Deep Dark Night E-Book

Steph Broadribb

• Herausgeber: Orenda Books
• Kategorie: Gesellschafts- und Liebesromane
• Serie: Lori Anderson
• Sprache: Englisch

Seitenzahl: 427

Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2020

Beschreibung

Fearless Florida bounty-hunter Lori Anderson travels to Chicago to trap the head of a notorious crime family, in a high-stakes, nail-biting mission that sees her trapped in one of the city's tallest buildings during a blackout… 'A real cracker' Mark Billingham 'My kind of book' Lee Child 'Like Midnight Run, but much darker … really, really good' Ian Rankin ________________ A city in darkness. A building in lockdown. A score that can only be settled in blood… Working off the books for FBI Special Agent Alex Monroe, Florida bounty-hunter Lori Anderson and her partner, JT, head to Chicago. Their mission: to entrap the head of the Cabressa crime family. The bait: a priceless chess set that Cabressa is determined to add to his collection. An exclusive high-stakes poker game is arranged in the penthouse suite of one of the city's tallest buildings, with Lori holding the cards in an agreed arrangement to hand over the pieces. But, as night falls and the game plays out, stakes rise and tempers flare. When a power failure plunges the city into darkness, the building goes into lockdown. But this isn't an ordinary blackout, and the men around the poker table aren't all who they say they are. Hostages are taken, old scores resurface and the players start to die. And that's just the beginning… ________________ Praise for the Lori Anderson Series 'This is romping entertainment that moves faster than a bullet' Jake Kerridge, Sunday Express 'If you like your action to race away at full tilt, then this whirlwind of a thriller is a must' Deirdre O'Brien, Sunday People 'With convincing, gritty local detail, unflinching violence, and a subplot of red-hot romance, all narrated by a likeable, fast-talking heroine, this punchy and powerful adventure will leave you wanting more' Sunday Mirror 'Stripper-turned-bounty hunter Lori, with her sickly young daughter in tow, gets into high-octane escapes when she sets out to bring her former lover and mentor to justice. Lively' Sunday Times 'The non-stop twists and turns – plus Lori's constant dilemma as she is torn between the instincts of motherhood and the need to stay focused on her perilous mission – draw in readers like a magnet and keep them hooked to the action right up to the emotional conclusion' Burnley Gazette 'Deep Down Dead is an impressive thriller, the kind of book that comfortably sits alongside seasoned pros at the top of their game. Sultry and suspenseful, it marks a welcome first vow for an exceptional new voice' Good Reading Magazine 'Gripping, entertaining and utterly addictive, this is a cracking start to an enthralling new crime series…' Lancashire Evening Post 'Suspense, action, romance, danger and a plot that will keep you reading into the wee small hours. I loved it' Lisa Gray, Daily Record 'Fresh, fast and zinging with energy' Sunday Mirror

Leseprobe

Contents

Title Page

Praise

About the author

Dedication

Prologue

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Acknowledgements

Copyright

Other titles in the Lori Anderson Series

DEEP DARK NIGHT

Lori Anderson Book Four

Steph Broadribb

PRAISE FORDEEP DARK NIGHT

‘Packed full of thrills, action, suspense and heart … Steph Broadribb has fast become one of my very favourite thriller writers’ Lisa Gray

‘Fast paced, gutsy, elegantly plotted and thoroughly entertaining … an accomplished thriller. Broadribb is on top of her game with this one and I’d love to see where Lori goes from here. Lori is a breath of fresh air, the usual macho misogynist bullshit and tropes have no place here. My kind of novel’New Books Magazine

‘Deep Dark Night is an excellent addition to a great series; it has the best main characters you just have to root for and some flawlessly executed action scenes that had my heart beating a million miles an hour’ From Belgium with Book Love

‘Sizzling, soul-bending tension, wrapped up in a beautifully addictive thriller in which our heroine Lori Anderson takes on her most unforgiving adversary yet – darkness itself’ Liz Loves Books

‘Die Hard on speed’! A brilliant, fun, one-sitting read that will push your adrenaline levels sky high!’ Off-the-Shelf Books

‘This is Broadribb firing fast and furiously on all cylinders as we take a massive thrill ride into Chicago’s criminal elements. An electrifying read that will have you on the edge of your seat, praying for Lori to succeed … a fresh and exciting take on the quintessential locked-room mystery’ Live & Deadly

‘An extremely tense, action-packed thrill of a ride with a relentless pace that had my heart pounding and pulse racing throughout’ Novel Deelights

‘A fast-paced and exhilarating read that I managed to finish in just two days. I know, without a doubt, that I’ll be hopping on board to find out what happens next. Breathtaking and brilliant’ Hooked from Page One

PRAISE FOR THE LORI ANDERSON SERIES

‘This is romping entertainment that moves faster than a bullet’ Jake Kerridge, Sunday Express

‘If you like your action to race away at full tilt, then this whirlwind of a thriller is a must’ Deirdre O’Brien,Sunday People

‘Stripper-turned-bounty hunter Lori, with her sickly young daughter in tow, gets into high-octane escapes when she sets out to bring her former lover and mentor to justice. Lively’The Sunday TimesCrime Club

‘Sultry and suspenseful, it marks a welcome first for an exceptional new voice’Good Reading Magazine

‘A bit of everything – suspense, action, romance, danger and a plot that will keep you reading into the wee small hours. I loved it’ Lisa Gray,Daily Record

‘Bounty hunter Lori Anderson returns in this instalment of the high-octane US trilogy. Gutsy Lori is tasked with bringing in an on-the-run felon, her only chance to save her daughter’s father from jail. Fresh, fast and zinging with energy’Sunday Mirror

