Bad Guys Don't Win (Janet Maple Series Book 4) Page 4

  Janet eyed her busy schedule on the computer screen—she really needed to get cracking. She was working on three investigations at once, and if that weren’t enough, she had a lunch meeting with the wedding planner. Dennis was supposed to come with her, but she wasn’t counting on it—he’d said something about doing field research for one of his cases this morning before leaving her place at the crack of dawn. It was almost ten a.m. now, and he still wasn’t at the office, so it was unlikely he’d be able to tear himself away from his desk for a wedding appointment. On any other day Janet might have been bummed out, but not today. Dennis had redeemed himself last night, buying himself absolution for a few more skipped appointments. After all, what man was ever excited about wedding plans? Huff and puff as she might, planning a wedding with Dennis Walker for a fiancé wasn’t the worst of chores.

  Janet was about to start analysis for one of her cases when she remembered she was supposed to bring pictures of her dream wedding cake for her meeting with the wedding planner. She’d prepared a folder at home, which she now realized was right where she’d left it—on her credenza. Quickly, she did an Internet search for wedding cakes she and Dennis had previously picked and hit the print button.

  Just then the door of her office was thrown wide open and Dennis burst in.

  “Good morning,” she greeted him, swiveling in her chair. “How did it go?”

  “Have you seen the papers this morning?”

  Dennis dumped the paper on her desk with a thump. The headline read, Petr Kovar and Nephews Die in a Car Accident during a Transfer to a Jail Facility.

  Janet put the papers aside. “What a horrible way to go.”

  “Really?” Dennis paced the floor. “That’s all you have to say?”

  “Well, I don’t know— It does sound pretty horrible, even for the Kovars.”

  “That’s not what I meant.”

  “What did you mean, exactly?” She asked, a little exasperated and irked by the fact that Dennis was more interested in a stupid newspaper article than their wedding cake—he didn’t even notice the website on her screen. Yeah, sure they had both worked hard on the Kovars case, but it was old history. And now that the Kovars were dead, there was no point in rehashing it.

  “Read the rest of the article.” Dennis thrust the newspaper under her nose.

  Janet patiently read on, this time out loud. “Former Eastern Europe crime czar, Petr Kovar, and his nephews, Anton and Roman Kovar, were being transported to a different jail facility after reported attempts on the Kovars’ lives. During the transfer, the prison vehicle carrying the Kovars collided with an oil truck, resulting in a massive explosion. Petr Kovar and his two nephews, Roman and Anton Kovar, have been confirmed dead.” Janet paused and looked up at Dennis. “Like I said, pretty horrible. The Kovars were scumbags of the first degree, but even scumbags don’t deserve to be fried alive.”

  Dennis looked like he was going to explode. “Janet, wake up! Are you really not seeing it?”

  “Seeing what?”

  Dennis clasped his hands behind his head and groaned. “Will you listen to yourself? Do you have cotton in your ears and wool over your eyes?”

  “You’re acting like a maniac. Would you calm down and explain what’s going on?”

  “The whole thing was staged for the Kovars to escape!”

  “I don’t know how anyone could escape after being fried and blown to pieces,” Janet countered. Sometimes Dennis’s imagination got the better of him. “Look, I know you like to leave no stone unturned, but I’ve got something else I’m working on that I have to finish up before the lunch meeting with our wedding planner.”

  “Wedding planner meeting?” Dennis asked as though he was hearing about it for the first time.

  “I’ve told you about it several times. I assume you won’t be able to make it?”

  “Make it?” Dennis repeated distractedly.

  “I’ll take it as a no then.” Janet grimaced. “No worries. It’s only to discuss our wedding cake. I can take care of it.”

  “Wedding cake? I’ve just told you the Kovars escaped jail and you’re worrying about wedding cakes?”

  Now it was Janet’s turn to lose her patience. “First of all, I’m not worrying about just any wedding cake. I’m worrying about our wedding cake, which in case you’ve forgotten happens to be a pretty important part of a wedding. And if ours is ever to take place, we’d better get the ball rolling!” she finished in a much louder voice than she intended.

  “It’s all this wedding stuff—you’re so preoccupied with it, you’re losing your edge.”

