Diner Knock Out (A Rose Strickland Mystery Book 4) (17 page)

Although the room was humid, the sweat trickling down my back had more to do with nerves than heat. I was afraid of what we might find once we hit the lights, but equally freaked out to be poking around in the dark.

When Pete took a cautious step forward, I followed. We carried on, one slow foot at a time. My phone lit up the double doors, and I breathed out a sigh of relief. And that’s when I rammed my hipbone into a weight bar, tripped on something solid, and went sprawling on my face, losing both my phone and stun gun in the process. “Dammit.”

True panic started setting in. I couldn’t see a thing, and I felt completely vulnerable without my phone to light the way.

“Rose, what’s your status?” Pete’s voice helped me focus.

“I’m okay. Ran into a weight bench, I think.”

“Stay where you are. I’m pretty sure I have a clear path to the doors. I saw the light switch next to them.”

“Got it.” I pushed off the floor to stand, and my hand came away wet. Sticky. That distinct metallic scent was familiar. I hadn’t noticed it before, not over the gym stench. But now it was all I could smell. “Oh my God. Pete?”

I quickly scrambled to my feet, holding my hand away from my body. Then light flooded the room. I glanced down and there was Buster, lying on his side with a dumbbell next to him. Someone had bashed him in the back of the head. Blood pooled around him like a halo.

I glanced at my hand. It was coated in Buster’s blood, seeping into the lines of my palm, staining them a darker, deeper red.

I couldn’t move.

In a daze, I watched Pete swing his gun around the gym, move to Buster’s closed office door and kick it open. He was by my side a moment later. “It’s clear in here. You all right?”

I swallowed down the bile that had risen in my throat and nodded.

Buster was dead. Killed. Just like Rob.

“We need to call the police,” I whispered.

“No, we need to leave. I’ll wipe down everything, remove all traces that we were here.”

“Rose?” It was Andre. His muffled voice sounded far away. “Rose, answer me. Now.” I realized he was in the locker room.

“Here.” It came out as a croak. I tried again. “In here.”

He burst through the door and into the gym, both of his hands wrapped around the barrel of his gun, his body as taut as a wire. His eyes took in the scene, assessing the situation. Then he nodded at Pete. “It’s clear?”

“Clear. We need to leave.”

Andre holstered his gun. “No, we need to call the police. There may be witnesses who saw you enter the building.”

While they carried on a conversation, I felt as if I were having an out-of-body experience, gazing down on myself from up above.

With a heavy sigh, Pete tucked his gun into his ankle holster. “Shit.” Then he walked over to a stack of towels and gently took my hand, wiping at the blood. “I think she’s in shock.”

Andre placed his hand on my back. “Rose, come with me. Let’s go in the locker room.” I let him guide me, leading me back to the tiled room. I sat on a wooden bench, numb.

He hunched down in front of me. “Talk to me. Are you hurt?” He didn’t touch me, didn’t offer comfort.

I shook my head. “I tripped over him. In the dark, I tripped.”

He glanced over his shoulder at Pete. “You called the police?”

“Yeah.”

“Then we wait.”

For once, I found Andre’s cold, detached manner soothing. I closed my eyes, taking deep, even breaths. I didn’t want to fall apart in front of him. I fought back the shocky feeling that gripped me and tried to focus. “Two men from the fight club, both dead. This can’t be a coincidence.” When I opened my eyes, they tangled with Andre’s gaze. He nodded with approval.

“We’ll talk it through, try to make sense of it. But later. When the police get here, you’ll give them facts, not supposition. Answer their questions directly. Don’t offer information. Do you understand?”

“Yeah.”

When the cops did show up, Andre identified himself, then Pete and me. The paramedics swiftly wheeled a gurney into the gym, and I never saw them again. They must have removed Buster’s body by the front door.

Andre, Pete, and I were taken outside and questioned. The humidity made the blood on my hand tacky. A uniformed officer swabbed it, and then took my fingerprints electronically. Once I’d scrubbed my palm clean with four wet wipes, I swore I could still see the stain there, deep in the crevices. I made a fist and willed the image of Buster Madison away. It didn’t work. Even behind my eyelids, I saw him lying there, helpless. Dead.

