Читать книгу A Time To Protect - Lois Richer - Страница 11

Brendan Montgomery switched his beeper to vibrate and slid it back inside his shirt pocket. Nothing was going to spoil Manuel DeSantis Vance’s first birthday party—and this large Vance and Montgomery gathering—if he could help it.

Peter Vance’s puffed-out chest needed little explanation. He was as formidable as any father proudly displaying his beloved child. Peter’s wife, Emily, waited on Manuel’s other side, posing for the numerous photographs Yvette Duncan insisted posterity demanded. Posterity was greedy.

Judging by the angle of her camera, Brendan had a hunch Yvette’s lens side-tracked from the birthday boy’s parents to the cake she’d made Manuel. Who could blame her? That intricate train affair must have required hours to create and assemble. By the size of his dark brown eyes, little Manuel obviously appreciated her efforts.

“Make sure you don’t chop off their heads this time, Yvette.”

Former mayor Frank Montgomery had opinions on everything in Colorado Springs. Fancying himself Yvette’s mentor, he’d never been shy about offering her his opinion, especially on all aspects of picture-taking. But since Yvette’s camera happened to be the latest in digital technology and Frank had never owned one, Brendan figured most of his uncle’s free advice was superfluous and probably useless. Still, he wouldn’t be the one to tell him so.

“Don’t tell me what to do, Frank,” Yvette ordered, adjusting the camera. “Just put your arm around your wife. Liza, can you get him to smile?”

After so many years of marriage, Liza knew exactly how to coax Frank’s smile with just a whisper. Satisfied, Yvette motioned for Manuel’s godparents, Dr. Robert Fletcher and his wife Pamela, and their two sons, to line up behind the birthday boy. Then she began snapping.

Brendan judged more than heads would be missing in her photos, digital technology notwithstanding. Before he said something he shouldn’t, he eased his way into the living room. A horde of family members lounged around the room, heads tilted forward, focused on a news report on the big-screen TV.

“Alistair Barclay, the British hotel mogul now infamous for his ties to the La Mano Oscura drug cartel, died today in jail under suspicious circumstances. Barclay was accused of running a branch of the notorious crime syndicate right here in Colorado Springs. The drug cartel originated in Venezuela under the direction of kingpin Baltasar Escalante, whose private plane crashed a year ago while he was attempting to escape the CIA. Residents of Colorado Springs have worked long and hard to free their city from the grip of crime—”

“Hey, guys, this is a party. Let’s lighten up.” Brendan reached out and pressed the mute button among a plethora of groans. “You can listen to the newscast later, but we don’t want to spoil Manuel’s party with talk of drug cartels and death, do we?”

His brother, Quinn, winked and took up his cause. “Yeah, what’s happened with that cake anyway? Are we ever going to eat it? I’m starving.”

“So is somebody else, apparently.” Yvette appeared in the doorway, her flushed face wreathed in a grin. “Manuel already got his thumb onto the railway track and now he’s covered in black icing. His momma told him he had to wait ’til the mayor gets here though, so I guess you’ll just have to do the same, Quinn.”

A good-natured groan went up from the group.

“Maxwell Vance has been late ever since he got elected into office,” Fiona Montgomery said, her eyes dancing with fun. “Maybe one of us should give him a call and remind him we’re waiting. I’m willing to do it.”

“Leave the mayor alone, Mother.” Brendan shared a grin with his brother. “Max already knows your opinion on pretty much everything.”

Both Brendan and Quinn were well aware Fiona’s impatience had nothing to do with eating that cake. She simply couldn’t wait to watch Manuel open his gifts. Their mother was a sucker for any toy that moved and made a lot of noise. He and Quinn had often joked that whichever of them got married and had children first was going to have to curb Fiona of her penchant for shopping in the toy department. So far, neither of them had to worry.

“It may be that the mayor has been delayed by some important meeting.” Alessandro Donato spoke up from his seat in the corner. “This is the time when city councilors and mayors iron out their budgets, yes?”

“But just yesterday I talked to our mayor about that, regarding a story I’m doing on city finances.” Brendan’s cousin Colleen sat cross-legged on the floor, her hair tied back into the eternal ponytail she favored. “Mayor Max said they hadn’t started yet.”

Something about the way Alessandro moved when he heard Colleen’s comment set a nerve in Brendan’s neck to twitching, enough to make him take a second look at the man. Moving up through the ranks of the FBI after his time as a Colorado Springs police officer had only happened because Brendan paid attention to that nerve. Right now it was telling him to keep an eye on the tall, lean fellow named Alessandro, even if he was Lidia Vance’s nephew.

