The Ringer (19 page)

“What are those?” Jax looked at Alma’s desserts.

“Lemon wedges, but it’s not what you’re thinking.” She held up the container. “And they’re clean, she promised.”

“That old lady could beat a lie detector test.” He shifted the truck in gear and waved good-bye to Alma.

“She only grows the pot for her friends with cancer. They have the most awful time with chemo, and this helps them. Alma told me.”

“May I?” He pointed to the Tupperware.

She passed the plastic box over to him. She figured he wanted to see if Alma had told the truth or not. Instead, he rolled down his window and tossed the whole batch out.

“Jax!” The lemon wedges sailed over the bridge.

“We got enough problems, and the weed-peddling grandma won’t be one more.”

“But they smelled so good,” she whined, wishing she had at least gotten a bite of one. “Now what?” She crossed her arms and fought the urge to pout, which elicited a throaty chuckle from him.

“We switch the truck out for a new vehicle before we hit the Iowa-Illinois border.” He played with the car radio. “Nate will brief us on street closures when we’re near Chicago city limits.”

She had underestimated how long Maxie’s family’s reach could be. Even international diplomats would be in attendance at the Thornbird festivities. A top-notch public relations team pulled together the engagement party in under a week. Jax had convinced Army to get Maxie’s home arrest lifted for the gaudy event. She couldn’t imagine what he would owe his soon-to-be sister-in-law once this was over—probably nothing less than his soul and first-born son.

“After that?” she asked, nervous his plan had more flaws than they’d originally estimated.

“We scour Johnny Mac’s car for the evidence while we try not to get caught doing it.” He reached for her hand. “We’re going to make it through this.” He encouraged her with a lopsided grin. “Promise.”

She returned his smile.
Famous last words
.

***

Julian dumped the remaining contents from his desk into a box. Next week, he anticipated the appointment to Top Cop and decided to work on his transition from captain status sooner rather than later.

“Sir.” Julian didn’t acknowledge the detective at his door. He was too busy figuring which mug to keep. After a quick game of “Eeny, Meeny, Miney, Moe,” he pitched World’s Best Dad in the trash. Number One Boss was better.

“Sir!”

“Whatever it is, give it to O’Brien.” He waved the man away.

“Here’s everything you requested on the Thornbird shooting. The one at Paddy’s.” The rich boy’s name got his attention. “It’s the blue box footage of Thornbird with the vic’s car.”

“Where did he go?” Julian reached for the DVD.

“Around Michigan and Grand. We lost sight of them once they got off of Wacker Drive.”

Already outfitted in his dress blues for Nathaniel Thornbird’s engagement party, he ran down his options. He still came up with nothing where he was concerned, and since too many big wigs were coming into town for him to be a no-show, he had to attend.

Without a doubt, Julian figured this whole impromptu party was B.S. Up until this point, he’d believed Thornbird would be committing suicide if he returned.

“Thanks,” he mumbled.

“Captain.”

“Hmmm.” Julian had already pulled out his phone, dismissing the man from his mind.

“You will be missed around here.”

“Excuse me?” he said, unsure if he heard his detective correctly. The warm sentiment of pride swelled inside of him. He had made some sort of impact on this Homicide division.

“If there are any positions available once you get settled in your new job, don’t forget about me,” his detective said. Of course, the sense of appreciation was immediately cut short.

“Right,” Julian grunted. He realized a simple congratulations would always turn into a request for a favor. “Close the door on your way out.” He ignored the fallen look on the young man’s stupid mug and waited for him to leave. He couldn’t afford to waste another second on his detective’s schmoozing.

“Captain Julian,” he announced to the rube on the other end of the line. “I need a list of all the real estate holdings of the Thornbird’s between Michigan and Grand, and I need it yesterday.” He cut off the litany of excuses records came up with to postpone the job until after the weekend. “I’m aware you’re off in fifteen minutes and traffic will be a beast due to all the street closings, but if I don’t have what I asked for in the next five minutes, don’t worry about coming into work on Monday. Got it?” He hung up, certain the lazy dweeb would buckle under the weight of his threat.

