By Hook or By Crook (32 page)

Dear God, please don’t let me throw up here in front of these scumbags.

She saw the same shock on her sister’s face as well, and deep, deep hurt. Daisy’s eyes, bleak with disappointment, met her own. Daisy turned to Pock and buried her face in his chest.

“I’m so sorry,” she sobbed. “I hate my father! I’m so sorry about him.”

Pock lifted his massive hands to stroke the back of Daisy’s head, murmuring something reassuring. Daisy’s words shocked Ivy, but she felt no anger. Her father deserved them. His quest for control had gone too far this time. He would rather see his daughter lose the man she loved than to see her wed someone he didn’t approve of.

What gave him the right to decide with such certainty what was best for Daisy?

The simple question sounded with the clarity of a chime in Ivy’s brain. Not so long ago, she too had been convinced that
she
knew what was best for Daisy. She would never dream of going to the lengths Richard Smithson apparently would, of course, but her arrogance and certitude had been equal to his.

Now, watching Pock soothe a distraught Daisy, she couldn’t imagine why. Yes, Pock made his living with his muscles instead of his brains. Yes, he’d stupidly gotten involved with Cantor and agreed to throw a fight. He’d compounded his mistake when he backed out at the last minute. And no, he wasn’t one of the sharpest guys she’d ever met. Not in the top
one thousand
sharpest guys, actually. But he loved her sister, and in his own half-baked way he tried to do right by her. They deserved a chance.

Suddenly, she knew what she had to do.

“No,” she said quietly. “That’s not what’s going to happen. Here’s what we’re going to do.”

Chapter 17

The flight back to Chicago seemed to last forever. Ivy and Joe didn’t speak much. Words hardly seemed necessary, and besides, Ramirez, sitting behind them, could hear every word. They sat lost in their own thoughts.

Erin’s contractions had flared up before they left, gaining in intensity and frequency. Erin claimed they were the harmless Braxton-Hicks contractions that most pregnant women had, but Ivy had seen doubt in her eyes. Joe and Ivy had to complete their mission. Erin needed to get to a hospital as soon as possible.

Cantor and the rest of his men would hold Erin, Anthony, Pock, and Daisy hostage to ensure Joe and Ivy completed their mission as planned, under the watchful eye of Ramirez. After Richard Smithson’s electronic transfer cleared, and if they completed their own task successfully, they’d all be safe. If not...the result didn’t bear thinking about.

The flight was full. Between the lack of leg room, the crying babies, and the coughing, sneezing strangers, Ivy gained a whole new appreciation for a private chartered jet. At her chuckle, Joe looked at her questioningly.

“I was comparing this flight to a trip in my dad’s Lear.”

“How does it hold up?”

“Not favorably.”

He laughed, but after a moment, his smile faded. “Your dad isn’t going to be happy with you, you know. You’d better get used to a lifetime of flying in coach.”

“Is that supposed to be a warning? I can deal with lack of leg room much more easily than with a father who is capable of aiding and abetting the death of his son-in-law.”

“Well, when you put it that way…” Their eyes met and both smiled.

After a moment, Ivy sighed. “It’s odd, in a way. I should be miserable. I’ve found out what my father is capable of, when it comes to keeping his daughters in line. And a part of me is sad. But in a way...I almost feel relieved.”

“That’s because you’ve known all along, on some level, what he’s really like,” Joe said, stroking the soft spot on the inside of her wrist in a gesture that set Ivy’s skin alight. “When your mind finally confirms something your gut has been telling you for a while, it’s easier.”

“Maybe you’re right.” Ivy thought for a moment. Something in the rueful set of his lips made her wonder if he meant more than their current situation. “Was that what happened when you left the police force?”

“I guess so. Maybe I wasn’t cut out for the force.” He sounded unconvinced. “When I saw wrong, I tried to right it. I didn’t like a bunch of crooked cops telling me that I had to cover up for them because of the ‘brotherhood of the force’ or some crap like that.”

“I knew you were a cop,” Ramirez’s voice piped up from behind them. “I fuckin’
knew
it! The goddess of the whirlwind, she told me so!”

