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

“Yeah, Reyman and Yoell were working on verifying his alibi when I left.” Amelia waited for a black and white cruiser to pass before she backed out of the parking stall. She’d never discussed the D’Amato family with Joseph, and she reminded herself to stay sharp.

Joseph was an asshole, but he wasn’t stupid.

From the corner of her eye, she caught Joseph’s curious stare as he propped an elbow on the doorframe. “Do you know if the alibi panned out? Who was their suspect? Was it someone affiliated with the Leóne family?”

“No. The opposite, actually.”

For a split-second, Joseph’s mouth went slack. “A D’Amato?”

As she flicked on the blinker to turn onto the street, Amelia tried to ignore Joseph’s scrutinizing gaze. “A D’Amato lieutenant, yeah.” She shrugged, hoping to maintain her air of indifference.

Once they were clear of the traffic around the station, Amelia walked Joseph through the Strausbaugh investigation. She was careful to explain the situation using the same details Natasha had given her, making sure to leave out any of the extra knowledge she’d acquired from Alex. Joseph already had Alton Dalessio to hang over her head.

The last thing she needed was for him to add her relationship with the D’Amato family to his blackmail.

Joseph fished in his suit jacket for a pack of gum. “So, Allworth tried to frame a D’Amato lieutenant for killing his partner?”

Amelia flattened her palms against the steering wheel but kept her attention on the road. “That’s what it’s starting to look like. Unless one of the Leónes is responsible for killing Ian Strausbaugh, which is still a possibility. They might’ve recruited Allworth to steal that nine-mil so they could use it to kill Strausbaugh and make it look like a D’Amato hit.”

With a snort, Joseph popped a piece of gum in his mouth. “A hit by the most incompetent D’Amato hitman on the face of the planet, maybe.”

She couldn’t argue his point.

The rest of the trip to Cliff Allworth’s apartment complex was relatively quiet. Amelia was in no mood for small talk, and Joseph thankfully seemed to have gotten the memo. Towering trees lined both sides of the residential street, and little of the afternoon sunlight pierced through the leafy cover.

As “Bad Moon Rising” came to an end, Amelia pulled the car to a stop in a shadowy lot behind the building. Double-checking the address one more time, she killed the engine and stepped out into a temperate breeze.

Though faint, the wind carried the scent of falling leaves and the promise of changing seasons. Amelia rounded the front of the car and straightened the gray knit cardigan she’d worn to conceal her service weapon.

Joseph waved a hand at the vintage brownstone building. “We’re a little north of Lincoln Park right now. How much do you suppose a place like this goes for?”

Scanning the wrought-iron handrails of at least a dozen covered balconies, she dropped her hands to her hips. “More than a city cop can afford on his own, I’m willing to bet. Unless he spends all his free days working overtime.”

They started for the arched doorway, and Amelia breathed a silent sigh of relief when she noticed there was no controlled entry.

A carpeted hall and a few flights of stairs brought her and Joseph to the fourth floor and then to apartment four-twelve. When she caught the first muffled voice, she strained her hearing and scooted closer to the door.

Before Joseph could squeeze in beside her to knock and announce their presence, Amelia held up a hand to stop him. Raising an index finger against her lips to silence him, she tilted her chin at the light gray door.

She and Joseph held still until the man inside spoke again. Amelia couldn’t make out his words, but she knew the speaker was Detective Yoell. As best as she could tell, his tone was calm and conversational.

Amelia’s eyes flicked to Joseph. “That’s Floyd Yoell,” she whispered. A sudden bout of anxiety sent her heart thundering. “Do we knock?”

Rubbing at the stubble on his chin, Joseph paused, looking thoughtful. “If we do, chances are that Allworth’s going to know why we’re here.”

“And Detective Reyman and Yoell don’t know.” She frowned. “That doesn’t seem like a good combination.”

Joseph reached for the doorknob. “No, it doesn’t. But there are already two cops inside, so I don’t see why we can’t just let ourselves in.”

“True. If he sees us, then he might be less likely to try something stupid.” Amelia moved to the side. “I’ve got Natasha’s phone number. Let me call inside and give them a heads-up.”

Joseph snorted and pulled out his weapon. “No time. I’m going in.”

Before he’d even finished the sentence, he was stepping inside the apartment. Amelia cursed and pulled her own weapon. As much as she’d like to shoot Joseph Larson in the balls, it was her duty to cover him, even when he was being stupid.

To Joseph’s credit, he stayed low and quiet instead of roaring in like a lion. Amelia eased the door closed until the latch clicked into place. She almost winced at the quiet disturbance, but as she and Joseph crept to the edge of the short hallway, the conversation in the next room continued unabated.

She swept her gaze over what she could see of the living area from her and Joseph’s limited vantage point. Part of a leather couch, an elaborate floor lamp, and a rustic wood end table all looked like they’d been plucked out of a Better Homes and Gardens magazine. With the colorful painting above the sofa, the décor was pretty but impersonal.

“What makes you think that Ian would’ve been involved with the Leóne family?” Cliff Allworth’s question was tinged with defensiveness. The muffled volume of his voice told Amelia the three detectives had likely gathered in a kitchen or dining area just past the living room. “Ian was a good guy. He had a wife, kids, and he treated his stepdaughter like she was his own. How could someone like that be involved