Backstreet Hero Page 10

  How the hell do I keep from killing the guy?

  He shook his head again, this time at least dispelling the remnants of the video loop his sleep-deprived brain insisted on running. He knew he was in trouble when he was thinking of murdering some imagined character that might not even exist.

  The last time he’d felt anything like this, Lisa had died. And what he’d felt then hadn’t had the chance to become what he was feeling now.

  He made himself focus. Although there had been no sign or mention of a man in her life, he simply couldn’t picture a woman like Lilith not having them constantly buzzing around her like flies.

  Or fluttering, like that pompous, deceptively pretty butterfly Huntington.

  He used those images, the memory of how the man had spoken to her, to jab himself back to the matter at hand. With a glance at his watch, he wondered if Rico was going to show up at all.

  The text message this morning had simply told him to be here by nine. More accurately, it had said only, La Bodega—9:00 a.m. The implication being, of course, that Rico had something to tell him.

  Or maybe it’s a setup, he thought. Maybe they’re finally coming after me to show me how you don’t ever really leave the neighborhood.

  He knew he was tired when he started having paranoid ideas like that. If they’d wanted him dead, he would have been long ago. But he’d never really been that active in the ES 13s, he’d pulled his stunt with Josh before he’d gotten in too deep. In fact, that stunt had been a sort of proving ground dare, to find some rich guy and rip him off, bringing the proceeds back to Chaco, who at the time was the leader.

  Now he was in Pelican Bay, doing the hardest of hard time for killing three civilians and two cops in a shoot-out during a drug bust gone bad.

  One of those civilians had been fifteen-year-old Lucinda Alvera.

  Maybe that was why they’d let him go, Tony thought, taking a final sip of the coffee that was now cooled to lukewarm. They understood death and what it meant. Most of them had lost somebody, many of them somebody they’d loved as he’d loved Lucy.

  He tossed the cup into the wastebasket beside him. The irony of that possibility, that Lucy’s life had been the price of his ticket out, bit deep and hard, and his jaw clenched.

  He’d just decided he’d had enough of hanging around this place that was haunted for him when the front door opened again, the jingle of the old-fashioned bell attached to it a cheerful sound amid the grim recollections. He looked that way.

  Rico.

  With the swagger typical of ES 13s, he called out an over-exuberant greeting to old man Martinez, who watched the gangster warily as he walked toward the back of the bodega. But, Tony noticed, the bluster vanished and Rico looked around carefully before he approached.

  “You owe me a coat, man.”

  “If it’s worth it, you got it.” Tony cut to the chase. “What?”

  “One of my guys, Carlito, he knows a guy who knows a guy who—”

  “I don’t need the history. Just give it to me.”

  “That’s the problem with people these days, y’know? No respect for the rituals.”

  “Plenty of respect,” Tony said. “No time. You want money in the pocket of that coat, digame.”

  At the order to just tell him, Rico shrugged. “A guy did time in Chino. Cell mate with a guy who did time with a guy—”

  He stopped when Tony’s gaze narrowed, then shrugged again and went on. “End of the string is some guy in one of those lightweight places, you know? Private, minimum security? Out in Baker. He knew some guy there who used to work for that place, Redstone. He talked a lot about payback, for them putting him in jail. Mentioned some woman who took his place.”

  Tony nearly stopped breathing.

  “That your friend’s ex?” Rico asked.

  “Could be,” Tony said, keeping it vague. “I’m not sure what she does. This guy got a name?” he asked, although he knew perfectly well who it had to be.

  “My friend, he says it’s Stan. Don’t know any more than that.”

  Stan Chilton. The ramifications started to rapid-fire in Tony’s mind, and he had to yank himself back to the present. “I need to talk to this friend of yours.”

  Rico pondered this for a moment, and Tony guessed he was considering just how much payment he could push for.

  “Could be arranged.”

  “You just earned yourself a coat,” Tony said. “With enough to buy another one in the pocket.”

  Rico laughed. “Don’t need two coats, man. Lots better things to spend it on.”

  “Keep going,” Tony said. “You find me more, you’ll be able to buy a lot of them.”

  Rico grinned. “I find out more, I want that fancy car you drive, mijo.”

  Tony laughed, but his mind was already racing ahead. This turned everything around. If the person behind this was Stan Chilton, the former head of Redstone R&D, who had left in ignominy after being caught selling Ian Gamble’s exclusive research, then the whole complexion of this had changed.

  As soon as he was back in his car he would make the first call to Draven, using the hands-free Bluetooth system so he could be on his way to Redstone Headquarters at the same time. It suddenly seemed imperative that he get there as soon as he could.

  Lilith was going to have to take this more seriously now; for the first time there was something more, however tenuous, than simply Josh’s innate worry about his people. There was outside evidence that someone truly had it in for her, and while hearsay wasn’t admissible in a courtroom, it was more than enough for Tony Alvera when it came to Lilith’s safety.

  He whipped the Redstone car quickly away from the curb as the phone rang on the other end. As he waited for Draven to answer, he found himself grimacing as he faced a thought he didn’t want to analyze just yet but couldn’t deny, either.