‘Anderson faces insults, attacks, and deceptions … with grit and determination. Readers will cheer her every step of the way’Publishers’ Weekly

‘The constant juggling of work and motherhood, aggression and affection, danger and domesticity make Lori a seductive star, excitingly extraordinary and yet still identifiably ordinary. The result is entertainment all the way’Lancashire Evening Post

‘The non-stop twists and turns draw in readers like a magnet and keep them hooked to the action right up to the emotional conclusion’ Pam Norfolk, Burnley Gazette

‘Fast, confident and suspenseful’ Lee Child

‘LikeMidnight Run, but much darker … really, really good’ Ian Rankin

‘A real cracker … Steph Broadribb kicks ass, as does her ace protagonist’ Mark Billingham

‘Pacey, emotive and captivating, this is kick-ass thriller writing of the highest order’ Rod Reynolds

‘A relentless page-turner with twists and turns that left me breathless’ J.S. Law

‘Fast paced, engaging and hugely entertaining’ Simon Toyne

‘Brilliant and pacey’ Steve Cavanagh

‘Excitement and exhilaration flies off every page’ David Young

‘An explosive, exciting debut’ David Mark

‘A hell of a thriller’ Mason Cross

‘A setting that zings with authenticity’ Anya Lipska

‘Fast, furious and thrilling’ Graeme Cameron

‘A series that will run and run’ Howard Linskey

‘A blistering debut’ Neil Broadfoot

‘If you love romantic suspense, you’ll love this ride’ Alexandra Sokoloff

‘A stunning debut from a major new talent’ Zoë Sharp

‘Perfect for fans of Lee Child and Janet Evanovich’ Alex Caan

‘Another adrenaline-fuelled, brilliant thriller from Steph Broadribb. Trouble has never been so attractive’ A.K. Benedict

‘Powerful, passionate and packs a real punch’ Fergus McNeill

‘Delivers thrills at breakneck pace’ Marnie Riches

‘Assured and emotionally moving’ Daniel Pembrey

‘Crying out to be a Hollywood movie’ Louise Voss

‘High-octane and breathlessly paced’ Ava Marsh

‘One of my favourite debut novels for a long, long time’ Luca Veste

‘A fast-talking, gun-toting heroine with a heart of gold’ Claire Seeber

‘A top crime talent! Unputdownable’ Helen Cadbury

‘Relentless, breathtaking and emotionally charged’ Jane Isaac

‘A gritty debut that will appeal to Sue Grafton fans’ Caroline Green

‘Great action scenes and great atmosphere’ C.J. Carver

‘Crazy good … full-tilt action and a brilliant cast of characters’ Yrsa Sigurđardóttir

‘Broadribb’s writing is fresh and vivid, crackling with life … an impressive thriller, the kind of book that comfortably sits alongside seasoned pros’ Craig Sisterson

‘Fast paced, zipping around the south-eastern US with chases, fights, ambushes and desperate escapes … All the action is well described, with the right amount of bone crunching, gunfire and gore. It feels realistic and not over the top … there’s a sensitivity in the telling of Lori’s struggle to save her daughter that givesDeep Down Dead a bit more depth than other action thrillers’ Crime Fiction Lover

‘A thrilling, assertive and energetic read, go on I dare you, grab yourself a copy’ LoveReading

‘Yet again, Steph Broadribb has written a great, engaging novel’ Segnalibro

‘I absolutely loved this book. Just everything is right – from the plot to the characterisation to the setting as we weave in and out of the southern states, including the ominous gator country. The authenticity of Steph’s language is, as always, impressive’ Joy Kluver

‘Broadribb is at the top her game, keeping this pacey, relentless novel rattling along at almost breathtaking speed and building tension on tension as the body count increases … a superb addition to the Lori canon’ Blue Book Balloon

‘A gutsy, relentless and substantial book with a heart of gold – rather like Lori herself. And I hope she comes storming back in another adventure very soon’ My Chestnut Reading Tree

‘Brimming with tension, high-stakes jeopardy and high-voltage action, and a deep, emotional core,Deep Dirty Truth is an unmissable thriller by one of the freshest and most exciting voices in crime fiction’ Steph’s Book Blog

‘This book is a real firecracker and takes off from the first page … Broadribb’s writing style is full on and unrelenting’ The Library Door

‘This is a very tightly written book, the action relentless, the characters unforgiving. But don’t just take my word for it: read it’ The Literary Shed

‘Explosive, emotional and full of the usual wicked humour, this is another sure-fire Lori Anderson hit. This is a series that could run and run … and I can’t get enough’ Jen Med’s Book Reviews

‘A compelling and thrilling read with a kick-ass protagonist readers are going to love’ By the Letter Book Reviews

‘The story is so sharp, so well written that I felt like I’d been following all along’ Tales before Bedtime

‘It is tense, exciting and surprising but is also packed with perceptive characterisation, an atmospheric sense of place, some witty touches of black humour and real emotional depth’ Hair Past a Freckle

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Steph Broadribb was born in Birmingham and grew up in Buckinghamshire. Most of her working life has been spent between the UK and USA. As her alter ego – Crime Thriller Girl – she indulges her love of all things crime fiction by blogging at crimethrillergirl.com, where she interviews authors and reviews the latest releases. She is also a member of the crime-themed girl band The Splice Girls. Steph is an alumni of the MA in Creative Writing (Crime Fiction) at City University London, and she trained as a bounty hunter in California, which inspired her Lori Anderson thrillers. She lives in Buckinghamshire surrounded by horses, cows and chickens.

