Undercover Lover, page 4
“I’ve only been here a few days. What are you looking for out there?”
He moved in closer, and she was stunned that she didn’t feel threatened by his nearness. He was a large man, and this was a small space. He’s a patient, she had to remind herself when the hairs on her arm stood up as he leaned over her to look out. He radiated warmth.
“Dr. Mastandrea is waiting for someone. I think he might be in trouble.”
“What are you going to do? Zap the bad guy with some negative energy?”
He sounded angry, and Pam frowned at him. “It doesn’t work that way.”
“Why aren’t you calling the cops?”
“Because he might be meeting a girlfriend or a boyfriend, and I’ll look like an idiot. Not to mention my career would be in the toilet after something like that. Tattling about an illicit affair seldom looks good on your performance review.”
“And if it’s not an affair?”
Pam bit her lip. “I hadn’t thought that far ahead. I’ll probably stay in the closet until his visitor leaves and then confront Chris.”
“Do you think he’s doing something illegal?”
“I don’t want to say. You can ruin someone’s career with that type of innuendo—and I don’t mean mine this time.”
“Your gut must be telling you something’s wrong. Or is it the spirits who are guiding you?”
“I’m going to guide my foot up your posterior if you don’t stop being so condescending. Why are you so pissy about this? I’m sorry I’m in your way. Go mop floors or something.”
“I’m off duty,” he said.
“Well, get some sleep. I just want to find out who’s coming to see Chris, and then I’ll leave you alone.”
“I can’t sleep with you here.”
“Why not?” She turned the light off. “I’ll be quiet.”
Standing in the dark with a strange man wasn’t as scary as it normally would be. She could hear his even breath and see his chest rising and falling. The ultra sensitivity they shared was very similar to the exchange of energy she felt during their Reiki session. She resisted the urge to lean against him as he peeked over her head again. Maybe it was time for her to get a boyfriend.
“How’s your knee?” she asked, her voice sounding loud in the little room.
“Still aches,” he said.
“I’m sorry.”
He pressed two gentle fingers against her lips. “You already apologized. You’ve got good instincts. A man my size comes after you like that again, if you can’t flat out run, do the same thing. Promise me?”
Pam swallowed to alleviate her dry throat and nodded.
He stroked his hand down her hair. “You shouldn’t be here.”
“I can’t do this,” she whispered.
“I know.” He leaned in and nuzzled her temple.
She clasped her hands in front of her before she was tempted to wrap them around his waist. “It’s because you’re my patient. It’s not ethical.”
“What if I’m no longer your patient?” he said.
“Then the line gets a little blurry.” She raised her lips to brush his.
“Damn it! Where’s the rest of it?” An angry voice in the hallway broke her out of the sensual reverie that she had been sinking deep into.
Pam snapped her head back to the door, stepping away from Ralphie. She felt him tense behind her.
“Don’t you dare move,” he said in her ear.
The corridor was empty, but they could hear raised voices coming from Chris’s office. It hadn’t been Chris who spoke. Pam strained to hear more of the conversation, but they were taking care to keep their voice at a lower level.
“Stay here,” he said, pushing by her while rolling a mop and bucket out. He nearly sloshed water over her bare toes, and she put her shoes back on.
“Get back in here,” she whispered furiously. “Ralphie!”
He put two fingers to his own lips this time and began to mop the floor toward Chris’s office. Pam glanced wildly around the small room, looking for some type of weapon. She settled for another mop and slipped out the door.
Ralphie’s eyes narrowed on her, and he waved her away. She shook the mop at him threateningly.
He pointed to the door of the janitor’s room. If he thought she was going to cower and hide while he put himself in danger, he had another thing coming. As she crept up to get closer so she could hear what was going on, a man stormed out of Chris’s office.
He wore a black trench coat that swirled unbuttoned around him. Worn jeans were tucked into a pair of black boots that looked like they were made for stomping. He was clutching a reusable grocery bag that was filled with boxes of medication. She opened her mouth to say something, but when she looked into the man’s face, she froze.
Darren.
His step faltered when her brother recognized her too. But he passed by her without saying a word. She took a step to follow him, but the glare he shot her over his shoulder kept her rooted in place.
Darren should have still been in prison. He certainly shouldn’t be carrying a bag of drugs out of the hospital.
“Stop,” she said, but Darren opened the stairwell doors and disappeared.
Ralphie was there in front of her. “Get back in your office right now.”
“You don’t order me around.” She tried to push by him, but he was a rock.
“Pam.” Chris came out of his office. He still looked visibly shaken. His face was ashen grey.
“What have you done?” she said. “You have to stop him. Get those drugs back. He’s going to sell them.”
“Yes, I know,” he said. “You.” He pointed to Ralphie. “You’re fired. Get out of here.”
“You can’t do that,” Pam said.
“I just did. I said get out.”
“You’re not his boss.”
“I’ll speak to HR in the morning. This man gave that thug drugs from the pharmacy. In fact, he’s been doing it for a long time.”
Pam looked at Ralphie, whose face was strangely blank. “I won’t let him do this,” she said to him, touching him lightly on the sleeve.
