Edge of Sight Page 7

  Sam bristled. “Why didn’t you even tell me he was home and out of the Army?”

  “Because you never asked about him the last few times I saw you.”

  “Pride will do that to a person, Vivi.”

  Vivi nodded. “And when I mentioned your name, he made me swear not to tell you.”

  “Why?”

  “Pride will do that to a person, Sam.”

  The shot hit its mark. “I understand that you’re loyal to him,” she said. “It’s always been the two of you against the world. I don’t blame you a bit. It’s just…” She waved a dismissive hand. “Never mind. It’s ancient history and I really don’t care.”

  Vivi sent a yeah, right eye-roll over the rim of her cup.

  “I don’t,” Sam insisted. “I’m sorry he was hurt, but my scars are on the inside.”

  “Whoa. Deep.”

  “It wasn’t just sex for me,” she insisted softly, relieved to finally say it out loud to Vivi.

  “I know.” Vivi patted her hand. “It’s the wicked curse of being female. Did you flip out when you saw him?”

  “I held it together.” She shrugged. “And, obviously, I have more on my mind at the moment than a broken heart.”

  Vivi leaned forward, a conspiratorial look making her eyes gleam. “Which is what we want to talk to you about.”

  For a moment, Sam said nothing, processing the “we.” “What?”

  One more time, Vivi looked out beyond Sam into the living room, presumably checking for Zach. “Let me give you some background first. We’re starting a company.”

  “Who is we?”

  “Zach and me. Well, he’s not a zillion percent behind it yet, but I think he’s just taking a little time to warm up to the idea.”

  “What kind of company?” she asked.

  “A security firm that does personal protection and investigations. That’d be my department.”

  “Really? When did you decide to do this?”

  “Well, I was down in New York on a story a few weeks ago, and I hooked up with one of my cousins. My great-uncle’s wife’s nephew.” She threw out her hands in a classic Italian gesture. “Believe me, the entire country of Italy is related if you climb enough family trees. Anyway, this guy, John Christiano, works for this incredible organization that protects major league VIPs and investigates corporate espionage and does undercover work. Just amazing stuff, really.”

  “And that’s what you want to do? Or what you want Zach to do?”

  “Yes. To both. We’d obviously have to operate on a smaller scale, something a little less international, since we don’t have corporate jets or oodles of cash and contacts at the CIA—well,” she corrected. “We actually do have a contact at the CIA. And protection? Well, Zach’s a brute. What more would it take?”

  Funding. Office space. Clients. But Sam didn’t want to burst Vivi’s bubble. “Does he want to do that?” she asked instead.

  “When we first talked about it, he got really, well I wouldn’t say excited because not much excites him these days, but he did get kind of interested. In fact, he contacted our cousin, John, and actually went to New York and talked to him about working at his company. Evidently, this woman who runs the place has lots of former military and black ops types on her payroll.”

  “And?”

  She shook her head. “She turned him down. The training and physical requirements…”

  “He’s been through Ranger training,” she said, a rush of defense rising up in her. “He can do anything. He looks stronger than ever, actually.”

  “He has no depth perception. He has no left eye. She interviewed him and said no.”

  Sam’s chest squeezed. “But still, he’s so… capable.” He was a lot of things that pissed her off and turned her on, but he was so damn competent at everything.

  “Evidently not capable enough to suit this security goddess in New York. A sergeant, first class, too. A platoon sergeant with thirtysome guys depending on everything he did and said. This woman wouldn’t even let him take a shot on the firing range—a freaking Army Ranger, Sam.” Vivi’s disgust was palpable.

  Was that what had changed him so much? Sam doubted one lousy job interview could have had that much impact. “Surely he could still aim and fire. Don’t you only use one eye to focus when you shoot anyway?”

  “I know, right? I’m not even sure he would legally be allowed to own and operate a gun being half-blind, despite his military experience. My cousin Marc, who owns a weapons shop, said yes, but Zach hasn’t even tried to get a license.”

  “What’s he been doing since he got home?”