Her debut thriller,Deep Down Dead, was shortlisted for the Dead Good Reader Awards in two categories, was a finalist in the ITW Awards, and hit number one on the UK and AU kindle charts. The sequels,Deep Blue TroubleandDeep Dirty Truth,soon followed suit.My Little Eye(2018) andYou Die Next(2019), written under her pseudonym, Stephanie Marland, were then published by Trapeze Books.

Follow Steph on Twitter @CrimeThrillGirl and on Facebook at facebook.com/CrimeThrillerGirl or visit her website and sign up for her readers’ club: crimethrillergirl.com.

Other titles in the Lori Anderson Series

Deep Down Dead

Deep Blue Trouble

Deep Dirty Truth

For Nanna,

with love x

Prologue

Sure they knew they shouldn’t go down to the basement.

It was damp, unsafe, their parents said. And there were rats – a whole bunch of rats. They knew for sure about the rats because they’d seen them with their own eyes. But they’d lived in the neighbourhood their whole lives, and the warnings didn’t make no difference – the place being off limits that way made them want to go down there even more.

Danger was cool, they thought. They were young and wanted adventure and fun is all – something to give them a break from school and studying and exams. And the tension at home – the anger and the resentment, the frustration and fights.

And it was huge down there in the basement – a dark space that stretched out the whole way under their apartment building, maybe a whole lot further. They wanted to explore it all, see what was hidden down there in the far corners, inside the mouldy cardboard boxes and shielded underneath those thick plastic-covered stacks. They broke in all the time. Picked the lock if they had to. It was all a part of the thrill.

This one time, though, something was different.

They smelled it first.

Sometimes when they opened the door to the basement and stepped inside, it just smelled of damp cardboard and old, stale air. Every now and again there’d be something else – bleach or some kind of chemicals, a dead rat, a garbage sack forgotten and left to fester rather than getting put out with the rest of the trash. From time to time, when they left they’d leave behind the aroma of the mellow smoke from their joints, or the smell of young bodies experimenting with sex for the first time.

But on that day, the smell was different. And instinctively, a primal sense within them told them it was bad.

Still, they didn’t turn back. Because, well, curiosity, you know.

The five of them huddled closer together; the one with the nickname Hawk in the front, and the one they called Lookie at the back. And they kept on going, scanning the dark void of the basement with their flashlights. No one wanted to be the one to suggest they turn back.

Every step further, the smell got stronger. Acrid. It clogged in their throats and made their eyes water. And as it did, they figured it was more than one smell – it was like skidding tyres and bonfires and bacon, all mixed up together, but not in a good way.

They found him a few steps later.

He was on his knees. Hands roped behind his back.

His blackened lips were wide. His contorted face twisted mid-scream.

An old tyre had been hung around his neck. It had gotten damaged by the fire, but it was still intact. The man hadn’t fared so well. He was dead – they could tell that much for sure – nobody could have survived. But who he was once, beneath the burnt, blackened flesh, that they couldn’t tell, at least not right then, anyways.

Lookie vomited. One of the girls started crying. The rest of them just stood and stared and didn’t know what to do. Hawk – always the bravest of the group – took a few steps closer. Said they needed to call the cops. Give a description. Do the right thing.

The others were just about to agree.

Then Hawk began to scream.

1

Cloud Gate, Millennium Park, Chicago

Chicago isn’t a one-mob kind of a place. There’s a whole bunch of them, all vying for the top spot, but the Cabressa crime family – for whom FBI Special Agent Alex Monroe has a major hard-on – has its history written in blood among the bricks and bridges of this windy city.

But right now there’s no sign of blood or the infamous wind. Here in Millennium Park the sun’s out and the breeze is a gentle whisper. Still, I shiver. In spite of the cloudless sky, fall in Chicago just doesn’t come close to matching the intensity of the Florida heat.

Beside me the gigantic metal ‘Bean’ sculpture, so called because it’s shaped like a kidney bean laying on its side, towers upwards. It’s way taller than me, many times over, but compared to the size and scale of the buildings in this city it seems kind of like a dollhouse miniature.

Turning, I scan my surroundings, double-checking I’ve gotten into the right position. Huge skyscrapers rise like glass-and-steel mountains behind me and on both flanks of the park. Ahead of me, dwarfed by the giant buildings all around but determined not to be upstaged, the trees look real fancy in their fall colours of burnt gold, bronze and red. I gaze past them, across the great lawn, to the edge of the park and South Lakeshore Drive. I can’t see it from here, but I know from the map I committed to memory on the way here that just beyond the street lies the shimmering water of Lake Michigan. I exhale. I’m in the right place.

In the distance, I hear a clock chime. It’s noon. This is the rendezvous point. They were very clear: Millennium Park, twelve o’clock, in front of the Bean, facing towards the lake. The person I’m meeting should be wearing a Chicago Bulls ballcap and carrying a go-cup from Starbucks, but that’s all the intel I have. I scan the people around me – three ladies, clad in bright Lycra shorts and crop tops, jogging, a bald guy walking five dogs of assorted sizes, a couple of families – obvious vacationers from the way they’re pointing at things and stopping to look, and a load of folks walking along the pathways or sitting at the wooden benches eating lunch. At least five of them are wearing Bulls caps, but none is carrying a Starbucks.

Damn. I need to meet the contact. I have to get this job done.

I check my watch: near on five after twelve. Turning, I glance at my reflection in the huge mirrored surface of the Bean. Flick my gaze to the right. The reflections of people further from the sculpture are more distorted because of the curving sides, but JT is still easy to pick out – tall and athletic with dirty-blond hair – he’s a little ways across the grass, joining in with a park yoga class. He’s the only one wearing Levi’s.

