Chapter 14: A Dangerous Game
7:00 PM, Brooklyn
Getting off the estate hadn't been easy, but I knew the blind spots. I had spent three years cleaning every inch of that property. While the shift change happened at the east gate, I slipped through the service tunnels used for catering and caught a cab on the main road.
I left Emma safely inside the biometric-locked wing with her bodyguard. I didn't leave a note.
The cab dropped me off in front of The Rusty Anchor, a dilapidated bar near the shipyards. The air smelled of salt, motor oil, and stale beer.
I pushed the heavy wooden door open. The interior was dim, thick with cigarette smoke and the low hum of a jukebox. I pulled my coat tighter around my shoulders, scanning the room.
I spotted him immediately.
Mickey Ross sat in a corner booth. He looked older, heavier, his face lined with the stress of a man who drank to forget.
I walked straight up to his table and slid into the booth across from him.
Mickey looked up, his bloodshot eyes narrowing. "Table's taken, lady."
"Hello, Mickey," I said, my voice steady despite the adrenaline flooding my veins. "It's been three years."
He squinted at me in the dim light. Then, the color drained completely from his face. "Clara? Clara Evans?"
"You owe me a husband," I said, leaning forward. "And you owe Emma a father."
Mickey swallowed hard, glancing nervously toward the back door of the bar. "I don't know what you're talking about. It was an accident. The cops cleared it."
"I know about the fifty thousand dollars, Mickey. I know Arthur Cole paid you to drop that beam on Daniel."
Mickey bolted upright, knocking his beer over. "Shut up! Are you crazy? You can't say that name in here!"
"I am going to the police," I pressed, keeping my voice low and lethal. "But Arthur Cole's empire is already crumbling. If you testify that he ordered the hit, you can cut a deal. If you don't, you'll go down for murder."
Mickey stared at me, panic sweating through his pores. Then, his eyes darted to something over my shoulder. His expression shifted from fear to grim resignation.
"I'm sorry, Clara," Mickey whispered. "But Cole's guys have been following me all day since the news broke. They knew you'd eventually find out."
Before I could turn around, a massive hand clamped down on my shoulder.
"Mrs. Evans," a rough voice growled in my ear. "Mr. Cole wants a word."
May you like
I was yanked out of the booth. Two men in dark leather jackets flanked me, one pressing the cold, hard barrel of a suppressed pistol directly into my ribs.
"Not a sound," the man whispered. "We're going for a walk down to the docks."
