(Chapter 5. Steve's office, a warehouse in another part of town, the beach
house, Emily's house. March 2, 2033.)
The intercom beeped, and Steve answered.
"Yes, Leigh Ann?"
"FBI Agent Ron Wagner is here to see you, sir."
Steve grinned and said gruffly, "Tell him to go away. I've never liked working with the Fed's."
Steve and Ron were old friends. At first, they hadn't gotten along very well, but they eventually found some common ground between them. It was a good thing, because after some false starts and a few difficulties, Ron and Amanda had eventually found some common ground, too, fallen in love, and gotten married.
He could hear the laughter threatening to spill over as Leigh Ann paged him back. It was an old joke to her.
"He says I'm to tell you if you weren't so yellow, you'd be a man and come out here and say it to his face instead of hiding behind a woman's skirts, Chief."
"Tell the coward if he wants me to say it to his face, all he has to do is come through that door," Steve said as he got up to come around the desk and greet his friend.
The door burst open, and Ron came charging in. Steve could see the horrified face of a junior officer sitting in his waiting room. Clearly, Arturo Cioffi had not caught the tongue-in-cheek tone of the conversation. Ah, well, he'd leave that for Leigh Ann to straighten out. She might as well get to know the kid now. He'd shown remarkable talent for data analysis on his aptitude tests, and was about to be offered a position on Steve's personal staff, but he didn't know that yet. Steve felt just a bit sorry for the kid. He probably thought he was in serious trouble right now.
"Hey, Ron, howya doing," he asked as he shook Ron's hand.
Ron put a finger to his lips and took out a small black box.
"Couldn't be better," he said as he scanned the room with the device and motioned Steve to continue the small talk.
"Glad to hear it," Steve said enthusiastically as he tried hard to keep the puzzlement and concern out of his voice. "I saw Amanda a couple weeks ago. You two had been keeping the grandkids. Have you caught up on your sleep yet?"
"Oh, yeah," Ron told him. "Fact is, I don't think we get to see them enough." He nodded and shut the device off. "Room's clean. Sorry about that, but I had to know we could talk. You'll understand why once you hear what I have to say."
"So, tell me, how are you really doing?"
Sighing, Ron took a seat.
"Not so good, Steve. I have a serious problem, and I need your help."
"Oh, yeah?" Steve couldn't resist a chance to tease. "What could the Fed's possibly require that only the lowly locals could provide?"
Meeting Steve's gaze straight on, Ron said, "The only cops in LA I know I can trust."
All humor left Steve's eyes. "What's going on?"
"That little cancer you guys thought you cut out a couple years ago appears to be back."
"The mob." Steve wasn't asking. He knew.
Ron nodded. "And it's spreading."
"In the bureau?"
"And the LAPD--still, and the U.S. Marshal's office, too. We also think they have someone informing from the witness protection program. We've lost three key witnesses in the last four months."
"Let me get Cheryl in here."
Ron shook his head. "She already knows, and I don't want to draw too much attention by having us all meet here."
At Steve's questioning look, he explained, "This all started while you and Maribeth were in Maui. Amanda threatened to kill me if I interrupted your vacation. I trust Commander Banks almost as much as I trust you, but there's no way I'm running this operation without bringing you in on it.
"Let me tell you what's going on…"
As Steve and Ron talked, another little drama was playing out in a warehouse across town.
"Aughhh!" The tall, lanky redhead threw her stopwatch across the room putting the full force of her body and all her frustration behind it, and the timepiece shattered into a thousand irretrievable pieces. "Too slow, too slow! We're all *dead*! Again!"
"Well, what do you expect?" Her second yelled, getting up in her face. "You screwed up the decoder to slow us down!"
"You should have compensated!"
"How?!"
"Kick the flippin' door in!!!!" She shouted at the top of her lungs and spread her long, well-toned arms wide to emphasize the obviousness of her suggestion. The thin gray tank top she wore stretched tight across her round, firm breasts with the gesture. The other men swallowed hard at the sight, but her second was too angry to notice.
"Oh, yeah, and lose the element of surprise. Smart move."
She rolled her eyes heavenward and pleaded, "Lord, why must I be surrounded by fools and innocents."
Looking at her second in command, she explained slowly and clearly as if he were dense.
"All data entered into the keypad is monitored. When a code is entered, an alert sounds in the security office, and if they haven't been previously notified about a visitor, they send someone to check it out. If everything runs *perfectly* we have only two and a half minutes to get in, get Moretti, and get out. As soon as the decoder shorted out, you should have tossed it, busted in, grabbed him, and hauled your tail *out* of there. You'd already lost your precious 'element of surprise'."
"Then why use the decoder at all," the second asked.
"Because it takes twenty-three seconds to check that there has been no prior notification that Moretti is expecting a visitor, and an additional five seconds to radio the guard on the hall. It only takes three seconds for that guard to step around the corner and blow you full of holes if he hears you busting in."