You won’t be alone. I’ll be hiding in plain sight, JT had said. And I’m glad he’s here. Because even though I guess there’s more safety in meeting in a busy public place like this, you can never really be safe when you’re waiting on a meeting with a mobster. A mobster who, right now, is late.

I wonder if they came and didn’t like what they saw. I know how these old crime families tend to be real patriarchal. Could be they took a look at me and decided they didn’t want to do business with a woman. I’ve had that before – a female bounty hunter just isn’t macho enough. It’s dumb-as-a-stump talk, obviously, but you get burned that way a few times and it sure does begin to irritate.

Or maybe they won’t show. Could be that calling them up cold and telling them I had something Cabressa wants didn’t pique their interest enough. I think of the debt I owe to FBI Special Agent Alex Monroe for helping me out on my last job in Miami, and the fact I’d do just about anything right now to be free of that debt and back home with my daughter, Dakota. I glance again at JT, who’s clumsily attempting a downward-dog yoga pose, and wish that we could have stayed home in Florida, away from the mob, with more time to work through the past decisions that’ve recently come back to haunt us.

I adjust my weight from foot to foot. Press my palm against the outside of my purse and check that the contents are safe. I feel the curves of the metal object inside and exhale. Hope to hell our plan works out. After what happened just a couple of weeks ago in Miami – me getting caught in the middle of a three-way shoot-out between law enforcement and two fractions of the Miami Mob – I’m not sure I have the stomach for much more violence. But I’m no quitter. This isn’t my first rodeo, and I’m damn sure that it won’t be my last.

‘Miss Anderson?’

Turning as I hear my name, I see a man approaching me from the other side of the Bean. He’s almost as wide as he is high, and in all truth he’s not that short. His Popeye arm muscles look like they’re about to bust clean out of his shirt sleeves, and his thighs are stretching his pants to the max. There’s a red Chicago Bulls ballcap propped on top of his mop of curly black hair. He’s wearing shades, and I’d reckon on him being in his mid-forties. He’s swigging an iced coffee from a Starbucks plastic go-cup.

My stomach lurches but I keep my voice strong, professional. ‘Yes?’

‘I’m Critten.’ He takes off his shades. ‘I hear you got something you want to tell my boss?’

His cold blue eyes take a predatory sweep of me, like a shark does a free diver. I hold my ground, square my shoulders and straighten my spine. ‘Sure do.’

He jerks his head towards the path leading out across the park to the water. ‘Let’s take a walk.’

I do as he says, and once we reach the pathway I start talking. ‘Like I said on the phone, I’ve got the gold chess pieces from the 1986 Vegas Legends game. Word is your boss is in the market for a set of pieces like that.’

Critten says nothing, but there’s a muscle pulsing in his neck.

‘It’s the full set, all one point three five million dollars’ worth.’ I glance at Critten again – he’s staring straight ahead, giving nothing away. ‘I’ll take eight hundred thousand, and your boss will think you’ve brokered him a real bargain.’

‘How do we know you’re for real?’ Critten says. He’s still looking along the path, not making eye contact.

I scan the people near us, figuring there must be more mob guys around. But there’s no one real obvious, just some parents hand-in-hand with young kids, a couple of joggers with their dogs trotting alongside them, tongues lolling out, and a group of college kids in #NotMyPresident T-shirts, chattering loudly. None of them looks like a threat. Critten, on the other hand, moves his hand to his belt, and as his jacket flaps open, I see the gun at his hip.

Sliding my hand into my purse I feel the cool, hard metal inside and pull out the proof that I’m not bluffing. I hand it to him. ‘Here, this should convince you.’

He stops walking and examines the pawn. It looks tiny in the middle of his meaty palm.

Stopping beside him, I wait. Feel my heart punching faster against my ribs. Trying not to think about his gun, just inches from me, I calculate how long it’d take for me to grab the Taser from my purse and fire it into him, if things turn bad.

Ten seconds pass, then another twenty, as Critten examines every bit of the pawn. Suddenly there seem to be fewer people around. I notice a man in a sport coat a little ways from us, taking pictures on his cellphone; there are bulges beneath the coat, exactly where a double shoulder holster would hold a pair of guns. As our eyes meet, I look away. Then I see another guy, sitting on a bench, watching us. There’s a gun at his hip, same as Critten. He sees me looking, but he doesn’t glance away. Nor do I. I might be in these boys’ city, but I’m not a woman to back down easy. Let them watch us; I’ve got a job to do.

A full minute goes by and still Critten doesn’t speak. Like a girl all dressed for prom and standing on the front porch looking out for her date, I’m getting real sick of waiting. My mouth’s as dry as gator hide in the sunshine. Everything hinges on this. I need for Critten to take the bait.

Finally, he looks at me. ‘Tell me how’d you get this?’

I act coy. ‘Let’s say I procured it.’

‘How?’

I glance away. Not sure how much to tell, or how much I want to tell. I decide to stay as close to the truth as I can without giving away my involvement with the Feds. ‘I took them from Marcus Searle – the man who butchered your employee and stole them.’

Critten shrugs. ‘What employee?’

‘Patrick Walker, your accountant. I know what happened to him and his family on board the yachtSunsearcher.I saw the pictures on the news. And I know Searle was behind it and took the pieces.’

‘How the hell you know about that?’

I don’t tell him that I made the discovery when I was on an off-the-books job for the FBI – tracking down the escaped convict, Gibson ‘The Fish’ Fletcher, before he crossed the border into Mexico. And I stay silent on the fact that Gibson had been working for Special Agent Alex Monroe – stealing the chess pieces to facilitate an elaborate sting operation in Chicago – and that messed-up situation, and the one I’m now in, was all due to Monroe’s hard-on for Cabressa. Instead I smile real sweet and say, ‘Word travels fast, especially when the items are high value and blood gets spilled.’

