Stealing the Golden Dream Page 17

  Even though they had a good idea what they’d find, the reflection off the acrylic cases and gold coins took them by surprise.

  Diego whistled.

  Jordan said, “Well, would you look at that.”

  After a minute, Diego turned to her. “You know what this means, right?”

  Jordan had no idea.

  “It means I’m screwed.”

  She nodded. He was right. If they turned the coins in to the police, even if they gave up Frankie, Diego would be implicated. There was no way to prove he had no prior knowledge of the stolen collection being placed in his car. It was vital the coins be recovered for the sake of the company’s reputation, also vital they be credited with the find.

  “What are we going to do?” he asked.

  Before she even had a chance to think about it, her phone rang. “Fire” by the Ohio Players. It was Steve Keegan.

  “Hi, Steve. I’m kind of in the middle of something.”

  “I may know where Eddie is.”

  “You what?” He had her complete attention. “Tell me,” she said.

  “I’ll do you one better. I’ll show you.”

  Almost eight o’clock Saturday night and Jordan and Diego were sitting in Steve Keegan’s dilapidated old ’82 Chevy Suburban, parked in a vacant lot in the warehouse district near the railroad spur. The night air was brisk, but they had rolled down all the windows to keep from suffocating in the dusty, smelly interior. The old car was acrid with the odor of smoke and chemicals from having been present at the site of dozens, if not hundreds of fires. It had been left sitting in the brutal Arizona sun for so many years, the metallic paint was peeling off the hood. Whenever Steve drove down the street, he said he could see bits of the paint flaking off. He called it “The Flake-Mobile.”

  Steve was in the driver’s seat. Moonlight glinted off his glasses and balding head. His round belly nearly met the steering wheel. “I got word you were looking into Danny Reilly as well as hunting for warehouses where LaSalle might have taken Eddie,” Steve said. “There was this warehouse fire pretty close to here, total loss. The holding company that owned it was so badly put together I only had to go down one layer to find this Danny Reilly character. We’re pretty sure the fire was set by one of the Mexican cartel’s local boys. Reilly’s in business against them.”

  “Yes,” Jordan said. “We’ve heard that, too.”

  “Within a few months of the other place burning down, records showed that the same holding company had purchased another warehouse.”

  Jordan listened to every word, every syllable. Steve wasn’t the kind of guy to come to them with information unless he was dead solid. “And where is this new place?”

  He raised his hand and pointed. “Right over there.”

  Jordan followed his finger to a big building, fifty or seventy-five yards across the way. Square, high windows, cargo doors. Standard warehouse fare.

  Something inside her began to vibrate. Eddie was there.

  Like a mind reader, Steve posed the question, “What are you going to do if you’re too late? What if LaSalle’s already killed him?”

  She glared at him, although he probably couldn’t tell in the dark. “Don’t say that. Don’t even think it.”

  “Inappropriate, man,” Diego said. “You’re talking about Eddie Marino. It would take more than Tony LaSalle can put together to off Eddie Marino.”

  “He’s still alive, Steve.” Jordan was surprised at the conviction in her own voice. “I’d know if he wasn’t. I’d feel it.” But she still prayed she was right.

  She turned to the backseat where Diego sat on exposed foam rubber. “Diego?”

  Without a word, he reached to the floorboard and came up with the thermal imager. She opened the car door and got out.

  She’d used the long-range bi-ocular thermal imaging camera on a couple of other cases. It was a tool Eddie swore by and with any luck would again, soon. She raised it to her eyes, aimed it at the warehouse, and switched it on.

  She heard Steve and Diego get out and quietly click their car doors shut.

  Her vision was immediately filled with a kaleidoscope of purples, blues, yellows, reds, and greens. The warmer yellow images revealed two human beings. Both appeared to be male. One paced. It looked like he might have been talking on a cell phone. The second figure sat slouched in a chair, unmoving. She caught her breath. Eddie. It was Eddie. The heat signature indicated he was alive, but the fact that he didn’t seem to be moving worried her.

  “I see him,” she said.

  Behind her, Diego let out a breath.

  She handed him the camera and waited.