"Then we *should* try the decoder again."
"Wrong. It takes thirty seconds to reset the decoder, *if* it's working. That puts you two seconds down, and those two seconds are the difference between getting out alive and being sent home in a box. If we blow this, we're dead, and we go down as a footnote in history. The last dirty cops in LA, and the mob goes merrily on its way, taking over the city from the inside, leaving the good cops none the wiser."
She groaned, ran her hands through her copper curls, and said, "My shift starts in thirty minutes. The Chief's back from Maui, so I have to be on time. We meet back here at seven pm, and we'll run it again. And again, until you get it right. If anything blows up, you *better* go for broke, or I'm gonna *shoot* you and find someone else who can actually get the job done."
Her second locked eyes with her in a hard stare and held her gaze for a long time. Eventually, he blinked and nodded. He had to get going, too. He'd been late twice this week, and Captain Bentley-Wagner had got on him about it already. As the redhead stalked off to her sporty green Corvette, the men she had hired stowed their gear.
"Damn, she's hot," said Marino.
"Yeah, but what a bitch," Velasquez countered.
With a smirk, Marino asked, "Hey, Rossi, why d'you let her bust your balls like that?'
In a voice as cold and unemotional as the hiss of a snake, he replied, "Because until we have Moretti, she's our only way to get to him." With a cruel leer, Rossi finished his thought. "And once we've got him, I'm gonna kill her, so it will all be even soon enough."
Steve stared at Ron, shock and disappointment plain on his face.
"So, Emily's been working on this since she came to LA?"
Ron nodded.
"And no one in the LAPD had a clue?"
"Not a soul."
"And I hired her."
"Yep."
"I have to hand it to her. She's good. I swallowed her story, hook, line, and sinker."
Ron smiled at his friend sympathetically. "That was the plan, pal."
"So when are they moving him, and what do you want me to do?"
"We don't know when we'll need it, but I want you, personally and secretly, to prepare a safe-house. If we do this right, we can flush out the informers in the witness protection program, keep Moretti alive, and use his testimony to tear the Ganza Crime Family Tree out by the roots."
"And what about Emily?"
"You've got to let her do her thing until she grabs Moretti. She's the only one on the team who has any contact with the informant. Until they try to take him out, we've got nothing on anyone."
Steve nodded his understanding.
"Why's Moretti doing this? He's been in the family business what, fifty years? Why now?"
"His kid. Forty-odd years ago, he dated some girl and she had a kid. She knew what Moretti did, and for her it was fun and exciting to hang out with a Mafioso. When the baby was born, she realized it was just plain dangerous. She left him, started using her grandmother's maiden name, and raised the baby on her own in a little house in Van Nuys."
"I don't see where this is going, Ron," Steve said distractedly. He was much more concerned about the complications Emily was going to create for him and his family than he was about a mobster's reasons for going legit.
"Well, Moretti's in his sixties, now, and he wanted to leave a legacy. He never married and never had any more kids, so he tracked down his old girlfriend. She's buried in a little cemetery in Van Nuys. From there, he found the kid, and a grandkid."
"Connect the dots for me, Ron."
"Ok," Ron grinned, clearly enjoying himself. "The girl's grandmother's maiden name was Cioffi. She named the kid Alberto."
Steve snapped to full attention. "As in Captain Alberto Cioffi?"
"Yep. And Al's son is sitting in your outer office right now. From what I hear, he's going to be a helluva cop some day."
Steve nodded in agreement, then shook his head in confusion, and said, "This is just too weird, Ron. Just too weird."
"Tell me about it, but, hey, if my plan works, it will all be good in the end. Then we can kick him back to you to testify on the Donatelli murder, the attempted hit on Cioffi years ago, and, as I understand it, jury tampering in several cases that should have been slam dunks for the illustrious District Attorney's office."
Ron got up and extended his hand.
"I really appreciate this Steve. The way things are right now, I wouldn't trust anyone else to do this. With your help, we can get them all, and this will finally be well and truly over."
"Let's hope so, Ron. I never imagined it could get worse than what we had two years ago. Funny how whenever you think it's as bad as it can get, life can surprise you by getting even worse. I'll get on arranging that safe house right now."
Ron laughed and said, "Ain't it a bitch? See you later."
Steve nodded his agreement. Ron didn't even know the worst of it. He didn't know Steven's connection to Emily, and he sure as hell didn't know about Steve's relationship to her.
It truly was amazing how easily bad things could always get worse.
As she turned onto the freeway in her 'Vette, she flipped her cell phone open and placed a call.
"Rossi's going to be a problem, sir. He's fighting me. Questioning orders."
"You have to work with him. It's too late to replace him now. They're moving Moretti within the week."
"That's not good. I don't think we'll be ready."
"You have no choice. You have permission to deal with Rossi as you wish. Just keep him alive long enough to finish the job."
She sighed. She had the distinct impression she was in over her head. Oh, well, too late to back out now.
