ramp. Then he climbed out.

Lincoln wheeled up to the van then braked to a stop, spun around. “Anyone care to come back to the town house for an aperitivo ? It’s approaching cocktail hour.”

“Bit early,” the aide pointed out. Such a mother hen.

“Thom, our guests have had an extremely traumatic time. Kidnapping was involved, knives were involved, gunplay was involved. If anybody deserves a bit of refreshment, it’s them.”

“Love to,” Lucas offered. “But I’m heading back to the family. Got a flight in an hour.”

“I’m going to make sure he gets to the airport,” Lily said. “Without getting into any trouble.”

They shook hands. Lincoln wheeled onto the ramp and his aide fixed the chair to it with canvas straps. The criminalist said, “We should think about doing this again, Davenport.”

Thom lifted his eyebrow. “Last name. Means he likes you. And he doesn’t like many people.”

Lincoln grumbled. “I’m not saying I like anyone. Where did that subtext come from? I’m simply saying this case didn’t turn out to be the disaster it might have.”

“I may not be back here soon,” Lucas said, and cocked his head. “But you ever get to Minnesota?”

“Used to go quite a bit.”

“You’ve been?” Amelia asked.

“Of course. I grew up in the Midwest, remember,” Lincoln said impatiently. “I’d go fishing for muskie and pike in Swan Lake and Minnetonka.”

“You fished ?” Thom asked. He seemed astonished.

“And I’ve been to Hibbing. A Bob Dylan pilgrimage.”

“Site of the largest open-pit iron mine in the world,” Lucas said.

Lincoln nodded. “My first impression was that it’d be a great place to dispose of bodies.”

“Had the same thought myself.”

“Then it’s settled,” Rhyme muttered. “You catch any good cases up there—something interesting, something challenging, give me a call.”

“Lily’s been there, too, helping us out. We could get the team back together.” Lucas glanced at Amelia. “We’ll go out to the range, you and me. I can teach you how to shoot.”

“And we can hit that highway you were mentioning. I’ll give you a few tips on how to drive that toy car of yours.”

“Let’s go, Sachs,” Lincoln called. “We’ve got a crime scene report to write up.”

HEATHER GRAHAM

VS. F. PAUL WILSON

Repairman Jack is one of fiction’s most unique characters. F. Paul Wilson created him in 1984’s The Tomb —an urban mercenary who hires himself out to fix problems the system can’t or won’t deal with. The Tomb became a huge success. Despite that, though, Paul did not write the second Repairman Jack novel until fourteen years later. Why? He says he was afraid Jack would take over his writing career. Finally, in 1998, Jack returned for what Paul said at the time was “Just one novel.”

But then he did another. And another.

Twenty-two novels later it’s safe to say that Repairman Jack definitely took over Paul’s writing career.

But that’s okay.

Both writer and character came to deeply know each other.

Heather Graham is a publishing dynamo with over one hundred novels to her credit. Romantic suspense, historical romance, vampire fiction, time travel, occult, even Christmas holiday fare. You name it, she’s written it. But Heather’s at her best when she blends a bit of paranormal with real, human evil. And while Heather has been best known in recent years for her Krewe of Hunter novels, her Cafferty and Quinn series has long been simmering in the back of her mind. Let the Dead Sleep (2013) began the first adventure for Michael Quinn and Danni Cafferty, followed by Waking the Dead.

Michael Quinn is a special kind of guy. College football hero, too popular for his own good—eventually an excessive lifestyle causes his death in a hospital emergency room. Brought back to life by a crew of doctors, Quinn becomes a new man, never sure of exactly what he brought back with him from the dead. After meeting up with Danni Cafferty—who’s just inherited her father’s unique curio shop—Quinn finds that Danni will need everything he can give her when she starts collecting on her own. Quinn is much like Paul’s Repairman Jack. Not bound by any rules that conventional law enforcement agents obey. Sure, he knows where the line is drawn, he just chooses to ignore it.

So how did this collaboration start?

Heather had an idea that involved Michael Quinn and a mausoleum containing a mysterious artifact. The problem? Repairman Jack works almost exclusively in New York City, so Paul had to come up with a way to bring him south to New Orleans.

That’s where Madame de Medici comes in.

Who’s that?

You’ll see.

Infernal Night

JACK WANDERED THE ROOM AS they spoke.

Okay, so Jules, the last surviving member of the Chastain family, was rich. If the private Gulfstream V that had flown him down here from LaGuardia and the Maybach with the liveried driver that had picked him up at the airport weren’t enough, the sprawling New Orleans mansion provided sufficient backup.

Moss-draped oaks had swayed in the breeze on either side of the house as the driver had let him out in front. “The Garden District,” he’d said. Jack had no idea what that meant, but the neighborhood spoke of genteel wealth, of a time forgotten, of slow grace, and a distant era. For all Jack knew, the manor house itself might have been a plantation once. With those massive pillars lining the front porch, it reminded him a little of Tara from Gone with the Wind.