“Why don’t you believe him?” Ralphie asked.
“Because I know you,” she said.
“Honey, you don’t know a thing about me. He’s a doctor. I’m a janitor who is living on the streets. Who do you think they’re going to believe?”
“Me,” Pam said. “They’re going to believe me.”
“I was hoping you wouldn’t make me do this,” Chris said.
“Don’t do it, man,” Ralphie said. “I’ll take the fall. Don’t hurt the girl. I got no roots. No ties here. I’ll just move on, and you can continue what you’re doing.”
“What do you mean? He’s not going to hurt me.”
Chris drew a pistol out of his jacket pocket. “Actually, I am.”
“Chris, don’t do this,” Pam repeated Ralphie’s words. This couldn’t be happening. He was a jerk, but he wasn’t a criminal—was he? She stared at the gun pointed at her and tried not to shake.
“You don’t understand, Pam. The vor owns me.”
Pam cringed. She could hear her father’s desperation in Chris’s tone. The vor v zakone had always been a presence in their neighborhood. They’d pushed out the mafia here in Harding shortly after she went off to college. Not quite the Russian mob that Oksana had ties to, the vor were as old as Stalin’s gulags, but just as dangerous as the modern mafia. “What are they holding over on you? Gambling debts? Whatever it is, we can get it to stop.”
He laughed humorlessly. “I get a cut from the sales. And I couldn’t stop if I wanted to. They won’t let me.”
“Do you want to get out?”
“Yeah, they keep asking for more and more. I’m going to get caught. And now I have to take care of you.”
“I am not your enemy,” she said.
“It helps that you were attacked a few days ago. The police will just think those thugs came back and finished the job.”
“You’re going to shoot us here in cold blood?” Pam asked, still not believing it. Not even when his pistol hand didn’t shake.
“No other way. Someone will find you two in the morning.”
“Wait,” Ralphie said. “How about if we make a deal?”
“She won’t deal,” Chris said.
“If it means her life, she will, right, Pam?”
Hell no, but Pam saw the threat in Ralphie’s eyes. “I don’t want to die.”
“I’m not a murderer,” Chris said.
“The only way to ensure Pam’s silence is to cut her in.”
Chris brightened. “Cut her in, nothing. She can take the whole thing over.”
Pam caught herself before she started to emphatically shake her head. Play along, Ralphie’s eyes seemed to say. “I don’t know what to do.”
“This is perfect. I’ll train you. It’s a win-win situation. I get out from under the vor’s thumb, and you can start making headway on those student loans you always complain about.”
“I don’t always complain…” She broke off what she was going to say, because Ralphie sloshed water over her shoe. “Okay fine, but Ralphie here doesn’t get fired.”
“You’ve got to cut him in on the action so he’s just as culpable as you. It’s your only guarantee.”
“Fine,” Pam repeated. “Now, will you put that gun away before you kill someone?”
He eased his finger off the trigger and put on the safety. “Now that we’ve settled that, why don’t you come into my office so I can give you the money.” He put the gun into his lab coat pocket.
“How much does selling drugs pay?” Ralphie asked.
Pam made a noise in her throat, but when Ralphie pinched her arm, she bit back a yelp and rubbed the spot. They followed him into his office.
“Ten dollars a pill. Twenty-five boxes, twice a month. Three pills a box—well, you can do the math. Even with cutting your janitor in and paying for the pharmacy tech to fudge the inventory levels, you’ll make a tidy profit. The vor sell it for twenty a pill. Everyone is happy. You’ll have to fake a few prescriptions, but that shouldn’t be a problem with your credentials.”
He opened up his desk drawer and poured out an envelope filled with cash. “I’m going to take half of this—call it a training fee. You can have the rest. We can go over the details in the morning.”
“Who’s the pharm tech?” Ralphie said.
“Lea Brown,” Chris said, coming around the desk with a wad of cash in his hand. He held it out to Pam, but before she could take it, Ralphie swung the mop to crash down on his head. As he staggered back from the blow, Ralphie tackled him, taking him to the floor. Banging the doctor’s head into the ground, he finished him with two fast jabs to the chin.
“Call the cops,” Ralphie said, taking the gun out of Chris’s pocket and unloading it in quick, direct movements. He placed it on the desk and looked up at Pam, who was staring at him with her mouth open. “Please don’t kick me again.”
Chapter Six
Ralphie Brooks tore off the fake beard as soon as he was in the elevator heading down. He was halfway to the van when he heard the sirens. Pam hadn’t wanted him to go, but she’d seemed to buy that he didn’t want to answer questions from the cops, in case they ousted him for living in the janitor’s closet.
“Did you get it?” Drake asked, climbing into the back of the van.
The police techs, Frank and Joe, gave him a thumbs up from the control panels. Drake looked at the monitors. They were playing back the gangster that had taken the bag of drugs.
“Who is he?” Drake asked as he started shucking off the janitor’s uniform.
Joe piped a vaudeville stripper song over the speakers.