"Understood, sir."
Steve ran his hands over his face and groaned. He hadn't been sure what to do about Emily before. He was at a total loss now. There were no good options to begin with, and now that he knew she was involved in a plot to kidnap a protected federal witness, everything had gotten worse.
He'd finally arranged a safe house for Moretti. It wasn't spectacular, but it was as safe as it could be. Then he'd had Leigh Ann call in Cheryl and a few other trusted cops and explained what he could of the situation. None of them had been pleased to know they would be protecting a federal witness because the feds weren't sure who they could trust in their own organization any more.
He ran through his choices again.
He could confront Emily about her relationship with Steven, and ask her to stop seeing him. Unfortunately, if he did that, she'd want to know the reason why, and he just couldn't tell her the truth. He knew in his gut what the situation was, but he had no evidence to support his conclusion. He certainly couldn't tell her, 'I know you're going to kidnap Moretti, and I want to keep my son away from you.'
He could *order* Emily to stop seeing him and refuse to give her a reason, but she might refuse. That could create an ugly situation. He'd be impotent to enforce his order. Giving her extra shifts and a heavier workload in order to keep her too busy to see Steven would not only interfere with Ron's plans, it would also be illegal and could get him charged with harassment.
He could talk to Steven, explain that he knew Emily, and ask him to stop seeing her. He'd want to know the reason, too, but Steve could always tell him it would look bad for his father to have hired his girlfriend or that he didn't want his son to have to struggle with all the worries of loving a cop. Those flimsy arguments might work with the young man, but they were lies, and, because they had had to work very hard for many years to build a good, trusting relationship, Steve couldn't bear to lie to his son. If the excuses didn't work, there was no way he could tell his son the truth.
He could just *demand* that Steven dump Emily, without giving a reason, and ask his son to trust him that he'd understand why later. But that would just alarm Emily, and he couldn't take that risk. She couldn't know that anybody in the department was on to her. Until she got Moretti, she was the only link he and Ron had to the mobsters who'd infiltrated the LAPD and the Witness Protection Program. And Moretti was the only chance they had of cleaning the mob out of the FBI and the Marshall's office.
He could just wait and see what happened at the cookout, but then, after the kidnapping, when all the sordid little details came out, Steven would be hurt just that much worse. And he'd want to know why his dad hadn't told him, why he hadn't protected him. Steve wasn't sure he could face those questions. He wasn't sure he'd have any answer that was good enough.
He wished he could ask his own dad for advice, but he couldn't even begin to consider how to break the news to him.
There was only one thing he knew he could do right now.
"Sloan residence."
"Hey, sweetheart."
"Steve! What's up lover?"
He sighed deeply. God, this was hard already. What was he going to do tonight?
"Ummm. I need to talk to you about something. Just you. Can you ask dad to cancel the steaks tonight, and, uh, try to, you know, gently let him know we want to be alone this evening?"
"Are you ok, Steve?"
"Yeah, I'm fine, just…I need to tell you something. Tonight."
"Ok…I'll talk to your dad. You take care."
"I will, sweetheart. I love you."
'Funny', Maribeth thought, 'but that *I love you,* sounded a lot like *I'm scared*.
"I love you, too, Steve."
'Funny, but that sounded a lot like *I'm worried about you,*' thought Steve.
While the Chief was occupied in his office and the outer office was empty, Leigh Ann placed a call on her cell phone.
"Agent Wagner was here, sir. He spent a lot of time talking with the Chief."
"About what?"
"I'm not sure, sir, but after Agent Wagner left he spent a lot of time on the phone with a realtor."
"Probably arranging a safe house," her boss said. "Who was the realtor?"
"Joe Gary, sir."
"I know him. Anything else, Leigh Ann?"
"Yes, sir. When he was done with Mr. Gary, he met with Commander Banks, Captains Cioffi and Wagner, Commander Al-Mannai, and Captain Hong."
Leigh Ann heard her boss smile.
"They're definitely arranging a safe house. The LAPD is going to try to protect Moretti. Thank you, Leigh Ann. Keep me posted."
"Yes, sir. You know I will."
Maribeth sat on the couch beside her husband, holding his hand.
"And you thought I'd be upset?"
He shrugged. "I guess so."
"Because you loved her mother?"
He nodded.
He heard the smile in her voice though he couldn't bear to look her in the eye.
"Is she a good cop?"
"Very good."
"Then I'm glad she's there. I want you to have the best people available working for you. I want to know they'll keep you safe. From what you said, it sounds like her parents still think very highly of you."
He still did not look up.
"There's more."
"Oh?"
"She's…she's dating Steven." He heard an indrawn breath. "It was her house he'd spent the night at. I saw her family pictures while I was waiting for him to finish getting ready. He met her when she hurt her back moving in and went to the ER for treatment."
It wasn't exactly a lie. He had seen the pictures, he just didn't admit to having known before he got there whose house it was.
There was a long pause.