  “Way to go, Marino,” Diego crowed.

  “What?” She jerked around.

  “He moved. The guy in the chair, he moved.”

  Eddie was alive. Something gave way inside her, and her eyes filled with tears of relief.

  In the moonlight, she and Diego stared at each other, sharing a moment of silent communication.

  Diego nodded.

  “Let’s get busy,” she said.

  Chapter 31

  Eddie’s place had never been so full.

  Jordan and Diego arrived to find Tank, Coop, and Gina there as Jordan had requested. Mama Rose, Mary, Mark, and last but not least, Theresa. Oh, yes, Theresa.

  Jordan hadn’t met Eddie’s sister before. All she knew about Theresa was she was currently single and being supported by Eddie. She’d been married three times, each husband a bigger loser than the one before him. Theresa was a licensed cosmetologist. Haircuts, color, and mani-pedis, but six months seemed to be the expiration date on any job she took.

  “Oh my gawd!” Theresa rushed forward when Jordan, exhausted and stressed, came through Eddie’s door with Diego.

  Jordan cringed and pulled away, only to be embraced again.

  “I’ve heard so much about you, Jordan.” She burst into tears. “Oh, Eddie, Eddie!”

  Gina came forward to untangle her mother from Jordan. “Mom, let’s give Jordan a break.”

  Theresa nodded, pulled a Kleenex from her jeans pocket, and blew her nose, loudly. She leaned dramatically against Gina as the two cleared a path for Jordan to head to the back of the condo where Mama Rose and Mary sat at the dining room table.

  Jordan collapsed into a chair between the two matrons. Mary looked tired and anxious. It was the first time for as long as Jordan could remember she’d seen her mother with messy hair and a naked face.

  Rose, too, looked like she’d aged ten years. Jordan took hold of her hand and squeezed.

  She looked first at Mary, then at Rose. “I know where he is, and I know he’s alive,” she said. “Eddie’s alive.”

  Rose began to whimper then to cry. Mary got up, circled the table and embraced Rose from behind. “There, there, honey. You cry. You’ve been so brave and so strong for your son. Jordan’s going to get him back. You can let go now.”

  Jordan stared at her mother. Every once in a while the heart behind the Mary Welsh who spent tireless hours at work for her charity programs surfaced. When it did, it was magnificent.

  “Love you, Mom,” she said softly.

  Mary looked up and nodded.

  Jordan’s phone rang. Generic. Maybe this was the return call she’d been waiting for. She stood, opened the arcadia door behind her and went outside to answer it.

  “Jordan Welsh?” The voice was bright, cheerful.

  “Danny Reilly,” she said. “Thanks for calling me back.”

  “How could I resist, Jordan? You come into my life with those long legs and those big dreamy eyes. Of course I’d call you back. I hope you’re not going to try to persuade me to narc out that guy you asked about. I told you this morning I wouldn’t do it.” He sighed so dramatically she could just imagine him pouting. “You’ve broken my heart, sweetie. I thought maybe you’d been thinking about me all day like I’ve been thinking about you.”

  He was leading her to exactly where she wanted to take him. She had indeed
been thinking about him all day, but probably not the way he imagined. When she saw how protective he was of his gym locker, an idea had struck her. Maybe struck wasn’t a good choice of words because this one might be the idea to actually come back and knock her for a loop. It occurred to her that if this guy was all hot and bothered about her, there might be a way she could use it against him.

  “I was thinking about you,” she paused then added, “Danny.”

  He was quiet for a while, then, “In a good way I hope.”

  She tried her sexy voice, even if it always sounded dumb to her. “Oh, yes, a very good way. I thought about what you said about negotiating, making it worthwhile for everyone concerned. Maybe we could meet somewhere.” Her heart raced. She had never been good at this kind of game.

  But it seemed to be working.

  He sounded cocky, satisfied with himself. “I like the sound of that. Name it, and I’ll show up.”

  She smiled to herself. “There’s this place I’ve been wanting to try ….”