Unfortunately, this wasn’t the first time I’d seen a murder victim. It never got any easier.

The tattoo artists, two of their customers, and the liquor store clerk all came out to gawk. When the TV cameras showed up at the end of the cordoned street, the officer warned us to stay away from the press. Since I had no intention of speaking to them, it wasn’t an issue.

A detective repeatedly peppered me with questions. I told him Buster had asked to speak to me. I’d brought along my good pal, Pete, because this was such a rough neighborhood. All true. My boss, Andre, met us here. Then we found Buster’s body. I stuck to the facts, even though I put my own twist on them.

Pete backed up my rendition of the story. Andre explained the basics of our case, but he left out all details regarding the fight club. After an eternity, we were free to go.

Out on the street, Andre stared down at me. The red and blue lights strobed and bounced off his glasses. “Rose, you’re in no condition to drive. Let Pete take you home.”

“I can’t leave my car here.”

“I’ll take care of it.”

Pete placed his hand on my shoulder. “I’ve called the boss. He’s waiting at your apartment.”

Sullivan. He was my rock. Always. I couldn’t wait to get home to him. Still, I needed to speak to Andre. “Can you give us a minute, Pete?” He seemed hesitant, but walked toward the SUV.

Once he left, I asked Andre, “Why didn’t you tell them about the fight club?”

“This man you date, he’s a criminal. I don’t know what you see in him, but he’s important to you. There’s no need to bring him into it unless we have to.”

A sense of relief poured through me. Unfortunately, it was short-lived. The cops were bound to find a link between Buster and the Four Horsemen. I didn’t give two shits about Carlucci and the rest. But I couldn’t let this blow back on Sullivan. “We have to find the killer before suspicion falls on him. I feel like the answer’s right there in front of me. I’m just not seeing it.”

“Go home, Rose. Get some rest. We’ll start from the top tomorrow, examine all the evidence. We’ll find the killer together.” He waited until I climbed into the SUV’s passenger seat before getting into his own car and driving away.

I zoned out on the ride home. When Pete reached my apartment complex, he parked next to the front entrance, even though it was a handicapped spot. Climbing out, I stood and stretched my legs. The air was hot and oppressive, and I wished the cicadas would shut the hell up. Their loud screeches hurt my ears. “Are you coming up?” I asked Pete.

“Yeah, I’ll walk you in.”

Slogging up the stairs, I felt strung out. Exhausted, but nervous. Edgy. Helpless. I wished I could have saved Buster. What if I hadn’t stopped to change my clothes? Would those few precious minutes have kept him from dying? That question haunted me.

When we reached my door, Pete slapped me on the back. “Rose, you kept your cool tonight. You impressed me.” Then he turned to leave, jogging down the stairs and out of sight.

Walking into my apartment, I found Sullivan sitting on the futon, his forearms draped over his thighs, his hands clasped together. Whiskers shadowed his clenched jaw, and his gaze never left my face as he slowly rose to his feet. “Tell me you’re all right.”

“Buster’s dead.”

Before I could take my next breath, he stood in front of me, wrapping his strong arms around me. That’s when I finally let go, collapsing into him. My entire body trembled and the tears flowed.

Chapter 17

Sullivan buried his face in my hair and made comforting sounds as he held onto me. I wasn’t sure how long we stood there. Hours? Seconds? Long enough to drench the front of his shirt and leave tearstains on his ice blue tie.

When I stopped sobbing, my face felt puffy, my eyes swollen and gritty. I couldn’t stop picturing Buster, lying on the dirty gray concrete floor. 

With a shudder, I pushed away from Sullivan. He loosened his arms, but didn’t let go as he led me to the futon. Falling onto it, I pulled my legs under me. He lowered himself next to me, fitting his hip against mine. “Tell me everything.”

“No.”

His eyes widened in surprise. “Rose.” He stroked my cheek with the back of his hand. “Tell me what happened.”

