In Jack's Arms

  In Jack's Arms

  By Roxie Rivera

  Night Works Books

  College Station, Texas

  Table of Contents

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Author's Note

  About the Author

  Backlist

  Copyright

  Chapter One

  Exhausted and suffering from an aching back, I rubbed my blurry eyes and tried to focus on the serial number etched into the bottom of the DVD player so I could compare it to the pawn ticket tag. Conducting a spur of the moment inventory on thousands of items in our storeroom? It wasn't exactly the way I had wanted to spend my Monday, but an overnight break-in and burglary had pretty much scuttled my plans.

  "Hey, Abby?" Mark, one of my brokers, poked his head into the backroom. "One of our regulars is here. He's trying to pawn a silver chain but…"

  "It's under weight?"

  "Yeah. I wouldn't bother you with it, but he's one of our best customers. I know you like to give them a break every now and then."

  "Who is it?"

  "Big Carl."

  "Oh." I thought of the sweet older man who took care of his ailing mama. She was torn up with diabetes and on dialysis, and he was barely scraping by with his hardware store job. "What's he want?"

  "He wants eighty, but I was thinking of giving him, like, thirty-five or forty."

  "It's the end of the month, Mark. I bet he's trying to scrape together enough money for his mama's meds. Give him the eighty. He's good for it."

  I didn't say what we were both thinking. On the first, Carl would start receiving the disability and Social Security deposits that kept their household just this side of the poverty line. Like many pawn shops, Kirkwood's Jewelry and Loan provided a needed service to folks who required a little extra money to tie together the ends of their dwindling budgets.

  There weren't a lot of choices for households on the fringe. They could come through my front door, pawn a television or watch and walk out with some cash to be repaid at a high but fair interest rate, or they could take their chances with one of the payday loan places that were popping up all over the place. The really desperate ones visited loan sharks like Besian Beciraj or John Hagen, although the latter was rumored to be winding up the illicit side of his business.

  Mark looked less than thrilled with my decision but shrugged. "Whatever you say, boss lady."

  He didn't say it meanly, but I sensed he didn't approve of the small favors I did for our regular customers every now and then. He had been at the shop only a few years and had come from a personal finance place across town that did things differently. I had learned the business by trailing my granddad around the store as a kid. Customer loyalty and word of mouth were huge in this trade, and I leapt at any chance to ensure both.

  Letting it go, I got back to work comparing the serial numbers and pawn tags in our company database to the items remaining on our shelves. Since being called up to the shop just after six that morning, I had crawled and climbed and sifted through hundreds of items. I had never been more thankful for Granddad insisting on upgrading to barcodes and scanners a few years ago. This ordeal had been bad enough that the thought of having to manually flip through the inventory logs made me want to weep!

  A knock at the storeroom door interrupted my work. The police and insurance crew had been in and out of the shop all day, but it was nearly seven in the evening so I doubted it was either of those two paying me a visit at this hour. Wiping my dusty hands on the towel slung over my shoulder, I crossed to the door and wrenched it open. The jovial, handsome face of Detective Eric Santos greeted me. "Hey!"

  "Hi, Abby." He gestured to the storeroom behind me. "Would it be all right if I came in to chat for a few minutes?"

  "Sure." I stepped aside and motioned for him to join me. "It's been a while since you've visited the shop. Not since those punks in the 1-8-7 crew tried to unload all those stolen cell phones, right?"

  "Has it been that long?" He shook his head and raised his eyebrows. "Man, that's been seven months? Eight?"

  "About that," I said. "Granddad was still puttering around the place."

  The corners of his mouth dipped with sadness. "I still have a hard time believing Mr. K is gone. I walked in the door and expected to see him behind the counter, to hear him laughing and telling his stories."

  "It's been five months, and I still do the same thing, Eric." Feeling a fresh wave of grief welling up inside him, I quickly changed the subject. "So are you working the robbery beat now?"

  He leaned back against one of the sturdy shelves. "No, I'm still working guns and gangs."

  "But this was a robbery. Unless…" I put two-and-two together and exhaled roughly. "You think this break-in last night was gang related?"

  "I do."

  "Eric, they didn’t take anything useful. They totally bypassed the big-ticket items like jewelry and electronics. They didn't even try to get to the firearms. All they took were the video cameras and cell phones."

  He frowned. "That's all?"

  I nodded. "So far that's the only thing that's missing back here. What kind of a gang robs a store full of expensive, easy to fence jewelry and doesn't even take a single gold chain?"

  "You've seen some of the dumbasses who run with the crews around here." Eric shot me a troubling look. "Of course, this might have been a message."

  "From?"

  "You're in a tricky spot here, Abby. You've got the Hermanos that way and the 1-8-7 crew that way." He gestured to his left and right with his thumb. "Now that John Hagen is getting out of the sharking game, the word is that the Albanians are pushing down into this territory."

  Nothing that Eric said was a revelation to me. I had lived and worked in this neighborhood long enough to know all the angles and all the power players. "I doubt it's the Albanians."

  "Yeah, because they're such warm and fuzzy guys."

  "I don't know about warm and fuzzy but I've never had problems with any of them."