Something about Alessandro didn’t quite fit. Brendan wasn’t sure why he thought that, but it might have had to do with the fact that Alessandro was more European than American and took pains to show it.

Brendan closed his eyes and let his brain click through its mental files until he was reminded of what he did know about this family member.

Alessandro Donato said he was an accountant for the European Union, claimed he was working on some hush-hush business deal in Colorado Springs. Peter and Travis Vance were his cousins, but on the two occasions Brendan had spoken to them, both men seemed slightly wary of Alessandro, as if they didn’t quite trust him. Yet they barely knew him. So why—

A phone rang. Brendan chuckled when everyone in the room immediately checked their pockets. His grin faded when Alessandro spoke into his. Immediately the other man’s face paled, his body tensed. He murmured one word then listened.

“Hey, something’s happening! Turn up the TV, Brendan.” Everyone was staring at the screen where a reporter stood in front of City Hall.

Brendan raised the volume.

“Mayor Maxwell Vance was apparently on his way to a family event when the shot was fired. Excuse me, I’m getting an update.” The reporter lifted one hand to press the earpiece closer. “I’m now told that there may have been more than one shot fired. At this moment Maxwell Vance is on his way to the hospital. Witnesses say he was bleeding profusely from his head, perhaps also his chest, though that has not been confirmed. We’ll update you as the situation develops.”

Max’s children gathered around their mother as Lidia collapsed. Sons Peter, Travis and Sam began organizing who would be driving which family members to the hospital while Lucia, Jessica, Emily and Tricia decided who would stay home with the kids.

Brendan caught movement from the corner of his eye, saw Alessandro flip his phone closed and tuck it into his pocket. The other man rose and Brendan followed him, blocking his escape.

“You knew, didn’t you?” he asked, only then realizing that Alessandro hadn’t even glanced at the television before leaving.

“Excuse me. I have just received a phone call from a friend telling me about the attack on the mayor.”

“What else did they tell you, Alessandro?” He pinned the man with his coldest look, one he usually reserved for criminals he was interrogating.

“I only know the mayor was shot twice. No one seems to have seen whoever did it. My aunt needs me. I have to go. Excuse me.” Alessandro sidestepped him, made his apology to Yvette, then slipped out of the room.

Brendan watched him go with mounting suspicion. He was hiding something. But what? And why?

The jiggle of his own beeper sidetracked his thoughts. He tugged it out of his pocket. The number displayed was his office. He moved into a nearby bedroom, closed the door and flipped open his own cell phone.

“Montgomery. Yeah, I heard. One shot or two?”

“Two. One to the head. The other just missed his heart.”

So Alessandro’s source had been at the scene? “Sounds professional.”

“You think?” His boss’s voice brimmed with sarcasm. Duncan Dorne never minced words. “I thought we had this town cleaned up and now this happens. I want to know what’s going on, Brendan, and I want to know it yesterday. Take a good look at the scene, see if you can find somebody who knows anything, then get to the hospital. He regains consciousness and you’re the first one in there. Got it? This is top priority.”

“Okay, Duncan. I’m on it.”

Brendan managed to slip away from the house without much of an explanation. His family knew his job demanded his time at all hours—they even expected him to be called away from family functions. But nobody could have expected a hit on the mayor.

The nerve in his neck was really twitching now.

Something in this town was wrong and Brendan had an awful feeling that Maxwell Vance had been right: The folks in Colorado Springs couldn’t afford to become complacent just because they’d ousted one crime syndicate. Brendan knew from hard experience that there were plenty of others just waiting to get a foothold and continue the dirty business of drugs and weapons transport, among other things.

Brendan shifted into third, pulled past a group of joyriding teens and headed for downtown. Whatever was going on, he’d figure it out. He had to.

There was no way he was letting any organized crime syndicate back into his town. Not if he could stop it.

So they’d ordered Alistair’s death, gotten rid of him because he was of no more use—like garbage that needed to be tossed away.

Not a single tear betrayed the inner turmoil or sheer fury that flared inside. But like a steel shaft, revenge penetrated, burning away any inhibitions that might have caused a change in course. Alistair Barclay would be avenged.

The car engine roared, the town disappeared, for now. But not for long. Justice must be done, retribution paid. They thought they were so smart, self-righteous and smug. They thought they were immune, just as he thought it. Little did any of them know they were merely cogs in a wheel of reprisal that would crush them.

Only then would Alistair be avenged.

Maybe, then, this horrible aching pain would subside.