Critten frowns. ‘Way I heard it, the man who took them ended up dead. You do that?’

I shake my head. ‘He was already dead when I found him, but the pieces were no place to be seen. I figured if I could find them there’d still be people interested in buying. Your boss is top of that list.’

‘We haven’t seen you in our city before.’ Critten narrows his eyes. His fist clenches around the pawn like he’s trying to choke it. ‘Are you with Herron?’

I shake my head. ‘Herron? I’ve no idea what the hell that is.’

Critten looks unconvinced. ‘So you just a thief then?’

I stare into his cold, hard eyes. Force myself not to look away. I try not to think how many people have already paid for these chess pieces with their blood, that I must be outside my head to do this job. ‘I don’t work for anyone. I’m more of an opportunist.’

We stare at each other for a long moment. I hold my breath. The tension makes my stomach flip.

‘Okay then,’ says Critten. He thrusts the pawn back into my hand.

I frown. Confused. ‘Okay?’

Critten doesn’t reply. Instead he leaves me standing on the path, watching him walk away. For the first time in a long while, I don’t know what to do next.

They haven’t taken the bait. I’ve blown it.

I can’t pay my debt to FBI Special Agent Alex Monroe.

How the hell am I going to get myself free?

2

Back at the hotel things are going to hell in a handbasket. JT sits on the narrow desk beside the coffee maker. I remain standing. I’ve filled JT and Monroe in on what happened at the park. Now JT and me are watching Monroe as he paces back and forth across the room. His black suit is crumpled, his tie crooked.

‘What the hell – there isn’t a plan B?’ I say. ‘I don’t get it. This was never a dead cert anyways.’

Monroe shakes his head. Keeps pacing side to side across the room. It’s a nice room in a mid-price chain hotel – big enough for JT and me to remain anonymous but small enough for us to make a quick getaway if we need one. And even though it’s got a decent square footage, with a king bed and a good-sized closet, with all Monroe’s frenetic energy it’s suddenly feeling a whole lot smaller.

‘We should go home,’ says JT, running his hand over the dirty-blond stubble on his jaw. ‘No sense staying if they’re not going to play.’

‘No.’ Monroe stops mid-pace. Turns to JT. ‘Not yet.’

JT frowns. ‘Why not? The guy just—’

‘Look, Cabressa is totally OCD about things. It’s a well-known fact. Something he’s made a part of his image – nothing overlooked, every issue dealt with.’

I take a step closer to JT. His muscular bulk and chilled attitude is a whole lot more appealing than Monroe’s angry mania. ‘Maybe he just doesn’t want these chess pieces all that bad,’ I say.

Monroe turns to face me. ‘He wants them, believe me.’

I frown. ‘A man like that, head of the top mob family, can buy anything he wants. There are other valuable chess sets out in the—’

‘Not like this one,’ snaps Monroe. ‘Cabressa was in Vegas for the game back in eighty-six. He took his favourite son, his youngest, Roberto – a hell of a chess player himself, so I’m told, and a real fan of the game. It was the boy’s seventeenth birthday.’

‘So he wants it as a present for the son?’

Monroe shakes his head and runs his hand through his over-long red-brown hair, making it stick up. It makes him look like a greying rooster. ‘Roberto died a few days later back in Chicago. There was a pile-up on the freeway outside the city, nine vehicles – the boy never stood a chance. Cabressa was still in Vegas when it happened. The last time he saw his son had been the night of the chess match.’

I bite my lip. Hell, losing a child, that’s the kind of pain a parent can’t ever recover from. ‘Cabressa wants the chess pieces to remind him of that last time with his son?’

‘He’s been after these pieces a long time,’ says Monroe. ‘You gave Critten the pawn, yes?’

I nod. ‘I told you that I did, but that he gave it right back.’

Monroe mutters something to himself then looks back at me. ‘Then we’ll have to hope it isn’t all lost.’

‘But the man just walked away,’ says JT. ‘That’s a pretty clear demonstration of not being interested.’

‘Sure,’ I say. ‘But if what Monroe’s saying about Cabressa is true he’ll still want this chess set.’

Monroe nods. ‘We need to wait. He’ll get in touch.’

JT looks from me to Monroe and lets out a long whistle. Doesn’t look a whole lot convinced. ‘Maybe.’

Monroe frowns. The tension between Monroe and JT hangs thick in the air. JT doesn’t trust Monroe an inch, and right now they look like two stags ready to lock horns.

I move over to the bed and sit down as I change the subject. ‘So who’s Herron?’

Monroe looks real worried. ‘Who told you about him?’

‘Critten asked if I worked for him. I said no.’

‘In truth, we don’t know who Herron is. My sources tell me the rumours started a couple of months back, every time a shipment went missing, stashes got robbed, or a club got turned over, the word on the street was that Herron was behind it. They’re saying he’s the new man in the city, with a fresh crew, and that’s making everyone twitchy.’

‘Even Cabressa?’ JT says.

‘Especially Cabressa.’ Monroe rubs his hand across his chin. ‘And when Cabressa gets twitchy, there’s usually a bloodbath.’

A wave of nausea floods through me. I swallow hard. Fix Monroe with my gaze. ‘I didn’t sign up for that.’ I glance at JT. ‘We didn’t sign up for it.’

Monroe gives me a crocodile smile. ‘But you’re here, and you got a job to do.’

‘This is a sting, not a combat operation.’ JT’s expression is real serious. His tone no-shit determined. ‘Things get messy, we’re out.’