“Nice,” Drake said, removing the wire and microphone he was wearing.
“Not sure, yet. He’s definitely vor, what with all those friggin’ tattoos,” Frank said.
“Each one tells a story,” Drake said, jumping into a pair of jeans and shrugging on a sweater. “We can read him like a book later. Those are prison tats. He’s in the system somewhere. Find him for me.”
“You got glue all over your face,” Joe said helpfully when Drake sat down to pull on a pair of sneakers.
“Looks like I can stop being a bum.” Drake grinned. “Too bad. I’m going to miss good old Ralphie.”
“Looked like the doc liked him too,” Frank said. “She’s a firecracker.”
“Too hot for you,” Drake said, picking at the residual glue and hair from his cheeks and chin.
“You’re not going up there, are you?” Joe said.
“Why?”
“She’s going to know you’re Ralphie. Your hair is a dead giveaway,” Frank told him.
“I didn’t bring any gel with me,” Drake said, running a self-conscious hand down his riotous blond curls.
“She’s going to kick you, again, when she finds out you’ve been tricking her.”
“I was just doing my job. Besides, it’s not like we ever suspected her for selling drugs.”
“Women don’t like to be lied to,” Joe said, shaking his head.
“Who cares, anyway? It doesn’t matter anymore. We got the guy supplying the vor with the hospital’s drugs. My case is closed, brother,” Drake said.
“Not according to the captain,” Joe said. “He likes you as a bum. It looks like there’s some gang activity going on lately involving torturing street people. We’re back on the streets tomorrow night, same as tonight.”
“Are you kidding me?”
“If you checked your voice mail more than once a week, you would have gotten the message.”
“Where am I supposed to put my Blackberry? I’m supposed to be homeless.”
“The only homeless guy that gets Reiki massages.”
“She never touched anything but my knee,” Drake protested, pulling his phone out of his jeans pocket.
“Did it work?”
“It didn’t hurt.” Drake was astounded that after the treatment, he had felt more relaxed, although that could be from taking a mini nap in a dark room while a beautiful woman soothed him. Beautiful? Drake guessed she was, but the thought had snuck up on him. She wasn’t his normal type. He liked his woman a little on the trashy side, like the song goes.
The funny thing was, he still couldn’t picture her from the old neighborhood. They were about the same age. They knew some of the same people. He should have remembered her. She had probably been a cheerleader or a brainiac. Had she worn her hair long in high school, like she did now? It was a silky black that made him think of it splashed across his pillow. She had a mouth on her too, and she pushed back when confronted. So what if she wasn’t trashy. Who cared? Maybe after all this was over, they’d go grab a pizza.
There were three text messages from his partner, Mark O’Reilly, telling him to call in with various tones and levels of urgency. And one voice mail. The voice mail was from Captain Francis.
“Logan, we’ve got trouble. Two homeless guys have been torched in two days. Both deep in gang territories. Our sources say it’s a new initiation. I need you out on the street ASAFP.”
“Great,” Drake groaned.
“Go home and get some rest,” Frank said. “We’ve got it from here.”
Drake grumbled and called his partner.
“Drake, man, where have you been?” Mark said.
“Undercover. You know that. We got the bastard.”
“Uh, that’s good,” Mark said, sounding distracted.
“So what the hell’s so damn important you had to text me three times instead of leaving a message like a normal person?”
Mark blew out a long sigh, and Drake didn’t have to be a detective to know the news wasn’t good.
“It’s your godfather, Nikolai,” Mark finally said. “He’s been murdered.”
Drake had slicked his blond curls back into a tight ponytail that he’d tucked into his shirt. He stood at parade rest over the casket of his godfather and clenched his hands behind his back so he wouldn’t go for Oksana Bobrov’s throat. She was dressed in a leopard fur coat that made her look like a color blind Cruella DeVille. Her hair was painstakingly set high on her head, and all the rings and bracelets she wore flashed into the priest’s eyes when she dabbed crocodile tears off her heavily made-up face.
Standing next to her was her son, Stefan, and Pam. Her face looked red and blotchy. She wasn’t a pretty crier like Oksana was. And it burned him that she clung to that moron Stefan’s hand like a life line. Surely, she had to suspect that his mother had ordered the hit on Nikolai. Drake had pulled on the mirrored sunglasses as soon as he saw her. He didn’t need her to recognize Ralphie, who had quit the hospital the day after Dr. Chris Mastandrea’s arrest.
Andrej’s sobs brought him back to the reason they were there. Andrej was built like a bear, even resembled one with all the hair. But he was a marshmallow inside, always had been. His father had tried to toughen him up by making him take boxing lessons, but Andrej would skip out to feed an alley cat. He was a veterinarian now. Doing as well as he could.
“Papa,” Andrej cried. “I’m so sorry. I should have been there.”
Drake put a bracing arm on him. “It’s not your fault.”
“I told him to move out of that house. It’s no good.”
“The house wasn’t the issue. It was the junkies looking to score and Nikolai not backing down.”
“He never backed down from anything in his life. He certainly wouldn’t have let punks come into his home and steal from him.”
