Undercover connection, p.9
Undercover Connection, page 9
He wished at that moment, though, that he was reading. Because he was left to meet her eyes.
He’d been right that first day, when he’d seen her from afar. Her eyes were green. A brilliant beautiful green, like twin emeralds in a sea of gold. Her face was so perfectly molded he was tempted to reach out and touch it, as he might be tempted to reach out and touch a classic sculpture. Her hair was free, freshly washed and tumbling around her shoulders, still damp. And in the maxi dress, she seemed exceptionally alluring—though he was sure she had donned the article of clothing because it covered her entire body. It felt like a reaction to the skimpy outfit she’d been forced to put on for the “date” with Connor.
“But according to Kari, Mary did escort him,” Jasmine pointed out, “and then she disappeared.”
“You’re going to need to get closer to Kari.”
“Well, we’re both supposed to report to Natasha tomorrow—Kari and I.”
“And I have an excuse to go in. I’ve gotten Kozak’s permission to investigate Smirnoff’s murder.”
“Have the cops gotten anything? I guess not. I’m pretty sure that, even though the FBI has lead, I’d know about it if anyone had been apprehended for the murder.”
“From what I’ve heard, they’re still pretty much in the dark,” Jacob said. “Trajectory shows the bullets were fired from the balcony. But everyone working there swears the balconies were closed off. Someone is lying, of course. But no one knows who.”
“No guns were found, no casings...no nothing?”
“Nope. And the gunmen—two to three of them, best estimate—entirely disappeared.”
Jasmine leaned her chin thoughtfully on her knees. “We could see all the major players when it happened. You were out there with Kozak, Ivan Petrov and the goons, Sasha, Antonio and Alejandro. And Natasha was backstage.”
“The killers were hired, obviously. And they were guaranteed a clean getaway. We dusted for prints on the rails and so forth, but there are hundreds of prints. Workmen were there, of course, before the grand opening. Anyone who so much as delivered pizza might have left a print. Smirnoff, from what I understand, loved showing off the place and brought everyone out to those balconies to let them see how they looked down at the floor and the main stage.”
She shook her head. “So, we’re nowhere.”
“No. We’re moving forward. You’re just impatient.”
“I guess so. I mean, I have worked undercover before. But often just for a day or so, getting into the right place, talking to the right people. I admit—it was never anything like this.”
“We just keep moving forward.”
She nodded. “I guess... I guess I need some sleep.”
“Go on.”
“You’re staying here?”
“I believe I’m entitled now—and I don’t want to disappoint anyone by not taking my full measure.”
“Ah.” She stood, almost leaping away from him. “Pillow and blankets. If I’d known I was having nightly guests, I would have asked for a two-bedroom.” She smiled awkwardly and hurried into her bedroom. A moment later, she was back. She plopped down two pillows, sheets and a blanket. “Not sure if you need the blanket, I don’t air-condition the place too much. But... Anyway, all right. I’ll see you in the morning. Start coffee if you’re up first!”
She spoke quickly, almost nervously. It wasn’t like her.
“Good night,” he said softly.
She left him, and he wished he wasn’t playing a role. More than that, he wished he wasn’t working. She’d closed the door between them, but he could still see her in his mind’s eye.
See her laughter as she kicked up the salt spray.
Feel her beneath him when he tackled her in the sand.
He could see the emerald of her eyes as she’d looked at him before she pulled him in for that blistering kiss.
And he couldn’t help but wonder, in his misery, if she just might...just might...be wishing a little bit herself that they had met under different circumstances.
He spent the next hour reminding himself he was a special agent, he loved his job and he had made a difference... They were professional. They played their parts. They brought down the bad guys.
He thought he’d never sleep. He wondered why the hell he had stayed. She could take care of herself. She was trained.
But despite the logic, despite what he knew, he was afraid for her.
He could have returned to his apartment. He knew being here had nothing to do with being professional. If it came to it, he’d give anything to save her life if it was threatened in any way.
