in through an interlocking underground system. First move, as was the case with the bluff property, was going to be tearing down all the old farmhouses and barns, but he'd decided to leave the stone marking walls in place to keep some character—provided they didn't get in the way.
He was feeling good about all of it, especially for the price he'd gotten everything for. Times were tough and his offers more than fair. Besides, he'd sent Tom to do the negotiating with the local Realtors, which meant those poor fuckers hadn't stood a chance.
Tom was his baby-faced killer. The guy was a Harvard MBA with a vicious drive—who happened to look like he was twelve. Sweet-as-apple-pie Tom had no problem posing as an environmental conservationist and making unactionable, verbal commitments to preserve land that was in fact going to be developed.
Well, he had no problem now. In the beginning, Vin had had to coach him into it, but as soon as the money had really started rolling in, the guy had gotten with the program and then some.
The pair of them had done the dog and pony show so many times, it was practically rote, with Tom going in and snowing the prospects with tree-hugger charm while Vin marshaled the money and got the permit and contracting side of things worked out. It was precisely how they'd gotten the property on the Hudson River, that quartet of old hunting cabins yielding the ten acres he was putting his grand house on.
When it came to his palace, he could have built anywhere, but he chose that peninsula because of the golden rule in real estate: location, location, location. Unless an earthquake shaved California off the West Coast, or every polar ice cap in Alaska melted, they weren't making more waterfront, and you had to think of resale.
Sure as shit in another couple of years, he was going to want something bigger and better than what he was building now and that was another thing he was coaching Baby-face Tom on: Tom was the one who was buying the duplex at the Commodore.
Nothing like bringing the next generation along.
Vin picked up the phone and called his lieutenant, prepared to advance the ball even farther with the Connecticut project.
“Thank you, ma'am. I think that's all we need right now.”
Marie-Terese frowned and glanced at Trez, who was sitting next to her on one of the club's velvet couches. As he uncrossed his legs as if he were getting ready to stand up, he seemed utterly unsurprised at how little time the questioning had taken—almost as if he'd prepped the police officer into keeping it short and sweet.
She looked back at the cop. “That's it?”
The officer closed his notebook and rubbed his temple like it hurt. “Detective de la Cruz is in charge of the investigation and he might have more questions later, but you're not a suspect or anything.” He nodded at Trez. “Thank you for cooperating.”
Trez smiled a little. “I'm sorry those security cameras weren't working. Like I've said, I've been meaning to get them fixed for months now. I have a log of malfunctions that I'd be happy to show you, by the way.”
“Well, I'll take a look at it, but…” The man rubbed his left eye. “But as you say, you have nothing to hide.”
“Not a thing. Let me see her out first and then we'll go to my office?”
“Sure. I'll wait here.”
As Marie-Terese walked off with Trez and they headed down the back hallway, she said quietly, “I can't believe they aren't going any further with this. I don't know why I even needed to come.”
Trez opened the rear door and put his hand on her shoulder. “I told you I would take care of things.”
“And you really did.” Her eyes searched the parking lot and she hesitated in the doorway. “So you saw that Vin came by.”
“That his name?”
“It's what he said it was.”
“He makes you uneasy.”
On a lot of levels. “You don't suppose he and his friend—”
“Killed those guys? Nope.”
“How can you be so sure?” She got her car keys out of her pocketbook. “I mean, you don't know them. They could have gone back and…”
Except even as she said the words, she didn't believe them: She couldn't imagine Vin and his friend being the killer or killers. They'd fought with those boys, sure, but they'd done that to protect her and had stopped before they seriously hurt them. Besides, Vin had been with her right afterward in the locker room.
Although God only knew exactly when the shootings had occurred.
Trez leaned in and gently stroked her cheek. “Stop it. You don't have to worry about Vin or his buddy. I get feelings about people and I'm always right.”
She frowned. “I don't believe those security cameras are broken. You'd never put up with that—
“Those two guys took care of you when I wasn't here. And so I take care of them.” Trez put his arm around her and walked her over to her car. “You see your Vin again, tell him not to worry about anything. I've got his back.”
Marie-Terese blinked in the bright cold sunlight. “He's not mine.”
“Of course not.”
She stared up at Trez. “How can you be so certain—”
“Stop worrying and trust me. When it comes to you, that man's heart is not dark.”
After everything she had been through, Marie-Terese had learned not to put her faith in what was said to her. What she listened to was the security alarm in the center of her chest—and as she looked into Trez's eyes, her inner warning bell was utterly silent: He knew exactly what he was talking about. She didn't have a clue how, but then Trez had ways, as they said…ways of finding things out and fixing problems and taking care of business.
So yeah, the police weren't going to see anything he didn't want them to. And Vin hadn't killed those two boys.
Unfortunately that pair of convictions gave her only a measure of relief.
Trez unlocked her door for her and then gave her back her keys. “I want you to take tonight off. This is tough stuff.”
She got in, but before starting the engine, she glanced up and spoke her greatest fear. “Trez, what if those killings have something to do with me. What if someone saw them with me, someone other than Vin? What if…they were shot because of me.”
Her boss's eyes grew sharp, like he knew every single thing she had never told him. “And who in your life would do such a thing.”
God, Trez knew about Mark. He had to. And yet Marie-Terese forced herself to say, “No one. I don't know anyone who would do that.”
Trez's stare narrowed like he didn't appreciate the lie, but was willing to respect it. “Well, you decide to answer that in a different way, you can come to me for help. And even if you decide to pull out of town, I need to know if that's the why.”
“Okay,” she heard herself say.
“Good.”
“But I'll be back at ten tonight.” She pulled her seat belt across her chest. “I need to work.”
“I won't argue with you, but I don't agree with you. Just remember, you see your Vin, you tell him I got his back.”
“He's not mine.”
“Right. Drive carefully.”
Marie-Terese shut her door, forced the Camry to start, and turned around. As she came out on Trade, she put her hand in the pocket of her fleece.
Vin diPietro's card was exactly where she'd put it after she'd found it tucked in her duffel, and as she got his information out, she thought of the way he'd looked this morning with his beaten up face and his smart, concerned eyes.
It felt odd to realize she was frightened more by what he might know, and not of what he might be.
