“This isn’t funny, boss. Like I said, some fool blew up the club this afternoon.”
“When exactly did this happen? Did anyone get hurt?” Cain asked.
“Just before they hit your house. Dean and Paul were in the building,” Merrick answered. “They didn’t make it.”
“And Blue?”
“He’s fine. He was getting something out of his car.”
Cain took a painful deep breath and held it at the innocent-sounding answer.
“Don’t worry, I have someone looking,” Merrick said.
Emma put her hands up. “Could someone explain, please?”
“Blue is the manager of Emerald’s, and it’s just too much of a coincidence that he steps out of the building the second the place is blown to shit. There wasn’t a stud left standing, but he barely has a scratch on him. We have to check him out.” Merrick took a seat in the chair next to the bed and went on when Emma nodded in comprehension. “There’s more.”
“Of course there is. Get on with it,” Cain said.
“Muriel’s office was their next target after the house. I got a call just before I stepped in here. Thank God whoever’s responsible is waiting until the locations aren’t crowded before hitting them.”
“It’s a message,” Cain said softly.
“What, honey?” Emma asked. Throughout the whole talk she was just happy Cain was conscious to deal with the aftermath. She wanted to help but was smart enough to know she was out of her league.
“They’re sending me a message.” Cain looked at Emma, wanting to gauge her reaction to the reality of the coming weeks.
“What do you mean?”
“There’s no place safe for me to hide myself or my family.”
Emma’s hands flew to her mouth, and Cain thought she was trying to hold in the scream that wanted to come out. “What are we going to do?” The question sounded muffled.
“I won’t let anything happen to you or the kids.”
Locks of blond hair fell into Emma’s face when she nodded. “I’m not worried about that. I asked what we’re going to do.”
“First you have to believe me that we’ll get through this together.”
“I believe you. It’s just been a hell of a day.”
“Hell is coming, love, but it’ll take a bit of planning first.”
Chapter Five
When Muriel received the call telling her what had happened to her two junior associates, she squeezed the glass she’d been holding so hard that it shattered. She was sitting in Cain’s kitchen with two telephone lines going, having personally talked to everyone on her staff, from secretaries to file clerks, except for the two young attorneys.
Fortunately, the glass was the only victim of her Casey temper, and she hadn’t sliced her hand open.
“Just stay home tomorrow until we regroup. The files can be re-created from the backups in the safety deposit box, so stop worrying. Call me if you hear anything else.” Muriel put the phone down gently and pinched the bridge of her nose. She felt like hitting something, but now wasn’t the time for a meltdown.
“Who shot and killed the men on the street?” the detective standing in Muriel’s personal space asked.
“And you are?”
“I asked you a question first,” he replied, a smirk firmly in place.
“And I asked you one second. What difference does it make?” She stood up and took a step closer to him, getting him to take one back. Muriel was no stranger to intimidation tactics, but she was usually the one doing the intimidating. “Either state your name or get out.”
The slightly overweight man glared at her through slitted eyes before he acquiesced. “I’m Detective Newsome, and I’d like some questions answered, Muriel.”
“I didn’t realize we were on a first-name basis, Officer.” She rifled him a glare at the familiarity, making his dull brown eyes disappear further behind his lids.
“Ms. Casey, then. Who took out the guys on the street?”
“Our security people killed these men in self-defense. I gave someone with the police department all the necessary paperwork pertaining to gun permits and carry licenses. If you’ve walked through the upstairs, I’m sure your keen detecting skills deduced that we did not provoke this fight.”
His pen scraped along the notepad in his hand long after she finished talking. As a veteran cop he knew she could tell him precisely who had pulled the trigger, since each of the dead men had tight bullet patterns to the middle of his chest and forehead.
But this was Muriel Casey. Any information he would get out of her would be with a court order in hand. Like her infamous cousin, Muriel never volunteered anything.
