Storm's Cage by Mary Stone (uplifting novels .TXT) 📕

turned to the row of sinks that faced two open stalls. When my eyes settled on a familiar figure in the middle of the three faucets, my spine jerked straight as I jumped.

Raking a hand through my hair, I let out an explosive breath. “Dammit. You scared the shit out of me.”

As he shook the water from his hands, my friend furrowed his brows. “You walked in on me.”

I opened my mouth to reply, but he waved a hand to cut me off.

His dark eyes flitted to the empty stalls and then back to me as he lowered his voice. “Hey, you heard about Ian, right?”

Jaw clenched, I looked over his shoulder. “I just got done talking to Reyman and Yoell. They’re working the case.”

“Good. They’re good police.” He cast another paranoid glance around the still bathroom. “I heard something. Not about Ian. Nothing to do with him, at least I don’t think so.”

With a quick look at the closed door, I stepped closer. “What did you hear?”

Pressing a button to bring the nearest hand dryer to life, he leaned in, his eyes fixed on the door at my back. “From a CO I know at MCC Chicago. He said a couple Feds showed up this morning to talk to Carlo Enrico.”

Shit.

Unable to keep the surprise and concern from my face, I pressed a hand over my eyes. In spite of the gravity of my secret, I was in good company. My fellow detective had his fair share of buried skeletons.

By the time I dropped my hand, I’d managed to rid myself of the shocked expression. “Feds? What the hell were they doing with Enrico? The Leónes made sure he had a damn good lawyer.”

A muscle ticked in my friend’s jaw. “They did. But my CO contact tells me he’s got a new lawyer. Look…” his eyes shifted between me and the door, “I know this isn’t the place to have this conversation, but I also know that you can do more about it than I can. And we need to do something about it, or that Carlo bastard will spill his guts. There’s no other reason he’d switch lawyers right before he had a meeting with a couple Feds. He’s going to roll over.”

“Shit.” I raked a hand through my hair, but before I could speak, the hinges of the door creaked. A uniformed officer strode in.

We each offered him a polite nod.

Shoving his hands beneath the vent of the dryer, my friend shot me a knowing look.

My expression was grim as I turned on the faucet and lathered my hands with foam soap. “I’ll get ahold of one of the guys from my bowling league, and we’ll see what we can do.”

I was a bowler, but my friend didn’t need to be a detective to catch my true meaning.

“Thanks, man. I appreciate it.”

I’d intended to go home to ensure all my bases were covered, but Carlo Enrico was a problem.

One I needed to solve…now.

5

Clasping the metal rail with both hands, Joseph Larson looked out onto the expanse of Lake Michigan. A temperate breeze brought the smell of water to his nose, and even through his sunglasses, the sun sparkled against the waves like glimmering topaz. On days like today, he understood the appeal of coastal cities like Miami or San Diego.

If Joseph thought he could tolerate such a hot, humid climate, he’d move to Miami without a second thought. Between the ocean, the glittering skyline, and the beautiful women, Miami was just short of a paradise. But the last time he’d lived in Florida—during the final two years of his tenure with the United States Army—he’d hated the constant, oppressive humidity. Summer in Chicago was bad enough, but Florida was a hellscape.

“Here, I got you a rum and coke.”

Brian Kolthoff’s voice jerked his attention away from the swaying waters of the lake. Blinking as his eyes adjusted from the bright sunlight, he reached out to accept the drink. “Hard liquor before two in the afternoon?”

Leaning against the railing that lined the upper deck of the mid-sized yacht, Brian chuckled at the comment. “It’s your last day off before you go back to work.” He lifted his glass and tipped it toward Joseph like a salute. “Might as well enjoy it.”

Brian did have a point. Joseph returned the gesture before taking a long pull from his own glass. With a nod of approval, he pushed his sunglasses up to rest atop his head. “It’s good. I take it you didn’t make it?”

“No.” He waved his drink in the air, letting the ice clink against the glass. “Part of a successful business venture is knowing your strengths. Since mine isn’t bartending, I use my strengths to make money and then hire a bartender. Problem solved.”

Chuckling, Joseph glanced over the rich wood of the top-most deck. A hot tub was situated to look out onto the stern of the vessel, but the top had been pulled over to shelter the water from the elements. Not far from the Jacuzzi, an awning shaded a horseshoe-shaped bar from the sun.

A young woman had taken a seat at one of the stools to scroll through her phone. Her long hair shimmered like spun gold as the wind whispered across the deck. Her name was Svetlana. And if Joseph remembered correctly, she’d been hired for more than just her drink mixing capabilities.

Joseph turned his head and tilted the pint glass at his longtime friend. “We’ll just call you the problem solver.”

Brian’s laugh sounded closer to a snort as he scratched at his temple. In the afternoon sunlight, the gray that streaked Kolthoff’s sable hair was closer to silver. “Sure. Speaking of problems.” His pale green eyes shifted to Joseph. “I just solved a big one. Those solicitation charges the U.S. Attorney’s office tried to throw at me, the ones for Leila Jackson. They were dropped this morning.”

As Joseph rested his back against the metal rail, he blew out a long breath. “Yeah, that was