Even without the sartorial enhancement, he looked more like a retired insurance adjuster than a gangster with a murderous past. But Julia could see the edge underneath. Here was a man who could switch on the cruelty the way one would turn on a TV. A twist of his mouth, a slight narrowing of his eyes was all it took to transform him from the avuncular man of Erika’s youth into a killer.
Izzy barely took notice of him. She’d slumped to the floor, Erika’s words no doubt tumbling through her head, as they did in Julia’s.
I shot and killed your aunt Susie…
Erika, not David.
David, too, was in shock, but most certainly because Jimmy T had sauntered in with an air of complete authority. He lowered the rifle immediately. Judging by the fear in his eyes, he didn’t dare point a gun at his boss. The two sizable men who had followed Jimmy T into the home might have provided some added incentive. Both had buzz cuts and close-set eyes, hard looks that could have been perfected in prison. They wore large suits and were built like football players. It was hard to tell where their necks ended and their shoulders began.
“David, I’m not going to mince words,” Jimmy said. He didn’t bother to acknowledge Erika, the woman who’d grown up calling him Uncle James, in any meaningful way. Jimmy’s focus was reserved exclusively for his protégé, his demeanor calm and confident despite walking into a room with people held at gunpoint. Perhaps he’d become inured to anything that whiffed of violence.
“I’m here for my daughter,” he said. He had a powerful baritone voice that demanded respect. When this man spoke, you listened.
“Jimmy, what are you doing here?” Julia thought she heard David stutter.
“I just told you, dumbass. I came here for my daughter. Now where is she?”
The goons accompanying Jimmy T moved on David like two walls closing in.
Suddenly David remembered he had a gun. He backed up a step so he had proper distance to take aim. He picked Tweedledee over Tweedledum, but both men put their hands up.
“You know what you’re doing is dangerous,” said Jimmy. “Listen to me, you’re going to put that gun away and tell me where my daughter is. You can shoot one of these guys, but the other is going to snap your neck.” Jimmy’s voice was like ice. “Where…”
Blood lust sparked in his eyes. “Is…”
He balled his hands into fists as he took a threatening step forward. “Fiona?”
David lowered his weapon a second time, but then it was as if he suddenly snapped awake. He turned, aiming the gun not at the goons or Jimmy, but at Erika.
“She’s Cormac’s daughter, calls you her uncle. You leave now, or I shoot.”
Jimmy was unfazed. “David, you hurt her, I’m talking so much as a scratch, and I’ll rip your throat out,” he warned.
“I don’t know where Fiona is, so I’m dead anyway. Get out of here, Jim. Give me time. I’m trying to find her.”
Before Jimmy had a chance to answer, the sliding glass doors in the living room shattered. Julia’s eardrums nearly burst from the cacophony of breaking glass. Shards sprayed in all directions, but thankfully, nobody stood near enough to get cut.
Two men, dressed in navy blue windbreakers with ‘FBI’ stenciled on them, stormed in through the broken doors with guns drawn. Julia wrapped her arms around Taylor, shielding her from the onslaught.
“Down, down, down!” The agent pointed his handgun at David’s head.
David got the message. He relinquished his weapon without protest, dropping to the floor with his hands clasped behind his head. What choice did he have?
Jimmy threw his hands up with a look of annoyance like some jackass just spoiled a surprise party.
“Agent Cody and Agent Fulton. To what the fuck do I owe the pleasure?”
Both agents were like thinned-down versions of Jimmy’s muscle guys, with wiry builds, close-cropped hair, and the steely stare of ex-military men.
“Did you bring handcuffs for me?” Jimmy asked the agents, not showing a drop of concern. Julia guessed guys like him didn’t get ruffled even if they were riding in the back of a police car.
“Nah, Jim. You’re under surveillance, not arrest. Lucky for these folks, we followed you right to a crime scene. Unlucky for us, our cover is blown, so you can relax—for now.”
“Not until I find my daughter,” Jimmy said.
A moment later, Detective Baker, wearing a bulletproof vest over her button-down shirt, strode into the living room through the busted door, her gun drawn. Other police soon joined her, but the angry look she cast behind her wasn’t directed at anyone in uniform.
“I told you to wait outside,” she barked.
