Книга - Mixed Up with the Mob

Mixed Up with the Mob
Ginny Aiken


DEATH AND A DAMSEL IN DISTRESS Strange things were happening to Lauren DiStefano. Since her brother's funeral, a mysterious driver had tried to run her down, menacing mobsters threatened her and a handsome FBI agent saved her life. Something was seriously wrong, and Lauren feared for her life.As Lauren discovered her brother Ric had left behind a trail of treachery, lies and mob ties, Special Agent David Latham seemed determined to uncover the truth. Could she place her trust, her life—and her heart—in David's hands?









Mixed Up With the Mob

Ginny Aiken








…offer yourselves to God, as those who have been brought from death to life; and offer the parts of your body to Him as instruments of righteousness.

—Romans 6:13




Contents


CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

EPILOGUE

QUESTIONS FOR DISCUSSION




ONE


Philadelphia, Pennsylvania

He’d never given marriage much thought. At least, not for himself. And especially not since God had seen fit to bless him with a grandmother like Dorothea Stevens Latham, a passionate and determined matchmaker. In fact, avoidance of the subject was one of David’s favorite hobbies.

At the red light, he brought his vintage electric-blue Camaro to a stop, and watched a few snowflakes melt on the windshield. It hadn’t felt all that cold earlier in the day, but years in Philly had taught him to expect anything from the weather. It was the twelfth of December, after all.

He flicked on his radio, and smiled at the sound of Miles Davis’s mellow trumpet. It filled the car with its richness; it flowed over him like melted fudge. He loved music, especially the lushness of jazz.

The cell phone rang; he looped on his hands-free headset. “Latham.”

“So how was dinner with the lovebirds?” asked Dan Maddox, a fellow agent with the FBI’s Philadelphia Organized Crime Unit.

The light turned green. David pressed the gas pedal. “Honeymooning agrees with J.Z., and Maryanne’s just as radiant as on their wedding day.”

“Wish I could’ve been there.”

“Well, someone had to mind the store. Since I took the day off, and you are supposed to be on duty—oh, that’s right. You’re on ‘sit and watch’ detail.”

“Yeah, yeah. I’m on surveillance. Don’t rub it in. So how was dinner? Can the bride cook?”

David took the next turn. “You missed out, man. Homemade lasagna, garlic bread, the best green bean dish I’ve had in years and tiramisu. Eat your heart out.”

Dan groaned.

David remembered how he’d felt the entire evening. Good food, good friends, good atmosphere. J.Z. and Maryanne’s happiness had made a unique fourth at the dinner table.

And while his thoughts hadn’t veered into dangerous territory during the visit, the minute he walked out of the cozy condo, a question had elbowed its way into his brain. It didn’t want to take a hike.

What would happiness like what he saw tonight be like?

How would it feel to close the door behind a visitor, and turn around to find himself in the company of the person who brought him that kind of joy?

“…earth to Latham!”

He blinked. “Sorry. Guess I lost track of our conversation. I’m on my way to pick up Grandma Dottie.”

“What’s wrong with her brand-new Hummer?”

“Beats me. She just said it was in the shop, that she needed a ride home.” Her request had stunk like a fine, tire-flattened polecat on a hot summer day. His grandmother was nothing if not independent.

But he’d rather discuss her than think of marriage. He muttered, “That only leads to danger, my man.”

“Come again?” Dan asked.

David blushed. “Nothing. Just wondering what Gram’s up to this time.”

“Yeah, well. With her you can be sure she’s up to something every time. Where is she?”

“I’ll tell you, but don’t you dare make any stupid comments, Maddox. She’s at the latest Lady Look Lovely makeup party.”

Dan’s guffaws threatened David’s eardrum. “Oh, yeah. She’s up to something all right. She wants great-grandchildren, Latham, and she’s lured you to an event peopled with women of all ages, sizes, shapes and interests. But there is one interest they all share, you know. Men, single men. Like you.”

“That’s not funny. I’d rather suffer bubonic plague than face that crew.”

“Better you than me.”

“Maybe that’s what I should do. Have you pick her up. Sometimes I think she loves you better than she does me.”

“Can’t blame the woman for her good taste.”

“Give me a break. Just for that, I’m gonna turn around and call her. Tell her I’m sending you in my place. You should face the ‘sweethearts’ she hangs around with. Especially those who aren’t till-death-do-us-part attached to a sucker of the male persuasion.”

With Dan’s indignant squawks in the background, a niggle of discomfort crossed David’s mind. That was how he’d viewed the lot of the average married man. Until tonight.

He murmured a few “Mmm-hmms” and a few “Huhs,” which kept Dan happy and blathering.

David’s thoughts ran rampant.

Maybe Dan was his best defense against Gram’s zealous efforts, now that J.Z. and Maryanne had infected him with curiosity…and, if he were completely honest with himself, something he always tried to be, with a weird kind of emptiness in the pit of his—was that his gut that felt so jittery? Or was it his heart that made him feel strange, on edge?

He’d always thought the heart did nothing more than pump blood. He’d always rejected love-sloppy poets and schmaltzy chick flicks with their throbbing hearts and broken hearts and mended hearts. He’d always believed that the Lord would guide him to the woman he was meant to marry—if he was even meant to commit such lunacy in the first place.

“…are you okay, David? I’ve never known you to space out like this, and you’ve done it twice now. You still driving?”

“I’m fine. Just irritated with myself. I can’t help the soft spot I have for Gram. You should’ve heard her. She was in fine form this morning. ‘Oh, Davey, it’s not a problem. I’ll just have Bea drive me home after the party. She only lives two houses down from me, you know.’”

Dan hooted. “Sure, as if we didn’t know that Bea Woodward has more driving citations than a stray mutt has fleas. I don’t blame you. I don’t want your grandmother careening down Philadelphia’s wintry streets in that white-haired maniac’s car any more than you do.”

“And she knows how I feel.”

“Too well.” Dan gave another chuckle. “She’s a special one, all right. But you’re gonna have to brave the females and pick her up yourself. I’m on duty, remember?”

It was his turn to say, “Too well.”

Four long blocks away from Lorna Endicott’s palatial, old-money mansion, another red light made him stop. He tapped his fingers on the steering wheel, and “Uh-huhed” some more.

He sighed. How did Dad do it? How did the man handle such a mother? Was that why the moment he saw his chance back at the ripe old age of eighteen, his father bolted to the wild, wild West, and settled in Seattle?

Had that been the only way for Dad to find a mate on his own?

Maybe.

A car honked behind him, and David realized he’d been so caught up in his freaked-out thoughts, that he hadn’t seen the light go green. He pulled forward with a jerk, his blush hot all the way to his forehead.

“…you know why you’re on your way to pick up Grandma Dottie. You’re nuts about her. And I am, too—everyone is. She’s the sassiest, sweetest, smartest woman I’ve ever met. And you’d do anything for your grandmother.”

“I already admitted to my weakness, Maddox. So what’s your point?”

“Just that I wish I could be there to see you face a crowd of women who just spent hours and beaucoup de bucks turning themselves into traps for unsuspecting guys.”

At the next stop sign he looked both ways, relieved by the lack of traffic. True, it was ten o’clock on a Wednesday night, and he was driving down a posh residential neighborhood now, but you never knew when a speed demon would come at you with total lack of forewarning.

David tuned out Dan’s teasing again, and started into the intersection. Headlights appeared in his rearview mirror. He wondered if it might be another sucker roped into an appearance at the Lady Look Lovely party. Maybe the two of them could commiserate—

A woman stepped into the crosswalk.

He honked, yelled, “NO!”

Dan’s gibberish turned anxious.

The headlights pulled up to his left side. The gray Lexus roared ahead.

Twin beams limned the woman and a child she pushed behind. She stumbled on.

“Get off the street!” David yelled. He slammed the horn and stomped on his brakes.

Dan squawked some more.

David ignored him, tried to block the gray car with his.

The woman froze.

The Lexus swerved to avoid him then veered back, its aim sure, deadly. It hit her.

David skidded toward the sidewalk. “Call 911,” he yelled at Dan. “Ambulance, too.”

The car slowed. He gave Dan his location. Almost before he came to a full stop, David jumped out.

His temples pounded. He wanted to yell again, but something took hold of his throat. He rushed to the woman, who now lay on the road, the little boy frozen at her side.

An urgent prayer accompanied him down to his knees. “Are you all right?”

He took her pulse. Fast, too fast, but strong.

The woman, younger than he’d initially thought, gave him a wobbly grin. “Yes…no—maybe.”

He forced a smile when he saw no blood. “Now there’s a definite answer for ya.”