  Back inside, a bread line had formed in the kitchen, where Theresa and Mary were dishing up penne pasta and shrimp sautéed in butter and garlic. A couple of bottles of red wine, two baguettes, and a stick of butter sat on the bar. It smelled divine, and it looked like a scene straight out of The Godfather.

  Jordan joined the others. It was serious business. No one spoke as they chowed down.

  Mama Rose complained she felt like road kill and wanted to go back to her hotel and shower. Jordan called in the hard case Diego hired to protect Rose and sent him with Rose, Mark, Gina, and Mary over to their hotel.

  Jordan turned to Theresa. “Maybe you’d like to go with them.”

  “What,” Theresa said, “and miss all the action?”

  Jordan shrugged. Theresa didn’t seem like the brightest bulb in the marquee. Maybe she wouldn’t catch on to the conversation.

  She spoke to the crew. “Boys, we need to be sure our alibis for tonight are solid.”

  “Alibi? Do I need one, too?” Theresa asked.

  Jordan just sighed then went on, “We’ll be conspicuous and public. That should be fine.”

  Tank and Diego looked at each other, then at her. “But, Miss Jordan, we are going to get Eddie back.”

  Confusion was written on their faces—furrowed brows, pursed lips. Tank stood and began to pace. “We have to be there. Eddie’s our—”

  “He’s important to me too, Tank,” Jordan said. “Did you forget?”

  It was obvious both men were barely holding it together. She had to lay it out for them, or she’d lose the argument, and they’d be on their way to the warehouse.

  Diego narrowed his eyes. “But we’re going to get him. Right? Somebody has to go after Eddie.”

  “Somebody is going after Eddie, but it won’t be us.”

  Chapter 32

  Time to get ready for her date with Danny Reilly. A plan was in place to rescue Eddie, but just in case, she still needed to know where LaSalle was going to be. Danny Reilly was her only lead.

  All the clothes she kept at Eddie’s had been laid out on his bed. She stood looking them over. Nothing was right or even close to being right for the occasion.

  “Jordan?”

  She turned.

  Theresa stood in the doorway, her suitcase sitting at her feet. “I overheard you with the guys. I can help with this if you’ll let me.”

  “What do you have in mind?”

  She walked out of Eddie’s bedroom forty-five minutes later. “Okay, posse, let’s hit the trail.”

  Coop, Tank, and Diego turned.

  She knew Theresa had done the job well when their eyes bugged and their jaws dropped.

  Diego and Tank were mute, but not Coop. “Holy crap, Miss Welsh.”

  Diego said, “Yeah. What he said.”

  Theresa walked out behind her and fist-bumped with Jordan.

  “Looks like we’re a success,” Jordan said.

  Theresa had teased her hair on top and around her face, letting the rest cascade down around her shoulders. It was wild and loose like a gypsy dancer’s. Her lips were coated in Theresa’s On the Town red lipstick and her eyes were lightly lined with a soft brown and shadowed with a smoky taupe. Mascara brought her lashes out so far she could almost see them when she blinked. She was a little self-conscious. She normally wore only a subtle lip gloss and eye shadow.

  The black dress was a slinky-knit, long-sleeved sheath, a little snug and a lot short, since Theresa’s 5’5” didn’t quite meet Jordan’s 5’10”. It clung to her curves like Saran Wrap. It was a nice dress, and an LBD was perfect for nearly every occasion.

  Thank God her red Jimmy Choos had been in the bottom of Eddie’s closet.

  Once Theresa had finished, she stood back, chin resting on one fist and said, “Jordan. Even I’d ask you out on a date tonight.”

  Jordan hoped she was every bit as alluring as Theresa and the crew seemed to think she was. She was determined to keep Danny’s attention focused solely on her.

  Martinis and Ivories, downtown Phoenix’s current in spot, had been on Jordan’s let’s-go-there list for months, but she had wanted to go there with Eddie.

  The place was a throwback to the Playboy Club days of the early sixties. The dim ceiling lights cast reflecting halos on the chrome tabletops. Mirrors reflected the fashionable images of the hip, young downtown Phoenix professionals perched on ebony bar stools. The syncopated rhythms of an excellent pianist swirled the open space under the din of conversation and laughter. It smelled like perfume, after-shave and booze. At eleven p.m. the place was in full swing.