  “Brooding.” Vivi sounded good and disgusted with that. “He’s just so dark and quiet. That’s why I want to do this. If we owned our own company, we would make the rules. I mean, we wouldn’t break laws, Zach would have to qualify to carry concealed, but nobody could say we couldn’t hire him. He’d own the company with me.”

  “And you’d give up journalism?”

  “About as fast as you gave up advertising.”

  “But I found my passion for the law.” Thanks to Billy Shawkins and her unexpected courtroom wranglings. But reporting was Vivi’s passion; chasing stories and writing about them was as much a part of her as vertical hair, a pierced nose, and her love of those electric guitars in her living room. “I can’t imagine you doing anything else.”

  “Oh, I can. I can use my relentless curiosity for something that makes money and isn’t as grueling. I mean, I like writing for the Boston Bullet, but, come on. It ain’t the New York Times. And me?” She brushed her stiff moptop, then tapped the diamond stud in her nose. “I ain’t exactly New York Times material. So, I’ve been thinking about a career change, and then Zach showed up and all he wanted to do was trail me on stories and scare off my sources. This solution makes perfect sense to me.”

  It did have merit, Sam thought. “He’s always been so protective of you.”

  “Exactly!” She tapped her knuckles on the table. “Ever since we were kids and had to move here and live with my cousins, he’s been ready to kill anyone who looked sideways at me.” She relaxed into a winsome smile. “My guardian Angelino. Don’t you think that’s a great name for the company? The Guardian Angelinos.”

  Sam laughed. “Yeah, it’s cute. But is it what he really wants, or what you want him to want? ’Cause, God knows, I’m here to tell you that you can’t make that man do anything he doesn’t want to do.”

  She expected Vivi to grin, but her dark eyes grew serious and concerned. “I don’t know what he wants, Sam, and, frankly, neither does he, although he won’t admit it. All I know is that he had a really, really hard time over there.” She leaned very close, her voice a whisper. “He won’t talk about it to anyone, but it was bad.”

  “I gathered that,” Sam said. “So this is probably a great idea for you. I hope it works out really well.”

  Vivi gave her a funny look, as if Sam had totally missed something, but the footsteps in the living room snagged their attention. Sam stayed facing Vivi, who beamed up at Zach as he walked in.

  “Perfect timing,” she said. “I’m just about to tell her our plan.”

  “You just told me your plans,” Sam said, finally stealing a glance at him as he leaned against the counter, a white T-shirt damp and clinging to his muscles.

  “Not all of them.”

  For a minute, nobody said a word. Then Zach shook his wet hair, adding a few more droplets on his shoulders. “Told you she’d hate the idea.”

  “What idea?” Sam asked, looking from one to the other. Zach looked pained; Vivi on the verge of excitement.

  “The idea that you would be our first client,” Vivi announced. “No charge, of course. Just for experience. I’ll investigate, he’ll protect.”

  Sam almost choked. He’ll protect? Which meant twenty-four seven, round the clock, face-to-face with… She glanced up at Zach, who met her gaze with one that matched her miserable thoughts.

  “You don�
��t like this idea any more than I do,” she said.

  “I’m not all about Vivi’s little company idea, no.” But that wasn’t it. He didn’t want to be around her constantly. An old familiar ache tugged at her chest. Like when she’d open her email or the phone wouldn’t ring or…

  “No,” Sam said, pushing up from the table to rinse out her cup. “Thank you, but no.”

  “Sam, a cold-blooded killer has your face on tape,” Vivi said. “Don’t be nuts.”

  Nuts? This idea was what was nuts. “I know that,” she said calmly. “All the more reason to remember this isn’t some game or an experiment for you two to start a new company. Lives are at stake.” Like mine. “I just need to lay low and let the police do their job.”

  Vivi rolled her eyes. “You of all people know how well that goes. But yes, lay low. Just don’t lay low alone and unprotected.”

  Zach said nothing, leaning against the counter, taking it in. Not exactly fighting to protect her, was he?

  “I can’t, Vivi,” she said. “I just can’t. There has to be a better way. A better…” Protector. “How about your cousin, John? Can I hire him?”