Monroe glares at him a beat longer than is comfortable. Then he laughs. ‘Yes it’s a sting, for sure, and you’re not here as cannon fodder, but I don’t want any mistakes, you got to make sure you do the job right.’

I can tell from the firm set of his jaw that JT’s pissed. I’m feeling the same way. I catch Monroe’s gaze. Raise my eyebrows. ‘You doubting us now?’

Monroe sighs. ‘Look, for the Bureau the pieces are the tip of the iceberg. You do your job right, and we arrest Cabressa for handling stolen goods. Taking him into custody will send a ripple through the mob’s world, and word will get around fast to the other crime families here in the city. When we’ve arrested him before there’s not been enough evidence to make things stick, but we do this right and we’ll be able to hold him. That’ll disrupt the power he has over the city.’ Monroe’s getting more passionate as he speaks. ‘People will see he’s in trouble and they’ll want to talk, cut a deal, before they get pulled in. The crime eco-system will be in flux, and that’ll give us the chance to get more dirt on Cabressa. Then we can lock him up for good.’

I’ve never seen Monroe so passionate about catching a criminal, and I know for a fact that he’s only really interested in doing things where he personally benefits. I tilt my head to one side. ‘Why this guy; why not one of the others?’

‘What the hell does it matter to you?’ Monroe growls.

‘I’m curious why you’re getting your panties in such a wad. And if I’m risking my hide for this, why don’t you humour me?’

Monroe is silent for a long moment. Shakes his head. ‘Look, I lost a promotion when the sting I planned last time failed … That made this personal. If I lose again this time, my career’s over.’ He glares at me. ‘That a good-enough reason for you?’

‘Sure,’ I say. But, as I watch him start to pace again, I wonder if he’s told me the whole truth. It wouldn’t be the first time he’s lied to me. And when he does lie, things have a habit of getting real dangerous, real fast.

3

Monroe leaves a few minutes later, but the tension remains in the room. The confusing meet with Critten and the conversation afterwards with Monroe has me feeling jacked up as a junkie on crystal, and I can’t work out if it’s the fear of failure or the fear that the job will go ahead that’s causing my adrenaline to spike.

Getting up from the bed, I cross the room to the coffee maker and start to fix a mug. I fumble with the mechanism. My hands tremble as I slot the coffee pod into the machine.

JT moves closer to me. ‘What’s up?’

‘I’m fine,’ I say, struggling until the pod clicks into place. Then I fill the water reservoir and press the button. Watch the coffee start to drip through into the mug below. Clench my hands into fists to stop them shaking.

JT looks real concerned. He puts his hand on my shoulder. ‘Like I said, Lori, you don’t have to do this.’

‘But I really do. This whole situation has me stuck tighter than a hair in a biscuit. It’s the only way I can pay the debt I owe Monroe.’

‘But you know he only helped you out on that Miami job because it suited him? He wasn’t doing you any favours.’

‘For sure.’

‘Then walk away.’ JT shakes his head. ‘You don’t owe that man a damn thing.’

JT might be right, but things didn’t work like that. ‘He’ll always have a hold on me if I don’t do this, and you know that’s the truth – if I do something he doesn’t like he’ll find some way to make our lives hell. Shit, he’ll probably try and throw you in jail again just to spite me.’

JT looks thoughtful. He looks at me with those big old blues of his. Squeezes my shoulder. ‘I guess you’re right. But working for him on this? Hell, I sure don’t like it any.’

‘Me neither.’ I lean into his hand. Hold his gaze. I can sense that there’s something more he wants to say, but he’s holding back. That’s kind of the story of our relationship – things left unsaid, stuff left unresolved. I don’t want it to be that way, and I can guess what’s eating at him. I take a deep breath. ‘You want to talk about Dakota and the bone-marrow donor thing?’

He lets go of my shoulder. Takes a step back. ‘Jeez, Lori, you want to have that conversation right now?’

Beside me the coffee maker gurgles and hisses as the last of the coffee filters into the mug. I keep my focus on JT. ‘We’ve been putting it off, and I can tell it’s eating at you.’

‘Maybe we should get this job—’

‘Could be I don’t survive the job. I don’t want you never knowing.’

‘Don’t talk like that.’ He looks hurt, worried.

‘Talk like what? Honestly?’

JT shakes his head. ‘Okay, look, while we were on the boat with Red, Dakota told me how when she was real sick and they were thinking the cancer wasn’t going to respond to the treatment, they said she might need a bone-marrow donor.’

‘That’s right.’

‘She said you got tested but you weren’t a good match.’

Tears prick my eyes as I remember my sweet baby girl, just eight years old then, lying in the hospital bed. Skinny and sick, she’d looked as pale as the bed sheets. It was the worst time in both our lives. ‘Yes.’

JT frowns. ‘You never got in touch with me, even when our daughter was so sick she might die. I could be a match – but you never even gave me the chance to—’

‘It didn’t come to that. She started responding to the treatment, and the doctors stopped talking about needing a donor.’

‘What if she’d died back then? I’d never have known I had a daughter.’ There’s hurt in his eyes, and a whole lot of it. His voice is loaded with emotion as he says, ‘You would have robbed me of that, Lori.’

