Chapter 1 - THE MAN BEHIND MY DUMPSTER
“You’re Arthur Romano.”
The man in Maeve Nolan’s bed did not deny it.
That was worse.
He sat propped against two mismatched pillows while rain tapped against the single bedroom window of her apartment.
Bandage around his ribs.
Bruising across his face.
One eye nearly swollen shut.
And beside the bed, the massive Cane Corso lay with its chin across its paws, watching Maeve as if deciding whether she belonged in her own home.
Arthur’s pale gray eye moved to the Zippo lighter in her hand.
“Put that away.”
Maeve almost laughed.
“You were tied behind my dumpster.”
“Yes.”
“Your dog was muzzled with industrial plastic ties.”
“Yes.”
“You bled through the passenger seat of a Honda that was older than I am.”
“Probably not.”
“Not the point.”
She held up the lighter.
“And now I find out I brought Arthur Romano into a third-floor walk-up above a bakery.”
Arthur’s mouth moved slightly.
“Good bread?”
“Focus.”
He looked at the doorway.
“Where’s Dr. Rossi?”
“Gone.”
“Did anyone follow him?”
“I don’t know.”
Arthur’s expression hardened.
Maeve crossed her arms.
“You don't get to look angry at my security procedures.”
“I don't have security procedures.”
“I have a deadbolt and Mrs. Kaplan across the hall, who hears everything through the vents.”
Arthur actually closed his eyes.
“Perfect.”
The dog lifted its head.
Maeve pointed toward him.
“What’s his name?”
Arthur opened his eyes again.
“Bruno.”
“Bruno?”
“What did you expect?”
“Something terrifying.”
“He bites.”
“Fine. Bruno works.”
Bruno thumped his tail once.
Arthur noticed.
“That’s unusual.”
“What?”
“He doesn’t like strangers.”
Maeve looked at the dog.
“He was tied to a pipe in freezing rain.”
“I cut his muzzle off.”
“We're trauma bonded.”
Arthur stared at her.
Then his expression changed.
“His collar.”
“What?”
Arthur pushed himself upright too quickly.
Pain crossed his face.
“Bruno’s collar.”
Maeve looked.
Thick black leather.
Brass buckle.
Nothing remarkable.
Arthur held out his hand.
“Bring him here.”
“No.”
His jaw tightened.
Maeve continued:
“You can barely stand.”
“If something is in the collar—”
“What?”
Arthur looked at her.
Then stopped.
He had almost said too much.
Maeve smiled without humor.
“There it is.”
“What?”
“The part where you suddenly remember I’m just the waitress who pulled you out of an alley.”
“I didn’t say that.”
“You didn’t need to.”
Arthur leaned back.
Then:
“Please.”
Different.
Maeve crouched beside Bruno.
“May I?”
The dog looked toward Arthur.
Arthur gave a tiny nod.
Bruno stayed still.
Maeve examined the collar.
Under the leather, near the buckle, her fingertip found something hard.
A narrow ridge.
She pressed.
A tiny seam opened.
Maeve froze.
There was a hidden compartment inside the collar.
Arthur swore softly.
Maeve pulled out a folded strip of plastic no larger than a postage stamp.
MicroSD card.
Arthur’s entire face changed.
“Give me that.”
“No.”
“Maeve.”
“You were abducted.”
“Yes.”
“Somebody tied your dog up.”
“Yes.”
“You think whoever did it wanted this?”
“Possibly.”
“Then it doesn’t go into your pocket.”
His stare turned cold.
The stare that probably terrified men with guns.
Maeve had worked at Carmichael’s Diner for seven years.
She had survived drunk customers, broken freezers, two robberies, one kitchen fire and a manager who thought “family atmosphere” meant unpaid overtime.
Arthur Romano’s stare could get in line.
“No.”
Bruno thumped his tail again.
Arthur looked betrayed.
“You like her?”
Maeve almost smiled.
Then someone knocked.
Three hard knocks.
Maeve’s stomach dropped.
Arthur’s hand went instinctively toward his jacket.
No gun.
His jacket was still on her chair, cut open by the doctor.
“Who knows you live here?”
“Half the diner.”
“Anyone know I’m here?”
“No.”
Another knock.
“Maeve?”
Carmichael.
Her boss.
Arthur went still.
“Do not let him in.”
“You don't know him.”
“I know men who knock at three in the morning.”
“He owns the diner downstairs from where I found you.”
Arthur’s expression sharpened.
“What?”
Maeve felt cold.
