Annie on the Lam: A Christmas Caper Page 3

  He adjusted his iPod earplugs and hit play. Music pulsed through his head. If AC/DC couldn’t keep him awake, nothing could. Anticipating at least another boring hour or two ahead, he settled back to watch the falling snow and the traffic at 32nd and Park.

  Even at midnight, the windows of the high-rise building across the street blazed like a blowtorch and the trees lining the sidewalks twinkled with tiny white Christmas lights. Beside those trees, people still strolled, some pausing to admire holiday displays behind the glass storefronts: figurines and trains and miniature villages.

  Joe yawned. New York City might function just fine without sleep, but he didn’t. He longed for his nice warm bed and at least eight hours of peace and quiet.

  Trailing his gaze from Landau’s on the top floor of the building down to the street-level entrance, he tapped his fingers on the steering wheel to the beat of “Back In Black” then shivered and cursed. He wasn’t sure if his ass was frozen or just paralyzed from boredom. Either way, he guessed he deserved a numb butt if he couldn’t come up with a better way to earn a dollar.

  Joe twisted his head side to side to work the kinks from his neck. He reached for the months-old newspaper on the seat beside him, pulled a penlight from his jeans pocket and clicked it on, illuminating an old issue of the Savannah News society page his newest client had sent to him by overnight FedEx. After skimming the full-color photo of the smiling blond socialite and her tuxedoed escort, Joe read the print beneath it: Annabelle Macy and Mr. Lance Holcomb celebrate the announcement of their engagement at the home of Mr. Milford Macy…

  He returned his attention to the porcelain-doll blonde, a woman so elegant and fragile and hands-off perfect she looked like she’d shatter into a million jagged pieces if a man touched her. Her mouth might be smiling, but her eyes looked as bored and weary as he felt right now. Despite the enormous rock on her finger, the socialite looked unhappy. But what did he know about women? Especially rich ones? For all he knew, she might be upset that the rock wasn’t bigger.

  Joe skimmed a fingertip across Annabelle Macy’s image. She was older than he had imagined, though her eyes looked like a lost little girl’s.

  He laughed at himself.

  She was no little girl. Annabelle Macy would be a fine-looking woman even without all the jewels and fancy duds. But something other than her appearance drew his interest. Something in her expression, in her body language, made him sense more to this particular socialite than sparkle and shine. He thought he recognized the look of desperation on her face. It was the same one he saw in the mirror each morning. On an ex-cop, chewed up and spit out at the age of forty-one, he could understand and accept it. But what would cause a woman like Miss Macy to wear such a look? That mess with her mother? Even after twenty-four years? He didn’t get it.

  Joe studied the photo more closely and decided the look was probably boredom rather than desperation. The Macys had named their daughter well. Anna-belle. Rich, pampered, southern. Lacking nothing, but wanting more. He’d heard about her type. It was a long shot that he would gain any useful inside scoop regarding Reno by following her. In fact, the more he thought about it, the more he figured the chances were about as slim as his wallet. More than likely, Miss Macy was only playing mind games with her daddy, trying to get his dander up by going to work for Landau.

  Joe snorted and laid the paper aside. The woman was old enough to have grown kids of her own. Some people just never grew up; some people didn’t have to. Too bad he wasn’t one of ’em.

  When a knock sounded on the cab’s passenger side, Joe jumped and dropped the penlight into his lap. Pulling out his earplugs, he turned and saw his cousin Dino at the window.

  Dino opened the door and slid in. “Using my cab as an office, eh?”

  “I finished my shift.” When Dino opened his mouth to speak again, Joe added, “Look, I just need it a couple more hours. I pay for the gas, so what do you care?”

  Dino sat back. Shivering, he tugged the side of his stocking cap down over one exposed ear. “Cold as a witch’s tit out there.”

  Joe glanced back at the building. “I wouldn’t know about that.”

  “You got hot water in your veins or somethin’?”

  “Nope. Just never touched a witch’s tit.”

  Chuckling, Dino rubbed his hands together to generate heat. “Finally got a case, huh?”

  Joe twisted his neck until it popped and a dull ache spread up to his left temple. “Yeah. Yesterday.”

