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Her fabulous ass would make those white cotton briefs look incredibly sexy.
I pulled into a coffee shop parking lot and called Arch. “Any news?” I asked.
“Sure,” he said. “I can confirm the truth of your friend’s story. I’ve matched the photos, and I’m sure it’s her. I wasn’t able to unseal her new identity, but I did see old pictures of Francesca Lovero, along with her older sister Rafaella Lovero, deceased, and her younger sister, Gabriella Lovero, also deceased. Definitely the same person.”
Francesca. So that was Kat’s old name. Pretty, but Kat suited her better now. It was short, crisp, no-nonsense, sharp. Cat-like. Perfect for her.
“It happened in Jersey City,” Arch said. “The killer was a guy named Tony Petruzzi, Jr. Heir to a local boss, Tony Petruzzi, Sr. He’s up for parole very soon.”
“No shit. After killing his girlfriend and a little kid? Just fourteen years?”
“He wangled a reduced sentence. His defense attorneys spun the older girl, Rafaella, into a slutty femme fatale who cheated and drove Tony mad with jealousy. Boys will be boys, yada yada, the usual bullshit, in spite of Francesca’s testimony. He’ll be out of prison soon. Your girlfriend had better be on the lookout for him.”
“Thanks, Arch. I appreciate that.”
“So, are we square?” Arch asked hopefully.
I laughed. “No,” I told him. “When you save my life, or the life of someone close to me, we’ll be square. Until then, we’re just having a conversation. Good talking to you, Arch.”
Arch made a disgusted sound, and hung up.
That gave me plenty of interesting things to think about while I made my way to Jordan Meechum’s place on Lake Washington. There had been no movement at Hugh Clemens’ or Julia Wright’s houses, so I just moved on down the company masthead while mulling on how to deal with Tony Petruzzi, Jr. I was going to deep dive into that worthless shithead’s life prospects first chance I got. See who else besides Kat was still angry at him, and why. Once Tony Petruzzi walked out those gates, he was going to be so fucking sorry. He’d look back on his prison days like a dream of happiness.
A car waited outside Jordan Meechum’s lavish lakefront home. It was a dusty old SUV with a tired middle-aged woman at the wheel. Neither car nor driver matched the house. A ride-share, then. Meechum was airport bound. I’d gotten here just in time.
I rang the doorbell. The door jerked open. “I told you to wait!” someone bitched.
I shoved the door wider, sending Meechum stumbling back into his foyer with a squawk, arms pinwheeling. I seized his throat. “I’m not your driver, shithead.”
Jordan Meechum cringed against the wall. He was tall and skinny, with longish dark hair worn in a messy man bun. “Ohfuck.Ethan Masters?”
“Yeah. A visit from the crypt. Surprised to see me, Meechum?”
“Look, I had nothing to do with—”
“With what? What did they offer you? Who was your contact person? Tell me all of it, and maybe you’ll survive. Maybe you’ll even make it to the airport.”
“I didn’t have contact with them!” Meechum wailed. “I swear to Christ! That was all Hugh! I was just trying to make the business work, and we had a shortfall, and Hugh says he got this amazing opportunity, this…this chunk of money, free and clear, enough to solve our problems. Just for doing this random favor for this woman he met!”
“Which involved luring me into that building, I take it,” I said grimly.
“Well, yes. But we had no idea they were going to try to hurt you! No fucking clue! We were as horrified as—”
“Shut the fuck up. You didn’t speculate at all as to why they wanted me in place? You never asked yourself why they were willing to pay so much?”
“I…I swear, I didn’t—”
“Think. Yeah. You were morons.”
“Yes,” Meechum said, his voice strangled. “A moron, sure, but not a killer. I never wanted to hurt anybody.”
“Give me the contact info,” I said.
His face tightened, bracing for a blow. “I don’t have it.” His voice was tiny. “That was Hugh’s side of things. He was going to get us the money.”
“Okay, then,” I said. “Show me the money. Let me see where it came from.”
“Um…that was supposed to come in after Hugh delivered the p-p-package,” Meechum admitted. “And, uh…clearly, he never did. You got away. So…ah…”
