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“A burner phone.”
I squeezed my iPhone. I wanted to turn her over my knee for not telling anyone. Her independent streak had placed her life squarely in danger. “What about this Marciano dude?”
“You’ve never heard of the name?” my soldier asked as if shocked I hadn’t.
“Cut to the chase, bud. I’m not in any mood for crap.”
“Don’t worry. It sounded familiar from my days being in New York. But I ended up contacting a few buddies of mine who are heavy into the scene. You know what I mean.”
He’d been a low-level soldier to the Russian Bratva in New York, moving to New Orleans to care for his dying mother. He’d stayed after her death, finding the climate more suitable to his Italian nature. Or so he’d told me. While the man irritated the hell out of me, he was good for certain things, including his knowledge base of almost all the syndicates in New York. The knowledge had been useful years before in preventing an Armenian crew from encroaching on our turf.
“That means you found something.”
“You’re not going to like it.”
His voice sounded far off and when I didn’t hear him reply within a few seconds, I jerked the phone away from my face, noticing the reception was shit. I moved into the house, heading toward the internet hub.
“Can you hear me?” Tony asked, his voice clearer.
“The reception is crap. There’s a storm rolling in. Who is this guy?”
“I don’t know who you think you saw but it wasn’t Lucas Marciano, unless it was a pure coincidence.”
“Meaning what?”
The crackling sound coming from the other end of the phone was loud.
“Meaning the guy is… enforcer for…”
“What did you say?” There was nothing but constant clicks, what little I could hear from him coming in syllables. “Tony. Call me back. I’m losing you.” I pressed end, tossing the phone on the outside table, moving toward the railing and slamming my hands on the wooden surface.
What the hell had he been trying to tell me? An enforcer? For whom? While it was possible the guy had been faking his drunkenness, fabricating the reek of alcohol, I’d seen his bloodshot eyes, his cheap suit. Sure, even that could be faked but the man was at least sixty. I knew of no enforcers still in the job at that advanced age.
Landry’s comment about made men not surviving past forty-five slipped into the back of my mind. I scanned the ocean, noticing she was swimming in the shallow waters. As I took another glance at the sky, I didn’t like what I saw. In the short time I’dbeen on the phone, the clouds had darkened significantly. That had to mean squalls were on the way.
Seconds later, I heard her scream. I took off racing down the stairs, jumping over the thick rock wall to the sand fifteen feet below. She was struggling to get to shore but I couldn’t tell what was holding her back. A rip current? The water was churning more than it should be.
Then I heard a noise and stiffened.
What the fuck? There was a speedboat powering toward the shore. I yanked out my weapon, continuing to race to the shore. By the time I reached the edge of the water, she was on her feet, heading toward me.
I lunged toward her and into the water. She flailed in my arms, finally wrapping them around my neck. “I got you, baby.”
Zoe was shivering, clutching me as she tried to land her feet on the sand. “You came for me.”
“You really thought otherwise?” I threw my arm around her and jerking her completely out of the water. Out of the corner of my eye, I noticed a glint of metal and pushed her to the sand.
Fuck me. They were after her.
“Stay down!”
Two people were on the boat and there was no doubt in my mind one of them was holding a weapon in his hand. As Zoe started to scream, I took aim.
Pop! Pop! Pop! Pop!
The boat came far too close for my comfort and I dropped down over her just as the captain spun it around in a tight arc, headingout into the deeper water of the cove. Gasping for air, I threw a look over my shoulder, realizing the shooter had been hit.
“Fuck. Fuck. Fuck,” she cried, clawing her fingers into the sand.
