At Any Cost: Chicago Underground, #1

By Rebecca Lovell

Martin Caiber has a problem. His father hasn't been in his grave a week and someone is already trying to kill him. As much as he wants to stay away from his father's ties to Chicago's organized crime, he knows that it's not exactly an option. 

From the moment he meets the woman who calls herself The Hawk, he knows he can't live without her. The daughter of a hitman from Georgia, she's the only one who can keep him alive and find out who wants him dead. What neither of them bargained on was the fact that he's not the only target...so is she.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Frozen Flame Press
• Release date: Jan 15, 2019
• ISBN: 9781386715931

Book preview

At Any Cost

(Chicago Underground Book 1)

Rebecca Lovell

COPYRIGHT 2019 REBECCA LOVELL

Cover design by Victoria Miller

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously. Any resemblance to persons living or deceased is unintentional.

For Jeanette.

My sister from another mister, and the one who knows me best of all. Seriously, get out of my head. It’s weird in there. Thank you for not laughing at me every time I open my mouth, especially when the wrong words pop out.

Table of Contents

Athens, Georgia

One

Two

Three

Four

Five

Six

Seven

Eight

Nine

Ten

Eleven

Twelve

Thirteen

Fourteen

Fifteen

Sixteen

Seventeen

Eighteen

Nineteen

Twenty

Twenty-One

Twenty-Two

Athens, Georgia

Author Note

About the Author

Athens, Georgia

IT WAS LATE, AND MICHELLE smelled like buttercream. She’d been working with the powerfully sweet frosting for hours, trying to get the texture just right so she could use it to make flowers on a wedding cake. As a result, it was in her hair and under her nails, and she never wanted to eat another bite of it. She walked out to her car, yawning. It was dark but her car was an easy to see orange, and its lights flashed as she unlocked it from a distance.

She was so tired that even taking off the bandanna that she had tied over the long, dark braid that hung down her back felt like it would take too much effort, and she wondered if Fox would be mad at her if she tried to go to bed without showering.

He’d probably make some stupid joke about ants, she thought with a roll of her eyes as she turned on the engine. Her husband unfortunately thought he was hilarious when he mostly just cracked corny jokes, but he was so earnest that Michelle couldn’t help loving him. She was backing out of her parking space when her phone rang and she frowned, glancing over at the display on the console to see it was her father. With a smile, she tapped a button on the steering wheel.

Hi, Daddy, she said, her light Southern accent coming out stronger than usual when she answered the call. What are you up to?

Nothing much, Eddie replied, his voice rough from years of smoking. I was calling to see if you and Fox wanted to get together for dinner on Saturday. Lottie too, of course. I haven’t seen that cutie in a week and I don’t want her to forget her grandad.

Like she ever could, Michelle said with a smirk. With all the stuff you buy her, every time she comes back from seeing you all she can talk about is her grandad. She pulled out into the street and started for home with another yawn. I’ll talk to Fox when I get home and see which day is best for him, then I’ll call you tomorrow.

What do you mean when you get home? Are you still at work?

I just left, Michelle said. I’m ready to take a shower, kiss the sprout goodnight, and stuff my face before I go to sleep myself. I finally figured out the flowers on the wedding cake.

You’re going to work yourself to death, Eddie sighed, and Michelle wondered briefly if this was what it would have been like to have a mother. Next you’re going to tell me you have to put in all these hours so you can buy the owner out of the shop.

Maybe one day, Michelle said with a smile. Right now I’m happy just to learn everything I can. Whatever else happens, happens.

All right, all right, Eddie said. You talk to your husband and I’ll talk to you tomorrow. Don’t forget to send me the pictures from Lottie’s birthday party.

I will, Daddy. I promise. I’m just tired right now, and starving. Michelle didn’t live very far from the bakery where she worked, so she was still on the phone with her father when she turned off the main street and onto the one that led to her neighborhood. Whenever we get the time worked out, can we go to an all-you-can-eat place? A Chinese buffet or something?

You always did like that cheap Chinese food, now you’re passing it on to Lottie, he laughed. How many times did I try to take you to nicer places?

