T is for Temptation (57 page)

Flummoxed, Alex surveyed the others.

“I,” he snarled and then asked, “Anyone know if there is an actual location?”

Jake shrugged.

Tee shook her head.

“Well, then, my point precisely. However, after much contemplation and perusal, I have come to the conclusion your Lord Internet’s electronic library is possibly the greatest source of information and the most absurd source of trivial nonsense.”

At once Alex issued a torrent of reasons Tiny couldn’t begin to comprehend the Internet, modern communications, or technological innovation. Tiny’s response, delivered in the toddler-correcting tone of an experienced parent, fueled Alex’s temper.

The doorbell rang.

Some snarled comment had Tiny springing to his feet and jabbing a thick finger at Alex’s chest.

The doorbell rang again.

Jake jumped between the two men as their voices escalated to barked shouts, and a slew of expletives wagered for dominance in the testosterone-tinged atmosphere.

The doorbell rang once more, a long, exasperated buzz.

Henry appeared, surveyed the macho face-off, and Jake, the referee, rolled his eyes, and ambled to the suite’s entrance. He slipped off the door chain and cut a glance over his shoulder. “It’s the pizza, honey. Can you get my wallet? It’s in my bedroom.”

The door slammed open, propelling him into the wall.

Three men rushed into the room, all wearing the uniforms of
Luciano’s Pizzeria.

“Jake, Alex, watch out!”

Green-and-white boxes clattered to the floor, their lids opening as containers flipped and spun. Grease, tomato sauce, and pie slices skittered along the hardwood flooring. The smell of garlic and dough careened around the room.

A strapping man held the door away from the wall and slammed it into Henry again.

He slid down the length of the doorframe, his eyes open, but dazed.

Tiny’s hand went to his waist, grasping for his sword. He swore lustily when he snatched at air.

Jake clenched his fists, his only thought to protect Tee. He took stock of the scene playing out before him and scrutinized each actor.

Alex’s gaze went to his
Land’s End
jacket, which lay on the sofa’s ridged back. The last time they discussed the Beretta, Alex indicated he had it in the side pocket of said jacket.

Jake remembered the trunk in the zippered pouch of the ski coat spread across the top of the armchair adjacent to the fireplace. He calculated the odds of reaching it and running to get Tee; infinity to none.

“Hell of a way to meet again, partner.”

The blood drained from Jake’s extremities. He shifted his head and met the glacial hazel eyes of Tony Trent.

Four other men flanked him, two on each side. Three carried machine guns, the other a handgun.

Trent
flicked a pistol with his thumb and forefinger, the movements deliberate, studied.

“Dad, are you all right?” Tee ran over to her father and slid her arm between his back and the wall. “Let’s get you to the sofa.”

One of the men standing by the door set a cold metal pistol at her temple.

Tee stilled. She glared at Tony. “Tell him to back off.”

“Still the dutiful daughter, are we?” He sneered and waved his gun. “Let her be.”

“Why are you here?” Jake’s belligerent shout worked, and Tony’s attention swung to him.

“You’re the only ones who know I’m still alive.”

“Wrong, but then you were never known for your genius.”

“Hit him.” Tony waved his black gun at the thugs.

Three moved towards Jake, the other remained at Tony’s side. All of them had olive complexions, dark eyes, raven hair, and defensemen builds, standing well over six feet.

Two men held Jake by his arms; another one punched him once, twice, three times in the gut.

Tee flinched with each blow.

Jake took the punches until she finished helping her father over to the sofa. As soon as Henry sat, he lashed out at the lout in front of him, twisting in the hold of the other two, and side kicking the other in the groin.

The man roared in a language Jake couldn’t identify and sank to his knees. He hit the floor and rolled to one side, curling into a ball, swearing like a wounded marine.

The other two men recovered swiftly and grabbed Jake, each holding one arm.

“Who else knows?”

“We’ve informed the relevant authorities.”

Splotchy beet stains washed Tony’s face, and he flipped the pistol so it pointed at Tee, stepped forward, and jammed the barrel against her temple.

“I believe you have something of mine, Wife. I want it back now.”

“I threw out everything that belonged to you.”

“Ah, yes. Our wedding picture’s gone missing, last time I checked. Where is it?” Tony tapped the gun against Tee’s temple, and she winced.

“Interpol took it,” Jake said. “They found the information about the account taped to the back of the picture. They decoded it. As we speak, the account’s being cleared.”

“And I can tell you exactly what they found. A paltry three mil. No other hooks, no other evidence. A solid dead end.”

“You wanted them to find that account,” Alex stated.

“Bingo, lawyer boy. I hear, Wife, you received a FedEx delivery a few nights ago.”

He, Tee, and Alex exchanged swift glances, and a yawning apprehension made Jake’s jaw drop. Blast, blast, blast,
 
The Perfect Blow Job,
book.

