Annie on the Lam: A Christmas Caper Read Online Free Page B

money laundering, etcetera, etcetera. He was afraid she might’ve gotten herself in the middle of something way out of her league.”
    â€œTakes after her mother, huh?”
    â€œApparently. So he calls me this morning and asks me if I’d check out Harry Landau, and when I tell him Landau’s bad news, that he’s Reno’s nephew, and then bring him up to date on Reno’s activities in the years since his wife bought it in that car—”
    â€œDamn. Did he wet his pants?”
    â€œThe poor guy was pretty shook up. Now he’s thinking it’s no coincidence that his kid landed herself a job at Landau’s. He thinks she’s up to something, and I tend to agree with him.”
    â€œMan.” Joe shook his head, reached for his sandwich, put it down again. He’d lost his appetite. Frank Reno was directly related to his reasons for turning in his badge a year ago. Joe was no longer a police detective, but he still wanted the son-of-a-bitch’s head on a plate more than just about anything.
    â€œMacy wants someone to keep an eye on his daughter for a while. I told him I’m out of the business, but that I knew an ex-cop familiar with Reno—that’d be you—and that you have a real hard-on for the guy.”
    Joe winced at Ed’s choice of words. “Actually it’s nailing him to the wall that excites me,” he said caustically, “Not the man himself.”
    Ed chuckled. “You in? He’s willing to pay out the nose.” The old man quoted a daily rate that shot Joe’s pulse through the roof.
    He took about five seconds to think it over. Joe didn’t like the idea of babysitting some socialite who was probably playing with fire just to add a little excitement to her life, but he needed the cash. And he couldn’t bring himself to pass up an opportunity that carried even a slim chance of taking him one step closer to locking Reno away where he belonged.
    He picked up his sandwich again and a meatball rolled into his lap. Frowning at the red smear of sauce on his jeans, Joe said, “Give me Macy’s number. I’ll give him a call. And thanks, Ed.”
    Â 
    T HE FOLLOWING NIGHT , Joe sat in the cab on a side street with the headlights off and his eye out for the cops since he’d parked by a pump. The last thing he needed right now was a ticket and he wasn’t counting on any special treatment, ex-detective or not.
    He adjusted his iPod earplugs and hit play. Music pulsed through his head. If AC/DC couldn’t keep him awake, nothing could. Anticipating at least another boring hour or two ahead, he settled back to watch the falling snow and the traffic at 32nd and Park.
    Even at midnight, the windows of the high-rise building across the street blazed like a blowtorch and the trees lining the sidewalks twinkled with tiny white Christmas lights. Beside those trees, people still strolled, some pausing to admire holiday displays behind the glass storefronts: figurines and trains and miniature villages.
    Joe yawned. New York City might function just fine without sleep, but he didn’t. He longed for his nice warm bed and at least eight hours of peace and quiet.
    Trailing his gaze from Landau’s on the top floor of the building down to the street-level entrance, he tapped his fingers on the steering wheel to the beat of “Back In Black” then shivered and cursed. He wasn’t sure if his ass was frozen or just paralyzed from boredom. Either way, he guessed he deserved a numb butt if he couldn’t come up with a better way to earn a dollar.
    Joe twisted his head side to side to work the kinks from his neck. He reached for the months-old newspaper on the seat beside him, pulled a penlight from his jeans pocket and clicked it on, illuminating an old issue of the Savannah News society page his newest client had sent to him by overnight FedEx. After skimming the full-color photo of the smiling blond