Obviously not enough, otherwise I wouldn’t still love the cheap stuff. Of course Charlotte likes it, she’s three. She can get sweet and sour chicken and mac and cheese at the same time, what kid wouldn’t love that? As she turned the corner and saw a riot of flickering lights at the end of her street. There were fire trucks, police cars, and even an ambulance. Michelle frowned and slowed to a crawl. What the hell? As she got closer a horrifying sight became visible around the fire trucks.

What’s wrong?

There’s a fire, she said, remembering that her father was on the phone. The flickering she had seen wasn’t all coming from the vehicles. One of the houses was on fire, and so consumed by flames that she was surprised she hadn’t seen the smoke. Hoping that it wouldn’t spread to her house and that the emergency vehicles would let her get home for the night, she continued her slow progression down the street. The closer she got to the burning house, the more familiar it looked and her stomach turned when she saw why.

No, she said, her voice plunging to a whisper before panic crashed over her and she began to shout. No, no, no!

Misha, what’s the matter? What’s going on?

Not wanting to take the time to explain, Michelle threw open the car door and ran for the house without bothering to take her phone or bag, leaving the door open and the engine running as she did.  Barricades were set up in front of her house and she ducked under them smoothly. Fire lit up every window in the house and the firemen were unrolling several large hoses. They were all shouting at one another, but there was a ringing in Michelle’s ears that muffled everything they were saying.

Ma’am, a police officer said, hurrying up to her. You can’t be here. We need you to get back behind the barricades where it’s safe.

This is my house, Michelle said, trying to push past him only to be stopped by a very broad fireman. My husband and daughter are in there, I have to get to them!

We’re doing all we can, the fireman said, holding her arms tightly. You have to get back right now and let us do our job. Shaking her head, Michelle continued to try to get around both the policeman and fireman, who were determined not to let her pass.

Calm down, ma’am, the officer said. We can’t let you put yourself in danger.

You have to—- A sudden, sharp pain stabbed into Michelle’s abdomen and she stopped to press a hand to it. A second pain caused her knees to buckle and a fireman caught her as she stumbled. The pain was constant now, aching and sharp by turns, and it felt as if something was building inside her. Michelle struggled to get her feet under her and there was a stab of pain as she did, followed by the feeling of a rubber band breaking after being stretched too far.

This time the pain was too much, and she slid out of the fireman’s arms onto the ground. Something hot and damp was spreading down the thighs of her jeans and Michelle cried out as she clutched her abdomen. She heard someone shouting for EMS but it hardly registered. She laid on the grass, tears streaming down her face as she realized what was happening, and watched her home slowly being consumed by fire. When the paramedics converged on her and the firemen were able to go back to trying to save her family, Michelle finally passed out.

One

THE LAST PATRONS OF the nightclub had gone home, and all Martin Caiber could think about was how much he wanted to do the same. Thankfully, he was almost finished with his business and he yawned as he leaned back in his chair to watch his father’s accountant writing figures in his ledger. Stacks of money, carefully banded together, lay on the table around them and the accountant was tallying them up as he moved them from the table to a black duffel bag. Martin didn’t want to look at them, but he couldn’t help it.

He’d grown up seeing stacks of cash on tables just like the one they were sitting at, but had never gotten used to it. Now that his father was gone, all of it belonged to him and every time he saw one, it was surreal.

That’s all of it, the accountant said, putting the last stack of money into a duffel bag as he closed the ledger. It’ll look just like a good night in tips and cover, and put you far enough into the black that you can afford that pay raise you want to give the bartenders without dipping into anything.

Good, Martin said. They deserve it. I’ve seen some of the crap they put up with from drunks and tips don’t make up for half of it, even if the drunks do tip well. You’ll take this to the bank and make sure it goes into the Trees account?

Of course, Bill Karden said. A few more nights like this and we’ll have all the money from the poker game last week accounted for. Bill had worked for his father since before he was born, and since Martin had taken over the Caiber businesses he had been extremely helpful in explaining things.

Good. Martin turned to one of the bouncers. Tell Amie she can go ahead and leave if she wants, and just finish cleanup in the morning.