It’s true, I would have. But back then I had no idea JT would even like the idea of having a daughter, let alone be happy to find out he’d gotten the real thing. Ten years ago, he’d been a reclusive bounty hunter and I’d been grieving the death of my best friend, who’d been shot in front of me by my good-for-nothing husband, Tommy. Tommy had evaded the cops and disappeared into the wind. JT had helped me find him. He’d taught me how to track a man and how to capture him. But when it came to me bringing him in, Tommy attacked me, and I emptied my gun into him. JT never understood why I didn’t shoot to disable rather than kill, just as he’d taught me. I couldn’t explain why either. That night, as JT helped me bury Tommy’s body, our romance died. The next day I packed my belongings in silence and drove out of JT’s life. Four months later, when I realised I was pregnant, I made the decision never to tell him – he’d let me go and he’d never once tried to make contact after the fact. He’d been the love of my life, but I’d gotten used to the idea that I’d never see him again. And it’d stayed that way until earlier this year, when a job brought us into contact, and back together. Since then we’ve been trying to figure things out.

‘After the way things ended between us I never thought—’

JT sighs. ‘I lost it. That night, with Tommy fresh under the dirt, I wasn’t thinking straight.’ He steps closer. Softens his tone. ‘I forgave you a long time ago, Lori. But seems you couldn’t bring yourself to forgive me?’

He’s right. I couldn’t, not for a real long time, and then, when the hurt of how he’d reacted to me in the aftermath of Tommy’s death had dulled a little, it felt like it was too late to make amends. Still, a relationship goes both ways. ‘If I had my time over, I’d tell you. But that’s with hindsight and the knowledge that you were happy to learn about Dakota. Back then things were different. No, I didn’t tell you, and yes I am sorry about that, but you near as dammit threw my ass out on the street, and although you’re saying you forgave me, you didn’t come find me either.’

‘I didn’t. And I’ve regretted that for a long, long time.’ He reaches out and takes my hands in his.

My mouth goes dry and my heart hammers against my ribs for a whole other reason than earlier. It’s always been this way between us. His touch ignites something in me no other man ever has, but it’s not just the physical stuff; it’s the connection and the way I feel with him, how he is with Dakota, and the fact I know for sure that he would do anything to protect our daughter, even if it cost him his life.

JT gazes into my eyes real serious and says, ‘So where does that leave us?’

‘Here. Now,’ I say, squeezing his hands. ‘Let’s start again from now.’

‘Deal,’ says JT.

I press my lips against his and we kiss. He wraps his arms around me and I melt my body against his. In this moment I feel calm, and secure, and happy. JT has always felt like safety.

My cell vibrates in my pocket. The maximum-volume ringtone blasting out like the horn of the Staten Island ferry. Reluctantly, I pull away from JT and take out my phone. I smile when I see the caller ID.

Pressing answer, I accept the FaceTime call. ‘Hello sweetheart.’

Dakota’s face fills the screen. Her long strawberry-blonde hair is pulled up in a messy bun on the top of her head. Her vivid blue eyes, just like her daddy’s, are bright, and she’s got a big smile on her face. ‘Hey Momma. Mr Red said it would be okay to call. Is it okay? Is JT with you? What’s Chicago like?’

I laugh at the barrage of questions. Turning the phone, I angle it so she can see JT on screen as well. ‘Of course it’s okay to call – it’s great you’re calling. We’re both here. Chicago is nice but not as hot as where you are.’

‘We’re on the boat,’ says Dakota. She pans her phone’s camera round, giving us a glimpse of the green-and-gold livery of my good friend and trusted confidante, Red’s, houseboat. ‘Mr Red is teaching me how to sail. Today I was allowed to steer her all by myself.’

‘That sure sounds a lot of fun,’ says JT. ‘What was Red doing when you were steering?’

‘He was having a sleep.’ Although Dakota’s expression has turned serious, I can tell from the giggle in her voice she’s trying hard to conceal her mischief.

I decide to play along. Gasping, I fake a shocked look. ‘He was doing what?’

I hear Red chuckling in the background. He steps into the picture, crouching down beside Dakota. Silver hair, deep tan and a wicked smile, he looks relaxed and happy as he says to Dakota, ‘Don’t you go worrying your momma; tell her and JT the truth.’

She giggles. ‘Don’t worry, Momma. We’re just messing with you. Mr Red was right next to me, teaching me how to steer. I was good, wasn’t I?’

‘That you were, Little Fish,’ says Red, the chuckle still in his voice.

I raise an eyebrow at JT. ‘Little Fish?’

‘It’s what Mr Red calls me, because I’m such a great swimmer. We’re going swimming every day in the ocean. Mr Red has been teaching me how to dive too. First I had to do sitting dives but now he’s said I can do standing dives off the boat.’

‘I’m glad you’re having fun, honey.’

Suddenly she frowns, and her tone changes. ‘When are you and JT coming back?’

I look at JT. In truth we don’t know. I need to get this job done, and it could be I need to do a whole lot more grafting to get closer to Cabressa. The longer he takes to take the bait, the longer we’ll have to stay in Chicago.

‘We’re not sure,’ JT says. ‘Hopefully not too much longer.’

‘Well good,’ Dakota says. ‘Because Ireally want to show you my diving.’

JT nods. ‘I’m looking forward to that.’

‘Me too,’ I say. ‘Honey, can I have a word with Red?’

She frowns. ‘Why?’

‘Just boring grown-up stuff.’

‘Okay. But come home soon, Momma. Then we can all go swimming together.’ She passes the cell to Red.

JT pours our coffee as I wait for Red to move across the boat, away from Dakota. As he walks, the camera shows the outside deck, the water lapping against the jetty, a gull pecking at something on the wooden boards. Then it swings upwards and Red reappears. ‘What’s on your mind, Miss Lori?’

‘Is she really doing okay?’ I can’t disguise the worry in my voice.

‘She’s doing real good. You don’t need to be worrying on that. Your little apple didn’t fall far from the tree – she’s tough, just like her momma. You just focus on doing what you need to get done, then get on back here.’