  “Well, excuse me for trying to plan our wedding. Someone has to—”

  “What’s all this ruckus?” In the heat of their debate they failed to see Ham Kirk in the doorway. “What’s going on here?” Ham demanded, his hands on his hips.

  “Nothing,” Janet mumbled. “We were just discussing an old case.”

  “The Kovars are out on the loose.” Dennis pressed the newspaper into Ham’s chest. “All that hard work and not a year has gone by before they’re out on the street again.”

  Ham took out his reading glasses from his inside jacket pocket and turned his attention to the paper. For a few moments his face remained impassive as his eyes scanned the article. After he finished reading, Ham meticulously folded the newspaper and threw it into the garbage can.

  “Dennis, my boy, you have a very vivid imagination. It has served you well in this line of work, but I fear right now it’s becoming a liability.”

  “Excuse me, sir?” Dennis looked at his boss and mentor in disbelief. “Don’t you think it’s obvious there’s foul play—”

  “When it comes to investigations, I don’t think unless I’m paid to,” Ham cut him off. “And right now I have a long list of cases this agency is being paid to solve. Unless I’m mistaken, I don’t remember seeing a retainer for reopening the Kovars case. Therefore, I do not concern myself with the Kovars’ whereabouts, which appear to be otherworldly at any rate and beyond our control. I suggest you do the same.”

  “But sir—”

  Ham looked up sharply from beneath his reading glasses. “Don’t ‘but sir’ me, Dennis. We’re a private agency and we do the work we’re paid to do. Let the FBI worry about the Kovars—they certainly have the resources for the job. We’ve got our reputation to uphold—”

  “That’s exactly what I meant, sir,” Dennis interjected heatedly. “Janet and I both worked on the Kovars case and now they’ve made a mockery of our work. How can our agency have any credibility if the culprits we catch walk away scott-free the moment we lock them up?”

  “We don’t lock anyone up,” Ham corrected him. “We merely collect the facts needed to apprehend the offenders. We don’t detain them and we’re certainly not accountable for keeping them locked up behind bars—that’s the law enforcement’s job. And if you’re really concerned about our credibility, Dennis, I suggest you get cracking on the cases piled up on your desk. Try following Janet’s example for a change and focus on what’s important,” Ham added, clearly oblivious to the screenshots of wedding cakes on her computer screen, and left the room.

  “You should’ve just left the whole thing alone.” Janet instantly regretted her words—if there was one thing Dennis hated, it was being proven wrong.

  Dennis shrugged. “I guess Ham cares more about ringing the cash register than keeping the bad guys off the streets. But that doesn’t mean we have to be the same way.”

  “What can we do? Ham is our boss.”

  “Yeah, well, it doesn’t mean we always have to do what he says.”

  “You’re not going to do anything crazy, are you?” Janet asked, sounding a bit more panicky than she intended. “Neither of us can afford to get fired right now.” We have a wedding to plan, she wanted to say, but thought it would only add oil to the fire.

  “Don’t worry. Everything is going to be alright,” Dennis assured her, but the adamant look on his face told her it was going
to be anything but.

  “You’re not planning to go behind Ham’s back, are you? Because if Ham finds out, he’ll be furious—”

  “I’m not going to do anything crazy. I’ll just keep my ear to the ground, that’s all. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’d better start going through those cases on my desk.”

  With a sigh, Janet nodded. If there was one thing she knew about her fiancé, it was that it was useless to argue with him when he had his mind set on something.

  Chapter 5

  “Miss Brabec, Miss Walsh, everything seems to be in order,” the lawyer concluded. “If you could please just sign here and here,” he added, marking the spots with an X, “we should be all set.”

  Mila covertly wiped the unusually clammy palms of her hands on her thighs and reached for a pen. She never got nervous sweats, but today both her armpits and palms were oozing moisture. But then it wasn’t every day she was signing paperwork for a six-figure loan.

  “Amy, Mila, I’m so glad to be partners with you.” Philip shook their hands in turn. “I can tell this is going to be a very exciting and fruitful venture for all of us.”

  “So are we, Philip. So are we.” Amy flashed him a bright smile. “Now let’s get this baby signed.” Amy scribbled her signature in the indicated spots. “Your turn, Mila.” She turned the paperwork over to Mila. “Let’s make this official. I can’t wait to head over to the new spot and start construction.”

