He dropped his eyes. He'd given me all he could. Any more information could cost him his job or even his bar license.
I dropped a kiss on his cheek. "You're a good friend, Jonesy. Thank you. I mean it."
Lincoln was staying in a Washington Heights apartment. I hadn't been to Harlem, much less past Harlem, in years. I didn't care. I needed to get him face-to-face. I needed to know if he was out to bring me down.
I felt like a fool, falling for his smooth confidence, his sexual heat like a ditzy whore. Was he laughing at me, fucking me while he continued his plan to have me indicted?
Was what he told me about his family even true?
More than feeling foolish, I was afraid. If Lincoln had set out to bring me down, I was fucked. I didn't fear Lincoln, and I certainly wasn't afraid of an indictment. I could fight any charges, and I could win. I wasn't the only hotshot hired gun in town, though I was the best. I would escape any noose, as long as I had a decent attorney working as my puppet in the courts. No, what I feared was what an investigation would turn up on my clients. They were the danger, not an indictment or even a trial. If they felt threatened and linked the problem to me, my life was on the line.
The cab dropped me in front of a prewar building, the exterior dingy yet still ornate along the cornices and eaves. I buzzed his apartment. His voice came through in a rasp.
"Yeah?"
"It's Evan."
"Okay." Then silence.
He didn't buzz me in. I pressed the button again. No response.
Oh, shit. Did he have someone with him? Was he fucking someone else while simultaneously plotting my downfall? He really was a piece of work. For once, I should have listened to Jonesy. I stood and stewed.
"Hello?" I asked.
Nothing. The fear I'd been trying to ward off turned to anger. I let it in, allowing it to seethe and bubble over. No cornbread hillbilly was going to take me down. Not a chance.
I talked directly into the grated speaker.
"You motherfucker. I swear to fucking God, when I see you again, I am going to slap the ever-loving shit out of you for trying to fuck with me. You will wish you were never born. I will run you out of this town and back to the fucking backwater swamp you came from, where you can find a first cousin to settle down with, you piece of shit. I will-"
The door next to me opened. It was Lincoln in a white T-shirt and pajama pants. His hair was wet, as if he'd just gotten out of the shower. It was dark and combed back. He looked like some Mafia capo from the twenties, all angular face and slicked-back hair. Lickable, though I wanted to pummel him to bits.
"Come in."
I closed my mouth, saving the remaining vitriol for later. I followed without a word as he led me up a flight of stairs to his second-story apartment. It was tiny-an open flat with a kitchen, a bed, and a futon, which I supposed passed for a living room.
He closed the door behind us.
"Oddest thing. When I was coming down the stairs I think I heard some crazy neighbor threatening to send someone to a fucking backwater swamp. Can you believe that?"
He was behind me, but I knew he was smiling. Laughing at me. I wanted to claw his eyes out.
I whirled on him and looked up into the mesmerizing eyes that hid his duplicity.
"Why are you here?" I asked.
"I live here."
He leaned back against the door and crossed his arms over his broad chest.
"You know what I'm asking. Why are you in the city? Why did you bring Castille here? Because I just had a very interesting conversation with Jonesy over dinner-"
"You had dinner with Jonesy?"
"Yes." I crossed my arms to mimic him. "I did. Answer my fucking question. Why are you here?"
"You know why I'm here, Evan. I'm prosecuting your good friend Castille."
"And what about me?"
He gave me a once-over with his eyes and licked his lips. I felt my traitorous body tingle in reaction. It was infuriating.
"What do you mean?" He was all coolness.
"I mean, Jonesy said that you are looking to bring down more than just Castille. You are trying to take me down."
The hurt slipped into my voice. I didn't want it to. I tried to strangle the hurt with my anger, but there it was. I thought Lincoln was actually interested in me, not the me that everyone else saw, but the real one.
He wasn't.
My eyes watered. I had to break my connection with him and look at the ceiling as I willed the tears back down.
He stopped leaning against the door and encircled me with his arms. I pushed and fought against him.
"You fucking asshole. I believed you. I thought-" My sob cut through what I was going to say. I just couldn't.