Time ticked by as every avenue available to his detective work slowly closed in on him. If Thornbird wanted to retrieve the evidence, he would need to make a move tonight, and when he did, Julian would be waiting for him.

***

Twenty minutes out from the city, they pulled onto the shoulder of the Eisenhower Expressway. Lane got out of the car to stretch her legs, while he called his brother. He needed an update on the street closures to plug the information into the GPS.

She stood near the classic Firebird. When they neared the border of Illinois, they traded out the handyman truck. According to Jax, the police had a BOLO. put on them—cop talk for be on the lookout.

Comfortable within her thin jacket, she admired the Chicago skyline. It twinkled brightly among the stars; no clouds muddled her view.

“Hey.” Cars flew by them at breakneck speed toward the loop. He joined her in front of the vehicle. “We should get going. The streets will be clear in thirty minutes unless you want to back out—”

She held up her hand to wave off his last-ditch effort to talk her out of it. “I’m in.”

As a coarse wind whipped through her hair, she held the dark strands off of her face and peered back at their final destination.

Chicago is a beautiful city full of corrupt devils
.

For Lane, Seattle had been slower paced. She’d opened her small coffee shop for the earlier morning crowd and locked the doors a hint past the afternoon rush. During that time, she’d been short on friends but long on acquaintances. She had a nominal personal life filled with an occasional class from Seattle University.

In less than a year, she’d gone from a daily existence half-lived to a full life with no brakes. She could have done without the shootouts but conceded, all or nothing.

Once she collected herself, she turned to him. “I’ll drive,” she said, holding out her hand. “That way you can jump out and search the car.”

She could tell by the way he studied her he wanted to bail. On their way to the city, he had said as much, but he ultimately tossed the set of keys in the air. She caught them and headed for the driver’s side door.

“You got your gun?”

“Yeah,” she confirmed, while climbing into the muscle car.

“Lane.”

She glanced over to the passenger side and caught the stern expression of his cop face.

“In worst case scenario, if I’m gone too long or things get rough, the best thing for you to do is leave. There is a bag in locker 220 at Union Station. Take it and contact Army if we get separated.”

She nodded in consent then slipped into the driver’s seat and shut the door. Time had run out, and there was no sense in arguing about something that would never happen.

Jax jogged up the ramp of the five story stone structure. Lane had let him out around the corner from the parking garage. He’d instructed her to circle the block a couple of times.

With that one element of surprise, he already felt better about her safety. If he found Johnny Mac’s so-called evidence, he would have to go to Thornbird’s law offices—located across the street—to transfer the info to Army’s team.

“Hey, Sheldon,” he shouted out to the parking guard who usually watched over the structure. “Sheldon!” He had specifically waited for his shift to begin before entering the lot.

A watch could be set by the man’s punctuality, so the lack of anyone’s presence put him on alert. He grabbed his Glock from his shoulder holster and made his way to the attendant’s booth.

The garage was pin-drop silent. Most of Thornbird’s Law offices had cleared out to attend Nate’s engagement party along with the who’s who of Chicago. Everyone else would try to avoid the hoopla surrounding the occasion. No one wanted to navigate around all the street closures.

Making sure he was alone, Jax stole a glance over his shoulder before he slipped into the tiny space. Sheldon had hidden Johnny Mac’s keys in a special spot.

He knocked on the desk and then bumped the side drawer underneath for a secret compartment. While he dug through a pile of girly mags, candy, and condoms, he kept an ear open for anyone nearby.

Executives’ spare keys littered the pit of a drawer. He remembered a lion’s head and a pocketknife on the victim’s chain.

“Yes,” he whispered. Happy the search ended sooner rather than later, he shoved the Glock back into his holster. He started off toward the vic’s car, but something occurred to him. He stopped and released the switchblade. Instead of the expected knife, a mini jump drive popped up.

Either his luck had changed or taken a turn for the worse, Jax wasn’t sure. Shaking off the ominous sensation that this recovery mission would go bad, he trotted across the street.