Then, "I see."
Another pause.
"Are they serious?"
Steve nodded. "He thinks so. He's already arranged with dad for a cookout this weekend. He wants to introduce us."
"What do you think?"
He tried several times to answer. He knew he'd have to put a stop to it sometime soon, but he didn't dare tell anyone why. He couldn't discuss Moretti, and he didn't want to mention the rest. Not until he had proof. Another half-truth was the best he could manage.
"I don't know. In a way, I hope they're not. I've seen what it's been like for you, dealing with my job over the years. I don't want him to have to go through that."
They sat in silence for a while. Maribeth finally broke it.
"It is hard, sometimes, Steve, loving a cop. But it's worth it. Don't interfere. Our son is old enough to know what he wants."
Steve nodded slightly then, letting his wife believe he would let matters take their own course.
"Steve, honey, look at me."
She waited a moment, and then growing impatient, she cupped his chin in her hand and made him turn to face her.
"If our son and Emily are that serious, if they make each other happy, then good for them. I hope we can be friendly with her parents, for the sake of the kids if nothing else, but don't worry about me, sweetie. After thirty years of marriage, I can safely say that I know beyond all doubt that you belong to me."
She smiled at him. He had to smile back. His wife had the sweetest smile he had ever seen.
"I don't care if you and Olivia become friends again. I don't even care if you still love her a little. She'll always have a little piece of you, and I can live with that. I can live with that because we have a *life* together. We share something she can never have a part of, and you gave me the one thing you never gave her, the one thing that will always bind us together. You gave me our bright, beautiful, wonderful, loving child."
Steve felt his guts wash with acid.
It was late. Her men were getting tired and cranky, she knew, but she also knew she had to keep pushing them. They *had* to be ready when the call came. They were improving, but they still couldn't quite get it right. They would only get one shot. *She* would only get one shot.
"Do it again."
Velasquez and Marino grumbled. Rossi rebelled.
"I've spent ten hours on the job, and five here. I'm going home."
She stepped in front of him.
"I said, do it again."
"Maybe you misunderstood me," Rossi said. "I said, fuck you."
She had never been the type of woman to slap a man, and she was not about to make an exception now. A powerful right jab split his lip and her laid her knuckle open to the bone. A thundering left laid him out cold. Then she went over to the hose they had used earlier to simulate rainy conditions, turned the water on full blast, and sprayed it on his face to bring him around.
"I said, do it again."
Rossi got up, chagrinned, and simply nodded. He dabbed at his bleeding lip with the back of his hand and looked daggers at her, but he said not another word. They continued their practice until midnight.
After the men left, she looked around the warehouse to make sure she was alone. Then she dialed her cell phone.
"Yeah?"
"Do we know when, sir?"
"Not yet. Have you dealt with Rossi?"
"For now, yes, but I have a hunch he's going to stab me in the back."
"Then I suggest you watch your back."
"Yes, sir."
Steven was drifting in limbo. Since he'd moved in with Em, he found it hard to sleep properly when she wasn't there with him. In the two weeks since she'd been hired by the LAPD, she'd been out a lot of late nights, and he missed her. The sharp hiss of an indrawn breath pulled him from his restless, not-quite-slumber.
Squinting at the light coming from the open door to the master bath, he saw Em trying to bandage her hand. Looking at the clock, he saw that it was nearly one thirty. He got up, wiped the sleep from his eyes, and walked to her.
"Let me do that."
She looked at him, a bit embarrassed and said, "Sorry. Didn't mean to wake you, love."
"It's all right. I wasn't really sleeping anyway."
He gently removed her clumsy bandage, intending to wash the cut and wrap it neatly for her, but he gasped at what he saw.
"Jesus, Em! What happened?"
"A little trouble on the job, is all."
"My God, honey. You should have gone to the ER and had it stitched up." The knuckle was swollen and bruised, and blood still oozed from the puffy edges of the cut. "Give me a minute to get dressed, and I'll take you in."
"Steven, no. I'm tired. It's been a long day. You've got a suture kit in your bag. Just take care of it here. Please?"
He eyed her carefully, and sighed in surrender.
"Ok, but I'm going to give you some antibiotics and *I want you to take them*. I also want you to come by the hospital on your lunch break tomorrow for me to check this out again, got it?"
Smiling, she said, "Yes, sir."
As he washed and stitched the wound, he knew it had to hurt like hell. The topical anesthetic he'd had in his bag wasn't nearly enough to dull the pain of the needle and suture material being pulled through raw skin. To her credit, the only signs of Em's pain were the occasional deep breath and the tight line of her compressed lips. She didn't flinch once.
He gave her some antibiotic capsules and a few extra bandages.
"Take one capsule every six hours," he told her, "and keep the cut clean and dry. If it gets wet, change the bandage, and *don't* be too proud to ask for help if you need it."
"Understood, sir," she said with another smile.
"You'll see me at lunch tomorrow?"