  "Probably because your granddad used to play nice with Afrim Barisha before he got himself shot and stuffed in a trunk," Eric brusquely replied. "Don't think I don't know about all that under the table dealing those two did."

  "I wouldn't know a thing about that." I did, actually, know quite a bit about the way Granddad used to take payments for the Albanian loan shark who operated out of the backroom of a bar a few blocks over from us. After inheriting the business, I put a stop to it, but I had managed to maintain a cordial relationship with Besian Beciraj, the mob captain who had stepped in to fill the power void.

  "You had better not," Eric gently warned. "That's not a world you want to get mixed up in, Abby. It's dark and dangerous business. Stick to pawning and making loans. It's safer."

  I considered some of the violent and threatening customers who came through the front door. "Some days."

  "Fair enough." He conceded that fact with a smile. "Look, I'm going to keep an eye on this case. To me, this burglary was part of a bigger pattern. You had an attempted break-in a few weeks ago and then this real break-in last night. They stole from you but not enough to hurt you. Someone is trying to intimidate you—and who is more likely than Besian?"

  "He doesn’t need to intimidate me. Our business models are totally different. I operate on the right side of the law, and he operates on the wrong one."

  "It could be about a protection tax."


  "Well, I'm a skilled negotiator, Eric. I've got this one."

  "Don’t be so cocky, Abby. You can't do everything on your own."

  "I've done a pretty good job so far." Eric knew only too well what sort of childhood I had survived before Granddad had stepped in to adopt me and my older brother. At a very early age, I had learned that I could count on no one but myself—and that I needed to be able to talk my way out of any situation. "We'll be fine, but I really appreciate you showing so much concern."

  "This pawn shop has been around since the fifties, and your family is one of the oldest in this neighborhood. The businesses on this block are the main reason this area has stayed safe and prosperous. I want it to stay that way."

  "So do I."

  Eric signaled the end of that discussion with a short bob of his head. "So how is Mattie doing? I'll admit I was upset that he wasn't placed on my baseball team this year. I really miss him at short stop, and no one trash talks from the dugout like Mattie."

  I grinned at the funny memories Eric evoked. For the last four years, the detective had been coaching a special needs baseball team every summer. The program had gotten so popular that they had added two more coaches and teams this year. "Mattie was sad that he didn't make your team, but he seems to really enjoy Jack and Finn's coaching style."

  Eric issued a throaty sound of annoyance and rolled his eyes. "Yeah, yeah. Everyone loves those Connolly brothers." He gave a snort of amusement. "At the rate the bleachers are filling with single ladies, these games are going to be standing room only soon. If the women hanging around the parking lot after the games are any indication, Jack might be the hottest bachelor in Houston this summer."

  I ignored the sharp bite of jealousy that Eric's words inspired. The mere mention of Jack Connolly sent a wicked swooping sensation through my belly. Like his two younger brothers Finn and Kelly, Jack was something of a legend around this neighborhood. He had been an officer in the Marine Corps and had completed two tours in Afghanistan and two in Iraq before his convoy rolled over an IED and he sustained a head injury that forced him out of the job he had loved so much.

  Four years ago, he had returned to Houston to take over the family gym. Granddad had given him a series of small loans over that first year to help Jack make payroll and improvements. Since that first morning he had walked into the shop to pawn that motorcycle he had loved so much, I hadn't been able to shake my immediate and incredibly strong attraction to the dark-haired, green-eyed fighter. I had absolutely no business at all fantasizing about the smolderingly sexy former Marine who taught my weekly self-defense class, but I couldn't help myself.

  Hiding my interest in Jack, I said simply, "He's a nice guy. They both are."

  "They are," he agreed. "I think it's important for our players to see someone like Finn living a full, happy life. He doesn't let his missing leg stop him from going after life full-force, you know?"

  "Absolutely." I couldn't help but smile as I remembered the Saturday morning practice session when Mattie had gotten his first look at Finn's prosthesis. "I almost died from embarrassment when Mattie asked Finn if he was a cyborg."

  Eric laughed. "That sounds like Mattie all right. What did Finn say?"

  "He told Mattie to keep his secret because the government didn't want everyone to know about their super soldiers."

  "I bet Mattie just ate that right up."

  "He loved it. I don't think I've seen him laugh that hard in a long time." Ever since our granddad had finally succumbed to his congestive heart failure, Mattie had been withdrawn and temperamental. All that changed when the baseball team had started practicing in early May. "He's happier lately and spending a lot of time at Connolly Fitness."

  "I doubt Jack or Finn mind that at all."

  "At first, I was worried he would overstay his welcome, but Jack assured me they all enjoy Mattie's company."

  "That's good. I know Mattie is in that odd phase where he's too old for school—and he loved high school—and too young and independent for the residential programs around town."

  My younger brother's Down Syndrome diagnosis had hampered his earliest years, when our mother was more concerned about finding her next fix than getting him to occupational or physical therapy. After moving in with Granddad, Mattie had finally gotten the help he had needed to thrive. "I'm thrilled he's making new friends and feeling out the real world in his own way. I don't worry nearly as much because I trust that Jack and Finn will keep an eye on him."