“Get the book, partner. I’m counting to ten, and then I start shooting. Joints first.”

“I’ll get it.”

The two men restraining Jake dropped their hold on him. He pivoted and marched into the bedroom. Spotting the book on the bedside table, Jake grabbed it and flipped pages. Chapter thirteen’s pages clumped together, and a swift separation showed they consisted of a series of numbers and letters. A listing of what looked to be over fifty separate bank accounts.

Tapping the book against a palm, Jake strode back into the living area. He waved the
PBJ
book. “Your partners know about this?”

“I look like a fool? Graziella and her brother are my fall guys for the money, and all they know about is the three mil account.
Constantine
will wind up killing them and learn nothing, and all that money will never be found. When
Constantine
’s bosses realize he can’t find the money, they’ll kill him.”

“The only way you’ll get away with it is by killing all of us,” Alex said his tone grim.

“And the problem is, lawyer boy?”

“You won’t get away with it.”

Jake caught the wince in Alex’s tone.

“Pitiful, lawyer boy, pitiful. Get him,” Tony ordered and jerked his head at the front door.

Surprised by this antic, Jake almost missed Tiny’s awkward trip over the ottoman. The move brought him within inches of the armchair and the trunk.

One thug strode forward, pointed the gun at Tiny, and waved him closer to the fireplace.

The lout guarding Alex swiveled, jog-walked to the door, and opened it. A sixth thug entered, shoving Inspector Flood, gagged and tied, in front of him.

Pinballs hit the jackpot and Jake stifled a groan. Tony had planned it well, wrapping up all the loose ends. Inspector Flood would be the fall guy for their murders, but he’d end up dead too. And with Graziella, Tony, and Constantine all taken out by their criminal counterparts, while there might be an investigation, it wouldn’t go anywhere.

Jake tried not to look at the pistol pointed against Tee’s temples.
Think, think, the trunk, Tiny had to get to the trunk.
The odds weren’t good; seven armed men against four with no weapons.

Tony sauntered to stand directly in front of Jake. “Is that all?” He waved his weapon under Jake’s nose. “That miniscule problem has already been resolved.”

“Don’t be a fool, Trent,” Alex sneered. “Even if you kill us, you’ll never get out of the
UK
.”

A forceful backhand connected, snapping Alex’s head to one side, and he stumbled, falling onto the sofa’s side.

Distraction.

“You think those Afghan drug lords will ever give up looking for their money? They’ll hunt you down like the parasitic coward you are. There isn’t a spot on this earth where you’ll be safe.”

“Cut it, Mathews. You’re so pathetic.”

“At least I can get it up with your wife.”

Tony’s complexion darkened, and his rusty eyebrows crashed together. He stepped forward and then halted, jaw clenched, knuckles whitening around the handle of the black pistol.

During those hair-on-the-neck-raising breaths, Jake tensed, ready to pounce.

Behind Tony, Alex’s fingers edged towards the
Land’s End
jacket.

All of the thugs focused on Tony, taut bow-string postures waiting for a command.

Out of the corner of one eye, Jake caught Tiny’s eye-blurring, mercurial stride to the front of the armchair. He snatched one sleeve of the ski jacket and stilled all movement when one of the thugs glanced in his direction.

Everything happened in less than two inhales.

Jake went for the gusto.

“I took your wife’s cherry, boyo. You couldn’t get it up with her, and I popped it. And guess what? I didn’t end up with Vikings. Do you think she’ll let you kill any of us?”

Tony’s nostrils flared, and he thundered forward, jerking to a halt inches away from Jake.

“Shouldn’t have done that, partner. Now, I’ll let you have the pleasure of watching me kill her.”

“You forget the Vikings? Tee’s a witch, Tony. You’re dead meat.”

Tony backhanded him across the face using the butt of the gun, Jake twisted away at the last second, but the weapon made contact anyway.

Jake fell against the wall and grinned through a split lip and the drops of blood flecking the corner of his mouth. Before he could issue another taunt, Jake caught a glimpse of Tee’s tight features, and the white-hot temper that flared in those amber eyes.

Now positioned behind Tony, she snatched up a rectangular crystal ashtray, leapt onto the coffee table, and hit Tony in the back of his head. She raised the glass above her head, both hands gripping the ashtray’s edges edges.

“Blast it, Tee,” the shout erupted from Jake’s lips.

Alerted, Tony twisted in her direction, and the blow glanced off his temple.

Alex yanked the Beretta out of the jacket’s pocket.

Tiny wrenched the trunk out of the ski coat’s inside pouch.

A shot rang out.

Jake sprang to his feet.

Tee leapfrogged onto Tony’s back.

Alex long-jumped to Tony’s side.