"Yeah. Promise. Now, let's get to bed."
"Good idea."
The intercom beeped, and Steve answered.
"Yes, Leigh Ann?"
"FBI Agent Ron Wagner is here to see you, sir."
Steve grinned and said gruffly, "Tell him to go away. I've never liked working with the Fed's."
Steve and Ron were old friends. At first, they hadn't gotten along very well, but they eventually found some common ground between them. It was a good thing, because after some false starts and a few difficulties, Ron and Amanda had eventually found some common ground, too, fallen in love, and gotten married.
He could hear the laughter threatening to spill over as Leigh Ann paged him back. It was an old joke to her.
"He says I'm to tell you if you weren't so yellow, you'd be a man and come out here and say it to his face instead of hiding behind a woman's skirts, Chief."
"Tell the coward if he wants me to say it to his face, all he has to do is come through that door," Steve said as he got up to come around the desk and greet his friend.
The door burst open, and Ron came charging in. Steve could see the horrified face of a junior officer sitting in his waiting room. Clearly, Arturo Cioffi had not caught the tongue-in-cheek tone of the conversation. Ah, well, he'd leave that for Leigh Ann to straighten out. She might as well get to know the kid now. He'd shown remarkable talent for data analysis on his aptitude tests, and was about to be offered a position on Steve's personal staff, but he didn't know that yet. Steve felt just a bit sorry for the kid. He probably thought he was in serious trouble right now.
"Hey, Ron, howya doing," he asked as he shook Ron's hand.
Ron put a finger to his lips and took out a small black box.
"Couldn't be better," he said as he scanned the room with the device and motioned Steve to continue the small talk.
"Glad to hear it," Steve said enthusiastically as he tried hard to keep the puzzlement and concern out of his voice. "I saw Amanda a couple weeks ago. You two had been keeping the grandkids. Have you caught up on your sleep yet?"
"Oh, yeah," Ron told him. "Fact is, I don't think we get to see them enough." He nodded and shut the device off. "Room's clean. Sorry about that, but I had to know we could talk. You'll understand why once you hear what I have to say."
"So, tell me, how are you really doing?"
Sighing, Ron took a seat.
"Not so good, Steve. I have a serious problem, and I need your help."
"Oh, yeah?" Steve couldn't resist a chance to tease. "What could the Fed's possibly require that only the lowly locals could provide?"
Meeting Steve's gaze straight on, Ron said, "The only cops in LA I know I can trust."
All humor left Steve's eyes. "What's going on?"
"That little cancer you guys thought you cut out a couple years ago appears to be back."
"The mob." Steve wasn't asking. He knew.
Ron nodded. "And it's spreading."
"In the bureau?"
"And the LAPD--still, and the U.S. Marshal's office, too. We also think they have someone informing from the witness protection program. We've lost three key witnesses in the last four months."
"Let me get Cheryl in here."
Ron shook his head. "She already knows, and I don't want to draw too much attention by having us all meet here."
At Steve's questioning look, he explained, "This all started while you and Maribeth were in Maui. Amanda threatened to kill me if I interrupted your vacation. I trust Commander Banks almost as much as I trust you, but there's no way I'm running this operation without bringing you in on it.
"Let me tell you what's going on…"
As Steve and Ron talked, another little drama was playing out in a warehouse across town.
"Aughhh!" The tall, lanky redhead threw her stopwatch across the room putting the full force of her body and all her frustration behind it, and the timepiece shattered into a thousand irretrievable pieces. "Too slow, too slow! We're all *dead*! Again!"
"Well, what do you expect?" Her second yelled, getting up in her face. "You screwed up the decoder to slow us down!"
"You should have compensated!"
"How?!"
"Kick the flippin' door in!!!!" She shouted at the top of her lungs and spread her long, well-toned arms wide to emphasize the obviousness of her suggestion. The thin gray tank top she wore stretched tight across her round, firm breasts with the gesture. The other men swallowed hard at the sight, but her second was too angry to notice.
"Oh, yeah, and lose the element of surprise. Smart move."
She rolled her eyes heavenward and pleaded, "Lord, why must I be surrounded by fools and innocents."
Looking at her second in command, she explained slowly and clearly as if he were dense.
"All data entered into the keypad is monitored. When a code is entered, an alert sounds in the security office, and if they haven't been previously notified about a visitor, they send someone to check it out. If everything runs *perfectly* we have only two and a half minutes to get in, get Moretti, and get out. As soon as the decoder shorted out, you should have tossed it, busted in, grabbed him, and hauled your tail *out* of there. You'd already lost your precious 'element of surprise'."
"Then why use the decoder at all," the second asked.
"Because it takes twenty-three seconds to check that there has been no prior notification that Moretti is expecting a visitor, and an additional five seconds to radio the guard on the hall. It only takes three seconds for that guard to step around the corner and blow you full of holes if he hears you busting in."
"Then we *should* try the decoder again."
