Sean O’Banyon told his driver to pull over in the seventies on Park Avenue. “I’ll be right back, Joey. Just going up to check on Mrs. Cutler.”
“Yeah, sure, boss.”
Sean opened the car door and waited for a hole between taxis that was big enough for him to shoot through. Cass was back in town, evidently. But the only reason he knew it was because he’d called Gray’s after having gotten voice mail for three days straight.
Something was up and he was damn well going to find out what it was.
Pulling his dress coat around him, he jogged halfway across Park and paused at the median. That was when he saw the maroon Honda parked in front of Cass’s apartment building with that spiky-haired guy in the driver’s seat.
Sean hustled across the street, dodging a delivery truck and a bike messenger. When he hit the sidewalk, he went over to the car and peered inside.
Spike had put the seat back and was apparently snoozing, even though it must have been cold as a meat locker in there. Sean rapped on the window with his knuckle.
The man’s eyes lifted slowly, the yellow gaze amused. As if he’d known who was looking into the car.
Sean opened his mouth but was cut off.
“Zoo animals have a weird life,” the guy said, his voice muffled through the glass.
“Excuse me?”
“You know, getting stared at while they’re in a cage. Freaky. I wonder if they think it’s weird, too.”
Okay, the man probably had a point. But Sean wasn’t interested in a philosophical discussion right now.
“Listen, is Moorehouse up with Cass?” he said loudly so he was sure the words carried.
Spike put the window down. “Yeah. And don’t think about getting in the way. He’s got things he needs to say.”
Sean frowned. “Are you threatening me?”
“Pretty much. Except I’ll follow through on it. So I guess it’s more like a promise, huh?”
Sean laughed. “I like a man’s who’s up-front.”
“So you and I have something in common. Now, how about you return the favor. You going to be trouble?”
“If he hurts her, I’ll put his head on a plate. If he’s here to make nice, I’ll be the first to shake his hand.”
Spike nodded his head. “Good deal.”
“How long you been here?”
“Bout an hour.”
Frankly, it was a surprise the guy wasn’t a Popsicle. The cold snap that had hit earlier in the week had stuck around, driving the temperatures into the teens.
Sean glanced over at his limo. “You think you’re going to be here long?”
“Hope so.”
“You got a cell he can reach you on?”
“Yeah.”
“You want to get out of the cold? Have a drink or something? My place is about two blocks that way.”
While he pointed to the right, he thought it might be fun to get to know this hard-ass guy. Sure as hell there was a story to him, and like the staunch Irishman he was, Sean loved a good story.
Spike put the window up and got out.
Damn, he was tall, Sean thought. There weren’t a lot of men who could meet him square in the eye, but Spike sure could.
“Yo, Ricky?” the guy called out.
Richard, the doorman, poked his head out of the lobby. “Yeah?”
“I’m leaving her here, okay? Might be a while.”
“Sure thing, Spike.”
As they crossed Park Avenue, Sean said, “How do you know Richard?”
“Met him an hour ago.”
“You got a way with people.”
Spike smiled, a dark, mysterious grin. “Some of them.”