some heinous movie. They’d never go away. They’d haunt him forever.
And here was a mother who’d lain down her life for her child. How could he berate her for that? If Justin survived, it would be his mother’s love and tenacity that made it happen.
Marc had taken Amanda’s case before talking to his team. It had been personal to him from the start. It still was.
“I’m not going to kick you to the curb,” he said. “I’m going to tell you not to act without talking to us first, because impulsive acts rarely pay off, and because you hired us to do the job and do it right. I’m going to tell you that we need you to help us, not impede us. And then I’m going to buy you a large orange juice and an egg sandwich. You need protein and electrolytes. You’re about to collapse.”
Amanda nodded. “You’re right-about everything. Clearly, my first instinct was the right one. I never should have jumped the gun without talking to you first. I’m sorry.”
“You might have been surprised by our reaction. We’re not big rule-followers. We could have found a better way to pull off that video-a more controversial one, actually. One that could have pushed all the necessary buttons-while probably pissing off some people in the process-but that didn’t put us in the limelight. We could have set up a special toll-free number for the incoming phone calls. So don’t sell us short. You hired us because we’re the best. So let us be the best.”
A weak smile. “Point taken. And, speaking of being the best, I never had a chance to thank you. I just found out that your whole team had yourselves tested as potential matches for Justin. That was incredibly kind.”
“It was something we chose to do,” Marc replied.
“Nonetheless, I’m grateful.” Amanda drew a slow, exhausted breath, then rose. “I’ll take you up on that OJ and those eggs. I’m feeling really shaky. And Justin needs me to be strong.”
“Agreed.” Marc glanced at his watch. “Let’s head down to the cafeteria. I can only stay a few minutes.”
“Ah. You drew the short straw and had to deal with me first, then head straight back to the office to do telephone damage control.”
“Nope.” As always, Marc went for the no-bullshit approach. “Like I said, the phones are under control now. Yeah, some of us are pissed. Especially Ryan, who got woken from his beauty sleep by Yoda reporting an overheating server. He’ll get over it. We all will. But Casey thought I’d be the easiest one for you to talk to. And I’m not heading back to the office. I’m heading out to Southampton.”
“Southampton? Why?” Amanda looked startled, and then thoughtful. “Does this have something to do with your meeting last night with my uncle? Because I forgot all about it. How did things go? Did he ask you to come back and meet with the Town Board?”
Marc gestured toward the elevators. “Let’s get you fed. I’ll fill you in along the way.”
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
John Morano sat in his decrepit, run-down office and shoved aside the legal documents that Lyle Fenton’s attorney had drawn up. Frustrated, he rubbed his eyes, feeling the pressure deep in his gut. He popped two antacid tablets, washing them down with a bottle of water. He wished it were bourbon. But at 9:30 a.m. with an ugly confrontation about to occur, the last thing he needed was to have his faculties compromised.
He was taking a huge risk, and he knew it. Cutting off kickbacks to the Vizzinis could backfire big-time. They controlled the unions. Teamsters. Ironworkers. Even the service workers that would staff his hotel. As a result, they’d been controlling him. He couldn’t jeopardize this project, much less his life. But he couldn’t keep paying twenty grand every six weeks for nothing. There was only so far a dwindling cash balance could be stretched. And only so much manipulation he could successfully juggle.
He’d managed to get Fenton on board, which meant he’d get his permits-at a much steeper price than he expected. Talk about manipulation. Fenton’s rules. Fenton’s profits. Fenton’s investors.
And Fenton’s pressure.
Things were about to come to a head. And Morano had to keep his eye on the prize.
The door to his office swung open and Sal, the gruff workman aka slimy mob soldier who paid Morano collection visits, walked in. He was wearing jeans and a work vest, and he had his usual toolbox, although he wasn’t expecting to leave with it filled. It was weeks too soon for that. No, today was a different kind of scheduled visit, one that had been requested by Morano.
Sal shut the door behind him, grabbed himself a chair and sat down. He plunked the toolbox on the wooden floor and folded his arms across his chest. The fingers of his right hand brushed the top of his vest pocket, in close proximity to the gun that, no doubt, was concealed inside.
Morano intentionally avoided staring at the vest, instead fixing his gaze on Sal’s pockmarked face.
“What do you want?” Sal demanded.
“To renegotiate.” Morano got straight to the point, keeping his tone and his expression hard, his jaw set. “This time by my rules. We’re done. I’m finished paying. Tell your boss enough is enough. No more bullshit. I’m cutting ties. I’ve got other mouths to feed on this project. I’ve coughed up a fucking fortune to keep him happy. Time to move on.”
Sal’s dark eyes narrowed. “You’re making a huge mistake, Morano. You need us. And I don’t need to remind you what happened to Everett, do I?”
Morano went very still. “Is that a threat?”
“A threat?” Sal shrugged. “Call it a helpful suggestion from a concerned associate. What happened to Everett was an unfortunate coincidence. You’re not into unfortunate coincidences, are you?”
“No. But I’m also not into being bled dry. You got your pound of flesh-and then some. We’re more than even. I’m done with these visits. And I want the decks cleared for my project.”
“Not happening. And not smart,” Sal replied.
“Maybe not. But necessary.” Morano rose slowly, hands in front of him. “So that’s that. Now what? Do you plan on gunning me down?”
A crooked smile twisted Sal’s lips, as he, too, came to his feet. “Nope. I plan on delivering your message. I’m guessing you’ll be getting one in return.”
The parking lot outside Southampton Hospital’s brick building was crawling with press when the FI team drove in.
“Wow,” Casey commented drily. “Mercer’s whole PR department deserves a raise. The media here isn’t only from New York’s First Congressional District. It’s from all of Long Island, Queens and Manhattan. Which means the networks and cable will also pick it up.”
“Damn straight. And not just thanks to Mercer’s press office. All these reporters have probably seen Amanda’s video by now,” Marc reminded her, studying the crowd as Casey cruised along, looking for a parking space. “Mercer couldn’t ask for better publicity. The whole crowd is tweeting as they wait for his appearance. This altruistic act of his will be in everyone’s face in minutes.”
“How are we going to get close enough to him to accomplish anything?” Claire asked from the backseat of the van. “He’s going to have security around him when he arrives and when he leaves the hospital.”
“That’s not what our problem’s going to be,” Marc said with a frown. “FI is already on everyone’s computer screen as the go-to place for anybody with information on Paul Everett. We’re smack in the middle of this saga. The problem is going to be getting to Mercer without being bombarded by the media. Once they hear who we are, it’s all over. Not to mention Lyle Fenton, who’s sure to be showing up with Mercer. He’ll recognize us instantly and stand between us and the congressman.”
“Maybe we can pull this off without identifying ourselves.” Claire was thoughtful as she stroked Hero’s glossy neck. “At least not until we’re close enough to Mercer to keep our conversation private.”
Casey glanced at her in the rearview mirror. “I’m listening.”
“You two are the only members of the team that Lyle Fenton has met. No one knows Hero or me. And we’ve both learned how to be very good actors. Right, Hero?”