Why? He’d worked cases with so many beautiful women and never done more than acknowledge that fact.
Jasmine was different. She had touched something else in him. Something that was more than attraction, even desire.
She was...everything. Everything in a way he hadn’t known in over a decade. Not since his wife had died.
* * *
JACOB WAS UP when Jasmine emerged in the morning.
She’d spent the night...waiting. She’d thought the door to her bedroom might open at any time. She couldn’t decide if she wanted it to or not.
But it did not, and when she finally rose, she found him already awake. He’d brewed coffee and was sipping a cup, leaning thoughtfully against the refrigerator.
He looked at her as she emerged, his eyes fathomless.
“Three more bodies last night,” he said softly.
“What? Where?” she asked. Three bodies. Was one Mary?
He must have seen the fear on her face. “Three men again,” he said quickly. “And they weren’t found in oil drums. This time, they were found south of the Tamiami Trail. Miami-Dade County, on Miccosukee tribal land.”
“Three. Maybe the hired gunmen? If they weren’t in oil drums, if they’re new... It’s possible it isn’t related. Will we get identities soon?” Jasmine said.
He hesitated. “No. The bodies are missing heads and hands.”
“Oh.”
“Cause of death?”
“Unknown, at this point. In my mind, logic suggests they were shot in the head.”
“Logic?”
“Execution-style—then the heads were removed. Dumped them in the Everglades.” He hesitated. “From what I’ve been told, they were well ravaged by the animal life. Among other creatures, the vultures had a feast.”
“There are few better places to dispose of a body than the Everglades,” Jasmine agreed. “But they were definitely...male bodies?”
“Yes, definitely male bodies.”
She wandered to the coffeepot and poured herself a cup. She was shaken, but she didn’t want to be. She was a detective in a major crime division. But this was personal.
Maybe she shouldn’t have been working this investigation. But there had truly been no one better suited to the task of getting in with the Deco Gang.
Jacob came up behind her and placed a hand on her shoulders. “Jasmine, I believe the men found might well have been the shooters. If whoever planned this wanted to make sure no one talked, they had to get rid of the people who actually carried out the deed.”
“Yes, that’s my gut feeling on it, too,” she said. Her hands were still trembling slightly as she held her coffee cup. And she was ridiculously aware of him, right there behind her, the heat of his body, the scent of him.
She had to spin around, composed and determined. “So, today, you start questioning everyone?”
“Today I start questioning everyone.”
He had barely spoken when there was a knock on the door.
“Excuse me,” she murmured.
As she headed to the door, she was aware Jacob had already showered and dressed completely for the day. He had his hand behind his back, ready to draw his weapon if the guest at the door intended to offer any danger.
No danger was forthcoming; she looked through the peephole. It was Jorge.
She let him in quickly. “Hey.”
Jorge glanced at Jacob. He seemed to accept the man’s presence as normal.
“I was bringing you the latest news. Captain said he didn’t think you should be calling in, even on the burners. Too easy for one of them to catch the phone and check out numbers and get suspicious when nothing on you had an easily trackable number. But I imagine you’ve gotten the latest?”
“The bodies in the Glades?” she asked.
He nodded and looked at Jacob. “Who do you think did it? Is it Kozak? Natasha? Ivan?”
“I don’t know. But I intend to find out.” Jacob smiled. “Breakfast first. Somewhere obvious. Somewhere anyone who wishes can see the three of us—me and my escort, provided for me with their blessing, and you, my new love’s best friend. Plenty of places in the area. Let’s go for a walk and find good food.”
“Okay,” Jorge said slowly, frowning.
“Then Jasmine needs to check in with Natasha and assure her of my happiness and her own satisfaction with the arrangement—and I get to question the goons.”
“And...” Jorge pressed. “Me?”
“I think it’s fine if you come in today, just a cheerful dude happy to be with a friend.”