“It’s kind of hard to say….” She worked her way up to a sitting position, her shadowed features twisted in pain. “I think everything’s where it should be, and probably in working order, too. The car didn’t hit me hard.”

Her words contrasted with the fear in her eyes and the tremor in her hands. She held out her arms, and the boy crumpled into her embrace. Over the child’s head, she met David’s gaze. “Umm…you see—”

The boy’s sobs cut her off. She turned her attention to the scared kid, who couldn’t have been more than five or six. She murmured reassurances in a soft, musical voice, and her hands in turn dried tears, smoothed hair, checked for any sign of injury.

“He seems fine…right?” What did he know about kids?

She gave a tight nod. “The car didn’t hit him. I made sure of that.”

It struck him then that he’d failed to take note of the license plate on the Lexus. He made a face.

The woman inched away from him.

Great. He’d scared her. “Sorry. I just thought of something…important.”

She scooted away a little more. “Please. Don’t let me keep you. I’m sure you have somewhere to go. We’re fine.”

Considering they were sprawled all over the middle of the street, David didn’t agree. But she did have a point—one, only one. “That reminds me…”

He thanked the Lord for the lack of traffic, pulled his cell phone from his pocket, and dialed his grandmother. In a few, terse sentences he let her know an emergency had come up and that he’d be late. She knew him well enough not to doubt the tone of his voice.

As he turned back to the victims, he heard distant sirens. He breathed a sigh of relief.

“You’re going to be okay,” he told the frightened two.

The little boy’s eyes looked like huge dark holes in the poor light. “You a doctor, mister?”

David grinned. “No, but my mother sure wanted me to be one.”

The tyke frowned. “Did she make you time-out ’cause you dinn’t ’bey?”

“No, not for that. But I spent hours and hours doing time-outs for all kinds of other things.”

A spark of mischief rang in his “Really?”

“Don’t bother the nice man, Marky. I’m sure he has to get going.”

“Aunt Lauren! You know you shouldn’t call me that.”

The sirens wailed louder even than the boy’s complaint.

Lauren tsk-tsked—nervously, to David’s ear. “I’m so sorry, dear. Aunt Lauren forgot this time. It won’t happen again. I promise.”

Mark aimed narrowed eyes at his aunt. “Double-dip promise, with a cherry and whip cream on top?”

“Double-dip promise, with a cherry and whipped cream on top.”

David was charmed, but not so much that he forgot what had to come next.

“Don’t you think you’d better call his parents?” he asked. “The investigating officer will be here soon, and he’ll want to ask you a million questions. The boy, too. The police will need parental permission to question him.”

The smile the banter had brought to Lauren’s face vanished. “Oh, dear. We don’t need the police. I’m fine, and so is Mark. Nothing happened here.”

“What do you mean, nothing happened here? That idiot ran right at you—and hit you! Then he pulled a hit-and-run. In my book that’s two for one. Crimes, that is.”

Alarm again filled her face. “Oh, no. Really. I’m sure the driver just skidded on the wet pavement. It gets slippery when it starts to snow like this.”

David snorted. “Look, lady—Lauren?” When she nodded, he continued. “The guy started out behind me. The minute you stepped into the crosswalk—on a green light for me, mind you—he hit the gas good and swerved around me. He was heading for you, and there’s no other way to call it. This was no accident.”

“You must be mistaken,” she argued in a shaky voice. “It couldn’t have happened that way. I’m sure it was the snow and…”

She stopped.

Shook her head.

Tightened her hold on Mark.

“Please,” she whispered. “Send them…all of them—” she gave a little wave “—away. I’m fine. Nothing happened here….”

Despite her urgent denials, David heard no conviction behind Lauren’s words. Something wasn’t right. Why was she so determined to avoid the paramedics and the police?

What had really happened before his eyes?

“Look, lady. I know what I saw. And I investigate crime for a living. My powers of observation are pretty sharp. So why don’t you stop all this nothing-happened nonsense, and tell me what’s coming down?”

“Nothing—”

“I’m a witness to your stepping into traffic with a child. I can press charges for child endangerment.”

“No…” Her voice broke on a sob. “Please. I’m all Mark has left. His mother died three years ago, and it’s only been three weeks since we buried my brother.”

David gave a brief nod. “I’m sorry to hear that.” He took a deep breath and withdrew his ID. “But that doesn’t change what I saw. I’m with the FBI. Please tell me what just happened here, why you’re so determined to avoid an investigation.”

Another sob ripped through her. Fear left her features drawn, pale, eerie-looking in the weak glow of the streetlight on the opposite corner across the street. Unless he was much mistaken, her shivers intensified.

She began to shake her head.

He glared.

Mark reached up to pat her cheek. “You ’kay, Aunt Lauren?”

She tried to smile at the boy, but failed. “Fine, Marky. I’m fine.”

“Lady—”

“My name’s Lauren, Lauren DiStefano.”

“Okay, Lauren DiStefano. I’m David Latham. Now why don’t you tell me what you think happened here? What you really think happened here.”

She took a deep breath, forced a…maybe she meant it as a smile, but from his point of view, it looked more like a grimace. She met his gaze.

“My brother’s—” She shut her eyes, shook herself, then squared her shoulders. When she looked at him again, some corner of David’s mind took note of her clear green eyes.

But it was her words that took him by surprise.

With a heavy dose of audible determination, she said, “My brother’s ghost just tried to kill me.”




TWO


David rolled his eyes. “Let me get this straight. Nothing really happened here, you say. It was just a driver who slid on wet pavement. And that driver was…your brother’s ghost?”

Lauren bit her lower lip. Then she squared her shoulders and nodded. “Yes. That’s what I said.”

But she didn’t meet his gaze.

The ambulance shrieked up and came to a complete stop a few inches from David’s feet. Two squad cars careered around the corner behind the siren-blaring, light-flashing, foot-threatening white-and-yellow menace. He scrambled upright, if for no other reason than to protect his feet.

But it was good. Reinforcements just when he needed them. He didn’t know what to make of his accident victim.

Two officers approached. David nodded at them. “Glad to see you guys.”

Officer Radford, as per his name tag, returned the nod. “Can you tell me what happened? The dispatcher wasn’t long on details.”

David withdrew his ID and turned it over to the two cops. “I was on my way down the street when a gray Lexus swerved around me and aimed straight at the woman and child. It hit and ran, and although she says she’s fine, I think she might have a concussion or something. At the very least, she must’ve rattled her head.”

The EMT who’d come up behind Officer Sherman, Radford’s partner, waved her own partner toward Lauren then said, “Why her head? Did you see evidence of trauma?”

“No, but she’s talking crazy.”

With a puzzled look for him, the medic turned to Lauren.

Radford took out a notepad. “What do you mean, talking crazy?”

David snorted. “I feel stupid just telling you what she said. She tried to tell me her brother’s ghost was behind the wheel. And that’s after she insisted again and again that the driver had only skidded on the damp road.”

Radford didn’t look up from his scribbles, but his right eyebrow rose. “So we’re talking criminal ghosts, are we?”

David ran a hand through his hair. He’d known better than to agree to come after Gram. Now he was making a fool of himself thanks to a pretty blonde who might have rocks in her head.

“That’s what she said.”

“Did you get a good look at the driver?”

“It happened so fast, I didn’t even get a good look at the license plate, much less the driver.”

“But you’re sure it was a gray Lexus?”

“That I’m sure. My grandmother just traded in one just like it only in pink.”

The eyebrow rose higher. “A pink Lexus. What’d she get? A pink Caddie instead?”

David’s cheeks flamed. “No. A purple Hummer.”

Radford’s left eyebrow joined his right. He turned to Officer Sherman. “Is that ID for real, or did he get it in a gumball machine?”

Sherman scanned it again. “Looks plenty kosher to me.”

David glared at Lauren. “Call the office. I’m for real. I’m just not sure what she is.”

“She,” said the female EMT as she returned, “is just fine. Oh, she’ll have a doozy of a bruise on her hip by tomorrow, all right, and I’ll bet she scraped her knees good under those pants, but otherwise she’s fine. Not even a bump on her head.”

“Then she’s nuts,” David said before he could stop himself.

Lauren glared back. “I’m not crazy, but I am fine, as I told you over and over again.” She turned to Radford. “He shouldn’t have made such a fuss. I’m sorry he bothered you, sir. But as you heard, I’m fine. You can all go home now. It’s getting late, especially for my nephew.”

Radford glanced at David. In that quick look, he saw the same alarm he’d felt at Lauren’s urgent objections. Something was up with this woman. And he wasn’t about to let her go until he had a good idea what it might be.