A pregnant pause hung in the air, and then Ivy and Joe locked gazes. She broke first.

“What? Come on, man!” Ramirez protested over the sound of their laughter. “Don’t doubt the goddess of the whirlwind! Oya gets very angry when you question her powers.” He looked around, perhaps afraid the goddess could hear him.

Face red, tears of mirth streaming down her face, Ivy didn’t even notice when every head in the cabin turned their way.

“Damn,” Ramirez muttered. “Oya isn’t going to like this. I’m going to have to make an offering when this is all over.”

Joe’s head swiveled back. “Are you kidding me? You’re going to sacrifice a goat to her or something?”

“Screw you,” he said, poking one finger at Joe’s face. “You think I’m some superstitious voodoo freak or something? Oya would
never
want the innocent blood of an animal to be spilled in her name.” He shifted in his seat. “To honor Oya, you offer her eggplant.”

Ivy, who had almost gotten her hysterical laughter under control, erupted again at this.

“You’ve got to be freaking kidding me,” Joe said. “Eggplant? What the hell is she, the goddess of baba ghanoush?”

Ramirez sucked air in to his cheeks, eyes wide in shock. “You don’t talk about Oya like that. No. The goddess of the whirlwind is going to send a storm and take you down, if you don’t start showing her respect.”

“Yeah, Joe. At least wait until the plane lands to disrespect Oya, so we don’t get taken out with you,” Ivy supplied helpfully.

Joe cocked his head. “You, too?” He sighed. “Okay, for you, I’ll leave the goddess alone. I guess I’ve always had a little trouble knowing when to quit.”

She slid her hand into his and squeezed his palm, brushing her thumb across the back of his hand. “That’s one of your best qualities, as far as I’m concerned.”

“Oh, yeah?” One of his brows cocked in disbelief. “Yeah.” They spoke little for the rest of the flight, but their hands stayed linked in a companionable silence that lasted until landing.

****

In Chicago, they waited only to claim Ramirez’s checked gun and then caught a cab to the bank where the Smithson family had done business for years. They identified themselves to a bank officer, a nervous-looking official with thinning hair and a twitchy eyelid, who escorted them to a plush conference room at the end of a marble hallway.

The official, a Mr. Parsons, would have been even twitchier if he’d known Ramirez a little better. Ivy explained what she wanted to the impassive Mr. Parsons. He said little but disappeared for a long while, leaving the three of them to wait restlessly. Finally, after nearly a half an hour, he returned. Not speaking, he lifted the receiver on the conference room phone, pressed a few buttons, and handed it to Ivy. “Mr. Smithson is on the line for you.”

She pinned Mr. Parsons with a glare. “You called my father to tell him what I’m doing?” she asked in disbelief.

Sweat sprang out on his brow, but he didn’t meet her eyes. “It’s my job to keep the best interests of the Smithson family in mind,” he said. “I was only trying to help.”

“Liar,” she said bluntly. “You were trying to suck up to my father because he’s your biggest client. The rest of the Smithson family, well, you don’t give much of a damn about.”

She ignored his denials as she took the receiver. Her heartbeat thrummed in her throat. “Yes, Dad?” Her eyes met Joe’s, strong and reassuring. His smile settled her nerves. His eyes danced with amused approval of her handling of Mr. Parsons.

“Ivy, stop interfering. I know what I’m doing,” her father said.

“Actually, Dad, I don’t think you do know what you’re doing. And I wish
you’d
stop interfering. I’m trying to stop you from making a terrible mistake, something that would make Daisy and me hate you for as long as we live.”

Her father’s tightly indrawn breath filled her with satisfaction. Rarely had she been able to get the best of her father in a conflict. It gave her a heady rush of power.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” The reflexive denial didn’t faze her.

“I know you told Cantor they could have Pock. The ransom you offered to pay would only save us. How could you, Dad?” Her voice broke. Knowing that her father could do such a thing hurt. Saying it aloud devastated her.

“I said no such thing! Who told you that? That gangster Pock was hanging around with? Who are you going to believe, him or your father?”

