Damaged Goods

“That’s ridiculous.” David shifted in his seat so much, he could have been doing the hula.

“Who arranged for that sniper to take a shot at me?” I asked.

“I have no idea.”

Not even a hint of surprise or shock in his expression.

I rose and stood over him. “Were you trying to kill me, David? Or was it the Mob?”

He refused to look me in the eye.

“Must I kick your ass for answers?” I pressed on. A total bluff, but enough to make David squirm even more.

“No one wanted to kill anyone,” he said. “But when my father was murdered, I knew he’d done something to piss off his so-called business associates. They let me keep some of the stolen money, in exchange for keeping clear of them. The sniper and the photo of your friend . . . they were warnings. They wanted you to stop looking into everything. I wanted you to stop.”

“And that’s it, huh?” I said. “No hard feelings? No more attempts on my life—fake or otherwise?”

“Right.” David looked contrite. “Just leave us alone.”

There it was again. Us. “Where’s Melissa?”

David gawked at me. “She’s dead. You have her death record.”

I leaned toward him. “Bought and paid for with mob money. I checked with the Broward County morgue. Their records show a Jane Doe processed around this date, but nothing about Melissa. I assume it didn’t take much to buy this forgery.”

David sat up. He went round-eyed on me again.

“The feds aren’t going to stop looking for that money,” I continued. “The money you and Melissa took, because she wasn’t willing to wait for her trust fund. Right?”

He slumped and rubbed his face.

I heard a door open and turned toward the sound. Melissa stood in the entrance to the other room. She looked neither surprised nor angry, just tired.

Chapter Forty-Five

Melissa’s gaze locked onto mine. “Leave him alone. He’s just trying to protect me.”

I scrutinized her. “From what?”

She looked incredulous. “Have you met my father?” Her expression suggested a stench had enveloped her.

“Point taken. He’s not the easiest guy to like.”

“Ha!” She approached me, still wearing a look of disgust. “You don’t know the half of it.”

I held up a hand. “And I don’t want to know. Just know this. The feds are loo

king for the money you’re using to do your disappearing act. At some point, unless you leave their jurisdiction, they’ll probably find you. I did.”

Melissa’s expression morphed from disgust to mild gratitude. “I guess I owe you.”

I stood. “In that case, do me a favor. Forget that I was here. I’m done with your father and his father.” I cocked my head toward David Kandinsky.

“Sure,” Melissa said. She did me the huge favor of not feigning ignorance about what I meant.

“Great. By the way, I have no idea where you are or where you’re going, and I plan to leave it that way.” I turned to go.

My hand was on the knob when Melissa called out, “Thank you.”