Undercover with the Mob. Elizabeth Bevarly

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      Chapter Two

      Through her dark glasses, Grace anxiously scoured the pedestrian traffic on Market Street. A cold front had moved in earlier, and she sat shivering in the lightweight denim jacket she’d hastily purchased yesterday, after she’d decided to go underground. Actually, it hadn’t been a decision so much as a necessity. She had to lay low if she wanted to stay alive. If she wanted to keep her mother alive.

      At the thought of Angeline, bitter tears stung Grace’s eyes, but she blinked them away. She couldn’t break down now. She had to stay focused, in control. She had to have a plan.

      If only there was someone she could call, someone she could turn to. Someone she could trust. But there wasn’t. After everything that had happened since two o’clock yesterday morning, when she’d narrowly escaped that burning warehouse, Grace knew she could rely on no one but herself. No one could save her mother but her.

      She suppressed another shiver as she tried to fight back her mounting despair. It was too cold to be seated outside, but she hadn’t wanted to be trapped inside the café. Out here, even with the coming darkness, she could at least watch the street.

      Picking up her cup of coffee, she cradled the warmth in her hands as she scanned her surroundings. A horse-drawn carriage ambled down the street, stirring bittersweet memories of the last time she and her mother had taken a carriage ride together. Angeline had been in the early stages of Alzheimer’s then, with only the occasional memory lapse to remind them that one day soon, there would be no such outings.

      Grace’s mother had always loved coming to Dallas’s West End, perusing the shops and dining in the converted warehouses. As Grace sat watching the street she and her mother had strolled together so many times in the past, a sense of desperation stole over her. Where are you? she cried silently. What have they done to you?

      Yesterday morning, just hours after Grace had fled the warehouse, she’d gone home from a meeting with Burt Gordon, her boss at the Examiner, to find that her apartment had been sacked. As she’d stood gazing at the wreckage of her personal belongings, her cellular phone had rung. When Grace answered, a male voice on the other end said, “Grace Drummond?”

      Something about the way he spoke her name made her blood go cold. “Yes?”

      “You have something I want.”

      “Who is this?”

      “You know who I am.”

      “Kane?” His name was barely a whisper on her lips.

      He gave a low laugh. “I understand you’ve gotten pretty chummy with one of my colleagues. Unfortunately, Alec met his untimely demise earlier this morning, but then, you already know that, don’t you?”

      Grace’s heart thundered in her ears. How had Kane known about her association with Priestley? Had Priestley talked? Had he sold her out before he died?

      She swallowed, trying to calm her racing pulse. “What do you want?”

      “Don’t play dumb. You know what I want.” Kane paused. “Tell me something, Grace. How long has it been since you talked to your mother?”

      The connection had been severed with a soft click, leaving Grace clinging to the telephone with a horrible dread. She’d immediately dialed the number of the nursing home where her mother lived, only to have the director tell her that Angeline had been transported by ambulance a short while ago to another facility as per Grace’s written request.

      Grace had given no such instructions, and when she’d called the new facility, they’d never heard of her or her mother. By that time, Grace was in her car, racing toward the nursing home. When her cell phone rang again, she lifted it to her ear without saying a word, knowing instinctively who was on the other end.

      “Now I have something you want.”

      Grace’s stomach rolled sickeningly. “Don’t hurt her. I swear to God, if you hurt her in any way—”

      “Cut the dramatics,” Kane said cruelly. “We both know you aren’t in any position to make threats. From here on out, I call the shots.”

      When Grace didn’t respond, he laughed. “You’re in over your head, little girl. I’ve got people in places you can’t begin to imagine. You talk to a friend, I’ll know it. You talk to the cops again—I’ll know that to. You understand?”

      Grace understood. Only too well. Her hand shook as she gripped the phone. In the last five years, she’d done a lot of research on the drug trade. Drug lords spent millions of dollars a year to keep cops on their side. Obviously, Kane was no exception.

      “You want to keep your mother alive, you keep your mouth shut.” His voice lowered dangerously. “If I so much as smell a cop nosing around that nursing home, or anywhere else, she’s a dead woman.”

      Grace СКАЧАТЬ