David crossed his arms and pinned Lauren with his stare. “Listen. I don’t buy a word of your ghost story, so why don’t you try telling me the truth? What’s going on here? What are you trying to hide?”

At his side, Radford cleared his throat.

David winced. He was stepping on the locals’ toes, and he was off duty, but by now he’d lost his patience. He had to know what Lauren DiStefano was up to.

Instead of answering, though, she helped her nephew stand before she stood, as well. Only then did she meet David’s gaze. “I’m sorry. I’m absolutely exhausted. And I’ve been under a great deal of stress these last few weeks. I’m sure it’s all taken its toll on my sanity.”

David caught himself before the spontaneous “Yeah, right” popped out. “So in your world exhaustion and stress lead to hit-and-runs and ghosts.”

She had the decency to blush. “I suppose it does sound stupid when you put it that way.”

“What way would you rather I put it?”

The shrug made her wince. She was hurt, no matter how hard she tried to deny it. What he wanted to know was why she was so determined to do so.

“Well?” he prodded.

Radford’s pencil scratched across paper.

The ambulance pulled away, this time minus the theatrics.

Officer Sherman joined them.

Still, Lauren didn’t speak. By now, she’d grown visibly uncomfortable with the triple scrutiny—just what David had hoped for. Maybe that discomfort would make her decide to talk.

She took a deep breath, clasped her nephew’s shoulders, pulled the boy close to her side. “The last three weeks have been very hard on us. My older brother Ric died twenty-three days ago. A car accident.”

That did explain stress, and the stress probably explained the exhaustion.

“But how do we get from grief and mourning to a Lexus-wielding ghost?” he asked. “Are you sure your brother’s dead? That you didn’t…uh—”

“No, Mr. Latham,” she cut in, her green eyes bright with indignation. “I didn’t imagine my brother’s death. I could never have done that. Besides, I have plenty of evidence of his passing.”

“I didn’t mean that you might have imagined his death.” David shifted his weight from one to the other foot. “That evidence you mentioned would be…?”

“The usual,” she countered. “I have a death certificate, the obit from the newspaper, the tasteful gravestone I had to order, a casket and fresh burial plot, the unending funeral bills I still have to pay and none of those is even the most heartbreaking bit of proof you could ever want. I have a grieving five-year-old nephew who only wants to know where his daddy went.”

David’s gaze dropped to the boy. The tears in Mark’s large green eyes, so like those of his aunt, filled him with guilt. “I’m sorry. I probably shouldn’t be asking these questions with…ah…him here.”

“You shouldn’t be asking them period,” she said.

“Amen,” added Radford.

Although their objections didn’t have the same meaning, David got where they were coming from. He shot the cop an apologetic glance, but then his attention flew back to the woman and child in the blink of an eye. “Maybe you shouldn’t be talking ghost stories, either.”

To his satisfaction, she glanced down at the boy, and frowned. “You’re right. I’m going home.”

“Not so fast, lady,” Radford said. “I need your name, address, telephone number, and the full name of that maybe-dead, maybe-not-so-dead brother of yours.”

David didn’t let his gaze stray as Lauren responded. But then, when she got to her brother’s name, a touch of recognition tickled the backside of his memory.

Ric DiStefano.

He knew the name. But he couldn’t quite place it. Not right away, at any rate. He’d have to think about where he’d heard it, how he came to know it.

Then, to his surprise, after Radford’s okay, Lauren walked to the large, three-story brownstone mansion two doors from the corner, unlocked the door and slipped inside. She lived there and she complained about funeral bills?

Something still didn’t add up.

While he stared at the double mahogany doors, someone tugged on the back of his shirt. He turned around and groaned.

“You okay, Davey?” his grandmother asked.

Oh, boy. Was he ever in trouble now! His grandmother at the scene of a crime.

“I’m fine, Gram. What are you doing here?”

“Sure you’re fine?”

“Yes, I’m sure. So why are you here?”

At nearly six feet of statuesque height, Dorothea Stevens Latham rarely looked anything but her usual competent, eccentric self. Right now, though, under the weak glow of the streetlight at the other corner, his grandmother looked shaken.

Guilt filled him. He opened his arms wide, and she stepped into his hug. He felt her shivers in the deepest corner of his heart.

“Aw, Gram,” he said as he patted her sturdy back. “You shouldn’t’ve worried. I’m fine. It’s just that I witnessed a hit-and-run.”

Then she shuddered, took a deep breath, and stepped away. “And just how was I supposed to know that, David Andrew Latham?”

Now this was more like it. “Because I called you and told you Dan would pick you up. Then I bet he told you the same thing.”

She tossed her head of snow-white spiked hair. “Well, Davey dear, I like Danny just fine, but he’s every bit as much of a spook as you are. How’m I supposed to know when he’s telling me the truth and when he’s feeding me Bureau gobbledygook?”

“Ahem,” said the alluded-to spook. “I’m not given to lying, Grandma Dottie.”

David’s friends all wound up adopting his grandmother as their own. The world’s very own professional grandmother turned to Dan Maddox. Her canary-yellow full-length wool duster coat swirled around her.

“Maybe not, Danny, but you’ll be the first to bend the truth to cover for Davey or any of your other fellow agents. And you can’t deny it.”

Dan met David’s gaze. The two men exchanged a knowing look. There wasn’t much either could say to the older woman. She knew them too well.

“So I’m right, then,” she continued. “Not only did I have to come see that you really were in one piece, but I also had to check to make sure you hadn’t cooked up a goofy excuse to not come and pick me up. I don’t know what you have against my friends. They’re such lovely gals.”

Now she’d started in with her guilt-inducing poor-me deal. “Hey, Gram, give it up. You may as well quit while you’re ahead. I’m not buying that ‘what you have against my friends’ stuff. You know I don’t have a thing against your friends. I just have a problem with your devious ways. I can find my own dates, you know.”

She snorted. “Well, you’re doing a lousy job of it, if you ask me. And I know some swell girls.”

“Well, I didn’t.”

“Didn’t what?”

“Ask you.”

Gram stuffed her fists in the pockets of her outrageous coat and pushed out her bottom lip.

Now, really. Who else wore nearly neon-yellow in December?

Who else wore nearly neon-yellow at any time?

She lowered her head.

Anyone else would’ve thought she was contrite. Not David. He knew she was busy scrambling in her troublemaker brain for another plan of attack.

It was time to deflect the skirmish. “Well, listen—”

“So did you get the pretty blonde’s number?” she asked.

Without thinking, David said, “Her name, address, phone number…”

At the gleam in his grandmother’s brown eyes, David let his words die a merciful death. She’d tricked him well and good.

“Is there any reason to think this rises to the level of a Federal situation, Latham?” Radford asked.

David had forgotten the officers. “Ah…no. I doubt it.”

Sherman nodded. “Then we’ll take it from here. As a courtesy, we’ll let you know if we learn anything different than what we know now.”

“That’s fine. And thank you for your quick response. I appreciate it.”

Radford chuckled. “At least someone does. It doesn’t look like Ms. DiStefano thinks much of us.”

David glanced at the expensive house down the street. “Don’t take it personally, Officer. It strikes me that she doesn’t think much of law enforcement period.”

“I’m with you,” Sherman said.

“D’you mean that pretty girl?” his grandmother asked. “Are you boys saying she’s a crook?”

Her disbelief struck David as somewhat naive, but he didn’t have much to go on. “No, Gram. We have no evidence that she’s anything but what she says she is—a grieving sister who’s been left to raise a miserable little orphan boy.”

“So where’s the but?”

Nothing much got past her. And she wouldn’t let up on him until she learned what she wanted. So he said, “But something’s not quite right about that ghost story.”

“What?” she squawked. “Don’t tell me she’s one of those séance-happy nuts. She sure didn’t look like one.”

“And just how do people who’re into all that spiritist junk look, Grandma?” Dan asked, humor laced through his words.

Grandma Dottie shrugged. “Oh, the ones I’ve seen on talk shows wear yards of filmy fabric, too much eye makeup, and talk like spaced-out teenagers. And they haven’t been teens for decades, you know.”

David had a sudden vision of a well-upholstered matron, a cloud of lavender chiffon in swathes around her…upholstery, raccoon-black goop around turquoise-shadowed beady eyes, her hair a perfect Miss Clairol shade of champagne and giant gobby rings on her every finger.

“That’s it,” he said. “It’s late enough that my mind’s begun to do a Grandma Dottie meld. Reality check, folks. And time to head home.” He turned to Dan. “Hey, thanks for everything, man.”

Dan chuckled. “Are you kidding? I live for this kind of thing. I called Eliza, told her what was up with you, and what wasn’t happening at my post, and she couldn’t send me after you fast enough.”