I took a shaky breath. “Not until you tell me everything about the fight club. Stop trying to protect me, I’m in it now. You’re the one in danger. Once the police start digging into Buster’s life, they’re going to find out about you.”

His gold eyes darkened with emotion. “Be clear on this:
I
protect my woman, not the other way around.”

Two things: he’d just called me his woman, like he might start beating on his chest any minute, and the possessive way he said it made my insides melt in a good way. Second, his voice dripped with cold fury. But I sensed he wasn’t angry with me. He was angry at the situation. And probably himself.

“I’ll handle my own problems,” he continued. “I have contingencies in place. Always.”

Sullivan had cops on his payroll. Judges and prosecutors too. But two men had been murdered because of this club, and Sullivan was one of the ringleaders. That put a very big target on his back.

He stood and strode across the faded blue rug. Tracing a path from the window to the edge of my kitchenette, he clenched his right hand into a fist. “Whoever killed Buster tonight might come after you next. Pack a bag. You’ll stay at my place.”

“For how long?”

Stopping a foot away from me, his lips compressed into a straight line. “Indefinitely. Take a break from work. Ma will understand.” His powerful shoulders filled with tension and bunched upward as if anticipating my explosion. He knew me too well.

“Forget it.” Agitated, I leapt up. “I’m not suspending my life to hide out. I’m going to find the person who killed Rob and Buster. You can either help me or stay out of my way.”

His nose flared slightly. “I’ve never asked you to stop investigating before, but this time is different. You need to back off, Rose. Why were you at the gym?”

I gritted my teeth and thought about telling him to go to hell. But this was Sullivan. His concern manifested itself in bossiness. Understanding that fact tempered my anger somewhat. “Buster called me. Told me to come alone.” I blew out a gusty breath. “I was at Mitzi Rutherford’s house at the time. When I was on the phone talking to Buster, anyone could have overheard my conversation.”

His eyes lit on me. “What were you doing at the Rutherfords’ house?”

“Cocktail party.” I rubbed the hollow in my throat, knowing my confession about confronting Carlucci was going to cause another fight. It had been a long day and a disastrous, traumatic night. I was tired of fighting. Tired, period.

He did his Sullivan thing, clung to silence, and as usual, I filled in the gaps with chatter. “My mother introduced me to Jennifer Carlucci. Then I talked to Will, Al Bosworth, and Ethan Cadewell.”

Sullivan held himself very still. “So if one of them is the killer, they could have known you were going to the gym, that Buster had something to tell you. If you’d been there a few minutes earlier, you’d be dead too.” His tone was frigid, but his eyes burned hot with anger.

“Or I might have saved him. Ethan Cadewell left the party when I did. I came home to change before driving downtown. If he sped, he could’ve gotten to the gym, killed Buster, and been long gone before I got there.”

“Why would Ethan kill Buster? It makes no sense.”

I thought back to his smirking face, his threatening demeanor. “He doesn’t like me. He treated Rob’s death like it was a big joke.”

“Who else was still there when you left?” Sullivan asked.

“Carlucci’s bodyguards were AWOL. I don’t know if Will left or if his guys were taking a break. He didn’t give a damn Rob was dead either. In fact, Will, Al, and Ethan taunted me with it. Not overtly, but they were acting very smug tonight. Also, Candi had an affair with Rob. Did you know that?”

“No.” Sullivan threaded his hands through his hair, a clear sign of his frustration. “That adds a new twist, doesn’t it?”

“Yeah.” I walked over to the sink and poured myself a glass of water. I downed it quickly, not realizing how thirsty I’d been. “Want one?”

“I need something stronger than water.”

Unfortunately, my apartment was booze-free. I hopped up on the counter, dangled my feet. “I got the sense Candi really cared about Rob. I don’t think he was that into her. He used her whenever he and Sofia were in a fight, finally breaking it off when Sofia had the baby. If Carlucci found out, would he have offed Rob?”

He continued to pace. “Candi does whatever the hell she wants to do with very little input from Daddy. Despite her appearance, she’s very bright. He’s grooming her to take over the business. She’s even attended the fight club a few times.”

