Page 31 of Bare
“We did most of the deliveries together, you know that. Lots of cash. Some drugs. All little shit, and all through go-betweens. If we’d done a bust, some low-level criminal would have gotten probation, maybe done a year at most, and we’d have been blown. We weren’t under long enough for them to trust us with anything real.”
“What about the deliveries he did with Frankie? The ones to the gelato store?”
Footsteps sounded. He recognized the click of the bathroom door and the loud whir of the fan. If he didn’t get back out there soon, Rosemary would probably come check on him.
“I assumed they were the same. Phillipe never said anything different. If you know something, spill it.”
“Cool your jets, kid. I don’t know shit. I was just going over the op files and thought about those deliveries and how that gelato place is in the same building as Pannetone & Associates. Just seemed interesting.”
Yeah. It seemed really fucking interesting.
The toilet flushed.
“I have to go. I have to take Rosemary home.”
“All right, let me know if you find that notebook.”
“Get some sleep, Gary. And lay off the cigarettes. That shit will kill you.”
“Something kills everyone, my friend. Something kills everyone.”
Kemper’s response stuck with him long after he’d disconnected the line.
Chapter Ten
This had to be her ten of swords moment.
Rosemary sat in the same conference room she’d been in with Armando and Mr. Moresco last week, and just like last time, her armpits and head were sweating.
The low cabinets that ran the length of one side of the room were covered with Redwelds. The labels reflected the organizational system Armando required for all Pannetone & Associates files. The first label was always the name of the client. The second label was always the name of the project. The third and final label was a barcode.
Rosemary’s gaze darted back and forth from the glass wall in front of her that provided a clear view of the hallway and the files to her right. The files were separated into two groups. The first label on all the files readMoresco, Salvatore. The second label on one group of files readGirard Warehouse, while the second label on the other set readPenrose Warehouse.
She wiped a bead of sweat from her forehead. When she’d started at the firm, Armando had emphasized that she shouldn’t access any Moresco files without his permission. The fact that she was sitting here in this room—summoned to this meetingwith a red exclamation point Outlook invitation that contained no information other than the subject line “Girard and Penrose Files”— seemed pretty good evidence that she’d been caught violating that edict. Still, she was holding on to a sliver of hope. Maybe Armando wanted to review her work and had asked Lily to bring up the files in case they wanted to delve into more detail.
She could only hope.
Muted voices filled her ears. Her gaze shot up. Armando and Lily were heading down the hall. Armando’s arm was curled around Lily’s shoulder in what appeared to be a comforting gesture, and Lily’s eyes were red and swollen. They looked like old-fashioned typecasts: Lily, the pretty, picture-perfect receptionist in a pencil skirt, blouse, sweater, and heels. Today, the hair she normally wore free was pinned up, adding to the effect. Armando was the distinguished Italian lawyer: deeply tanned skin, slicked-back salt-and-pepper hair, dark pinstriped suit, and imported leather loafers.
Lily turned down the corridor that would take her back to her desk. Their eyes met as Lily rounded the corner, and Rosemary watched her sadness twist into a sharp glare. It looked like their brief truce was over.
She shifted her gaze toward the opening conference room door. Armando’s lips were thin and tight, his expression grave.
The sprig of hope she’d been clinging to dissipated.
She’d definitely been caught. She should have never asked Lily for help. Lily was an unhappy, dissatisfied person. She should have known she would rat her out. Sage always told her that she put way too much stock in “positive thinking, idealist, glass is half full crap.” Sage was way too pragmatic for Rosemary’s liking, but in this instance, her sister was right. Sage would never have trusted Lily, and it appeared that Rosemary shouldn’t have either.
A bead of sweat dripped down the side of her face. She could feel hair sticking to her face and neck. She rubbed the back of her neck, and her hand met hot, slick skin. Her body’s sweat response to stress was the absolute worst. Perspiration had probably already darkened the armpits of her baby-blue top. White and dark colors were safer for work, but Aleksei’s cute, flirty, good morning text had put her in such a good mood that she’d gone with a new, fun, fitted turtleneck. Another mistake.
Thump.
Armando’s hands thudded on the wooden conference room table as he took his seat. Her body jerked to attention, all thoughts of sweat and blue shirts fleeing like birds startled from a tree.
“I am a firm believer in keeping an open mind. I pride myself on not prejudging people or situations, but I’m having a difficult time doing that right now.” The hard lines of Armando’s face softened, and his shoulders slumped. “I’m also incredibly disappointed. I was extremely impressed by you, Rosemary. Not just your mind and the quality of your work, but also your enthusiasm and spirit, and what I perceived as true integrity. I thought you were trustworthy.”
She glanced down at her lap. Armando was talking about her in the past tense, as if he’d already written her off. Her morning coffee and muffin threatened to make a second appearance. She hated disappointing people she cared about. Absolutely hated it.
Yep. Definitely her ten of swords moment.