‘Thank you,’ I say. ‘For everything.’

‘You’ve no need to thank me, Miss Lori. It’s always a pleasure helping out.’

‘I’m thanking you anyhow.’

Red puts his fingers to his forehead in a mock salute. ‘Appreciate that.’

In the background I hear Dakota asking if they can practise diving again. I swallow down the feeling that I should be there with her, having these new experiences with her, not stuck in another city, in another state, thousands of miles from home. I force a smile. ‘You should go.’

Red nods. ‘Be safe, Miss Lori.’

‘You too,’ I say, and then I end the call.

I stand for a moment with the cell clutched to my chest. Fighting the urge to say to JT,Let’s grab our stuff, leave this hotel and jump on a plane back to Florida.

He passes me a mug of coffee. Frowns as he sees the expression on my face. When he speaks it’s as if he can read my mind. ‘Lori, we can walk away from this. Whatever you decide, I’m with you.’

The coffee is hot in my hand. The fear of failing, or worse – something bad happening to both me and JT, and our daughter getting orphaned – makes my stomach churn. There’s a sour taste in my mouth, and I feel like I might vomit. I feel this, but I still know that I can’t walk away. I made a deal with Monroe – a deal with a devil in federal agent’s clothing: his help for mine. And I never go back on my word.

I put my coffee down on the desk and shake my head. ‘I can’t,’ I say softly. ‘Like I said, I have to finish this. We’ll never be free of Monroe if I don’t.’

‘Then together we’ll get it done, and then we’ll go home.’

‘Thank you,’ I say, as my cell buzzes.

I check the screen. Feel my pulse accelerate as I read the message from an unknown number:

DuSable Bridge. 30 minutes. Bring the pawn. Come alone.

4

I have to get my hustle on if I’m going to make DuSable Bridge, where Michigan Avenue crosses the river, in thirty minutes. I’ve gotten my purse, with the pawn inside, and a can of pepper spray in the pocket of my Levi’s, but that’s all the preparation I had time for before I left the hotel.

I walk fast. Scanning ahead as I weave around the folks on the sidewalk, not letting them slow me down. I know JT is tailing me a little ways behind – watching my six, looking out for whatever these Chicago mobsters have in store.

And although I’m having to improvise, I’m real glad Critten made contact so fast. I’ve no kind of patience for Cabressa’s people getting a case of the druthers. I don’t have time for any messing around – I want to get this job done and get home to my baby. I check my watch. Walk faster. Just over fifteen minutes to make it to the meeting point.

The screech of tyres alongside me makes me jump. I dart away from the traffic. Glance over my shoulder and see a blue, double-cab pick-up truck mounting the curb as the driver wrestles with the wheel. It’s hurtling towards me.

I think, brake failure. My breath catches in my throat, and I dive across the sidewalk. The front of the vehicle just misses smacking into me and stops inches from the wall on my right. I exhale hard, but there’s no time to relax. The door of the rear passenger side swings open and, as a bearded blond guy with his expression set at a grimace grabs for my purse, I realise this isn’t a damn accident.

Holding tight to my purse, I try to wrestle it away. Damn asshole’s trying to rob me. Well, I sure as shit won’t be allowing that to happen.

‘Let go, girlie,’ growls the blond man. He yanks the purse so hard that I lose my balance and stumble forward, slamming against the side of the vehicle. All around us horns are blasting.

‘You done?’ calls a man from the driver’s seat. I can’t get a good look at him from this angle. All I see is a denim jacket stretched over broad shoulders and a glimpse of the side of his head: dark hair, a pair of shades and a navy ballcap.

‘Give me a minute,’ says the blond guy.

He tugs at the purse again, but I’m clinging on tight. I want to reach for my pepper spray but can’t risk taking my hands off the purse.

‘We gotta move,’ says the driver. There’s an undertone of panic in his voice now.

The blond guy cusses. It feels like he’s losing his grip on the purse. I lean forward, pulling it to me. Next moment he slams the heel of his hand into my chest, shoving me backwards.

I let go of the purse. ‘Asshole,’ I hiss at the blond guy.

He ignores me. Yells to the driver, ‘Go.’

The truck starts reversing. I grab for the shoulder strap of my purse through the still-open rear passenger door. As my fingers close round it the vehicle bumps down off the sidewalk. I grit my teeth. Can’t let them take the purse, it’s got the pawn I need to show Critten.

I won’t let them take it.

The vehicle stops. I see the driver shoving the gear into drive. The blond asshole is trying to tug the shoulder strap from me. I’ve a split second to make up my mind, so I choose. As the vehicle lurches forward onto the street I leap off the sidewalk into the back seat of the pick-up.

‘What the…?’ says the blond asshole.

I use my momentum to power a punch into his bearded face. Capitalise on his surprise to grab the purse.

He won’t let go. ‘Give it up, girlie.’

‘Never,’ I hiss.

The car speeds down the street, throwing me back against the rear seat. The rear passenger door is still open and bashes against my feet with every bump in the road. The blond won’t let go of the purse and nor will I. We punch and slap, and when he tries to grab my face between his fingers I bite him. He recoils briefly, but I’m not in a good position – half lying, half sitting across the back seat. I get an elbow jab into his ribs, but it’s not as powerful as I’d like. Next moment the car races around a bend, and I’m thrown across the seat again.

When I look back at the blond asshole he smiles, his lip curling up like a rabid dog. Raising his hand, he lunges towards me.

That’s when I see the knife.

5

JT’s a half-block behind Lori when it happens. Tailing her at the distance they’d agreed; watching her six but not being too obvious about it.