Sure thing, boss, the bouncer said, heading for the door. Martin sighed.

And don’t call me that, he called after the bouncer. He put his hands over his face and rubbed it as the accountant put his ledger in his briefcase. Thanks, Bill.

You’re always welcome, Bill said, zipping his bag. I don’t know that I ever actually said it, but I’m so sorry about your father. It wasn’t how I expected him to go, but it was a lovely funeral. Martin nodded and his accountant put on his jacket. Have a good night, sir.

Thanks, I will. Martin yawned again and leaned his head back to look up at the ceiling. The late nights he’d been putting in at his nightclub were starting to catch up with him, and he closed his eyes for a second. He was going to have to get used to them if he was going to open the second club, to say nothing of taking his father’s place in the rest of it, but he still wasn’t sure he wanted to.

Martin stood up, ran his hand through the black hair he’d inherited from his father along with his thin frame and put his jacket on. He was starting to zip it up when one of the other bouncers came in, still wearing the earpiece he wore when he was working the door. The black suit he was wearing marked him as one of the men who dealt with clubgoers and he smiled.

Sorry to catch you when you’re just about to leave, the bouncer said. There’s a woman here asking to see you.

A woman? Martin didn’t want to talk to a woman, he wanted to go home. Unfortunately there was no other option. In addition to being the manager of his nightclub, he now had to meet with people and direct them to whatever part of his father’s organization could help them. Does she look like a cop?

No, she’s wearing a suit with a flower in it. If she’s a cop, she’s not on duty.

Fine, send her in, Martin sighed. The bouncer nodded, then went back into the club proper. He took his jacket off and sat back down at the table. It was a good thing the money had been removed from it; the last thing he wanted was some strange woman getting ideas about stealing it. There was a glass of whiskey near his hand and he picked it up to take a drink. The buzz he’d gotten from his previous glass had worn off, so he figured he could stand another. He wondered if Amie had already left. Martin finished what was left of his drink as the door opened again and a woman walked through it.

She was indeed wearing a suit, and Martin could tell with one look that it had been specifically tailored for this woman. It was black and obviously expensive, and she was wearing a peacock blue shirt beneath it with no tie. In her buttonhole was a fire-tipped rose, light yellow with a ring of orange around its petals. The boots she was wearing had a low heel that tapped in an authoritative way as she crossed the floor toward him, and her dark brown hair was twisted into an updo behind her head. Martin knew immediately that he was dealing with a woman who knew what she was doing, and exactly what she wanted from him. When her bright blue eyes met his hazel ones, Martin felt warmth spreading through his body. He didn’t just want to talk to her, he wanted to ask her out.

Hi, she said as she reached the table. You must be Mr. Caiber.

I am, Martin said, motioning to the chair that Bill had vacated. Have a seat. The woman nodded and took a seat across from him. What can I do for you?

Give me some information, for starters, the woman said. Forgive me for showing up so late, by the way. I’ve been driving for hours.

Oh? Where were you driving from? As soon as he said it Martin knew he was asking too many questions, something his father had always stressed he should never do, but the woman didn’t seem to be concerned.

Michigan. I just finished a job there and decided I’d try to make it to Illinois before midnight. Obviously I didn’t make it. She smiled and Martin wondered exactly what kind of work she did. Anyway, I’m looking for someone and I was told that if I wanted to get information about any underground activity, Barry Caiber was the one to ask. The woman raked her eyes over him critically. You’re a lot younger than I expected.

That’s because I’m not Barry, I’m his son. My father died about a week ago, and I’m afraid I don’t have everything sorted out just yet. I’ll help you however I can, though. Martin offered his hand to her. I’m Martin Caiber.

People call me the Hawk, the woman said with a smile as she took his hand and shook it. Either that or just Hawk. Nice to meet you.

You too, Martin said, drawing back his hand. What is it that you do?

I find people, Hawk replied simply. She reached into the breast pocket of her jacket and withdrew a business card, which she handed to Martin. He looked down at it, scanning the plain white card with interest. Written in simple black type were the words The Hawk and a phone number with an unfamiliar area code.