“Great. Now I’ll have to face the dragon lady first thing tomorrow morning.”

“Make sure you have your Wheaties,” Dan said with a wink. “You gotta walk into the dragon’s lair well fortified, you know.”

“First ghosts, and now dragons,” David said. “Let’s go home, Gram. You can tell me what’s wrong with your Hummer on the way.”

He drove the short distance to his grandmother’s elegant town house in a historic district of Philly only half listening to her tale of Hummer woe. To his disinterested ear, it all sounded like a cooked-up excuse to drag him to the cosmetics party, after all. And that didn’t particularly bother him. He knew his grandmother very, very well.

He didn’t, however, know Lauren DiStefano at all. But he did know he was going to get to know her a whole lot better. And soon.

Because he’d just remembered where he’d heard the name Ric DiStefano. DiStefano was a big-time venture capital guru.

And his business, DiStefano Enterprises, was under investigation for SEC violations. It’d been all over the news. To make matters worse, it seemed the guy’d had possible connections with Mat Papparelli, a dead money launderer for the mob.

A late mobster whose widow had turned state’s evidence. The very same woman Dan Maddox was supposed to be keeping in protective custody.

Why would Eliza Roberts, Dan and David’s boss, pull Dan from his assignment? Why would she send him after David’s ghost-loving hit-and-run victim?

Organized crime was David’s shtick.

What was Lauren DiStefano’s game?




THREE


“What’s this about ghosts, Agent Latham?”

David looked at Eliza Roberts, a brunette knockout with blazing green eyes. “Trust me, Eliza. There’s nothing to it. But something’s up with that DiStefano woman, and I’m going to find out what it is.”

“Good. Because as of now, she’s all yours.”

He gave her a nod. “Thanks. I was pretty sick of pushing papers between real jobs.”

She smirked. “Can’t keep you field guys in one place for long, can I?”

“Do you really want to?”

“Someone’s got to keep up with your paperwork, and no one can read what you guys call writing. But I’ll admit it’s a waste of manpower when you sit around for too long.”

That comment didn’t sit very well with David, but he knew better than to call her on it. Eliza Roberts was not one to mess with.

“What’s the scoop on Ric DiStefano?” he asked instead.

Her superior smile got under his skin. She wasn’t very likable.

“Here’s the file we have on him.”

The slim manila folder landed right in front of him on the vast expanse of polished wood. The Bureau didn’t provide such luxuries, not even for their Supervising Special Agents. The desk’s provenance, as well as that of Eliza’s pricey leather chair, was the subject of much speculation in the office.

“Not much here, is there?” he asked after he leafed through the few sheets.

“What you see is what you get. We got a heads-up from the SEC guys about six weeks ago. That’s what they faxed us.”

The tight electric rush he got at the start of an investigation zipped right through him. “So it’s a fresh one. Is anyone else on it?”

“No. I saw no reason to assign it. From where I stood, it looked like a typical SEC case. They’d just copied us on it because of the possible organized crime connection. I’m sure if they’d found more, they would have sent it on. And the connection looks pretty weak to me.”

David gave her a skeptical look. “Then why’d you send Maddox over last night?”

She turned to avoid his gaze—or so it seemed.

“He wanted to go,” she said. “And he said something about picking up your…grandmother. That doesn’t sound right, does it?”

“Maybe not, but yeah. I was on my way to pick her up when the deal with DiStefano’s sister came up. I’d been on the cell phone with Maddox, and I asked him to call 911 and to make sure she got home safe. And, sure, he did call 911, but then he also showed up at the scene.”

Alarm filled Eliza’s face. “But not with an elderly woman, right?”

“Sorry. Maddox brought her along.”

“What was he thinking? The cops had a hit-and-run and a five-year-old child to contend with. And Maddox went and made matters worse by bringing a frail senior citizen to the scene?” She shook her head. “I’m going to have to talk to him—”

“Don’t bother,” David said. “My grandmother’s anything but fragile. She’s nearly six feet tall, built like a battleship, has the instincts of a fox and the nine lives of a cat. She was in no danger. Believe me.”

Eliza’s frown didn’t ease. “That was a serious lapse in procedure, Latham. And you know it. Maddox does, too.”

“Cut him some slack, will you? I asked him to take care of my grandmother, and you sent him to a scene that was already under investigation by Philly’s best. I was there, too. Why would you want to divert Dan’s attention from his merry mob widow?”

Again, Eliza’s green eyes danced away from David’s gaze.

His instincts weren’t much shabbier than Gram’s. Something was happening. And Eliza knew it as soon as Dan called to tell her what David had witnessed. He doubted she’d had the gray Lexus under surveillance. That only left one other possibility.

“Why are you keeping tabs on Lauren DiStefano?” he asked.

Eliza jerked around to face him. He’d hit the nail on the head.

“I suppose I can tell you now that I’ve assigned you to the case,” she said. “We’ve been watching the house since the tip from the SEC. As soon as Maddox told me where your accident happened, I figured another pair of eyes wouldn’t hurt.”

“So why keep it a secret from me? As you said, you did just assign me to the case.”

She shrugged. “Habit, I guess. I like to play things close to the vest.”

David snorted. “Maybe too close. Either you give your field agents all the info, or you wind up with a mess, maybe even egg on your face. We can’t operate in the dark.”

She tipped up her chin. “Are you trying to tell me how to do my job, Agent Latham?”

He rolled his eyes. “I wouldn’t presume.”

She narrowed hers. “Good. Keep it that way.”

David took her response as dismissal. He went toward her office door. “I’ll be in touch.”

“Yes, you will. And one more thing, Latham.”

“What’s that?”

“Just see that you don’t pull a stunt like J.Z. on the Papparelli case, will you?”

He faced her in slow motion. “What do you mean by that?”

Eliza placed her hands on the top of her desk and locked her emerald gaze with his. “No fraternizing with the enemy…the subject of the investigation.”

In a flash, Lauren’s frightened face burst in his memory. Her clear green eyes, so different from the dark, unreadable emerald ones of the woman before him, seemed to reveal everything inside her.

Fear.

Horror.

Confusion.

Up until then, David hadn’t realized the strength of the pull Lauren DiStefano exerted on him. And J.Z.’s and Maryanne’s wedded bliss had nothing to do with it.

He left the office without another word.



At nine o’clock the next morning, Lauren dragged her sore, creaky body out of bed. The long soak in the Jacuzzi tub and the four tablets of ibuprofen hadn’t helped one bit. She felt as though the proverbial Mack truck had rolled right over her—twice.

The house was quiet. More than a hundred years ago the builders had made the walls so thick that they insulated the occupants from all outside sound. That was a blessing.

On the other hand, so much silence could also mean trouble. She did share the place with a normal, mischievous five-year-old. No noise often offered warning of a disaster in the making.

With great reluctance, she pulled her silk robe over the matching pajamas, and made herself walk the short distance to Mark’s bedroom. He could still be asleep. After all, they hadn’t made it to bed until well past midnight.

She opened the door and sighed in relief. The boy’s slight body lay right where it should be, on the custom-built racecar bed he loved.

Poor kid. He’d lost his mother to leukemia three years ago. Then Ric died in that horrible wreck. And now, he’d gone through the shock of a near miss with an out-of-control car. It was a miracle the child could sleep at all.

She closed the door and went downstairs. She needed coffee, a double-shot espresso, at the very least. Maybe then her blood would start to circulate. Something had to oil her beat-up muscles. She couldn’t waste a whole day on the old fainting couch in the library like some wilting lily from the Roaring Twenties.

Even though the aches and pains tempted her to do just that.

At the professional stainless steel machine, she poured roast beans into the grinder, buzzed them into fine powder, then pushed the appropriate sequence of buttons, and watched the contraption do its thing.

Her brother had been so proud of his espresso maker. “It’s just like the ones they use at Starbucks,” he’d said the day he’d had it installed.

She felt a pang of sadness. Ric hadn’t been able to enjoy it for long. Three months after installation, during which he’d been out of town on business more than once, he was gone.

The luscious scent of fresh-brewed coffee filled the enormous kitchen. Lauren didn’t like the room’s sterile whiteness, but she did appreciate the high-end appliances and the extreme convenience the appointments provided. And she did love to cook.

She took her cappuccino cup—the double-shot didn’t fit the thimble-size espresso cups Ric had imported from Italy—to the table. From the jar on the marble countertop, she took a large, anise seed biscotti then plopped in a chair. After a few sips of rich java and crunches of crisp biscotti, she began to feel more like herself.

Not good.

The memories of last night flooded in with a vengeance.