“It’s a plan,” Jorge said.
* * *
IT WASN’T DIFFICULT for Jacob to pretend to be out with friends. He liked Jorge very much and thought he was probably a damned good cop. He knew how to fit in to what he was doing, and he didn’t need to take the lead. He’d set up the tour for them yesterday in minutes flat and had managed to introduce him and Jasmine on the floor opening night at the club—at the end of a spray of bullets—without giving things away. Jacob also just liked the man.
And as for Jasmine...
He had to be careful.
When they were seated, Jasmine and Jorge were talking about Miami, and Jasmine was telling Jorge about their tour guide.
“He was a great guy—a super guide, knew his stuff,” Jasmine said. “Friendly and informative without being annoying.”
“Hard to imagine this place as a coconut plantation,” Jacob said.
“Hard to imagine the whole south of the state as a ‘river of grass,’” Jasmine said.
Jacob noted that there was a man seated at a far back table, eating and reading a newspaper. Watching them.
Jacob picked up his coffee cup and said softly, “Antonio Garibaldi is at the back of the restaurant.”
“We were followed here,” Jorge said casually.
“And here’s the thing,” Jasmine said, running her fingers up Jacob’s arm and smiling sensually, “we don’t even know who else might be in the employ of the new boss, be he Kozak or even someone else.”
Jacob leaned closer to her. “We need to find out who is calling the shots.” He planted a quick kiss on her lips and looked at her lingeringly. Then he stood. “Think I’ll visit the restroom.”
He headed to the back of the restaurant and the restrooms. But he made a pretense of stopping, as if surprised and pleased to see Garibaldi.
“Hey! I guess I did choose a good place, if you’re here,” he said. He pulled out the chair on the other side of the table and sat.
“Yeah, they do a great breakfast,” Garibaldi said. He was a big man with dark hair and a solid physique, built as a good bouncer should be. His eyes were quick and dark. His smile was pained.
“I’m really loving South Florida,” Jacob told him. “And getting to work with Kozak. Of course, I’m as sympathetic as anyone over Smirnoff. He was a good man. What the hell do you think happened? I mean, forgive me, I know you guys are good at your jobs. But how the hell did shooters get up on the balconies?”
Garibaldi looked uncomfortable—he was on the spot. Then he leaned forward. “Hell if I know. Seriously. From the beginning, it was planned that the balconies be roped off. Crowd control. And that day... Smirnoff was giving us our orders. I was watching the front, Suarez had the stage and Antonovich was moving through the crowd. There were cops all over, hired for the occasion. I’ll be damned if I can figure it out, and I’ve tried. Thing is, I was given my orders. The other guys were given their orders. We never saw anyone get up there.”
“There has to be an entrance from the offices,” Jacob said.
“Sure. There’s a door across from Smirnoff’s office. That way, when he chose to, he could be in his office, and when he wanted to be part of the crowd, he could come out on the balcony. The cops were all over it. But here’s the thing. The door is kept locked. There’s a key. And when the cops were all over the place right after the shooting, the door was still locked. Smirnoff kept the key.”
“Duplicate keys can be made. I’m sure the cops checked on that,” Jacob said.
Garibaldi shrugged. “Whoever may have had a duplicate key, I don’t know.”
“It was obviously well planned.”
Garibaldi appeared to be honestly confused. “You know, sure, it could have been planned. But it seemed like one of those bad things, you know. Some disturbed person just out to hurt anyone—and getting Smirnoff.”
“You don’t believe that, do you?” Jacob asked.
Garibaldi’s voice was soft and low. “I want to believe it,” he said.
“But you don’t.”
“Kozak told us last night that he’d given you permission to question us, see if you couldn’t figure something out. I’d like to help you. What do I know? I was in my position. And the shooting started. I was—well, hell. Hate to admit this. I was scared. I think I managed to get people out, get them down. But I got the hell out as fast as I could myself.”
