Baker's Dozen Page 6

  Rubbing her hands across her face, she searched her painful memories. Then she remembered. Get the jump drive from behind the aquarium in his office, use the code to access information, and call the name of the person on the sticky note. First step, she needed her bag and the code, then she could think about the next step. Calmness settled over her, resolute calmness. She needed to get back to the casino and dig through the trash to get her bag.

  At last, she had something to focus on, something she needed to do. What she needed the most was a purpose, a drive, something to propel her forward. She needed a plan to get it.

  Andy had just the idea.

  She opened the door to the rest of the apartment. What she didn’t notice last night was how neat and tidy his spacious loft apartment was. The high ceilings of exposed pipes and vent ducting worked with what he was achieving with the sparse decor. The industrial-style kitchen with stainless-steel countertops, brick backsplash, and wrought iron lights, was empty. Hugh must’ve left for the morning. He couldn’t have been gone too long, the incense was still burning. But his laptop was gone.

  She should be on her way.

  But a top investigative journalist couldn’t just stay at a mysterious guy’s house without at least snooping a little bit. Especially after the conversation she overheard last night.

  She touched her fingertips together, thinking.

  The bathroom.

  His life was surprisingly sparse. No years’ worth of junk gathering dust like at Andy’s apartment. It was as if he’d just moved in last night.

  Disappointed at only finding toiletries in the bathroom, she opened the door to the bedroom glancing around. Two trunks sat against the far wall. She knelt down beside one of the giant, black sea chests. A military grade lock hung from the latch. She held it in her hand. She pulled. Worth a try. The other chest was also locked. Not necessarily suspicious. Maybe he had a snoopy roommate before and had to be cautious. She stood, glancing around his clothes. Normal. There wasn’t much to his room. She glanced around. This guy was really boring.

  Or he was hiding something.

  Andy checked the bedside table. Nothing on top. As she opened the drawer, something rolled around inside.

  A tie tack.

  An odd thing to keep in the side of the drawer. It was just all alone. Andy picked it up, then seeing the red triangle and the initials BDP, she nearly dropped it.

  It was Brad’s tie tack. One she gave him for graduation a few years back. Her eyes widened.

  The front door opened.

  Trembling, Andy stuffed the tie tack in her pocket and closed the drawer. Keeping her breath even, she opened the bedroom door just as Hugh set down a bag of groceries and his laptop.

  He eyed her keenly. “You look guilty,” he said upon examination.

  “Who are you?” she asked, eying him, her heart beating.

  He broke into a smile. “Directness. I like that.” He dug into his bag and pulled out a carton of eggs and a bag of spinach. “Want an omelet?”

  Andy retrieved the tie tack from her pocket. Probably not the wisest approach, but she wanted answers. And she figured she could take him if things went south.

  “Where did you get this?” she asked.

  Hugh stopped with an onion in his hand. He chewed the inside of his mouth. But remained quiet.

  “Mine,” he finally said.

  Andy slammed it down on the stainless-steel counter. “Initials BDP? I don’t think so. It’s my brother Brad’s. I gave it to him.”

  Hugh’s eyebrows raised.

  Andy’s eyes narrowed. She hated being played. “Who are you? Not some guy who wants karate lessons, I bet.”

  Hugh set down the onion, watching her carefully. “No,” he said. “I’m not.”

  “Where did you get this?” Brad had warned her of a man lying about his membership in Concordant. She let her emotions cloud her judgment and fell right into a trap. She snatched a knife from the block on the counter and held it out, threateningly.

  Hugh scoffed at her, amused at her brashness. “Do you really think you could best me?”

  Andy half wondered if she could. He may be bigger. And he had some skills, but Andy could hold her own.

  “It is Brad’s.” Hugh spoke quietly, patiently, trying to disarm her with his words. “Listen, drop the knife. You’re right. I’m not who I said I was.”

  Andy didn’t lower the knife. “Surprise me.”

  Backing from where he stood, he opened a drawer behind him, removing a flatware tray. Andy tensed.