That silver car had gone straight for her. And she did get a good, clear look at the driver.

If that hadn’t been Ric at the wheel, then it had to have been his ghost come back to haunt her.

But she didn’t believe in ghosts. She never had. Not any more than David Latham did. FBI Agent David Latham.

He’d made no secret of his suspicion. But there was nothing she could say. She had no idea how or why Ric—or his ghost, the one that didn’t really exist—would have wanted to run her down.

“Aunt Lauren?”

She shook herself. “I didn’t hear you come into the kitchen, honey. How’d you sleep last night?”

Mark crawled up into her lap. “Good.”

When he laid his head on her shoulder, her heart melted. She gave the Lord silent thanks for the boy’s safety. She didn’t know what she would have done had he been injured last night.

That had haunted her dreams.

“Are you hungry?” she asked.

“Mmm-hmm.”

“What would you like? Cereal or waffles?”

“Awfuls. With whip cream.”

Lauren smiled. Normally, she would have corrected him, but not today. Today his little-boy talk seemed even more precious than ever.

“Okay, then. Awfuls it is.” She rubbed his dark curls. “And how about juice? Orange or grape?”

“Great’s my favorite.”

She hummed a few bars of the old song about the Purple People Eater. Mark giggled. Just as he always did.

The normalcy of the moment helped set her fears at bay. But she knew it was just a temporary reprieve. Something had happened last night. Something terrible. And she didn’t know why.

But she had to find out.

If not for her sake, then for the sake of the child she loved so much.

“Wanna watch my shows, Aunt Lauren.”

“Sure thing, kiddo.” She grabbed the remote and clicked on the children’s educational program Mark liked. She pulled out ingredients and mixed batter for the waffles. She sprinkled water to test the heat of the electric waffle maker, then spritzed it with nonstick spray, and finally poured the thick mixture onto the distinctive, ridged surface.

The scent of food made her stomach rumble.

As she withdrew a plate from the warming drawer where she’d put it five minutes earlier, the doorbell sang with the Westminster chimes.

“Whozzat?” Mark asked.

“Good question.” Lauren wasn’t expecting company. And no one she knew would just show up so soon after a death in the family.

“Only one way to find out, kiddo.”

Mark nodded, his attention on the television set.

“Stay here, okay?”

He nodded again.

“I’ll be right back.”

“’S okay, Aunt Lauren. Go on.”

She headed toward the front of the house, a smile on her lips.

A smile that died when she looked out the tiny round peephole.

The stranger on the front stoop didn’t exactly give her a case of the warm fuzzies. Although he was well dressed in an expensive-looking charcoal summer-weight wool suit, his hard-set features and brooding gaze alarmed her.

She’d just about decided to pretend she wasn’t home, when the guy rang the bell again. The melodious chimes were followed by pounding.

“I know youse in there,” he said, his voice a low growl. “So open up already.”

With a prayer for protection, Lauren opened the door—but only as far as the chain on the lock would let her.

“Yes?”

The man looked startled. “Oh. It’s you.”

It was her turn to be surprised. “Of course, it’s me. I live here. Who’re you?”

His chin, just shaved but already darkened by the regrowth of heavy beard, jutted. “So where’s your old man?”

“My old man?”

“What’s wrong with youse? Can’t you hear right?” He shook his head. “Where’s Ric? Last time I spoke wid him he told me to be here by ten. And no one can say ah…er…Boris Martinez is ever late.”

A spooky feeling overtook Lauren. Boris Martinez had talked to Ric. And what kind of phony, cooked-up kind of name was Boris Martinez, anyway? Who really was this guy? “You…you talked with Ric?”

He muttered something.

She was glad she didn’t quite catch it.

“That’s what I said, ain’t it? I talked to Ric, and he told me to be here by ten. I’m here, and you ain’t him. So where is he?”

Tears filled her eyes. Too many emotions to identify any one ripped through her. Lauren closed her eyes for a moment, prayed for help, for peace, for this horrid person to leave her alone.

“Ric’s dead, Mr. Martinez.”

That shocked him. After a few moments of slack-jawed surprise, he clamped his mouth shut and narrowed his gaze. “How can he be dead, lady? I just talked to him…oh, not three weeks ago. And I woulda heard if someone’d—” He stopped, cleared his throat. “I woulda heard if something’d happened to him.”

Lauren had had it with her unwanted visitor. “Well, something did happen to him. Three weeks ago, as a matter of fact. And it doesn’t matter whether you heard about it or not. My brother died in a car accident twenty-four days ago, Mr. Martinez. Now, if you don’t mind, I have a lot to do. Goodbye.”

He stuck the pointed toe of his hand-sewn leather shoe in the crack between the door and the frame. “Not so fast, lady. I don’t believe a word you said. Ric DiStefano ain’t dead. And you better not try and pull a fast one on me. He owes me a whole pile of dough. And he ain’t about to stiff me by pretending he’s stiff—you get my drift?”

All she wanted was for him to leave. So she said, “Fine. I’ll be sure to tell him the next time I see him. At the cemetery, when I go put flowers on his grave.”

“We’ll see about that grave thing,” he groused.

Lauren looked down at his fancy footwear, then, with determination and total disgust, she did what she should have done at the start. She shoved her foot against his, dislodged it enough to gain a scant advantage, and shut the door.

Despite the house’s heavy construction and the thick wooden door, she heard his objections all the way to the kitchen.

If he didn’t leave in the next five minutes, she was calling the cops. No matter what.

Because now she realized that the deer-in-the-headlights feeling she’d experienced last night had been no accident. Something was going on. Something dangerous. Something she didn’t like.

And she wasn’t going to just sit and take it.

She was going to find out what was what.

Lauren didn’t know how or why she knew it, but she did know her life depended on what she learned. Worse yet, Mark’s life depended on it.

And no one was going to hurt that little boy.

No matter what.




FOUR


He’d been too tired to drive home after the accident, so David spent the night at his grandmother’s. He benefited from the vast, luxurious bed he used when he stayed with her, and in the morning she greeted him with one of her “groaning board” breakfasts—two juices, apple and grapefruit, pancakes and real maple syrup, eggs, ham, sausage, bacon, coffee, tea and two kinds of sweet breads.

No way could he eat like that and hope to put in a decent day’s work. So his reasonable serving brought about the expected commentary.

“Are you all right, Davey? You’ve hardly eaten a bite. You sure you didn’t get hurt last night?”

“I’m fine, Gram, and it’s way past time you stopped calling me Davey. You know it.”

She winked. “Sure. But it’s so much fun to bug you. I love to see you blush.”

“You’re a sadist, you know that?”

“Nope, not at all. I’m just your grandmother, and teasing you is fun! You’ll get it when you’re a grandpa yourself—and you know that.”

Over the years, David had learned to ignore certain of his grandmother’s comments; the grandpa one was classic Grandma Dottie. “Okay. So we both know you love to tease me. How about we skip the Davey deal, since we both also know it’s so hokey?”

She spread her intense purple-draped arms. “This is my home. When you’re here, I get to bug you all I want. When we’re at your place, you get to bug me all you want. Isn’t that fair?”

“Listen, you sly fox,” he said with a chuckle. “You’d better add something about when we’re in public to your oh-so-generous offer. I didn’t catch anything about those times.”

She pouted, then waved. “Public, schmublic. You’ll just have to wait and see. That’s all I’m going to promise.”

He gave her a mock scowl. “Be that way, then. But I’ve got to go. Some of us have to work.”

She erupted like a purple satin and gold lace volcano. “Don’t give me that, buddy boy! Sure, your grandpa inherited the house and a little bit of money, but then the two of us worked mighty hard for decades to turn that little money into enough to give back to the Lord for what He’d given us and to provide for our family. And you know I still operate that way.”

He raised his hands and blushed. “That wasn’t at all what I meant, Gram, and if that’s how it came across, I apologize. Please forgive me for the dumb statement.”

“Of course, I forgive you, David.” Her tight hug filled him with a shot of pure love. “And I’m sorry I took offense. Now, go! Get yourself to work with the rest of your pals.”

On the way to the office, he had to deal with the sloppy streets. It was early enough, cold enough and wet enough that last night’s slush hadn’t melted but was enhanced with more of the same. If the thermometer dipped even a couple of ticks, the streets would turn wicked. He hoped the salt trucks came out in hordes.

The elevator to his floor crawled up at its usual slow pace. When it finally got there, he grabbed a cup of what they dubbed FBI sludge from the nearly empty coffee machine and went straight to his desk. After the bitter brew scalded his tongue, he sat back, then closed his eyes.

Ric DiStefano.

