Near Miss

“Maybe, I don’t know.” She thought for a moment, then shook her head. “No. I need to clear my mind, and I can’t do that here in the city.”

“I understand.”

“Maybe I’ll do some painting. Who knows?” She leaned over and kissed him tenderly. “I’ll miss you. But something tells me you’ll find new companionship soon enough.” She smirked knowingly, then stood. “Well, I’ll be off.”

“Surely, you can have breakfast first.”

“No time, I’m afraid. I’ve already purchased my ticket and need to get to the airport. All I have to do is call a cab.”

“Nonsense. Fred can take you. Let me get dressed, and we’ll get you sorted.”

Ten minutes later they were in the garage, with Matilda’s bag in the trunk of the Bentley.

“Thank you, again. You saved my life,” she said and gave him a hug.

“We’ll see each other soon.”

“Maybe.”

As she pulled away, the sound of someone entering the garage caused them both to look over.

“Hi,” Carly said. She was dressed for a day at the office. “What’s going on here?”

“Matilda’s off to California to visit her sister,” Stone said.

“Oh. Have a good trip.”

“I plan to,” Matilda said. She started to climb into the Bentley, then stopped and glanced back at Carly. “He’s all yours now.”

Before Stone could react, she entered the car and closed the door behind her.

He shrugged and said to Carly, “I have no idea what that was all about.”

“That’s okay. I do.” She got into her car and drove out right behind the Bentley.

Chapter 28

Across town, the Bean Counter’s secretary, Lauren, stuck her head into his office. “He’s here.”

“Show him in.”

Moments later, his protégé, Leonid Korolev, entered. A six-foot-four slab of muscle wrapped in a three-thousand-dollar Armani suit, Korolev was an intimidating sight. Worse, at least to those who crossed the family, he was both smart and clever, two things that did not always go together.

“You wished to see me, sir?” he said.

The Bean Counter motioned to the chair on the other side of his desk. “Have a seat.” When he did, the Bean Counter went on, “Are you familiar with Trench Molder?”

“Greek’s nephew? I have met him once or twice.” There was no missing the disdain in Korolev’s voice.

“You won’t have to worry about running into him anymore.”

“Sir?”

“He’s dead.”

Korolev’s only reaction was a slight raise in his eyebrow.

“But as I’m sure you can guess, the Greek is not happy.”

“How did Trench die?”

“Car bomb.”

This time Korolev did not even attempt to hide his surprise.

“I need you to find out who is responsible,” the Bean Counter said. He set a piece of paper in front of his lieutenant that had three phone numbers on it. “Memorize these then destroy this. They are the numbers of friends of the family who work on the police force.” In other words, men on the payroll who could tell Korolev what the police knew. The Bean Counter laid a key on top of the paper. “And this is to Trench’s apartment.”

Korolev picked the items up. “Do we think it was a rival organization?”

“At this point, I know as much as you do. It’s your job to figure it out.” The Bean Counter hoped it wasn’t another family. That kind of conflict was bad for business. “And make sure you get it right. The last thing we want is to go after the wrong people.”

“I understand.”

“If you need any other resources, let Lauren know.”

Korolev took that for the dismissal it was and headed for the door.

“Leonid,” the Bean Counter said.

Korolev turned back.

“The sooner you have the answer, the better. By tomorrow would be best. The day after at the latest. Beyond that...”

The look in his eyes told Korolev exactly what would happen in that instance.

Korolev called the first number from the list.

“Samuels,” a man answer.

“Officer Samuels, the Greek sends his greetings.”

The sound of muffled movement was followed by Samuels whispering, “This really isn’t a great time.”

“I’ll be sure to let the Greek know that.”

The cop cursed under his breath. “Okay, okay. Give me a second.” It was more like twenty before he came back on and said, “How can I help you?”

“Email me everything the police have on the car bombing from last night.” He recited the throwaway address he’d created for this purpose.

“I, um—”

“You’re not going to tell me you can’t do it, are you?”

“No. No. I–I’ll get it. I just need a little time.”

“You have one hour. If I do not receive it by then, I’ll assume you are refusing to cooperate.”

“Hey. There’s no reason to—”

Korolev hung up.

Forty minutes later, Samuel’s email arrived, with an up-to-the-moment police report on the incident attached. Unfortunately, the police did not have much about the bombing so far.

The IDs of the victims — there were two — were still pending DNA tests. Trench’s name was listed, along with that of Thomas Bozeman, the owner of the car.

Bozeman worked at the gym that Trench used, so that’s where Korolev headed.

One of the first things he learned when he arrived was that Bozeman, who apparently went by Bozo, was the second gym manager to die that month. Both due to unnatural circumstances.