  “I didn’t want to have to tell you. My name is Hugh Donaldson. Detective Donaldson. I’m working undercover for the St. Louis Police Department.”

  Underneath the tray, he removed a panel. From there he retrieved a wallet-sized object. He flipped over to show Andy a police badge. Andy’s jaw dropped. If it hadn’t been attached so securely to the rest of her skull, it literally would have fallen on the floor.

  He flipped it closed and dropped it in the drawer. “I didn’t know it was your brother’s. I found it when Brad was meeting with another contact I had, Conner Flannery. We’ve been tracking Conner for a year in deep cover, investigating his involvement in a secret society called Imperium. Conner may have given Brad some leads. We think a man named Tyrone, the leader of Imperium, may have killed someone important.”

  Andy nodded her head, but the information like a leaf floating on a pond—not sinking in. She pocketed the tie tack.

  Hugh continued. “I know you’ll keep my little secret. It may mean the difference of life or death, to me or to you. Only you and the STLPD know my cover.”

  “He’s gone,” she whispered.

  “What do you mean?”

  “Brad,” she said, then caught herself. “Both Conner and Brad. They killed them both.”

  “They got to them last night, didn’t they?”

  Andy shook her head. “Not Conner. He’s been gone for a while. Brad.” Andy almost couldn’t say it. Her throat was so tight.

  “That’s why you were so traumatized last night.”

  “I wanted to stop them. But there were four men. I should’ve tried. It was the first time my life was in real danger. But instead of using my skills to protect someone I love, I was so scared. I hid and let them kill Brad.”

  “You couldn’t have stopped them. Even with a sixth-degree black belt. While impressive, you do the math. I’m sure they were armed. And trained. You would’ve been in over your head.”

  “I can handle my own.” But was she sure? In all her stories, in all her investigating, never once was her life in danger. Sure, there were guys who had the grabbies, but she could’ve kicked their butts at any moment. But these guys, these mobsters, they could kill without even wondering what to do with the body.

  “Did Brad give you any information?”

  Andy’s mind flashed to her bag. She needed to get it. But she wasn’t sure she bought Hugh’s story. “He wanted me to do something for him.”

  “What was it?”

  “Help him. He was hoping to be free, but now he’ll never be free.”

  Hugh faced her with seriousness in his face. “You can help me. I have been trying to track down Tyrone. If you help, we can end Imperium.”

  But to track down Tyrone, she needed her bag. “Mind if I borrow your computer?” She sat down at his laptop.

  “Sure. Go ahead.” Hugh continued with a cocky grin. “What you are supposed to say now is, ‘What a pleasant surprise, you are in on it, too. Now we can work together.’ You’ve got some skills. You’re brave. I’m a professional. I think we’d make a good team.” But Andy still had nagging thoughts as she searched for the information on garbage pick-up. She finally glanced up at him. “I’d like to work together on this thing, if you’d let me,” he said. His eyes were so soft, so sincere. He was so confident, so trustworthy. He couldn’t be working for the bad guys. “Two people are better than one. And I’ve got resources.”

  “Interesting suggestion,�
�� she said, sitting back in her chair. “I’ve always worked solo. Having a sidekick might slow me down, or,” she said, giving him a nasty glare—“encumber my work. But it could also be an advantage.” She didn’t have time to mull the pros and cons. Her lifelong mantra popped into her mind: Verify first then trust.

  She’d need all the help she could get going up against the mob. Before she told him anything, she needed to make one phone call.

  And she needed her bag.

  “Okay,” she said at last, with a hint of bravado. “You can work with me. But I call the shots. We have to do something first. Get my bag.” She pointed at the screen. “Today is garbage day at the casino. We have to hurry.”

  “You say such interesting things. What’s in your bag anyway?”

  Andy was already at the door. “Flashlights, lock picks, emergency rain ponchos, credit card-sized cameras, wall-climbing robotic devices. Other things, too, water-purifying tablets, military issue magnesium fire starter, nail polish, sewing kit, duct tape, toilet seat covers. Plus hair bands, bobby pins, an extra wig, mint floss, and an inflatable PFD. A girl needs her stuff.”

