Helen changed her mind and decided to head home before meeting with her assistant, Maxine. If I’m going to burn a copy of that damn DVD, I should do it at my office. The office safe is stronger. I might as well stop by the brownstone, pick it up and get it done.
Every time she thought about it, a little trickle of fear crept down her spine. Thank God, Joe is going to help me. It makes me feel safer knowing he’s on my side.
Helen walked down Second Avenue and turned east onto her street. The day was mild, almost balmy, and it made her think of getting away to the Bahamas for a few days when this case was over. Maybe she’d ask Mike to go with her. It would be a well-earned break. She was so caught up in her vision of balmy days, cool nights, and hot sex that she didn’t hear the man come up behind her until he spoke.
“Ms. McCorkendale.” His voice, deep and gruff, startled her. She quickly turned toward it, putting her hand on her purse, where she’d tucked her gun. It wasn’t quick enough. He moved fast for a big man and his hand was on her arm in a flash, gently but firmly steering her away from her staircase and the safety of her house toward a silver Lexus parked at the curb. “If you don’t mind, Mr. Santucci would like to have a word with you.”
She hadn’t noticed the car glide up, either. A silver Lexus in Manhattan was just part of the scenery. They were a dime a dozen in any neighborhood. I should have noticed it anyway. Talking to Joe and receiving the promise of his help had made her complacent. She had relaxed her vigilance. No one knew better than she did how stupid that was, especially after all that had been going on. She hoped the big man holding onto her couldn’t feel her pulse going wild. I have to stay calm and in control. Be Helen, the hard-boiled PI, not Helen, the scared woman. “Nice speech.” She went for cool sarcasm. “Did you practice it all morning?” He squeezed her arm just a little tighter.
As they approached the car, the door opened and sunlight glinted off the carefully coifed hair of Suave Sal Santucci, who peered out of its backseat, looking toward her.
Trying not to show the fear twisting her stomach into knots, Helen faced the man holding her. “Get your hand off my arm,” she demanded with such authority he let her go. She took a deep breath and turned toward her house, mustering more self-control than she actually possessed. “If Mr. Santucci would like to speak with me, he can do it inside.” If there was to be a battle, she’d wage it on her turf. She walked up the stairs, tensing her whole body and waiting for the soft pffftt of the silenced bullet she was sure would enter her back momentarily. When Helen unlocked the door and was still alive and breathing, she permitted herself a small sigh of relief and tried to push away the images of death that flashed before her eyes.
Helen stood in front of her door and turned toward the Lexus at the curb, waiting. A few moments later, Suave Sal’s silvery head emerged, followed by the rest of his body. His appearance certainly lived up to his well-known nickname. He paused for a moment, probably to make sure Helen got a good look at him, then smoothed down the front of his custom-tailored charcoal gray Giorgio Armani suit and shot the cuffs of his hand-sewn Turnbull and Asher pearl gray shirt, revealing solid gold initial cufflinks. His tie and pocket handkerchief were blood red. She had read enough about his wardrobe in the papers to know the designers he favored. Power dressing to die for. Helen took in his sartorial splendor, then instantly wished she hadn’t brought the thought of death back into the scenario.
All this registered in the few moments it took Suave Sal to make his way toward her and the open doorway of the brownstone beyond. His face showed satisfaction at Helen’s appraisal. His black eyes beamed with a glint of pleasure and his mouth turned up at the corners, causing the small mole on the right side to twitch. Helen stood there waiting, staring at him, her hand on the door, holding it open.
“Helen,” he extended his hand. “I may call you Helen, I hope?” She was loath to take his hand, afraid that if she shook it, he’d feel the tremors of fear caroming through her body.
“Only if I may call you Sal.” She took the offered hand, thinking that, like the great Green Bay Packer football coach, Vince Lombardi, the best defense was a great offense. She’d rather go out like a hero than a wimp.
Helen gestured toward the interior of the brownstone and Suave Sal entered. She went to close the door behind him and her movement was blocked by one of the beefy bodyguards who had planted himself firmly in the way. At about five foot ten and two hundred twenty pounds, he filled the door. Helen looked at him coldly, but he wouldn’t budge. It was only after an almost imperceptible nod from Sal that he moved back, turned toward the street and stood at attention at the top of the staircase like one of the Queen’s Royal Guards outside Buckingham Palace.
“You have a lovely home.” Sal nodded as he looked around the entryway. “I’m sure you enjoy it very much.” Helen heard the slightest touch of irony in his words.