  Her throat too dry to utter a word, Mila clutched a pen with shaky fingers and scrawled her signature across from Amy’s. She pushed the paperwork away. “All set,” she managed.

  Philip squeezed her arm reassuringly. “Nothing is going to change, darling, you’ll see. Except for the fact that now you have the means to expand Amy and Mila’s to its next stage.”

  “I know.” Mila nodded. “I know.”

  “We’d better get moving.” Amy got up. “We don’t want to be late for our meeting with the contractor.”

  “After you, ladies.” Philip held the door of the conference room open for them. They were meeting in the headquarters of his company in Midtown, Manhattan. The meeting with the contractor was at Amy and Mila’s, which was an hour away. But with heavy traffic in the City, they’d be lucky to make it on time.

  After a quick elevator ride, the three of them exited the chrome and marble encrusted building lobby. Philip didn’t own the building, but his company occupied the better part of it, and its name was prominently displayed in the lobby.

  “My driver is waiting for us,” Philip informed them, holding the glass door open.

  As promised, a black Mercedes was waiting for them by the curb. A uniformed driver emerged quickly, opening the door and ushering Mila and Amy inside. The executive car model had plenty of room in the back seat for the three of them.

  Philip gave the driver the address and asked him to step on it.

  “I’ll do my best, sir, but the traffic has been horrendous today,” the driver informed them apologetically.

  “Isn’t this exciting?” Amy sounded like a school girl. “I could get used to a life like this.” She leaned back against the seat, stretching out her legs.

  “I dare say this calls for a celebration.” Philip reached for a bottle of champagne that had been left in an ice bucket, along with three champagne flutes. He popped the cork and Amy squealed with delight.

  Mila laughed along, but her laugh was forced. She couldn’t tell what it was, but somehow she just couldn’t seem to shake off the heavy feeling that had been bothering her all day. She felt bad about it, fearing Philip might think her ungrateful. Despite his assurances of how promising their business model was, she knew damn well he was taking a great chance on her and Amy, giving them the break of a lifetime. And she was grateful for it—she really was, but she was also terrified that she might not live up to the expectations, and the last thing she needed was Philip taking pity on her. At least that was the only reasonable explanation she could find for her sour mood.

  Philip handed Mila a glass of champagne. “To new and exciting things.”

  “That’s my kind of toast.” Amy clinked her glass against Philip and Mila’s and then proceeded to drain most of its contents in one long gulp.

  Mila forced herself to take a sip. She was so nervous, she worried she might throw up.

  “What’s the matter, Mila? Don’t you want to celebrate?” Amy nudged her.

  “I do.” Sensing Philip’s concerned glance, Mila forced lightness into her voice. “I just don’t want to get tipsy for our meeting with the contractor.”

  “Your lame excuse won’t work on me, or have you forgotten how many drinks we’ve had together?” Amy reminded her. “I don’t remember you being such a lightweight.”

  Obediently, Mila drained the rest of her glass. If she couldn’t shake off the gloominess keeping her down, she was going to drown it with alcohol.

  “That’s my girl.” Amy nodded approvingly. “How about a refill, Philip?”

  “Coming right up.” Philip refilled Amy’s glass and hesitated before refilling Mila’s. “You don’t have to drink if you don’t feel like it, darling,” he added—nothing ever got past him.

  “It’s all right,” Mila forced some cheer into her voice. “As long as Amy remembers all the details for the contractor meeting, we’ll be in good shape.”

  “I got it all down pat,” Amy shot back.

  After fifty minutes of stop-and-go traffic, they were finally approaching their destination. Amy and Mila’s was still a few blocks away when Mila noticed that several surrounding streets had been blocked off, with traffic being re-routed.

  “What are all those fire trucks and police cars doing here?” Mila asked, her stomach tightening.

  “Oh, it’s probably a false alarm,” Amy said. “I bet some geezer called 911 and the lot of them rushed to respond.”

  “I’m afraid this is the closest I can get, Mr. Barrett,” the driver informed Philip apologetically.

  “That’s all right, Joe. We can walk from here,” Philip said. “Ladies, shall we?”