  Hugh flashed her an exaggerated eye-roll. “Girls and their purses.”

  Chapter Five

  As Tyrone gathered ingredients for dinner in his penthouse kitchen, Bobby’s number flashed on his phone. He picked it up.

  “Tyrone here.”

  “Jack called. Says he has something for you. Thinks he might have a picture of an accomplice working with Baker.”

  “He thinks, huh? Doesn’t mean much. I want to meet with Jack.” He hung up the phone after setting a time and date. He sat at the table stroking his face.

  Tyrone didn’t like squealers, and Andrew Baker was his least favorite. The man was a fly on his seared filet mignon. Tyrone shuddered.

  “What’s the matter, Daddy?” Hazel asked. Tyrone couldn’t believe this blonde beauty was his daughter. She sat across from him at the dark ebony table searching for decorations for her wedding on a tablet. Next to her sat champagne lists, a caterer’s menu, and one bakery pamphlet. Plus, she had fabric samples, names of musicians, florists’ quotes, and pastry chef recommendations. She carried all of this in a designer tote to show him.

  Tyrone sneered at the clutter. “You’re nearly thirty. Do you have to talk to me like you’re four?”

  “What shall I call you? Master?” She arched an eyebrow at him.

  Tyrone sniffed a little and stared out of the view of the city. It was a gray day. Yesterday was sunny, not a cloud in the sky. Today was rainy. Weather in St. Louis was inconsistent. He loved it. Not too much of one thing.

  “You didn’t answer me,” she said, glancing at him over her brochure she consulted. “You’ve obviously got something on your mind.”

  “Business. Doesn’t concern you.”

  “Daddy this isn’t the Dark Ages. Women run businesses all the time.”

  “Not my business.” He said this over his shoulder.

  “You are so archaic.”

  He leaned toward her in his chair. “You want to know what plagues me? People keep squealing. Accountants, workers. I’ve got leaks all over the place. Am I an incompetent plumber? I had to terminate someone at the casino this week. I hate it when they make me do that. I didn’t even get to do it myself.”

  He stood and crossed to the fridge and pulled out the raw chicken carcass. “But worst of all. Worst of all is Andrew Baker.”

  “Who Daddy?”

  “A journalist.” He set the chicken on the counter.

  “If he were my enemy, I’d call out a hit on him.”

  Tyrone faced her. “You’re not supposed to know about those things.”

  “You can’t keep shielding me forever. You think I don’t know what goes on here?”

  “Plan your wedding,” he said, pointing at her stuff with his chin. “The only planning you’ll get to do.”

  For dinner, he was making poulet aux quarante grosses d’ail, a French dish of stewing forty cloves of garlic with a whole chicken, a favorite from his days at the École de Cuisine in Paris. If only his father had allowed him to become a chef instead of taking over the family business.

  He slid a meat cleaver from the knife rack. Holding it near his head, he dropped the knife. The cleaver sliced through the breast, the sound of bone cracking. A prickling sensation enhanced his senses, energizing him.

  This time it was personal. He wanted Baker to get the message loud and clear. St. Louis was Tyrone’s city. He would order the hit himself.

  Baker would get the message.

  ****

  Hugh led Andy to the parking garage where his Porsche was parked. Andy crossed her arms, studying it suspiciously.

  “They gave this to me to do undercover work.” He grimaced as he clicked the doors open. No beat cop could afford one of these unless he had a rich grandmother who recently passed away. He should’ve chosen a different car. It might give him away. But he loved his Porsche, the hum of the GT3 Cup R engine and the sheer power of V8.

  Andy rolled her eyes. “Not very inconspicuous.”

  Hugh grunted, wanting to change the subject. “Now, you’re probably safe to go up to your flat and get whatever you need. I doubt Imperium has identified you yet. But if you’re worried, I’ll go with you to check it out.”

  Once at the apartment, Andy trembled a bit as she punched in numbers in the security pad as they stood on the cement stoop. “I have to get the spare keys from the concierge.”