How civilized he pretends to be. Even his veiled threats are smooth. “Please come into the study.”
They walked farther into the hall. Helen started to toss her keys into the bowl on her hall table and noticed it was now on the left side. Her heart began to race and she willed herself to stave off the panic attack. They had been in her home while she was out. No wonder Sal Santucci gave in so easily. He knew she wasn’t bugged or rigged for video. Hoping not to give her revelation away, she placed the keys in the bowl as normally as possible and smiled up at him. “Can I get you anything?” She hoped her expression betrayed nothing of her fear. “Coffee? Tea?” A dagger through the heart? She fought hard to control her emotions.
“No, thank you. I won’t be staying long enough.” His voice, bright and almost playful, belied the look in his black eyes, which was cold, hard, and murderous. Helen sensed he was having as much trouble staying in control as she was. Her stomach turned over again.
Helen moved toward her desk, but Sal gestured to the facing easy chairs under the window. Shit. She moved in that direction. She wanted the desk because of the panic button she had installed under its top. All she had to do was push the button to send a silent signal to the alarm company. She had the button installed after a really tough case in which she nearly became a hostage in her own home. Knowing it was there, like was one of the reasons she insisted on meeting in her home instead of his car. Now she wasn’t anywhere near it. His boys had done a good job; they had found the button.
“Helen.” Sal raised both hands toward the ceiling as he took the chair opposite hers, crossed his legs, then smoothed out his pants creases, settling in as though this were his own living room. “I felt it was time we met. I’ve heard about your work from several people and they tell me you’re very good at what you do.”
Not good enough to avoid this.
Sal took his time, looking around the room and nodding his head. Helen was sure he savored her discomfort and enjoyed watching her squirm. All she could do was wait him out. He reached into his breast pocket and she flinched. Then slowly and carefully he removed a cigar, which he twirled between his fingers. He ran the cigar under his nose, sniffing its rich, dark wrapping with pleasure. “Just one of my small vices.” He waved the cigar toward her. “I get all of my cigars at Imperiole Cigars up on Madison. I imagine you’ve heard of them.” He didn’t appear to expect an answer.
Helen tasted the fear rising from her stomach, her composure slipping a little further. Was this idle chatter or another subtle threat? What did he know about Laurel? Thank God she was with Aaron and not anywhere nearby.
He sniffed the cigar one last time and putting it back in his jacket. “I stopped by to offer you an assignment. Some property of mine recently disappeared from the premises of a friend who was holding it for me. It could be a real problem for me if I don’t get it back. I wouldn’t want it to get into the wrong hands, if you know what I mean. That would create a very embarrassing situation for several people.” He raised his smoldering black eyes to hers.
Helen’s mouth was dry and she cleared her throat. “I’m very flattered you thought of me, but I have a full caseload right now and couldn’t take on anything else.” Helen didn’t ask who recommended her. Somehow, he had found out about the break-in and knew she took the DVD. He must be connected every way you looked and probably had someone passing him the info he needed. The only reason she was still alive, sitting here pretending to be listening to this bastard’s made-up bullshit, was that he believed she had passed the DVD off to someone else by now. They must not have found her safe. Swallowing hard, Helen willed herself not to look upward toward her bedroom and the hot cargo in her safe.
Sal sighed heavily. “I don’t think you understand. You’re just the person I need to locate this property. It’s very important to me. Perhaps even a matter of life and death.”
Sal rose from his chair and, for a moment, all Helen could manage to do was stare at him. She rose as well. “Mr. Santucci … Sal.” There was now just a foot separating them.
He put up a hand to silence her. “Please think it over. I’m sure it would be in your best interests to do this for me.” He reached over and patted her hand. Her skin crawled. “Don’t decide now. Think about what it would mean to me. I’ll be in touch later today.”
He left the study without another word, moved back through the hall to the front door, and opened it. As he walked out into the bright day, he turned and smiled at Helen, then unhurriedly closed the door behind him.
As soon as she heard the lock automatically click into place, Helen began to shake uncontrollably. He threatened my life; there’s no doubt about it. Sal Santucci knew everything. He was giving her a chance to “make good” as he would say … and stay alive. Her stomach heaved and Helen ran for the bathroom. All she could see was the menacing look in his bottomless black eyes and that small black mole on the right side of his mouth that twitched with pleasure every time he said her name.