Ray told her she needed to be in the room when they proffered Mad Tony, but every deputy chief and supervisory special agent in Boston had already called dibs. Kathryn was too junior, and her request was denied. The truth was, she was relieved. The less she knew, the less they could force her to reveal.
“I was just about to head over to Villa Carlotta to meet up with the task force guys. You want to join? I’ll fill you in on the way.”
She raised an eyebrow. “Villa Carlotta? Really?”
“What, just because it’s a red sauce joint, you think it’s mobbed up?”
“Is that place mobbed up? Definitely.”
He laughed, not realizing how serious she was. “You should come along. If you can get in good with the task force, you’ll be set with cases for the rest of your career. Relationships matter in our line of work.”
Kathryn knew what kind of relationships those FBI hotshots wanted with her.
“Thanks, another time. I have work to catch up on.”
They said good night.
Back in her office, she closed the door and laid her head on the desk, feeling drained. After a moment, she noticed a buzzing sound coming from the locked lower drawer. The secure flip phone was hidden at the back, behind her handbag and makeup kit, her extra sneakers and box of tampons. She didn’t know what scared her more—answering or not answering.
Her heart pounded as she opened the phone. “Hello?”
“I need an update.”
She hunched over, shielding the phone as she whispered, her eyes on the door.
“What are you doing, Charlie? You know not to call me at work.”
“I’m supposed to know you’re still at work?”
“Assume I always am. I’m hanging up.”
“No. Wait.”
She’d warned Ray that bringing Charlie into this would be a disaster. He didn’t understand boundaries. When it came to Kathy, that problem was magnified a hundredfold.
I’d love to work with you myself, Ray had said. But you need a handler, and it can’t be me. Our connection is too well-established after all these years. It would look bad, be dangerous. You can trust Charlie. He’s family, but nobody knows that.
I don’t trust him. I haven’t seen him since high school. And he was never nice to me.
Kathy, the guy loves you like crazy.
Love? That’s not what I’d call it. He used to purposely walk in on me in the bathroom when I lived there. My own half brother.
I’m telling you, he’s very protective whenever your name comes up. There’s not a lot of choices for a handler. You won’t do better than him.
A handler. She should have known from Ray’s use of that term that they had more in store for her than a little information here or there. They wanted a full-blown spy. And now Charlie was calling, demanding that she comply.
“Go talk to McCarthy,” he said. “Bat your eyelashes, ask about his plans.”
“I can’t. Brad’s on his way to dinner with the task force guys.”
“Really? Where?”
That part, she could give up without guilt. The second the feds walked in the door at Villa Carlotta, someone would spill.
“They’re going to Villa Carlotta,” she said.
“No kidding. Did he leave yet? Maybe you can tag along.”
“I have work to do.”
“Stop dragging your feet, Kathy. People are beginning to notice. What kind of car does he drive?”
“Who?”
“McCarthy.”
“Why do you want to know?”
“To be honest, some people don’t trust you to give accurate information. I’ve been told to check the intelligence before passing it along.”
“Who are these people you keep talking about who don’t trust me?”
“Guys above my head. You’re better off not knowing names. Look, I don’t like it either. I got better things to do, but they’re gonna want me to drive by the restaurant to make sure he’s really there.”
“Fine. He drives a blue Volvo with a Red Sox sticker on the back,” she said. But the second the words left her mouth, she regretted telling. “You’re sure this is just to check my information? Nobody’s going to get hurt?” she said nervously.
“What, kill a prosecutor? You think I’m nuts?”
That rang true. The mob whacking an informant like Mad Tony was par for the course. But going after law enforcement was considered beyond the pale. It brought down too much heat. Even cops were off the table unless they were dirty, like Eddie, because then nobody cared. But a prosecutor as highly regarded and honest as Brad McCarthy would be considered untouchable.
Still. This was Charlie.
“You’re sure?”
“Will you stop? I would never do anything like that, and if I did, I certainly wouldn’t mix you up in it. Now, go have a nice dinner and don’t worry. I’ll call tomorrow to see what you heard. That’s all. Nothing more. Promise.”
That was fine. She’d go to the dinner, pretend that she tried and came up empty. He wouldn’t know any different.
They hung up. She threw on her coat and managed to catch Brad at the elevator.
At Villa Carlotta, Kathryn ordered their famous chicken parm but couldn’t eat it because she was so nervous. She drank like a fish, though. It was nearly eleven when dinner broke up. She was sweating Chianti, her head full of cotton wool. Those task force guys could talk your ear off. She’d learned a few tidbits that she could pass along without guilt. Things that wouldn’t get anyone hurt or compromise the case. They divvied the tab down to the last cent. In government work, there were no expense accounts.
“You need a ride?” Brad asked Kathryn as they got up from the table.
“I’ll take her, boss. It’s out of your way.”
The guy who’d spoken up was Morelli, one of the few Boston PD guys on a task force full of FBI agents. The feds didn’t trust him, which made Kathryn wonder.
“How do you know where I live?” Brad asked, narrowing his eyes.
“Family man, I figure you must be in the burbs. I’m right here in town.” Morelli put his hand on Kathryn’s arm insistently. “C’mon, I got you covered, Kathy. My car’s down the street.”
Kathy? Nobody in the prosecutor’s office called her that. Was he one of them?
She shouldn’t be seen leaving with him.
“No thank you, Detective. I’d prefer to take a cab.”
“Suit yourself,” he muttered, and walked out.
“Woohoo, she shut him down,” one of the FBI guys said.
“I’d prefer a cab to your ugly mug, Detective,” another guy said in a high-pitched falsetto.
There was guffawing. Brad shushed them. They walked out of the restaurant in a big, noisy group, lingering for a few last jokes. It was cool and crisp outside after the stuffy restaurant. She took some deep breaths. The agents went their separate ways, but Brad was still hanging around. She couldn’t look him in the eye, she felt so guilty.
“Hey, I apologize for the guys. They can be crass sometimes, but they don’t mean anything by it,” he said.
“Don’t worry about me. I can handle myself.”
He nodded. “Okay. Good. Get home safe.”
“Thanks. See you tomorrow.”
The North End late on a Tuesday night was quiet as the grave. There were no cabs in sight. No people either. Brad crossed the street, his wingtips ringing against the pavement. The blue Volvo with the Red Sox sticker also had those stick figures pasted on its rear windshield. A dad, a mom, two little boys, and a baby girl.
As she watched him take his key from his pocket, something nagged at her. Charlie claimed he needed the make of the car in order to drive by and confirm that Brad was at the restaurant. But Morelli had been there, too. Why not just ask him and confirm Kathy’s information without the bother of a drive-by? Maybe she was wrong about Morelli. Maybe he didn’t work for Charlie after all. Though he’d been strangely aggressive about giving her a ride. Why do that, unless …
He wanted to stop her from getting in that car.
A sick feeling swept over her.
No.
She ran toward the Volvo, waving her arms, screaming.