  "Hell, with two Marines as his bodyguards, he's the safest kid in town."

  "Let's hope."

  Eric's phone began to ring and he fished it out of his pocket. When he glanced at the screen, he frowned but didn't answer before shoving it away. "I've got to run. I'll follow up with you in a day or two. When are you submitting your final report to the station?"

  "Wednesday morning," I said, trailing him to the door. "I should have the inventory completed by tomorrow night." Even though I was certain he was overreaching on his gang tie suspicion, I asked, "Would you like a copy?"

  He shook his head. "I'll grab one from the detectives on this case. I'd like to come by and look at the security footage."

  "There isn't any."

  Eric looked taken aback. "How is that possible?"

  "Dan forgot to switch on the security system when he closed down the store on Sunday evening. That's how these thieves were able to get in and out unnoticed."

  "I hope you're going to dock his pay for that."

  "It was an honest mistake."

  Eric didn't look convinced. "I'll follow up with you if I hear anything troubling on the street."

  "I would appreciate that." I opened the door and leaned against it. "Thanks for checking on us, Eric."

  "Happy to serve," he said with a grin. Two steps into the office area of the shop, he paused and turned back to me. "There was a warrant roundup this morning. You know what that means."

  "Ugh." My shoulders dropped as I imagined the crowd that would be waiting at my door in the morning. "It means I'm going to have a line of mamas and girlfriends trying to pawn everything they own in the morning to raise bail money."

  He smirked teasingly. "Hey, that's your bread and butter, right?"

  "Get out of here," I said and shooed him. "Or else I'll call the cops on you for criminal mischief."

  Chuckling, Eric waved at me and disappeared into the main area of the shop. I popped into our finance manager's office and waited for her to finish up the note she was making before asking her to request extra cash from the bank before she clocked out. In the final days of the month, we always experienced an upswing in loan demand, and with the added surge of customers who typically came to us when they needed to bond out their relatives, I hated the idea of running low on cash when we needed it most.

  After a quick chat with the employees on the night shift, I returned to the storeroom and picked up where I'd left off on the inventory. Just as I was getting really sick of numbers and barcodes, Dan, the night manager, called out to me. "Abby, you in here somewhere?"

  "At the back, in stereos and speakers," I shouted. "What do you need?"

  "Where is Mattie?"

  "His shift ended at four. He's probably at the gym. Why?"

  Shuffling feet on concrete heralded Dan's arrival at the line of shelves behind me. "Was Mattie pulling past due tickets today?"

  "Yes. I asked him to go through and pull everything that was a week beyond the grace period. Those customers have had ample time to come in and renew the loan or pay off the balance."

  I scanned a barcode and steeled myself for the inevitable disagreement I knew was coming. Dan had been with the shop for nearly as long as I had been alive, but he didn't agree with my decision to allow Mattie to work with us. If Dan had his way, Mattie would only be allowed to clean the glass cases or sweep the place. My brother could do so much more—and I intended to make sure he got the chance to prove himself.

  "Well, he seems to have taken s
ome of the merchandise from the shop."

  "What?" I stepped into the small walking space between shelves so I could see Dan. "What did he take?"

  "A watch."

  "Whose watch was it?"

  "Nick Connolly's."

  "Oh." The elder Connolly had been a longtime customer of the shop, and a few months earlier, he had come in to pawn a watch to raise some quick cash. To pay his light bill, he had said, but I had suspected it was for a card game. Between his alcoholism and gambling addiction, the old guy was a damned mess, but I hoped the bullet he had recently taken while trying to save his youngest son's girlfriend might put him on the wagon for good. "I'm sure he thought he was helping friends."

  "He can't do that, Abby. It's property of the shop, and that's on our books. We can't keep the doors open if your brother is skipping off with inventory whenever he pleases. This is why I don't like him messing with my stuff. He isn't smart enough to—"

  "Dan," I interrupted him as respectfully as possible even though I was steaming inside. "First it's not your stuff. It's the store's stuff. Second, I'm quite aware of how the pawn business works and how to balance our books and inventory. My business degree sort of covered all that. As for Mattie taking the watch, I'm sure this was an isolated case. He's never taken a thing from this store, not even a pencil from my desk, without asking permission two or three times. That's just the way he is."

  "Well—I don't like it."

  I bit my tongue rather than reminding him where he could go if he didn't. "Mattie is a Kirkwood, and this is our family's business. He belongs here. End of story. Okay?"

  Dan sighed. "Sure. Fine."

  "I'll sort out the watch situation."

  "I'm sure you will," he grumbled on his way back to the front of the shop.

  Setting aside the barcode scanner and logbook, I found a stack of crates to sit on and rubbed my temples for a few seconds. Exhaling with frustration, I tugged my cell phone from the pocket of my jeans and dialed Mattie's number. Five rings later, someone finally answered, but it wasn't my brother.

  "Hi, Abby."

  I blinked as the gruff, rumbling waves of Jack Connolly's voice rolled through me. A girlish quiver of giddiness filtered through my belly and into my chest. "Hey, Jack. Um…I guess that answers my question about Mattie's whereabouts."