They held the engagement party at Navy Pier. Once he studied the contents on the jump drive, he would head to the venue. Since the festivities were filled to the brim with elite guests, the main priority for the city was their protection. The inconvenience of nearby street closings gave him a leg up.

He barreled through the revolving door into the lobby.

No security.

On his way to the elevator banks, warning signals fired off in his head. Jax was armed with the password to Nate’s computer. He hoped to download the drive and send it to Army. Against his better judgment, he ignored his instincts in hopes this whole thing could be over in less than ten minutes.

He tapped his foot on the ride up to Nate’s office. It was quick and easy, just like everything else had been since they’d arrived in Chicago.

Almost too easy.

When the doors slid open, the hairs on the back of his neck prickled with energy. His senses went into overdrive. Once again, he reached inside of his jacket for his gun.

“I wouldn’t do that, Thornbird. Pull it out slow and hand it to me.”

Jax recognized his voice, a gritty low tone. He had come to hate everything about the man right along with the smell of hot salami that always burned his nose whenever he came too close.

“Gee, Mortiz, where’s your gal pal Franco?” Jax taunted. He handed over his gun. “If you two separate, who gets the brain?”

Mortiz slapped him in the back of the head with his gun. The lights in the hallway blinked out. He assumed it wasn’t Thomas Edison’s fault; his mind had gone on the fritz.

Woozy, he tried to shake off the effects of Mortiz’s cheap shot before his corrupt co-worker pushed him forward.

“Thanks for flipping our car over,” he growled. “And since you asked, Franco is waiting at the pier in case you slipped past me.”

“There is no end to the lengths you and Franco will go for the captain is there?”

“What is this, confession time? It doesn’t work like that.” Mortiz shoved him into the partially open door of Nate’s office.

Jax’s forehead bounced off the metal frame. If he didn’t have a mild concussion from the smack of his own gun, he had one now.

Perched against Nate’s desk, Dustin Lockland appeared more devious than his brother ever could. He wondered why he’d never seen it before. The blond 80s villain in every movie fit Parker Lockland to a tee, but his younger sibling won the cackling best friend award, hands down.

“The thing is, Mortiz, I don’t need you to confess. Without a doubt, you, Franco, and Blanchard are dirty. How long did you guys think you could go on with this little scheme?” he asked, quite sure the man wasn’t listening.

“We did pretty well until you came around,” Dustin said.

A dim light illuminated the room. Not enough to draw attention from the window behind them, but just enough to see one another.

“Where’s my brother’s bitch of an ex-wife?” Dustin asked.

“She wasn’t with him,” Mortiz said.

“Humph,” Dustin grunted. “Make this easy and hand over the drive.”

“What makes you think I have—”

Mortiz slammed his gun against his head again. Hot and sticky liquid dribbled down the side of his face.

“Jesus, Mortiz. Frisk him first before you start beating him!” Dustin complained.

“If you’d just traveled all over the country looking for this asshole, you’d be pissed, too,” Mortiz groused. He dug through Jax’s pockets. “A pair of keys.” He threw the set over to Dustin.

“Where is it?” Dustin pushed.

“It’s all I got,” he lied. He prayed the shit wouldn’t figure out Johnny Mac’s system with the switchblade. It was his only hope. Even if he didn’t make it out alive, at least the evidence on the drive would implicate them.

“Now, do you want me to beat the hell out of him?” Mortiz hissed in his ear. “Or just kill him.”

Dustin scrutinized the keys, turning them around and around in his hands. “Parker has always hated you. I never paid much attention.” Dustin picked the granite clock off Nate’s desk and slammed it down onto the switchblade over and over until it he completely demolished it. “But it’s becoming clear.”

The jump drive inside could never have survived the damage. Jax’s heart dropped into the pit of his stomach. Everything they had fought for littered his brother’s desk in tiny pieces.

“Why couldn’t you just leave well enough alone? We’re committing a public service by cleaning up the streets of the homeless. Sacrifice a few for millions,” Dustin spouted off his propaganda much like a snake oil salesman.

“Nice try, Lockland, but you just wanted to line your pockets with millions,” he corrected. “Don’t act like you’re doing the public at large a friggin’ favor.”