ago.’
‘So the case is officially a kidnapping now,’ I said.
‘The case is officially a kidnapping.’
‘How much they asking for?’
‘Two million.’
I raised a brow. Hardly worth all the pain the kidnappers were going to suffer once they were found.
And I was pretty sure they would be found.
‘And?’ I asked.
‘And Mr Abramopoulos would like you to make the drop, when one’s arranged.’
More than my bare feet suddenly felt cold.
‘No.’
Bruno smiled and rocked back and forth in his chair. ‘It wasn’t a question, Miss Metropolis.’
‘What is it then? An order? Because the last time I checked, I wasn’t directly employed by the Abramopoulos firm. In fact, I’m not even indirectly being paid by it, either.’
‘It’s atonement,’ he said.
‘For what?’
Oh.
For calling and warning his ex.
Shit . . .
What had I gotten myself into this time?
A half hour later I was being unceremoniously dumped outside my apartment building, bare feet and all, and told I would be contacted once a drop had been arranged. Something that wasn’t expected for at least twenty-four hours, when the kidnapper was scheduled to call back.
By ‘contacted’, I assumed they meant collected in whatever state I was, at whatever time.
Probably I shouldn’t be in the shower.
The late model, black, four-door sedan’s tires spun on the ice before racing down the street in a cloud of exhaust.
I was strongly considering flipping it and its occupants the bird when red-and-white lights flashed behind me.
Damn.
Damn, damn, damn.
I slowly turned to watch Pino roll to a stop in the street in front of me.
Did the guy ever have down time? Was he on the job twenty-four/seven, for cripes’ sake?
Leaving the lights flashing, he got out of his car and walked toward me.
‘Metro.’
‘Pino.’
I scanned the neighbors’ windows, wondering if anyone else found the scene as ridiculous as it felt. Me, standing without a coat and barefoot on the ice in the middle of the street . . . Pino walking toward me as if I were some sort of dangerous criminal, his hand on his firearm.
Dino’s handsome face drifted through my mind. What must he have experienced when those Homeland Security officials – or FBI agents – or whoever had picked him up at the bakery, handcuffed him and taken him directly to the airport and put him on the first plane out. Had he been scared? Confused? Pissed?
I was guessing a combination of the three.
Pretty much what I was feeling just then.
‘OK, I’m thinking you should be just about ready to tell me what’s going on,’ Pino said.
Over his shoulder, I caught sight of another recently familiar sight.
Parked two cars behind him to the right, sat the Crown Vic, the exhaust smoke snaking through the cold air telling me my new friend was sitting inside, probably laughing at me.
‘Just about . . .’ I said non-committally. ‘Can it hold for a minute? There’s something I need to do . . .’
‘Sofie . . .’
‘A minute. That’s all I’m asking for. Sixty seconds. Can you give them to me? How far am I going to go without a coat and shoes?’
He stared at me speechlessly.
OK, maybe I was being hard on him. He’d had the bad fortune to be the closest available object and I needed to vent.
I cleared my throat. ‘Thanks. Be right back.’
I stalked around Pino and headed straight for the Vic. When I was about ten feet away, the driver figured out he might not like my intentions and the red taillights glowed against the car behind him as he put the Vic into gear.
‘Oh, no you don’t,’ I said, picking up my pace.
He hit the car behind him. Not hard, but hard enough to set off the alarm. I recognized the ten-year-old Chevy as belonging to the jarhead who lived across the street. The car was a piece of shit, but he treated it like it was a showpiece.
He was not going to be happy.
And when he wasn’t happy, nobody was.
I knocked on the driver’s-side window even as Pino came
‘So the case is officially a kidnapping now,’ I said.
‘The case is officially a kidnapping.’
‘How much they asking for?’
‘Two million.’
I raised a brow. Hardly worth all the pain the kidnappers were going to suffer once they were found.
And I was pretty sure they would be found.
‘And?’ I asked.
‘And Mr Abramopoulos would like you to make the drop, when one’s arranged.’
More than my bare feet suddenly felt cold.
‘No.’
Bruno smiled and rocked back and forth in his chair. ‘It wasn’t a question, Miss Metropolis.’
‘What is it then? An order? Because the last time I checked, I wasn’t directly employed by the Abramopoulos firm. In fact, I’m not even indirectly being paid by it, either.’
‘It’s atonement,’ he said.
‘For what?’
Oh.
For calling and warning his ex.
Shit . . .
What had I gotten myself into this time?
A half hour later I was being unceremoniously dumped outside my apartment building, bare feet and all, and told I would be contacted once a drop had been arranged. Something that wasn’t expected for at least twenty-four hours, when the kidnapper was scheduled to call back.
By ‘contacted’, I assumed they meant collected in whatever state I was, at whatever time.
Probably I shouldn’t be in the shower.
The late model, black, four-door sedan’s tires spun on the ice before racing down the street in a cloud of exhaust.
I was strongly considering flipping it and its occupants the bird when red-and-white lights flashed behind me.
Damn.
Damn, damn, damn.
I slowly turned to watch Pino roll to a stop in the street in front of me.
Did the guy ever have down time? Was he on the job twenty-four/seven, for cripes’ sake?
Leaving the lights flashing, he got out of his car and walked toward me.
‘Metro.’
‘Pino.’
I scanned the neighbors’ windows, wondering if anyone else found the scene as ridiculous as it felt. Me, standing without a coat and barefoot on the ice in the middle of the street . . . Pino walking toward me as if I were some sort of dangerous criminal, his hand on his firearm.
Dino’s handsome face drifted through my mind. What must he have experienced when those Homeland Security officials – or FBI agents – or whoever had picked him up at the bakery, handcuffed him and taken him directly to the airport and put him on the first plane out. Had he been scared? Confused? Pissed?
I was guessing a combination of the three.
Pretty much what I was feeling just then.
‘OK, I’m thinking you should be just about ready to tell me what’s going on,’ Pino said.
Over his shoulder, I caught sight of another recently familiar sight.
Parked two cars behind him to the right, sat the Crown Vic, the exhaust smoke snaking through the cold air telling me my new friend was sitting inside, probably laughing at me.
‘Just about . . .’ I said non-committally. ‘Can it hold for a minute? There’s something I need to do . . .’
‘Sofie . . .’
‘A minute. That’s all I’m asking for. Sixty seconds. Can you give them to me? How far am I going to go without a coat and shoes?’
He stared at me speechlessly.
OK, maybe I was being hard on him. He’d had the bad fortune to be the closest available object and I needed to vent.
I cleared my throat. ‘Thanks. Be right back.’
I stalked around Pino and headed straight for the Vic. When I was about ten feet away, the driver figured out he might not like my intentions and the red taillights glowed against the car behind him as he put the Vic into gear.
‘Oh, no you don’t,’ I said, picking up my pace.
He hit the car behind him. Not hard, but hard enough to set off the alarm. I recognized the ten-year-old Chevy as belonging to the jarhead who lived across the street. The car was a piece of shit, but he treated it like it was a showpiece.
He was not going to be happy.
And when he wasn’t happy, nobody was.
I knocked on the driver’s-side window even as Pino came
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