I thought about the trashy women glued to Carlucci’s side like barnacles. Slutty little barnacles. “Does he openly grope other women when Candi’s there?”

“He’s a little more discreet when she’s around.”

“I’ll call my mom tomorrow, see if Will cut out of the cocktail party early.”

Sullivan stopped walking and stared at me.

“What?” I asked.

“Don’t be so naïve. It doesn’t matter where Carlucci was. He’d never do his own dirty work. He’d hire out.”

I let that sentence absorb into my brain. Took a minute, but the horror of it finally hit me. “He would have hired someone to kill Buster? Who?”

“Anyone who owes him money. Anyone who’s on his payroll. An outside hit. Take your pick.”

That was almost too disturbing to contemplate. “He can just order up a murder like I order a pizza.”

“Now you’re beginning to see why I want you staying at my house. These men aren’t playing around, Rose. Powerful people have powerful secrets, and they’ll go to any lengths to protect them.”

“You have powerful secrets.”

He reached the window and spun around. Every muscle in his body remained on high alert. “Yes, I do.”

I didn’t want to ask my next question, but I needed to. “How far would
you
go to protect them?” I clung to the edge of the counter, my fingers digging into the cheap Formica. My heart beat painfully while I waited for him to answer. Sullivan had killed before, but I didn’t know the circumstances. I wasn’t exactly innocent either. My own hands were stained with blood, and I wasn’t talking about Buster Madison.

The silence dragged out for minutes. I didn’t know why I kept bothering to ask him personal questions. He’d never give me any answers. The real question I needed to ask myself: could I live without knowing the truth? If Sullivan never revealed anything else about himself, was that acceptable?

“All right,” he said. “Rob and Candi had an affair. What else did you learn?”

I rubbed my eyes, suddenly exhausted. “According to Sofia, Rob wanted out of the fight club, but he owed Carlucci too much money to break free. Carlucci kept a running tab on all of Rob’s medical bills, room and board, training and equipment.” I paused. “How do you expect these guys to get out of debt if you keep piling it on?”

“I don’t.”

I blinked at his honesty. “They’re indentured servants forever?”

He merely shrugged.

“What about the one hundred fight rule? Win enough fights, the debt gets canceled.”

“It gives them incentive.”

“Tyler Godfrey said no one’s ever made it to one hundred. But Rob was close to the magic number. He only had another ten fights to win.”

“Doubt he would have made it.”

“Maybe that’s why he was killed,” I said. “Because he was too close.”

“Then why kill Buster?”

“Good point. So…White Oak Towers—do you own that one apartment or the whole building?”

He finally stopped pacing, and with his back propped against the closet door, Sullivan crossed his arms. His eyes slid over me, lingering briefly on my breasts. “The whole building. That way I can control who goes in and out. You know how I feel about security.”

“Someday you’re going to tell me why you’re so obsessive about it.”

Nothing. Not a word.

“Fine,” I said. “Wyatt Sanders. I met him today, and he’s a freak. More paranoid than you and Carlucci put together. His employees are terrified of him.”

He stood quietly for a couple of minutes. Was he weighing his words or was it just another delay tactic? Finally, he spoke. “Wyatt’s time at the club has come to an end.”

“What does that mean?”

“We’re going to have to kick him out. He’s not paying his share of the costs, and he’s not handling his fighters. Wyatt’s in deep, owes money to the wrong people.”

My legs stopped mid-swing. “Does he owe you money?”

Laughing, his eyes crinkled at the corners, making him appear younger. Boyish. “Hell no. I wasn’t stupid enough to loan him any.”

“You said he owed money to the wrong people. If not you, then who the hell are the wrong people? I think I’m officially terrified that you and the other Horsemen aren’t the scariest mofos in town.”

With a wry tilt to his lips, he shook his head. “I don’t think I like being compared to a harbinger of the apocalypse.”

“Life is full of these little disappointments. Anyway, the way my mother talked about Wyatt Sanders, I figured he pooped gold bricks.”

“Not anymore. He’s busted. Bad land deal. He’s kept up the façade, but he won’t be able to for much longer. That new hotel should have been finished a year ago. All those delays cost money.”