Carmichael knocked again.
“Maeve, open up.”
Arthur lowered his voice.
“Do not open that door.”
She looked through the peephole.
Carmichael stood in the hallway.
Raincoat.
Hair wet.
Nervous.
Alone.
Maeve cracked the door with the chain still on.
“What are you doing here?”
His eyes scanned behind her.
“Need to talk.”
“At three-thirty?”
“Someone broke into the diner.”
Her pulse changed.
“What?”
“Back office.”
“They took the camera recorder.”
Arthur heard.
She knew because his face changed behind her.
Carmichael continued.
“And there were men asking about you.”
Maeve’s hand tightened on the door.
“What men?”
“Didn't give names.”
“What did they ask?”
“If you took anything from the alley.”
Arthur stood behind the wall now.
Silent.
Carmichael lowered his voice.
“Maeve, what did you see?”
She looked at her boss.
Seven years.
He had underpaid her.
Mocked her weight.
Made her stay late.
But he was also the man who lent her two hundred dollars when her father died.
People were inconvenient that way.
“Nothing you need to be involved in.”
Carmichael stared.
Then:
“You always say that.”
“What?”
“That something isn't my problem.”
“Then you make it your problem anyway.”
She almost smiled.
“Go home.”
“Maeve—”
“Lock the diner.”
“Call police.”
His face changed.
“I already did.”
Good.
He left.
Maeve closed the door.
Then turned.
Arthur was standing.
Barely.
“Sit down.”
“No.”
“You're going to reopen whatever the doctor stitched.”
He ignored that.
“The camera recorder was taken.”
“Yes.”
“That means they know the alley was recorded.”
“And?”
“They'll assume somebody saw them.”
“Me.”
“Yes.”
Maeve looked at the microSD card.
“Then we call police.”
Arthur’s expression became complicated.
“No.”
She laughed.
“No?”
“Not yet.”
“There is no ‘not yet.’”
“Maeve.”
“No.”
She held up the card.
“This goes to someone who can make copies and document where it came from.”
“Not one of your men.”
His face hardened.
“Why?”
“Because whoever tied you up was close enough to get you alone.”
Silence.
That landed.
Arthur looked at Bruno.
Then at the card.
“What do you know?”
“Nothing.”
“You know enough to be suspicious.”
“I work in a diner.”
“People talk in front of women carrying coffee.”
That surprised her.
He understood invisibility.
Maeve lowered the card.
“What’s on this?”
Arthur hesitated.
Then sat.
Good.
“A ledger.”
“What kind?”
“My organization has been moving money through construction contracts.”
Maeve raised an eyebrow.
“You say that like it’s surprising.”
“Not that kind of money.”
He gave her a tired look.
“Someone has been siphoning cash from our legitimate redevelopment projects.”
“How much?”
“Thirty-one million.”
“Who?”
“I don’t know.”
“Why was it on the dog?”
Arthur glanced at Bruno.
“Because I stopped trusting phones.”
Reasonable.
“Who knew Bruno carried it?”
“Three people.”
Maeve waited.
“Names?”
“My brother Luca.”
“My chief of security, Vincent Caruso.”
“And my fiancée.”
Maeve stared.
“Fiancée?”
Arthur’s jaw tightened.
“Former, probably.”
“What’s her name?”
“Isabella Vane.”
Maeve knew it.
Everyone did.
Luxury developer.
Charity galas.
Magazine covers.
And rumored future Mrs. Romano.
“Which one betrayed you?”
Arthur looked toward the rain-black window.
“I don't know.”
Maeve held up the card.
“Then nobody gets this until we do.”
He looked back at her.
“We?”
She immediately shook her head.
“No.”
“Absolutely not.”
“I have rent due.”
“A morning shift in four hours.”
“And a manager who will probably fire me because I left garbage beside the dumpster while rescuing a bleeding crime boss.”
Arthur’s mouth almost moved.
“This is not my life.”
Then Bruno stood.
Walked to Maeve.
And dropped something at her feet.
A torn piece of dark wool.
Arthur went still.
Maeve picked it up.
There was dried blood along one edge.
And stitched into the inner seam—
a silver monogram.
IV
Maeve looked at Arthur.
“Isabella Vane?”
His face emptied.
Then he shook his head.
“No.”
“What?”
“That isn’t Isabella’s monogram.”
He stared at the bloody fabric.
“It belongs to Vincent Caruso.”
His chief of security.
May you like
The man Arthur had trusted for nineteen years.
And suddenly the dog had given them the first name.