  Eddie would have loved it.

  Back at Eddie’s, Tank had buried a tiny microphone in the V-neck of Theresa’s black dress. His cheeks flamed and his hands shook. He looked away more than he looked at what he was doing. He must have apologized at least twenty times, while Coop kept offering to take over.

  A similarly small in-ear receiver was hidden among the waves and curls of Theresa’s creation. Jordan was wired for sound and ready to get down to it.

  She walked in and looked around the bar. Diego and Coop were at a table against the far wall. A cocktail waitress in black Spandex capris, red bustier and stilettos was practically lying across their table as she took their order.

  Movement at the bar drew her attention. A small crowd parted as Danny Reilly emerged from its center. She had to say he cleaned up well. His black sweater and tight black jeans made him look as deadly as he probably was.

  When he saw her, his smile lit up the bar like a searchlight.

  “Jordan Welsh.” His voice still had that musical quality.

  “Mr. Reilly.” She tried for a coo.

  He lifted her hand to nearly shoulder level and led her across the room like a princess.

  He held a chair for her and saw her seated before rounding the table and sitting. One raised finger brought another of the sexy waitresses with a tray bearing two martini glasses.

  Danny raised his, Jordan hers. She sipped. A perfect vodka martini. The pianist struck up a jazzy version of “I Saw Her Standing There.” Danny leaned on his elbow.

  Jordan had been off the market only five or six months since she and Eddie became a couple. How was it possible to forget male-female chitchat in such a short amount of time?

  “That’s a cute sweater,” she said.

  He just looked at her.

  “No, really,” she said. “I really like it.”

  Danny looked at her like she stepped out of a UFO. “You like it that much, I know where you can get one just like it.”

  Diego and Coop laughed in her ear. She guessed her sexual banter wasn’t up to par.

  “Seriously, Jordan? Try complimenting him on the drinks he ordered.” Coop’s voice was sympathetic, even if he nearly choked on suppressed laughter.

  “Excellent martini.” She started over.

  “Much better,” Diego whispered in her ear.

  “Well,” Danny said, “if Martini’s
in your name you better make a good one, I say.” He raised his glass a second time. “You rock that dress. And those heels … ai-yai-yai.”

  She crossed her arms and leaned toward him.

  It sounded like Diego choked on his drink.

  “What a nice thing to say, Danny.”

  “Careful, Miss Welsh.” Coop’s voice was hesitant. “I’m getting some static. You could pop the mic out.”

  She straightened up so fast she nearly knocked her drink over. “Oops.”

  Danny frowned. “Something wrong?”

  “You …” Jordan hurried to say, “you make me nervous.” It was the truth. She was nervous as hell.

  A lopsided smile lifted one side of Danny’s mouth. “Is that a good thing or a bad thing?”

  “Nervous?” Diego said.

  “Wow. Never had a woman like Miss Welsh tell me I made her nervous,” Coop whispered. “Good thing. Right?”

  “Shut up,” Jordan ordered.

  Danny raised his eyebrows.

  Jordan’s mind raced. “… and kiss me.”

  “I like the way you operate, Jordan Welsh, and you haven’t even asked me about LaSalle yet. Great way to negotiate.”

  He opened the door, so she walked through, pulling back right as his lips were about to meet hers. “About LaSalle—” she began.

  “Uh-uh, pretty lady. Let’s not spoil a good thing.”

  He stood, drew her up and began to sway with her to the tune of “The Sweetest Taboo,” nibbling her ear and breathing softly against her neck. Honest to Pete, this guy was his own biggest fan.

  And she acknowledged she was a fool to ever believe he’d even give her the time of day unless she gave back exactly what he had in mind. She wouldn’t do that, but it wasn’t a problem. She had a way around that, and all she had to do was wait for Tank to get back.

  Diego and Coop took her at her word and didn’t speak for well over half an hour.

  Danny kept her busy—drinking, dancing, and being seduced. She must have looked at her watch a dozen times before Tank’s voice sounded softly in her ear. “It’s done, ma’am. Y’all can call it a night.”