Page 88 of Taking Care of the Target

So he would play along with the FBI’s request when his name was released, but after the trial, he was out of here. He’d track down every single Kate Jones until he found Cassie. If she’d started a new life and was happy, he would leave her alone—and he told himself that was what he wanted. And that he could actually leave her alone. But if not, he’d find a way to make her happy.

His phone vibrated in his pocket, the ringer muted, and he glanced around before pulling it out.Allegra.Again. She’d left a message that Carlo wanted him to visit and was probably following up on the request.

Vince supposed he should go see his uncle to keep suspicion off himself, but he’d already experienced enough conflicting emotions over turning in Carlo. He’d testify in order to keep Cassie and Bobby safe, but he wasn’t going to sit down and play pretend with his uncle and deepen the betrayal.

He cleared his search history and logged off the computer. As he passed the bookshelves he paused. Maybe a good book would help him pass the torturously slow hours where Cassie crossed his mind more often than not. With a finger on top of one of the spines, he slid out the book and glanced at the exposed half of the cover.

A romance novel. Of course.

One of his good memories of Mom involved her telling him and Bobby stories around the dinner table. Most of them involvedamore prima vista. He’d thought love at first sight was a crock of shit, but he could still remember the first time he laid eyes on Cassie. An electric current had twisted through his body, firing even hotter when she smiled and pushed up her glasses. He should’ve known he was a goner right then and there. Turned outamore prima vistawasn’t crap after all.

He repeatedly told himself that staying with her would’ve been stupid, because it meant risking both of their lives—as well as Bobby’s—but right now he felt even stupider for not leaving a sure way to find her.

She’ll be better off. Me, not so much, but her…He shoved the book back in place. Nothing could keep his mind of Cassie.

When he returned home, he noticed footsteps in the snow that’d fallen this morning. There was his set going out, but there was another set going in. He reached for his gun, thumbed off the safety, and slowly opened the door.

He stepped lightly, careful not to make any sound, and swung his gun toward the creak to his left.

“Jeez, Vince! Put that away before you shoot someone, will ya?” Bobby grinned at him, his usual grin, but with the added color to his features and extra weight on his bones, it was a grin he hadn’t seen in years.

Vince strode over and threw his arms around his brother, and there in the kitchen, they clung on to each other for a solid minute. Both of them would take it to the grave, but he could tell he wasn’t the only one choked up. They slapped each others’ backs a few times to regain their control.

“I’m glad to see you, man, but I don’t think you should’ve come back here,” Vince said.

“I was careful. But I had to see if you were in Jersey.” Bobby leaned against the counter and crossed his arms. “Now, tell me what’s going on, because it looks like everything went to shit the second I left.”

***

Cassie told Owen to please tell Deanne she’d meet her at home. They tried to work the same shifts so they could ride together, as Cassie didn’t currently have a car. They usually got them, too, because they were tight with the owners.

Owen decided to be difficult and asked why she couldn’t tell Deanne herself, so she just yelled, “Thanks, bye,” like she hadn’t heard him, and took off.

As she pushed out the side exit of the restaurant, Cassie reached into her backpack and wrapped her fingers around the handle of the Glock. She walked as quickly as she could, watching her surroundings and checking for a tail. She knew she’d get in trouble for carrying a concealed weapon without a license, and she was going to try to get one eventually, but she figured it was better to be armed than sorry.

When the group of Italian men didn’t emerge from the shadows, and she’d made it a half-mile with no one trying to shoot her, she relaxed a fraction, but didn’t release her grip on her gun. She skimmed her gaze along the top of buildings, even though she doubted she’d see a sniper before it was too late.

As usual, brain, thanks for taking my worries to the next level.

Finally satisfied no one was lying in wait, she hailed a cab. The entire way home, she watched the vehicles behind her, which wasn’t easy to do in the dark. Once she arrived at her apartment, she cleared the rooms the way she’d seen Vince do, hoping she was doing an okay job of it.

After every nook and cranny was cleared—even the ones too small for a person to hide—Cassie grabbed Deanne’s laptop. She couldn’t find anything new on the upcoming trial, just the same article from before. Even though she’d read it a dozen times, her eyes still scanned through the paragraph about Carlo.

The fifty-three-year-old head of the clan, Carlo Rossi, was arrested along with his closest associates. The accusations include murder, conspiracy to commit murder, drug trafficking, and racketeering.

There was mention of confiscated assets and the theory that most of them would be charged with The Racketeer Influenced and Corruption Organizations Act (RICO). Cassie had searched up everything she could find on RICO. She’d smiled when an article said that New Jersey took RICO very seriously, then scowled at the screen when first-degree racketeering charges were only 10-20 years in prison and a fine up to $200,00.

Not that she wanted to serve twenty years or had the money to pay that kind of fine, but it didn’t seem like enough for a guy who threatened people with violence and guns, dealt drugs, and shot a person begging for his life point-blank in a back alley.

What if Carlo didn’t get convicted of murder? It didn’t seem right, and then ten years from now, she’d be constantly looking over her shoulder, the way she had to tonight.

What if Vince’s testimony isn’t enough? I could help.

The sound of a key sliding into the knob jerked Cassie into action. She cleared her search history and pulled up Google so she could pretend to be looking up something normal.

What was normal these days? She felt so out of touch with the concept of normal lately, even though she supposed the past six weeks she’d lived a life that might be described that way. All except for tonight when she got a reminder that several people out there wanted her dead.

Deanne gave her a stern, crinkled-forehead glare she’d never seen before—usually her roommate was all sunshine and rainbows. “Katie Jones, what the hell? You give me one of your tables and then leave without me? Tell me what’s going on with you, and you tell me right now.”

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