LITMIR.BIZ

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was a brazen punk who deserved what he got.”

      “Unfortunately, the inquiry board may not see it the way you do.”

      “They know you’ve been under a lot of pressure working undercover, Clay. Coming face-to-face with Trimble put you over the edge.”

      “A mistake I shouldn’t have made.”

      “The chief said a road trip would do you good. ‘Blow off steam’ were his exact words. That was after I explained the inquisitive Violet Kramer needed to be stopped. Since she called you the other night demanding information on the mob, you’re our go-to guy. Plus, you’ve got a history with her.”

      “We had a couple run-ins in Chicago, nothing more.”

      “Okay, but she knows you. That helps. Call me if you find out anything new. When people push hard there’s usually a reason.”

      Clay thought of Eloise, who had been forced into Witness Protection, and Sylvia, who had turned her back on their marriage. He had lost both of them, but that was the past, and he needed to focus on the present.

      Currently, his number-one priority was ensuring Violet Kramer didn’t get hurt. Maybe he needed to change tactics. If he worked with her, she might let down her guard and tell him what she knew about the Martino family and the Montana murders.

      Some duties were easier than others. Hopefully, getting close to the feisty Ms. Kramer would be a piece of cake.

      THREE

      Clay wasn’t as convinced as Officer O’Reilly had been about tonight’s perpetrator running scared. If the guy took orders from the mob, he’d be back. This time, Clay would be waiting.

      He parked down the street from Violet’s house where he had a full view of her property, including the garage in back of the house and a portion of the surrounding yard.

      Violet turned on the rear flood lighting before the house lights flipped off.

      “Sleep well, honey,” he whispered.

      The backyard was swathed in brightness, which should deter anyone approaching from the alley. The night was still, and the sound of a car engine would travel in the frigid air. Clay’s mind wandered as the hours passed. He thought back to the foster home and Eloise who had tried to talk him into accepting Christ into his life.

      He’d taken the first steps and had become somewhat comfortable dialoguing with the Man upstairs until Eloise’s situation had taken a negative spin. Didn’t take long for Clay to reconsider his opinion of the Lord.

      A few bad choices only compounded Clay’s feeling of alienation. Married too young and divorced before he knew what being a husband was all about added to his hesitancy to depend on anyone, even God.

      Now he faced at least two more weeks of probation until the board of inquiry made their decision. “Slam dunk,” most of the guys on the force had said, slapping his back and praising him for the way he’d handled Cameron.

      Not what they would have done, of course. But then none of them had an ex-wife who had been pimped and mainlined with heroin until she didn’t know the difference between right or wrong.

      Clay let out a frustrated breath.

      After all that had happened, Jackson’s request had surprised Clay almost as much as hearing Violet’s voice the other night. Hard to imagine the FBI would want him to pay the sassy reporter a visit and that Chicago P.D. would let Clay go. Of course, every law-enforcement officer in the Windy City knew Special Agent-in-Charge Jackson McGraw usually got what he wanted.

      Clay’s cell phone chirped. He flipped it open, read the caller ID and smiled. “I was just thinking about you.”

      Jackson chuckled.

      “What’s up?”

      “I contacted the local chief of police after your last call. His name’s Walter Howard. Wanted him to know you were in town.”

      “Did you mention Violet?”

      “He knows her. They’re from the same hometown. I told him we were concerned the Mafia might be spreading its muscle into his neck of the woods.”

      “Which probably caught his interest.”

      “He said he didn’t need or want any more trouble. Seems the local P.D. has a retention problem. Slots vacated by older officers who’ve retired haven’t been filled. Younger guys sign on for a few years then transfer to better-paying lines of work. He’s understaffed and worried.”

      “Sounds typical of a lot of areas of the country.”

      “Despite the low recruitment, the chief said to call if you need anything. He sounds competent. Don’t hesitate to contact him, Clay.”

      “What about the Martino family?”

      “More activity at their compound. Change is definitely in the air. Just wish we had a better handle on how it’ll go down.”

      “Might be time to put a task force together.”

      Jackson’s silence was telling.

      “Okay. I get the picture.” Clay smiled. “You’ve already got one in place, right?”

      “Just proves, we think alike. I haven’t mentioned it before, but there’s a safe house in the local area. Worst case scenario, of course. Just keep her safe. I don’t want another woman killed in Montana.”

      Clay flipped his cell closed, the gravity of Jackson’s statement hung heavy on his shoulders. Clay had a job to do no matter how attractive Ms. Kramer happened to be.

      The sound of a car engine caught his attention. Clay trained his eyes on the road ahead. Headlights approached from a distance.

      The car swerved as it rounded the corner. A late-model SUV. The vehicle made a large swath around Clay’s car then pulled to a stop at the far corner. The driver cut the engine.

      The door opened, and a man dropped to the pavement. Illuminated for a moment by the interior lighting, Clay made note of the guy’s jeans, dark sweatshirt zipped over his chest and a beanie pulled low over his hair. He appeared close in height to the man Clay had chased earlier. Could he be the same guy, returning to drive home the point he’d tried to make with Violet?

      The man eased the driver’s door closed then glanced at the row of houses, his gaze lingering longer on Violet’s home than the other modest dwellings on the street.

      Clay’s gut tightened.

      Beanie-man headed for the shadows. The guy was definitely up to no good.

      Clay grabbed his cell and placed a call to police headquarters. The dispatcher said she’d notify a cruiser in the area.

      Silent as a cat, Clay crawled from his car and grabbed the guy from behind.

      “What the—” the punk groaned. He jerked but couldn’t pull free from Clay’s grasp.

      He shoved him toward the street and slammed him against his car. “What are you doing?”

      “Nothing, man.” He appeared to be about eighteen or nineteen.

      Clay tugged at his arms. “Don’t lie to me, kid. What’s your name and who are you working for?”

      “Jamie…my name’s Jamie Favor.” He shook his head. “I don’t work for no one.”

      A siren screamed in the distance. The sound grew louder. Flashing lights broke through the darkness as a cruiser turned on to the street and braked to a stop in front of Clay’s car. O’Reilly got out just as a second police sedan approached from the opposite direction.

      “Hey, man, I didn’t do nothing wrong,” the punk moaned.

      “Did you plan to break into someone’s house?” Clay demanded. “Frighten someone?

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