Free Return to Poughkeepsie by Debra Anastasia

entered. Neither of the burly men seemed inclined to get involved in Eve and Shark’s tense situation.
    “Now I’m hurt. After the striptease I thought for sure we were best friends.” He licked his lips.
    Eve ignored him and stepped outside. There were no cabs to be seen, and it was dark—later than she thought. She’d have to walk. Glad she wasn’t burdened by high heels, she started off at a quick pace. He stayed right next to her.
    “We’d make a stunning couple, you know. My dark and your pale? Half the time we could be killing each other, the other half screwing our brains out.”
    He’d never know, but he’d just described her relationship with Beckett to a T.
    After three blocks, he seemed to realize she was never going to start a conversation with him. And he felt compelled to fill the void.
    “Okay, I’m just letting you know there’s some movement on Poughkeepsie. And I know it’s Taylor’s but…”
    She stopped and turned to look at him. “Who?”
    “I’m proposing we work together and get Poughkeepsie organized before it gets absorbed by someone else. There’s some lucrative deals to be had there.” He winked at her, smirking the whole time.
    “Why not go alone?” She didn’t like how this was going—or anything about this guy. He knew way too much.
    “Well, you have the connections already. The respect.” He shrugged his well-built shoulders.
    They both looked around, assessing the situation.
    “I think you’re fishing for information, and I’m not helping.” She spotted a cab and hailed it.
    He got in behind her. The cab ride to her apartment building was silent, save for the crackle of the radio, which wasn’t quite tuned in. The cabbie didn’t seem to notice.
    Shark paid for the trip, and they stood in front of her building, staring at each other as the cab drove away.
    “Unless you have something useful to offer, I’m going to kill you,” she breathed.
    He tilted his head. “I know. I’m not your friend or your lover, but I’m smart enough to find you, to find where you work out. Aren’t you at least a little interested in who my angel is?”
    She looked toward the sky, hazy with the lights from the building. “What do you want?”
    “Just a little information on the two-way street. Taylor still alive?”
    When Eve looked back at him, shrewdness had crowded out any playfulness in his eyes. It was a hard choice, right there on the sidewalk, to decide which answer would be the best for Beckett, for his brothers, for Poughkeepsie.
    “He’s been dead for four years, thirty-eight days, and four hours.” She looked Shark in the face and gave no tells.
    “So specific. How can you be sure?” He shifted his weight.
    Eve noticed his shoes were Italian and expensive. “That’s two questions, and yet you’ve told me nothing.” She stood as still as a predator, filing away everything she could about him. She’d stalk him later.
    He leaned in close—close enough to stab her or kiss her. “The Vitullos are coming that way. Looking for information. Stirring things up. Evidently there’s money to be made there.”
    Eve didn’t tell him she’d light every bill in the world on fire if it meant saving her loved ones.
    “So how do you know for sure he’s dead?”
    “That’s a stupid question,” she said.
    “You did him?”
    She forced herself to shrug and look at him knowingly.
    “He was a tough bitch to crack.”
    She didn’t answer, letting his imagination fill in the blanks. “Give me a number, and I’ll think about it,” she finally said.
    He pulled out his wallet, and she handed him a pen from her bag. He scrawled a number on a hundred-dollar bill.
    She left him and walked into her lobby without another word. This wasn’t good. How did this random asshole have more information on her town than she did?
    She didn’t get more than a few feet into her apartment before her cell phone rang. Blake was on the other end.
    “Hey, are you sitting down? Your