“In this case, Dad, I think I’m going to believe him.” She worked hard to keep her voice steady. “He has no reason to lie about this, and you do. And unfortunately, this sounds too much like you.”

“You’re accusing me of murder, then.”

She blanched, but took a deep breath. He couldn’t bully her anymore. She wasn’t a kid wracked with grief over the loss of her mother anymore. “I didn’t say that. But it’s like you to take advantage of a situation to rid yourself of an unwelcome problem. That’s the Richard Smithson way.”

“I don’t know where you get off with this moral superiority. You hated the idea of her marrying Pock as much as I did.”

His words hit a sore spot inside her. He had a point, really. “That may be true. But I would never, ever let anything happen to Pock if I could prevent it. Even if I despised him, which I don’t, he makes Daisy happy.”

Her father’s snort made his contempt crystal clear. “She’s too young to know what makes her happy. She’d get over him fast enough if he was gone.”

Her father’s myopia left her speechless for a moment. “What about knowing that her father stood by and let him be murdered when he could have stopped it? Would Daisy ever ‘get over’ that?” She held her voice steady with effort.

Her father didn’t answer.

“Goodbye, Dad. I’m taking care of this situation now. I don’t need or want your help.”

She handed the receiver back to a shamefaced Mr. Parsons. She had done it. She’d stood up to her father. She looked across the table to see pride shining in Joe’s eyes. It helped ease the bleakness she felt when she thought of what her father had tried to do.

“You want to proceed with the withdrawal, then?” Mr. Parsons asked.

“Yes. And next week I’ll be getting in touch with you to transfer all of my assets to another bank. I need one that is loyal to me, not my father.”

Not that she would have that many assets left once she finished estranging herself from her father, but still...

“But—” the official protested.

“If you don’t mind, we’re really in something of a hurry,” she interrupted.

He nodded and left the room, his twitch more pronounced than ever. Taking a deep breath, she reached out to take Joe’s hand.

“You okay?” he asked, pulling her out of her chair to perch on his knee.

She nodded, shaken but composed, outwardly at least. On the inside, she was shaking.

“Are you sure about this?” he asked.

“For my sister? Are you kidding?”

“You’re aiding and abetting her marriage. To Pock. A guy you can’t stand.”

Ivy shrugged. “He’s growing on me.”

“Really?” Joe’s skepticism was so apparent, Ivy laughed.

“Well, not really. But she does love him, right or wrong, even though he’s not the best choice she could have made.”

Ramirez snorted on the other side of the room. “Please, the guy is as dumb as a goat. I wouldn’t want my sister married to him.”

Joe eyed him. “You’re some judge of character, huh? If we want to know what a henchman to a dirtbag gangster thinks, you’ll be the first one we ask, okay?”

Ivy smothered a laugh at Ramirez’s look of outrage. Mr. Parsons returned to the room with a small metal box. Ivy examined the contents, which were exactly what she expected. Could she part with them? She could. Her sister’s happiness—on her own terms—was way more important than a piece of paper, no matter what it had on it.

“Gentlemen, I think we’ve got what we came for.”

A knock sounded at the conference room door. Ivy smiled as she recognized Beverly, the obsequious curator from the Dobbins Library. Perfect timing. She waved the woman inside and shook her hand.

“I’m so glad you were able to make it on such short notice, Beverly.” She’d called Beverly before they left California but hadn’t been sure it would leave the curator with enough time to handle all the details. “Do you have the certified check from your client?”

“It’s right in here.” Beverly patted her dark shoulder bag. “May I see it?” Her gaze rested on the box.

“Of course.”

Taking a deep breath, Ivy lifted the lid. Anticipation gnawed at her. Stored here for safekeeping, the sketch hadn’t been out of this box for years. She pulled an acid-free envelope out of the box and donned a pair of dry gloves from her coat pocket. They weren’t the usual cotton gloves she wore for work, but they would help protect the fragile, ancient paper from the oils on her fingertips. Slowly, she withdrew the document and placed it flat on the table.