Page 26 of Above ’N’ Beyond

Jamie’s radar pinged louder. But if they wanted to whack him in the back of the head, they wouldn’t do it in the middle of a crowded bar. They’d take him to an isolated location where it would take weeks for anyone to find his body.

“I’ll call Tony myself.” Jamie tugged out his phone.

Sammy grabbed Jamie’s arm. “Relax, kid. Put the phone away. He’ll be here.”

“When?” he bit out.

“Soon,” Paulie said. “Have another drink.”

Jamie let Paulie order him another bourbon he had no intention of drinking.

What the hell was going on here?

Didn’t matter. He was outta here.

“Gotta go,” he said as Nicky returned and sat on his stool. “I’m late for my shift at the Bistro.” He tossed two twenties on the bar and headed for the door.

“Aw, c’mon, Fist,” Nicky called after him. “Blow off Bella and hang with us. She won’t give you any, trust me. Not even Marco got into her pants, and he’s been tryin’ for years.”

Confirming Jamie’s suspicion and again begging the question: where was Marco Ianetti?

He pushed open the door so hard it smacked against the outside wall. On a hunch, he looked over his shoulder. His hunch was founded.

Nicky was on the phone again.

Jamie raced to his SUV. The engine was still running, the doors still locked. Jax’s head popped up. His dog was okay. That was his first concern.

But that bad feeling in the pit of his stomach was now a fifty-pound ball of lead.

This was a setup. At this point, he was reasonably certain it wasn’t about whacking him. They were trying to keep him from something. Or somewhere.

He got into the Tahoe and gunned it back to Nyack. The entire drive, he alternated between watching the road ahead and the rearview mirror.

Were they trying to keep him from the Bistro? Not for any reason he could come up with. That only left one other place.

Ten minutes later, Jamie pulled into Bella’s driveway.

The door to his apartment was open. Barely, but definitely open, and he’d damned well locked it when he and Jax had left.

Someone had been in there. Maybe still was.

He shut off the engine. “C’mon, Jax.”

Not bothering with a leash, he let Jax out the side door, then opened up the back of the Tahoe. Picking up on Jamie’s body language, Jax lowered his head. A deep growl rumbled in the back of his throat.

Keeping one eye on the apartment door, Jamie unlocked the small gun safe hidden in the cargo space. He pulled out the military revolver he’d stashed there—an untraceable antique from Korea his father had given him as a gift when he’d graduated from the police academy. The gun might be old, but it still functioned. He rammed in a fully loaded magazine and charged the weapon.

With Jax backing him up, he sidestepped past the apartment’s first window. The shade was down, just like he’d left it. At the door, he pointed to the ground.

Jax dropped to his belly, his body quivering, the hair on his spine standing upright like a mohawk.

Jamie eased the door open and aimed in. Leading with the muzzle of the revolver, he searched the main room. Empty.

He motioned for Jax to follow. His dog bolted to his feet and took up position at Jamie’s side.

Next they entered the bedroom. Empty, too. Jamie whipped open the closet door. Also empty. The kitchen came next with the same results. Nothing out of place.

Standing on the bathroom threshold, blood pounded in Jamie’s ears. The top drawer of the vanity had been pulled all the way out.