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“Are you staying?”
I can’t tell if it’s a request or a question, but I tighten my hold on her body. “Staying.”
* * *
“We’ve likely gotone confirmed identification on one of them,” Luka says to me as I take a seat in the office. “Peter McDonald, goes by Mick.”
“Meaning?”
“My guy said it’s for sure him. Harvey’s guy said it looks like him, but can’t confirm.”
“My contact said he’s got a temper, known for putting his hands on women,” Harvey adds.
“Sounds like a real gentleman.” I nod, looking at Jimmy. “That enough for me to grab him?”
“What’s your plan?” he asks.
“I’m thinking we find out where he likes to hang out, grab him, then take him to the warehouse for a little chat. The boys happen to mention where our friend Mick likes to hang out?” I look back at Luka and Harvey.
“Bay Ridge,” Harvey says. “Apparently his cousin owns a boxing gym over there. He also drinks at Sullivan’s down the street from the boxing gym.”
“Well, lucky for us,” I smile, “our wise guy isn’t so wise when it comes to being a creature of habit.”
“Let’s keep it low-key, boys.” Jimmy gives us a stern look. “I don’t need the cops getting involved.”
“Yes, sir.” I stand up and look over at Harvey. “You’re with me. Luka, you head over to Chloe’s school.”
Harvey and I walk out to the van and make our way over to the Brooklyn neighborhood of Bay Ridge. It’s not long before we see Mick exit Sullivan’s, making his way down the sidewalk toward his cousin’s gym.
“Let’s go.” We fling the doors open, Harvey hanging back to walk up behind him in case he runs. I swing around to walk toward him.
“Hey, Mick!” I smile. “Long time no see.”
He stops, looking at me suspiciously. “Do I know you?”
“Well, you don’t,” I say with an even bigger smile, “but you’re about to.” He turns and looks behind him, about to take off, when I shake my head.
“I wouldn’t do that if I were you.” I point toward Harvey, his 6’6” frame towering over the smaller man. “You’ve got two choices here, Mick. You can make this easy and come with us, or you can make it difficult—or should I say, painful.”
He fakes left then darts to his right trying to scurry away, but Harvey reaches one arm out and clotheslines the guy, sending him straight onto his back on the concrete sidewalk. He coughs, sputtering for breath with the wind knocked out of him.
“Looks like you went with the difficult route.” I smile over him as Harvey leans down and grabs his jacket, pulling him up in one swift move and walking him toward the van, where he shoves him inside. He zip-ties Mick’s hands, shoving a bag over his head before we take off and head toward the warehouse.
“Who the fuck are you?” Mick asks after we sit him down and remove the bag.
“That’s not really important,” I say, taking a seat in the chair across from him. “Whatisimportant is what we want.”
“Which is?”
“Information. Rumor has it, Mick—I can call you Mick, right?—is that you like to break into women’s homes, plant cameras, clone their phones, approach their children at their school, and give them illicit photographs. Sound familiar?”
Mick shrugs, a smirk on his face. “Doesn’t sound like me.”
“I thought you might say that.” I pull out the photos of him entering and exiting Juliette’s house, along with ones from the school’s security camera. “Now we both know you’re aware you were under surveillance when you did these things, which is why you wore a disguise . . . or so you thought. Turns out, sunglasses, a hoodie, and a hat aren’t enough to keep people from recognizing you.”
“Please,” he scoffs, “that could be anybody.”
I look at the photos. “I wouldn’t say that. I mean, how else are we sitting here right now? Clearly, two people recognized you, and they were more than happy to identify you—sell you out for . . . what did we give them, Harvey?”
