Watch Your Back (The Baltimore Series, Band 4) - Softcover

Über die Autorin bzw. den Autor

Karen Rose is the award-winning, #1 international bestselling author of some twenty novels, including the bestselling Baltimore and Cincinnati series. She has been translated into twenty-three languages and her books have placed on the New York Times, the Sunday Times (UK), and Germany’s der Spiegel bestseller lists.

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Chapter One

Eight years later

Baltimore, Maryland

Friday, March 14, 10:30 p.m.

The knock on his office door had Todd Robinette glaring at the dark wood panels. He didn’t ask who it was. He knew exactly who was there and why. When Robinette summoned, his staff came running. Fast. On any other day, for any other job, their dedication satisfied him. But not today. And certainly not on this job.

Go away, he wanted to snarl. I need to do this myself. Because if you wanted something done right . . . But he knew that wasn’t the reason. His employees were the best. They’d go in, do the job, and get out. No mess. No fuss. No nasty clues for bitch cops to find. No worries.

So don’t lie, asshole. At least not to yourself. He let out a slow breath. Fine. I want to be doing this myself. I want some mess. I want some fuss. I want the bitch cop to beg me for mercy.

That was the unvarnished truth. He wanted to see her dead, but that wasn’t enough. For eight long years he’d wanted to see her suffer. Because what she’d cost him war- ranted a hell of a lot more than the simple ending of her life.

I could do it. I deserve to do it. Nobody will know. No- body will suspect.

Except that one never knew when someone was watching—and all it took was just one overeager witness to send your world crashing around your ears, forcing a quick repair job. Quick repairs tended to be sloppy. Or, at least, very, very costly.

He’d learned that lesson eight years ago when he’d been on his own, just a guy with a job that hardly anyone paid attention to. It would be much truer now. He’d gained power, but with it had come visibility. Now he had board meetings and gave speeches to philanthropists. He couldn’t just wander off and kill anyone he wanted to anymore. Which sucked, actually.

On the other hand, all that visibility made for an un- shakable alibi, and luckily for him, all that power necessitated a staff. He had a public relations director, a security manager, and a director of product development—all experts in their respective fields. More relevantly, he now had a cleanup crew who specialized in eliminating threats. A smart man would let them do what they were paid to do and Todd Robinette was a very smart man.

He glanced at the single photograph on his desk. I’m a smart man who’s sacrificed far too much to lose it all now.

How many nights had he lain awake, worrying that his sacrifice hadn’t been sufficient? More than he wanted to remember, especially during that first year.

How many times had he fantasized about silencing her permanently? More than he could count, especially during this past year. The past twelve months had been hell on his nerves. But he’d kept his cool, stayed his hand. Because none of those times had been the right time.

But this is. This was not just the right time, but the perfect time. He might not get a chance like this again. It doesn’t matter who does the honors, as long as she’s dead.

When the knock came again, Robinette ground out, “Come in.”

Henderson, the most trusted member of his cleanup crew, closed the door and stood before his desk, eyes gleaming at the prospect of a new adventure. “Robbie, whatcha got for me?”

Robinette took a breath. “A new job.” He unlocked the cabinet behind his chair, pulled out a folder, and slid it across his desk, which, with the exception of a sleekly modern laptop, the single photograph in the silver frame, and a well-worn Rubik’s Cube, was an empty, polished slab of black granite. “Detective Stefania Nicolescu Mazzetti, Homicide. She goes by Stevie.”

Henderson studied Mazzetti’s photo, clipped to the folder. “May I ask why?”

She humiliated me. Nearly destroyed me. She taunts me by breathing. And she can bury me.

But he’d divulge none of those reasons. Nobody knew how close she’d come to taking him away in handcuffs. No- body that was still alive, anyway.

Robinette turned the silver frame so that Henderson could see the face in the photograph and gave the one reason that was no secret. “She killed my son.”

“Ah. So she’s the one who killed Levi.” Eyes narrowing with undisguised malice, Henderson committed Mazzetti’s personal profile to memory. “Anything else I should know?”

“Yeah. She’s on her guard. She’s been physically threatened three times in the last week. The first was an attack with a knife, the second, a big guy with an excellent right cross. This afternoon someone shot at her. They missed.”

“All of them missed? Were the attackers ours?” Robinette snorted. As if he’d allow such incompetence.

“Hell, no. This cop has more people mad at her than a gator has teeth. They fall down fightin’ and more pop up to take their place.”

“So our hit will be blamed on the other ‘gator teeth,’ ” Henderson said dryly.

“Exactly.” Which was why now was the perfect time.

“Did any of the three attackers escape?”

“The third one did, the shooter.” Which was to Robinette’s advantage. “She disarmed the man with the knife, then pinned him till the cops came. She did the same with the second guy, the fighter. The shooter ducked into a white Camry and drove away.”

Henderson looked reluctantly impressed. “She’s only five-three. She must be very skilled.”

“Unfortunately, yes. Which is why I picked you to go after her. You have better skills.” Specifically an Army sharp- shooter badge, amazing recall, a robotic ability to focus, and a cold-blooded tenacity that would put a dog with a bone to shame.

Back in the day, Henderson had been one of the few soldiers Robinette had trusted to watch his back. That hadn’t changed. What had changed was the flag they fought under. Long ago and far away it had been red, white, and blue. Now it was a hundred percent green. Benjamins, Lincolns, even Washingtons. Cold. Hard. Cash. It was the only thing that really mattered.

“I need Mazzetti taken care of,” he continued. “And you’re the best marksman I have.”

Henderson nodded once. “True. Why is everyone else after her?”

“Her old partner was on the take, paid by rich parents who wanted the crimes committed by their misunderstood darlings to disappear. He’d plant evidence against innocent people and arrest them for the crimes. He was damn good at it—until he got caught. Now he’s dead.”

“And she was in on it, too?”

“I think so,” he lied, “but nobody else seems to.” His life would have been so much easier had she been. “They’re after her because she’s trying to ‘right’ all of Silas Dandridge’s wrongs.”

Cold blue eyes flickered in recognition. “Silas Dandridge? I remember that name. An article about him came through my news feed when I was in the Sudan, so that would have been March, last year. He worked for that lawyer who controlled a whole team of dirty cops.”

“And ex-cons. Stuart Lippman was an equal opportunity employer, now equally dead.”

Henderson frowned, pondering. “The article said Lippman had it set up that if he died under ‘suspicious or violent circumstances,’ a record of all his operatives and the crimes they’d committed would be sent to the state’s...