From Manhattan with Revenge (The Fourth Book in the Fifth Avenue Series) Read Free

him to the pavement so he was leaning against a car. He didn’t
look dead so much as he looked passed out. The owner watched all of it. When I
finished, I looked over at him and he just sort of shrugged and said, ‘Coffee?’
I declined.”
    “What about the other man?”
    “He was the challenge.”
    “How so?”
    “He came after me. He was younger. Faster.
In fact, he was really fast. We ran several blocks before I took a chance and
ran into oncoming traffic. I was lucky and made it to the other side. He was
unlucky and got flattened by a truck. End of story, at least for last night.
More is coming. Not just for me, but for both of us.”
    “You know I’ll be able to verify his
death.”
    “I expect you to. We need to get on the
same page, Carmen. I need you to trust me before they reach us. Or I can just
leave. We can tackle this individually. It’s up to you. But there’s something
to be said for joining forces and finding out why this is happening. Why do
they want us dead? Why did they kill Alex? We must know something they don’t
want us to know. Do you have any idea what that could be?”
    “I’ve been racking my brain since they
attacked us. I have nothing.”
    “Do you have any way to reach Katzev?”
    “Encrypted e-mails. Satellite cell
phones.”
    “Same here.”
    “We wait for them,” Carmen said. “But that
doesn’t mean I can’t find out more about him, maybe even where he lives. No one
is completely safe or invisible. We both know that.”
    She checked her watch, saw that it was
approaching midnight, and had an idea. She leaned toward the driver and raised
her voice above the music. “That was great,” she said. “The city is beautiful.
Would you drop us at the Waldorf?”  
    “Sounds romantic.”
    “I hear they have a great bar,” Carmen
said.
     

 
 
 
 
    CHAPTER
THREE

 
    When they arrived at the Waldorf Astoria’s
Peacock Alley Bar, each ordered a martini and a glass of water, though they’d
only touch the water. They bought the drink to satisfy the bartender.
    “They won’t think to look for us here,”
she said. “Let me make a phone call. Give me a few minutes and I’ll be back.”
    She maneuvered her way out of the bar,
took a right, walked down a corridor lined with Art Deco brass elevators on one
side and restrooms on the other before she entered the massive lobby.
    It was a Thursday night and it was late.
The few chairs along the periphery were empty. She chose one just beneath the
grand piano, which was elevated above her on the mezzanine, and sat down.
    There was only one person she knew who
might be able to help her through this—her colleague Vincent Spocatti. He
was the best in the business. He had more skills, instincts, and contacts than
anyone she knew. After working with him a year ago on a Wall Street job, she
hoped he wouldn’t mind a call from her now.
    She found his number on her cell and
dialed.
    If anyone knew anything about Katzev, how
she could get close to him or find out where he lived, it was Spocatti. And if
he didn’t know, he probably knew someone who would.
    “Carmen,” he said when he answered.
“Surprised to hear from you. What am I to read into that?”
    “That I’m in trouble.”
    “I heard about Alex,” he said. “Sorry. I
liked him. I also hear that you liked him.”
    She didn’t reply.
    “Where are you now?”
    “At a hotel in Manhattan. You?”
    “Behind some curtains at a house in
Capri.”
    “I see.”
    “What you should see are the views.
Stunning.”
    “If this isn’t a good time,
Vincent—”
    “The owner will be here soon, but we’re
fine for now. They said he might run late. What do you need?”
    “I need you to help me find someone. If
I’ve worked for him, you certainly have.”
    “Who is it?”
    “Katzev.”
    “The fake Russian?”
    “Katzev isn’t Russian?”
    “Scottish. He’s got the accent down,
though. I’ll give him that, even if he is a bastard.   Same goes for his former