  He’d been a lot happier when he’d been convinced the person behind the threat to Lilith was her ex-husband.

  Chapter 14

  “It’s about ten times removed from firsthand hearsay,” Tony said.

  John Draven looked at him and nodded. “I got that.”

  “I’m just saying,” Tony said, a bit uncomfortable under his boss’s steady scrutiny.

  “I know.”

  “It made more sense that it was her ex,” he said, wondering if it sounded as lame as he felt it did. “Why would Chilton go after her? It’s not like she had anything to do with him going to prison. She just came in to clean up the mess he left behind.”

  “If Chilton was man enough to come after the ones who really put him where he was, which would be Sam and Ian and me, he probably wouldn’t have done what he did in the first place.”

  Tony couldn’t argue with that cogent and concise argument, so didn’t even try. “My contact’s going to set up a meet with the guy who was in the slam with Chilton. Later today, I hope. I’ll see if I can get any more.”

  Draven nodded. And then, in a way that even Tony knew never would have happened before his marriage to Grace, he went on, almost conversationally. “Come in handy sometimes, those contacts.”

  It struck Tony, not for the first time, that it was rather amazing that Draven hadn’t had using those contacts in mind from the moment he’d found out about him. In need of the distraction, he asked his boss something he’d always wondered.

  “When you dug into my background sixteen years ago, how hard did you push Josh to toss me back where I belonged?”

  Draven’s legendary cool didn’t waver. “Josh never asked me to do a background check on you.”

  “But you did,” Tony said; he knew his boss well enough by now to know that unless directly ordered not to, Draven checked out everyone that might have access to his boss.

  Draven’s mouth twitched. “Of course.”

  “So?”

  “I didn’t. It’s who Josh is, and it’s not my place or desire to change that.” He gave Tony a sideways look before adding, “I did push him to just give you that hand up, the
n let you sink or swim on your own.”

  “But when I finished school he took me into Redstone instead.”

  “I knew he would. I also knew you wouldn’t be happy at a desk job, no matter how much business or accounting they crammed into your head.”

  “But you didn’t figure I’d end up working for you someday, did you, jefe?”

  Draven gave a one-shouldered shrug. “Josh is the real boss. I do what he wants.”

  Then, after a silent moment reminiscent of the old Draven, the onetime man of fewer words than anybody at Redstone except St. John, he again elaborated. “I didn’t want you here just because of where you came from.”

  Tony’s brow furrowed at the ambiguity of the statement. “You didn’t want me because of that, or not only because of that?”

  Draven’s mouth twitched again. “Yes,” he said. “The first because I thought that if I ever needed to send you back to the streets on a case, you might lose everything you’d gained.”

  Startled, Tony blinked. He’d heard the legends, of course, about this man before he’d ever come to work for him. You didn’t work at Redstone long in any capacity before you heard about the head of the most famous and efficient private, company-run security team in the world. One of those legends—one Tony suspected was true—had both Josh and Draven approached by governments from various countries about privately contracting out for official security, but turning down the lucrative offers; they were Redstone, and that was enough.

  The rest were the more common kind of thing, that Draven had more than once made a suspect confess just by the simple fact of his presence, that there was something in his eyes that made even the most brazen of bad guys quiver. Tony believed it; some combination of where he’d been, what he’d done and what he’d seen made him the most intimidating man he’d ever encountered, and he’d encountered a few on the streets of L.A.

  But he’d always thought of Draven as focused strictly on that security; you didn’t run a team as good as his, in as many places as Redstone had outposts around the world, without that kind of dedication.

  But now it seemed Draven apparently subscribed to Josh’s other doctrine as well—a hand up, not a hand out, to anyone willing to work for it.

  “As for the other,” Draven said, “I was afraid you’d be a loose cannon.”

  “And now?” Tony asked.

  “You are a loose cannon,” Draven said, and this time he grinned, a rare enough occurrence that it caught Tony off guard. “But I know you won’t fire without just cause, so I don’t worry about it much.”

  As a vote of confidence, Tony thought, it didn’t come much higher than that, not from John Draven. “You have Hill assigned to anything yet?”

  “Not yet, it’s been relatively quiet of late. You need her?”

  “On call, maybe. In case that meeting comes up and I can’t get back in time to see Lilith home.”

  Draven nodded. “I’ll have her stand by.”

  “And stay with her until I get there.”

  Draven didn’t ask, only nodded. And as he left the airport office of Redstone Security, Tony knew why.

  Draven realized as well as he did now that the threat was real.

  “Ms. Mercer?”

  At the soft inquiry from the doorway, Lilith looked up, quashing a wince as her shoulder—and backside—reminded her of the tumble she’d taken.

  A woman stood there, someone she’d never seen before, with straight, medium brown hair tied back and a quiet sort of face. Since Lilith knew almost everyone in the building that was odd, and if this was any place but Redstone she might worry that whatever threat she faced had found its way here.

  But as she studied the plain, seemingly deferential figure before her, she couldn’t imagine the woman doing anything in the least aggressive, let alone trying to hurt anyone. “Can I help you?”