  “How many does that make now? Three? Four?”

  “Five.” He squinted at his cousin. “What’s it to you?”

  Dino lifted his hands. “I don’t mean nothing. Five’s not bad. Better than a poke in the eye, ya know? You’ve only had your shingle out a year.” He returned his hands to his lap. “Ever think of going back on the force?”

  Scanning the cab’s dismal interior, Joe smirked. “What? And give up all this? I’ll stick with my five cases.” And driving your shit-hole of a cab part-time to make ends meet. He drew a deep breath of cold, stale air tainted by years of spilled drinks and cigarette smoke.

  For at least a minute, they stared in silence out the window. Then Dino reached across and lifted the newspaper from the seat. He glanced down at the photograph. “You tailing one of these?”

  “The woman.”

  Dino’s whistle was long and quiet. “She’s a looker. What did she do?”

  “You’re nosy as hell, you know that?”

  “Yeah…so, what’d she do?”

  “Nothing unless you count leaving Georgia to move to the big city a crime.”

  “Who hired you?” Dino thumped the picture of Lance Holcomb. “This guy?”

  “No, her father.”

  Dino drew back, lifted the paper closer to his face and narrowed his eyes. “She’s a little long in the tooth to be answering to her daddy, ain’t she?”

  “Not in their world, I guess.” Joe gave his cousin the short version of why Milford Macy had hired him.

  Dino whistled again. “Reno, huh? You got a reason besides money for taking this case, then. Hope it works out for ya.” He took a last look at the paper, chuckled and returned it to the seat. “Maybe she likes to stir things up to keep from gettin’ bored. She’s either gutsy or stupid.”

  “Daddy didn’t give me the impression he thinks she’s brave.” Joe recalled the note of genuine distress and frustration in Milford P. Macy’s voice. “He says she’s impulsive.” He paused a beat. “And in over her head.”

  “Is she?”

  “What do you think? The woman works at a bank during the day and waits tables at Landau’s at night.”

  “A rich broad like that?” Dino scoffed. “Why does she need to work at all?”

  Joe thought about his phone conversations with her father. The fact that there was tension between the old man and his daughter had come across the line loud and clear.

  “Milford Macy pulled some mighty big strings back in the eighties to keep the details surrounding his wife’s demise hushed up,” Joe told his cousin. “Didn’t even tell Miss Annabelle the whole truth. But she found out recently, and I’m bettin’ she wasn’t too happy about being kept in the dark all these years. The job with Landau is probably her warped idea of payback.”

  “Funny way of gettin’ back at her father, if you ask me.” Dino looked out the window and up toward the building’s top floor. “You ever met Harry?”

  “Can’t say I’ve ever had the pleasure,” Joe answered sarcastically.

  But Landau’s name had come up more than once over the past year in his own personal private investigation of Frank Reno’s many business endeavors. Reno headed up one of the city’s most profitable drug rings. Everyone knew it. No one could prove it. Yet.

  Dino laughed and shook his head. “I went to school with Harry. The guy dresses like a pimp. Did all right for himself, though. Legally or not, I couldn’t say. But I hear the restaurant’s classy. Wouldn’t know personally.” He sniffed and no
dded at Joe. “The place is too uptown for our blood.”

  “Speak for yourself,” Joe said, and smiled. “What makes you think I can’t afford Landau’s?”

  Grinning, Dino answered, “Oh, yeah, that’s right. I forgot about those five cases of yours.” He shifted his long wiry frame, shivered and reached for the door handle. “Your mama’s been calling mine worried about you.”

  “Tell Aunt Sophie to tell her I’m good.”

  “Maybe you oughta tell her.”

  “I have.” Every time she called. Which was daily. “Maybe Aunt Sophie will have better luck convincing her than I have.”

  Dino gave Joe’s shoulder a soft punch. “You know my mama would never lie to her sister.”

  “I’m good,” Joe repeated, averting his gaze to the newspaper in the seat. He heard the passenger door open, felt the frigid blast of air from outside, sensed Dino sliding out.

  “No high-speed chases in my cab, understand?” his cousin teased.

