Storm's Cage Mary Stone (classic reads .TXT) 📖

He found himself smiling as his thumbs moved along the screen. Long day. Not sure I’m feeling the bar scene, but I suppose I could make an exception.

Three dots at the bottom of the screen told him she had already started to reply. I’m not feeling it, either. We could just hang out at your house and watch some TV?

He chuckled to himself. Watch TV, huh?

She sent him a winking emoji, followed by one that was blowing kisses.

I’ll pick you up in a half hour? If that works.

Another instant response. Perfect. I’ll be ready.

The tingle of anticipation rushed up to greet him, but the pleasant sensation stopped in its tracks when he returned his focus to the car. As he took in the looming monolith that was the expressway overpass, he reminded himself why he’d come here in the first place.

Gabriel Badoni had been framed for the murder of a detective, and Alex didn’t need a badge to know that the Leónes were responsible. The uneasy truce with the rival family had held for the last half-decade, but he suspected that Ian Strausbaugh was a sign.

The truce was crumbling.

17

Stepping beneath the shade of a covered porch, Amelia pulled off her sunglasses and clipped them to the front of her black dress shirt. She’d grown tired of rewashing the same three shirts over the past week, but the plain button-downs were her least eye-catching attire. Though the temperature was expected to reach eighty, Amelia had even pulled on her favored knit cardigan before she’d left for work that morning.

As much as she wanted to look nice and wear the pretty jade green blouse Joanna had given her, she didn’t want Joseph Larson to think she’d dressed up for him. If the FBI would permit her, she’d come to work in a pair of coveralls for the remaining time she was stuck on the damn case with the smarmy agent.

Which pissed her off.

Why was it her responsibility to dress down so as not to attract a man? Why couldn’t he learn how to control his dick?

Tightening her ponytail, Amelia glanced to the picture window beside a rich wooden door. The curtains had been pulled back, but the glare of the midmorning sunlight obscured most of the view. Based on the spotless tan siding, neatly arranged flowerbeds around the front porch, and the cozy set of patio furniture, the owner of this home was meticulous about its appearance.

If Zane had been there, he’d have made at least three comments about the curb appeal and told her a story about watching House Hunters with his mom.

Instead, Joseph Larson stood at her side. Other than the fact that he’d grown up in southern Missouri, Amelia knew next to nothing about Joseph’s life before the FBI. Like Amelia, he’d joined the military at eighteen, but all he’d ever mentioned were a couple recollections of pranks he and his fellow soldiers had pulled on one another during their deployment.

Then again, Amelia hadn’t been exactly forthcoming about her life either. Most of what she’d done in the military remained classified at some level, and she sure as hell wasn’t about to regale Joseph with tales of the nearly four years she’d spent dating Alex Passarelli in high school.

In fact, there was almost no part of her past that she felt comfortable discussing with Joseph. Her father had spent seventeen years as an alcoholic, her sister was a heroin addict, and her brother had been a dirty cop.

As far as Amelia was concerned, the Storm family history was better left untold.

The crack of Joseph’s knuckles against wood snapped her back to the balmy September morning. Neither of them spoke as they waited for a sign that Wendy Ulmer, Russel Ulmer’s ex-wife, was home.

Though Amelia had gone home from her meeting with Alex, showered, and crawled into bed, Joseph had spent his evening researching Russel Ulmer and Cole Irving.

When he’d strolled into the conference room at eight-thirty to advise her he’d uncovered a potential lead, she’d been hard-pressed to conceal her surprise. Joseph always carried his portion of the workload, but when he’d dropped her off at her car the night before, he’d looked as tired as she’d felt.

According to Joseph’s research, Cole Irving’s record was as squeaky clean as the porch on which they stood. In the ten years he’d worked as a corrections officer—first at the Cook County Jail, and then at MCC Chicago—he’d received only a couple frivolous complaints. He filed his taxes on time every year, and he and his long-term girlfriend lived well within their means.

Cole was a regular Joe who worked for a living, liked to hike and camp with his brother, and loved his girlfriend.

On the other hand, Russel Ulmer’s records raised more than a few questions. There wasn’t enough in his financial history to say for sure that he moonlighted in an illegal profession, but there was plenty to justify a deep dive into his background.

Amelia was about to open her mouth to tell Joseph that she didn’t think Wendy Ulmer was home when the door inched open. A crack at first and then wide enough to reveal a petite woman with shoulder-length, golden blonde hair. A mint green t-shirt hung off one shoulder, but a handful of matching accessories gave the oversized shirt and leggings combination a fashionable rather than lazy feel.

“Hello. Can I help you two?” The corners of the woman’s brown eyes crinkled as she offered them a polite smile.

In tandem, Amelia and Joseph flipped open their identifications.

Tucking his badge back inside his suit jacket, Joseph gestured to himself and then to Amelia. “I’m Special Agent Larson, and this is my partner, Special Agent Storm. We’re with the Federal Bureau of Investigation, and we were hoping we could ask you a few questions about your ex-husband, Russel Ulmer.”

Like a switch had been flipped, Wendy’s amiable expression morphed into a venomous scowl. The change was so abrupt, Amelia wondered for a moment if the woman had been frowning the