“Money he doesn’t have?” I sat in silence for a few minutes, trying to fit in all the new pieces of information, square it away with the facts I already had. My eyelids drifted shut as I replayed the cocktail party in my mind. “Carlucci’s bodyguards. My mom says he takes them everywhere. Why would he need muscle at an opera house fundraiser?”

Sullivan waited a beat before answering. “Several months ago, he upped his security. Now he’s never without them. I wouldn’t be surprised if they watch over him while he takes a piss. There’s only one reason for that kind of protection. A life-threatening reason.”

“Who would want to kill Carlucci?”

He flicked a brow. His way of telling me to work it out for myself.

“Right. Whoever killed Rob and Buster could also be gunning for Will Carlucci. But why? That’s what’s driving me batty. Why kill Rob? Why make it look like a suicide? Tonight, the back of Buster’s head was bashed in. Two very different M.O.s.” I shivered at the memory.

“Probably because the killer was in a hurry tonight,” Sullivan said. “Didn’t have the time to be nice and neat.”

“Is someone killing off the club members or is it Carlucci-specific?”

“That’s what’s puzzling me as well.” Gazing at my futon in contemplation, he stroked his mouth again.

“So who’s the fourth Horseman? That blond asshole—what’s his story?”

“Adam Heath. He’s not a Horseman, he’s a proxy for Mr. Karl.”

“A proxy, huh? I got the feeling he didn’t like you.”

“Believe me, it’s mutual.”

“Who the hell is Mr. Karl?” I asked. “He sounds like a hairdresser.”

His gaze cut to me, and he didn’t share my amusement. “He’s a very wily, very scary son of a bitch. I’ve only met him once. Karl’s not his real name. No one knows who he really is. He’s old and sick, possibly dying. His fighters never have direct contact with him.”

I couldn’t see a faceless Mr. Karl or his Teutonic proxy bashing Buster over the head. But as Sullivan pointed out, rich criminals didn’t have to do their own dirty work.

“How does this stable thing work, anyway?” I asked.

He stared at me for a long moment. “You already know. I pay for their training, food, rent, et cetera. In return, they fight, and I expect them to win.” He sounded so coldblooded. As though these men were just another commodity.

“What happens if they don’t win?”

“I cut them from the stable.”

It was my turn to remain silent. I’d wanted to know all this. It was my own fault if I didn’t like what I heard. After a minute, I asked, “What does getting cut from the stable entail?”

“I don’t hurt them, Rose.”

“Do you ‘hire out?’”

“I use them elsewhere. In the bars or the clubs I own.” Pushing off the door, he walked across the room. When he reached me, he clasped my knees and drew them apart, wedging himself between my legs. Then he cupped my chin, forcing me to look up. He was close enough that I could see something serious and troubling move behind his eyes. “I protect myself when I have to. I’ve done some terrible things in my life, but there are a few lines I haven’t crossed. If I did make the decision to cross that line, I wouldn’t put the burden on someone else. I’d do my own dirty work. Are we clear?”

Hearing him say it eased some of the tension inside me. Sullivan may have killed before, but he wasn’t a murderer. There was a difference. An important one. And I couldn’t throw stones. Not when my own house was made of glass. I unclenched my hands from the counter and took a deep breath. “We’re clear.”

“You wanted to know,” he said. “Starting to regret it?”

“No.” I stroked his cheek. The rasp of stubble felt rough against my fingers.

“Do you trust me, Rose?” His expression was intense, inscrutable.

“With my life.”

He nodded once, seemingly satisfied. “Then please do as I ask. Come stay at the house. It’s secure there. You’ll be safe.”

It would ease his mind if I locked myself away at his place, like a bird in a cage. But I wasn’t a person who hid from trouble. I met it head on.

“Now it’s your turn, Thomas.”

His brows soared. I never called him by his Christian name. No one did. He let go of my chin and waited, his gaze wary.