“You were armed?”
“I was. But the best gun in the world doesn’t do you a bit of good if you don’t know what you’re supposed to be shooting at.”
He seemed to be telling the truth. Jacob never took anyone at face value, but he also noted the man’s expressions and body language. He’d have bet that he was being honest.
Garibaldi looked at him and seemed to judge him, as well. “I’m not in this for violence,” he said softly. “The money is good...” He shrugged. “I mind my own business and don’t care where it comes from. Drugs... People are going to buy them somewhere. The girls... They do what they choose. Natasha talked to Jasmine, and you all had an agreement. Cool. She seems to really like you. So, is that a crime? As for me, I do what I’m told and I keep my nose clean and stay out. I’m just security.”
“So you’re just supposed to report on us today?” Jacob asked him.
“Yeah. And it’s cool. It’s obvious you two have more than a business relationship going. That’s the way Josef Smirnoff always rolled. Kozak said that it will be business as usual. Of course, he’s scared now. Whoever killed Smirnoff could be gunning for him. That’s probably why he said you could talk to people. Though, I already told the cops what I told you. The truth.”
“Sure. Hey, next time you’re watching us, just join us.” Jacob shrugged. “She’s a cool girl and I like Jorge, too.”
“That wouldn’t be the way the game is played,” Garibaldi said.
“No, I guess not.” Jacob stood. “You’re a good-looking man with the right stuff. There are tons of other places on the beach that need bouncers, security. If this whole scene is too much for you.”
Garibaldi shrugged. “I screwed up once. Didn’t check an ID the way I should have. The girl’s parents caused a stink. Josef gave me a job. Said I didn’t need to ID anyone.” He laughed suddenly. “Garibaldi. Nice Italian name. I was born here, my parents were born here and my grandfather came over from Naples to run a tailor shop. No mob ties whatsoever. He was in Worcester, Massachusetts. And didn’t even have to pay anyone for a safe working environment.
“Alejandro Suarez, his family came over in the late 1880s. They were cigar makers up in Ybor City, Tampa area. And even Antonovich, he’s a third-generation American. We’re not...we’re not mob. We’re not mob-related. I’m here because I have a job. And I do it. Long hours, maybe, but so far, I haven’t been asked to do anything other than protect people, watch people and break up fights.”
“And what if you had to do something that was illegal?”
“It would depend on what that thing was.” Garibaldi hesitated a minute. Then he said quietly, “Hey, man, you’re buying art—that you haven’t even seen. And we all know about your past.”
Jacob nodded. “Yeah. But I play it the way Smirnoff played it. I don’t go in for murder. Gets messy—and gets the cops on you.”
“Yeah,” Garibaldi agreed.
“Sounds like you’re a good man. One I’d like to have on my side,” Jacob said.
“Thanks,” Garibaldi told him.
Jacob left him and returned to his own table. Jasmine and Jorge were having a conversation about the best spas in the area. When he sat down, Jasmine played it perfectly, stroking his arm.
He wished her touch didn’t seem to awaken every ounce of longing in his body.
* * *
NATASHA WAS WITH Kozak when they arrived.
Jacob was allowed admittance to Kozak’s office. Jasmine and Jorge were directed to the dressing room, where they were alone.
Jorge found a stereo system and turned on music. Phil Collins, “In the Air Tonight.” Fitting. Shades of the old Miami Vice that had really put the area—and many myths about it—on the map.
“Natasha is sleeping with Kozak,” Jorge said softly. “She might have been sleeping with Josef Smirnoff, too. At any rate, she was with him for years and years. Trusted. She could have gotten the key and had a copy made.”
Natasha came sweeping into the room. She saw Jorge and frowned slightly, then shrugged. “I suppose you say anything in front of Jorge,” she said. “Oh, by the way, Jorge, a man has been courting our business, one who may need some entertainment.”
“Ready when you are,” Jorge said.