"Wrong. It takes thirty seconds to reset the decoder, *if* it's working. That puts you two seconds down, and those two seconds are the difference between getting out alive and being sent home in a box. If we blow this, we're dead, and we go down as a footnote in history. The last dirty cops in LA, and the mob goes merrily on its way, taking over the city from the inside, leaving the good cops none the wiser."
She groaned, ran her hands through her copper curls, and said, "My shift starts in thirty minutes. The Chief's back from Maui, so I have to be on time. We meet back here at seven pm, and we'll run it again. And again, until you get it right. If anything blows up, you *better* go for broke, or I'm gonna *shoot* you and find someone else who can actually get the job done."
Her second locked eyes with her in a hard stare and held her gaze for a long time. Eventually, he blinked and nodded. He had to get going, too. He'd been late twice this week, and Captain Bentley-Wagner had got on him about it already. As the redhead stalked off to her sporty green Corvette, the men she had hired stowed their gear.
"Damn, she's hot," said Marino.
"Yeah, but what a bitch," Velasquez countered.
With a smirk, Marino asked, "Hey, Rossi, why d'you let her bust your balls like that?'
In a voice as cold and unemotional as the hiss of a snake, he replied, "Because until we have Moretti, she's our only way to get to him." With a cruel leer, Rossi finished his thought. "And once we've got him, I'm gonna kill her, so it will all be even soon enough."
Steve stared at Ron, shock and disappointment plain on his face.
"So, Emily's been working on this since she came to LA?"
Ron nodded.
"And no one in the LAPD had a clue?"
"Not a soul."
"And I hired her."
"Yep."
"I have to hand it to her. She's good. I swallowed her story, hook, line, and sinker."
Ron smiled at his friend sympathetically. "That was the plan, pal."
"So when are they moving him, and what do you want me to do?"
"We don't know when we'll need it, but I want you, personally and secretly, to prepare a safe-house. If we do this right, we can flush out the informers in the witness protection program, keep Moretti alive, and use his testimony to tear the Ganza Crime Family Tree out by the roots."
"And what about Emily?"
"You've got to let her do her thing until she grabs Moretti. She's the only one on the team who has any contact with the informant. Until they try to take him out, we've got nothing on anyone."
Steve nodded his understanding.
"Why's Moretti doing this? He's been in the family business what, fifty years? Why now?"
"His kid. Forty-odd years ago, he dated some girl and she had a kid. She knew what Moretti did, and for her it was fun and exciting to hang out with a Mafioso. When the baby was born, she realized it was just plain dangerous. She left him, started using her grandmother's maiden name, and raised the baby on her own in a little house in Van Nuys."
"I don't see where this is going, Ron," Steve said distractedly. He was much more concerned about the complications Emily was going to create for him and his family than he was about a mobster's reasons for going legit.
"Well, Moretti's in his sixties, now, and he wanted to leave a legacy. He never married and never had any more kids, so he tracked down his old girlfriend. She's buried in a little cemetery in Van Nuys. From there, he found the kid, and a grandkid."
"Connect the dots for me, Ron."
"Ok," Ron grinned, clearly enjoying himself. "The girl's grandmother's maiden name was Cioffi. She named the kid Alberto."
Steve snapped to full attention. "As in Captain Alberto Cioffi?"
"Yep. And Al's son is sitting in your outer office right now. From what I hear, he's going to be a helluva cop some day."
Steve nodded in agreement, then shook his head in confusion, and said, "This is just too weird, Ron. Just too weird."
"Tell me about it, but, hey, if my plan works, it will all be good in the end. Then we can kick him back to you to testify on the Donatelli murder, the attempted hit on Cioffi years ago, and, as I understand it, jury tampering in several cases that should have been slam dunks for the illustrious District Attorney's office."
Ron got up and extended his hand.
"I really appreciate this Steve. The way things are right now, I wouldn't trust anyone else to do this. With your help, we can get them all, and this will finally be well and truly over."
"Let's hope so, Ron. I never imagined it could get worse than what we had two years ago. Funny how whenever you think it's as bad as it can get, life can surprise you by getting even worse. I'll get on arranging that safe house right now."
Ron laughed and said, "Ain't it a bitch? See you later."
Steve nodded his agreement. Ron didn't even know the worst of it. He didn't know Steven's connection to Emily, and he sure as hell didn't know about Steve's relationship to her.
It truly was amazing how easily bad things could always get worse.
As she turned onto the freeway in her 'Vette, she flipped her cell phone open and placed a call.
"Rossi's going to be a problem, sir. He's fighting me. Questioning orders."
"You have to work with him. It's too late to replace him now. They're moving Moretti within the week."
"That's not good. I don't think we'll be ready."
"You have no choice. You have permission to deal with Rossi as you wish. Just keep him alive long enough to finish the job."
She sighed. She had the distinct impression she was in over her head. Oh, well, too late to back out now.
"Understood, sir."
