“Ca—” I began, but couldn’t get the word out! In about a nanosecond, strong hands grabbed me, lifted me up. A forearm was shoved against my throat. I can’t talk! Simon’s face loomed close. “Don’t fight,” he whispered, jamming a knee between my legs. I could smell his alcohol-soaked breath, hear the sound of a car pulling up.
“Come on, man! We got your back!” I heard someone call. “Bash her head in and let’s go!”
God, this guy was strong. He had me pinned against the wall like a butterfly to a board. But then his free hand moved toward my neck. He’s going for Madame’s emerald’s! The pressure on my windpipe finally loosened. Now was my chance.
“Carnegie Hall!” I shouted.
“Huh?”
“Carnegie Hall! Carnegie Hall!”
The hard smack seemed to come a moment later, a fist striking flesh, and my attacker was sprawled on the ground. Free now, I stumbled, almost going down myself when a pair of strong hands caught me.
Around me I heard shouts, feet pounding pavement, squealing tires. A police car rolled up to the curb. Another appeared at the end of the street, siren blaring, blocking the getaway car.
In the flashing red lights, I looked up, saw the rugged face. Finally, I understood. I was in Mike Quinn’s arms.
“It’s over, sweetheart,” he said, smiling. “You were wonderful. The way you handled that perp, reeled him in. It was textbook, Clare. Thank you.”
I clutched his neck, pulled him close, and whispered into his ear.
“Next time, we’ve got to have a better panic phrase.”
Two EMTs checked me out, but I didn’t need more than an ice pack. I would have accepted a stiff drink, too, but nobody was offering me anything stronger than Coke (the kind that came in a cold can).
Mike had paperwork, interviews, instructions for the detectives under him, who were handling the bookings. And then he was off, and we were free.
“You didn’t have to wait for me,” he said as we exited the Sixth Precinct house.
“Yes, I did. I’ve got some good news…”
I told Mike everything. How I went to Keitel’s funeral home viewing and questioned his wife. How I heard from Dornier about the threatening letters in the black envelopes. When I got to the Club Flux part, he was mostly caught up.
“I remember your debriefing,” Mike told me. “You said you went to Flux to speak with the beverage manager, Billy Benedetto.”
“He’s Keitel’s killer, Mike. I’m sure of it. He has a very strong motive: Keitel ruined his family’s business, and it led to a lot of heartache. Benedetto also has a history of threatening Tommy. And here’s the topper: Dornier was a witness to it. He saw the threatening letters. He saw how often they came and how many.”
Mike nodded, put his hands on my shoulders. “I think you did it, sweetheart. I think you saved your little girl.”
“But how are we going to get him, Mike? We need proof, don’t we? I’ve heard you tell me that a thousand times.”
“We’ll get it. We’ll find a way. We can start by going to Ray Tatum tomorrow—you and me together. Tatum will give me some leeway, I think. We can get warrants for Benedetto’s computer and cell phone. We can find incriminating evidence, use it for an interrogation, pressure him to confess. We might have to use you to bait him. Do you think you can handle that?”
“Sure. I already baited Benedetto once. I’m willing to do it again with you listening.”
Relieved beyond belief, I closed my eyes then. Mike misunderstood.
“Listen, sweetheart,” he said. “Tomorrow’s another day. You look tired. Do you want me to walk you back to the Blend?”
“No.” I opened my eyes. “I’m not tired at all. My daughter will be out on bail by this time tomorrow, and once we nail Benedetto, she’ll be free of this nightmare for good. I feel like celebrating.”
“Is that right? Have anything special in mind?”
I nodded. “Your place.”
Mike’s own expression had looked a little weary, but the sun dawned fast at my suggestion. He smiled down at me; then his smile became a grin. He slipped his arm around my waist.
“Let’s go,” he said.
We took a cab to Alphabet City. We could have walked to the next neighborhood, but neither one of us wanted to waste time. Mike paid the driver, grabbed my hand, and pulled me into his apartment building.
The place was eight stories, a converted factory with high ceilings and new windows.
“Nice building,” I said in the elevator.
“It’s spartan inside,” he warned.
“But you do have a bed? I remember you saying something about—”
“A nice big one, sweetheart.” Mike winked. “No worries on that score.”
I laughed, so did he, then I waited a week for him to unlock his apartment. We moved inside, closed the door, and the moment he threw the dead bolt, I was pulling on the lapels of his overcoat, insisting his mouth cover mine.
That was the extent of the preliminaries. There was no need for more. We’d had a month of them already. It was finally time to get on with it.
Mike groaned and pulled me closer; then my feet were off the ground, but not by a few inches; this time my legs were swept fully off the planet. He carried me across his living room, where I failed to notice much—not the parquet floor or the high ceiling, not the lack of rugs, pictures, or furniture. All I remembered about our short trip was Mike’s hungry kisses, my racing heart, and the slight bump of the man’s shoe as it impatiently kicked at a half-closed door.
Now we were inside Mike’s bedroom: a chest of drawers, a wooden nightstand, a small table piled high with books and papers, and, just as promised, a nice, big, king-sized bed. The frame was no-frills. There wasn’t even a headboard, but the sheets were soft and clean, and the thick, new comforter was the color of sky.
He laid me down gently, resting my back against a heavenly cloud, and then things weren’t so gentle anymore. I tore at Mike’s overcoat, jerking it off. Next came the sport jacket, the tie. When I reached to unbutton his dress shirt, he stilled my fingers. He took care in removing his shoulder holster, wrapping the leather straps around his service weapon, resting it on the nightstand.
The shirt came off next. I lightly touched his heavy muscles, softly kissed some old scars. Mike swallowed hard, pushed me back against the pillows, wasted no more time separating me from my clothes. When he saw the nasty purple bruises on my upper arms, he stopped.
“My God, Clare. Was this from tonight?”
I shook my head. “When Joy was arrested. Lippert’s men…”
He quietly swore, pressed his lips to the hurt, and then we were both completely naked, stripped down until there was nothing more that could come between us.
The only thing left to take off was the exquisite string of emeralds around my neck. I moved my hands to undo the clasp. Mike stopped me, capturing my wrists and bringing them together above my head. His gaze moved slowly over my bared curves, taking me in for the first time. I held my breath, self-conscious for an instant, until his shining eyes met mine.
“So beautiful…” he whispered.
I smiled, and so did he. Then Mike and I were finally together, and for the next few hours, the rest of the world went away.
Twenty-Five
The sound of ringing woke me. For a moment, I thought it was an alarm clock, and then I realized it was the bedside phone. There was movement next to me on the mattress, and that’s when I remembered—
Mike.
I opened my eyes. He was there, beside me. His spartan bedroom was bathed in morning light, the sun rays pouring in through the half-closed miniblinds.
“Hello?” his deep voice murmured.
I was about to answer when I realized Mike was talking into the phone receiver. His long arm had allowed him to grab it off the nightstand without even sitting up.