  “It seems we have no other choice,” Amy said grumpily. “And here I was hoping to impress the contractor with your ride, Philip.”

  “Amy, you don’t need a fancy car to impress anyone,” Philip said. “I got the door, Joe, just stay put,” he instructed the chauffer.

  “The one day I decide to wear heels, I end up schlepping over these damn cobblestones,” Amy grumbled, ambling over the patchy stone pavement that was prevalent in the neighborhood.

  “It’s only a couple of blocks,” Mila said, feeling a genuine urge to smile for the first time since the morning—the sight of Amy hobbling along was enough to dispel even the direst of worries.

  They were a block away from Amy and Mila’s when Mila felt her insides tighten with increased intensity—the two adjacent streets were swarming with fire trucks, firemen, and policemen. Just as they tried to get closer to the building that housed Amy and Mila’s, a policeman stopped them. “There’s been a fire. This area is closed off.”

  “You have to let us through!” Amy demanded. “We own a bar in the building right on this block—”

  The policeman’s face softened. “My condolences, ma’am, but the building you’re referring to has been destroyed by the fire. The fire is under control, but we can’t let you onto the scene just yet. We would like to get your statement, of course. I’m going to need identification.”

  Mila squinted her eyes and felt her insides lurch—the fire had consumed Amy and Mila’s. The building was no more, with only smoke and ashes left. She looked at Amy, feeling as though she were in a nightmare and had somehow imagined the whole thing.

  Amy paled, her face turning ash-gray. “The entire building burned down? There has to be some mistake—it can’t be!” She broke off, sobbing.

  “Calm down, Amy.” Philip offered his arm for support. “Officer, it’d be greatly appreciated if we could discuss this matter somewhere more civilized. This is
a great shock.”

  “Yes, of course. Go down to the station and we’ll take your statement there,” the officer instructed them.

  “Mila, Amy, you heard the officer,” Philip said calmly. “Officer, if you could please give us the directions to the station?”

  “How did the fire get started?” Mila managed to ask after the policeman told them how to get to the station. Her throat was so dry, it felt as though it was going to crack from the effort of speaking.

  “Beats me.” The policeman shrugged. “We’ve been questioning the onlookers, but no one seems to have any useful information. You know how people are—they love to gape, but that’s about the extent of it.”

  Mila nodded, barely able to contain her tears. Amy and Mila’s had burned down to the ground and just like that they were out of business. Each day would be burning a huge hole in their pockets, catapulting them to a financial disaster. How on earth were she and Amy ever going to repay their loan now?

  Philip threw an irritated glance at the policeman. “Thank you, officer. You’ve been most helpful.” He squeezed Mila’s arm reassuringly. “Mila, Amy, please be calm. We’ll get to the bottom of this.” Philip quickly dialed a number on his cell phone.

  “Who are you calling?” Mila asked, awed by Philip’s coolness—you’d never guess that he’d just signed paperwork promising a six-figure loan for a business that had gone up in smoke.

  “My lawyer and a private investigator,” Philip explained and began giving brisk, precise instructions over the phone.

  ***

  It was almost eight at night when Mila walked into her studio apartment. Exhausted, she dropped her purse on the floor, shut the front door behind her, and pressed her back against the rigid surface, closing her eyes. To think that things could go so massively wrong in a matter of hours. One moment she was on top of the world, embarking on what she hoped to be an exciting and successful venture, and the next, all her hopes were crumbling. Of course it could always be worse. Having Philip for support was tremendous luck, but that didn’t mean she was going to take advantage of him. No, she was going to meet her obligations, fair and square. The only question burning in her mind was just how she was going to do it. She and Amy had bought fire insurance, but as always, insurance companies were very eager to sell you policies, which they were equally eager to avoid paying claims on. A preliminary conversation with the insurance agent had made it clear it was going to be a while before Mila and Amy would see a dime of their claim. Again, Philip told Mila not to worry—he’d hired a private contractor to watch out for any funny business on the insurance company’s part. Mila sighed, shaking her head. How easy it would be to simply rely on Philip and let herself drift along the tide—let someone else take care of all her problems. But she knew from experience that this kind of thinking would only bring more problems down the line.