He’d scanned the file Eliza gave him, and the pathetically few facts he found there made him wonder. Had the Bureau failed to get more on the guy? Or had someone withheld vital information?

Something reeked.

If he were a betting man, which he wasn’t, he’d bet on the latter. For some reason someone didn’t want Ric DiStefano’s activities, contacts, whatever, turned into common knowledge—well, common within the Bureau. That raised a multitude of problematic flags.

A few months ago, J.Z. insisted someone in the office had turned. No one could explain how the mob buddies of the money-launderer whose death J.Z. was assigned to investigate had known where to find him no matter what he did to keep his plans secret.

David doodled on a notepad, flipped through the few papers on DiStefano, drank his poison, grew more frustrated with every passing minute. He glugged down his last gulp of lousy coffee, threw down his pencil, grabbed the papers, and rose.

If Eliza was only going to give him these lousy crumbs of info, he was going to have to come up with what he needed on his own. And the first step would be to talk to J.Z., see what he knew that Eliza had either withheld or neglected to include in the file.

He called his friend and fellow agent, just to see if he’d come in that morning. J.Z. invited him down.

“What’s up?” J.Z. asked when David walked into the cubicle.

“Did anyone fill you in on what happened last night?”

J.Z. gestured for David to sit, which he did in the beat-up, 1950s vintage, putrid green chair on the opposite side of the desk.

“Dan was here when I came in to work. He mentioned something about a hit-and-run and your grandmother. I couldn’t make it add up, but he had to head out, so I didn’t ask. Protecting Carlie Papparelli is not the snoozer job he’d expected.”

David grinned. “That mob widow struck me as a handful. And when she teamed up with your wife…watch out!”

“Don’t remind me. I still have nightmares about that day. They could’ve been killed, and it’s only by the grace of God that they’re still here.”

“Amen, brother.”

The two men thought back to the day when J.Z., David and a group of other agents rounded up a handful of mobsters. Innocent lives had hung in the balance, but they’d carried out the arrests with no one seriously harmed.

“So what’s the deal?” J.Z. asked.

David dropped the folder on the paper-littered desk. “Take a look. It won’t take you long.”

J.Z. opened the manila folder, then let out a long whistle. “How do you get from witnessing a hit-and-run to Ric DiStefano?”

“The victim was his sister.”

Another whistle. “Think it might have been a setup?”

“I think if I hadn’t deflected the Lexus, she’d be as dead as DiStefano.”

“So the question is—What did the ‘accident’ have to do with her brother?”

David stood and shoved his hands in the back pockets of his khaki pants. “I want to know why she gave me this song and dance about the driver being her dead brother’s ghost.”

“You’re kidding. She didn’t really say that, did she?”

“Worse. Not only did she say that, but then she also insisted we didn’t need the police, that she was fine. She chalked it all up to exhaustion and stress after her brother’s death.”

“Is there a rule somewhere that says we get all the crazy women?”

“Hey, you married one!”

A goofy grin brightened up his friend’s normally intense expression. “Yeah, I guess they do have some redeeming qualities, don’t they?”

“Maryanne does—lots of them. But Lauren DiStefano, with her bogus ghost story? Give me a break, man. Along with these scraps Eliza tossed at me, it adds up to trouble.”

“I wish I could disagree, but I’m on that page. And Eliza assigning you to tail the DiStefano woman? That’s the kiss of death.”

“You know it. Something’s up, and I’m being thrown up against Goliath without a clue.”

J.Z. closed the folder and held it out to David. “Have faith. That David did okay by leaning on the Lord. You can’t go wrong when you do that, you know.”

“In our line of work?” David snorted. “What I can’t figure out is the guys who go out there day after day without counting on God’s strength. Of course, I’m trusting Him.”

“So what’s next?”

“The grieving sister has a few questions to answer, don’t you think?”

“A few. That’s where I’m headed. And thanks for listening. I wanted to make sure I wasn’t being paranoid.”

David drove toward Lauren’s old-money mansion. He wondered how a guy like Ric DiStefano had wound up with a place like that. Usually, those homes were handed down from one generation to the next. The few that ever came on the market did so because the last generation had failed to reproduce. Had that been the case? Or had DiStefano been mixed up with something more sinister than corporate finance shenanigans?

He parked on the street, right in front of the gorgeous old home. It had probably started out as the gem in the crown of a self-made man, maybe a doctor, lawyer, or even a politician—this was Philadelphia, after all.

He rang the doorbell, then he waited out front for what felt like an eternity. The weather was still rotten, and the icy drizzle’s needles stung his face.

Finally, she responded. “Oh!”

“May I come in?” he asked. “I’ve a couple of questions for you.”

She opened the door; her every motion shrieked reluctance.

“Hmm,” he murmured. “You could do a guy’s ego some harm with that kind of welcome.”

Her green eyes flashed. “You aren’t welcome, Mr. Latham. But since you came up with an official ID last night, I don’t have a choice, do I?”

He shrugged, and stepped inside. The interior matched the exterior of the luxurious mansion. Gleaming wood floors, a sparkling chandelier, rich patterned rugs and a spectacular staircase spoke of old money for construction and new money for upkeep.

He had to find out how illegal the DiStefano money was.

Among other things.

He followed her into a grand living room, what must once have been referred to as a formal parlor. Now it housed a huge cream leather sectional, cushy ottoman, dark wood side tables, and a thick creamy brown area rug under it all.

“Hey, the only thing missing is the wide-screen plasma TV.”

She sat at the end of the sectional with the loungy part on the end, then shrugged. “Not me, Mr. Latham. All of this belonged to my brother. It’s—was—his home.”

“And now it’s yours.”

Her sigh held a ton of emotion, but David couldn’t identify it all.

“If I can hang on to it.”

He took note of her comment, and dropped into the curve of the massive couch. “How about if you give me a few more details. This sounds interesting.”

Again, her eyes sparked. “Interesting since it doesn’t affect you.”

“Oh, but it does,” he countered. “You see, you’ve become my new assignment. Or to put it better, last night’s hit-and-run is my business. I need to learn everything about it.”

“And that would be because…?”

“Because, Miss DiStefano, I witnessed something I can’t explain—something you couldn’t explain to my satisfaction. So why don’t we start at the beginning?”

“What do you want to know?”

For such a soft-spoken woman, Lauren DiStefano could put a sharp bite to her words when she wanted to. “How did you come to live with your brother?”

“He was widowed three years ago and left with a two-year-old son to raise. He didn’t want to deal with day care or nannies, and since I’m family and an elementary school teacher, he asked me to help. They’re the only relatives I have left so I moved in.”

“You gave up your own life to become his housekeeper and babysitter?”

Her eyes did their thing again, but her voice didn’t go up, it just took another nip with her words. “If that’s the way you see family, then I pity you.”

Ouch! “That wasn’t exactly what I meant, but—”

“Then what did you mean, Mr. Latham? Your question was quite clear. As an educator, I can understand and carry on a conversation, you know.”

He felt his cheeks warm. He had come pretty close to what she’d understood him to say.

“Sorry,” he muttered. Then he cleared his throat. “How about we start this again?”

She shrugged.

He didn’t blame her.

But he still needed information. “Did you and your brother grow up in this home?”

“Not at all. Ric bought this place when his wife was pregnant.”

“So he’s had it for about four, maybe five years.”

“Just over five now. Mark turned five six weeks ago.”

“And you were willing to give up your work to care for your nephew.”

“Any day, Mr. Latham. I love Mark as if he were my own.”

“I could see that last night, Miss DiStefano. You saved him some serious injuries there. The car just glanced off you, but if it had clipped him, as young as he is, the impact would have done damage.”

She shuddered. “That was the worst part of it.”

“And how do you feel today?”

“I won’t lie to you. I’m sore. Every bit of me aches.”

“I was pretty sure you weren’t anywhere near as all right as you insisted last night.”

“I am all right. I just fell. Feeling sore is one thing, an injury that requires an ambulance and EMTs is another.”

“I’ll give you that.” He felt she’d eased up some, so he went in with another of his questions. “So your brother was quite successful. What kind of work did he do?”

“I don’t really know. Something to do with funding and stocks—money matters. I never bothered to ask.”

So what did she do? Just suck up the bucks the brother brought in?

He tried again. “I imagine he left you well provided, seeing you’ll be raising his son.”

“I wish. It appears what he did leave is a mountain of debt. I have to meet with the bank and…” She gave a vague wave. “I don’t know what you call them. Financial planners? Advisors? Money men, okay?”

“There must be insurance, though.”

“Yes, there is, and it’s a large sum, but if the debts are as serious as the money men say, then it might not stretch far enough for me to keep the house.”