  “I’m Taylor Hill. Mr. Draven sent me. I’m here to see you home, whenever you’re ready.”

  Automatically, Lilith glanced at the clock. It was a bit early for her to call it quits, although she’d been having trouble focusing this afternoon, ever since Tony had called her with the information he’d discovered about Stan Chilton.

  She opened her mouth to ask where Tony was, but realized this young woman probably wouldn’t know, anyway. Besides, she thought ruefully, with her luck lately, the question would come out sounding like a petulant whine.

  She did wonder where he was, though. And with no small qualm; it would hardly take a researcher—albeit that was pretty much what she was—to figure out that he hadn’t come across the bit of information about Chilton at the local library.

  She knew more about Tony now than she had; she’d rather delicately picked Liana’s brain, knowing that Logan, and through him Liana, had to know a lot more than she did; she’d been merely a slightly involved bystander during the investigation of Logan’s case. Tony had kept her in the loop, but their talks had been purely business.

  Purely business, she thought again now. It struck her then that after that first day in her office, he’d never again turned upon her any of the oozing charm she’d seen him use to such effect on just about any other breathing female. Even Alicia, at the charity fund-raiser; if she hadn’t seen it herself, she would have sworn the woman who’d been called a termagant more than once would be immune to such things.

  The memory in turn made her think he’d been acting rather oddly ever since then. As if there were some kind of impenetrable wall between them.

  Maybe that was why this woman was here instead. Not because Tony was busy, but because he didn’t want to be here. Didn’t want to be around her.

  Perhaps he’d even asked to be taken off the case, she thought. Although now that it appeared there really was a case, that it wasn’t just Josh’s overprotectiveness, she found that hard to believe. Nobody who worked for Draven, or Josh, walked out in the middle of a job. Redstone simply didn’t hire those kinds of people.

  So she tried to find out, discreetly.

  “Alvera afraid he’s going to get sucked into another black-tie event?” she asked, with what she thought was a credible show of carefree good humor.

  The woman never cracked a smile. “I wouldn’t know, ma’am.”

  Ma’am.

  Well, that put her solidly in her place, didn’t it? Lilith thought. To this young thing, that’s what she was. One foot in the grave. She refrained from asking Taylor how old she was. If her age started with a three rather than a two she’d be surprised.

  Giving herself a mental shake, Lilith said briskly, “I won’t be ready for a half hour or so, if you want to go find some coffee or something.”

  “That’s fine. I’ll be back in thirty minutes.”

  “On the dot,” Lilith heard in her head, as if the young woman had said the words. Somehow she thought she probably would. If she’d said she needed thirty-two minutes, Taylor would have said and done exactly that. Lilith wondered what her story was. She’d have to ask Tony.

  Assuming, of course, she ever saw him again.

  Chapter 15

  Alejandro “Loco” Degas wasn’t going to be much more help, Tony thought. The man was of the sullen sort, marked by his life in ways that could never be changed. Since Tony guessed he was still under thirty, he’d apparently given up early. Not that he could blame him; at sixteen he’d been ready to give up himself, and if not for a knife, his own reckless decision and the intervention of Josh Redstone, he would have.

  The only thing he’d gained from this meeting was the information that Chilton had apparently had help. Tony had figured that out himself already; Chilton didn’t have the brains and hadn’t been inside long enough to develop on his own the kind of network something like this would take. It was tougher to set up something like this in the minimum-security lockups, anyway; not many hit men or their ilk ended up there, unless they were undiscovered. In his experience, white-collar criminals, once they were caught, tended to crumple. They just weren’t tough enough. Ruthless,
yes, but prison tough? No.

  Despite the lack of really solid information, he paid the man the agreed upon amount anyway and repeated the offer of more if anything else was turned up.

  “I’m not a cop, and I don’t have to go to court and prove any of this,” he told both Degas and Rico, who had insisted on umpiring this meeting. “This is—” he almost stumbled and said the word personal, but recovered “—private, and even if it’s second-hand hearsay or rumors, I want to hear it.”

  As he drove out of the neighborhood he’d once inhabited—he hesitated to say lived in—he wondered again if that help had been inside or outside. He wished he could somehow tie it back to Daniel Huntington, but Chino and the privately run minimum-security prison in Baker were different worlds as much as were these streets and the kinder, gentler streets of Bel Air or Beverly Hills.

  Of course, Lilith wouldn’t be happy if he did that.

  And there it was again, just that quickly, eating at him, gnawing at a sore place somewhere inside him that no amount of effort could let him ignore.

  She’d been relieved that it hadn’t been her ex-husband.

  At first, he’d tried to tell himself he’d imagined her reaction; after all, he’d told her over the phone about Chilton, he hadn’t been there to see her face. But he knew, with every ounce of that gut instinct he’d developed, every bit of perception Draven had hammered into him in the past six years, that she’d been relieved. It had been in the tone of her voice when she’d said, “Not Daniel?” and in the tiny sigh he’d barely heard when he’d confirmed that.

  He’d cautioned her about the source of the information, the tenuousness of the lead, but he knew that had been as much to try to convince himself as her. This lead felt right, and wishing it had been Huntington wouldn’t change that.