  “I’ll try to keep it down to ninety.” Joe smiled but didn’t look up. “And speaking of your cab, the radio’s on the fritz again. Never know if it’s gonna work or not.”

  “I’ll check it out tomorrow.”

  When the door slammed, Joe slipped the plugs back into his ears. He decided he should pay his mother a visit soon, cajole her into cooking his favorite meal, tease her about her new neighbor, Mr. Manning, until she blushed and laughed and shooed him out of her apartment. He didn’t like her worrying about him. And he didn’t like worrying about her. He had exaggerated to Ed Simms about her state of mind since his father’s death. She was lonely. And Joe didn’t like her living in the old neighborhood alone. All their close neighbors who had been there when he was growing up had either died or moved, and with the exception of Mr. Manning, the remaining tenants were not the sort he wanted his mother around. Joe wanted to help her move someplace safer, but she wouldn’t hear of it until he had a “real” job again. One with steady pay.

  He tapped his finger against the Savannah News and thought again that he had probably made a big mistake taking this case. Sure, the money was great, and he could put it to good use. But his gut told him that whether Miss Macy was in over her head or not, her daddy was being overly protective of a middle-aged daughter who wanted out from under his thumb. Macy probably really wanted a bodyguard for Miss Annabelle, not just a watchful pair of eyes.

  After turning in his badge, Joe had promised himself he’d never again take on the responsibility of another person’s safety. Especially if that person was female. The idea of breaking that promise, even for another possible chance at Reno, bothered him.

  With one last glance at Annie Macy’s photo, he folded the paper. Damn those eyes.

  CHAPTER 3

  Raucous laughter and strains of “Jingle Bell Rock” drifted down the hallway outside Harry Landau’s dark office. Landau’s Christmas party was at full drunken tilt.

  Standing before an open file cabinet, Annie fought an oncoming sneeze. She wasn’t sure whose Christmas gift was worse—Harry’s perfume or the one his sister Lacy had given her. Lacy might not be the sharpest pencil in the box but she understood sarcasm; the woman knew condoms would be wasted on Annie. Lacy often teased her that if she didn’t accept a date soon, she’d quality as a virgin again. The woman had a warped sense of humor.

  Beyond the wall of office windows, Manhattan sparkled like a trimmed Christmas tree dusted with snow. Flakes danced in the night sky, the beginning of the blizzard the weather reports had predicted.

  With trembling fingers, Annie pulled folders from the cabinet drawer and placed them into the empty briefcase she’d found in Harry’s closet. Her heart pounded hard as she glanced over her shoulder at the closed door. She would’ve come more prepared, brought her own bag to haul all this stuff away in, but until Harry cornered her a few minutes ago, she had only intended to do some nosing around, not take anything. Not yet.

  But now she knew she wouldn’t be coming back. Risky or not, this was her last chance. When she walked out of Landau’s for the last time, she would carry proof that Harry was laundering money through the restaurant. And she’d bet every dime of her inheritance that the proof would implicate Frank Reno, too.

  Frank Reno. Annie bit down on her lip. She’d yet to meet the man, but she hated him. Over the past months, she’d scanned every newspaper and magazine article she could find on Reno, old and new. He’d made quite a name for himself over the past twenty-four years, rising to the top of New York’s criminal who’s-who. Yet, no matter the crime, he always managed to walk away scot-free. Just like he had after cheating her mother.

  Not this time. Not if she could help it.

  Before leaving Georgia to move to New York, Annie had visited the woman who had been her mother’s best friend since childhood. When pressed, Barbara Tyler admitted that Lydia had confided in her about her intentions to leave Annie’s father and move to New York upon firming up plans to open a restaurant. After that confession, Lydia’s contact with Barbara became less frequent, so Barbara knew little else. But she did remember the name of a woman in New York Lydia had stayed with on more than one occasion.

  It took some searching, but after arriving in New York City herself, Annie finally found Karla Wilshire in a hospice dying of cancer. Her mother’s old acquaintance told her that she’d stayed quiet for years due to her fear of Frank Reno. But she had nothing to lose now, and she was willing to talk.

  Karla said that Lydia had met Reno through a mutual friend. When Reno learned that Lydia wanted to move to the city, he offered her an investment opportunity in a restaurant he planned to open. Lydia came through with her end of the bargain; she gave him a chunk of money. And Reno ran with it. Literally.