Steve ran his hands over his face and groaned. He hadn't been sure what to do about Emily before. He was at a total loss now. There were no good options to begin with, and now that he knew she was involved in a plot to kidnap a protected federal witness, everything had gotten worse.
He'd finally arranged a safe house for Moretti. It wasn't spectacular, but it was as safe as it could be. Then he'd had Leigh Ann call in Cheryl and a few other trusted cops and explained what he could of the situation. None of them had been pleased to know they would be protecting a federal witness because the feds weren't sure who they could trust in their own organization any more.
He ran through his choices again.
He could confront Emily about her relationship with Steven, and ask her to stop seeing him. Unfortunately, if he did that, she'd want to know the reason why, and he just couldn't tell her the truth. He knew in his gut what the situation was, but he had no evidence to support his conclusion. He certainly couldn't tell her, 'I know you're going to kidnap Moretti, and I want to keep my son away from you.'
He could *order* Emily to stop seeing him and refuse to give her a reason, but she might refuse. That could create an ugly situation. He'd be impotent to enforce his order. Giving her extra shifts and a heavier workload in order to keep her too busy to see Steven would not only interfere with Ron's plans, it would also be illegal and could get him charged with harassment.
He could talk to Steven, explain that he knew Emily, and ask him to stop seeing her. He'd want to know the reason, too, but Steve could always tell him it would look bad for his father to have hired his girlfriend or that he didn't want his son to have to struggle with all the worries of loving a cop. Those flimsy arguments might work with the young man, but they were lies, and, because they had had to work very hard for many years to build a good, trusting relationship, Steve couldn't bear to lie to his son. If the excuses didn't work, there was no way he could tell his son the truth.
He could just *demand* that Steven dump Emily, without giving a reason, and ask his son to trust him that he'd understand why later. But that would just alarm Emily, and he couldn't take that risk. She couldn't know that anybody in the department was on to her. Until she got Moretti, she was the only link he and Ron had to the mobsters who'd infiltrated the LAPD and the Witness Protection Program. And Moretti was the only chance they had of cleaning the mob out of the FBI and the Marshall's office.
He could just wait and see what happened at the cookout, but then, after the kidnapping, when all the sordid little details came out, Steven would be hurt just that much worse. And he'd want to know why his dad hadn't told him, why he hadn't protected him. Steve wasn't sure he could face those questions. He wasn't sure he'd have any answer that was good enough.
He wished he could ask his own dad for advice, but he couldn't even begin to consider how to break the news to him.
There was only one thing he knew he could do right now.
"Sloan residence."
"Hey, sweetheart."
"Steve! What's up lover?"
He sighed deeply. God, this was hard already. What was he going to do tonight?
"Ummm. I need to talk to you about something. Just you. Can you ask dad to cancel the steaks tonight, and, uh, try to, you know, gently let him know we want to be alone this evening?"
"Are you ok, Steve?"
"Yeah, I'm fine, just…I need to tell you something. Tonight."
"Ok…I'll talk to your dad. You take care."
"I will, sweetheart. I love you."
'Funny', Maribeth thought, 'but that *I love you,* sounded a lot like *I'm scared*.
"I love you, too, Steve."
'Funny, but that sounded a lot like *I'm worried about you,*' thought Steve.
While the Chief was occupied in his office and the outer office was empty, Leigh Ann placed a call on her cell phone.
"Agent Wagner was here, sir. He spent a lot of time talking with the Chief."
"About what?"
"I'm not sure, sir, but after Agent Wagner left he spent a lot of time on the phone with a realtor."
"Probably arranging a safe house," her boss said. "Who was the realtor?"
"Joe Gary, sir."
"I know him. Anything else, Leigh Ann?"
"Yes, sir. When he was done with Mr. Gary, he met with Commander Banks, Captains Cioffi and Wagner, Commander Al-Mannai, and Captain Hong."
Leigh Ann heard her boss smile.
"They're definitely arranging a safe house. The LAPD is going to try to protect Moretti. Thank you, Leigh Ann. Keep me posted."
"Yes, sir. You know I will."
Maribeth sat on the couch beside her husband, holding his hand.
"And you thought I'd be upset?"
He shrugged. "I guess so."
"Because you loved her mother?"
He nodded.
He heard the smile in her voice though he couldn't bear to look her in the eye.
"Is she a good cop?"
"Very good."
"Then I'm glad she's there. I want you to have the best people available working for you. I want to know they'll keep you safe. From what you said, it sounds like her parents still think very highly of you."
He still did not look up.
"There's more."
"Oh?"
"She's…she's dating Steven." He heard an indrawn breath. "It was her house he'd spent the night at. I saw her family pictures while I was waiting for him to finish getting ready. He met her when she hurt her back moving in and went to the ER for treatment."
It wasn't exactly a lie. He had seen the pictures, he just didn't admit to having known before he got there whose house it was.
There was a long pause.
Then, "I see."
Another pause.
"Are they serious?"
