Part 2 (1/2)
TWO.
Across the street from the free clinic, the teenage boy pitched the prepaid cell phone in the industrial trash can chained to a streetlight. The receiver rattled to rest beside soda cans and a used condom.
He ducked back into a shadowy alley beside the c.r.a.ppy corner market run by a snarky old b.i.t.c.h who stroked her Louisville Slugger anytime he walked through the door. He normally wouldn't come near this store at all anymore, but he could see the community center good from this spot.
He could see her. Shay.
The fan in her window swirled the light along the sidewalk. The pieces of her tall shadow were chopped up by the blades and spat outside along with the glow.
Was the skinny chick reckless or just plain stupid? Didn't she know how dangerous it was to sit like that with the window open? Anybody could climb through and pin her to the floor before she could even shout rape. And the center's old rent-a-cop couldn't find his a.s.s with both shaking hands, much less handle the nightstick he carried.
Like the billy club would protect anybody against knives or guns anyway. Did she think she was safe just because she wasn't a big-b.o.o.bed street corner s.k.a.n.k? Most of the guys he hung with got their rocks off from slapping around somebody smaller.
The same kind of guy who'd ”asked” him to get close to her. To watch her.
Fingers tracing the damp paint he'd sprayed over a rival gang's tag on the brick wall, he looked past the blades to Shay. The fan lifted her short brown hair as she hunched over her desk, writing. About him? He'd been watching her taking notes while he talked. She'd seemed upset when he hung up. Like she cared.
She hadn't even recognized his voice. Yeah, he'd changed it some. But still.
He couldn't let that matter. The clueless do-gooders around here only made things worse, interfering in a war they could never understand. Shay would have to look out for herself the same way he took care of himself.
Because while his life didn't matter, there were others' that did.
When Vince had agreed to hop a plane the minute he got back to the States and meet Don Ba.s.sett in Cleveland, he'd expected something along the lines of a discussion over a beer in a bar. He'd even been looking forward to that brewski, a drink he would no doubt need when talking about Shay and whatever trouble she'd landed in now.
Instead, Vince found himself driving with Don to a cut-rate hotel.
”Uh, Don, is Shay in there?” Vince stepped out of the sedan and looked at the older guy over the roof. ”If so, I'm not sure what help-”
”She's at a local community center where she works.” News to Vince, since they never talked about Shay. ”Everything will make sense soon enough. Patience.”
What was up with all this covert c.r.a.p? Had Don Ba.s.sett gone off his rocker? Don strode away from the rental car, quick strides eating up the walkway.
Oh-kay. Still no details. He hadn't been able to pry jack s.h.i.+t from Don on the phone or on the way from the airport to the-he looked up-Lake Erie Inn.
A rusted security light flickered erratically over Don like an off-tempo dis...o...b..ll. The old guy hadn't packed on the pounds like many did after leaving the military regimen. Still lanky-sorta like Richard Gere in a brown leather flight jacket and dress slacks-he had a distinguished distance to him that generated unwavering respect if not necessarily warm fuzzies.
And that respect kept Vince following along.
A second-story door swung open, hard-core jamming music swelling as three teenagers stumbled out. College students, he would wager.
”Gee, Don, don't I get dinner first? I feel so cheap.”
”Good thing I know you're serious underneath that bulls.h.i.+t, boy.” The older man didn't so much as crack a smile. Strange for a guy who'd always covered stress with a laugh.
Vince's neck itched with the funky feeling that had always warned him when something was off. It should have been tough getting leave the second he landed in the U.S. Vacation time was a distant memory to military personnel these days. Yet his request had sailed through faster than a Honda Gold Wing on a patch of oil.
He'd thought himself lucky. Now he wondered.
Itchy feeling in full-out burn mode, Vince kept pace past a soda machine, the red logo sun-faded to Pepto-Bismol pink. ”I'm all for patience, but I think it's time to clue me in.”
”Not much longer.” Don waved him toward a first corner room. ”Our contacts are waiting inside. We needed to pick a no-questions kind of place away from official channels. Somewhere we wouldn't run into an old acquaintance in the hall.”
Not a problem, since there were no halls. Although this was exactly the sort of place he would expect to b.u.mp into someone from his old crowd. If they weren't all in jail.
”I sincerely hope your friends aren't wearing spiked collars and stilettos,” Vince mumbled.
Don swiped the room card. ”Unlikely.”
Cool air gusted through the open door. He nodded to Don. ”After you, sir.”
He followed his old mentor into a suite of sorts with a kitchenette to go with the king-size bed. The bed was empty-thank you, patron saints of the road. The table, however, was packed with one man and two women, all wearing suits.
Don pushed the door closed quickly, sealing them inside with the other three people. Two Vince recognized, and one he didn't.
So . . . Starting with the familiar. Faces he'd seen on the news. A South Dakota congresswoman and a California congressman who definitely weren't toting leather whips or spiked doggy collars.
Don clapped Vince on the shoulder. ”Have a seat, son. This is about to get interesting.”
Do ya think? Vince pulled a chair from against the wall. ”Good evening, everyone.”
A meeting with Congress members in a hotel was usually cause for tabloid news and some racy photos. This appeared to be a different kind of gathering altogether.
He studied the second female, a redhead, probably in her early forties, who definitely wasn't Shay Ba.s.sett. He might not know this woman, but she had FBI written all over her dark suit, tight bun, and expressionless face. Well, d.a.m.n. That oil slick greasing his leave papers traced all the way to FBI headquarters.
Okay, then. Consider him officially hooked. He took in details he'd missed at first glance. A computer hummed beside the Fed. A tangle of cords attached the laptop to a portable projector. A video screen filled a corner.
He normally wouldn't pa.s.s up the coffee and doughnuts laid out on the other counter, but he had the feeling this meeting required his undivided attention.
The Fed extended her hand. ”h.e.l.lo, Major Deluca. My name is Special Agent Paulina Wilson. You may already be familiar with Congresswoman Raintree and Congressman Mooney.”
Vince nodded in greeting, exchanging quick pleasantries with both, more than ready to get down to business.
”Good, good,” Wilson continued, not a hair out of place, her slash of red lipstick the only color breaking up her otherwise pale face. ”You'll have to pardon our, uh, informal setting today, but what we're about to discuss is of the utmost secrecy. Sometimes the safest place is outside official walls.”
Sure, he understood. Much of what he did in his dark ops job was top secret. He'd just never held the covert meetings in a cheap hotel before.
Special Agent Wilson clicked on the projector. The first PowerPoint slide filled the screen with a photo of a sprawling university campus. ”A bipartisan committee from Congress will be holding a hearing at Case Western Reserve University next week. Led by Congressman Mooney and Congresswoman Raintree, the committee will be speaking on antigang legislation under consideration.”
Anybody who watched the news knew that was in the works. How did it play into Shay Ba.s.sett being in danger? And why would the FBI be interested in her?
Don leaned forward, fingers steepled on the table. ”My daughter is one of the witnesses, presenting information gleaned from her experiences working at the Cleveland Community Center.”
Now that was news to him.
Special Agent Wilson adjusted the focus. ”As with functions of this nature, we've had our surveillance ears open for anything out of the ordinary. I don't have to tell you what a national uproar it would cause if anyone managed to infiltrate a congressional meeting of any sort, much less one receiving this much attention.”