  “This is your place?” Hugh asked, gazing at the brick multi-level rising on a wooded street, in a safe but older part of South City. He pointed to the keypad. “Security.”

  “Yes,” Andy said as she opened the door. “But Mrs. Wheyland lets people in. She’s just being nice and holding the door. A coded entry might keep out small time punks.” But not the Imperium and trained killers. They got the spare key. She hesitated as they climbed the stairs to her apartment.

  She slid her key in the lock and waited.

  “Want me to go in first?” he asked.

  She nodded.

  After he opened the door, Hugh glanced around then shouted, “Somebody’s broken in and ransacked the place!”

  Clothes spilled from everywhere, dinner plates on the couch. Shoes of varying styles lay overturned in the front foyer, papers scattered on every flat surface. Andy, behind him peeked in, panicked, then blushed deeply. She was rather cute.

  “Har, har!” Letting out a nervous laugh, she hit him on his bicep. “This is how my apartment always is.”

  “You should probably be cleaner. You could attract pests.”

  “Well, I was planning on coming home right after dinner last night and cleaning up.”

  She rushed about tossing stale breadsticks in the overflowing trash can, stacking the reusable plastic containers to wash.

  “So many take-away boxes,” he said, tsking his tongue. She glared at him.

  Still, he continued poking his head around every nook and cranny of her place, while Andy thought she was being sneaky by picking up clothes and tossing them on the couch behind Hugh’s back as he investigated her apartment.

  “So, we’re here to get your bag?” he asked as he stepped over a few shirts and plates with bits of pizza crusts hardening on them. He wrinkled his eyebrows at a Chinese carton dripping sweet and sour sauce all over a shoe.

  “No,” she said. “We’re here to get dressed up so I can get my bag.”

  “You know,” he said glancing around. “Your Baker’s Dozen stories were actually quite well written.”

  Andy stopped cold, holding the pantry open, her hand on the door.

  “How did you know I was Andrew Baker?”

  “Your campus rape culture one was perfection.”

  “DNA all the way. If you can get DNA, you can get a conviction.” She eyed him. “How exactly did you figure out I’m Andrew Baker?”

  He shot her a smile, opening the fridge. “Oh, my. Do you ever go grocery shopping
? This thing is so empty someone could’ve been hiding in here.” He picked up a half-gallon of milk, inspecting it. “And it smells rotten. What’s the expiry date on this carton?”

  “You’re evading my question.”

  He replaced the carton, feeling weary. So many secrets. “Well, you made one big mistake.” Andy paled. He continued. “You wrote about your college campus.”

  “So?” She shrugged. He hated crushing her spirit.

  “When I created an analytical map of where Andrew Baker worked, I noticed a pattern.”

  “Oh?”

  “He sniffed out political corruption in the city, helping senior citizens and teenagers, all within one square mile.”

  Andy breathed out audibly, her eyes widening.

  He reveled in her shock. “I cross-referenced college records from those years with everybody who lived in this square mile. And guess whose name showed up.”

  Andy trembled as she closed her eyes.

  Hugh could tell she was really upset. “Don’t worry,” he said. “You’d have to be some really great hacker to be able to discover your information.”

  “You did.”

  “We’re on the same side.”

  “But the bad guys could find it, too.”

  “Not likely.” He had to reassure her without exposing all his secrets.

  “And why not?”

  “Because they are not as smart as I am.”

  Andy wasn’t at all reassured, but he couldn’t tell her how he actually got the information without revealing his sources.

  Andy paused beside the second bedroom. “Just wait right here, will you?” Andy said as she unlocked and slipped in the door of a second bedroom. So secretive. His curiosity was piqued. But when she was gone longer than a few minutes, Hugh began to worry.

  “Hey, where’d you go?” Hugh opened the door. Andy stuck her head out to stop him.

  “No.” She clutched the knob, closing the door farther, speaking through the frame and the door. “This closet-room is kind of my biggest secret. You have to pinkie-swear to be best friends for the rest of our lives. Seeing this part of my life is like seeing me naked.”

  A wide smile played across his lips. She scowled.