So you need information. Mind if I ask what for? He offered the card back to her and she held up a hand.

Keep it. In case you ever need anything. She smiled and leaned forward. There’s a little girl missing from Texas, and her mother has hired me to find her. My information led me to Michigan, but I hit a dead end with a pair of train tickets to Chicago. Which is why I’m here. Hawk hesitated a moment and Martin raised an eyebrow, indicating she should continue. Eddie Brighton gave me your father’s name.

I see. Martin looked down at her card again. He’d heard his father talk about a man named Eddie before, and Barry hadn’t been on a first name basis with many people so he assumed they’d been friends. Best I can do is give you another name, I’m afraid. He took out his phone and brought up his list of contacts. I have an associate that was a friend of my father’s who can probably help you. From what I’ve heard, he can find anyone. He looked up at Hawk. I haven’t had a reason to try him out, though.

I’m happy to take any help you can offer, Hawk said. I don’t like to waste time when I’m looking for children. Finding them is particularly important to me.

Glad to hear it, Martin said. He rummaged through his pockets until he found one of his own business cards. It was much more detailed than Hawk’s, with a colorful logo and a font that had been created for Caiber International, and he flipped it over to write a name and phone number on it. Jimmy Hirakawa. He’s the best.

That’s just because you hadn’t met me yet, Hawk said with a wink. She took the card from him and tucked it into her breast pocket. Thanks for your time. It looked as if she was going to get up and Martin was struck by the feeling that he was never going to see her again.

How about having a drink with me? He was afraid his voice sounded desperate but either Hawk didn’t realize it or didn’t care, as she smiled at him and leaned back in her chair.

Sure, she said. It was a long drive, I’ll take a drink. This is a nice club, you’ve probably got some top-notch booze.

Damn right I do, Martin said. Hey, Amie, bring us a couple of Rey Sol Anejo, he called out into the bar in the hopes his bartender hadn’t already left, and a woman’s voice replied with something he couldn’t quite hear.

Rey Sol, huh? Hawk smirked at him. You must be trying to impress me. She crossed her leg over her knee and Martin returned the smile.

Is it working? A woman with a ponytail and an undercut came in and set two glasses of crystal clear tequila on the table between them, along with a bottle of what appeared to be the same liquor.

You know I was about to clock out, right? Amie’s tone of voice suggested that she was extremely put out by having to serve him, but she brightened when Hawk took a folded bill out of her inside pocket and held it out to her with two fingers. The number 50 was clearly visible and it was Martin’s turn to be impressed.

He got the drinks, I’ve got the tip, Hawk said. I don’t know if y’all split your tips here but that’s just for you. Amie took the bill and gave Martin a withering look, then left them alone with their drinks. My Daddy always told me you should try never to piss off your bartender or your hairstylist. Martin noticed more than a hint of a Southern accent in Hawk’s words and found himself wondering where she was from.

Good advice, Martin said, lifting his glass. Welcome to Chicago. Here’s to what’s hopefully the start of a new friendship. Hawk raised her glass and clinked it against his, then tipped it up and drained her tequila in one drink.

That’s really good, she said, setting her empty glass on the table. Definitely worth tipping well. Speaking of money, she went on, I suppose you get paid for giving me this Jimmy guy’s phone number?

My dad would have insisted on it, but I’m not going to push the issue. I’d rather not interfere with anything that a kid’s life might depend on. Martin finished off his own drink and nodded to the bottle. Want another?

Why not? I’m just going to my hotel after this. She set her glass down and Martin refilled it. Of course I’m going to pay you, by the way. You’ll get your money when I get mine. How does ten percent of my fee sound?

Sounds fine to me. Not wanting to ask exactly how much her fee was, he poured himself a drink and raised his glass. Hawk did the same with a smile. I’m not in any hurry.

It shouldn’t be long, once I find the girl. She downed her tequila with a look of amusement on her face. Martin looked at her a little more closely as she did. The suit she was wearing made her look like a stereotypical hitman and he hazarded another question.

"So what are you going