  “If you have about fifty thousand dollars. We’re free. Can’t beat the price.”

  Oh, yeah? What was pride worth? “Well, I’m sure I can find an affordable bodyguard and not have to bother you two.”

  “It’s not a bother!” Vivi stood. “Tell her it’s not a bother, Zach.”

  But Zach, the son of a bitch, just stood perfectly still. “I can handle the job,” he said tightly. “I proved that last night.”

  Handle it, yes? Hate it, too. “No. No.” Sam was adamant. There had to be a better solution.

  “Why the heck not?” Vivi asked.

  Sam turned from the sink, her eyes flashing. Was Vivi dense? Couldn’t she smell the tension in the room? “Vivi, did you not hear a word I just said to you?”

  Her narrow shoulders drooped as Vivi backed down just a little. “Look,” she said. “I know this is hard on both of you, with your history and all. But can’t you rise above that and be smart about this, Sam?”

  “Me? What about him?”

  “I’m willing to do it.”

  “And clearly thrilled about it.”

  “He’s not thrilled about it for reasons that have nothing to do with you, Sam,” Vivi interjected, getting a harsh look from her brother. “He doesn’t want to let you down.”

  Sam almost laughed at the irony. “Little late for that, isn’t it?”

  “She means, I don’t want you to die.”

  The gravity of the statement, and his tone, silenced everything. Sam turned off the water spigot and finally met his gaze. “I don’t want to die, either,” she whispered.

  “That guy could have killed you last night,” he said.

  “But Zach stopped him.” Vivi gave a tight, but victorious, smile.

  “I did what any man would do,” he said modestly. “But, you know, Sam, I don’t see any other ones around here looking for the job.”

  Ouch. “That’s true,” Sam said, swiping at a stray hair with the back of a wet hand. “I don’t have anyone.” Because the last guy she trusted crushed her heart and it never got whole again.

  “Then it’s decided. Zach will protect and I will investigate,” Vivi announced, hands on her hips, light in her eyes. “Congratulations, Sam. You’re the first client of the Guardian Angelinos.”

  Zach blew out a disgusted breath. “That is the stupidest name I ever heard, Vivi. You’ve got to think of something better.”

  Vivi pointed at him. “You’re co-owner. You think of something better.”

  “I’m not co anything.”

  Vivi turned to the coffee pot, barely able to hide the triumph in her eyes. “Then let’s get started. First thing, you go to Sudbury.”

  “Sudbury?” Zach and Sam said it at the same time.

  “It’s Sunday, kids. Rossi family dinner day.”

  Sam choked. “You’re kidding, right?”

  “I never kid about Sunday dinner.”

  “We’re not going,” Zach said gruffly. “I don’t need to have my day ruined.”

  Vivi speared him with a look. “For one thing, they are your family, Zaccaria Angelino. For another, what are you going to do but sit in this apartment and fume at each other all day?”

  Vivi had a point, Sam thought. She couldn’t be trapped in here all day with him. “I wouldn’t mind getting out to the suburbs today, if you think it’s safe.”

  “It’s safe,” Zach said. “In fact, it’s probably smart to get you out of here, since he saw you last night.”

  “Great,” Vivi said before Zach could argue. “But I have to meet you there. I’m going to work out for a while, so I’ll grab a ride out there with Nicki. Do you remember our cousins, Sam? Nicki’s the shrink.”

  “I remember some of them.” Sam turned back to the sink, still trying to come to terms with what she’d just agreed to. Had she agreed?

  “Well, you should get a good dose of them today,” Vivi said, setting an empty mug next to the coffee pot. “I think almost everyone’s around, except Gabe, of course. And Zach, no matter what or when or where, Sam’s our client and she can’t be alone.”

  What was she getting herself into? Her most hated trait, the one that only emerged the day she found out she’d put the wrong man in jail, reared up to shake her down to the bones. She’d just made the wrong decision. A bad, wrong decision. “I don’t think this is—”

  Large hands landed on Sam’s shoulders, surprising her with their strength and size. Warm breath and wet hair brushed her cheek. “Just accept it, Sammi.”