“Then what will you do with your nephew? I mean, I imagine you’ll have to get a job again.”

“Probably. But Mark is in preschool these days. I hope to find a teaching position at his school or another one nearby.”

“That would be nice.”

They fell silent for a few moments, and David tried to come up with an effective way to ask what he needed to know. But in the end, he had no luck. He leaned forward and blurted it out.

“So how about you tell me what really happened last night? And don’t give me that ghost stuff. Where is your brother? Did he die? Or did he pretend he did? Did he try to run you over? And if he did hit you with that car, why? What does he have against you? Why would your brother want to kill you?”

She gasped.

“No!” the little boy yelled from the parlor door. “My daddy dinn’nt do that to Aunt Lauren. I don’t like you. Go ’way! Leave my aunt alone, you ugly…um…nasty…ah…monster!”

And right then, David did feel like an ugly monster. Especially when he saw the pain in Lauren DiStefano’s tear-filled green eyes.

There were times he really hated his job.




FIVE


Lauren ran to Mark’s side. “Hush, honey. It’s okay. It’s Mr. Latham’s job to ask questions, even—” she shot David a poisonous glare “—nasty ones.”

By then, David did feel as nasty as dog slobber and even less welcome. He went to defend himself, but Mark proved quicker to the draw.

“You gotta go do time-out in the corner, mister.” He pointed toward the back of the room. “That’s what Miss Green does at school.”

David took the chance to lighten the moment. “So Miss Green spends lots of time standing in the corner. Wow, Mark. She must sure be a greeny-meany.”

For a heartbeat, the boy seemed to weigh the sincerity of David’s joke. But David saw victory at the quirking of Mark’s mouth. Then he burst into a full-blown grin.

“Hey, Aunt Lauren! He made a good funny.”

“Yes, Mark. He did.”

The look she sent David this time made him feel too many things, too many to identify at once. Yes, she saw the humor in his dopey comment, which made him ridiculously proud of himself. But she didn’t trust him any more than she would an angry rattler, which for some reason made him want to prove himself—to the subject of an investigation. Go figure.

And she hadn’t forgiven his blunt and hurtful questions. Questions he still needed answered.

He sighed. He couldn’t very well badger her with the boy in the room. He’d lost his opportunity, and he’d have to bide his time. Because the opportunity would arise again. He’d make sure of it.

He rose. “I see I’ve overstayed my welcome.”

“Hey!” Mark cried. “Aren’t you gonna stand in the corner?”

The boy’s frown broadcast what he thought of David shirking punishment.

“Ah…sure,” he backpedaled. “I’ll check out the corner of my office. And I will think about all those nasty questions I asked.”

Two pairs of green eyes studied him, very different messages in them.

“You gonna ask ’em again?” The boy’s wisdom caught David by surprise.

Lauren smiled, but it wasn’t a happy smile. “Oh, I’m sure he won’t, Mark. He’s going to come up with new, nastier ones, I’m afraid.”

The boy planted his fists on his slim hips. “You’re gonna spend lots a time in time-out then, mister. You better like your corner a whole bunch.”

David’s cheeks tingled again. “From the mouths of babes…”

“Let me show you out, Mr. Latham.” Lauren’s otherwise polite voice had that nip back again. “Mark and I are busy this afternoon, and we must get ready.”

The boy’s eyes grew big and round. “We are?”

“Of course, we are.” A touch of pink brightened her creamy cheeks. “We’re going to the library.”

“Sudden need for a good book, huh?”

Her chin tipped up, and she strode to the front door. “Always. Reading is an absolute necessity, Mr. Latham. You’d be surprised by how many take the ability to read for granted and don’t even make use of it.”

A blast of frigid air rushed in the open doorway—it matched the temperature of her voice as she added, “It’s by far the best road to true wisdom.”

“Hmm…and here I thought that road ran through God’s Word.”

“And how does one access the Father’s Word, Mr. Latham?”

“Touché!” He stepped past her and into the cold. “But there is one thing you really, really have to do—or stop doing.”

He didn’t let her ask. “It’s that Mr. Latham thing, okay? I keep looking over my shoulder to see if my dad’s standing somewhere behind me. My name’s David, okay?”

She shrugged. “I’m hoping not to have to use either one again.”

“Ouch!” He struck a theatrical pose with a hand over his heart. “You wound me so, Miss DiStefano. And me, a poor wandering soldier on a mission.”

Her snort caught him off guard. “Someone’s called you charming much too often, but you won’t charm me. I’ve seen you at work.”

“Which is where I need to be,” he conceded. “Have a good afternoon at the library. See ya, Mark!”

The little boy turned to his aunt. When she nodded, he faced David. “Bye, Mr. Latham.”

David loped down the front steps, careful to avoid globs of heavy slush here and there. He knew trouble when he saw it; he could lose his heart to the little fellow.

Once in his car, he looked back at the mansion, and caught the curtain’s movement in the front window. He hadn’t seen her, but he didn’t need to. He knew Lauren had watched him get into his car.

Something about that woman intrigued him.

And it had nothing to do with her brother. Or her nephew. Not even his job.

David’s gut told him he was in trouble—big trouble.

He started to pray.



After she told David she and Mark were library-bound, Lauren couldn’t not go. Although she came up with the idea as a way to get the man out of the house, she often did take Mark to Story Hour in the children’s section. It was an every-afternoon event at their small local branch, so her nephew didn’t need much of an explanation.

While the children were busy, Lauren usually satisfied her hunger for fresh reading material. She read all the time—even the jokes and stories on the back of a cereal box made do in a pinch. But that day Lauren just wandered the racks. She didn’t bother to search for anything. She couldn’t focus on her surroundings.

What had really happened on that dark, slushy street? In that moment when the car hurtled toward her, she saw a face she knew almost as well as her own. But it couldn’t have been Ric. And now she had to wonder if stress really had taken over her common sense, as she’d told David.

Her brother’s death had come as a complete shock. True, Ric had been a lot older, but he’d also been in her world her entire life. As a child, she’d always seen him as the hero brother any little girl could want. He’d spoiled her, treated her like a princess. But then he’d finished high school, headed to college, and she’d been left behind.

She hardly ever saw him after that. Sure, she was in his wedding, she visited when Mark was born, but other than that and the occasional holiday, as years went by, theirs became a card-here-and-there relationship. That’s why, after her parents’ deaths, and then that of her sister-in-law, when Ric called and asked if she’d be willing to devote herself to little Mark, she hadn’t hesitated.

“Aunt Lauren, Aunt Lauren!”

She turned, saw him and the other Story Hour kids burst from the room like a circus of fleas run amok.

“Ready?” she asked.

“Uh-huh.”

On the way home, Lauren bought a copy of the evening paper. She did have to start that job hunt. The words of the headmistress at her former school lingered in the back of her mind. “You’ll always have a position here, Lauren. We want you back.”

But to get to that school she had to drive all the way across town. She didn’t think it would be in Mark’s best interest to uproot him from the preschool he liked so much just because she had to commute to work. She hoped to find something closer to home.

If she managed to hang on to the home.

But gloom and doom wouldn’t get her anywhere, so she turned to the Lord in prayer. She asked for wisdom, for strength, for guidance. She couldn’t see how she was going to pull it all off, but she had faith the Father would see her through.

At home, she made a simple meal of grilled chicken, salad and savory seasoned rice. She watched a children’s video with Mark, listened to his prayers, and then tucked him into bed. From the doorway, she watched him doze off, a wealth of maternal love in her heart.

She couldn’t love him more if he were her own.

Lauren frowned. She’d told David those very words, or some very much like those, not so long ago. And just that fast, once again, thoughts of her troubles returned. But the events of the last month had left her tired, drained, exhausted. And then that car…

She pushed the concerns of the day to one side, changed into a nightgown, washed her face, brushed her teeth and crawled under her blankets, Bible in hand.

After a good, long while with the Lord, she set the Holy Book on her nightstand, and turned off the light.

But later on, much later, she didn’t know quite how long, a child’s cry pierced her sleep. Lauren sat up with a start, heart racing, head whirling, temples pounding.

Mark!

“It’s okay, honey!” She grabbed her comfy old chenille bathrobe and ran from the room. “I’m coming.”

His cries didn’t ease, but rather intensified as she approached his open door. She always left it ajar, just in case he needed her—as he did right then.

By the soft glow of his robot night-light, Lauren saw him sitting in the middle of a puddle of blankets. His little boy’s eyes looked enormous in his pale face, and tears shone on his cheeks. Mark leaped right up into her open arms.

“What’s wrong?” she asked. “Did you have a bad dream….”

Her words trailed off when she felt the wetness soak through where his legs wrapped around her waist. Uh-oh!

