Deep (Chicago Underground #8)(51)

My whole body seemed to spasm with desire. This was what he did to me—he made me want insane things. He was made of steel bars. The only thing he could do was keep me, but he made it feel so good.

“Maybe later,” he said, glancing to the warehouse. “It’s time to go.”

I found my voice again, though it came out shaky. “Where? Please?”

Despite his obvious tension and arousal, the corner of his mouth quirked up. “You always were persistent. Since you asked so nicely, I’ll tell you. We’re going to see a federal district judge. The one who signed my warrant.”

And just like that, I was almost sorry that I’d asked.





Chapter Thirty

PHILIP PARKED THE town car beside a black Escalade that was already empty. The courthouse was located in the well-maintained part of downtown, stacked full of city offices and street vendors. They all sat empty now, partly due to the late hour—and maybe partly because they sensed it was better to be inside, the way that birds stopped singing in a forest when a predator came near.

Clean entry, clean exit.

I wasn’t sure what that would mean. Hopefully killing or hurting people wouldn’t qualify as clean.

Three men wearing all black and holding firearms joined Philip and I at the base of white concrete steps. I had expected them to go ahead, maybe crouching low and peering around every corner. That was how you saw cops enter a place on TV, with the head detective bringing up the rear—only coming in when things were established as safe to do his job.

This was the exact opposite, and I supposed that was appropriate because these men were the exact opposite. Not cops at all. Criminals.

Philip strode in front, walking with a casual confidence, a faint swagger I could imagine him using when the building was open. I followed closely behind him, with very little confidence and zero swagger. The armed men, including the one we’d spoken to outside the warehouse whose name was Marcus, followed in loose formation, weapons holstered. Their bodies appeared relaxed but were clearly ready for trouble. Their gazes clinically scanned every inch of the wide front steps.

When he reached the top, Philip didn’t pause—he opened the glass doors etched with the scales of justice and went inside. An old man in a security uniform sat at the desk. He swallowed hard at the sight of us but didn’t appear surprised. Philip headed straight for him, and I kept pace even as the other men fell back.

“Good evening, Joel,” Philip said.

The older man was faintly perspiring. I was worried he might collapse. “Mr. Murphy,” he said, wheezy.

“The cameras?”

“They’re off. The metal detectors too. No one will bother you, I made sure of it. I did just like you asked.”

Philip’s voice was almost gentle as he said, “I knew you would.”

“Thank you,” the guard said in a tremulous voice. Tears glistened in his eyes. “Thank you, Mr. Murphy.”

Had they threatened this man? God, he looked like a frail old grandfather. I managed to restrain myself until we had walked away. “What did you do to him?”

“Worried about him?” Philip asked, almost taunting me with it.

“Yes. Why shouldn’t I be? He looked terrified.”

Philip strode over the marble floor and through the metal detector—which didn’t go off—as if he owned the place. And I supposed he did own the place. When you could command the people inside it, when you could come and go as you pleased with a group of trained soldiers, you were the true owner.

“He was terrified,” Philip said, “especially when his oldest son crossed the Cavallero family. If they couldn’t find him, they’d have killed the entire family just to make a point. He has a daughter.”

I blinked, trying to take in this side of him—this Philip who did good deeds for people in the city, the same way he did for me. A kind of underworld protector who saved not quite innocent fish from the evil sharks in the water. “You saved her?”

Philip reached up to caress the back of my neck. Then his hand squeezed and he pulled me close. His mouth was an inch from my ear. “I saved her,” he whispered, “by handing her brother over the Cavallero’s so they didn’t have to look for him. They were appreciative. I earned a favor from them that day—and one from the old man outside too.”

A chill ran through me. So he had sent a man to his death. But he’d saved innocent lives in the process, hadn’t he? It all felt dirty to me, especially the fact that he had used that favor to break into a city courthouse to do God knew what. To find out who was pulling the strings, but I didn’t know exactly what that would entail.

Honorable Judge Lawrence Alonso, read a placard outside an office. Inside there were three separate desks—for secretaries and paralegals, maybe. All empty. They had been vacated as part of Philip’s preplanning to come here, maybe the same way that he’d swayed the security guard to let us in unseen.

Philip opened a heavy wooden inner door, half blocking me with his large body. I couldn’t see around him, could only hear an older man’s voice protesting, “Hey, you can’t come in here. Who do you think you—”

There must have been some kind of signal. Or was this all choreographed ahead of time?

Either way, something changed in an instant. The men who had been trailing behind us, quiet and watchful, suddenly sprang into action. They charged past Philip and entered the room, heading straight for the desk. The office was spacious, clearly luxurious with wood paneling and an elaborate rug on the floor, but the armed men overwhelmed the large space.