“Do you love me?” I whispered. “The real me? Because I don’t run from danger—you’re living proof of that. Sometimes I let my curiosity override my good sense. I’ll never stop asking about your past, and I’m never going to butt out of your business. That’s not who I am. I’m not going to change any more than you will. So do you love
me
?” With my pulse racing, I waited as feelings of dread and hope battled it out.

He nodded. “You know how I feel about you.”

This time
I
said nothing. Our eyes clashed, held. After several moments, his narrowed into slits. “You never let up, do you? You have to keep pushing.” His hands flung out, grabbing my shoulders. His fingers bit into me. “Yes, I love you. Is that what you want to hear? I love every fucking thing about you, Rose Strickland. I can’t
stop
loving you, and God knows I’ve tried.”

At his confession, I was too overwhelmed to breathe. Once I remembered how, I asked, “Then why don’t
you
trust
me
?”

“I do.”

“You don’t. That’s why you refuse to tell me anything about yourself. You don’t think I can handle it.”

He shook me as he spoke. “My father wasn’t a doctor. My mother sure as hell wasn’t a socialite.
I
didn’t live in a goddamned mansion and go to private schools. I’ve had to fight and claw for everything I have. I’ve done things, things I’m not proud of.”

That had been my own fear earlier, that I couldn’t accept his past, that it would change how I felt about him. But as I looked into his eyes, I knew I could take whatever he threw my way. It wouldn’t faze me. “No matter what you’ve done, I’m not going anywhere.”

“I’m not taking that chance.”

I reached between us and flattened my hand on his muscled chest. His heart pounded, beating a rapid rhythm against my palm. “I’m so damn pissed at you right now, I want to scream, but I’m still here. I’m not running away. I see the darkness in you, Sullivan. And I love that part of you too.”

His eyes shimmered with an emotion I didn’t understand. Then he pulled me to him and kissed me, bruising my lips, his hands rough on my skin. As I jerked the suit jacket off his shoulders and tore at his shirt, I wasn’t gentle either.

Two hours and a hot shower later, I lay nestled against him, my damp hair fanned out across his bare chest. While he stroked my arm with his thumb, I closed my eyes. Images of Buster were still there, but I felt calmer now. The memory of him would never leave, but I knew from past experience that over time it would fade.

“What were you talking about earlier?” Sullivan asked. “When you said you were pissed off. What did I do?”

I lifted my head, peering up at him. “You want to talk about that now?”

“Yes.”

I sat up, pulling the sheet with me. “You’re in business with killers. You can’t possibly trust them. What were you thinking?”

He jerked at the sheet, tugging it from my hands. “Alleged killers,” he said to my breasts.

I slapped at his knuckles and took the sheet back. “Don’t split hairs. These people are capable of it, you know that. Why get mixed up with them in the first place?”

“Sometimes the reward outweighs the risk.”

“You’re a brilliant man. If you would channel all that energy into a legitimate business, you wouldn’t have to worry about shit like this.”

His face took on that annoying superior expression he got when he was backed into a corner. “Neither one of us is going to change our ways. We need to accept that and move on.”

“Fine. Let’s talk about your stable. These men owe you money, so you’re making them fight each other? That’s sadistic.”

He began laughing then. Deep brackets appeared on either side of his mouth. “That’s what you think, that I’m forcing these guys to fight like gladiators?” He leaned on one elbow and traced my collarbone with his finger. “Rose, these men fight because they live for it. They breathe it. Why do you think they started fighting in the first place? They don’t come from decent homes. They grew up poor, and they see it as a way out. Boxing, competitive martial arts—those are sports rich men
bet
on, but they don’t participate in them. These guys will fight with or without me. I just give them a platform.”

“Tyler said he started fighting in order to pay you back.”

He let out a sigh. “Tyler’s been wrestling since he was in school. He offered to fight, saw it as a way to pay off his debt. I could have found a dozen different jobs for him by now. If he said I’m forcing him to do anything, he’s feeding you a line of bullshit.”

I thought about that for a moment. Tyler would have made a perfect suspect for Rob’s murder, but after seeing him this afternoon, barely able to walk or breathe without wincing, I ruled him out as Buster’s killer. “He had birch sap water in his fridge.”

“So?”