Mark hadn’t wet the bed in years. “Oh, sweetheart…let’s get you cleaned up.”

She went to put him down, but his arms tightened in a stranglehold around her neck and he burrowed deeper into her embrace.

“No!” he screamed, his warm, sturdy body shaking. “The lights…they’re coming, Aunt Lauren! They’re coming….”

Sobs overtook him again, and nothing could have budged his hold on her. Not that she really wanted to let go of him, but the night was cold, and by now, they both were soaked. Still, something far worse than wet nightclothes and linens had gone wrong here. And it didn’t take a psychiatrist to figure it out.

“Mark, honey. The lights—the car—didn’t hurt us. Mr. Latham’s car blocked the other one, and it only gave me a little bump. But I’m all right, and you didn’t get hurt one bit. It’s okay. We’re home, and no one’s going to hurt us.”

She hoped.

He shook his head—hard. “No! No-no-no-no-no-no-no!”

Tears flew from his eyes, cheeks, and struck her. His misery was so deep, his fear so intense that her own eyes welled up in sympathy. She perched on the edge of the bed, aware of the soaked middle.

“It’s okay,” she murmured yet again, her voice little more than a croon. “I’m here, and I won’t let the car hit you. You know Aunt Lauren always takes care of you, right?”

Her gentle rocking motion must have helped. His muscles no longer felt like short steel ropes in her arms, and his sobs didn’t sound as though ripped right from his soul. But he didn’t answer her. Evidently, he still couldn’t.

She began to sing. “Jesus loves me, this I know…”

Lauren sang her entire repertoire of children’s tunes, praise and worship songs, and even a hymn or ten, before Mark’s tears ran dry. Finally, even though he’d stopped crying, she knew he hadn’t fallen back asleep. His eyes glowed their clear green in the dark of the quiet room.

“Think you might want some clean pj’s now, kiddo?”

His fingers fisted in her robe.

“I’m not going anywhere,” she said, a hint of humor in her voice. “At least, I’m not going anywhere without you—you got that?”

His lips took on a slight upward curve. “Promise?”

“Absotively, posilutely, babe. You and me…we’re a team.”

He giggled. “You got it wrong again, Aunt Lauren. It’s abos-No, no! Not abos. Absolittle, pos…posilately!”

“So, tell me, Mark. Are you ready for those clean jammies now?”

Even by the dim glow of the night-light, she saw his cheeks turn red. He lowered his gaze, and whispered, “I’m sorry. I dinn’nt mean to…to—”

“I know, honey. It was an accident, and I bet it happened during that bad dream. Right?”

He nodded.

“So…when an accident happens, we clean up the mess, fix whatever’s broken, and ask God to help us go on. What do you think?”

“Mmm-hmm.” He turned his face into her chest, rubbed his nose against her robe and nodded. “Smells good, Aunt Lauren.”

She chuckled. “Tell you what, pal. Let’s get some water in the tub, clean you up and put you into pajamas that smell exactly like my robe.”

“It’s that soften stuff, isn’t it?”

“Fabric softener. A true modern marvel, my friend.”

Lauren eased him off her lap, turned on the bedside lamp, and then rummaged through his dresser for clean clothes. She stripped the bed, redid it with fabric-softener-scented sheets, and then piled the mess outside his bedroom door.

“Here we go, into the deep blue yonder…” she warbled.

Holding hands, they marched into the adjoining red-and-white bathroom. She ran the water, Mark stripped, hopped into the tub and she ran the pajamas and linens down to the laundry room. As she went through the kitchen, she thought she heard a scratch at the back door.

Ooooh, that cat!

“Go away, Adolf! I have no fish bones for you.”

She felt sorry for the neighbors’ ratty-looking tomcat. The Scharffenbergers let the poor animal run wild most of the time, and Philly’s winters were notoriously cold and mean. Still, the critter had outstayed his never-warm welcome in her yard. She’d had to rig up an Adolf-proof system for trash can storage, otherwise, the half-eared thing would knock them over and strew garbage all down the drive.

Still, as much of a trial as he was, Lauren couldn’t make herself rat on the neighbors. She figured the ugly cat’s lot would worsen at the pound. No normal child would beg a mother to take the big, fat, mean-as-a-snake thing home. So she never failed to bungee-cord the trash cans shut and set the brakes on the wheeled, aluminum-rail-sided cart where she kept them.

Evidently, her yell sent her nocturnal visitor elsewhere. By the time she dumped the stinky bedclothes into the washer, poured a capful of detergent and one of softener into the appropriate dispensers, all she could hear was Mark’s happy splashing directly overhead.

She closed the washer, turned the knob to the right setting and started the cycle. One of the songs she’d sung to Mark just a while earlier came back to her, and she hummed a few bars on the way back to the front of the house.

Then she heard it again.

The scratching sound.

At the front door.

Her heartbeat sped up. Her breath caught in her throat. The fear she’d felt as the car rushed at her returned. Her muscles felt frozen, but she knew she had to act.

Mark!

“Lord Jesus,” she whispered on the first step up, “guide me, protect Mark, and keep me safe so I can care for him….”

Screetch! Scratch-scrape-scrape, screeeeeeetch!

Whoever was out there meant to pick that lock.

Lauren gave up on stealth and ran the rest of the way up to her room. She picked up the phone, but all she heard when she put the receiver to her ear was deafening silence.

He’d cut the line.

She ran for her purse. “Thank you, Father, for cell phones!”

On the way to the bathroom, she hit 911. In bursts of whispers, she relayed her plight to the dispatcher. The kind woman assured her she’d sent for help, then kept her on the line, her warm voice a comfort within the swirl of danger around her.

Lauren knew better than to expect a siren; the dispatcher had told her the officers wouldn’t want to alert the intruder.

Still, she kept listening for…something, she didn’t know what, but a signal that would tell her she and Mark were safe, that help had arrived.

Mark was still in the water, splashing his rubber toys in complete oblivion—just the way Lauren wanted it. The last thing the child needed, right on the heels of that terrible nightmare, was another fright. And an intruder in the wee hours of the night was nothing but frightening.

Then pandemonium broke out.

A car drove by at normal speed.

At the front door, a man shouted a curse.

Blazing lights strobed into the house despite the curtains on the windows. She heard scrambling, more voices, more cars. Brakes squealed, doors slammed shut.

“Stop!” someone hollered.

Another car sped up, this one’s tires crunching ice and snow and finally shrieking against the pavement. Others followed, and did the same. A heartbeat later, someone pounded on her front door.

“Open up!” a familiar voice shouted.

Lauren looked at Mark, whose eyes were again wide-open, round, frightened. His mouth formed an O, and his naked limbs shook with fear.

The pounding downstairs never let up.

He yelled again. “Lauren! Let me in! It’s David—David Latham.”

“The monster,” Mark sobbed. “No, Aunt Lauren! Don’t let him in. He’s gonna…he’s gonna eat us up!”

And although she knew Monster David didn’t have a cannibalistic bent, Lauren hesitated.

How could she let that man inside her house again? How could she subject Mark to another trauma? The child had suffered too much already.

But someone had tried to break into her house. She’d heard them at the back and front doors, she’d heard the curse when the cops drove up, heard the running footsteps when they gave pursuit.

And David was a Federal Agent.

Even though he didn’t seem to believe her, she didn’t think he would hurt them, while the intruder wouldn’t have any such qualms.

She took a deep breath. “It’s okay, Marky. Everything’s going to be okay.”

The bright red-green-and-purple-striped bath sheet she used to wrap her nephew felt wrong in their current situation. It belonged to happy summer days, not to a horrifying winter night.

Still, she held the boy close to her heart and ran down the stairs. David’s pounding grew louder the closer she came. At this rate, she wouldn’t have much of a door left by the time she let him in.

She ran.

Mark shook.

Her fingers trembled on the doorknob. She finally got everything to work, threw open the door and glared at the enraged man on her front step. Before he could get a word out, she spoke.

“You’d better have your checkbook ready to pay for a new door, Agent Latham. It was an irreplaceable antique.”

He scowled. “Forget the door, lady. It’s fine. It’s your irreplaceable lives I care about. You and the boy could’ve been killed!”

Lauren’s knees shook then gave way.

On the way down, her only thought was of Mark. The child whose weight left her arms as she slid into a midnight-black hole.




SIX


Lauren woke up in the hospital. She could identify her surroundings before she opened her eyes. The astringent smell of rubbing alcohol and disinfectant stung her nostrils, and the eerie chill of IV fluids flowing into her hand was unmistakable. Her appendectomy two years ago had left her with indelible memories, few of them good.





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