  Karla was with Annie’s mother in the hours preceding her death. They’d gone out to a club with friends and ran into Reno. Lydia and Reno argued, and the club manager asked them to take it outside. Barbara watched them exit the front door, thinking they’d have their say and Lydia would return. But Annie’s mother never came back. Karla didn’t have any idea why Lydia might’ve left with Reno in his car, but she figured Annie’s mom had insisted on driving because Frank was “flying higher than a kite” that night.

  Thinking about that gave Annie the courage she’d needed to break into Harry’s office. She blamed Frank Reno for her mother’s death. Whether directly or indirectly, he was responsible; nobody could convince her otherwise. For whatever reasons, her mother had been troubled and desperate, and Frank Reno had taken advantage of that fact.

  She closed one file drawer and opened another. Her nose twitched, her eyelashes quivered, her lips trembled as she tried to hold in the sneeze. What had she been thinking when she tested that perfume? She had inherited Aunt Tess’s unladylike sneeze—a fact that had occasionally caused her some embarrassment, but until now, never anything life-threatening. Harry would kill her if he found her in here.

  Annie continued dumping files into the briefcase. How could she have been so completely wrong about Harry? Everything about him seemed to indicate his sexual preference leaned toward the male gender. But that wasn’t her only misconception. From the moment she met him up until the past couple of weeks, she had decided that if he was crooked, he must be the most mannerly criminal in the city. In the beginning, Harry was always friendly. Always polite. He could be charming and witty. She had applied for the waitressing job hoping she might meet his uncle Frank face to face. But after her first interview with Harry, she had assumed that he had not inherited any of his uncle’s sleazy genes.

  So much for assumptions.

  When she’d overheard one of Harry’s private conversations two weeks ago, her suspicions had flared. Seeing him shove Lacy and threaten her to keep quiet had inspired Annie to investigate those suspicions. But tonight was the only shove she’d needed to muster her courage and take action, to expedite and follow through on her plan.

  Annie’s hands shook as she slipped the last folder into Harry’
s briefcase, then closed and latched it. She set it on his desk and reached for her purse on the floor, placing her beaded bag beside the briefcase. She told herself that when this was all over, she needed to work on her perception skills involving men. When Harry Landau had found her alone in the hallway twenty minutes ago, she learned three truths about him. One: women’s bodies ranked high on his list of interests; two: mature handling of rejection was not one of his strengths; and three: Harry wasn’t fond of eggnog. At least not as a face cream. Recalling the fury in his eyes, Annie shuddered.

  A second sneeze threatened. Closing her eyes, she drew in spasmodic breaths. She grabbed the briefcase handle with one hand while clamping her other hand across her mouth. Pinching her nostrils between her forefinger and thumb, she tried to muffle what she knew was to come. No luck. She succumbed.

  Seconds after the sneeze, footsteps sounded in the hallway. The doorknob rattled. The lights in the office flashed on.

  Briefcase in hand, Annie whirled around, knocking her purse off Harry’s desk, scattering lipsticks and loose change, a hairbrush and compact, her cell phone and condoms…lots and lots of Lacy’s Christmas gift condoms…across the leopard-print silk rug.

  Harry stepped into the room. All five foot six inches, one hundred and forty lean, spidery pounds of him. In his tailored gold Christmas-party suit, green tie and red Santa hat, he looked too pretty to be male, too festive to be a crook, too silly to take seriously. Then his eyes narrowed.

  “What in the hell are you doing in here?” he growled.

  Annie slowly backed up until she bumped against the credenza behind Harry’s desk. “I—” She swallowed. “I was just leaving.”

  “Why are you wearing my coat?”

  She’d been trying to think smart, to plan ahead, when she’d slipped on the long fur parka she’d found draped across Harry’s chair. It was freezing outside and she didn’t know if she’d have to hoof it when she left here or if she’d be able to flag down a cab. Her own wrap was down the hall and she had not wanted to chance going back for it and running into Harry again. Since she was borrowing Harry’s financial information, she’d decided she might as well help herself to his coat, too.