Steve nodded. "He thinks so. He's already arranged with dad for a cookout this weekend. He wants to introduce us."
"What do you think?"
He tried several times to answer. He knew he'd have to put a stop to it sometime soon, but he didn't dare tell anyone why. He couldn't discuss Moretti, and he didn't want to mention the rest. Not until he had proof. Another half-truth was the best he could manage.
"I don't know. In a way, I hope they're not. I've seen what it's been like for you, dealing with my job over the years. I don't want him to have to go through that."
They sat in silence for a while. Maribeth finally broke it.
"It is hard, sometimes, Steve, loving a cop. But it's worth it. Don't interfere. Our son is old enough to know what he wants."
Steve nodded slightly then, letting his wife believe he would let matters take their own course.
"Steve, honey, look at me."
She waited a moment, and then growing impatient, she cupped his chin in her hand and made him turn to face her.
"If our son and Emily are that serious, if they make each other happy, then good for them. I hope we can be friendly with her parents, for the sake of the kids if nothing else, but don't worry about me, sweetie. After thirty years of marriage, I can safely say that I know beyond all doubt that you belong to me."
She smiled at him. He had to smile back. His wife had the sweetest smile he had ever seen.
"I don't care if you and Olivia become friends again. I don't even care if you still love her a little. She'll always have a little piece of you, and I can live with that. I can live with that because we have a *life* together. We share something she can never have a part of, and you gave me the one thing you never gave her, the one thing that will always bind us together. You gave me our bright, beautiful, wonderful, loving child."
Steve felt his guts wash with acid.
It was late. Her men were getting tired and cranky, she knew, but she also knew she had to keep pushing them. They *had* to be ready when the call came. They were improving, but they still couldn't quite get it right. They would only get one shot. *She* would only get one shot.
"Do it again."
Velasquez and Marino grumbled. Rossi rebelled.
"I've spent ten hours on the job, and five here. I'm going home."
She stepped in front of him.
"I said, do it again."
"Maybe you misunderstood me," Rossi said. "I said, fuck you."
She had never been the type of woman to slap a man, and she was not about to make an exception now. A powerful right jab split his lip and her laid her knuckle open to the bone. A thundering left laid him out cold. Then she went over to the hose they had used earlier to simulate rainy conditions, turned the water on full blast, and sprayed it on his face to bring him around.
"I said, do it again."
Rossi got up, chagrinned, and simply nodded. He dabbed at his bleeding lip with the back of his hand and looked daggers at her, but he said not another word. They continued their practice until midnight.
After the men left, she looked around the warehouse to make sure she was alone. Then she dialed her cell phone.
"Yeah?"
"Do we know when, sir?"
"Not yet. Have you dealt with Rossi?"
"For now, yes, but I have a hunch he's going to stab me in the back."
"Then I suggest you watch your back."
"Yes, sir."
Steven was drifting in limbo. Since he'd moved in with Em, he found it hard to sleep properly when she wasn't there with him. In the two weeks since she'd been hired by the LAPD, she'd been out a lot of late nights, and he missed her. The sharp hiss of an indrawn breath pulled him from his restless, not-quite-slumber.
Squinting at the light coming from the open door to the master bath, he saw Em trying to bandage her hand. Looking at the clock, he saw that it was nearly one thirty. He got up, wiped the sleep from his eyes, and walked to her.
"Let me do that."
She looked at him, a bit embarrassed and said, "Sorry. Didn't mean to wake you, love."
"It's all right. I wasn't really sleeping anyway."
He gently removed her clumsy bandage, intending to wash the cut and wrap it neatly for her, but he gasped at what he saw.
"Jesus, Em! What happened?"
"A little trouble on the job, is all."
"My God, honey. You should have gone to the ER and had it stitched up." The knuckle was swollen and bruised, and blood still oozed from the puffy edges of the cut. "Give me a minute to get dressed, and I'll take you in."
"Steven, no. I'm tired. It's been a long day. You've got a suture kit in your bag. Just take care of it here. Please?"
He eyed her carefully, and sighed in surrender.
"Ok, but I'm going to give you some antibiotics and *I want you to take them*. I also want you to come by the hospital on your lunch break tomorrow for me to check this out again, got it?"
Smiling, she said, "Yes, sir."
As he washed and stitched the wound, he knew it had to hurt like hell. The topical anesthetic he'd had in his bag wasn't nearly enough to dull the pain of the needle and suture material being pulled through raw skin. To her credit, the only signs of Em's pain were the occasional deep breath and the tight line of her compressed lips. She didn't flinch once.
He gave her some antibiotic capsules and a few extra bandages.
"Take one capsule every six hours," he told her, "and keep the cut clean and dry. If it gets wet, change the bandage, and *don't* be too proud to ask for help if you need it."
"Understood, sir," she said with another smile.
"You'll see me at lunch tomorrow?"
"Yeah. Promise. Now, let's get to bed."
"Good idea."