  Electricity shot up her spine.

  “That’s right,” Vivi said brightly, holding a cup out to her brother. “The Guardian Angelinos have your back.”

  Before he took the coffee, he brushed his hand down her arm as if that could iron out the chillbumps that rose on Sam’s skin.

  Right at that moment, it wasn’t her back she was worried about. It was her heart.

  CHAPTER 7

  Levon Czarnecki hummed the lyrics in his head, never on his lips. He only hummed one song, the one he was named for, despite its depressing, obscure, inane, impossible-to-understand message about the drudgery of life.

  His mother had been a fool to pick that song for fertilization and conception. His life was anything but drudgery.

  So he didn’t use the name that titled the song, not professionally. When he did his job, he was just the Czar. And when he did his job right, he was a very rich Czar who lived for his solitude.

  And there was no solitude to be found in Boston, a hellhole of tourists and pasty-faced Pilgrims living in the past. The delay on this job was really starting to piss him off. And when the Czar got pissed off, someone had to die.

  He weaved expertly through throngs of tourists and Sunday-happy locals who packed into Quincy Market. Couples smashed together sharing ice cream. Families trudging into Durgin Park for the pleasure of getting yelled at by surly waitresses. Tourists—so goddamn many fucking tourists—cruising the bricks, buying souvenir junk from street vendors, clapping mindlessly for dance crews and mimes and a whole host of idiot street performers.

  The crowd made him itch with the need to be alone and apart, away from everyone but his music and his land.

  Did they know that? Is that why they’d picked this meeting place? To put him at a disadvantage? Maybe they thought he couldn’t shoot them out in the open like this. Maybe they thought he wouldn’t show in such a public place while Sterling’s murder was still unsolved and on everyone’s brain.

  Maybe they thought wrong.

  He hated to be underestimated. But he really hated to be owed money. And he really fucking hated having to be where he’d just done a job. In and out, that’s how he worked.

  He wanted to leave, today, fully reimbursed for the damn fine clean job he’d done getting rid of their headache. Now they had to live up to their end of the bargain, pay what he
was owed for doing the job right and get home. What the hell was the delay?

  The tune with his name in it played in his head, loud enough to drown out the nasty bass of a boom box and the cheers of onlookers ogling break dancers.

  He worked through the crowd, inwardly recoiling at every person who brushed his body, imagining what he could do to them if he got really mad. Breathing steadily, he positioned himself at a vantage point that allowed almost a three-sixty view of the market. Scanning casually, he spotted his contact just as the man exited the parking garage. Short, stocky, wearing a Red Sox cap, carrying a plain black backpack. Could be him. They always sent someone different, but the whole lot of them kind of looked alike. Pale, beady-eyed, stout.

  Levon waited for the signal, pretending to watch the black kids spinning on their heads to mind-numbing music, blending in with the crowd as he always did, no matter where he was.

  Did they really think he was worried about being seen? Identified? Noticed?

  Did they not know who they were dealing with? He wasn’t one of their thuglike hit men. He was the Czar.

  The man in the baseball cap cruised the market, twice passing the appointed spot, until he finally stopped right in front of the bronze statue sitting on one of the benches. He touched his cap, once… twice. The third time, he took it off, wiped sweat from his forehead, and put it on again. Then he repositioned his pack to the other arm, walked to the next bench, and sat right in the middle, tossing the pack next to him and spreading out his arms.

  Bingo.

  Levon waited a few more minutes, enduring the crappy music and dancing until the number ended and the crowd dispersed. He moved right along with them, curling around to the other side of the open-air market, the weight of his own black backpack, mostly from the ancient camera they made him bring today, dragging on his shoulders.

  Time to move. He navigated the crowd until he was out in the open, strolling and humming his song. He glanced at the statue as he passed. Red Auerbach, whoever that was. Ten more steps to his contact, then he stopped, reaching into his pocket for a cell phone that he put to his ear.