Unfortunately, he hadn’t quite made it to the door when Stack got a call—and all hell broke loose.
* * *
“I HAVE TO GO.”
Armie looked ragged, but he quickly pulled it together. “What can I do?”
That was the thing with good friends; they knew when to ask questions, and when to quietly back you up. “Tell the others for me. Whitney just called to say Phil was heading to my sister’s apartment. The prick is going to clean her out. He already took everything from the bank—”
“I get it, man. No worries.”
On the way to the front door, he said, “You’ll stick with Vanity for me?”
Armie gave a nod. “Like glue.”
“I don’t have time to explain to her, and who knows if I can trust anything Whitney says. This—”
“Could be a trap, I know.”
Coat pulled on but not buttoned, Stack clapped Armie on the shoulder. “I appreciate this.”
Armie pointed at him. “If it looks bad, if you need anything at all, let me know. Don’t be an idiot.”
Stack laughed. “Sure.” All he really wanted was to get to the truth. He’d use as much caution as necessary, but he would make Phil talk.
Armie stepped outside with him, following him to the curb. “You might get company. You know how the guys are. But I’ll make sure they know to come in quiet.”
Lifting a hand in understanding, Stack jogged across the street to his car. He wouldn’t be at all surprised if Cannon, Denver or both showed up at the apartment.
Armie stood there, impervious to the cold, watching until Stack drove away without incident. In his side-view mirror, Stack saw him head back inside.
In less than fifteen minutes Stack arrived at his sister’s apartment. Was Phil already inside?
Whitney claimed Phil had just told her of his plans, so it was possible he hadn’t gotten there yet.
She’d also begged him not to tell Phil that she’d ratted him out. Whitney worried, she said, about Phil turning on her, perhaps targeting her as she claimed he’d targeted Stack.
At this point, Stack wasn’t sure who or what to believe. But he hadn’t wanted Vanity involved, and knowing she was safe with a group of friends, Armie watching over her at the bar, made it easier to put her from his mind.
He scanned the street as he crossed it but didn’t see Phil anywhere. Still, he used care as he entered the building. A few neighbors were just heading out; he’d seen them before during visits and knew they lived there.
When Stack reached it, he found the apartment door unlocked. Silently, he slipped inside, then paused to listen. Noises came from the bedroom, so, after a cautionary glance in the kitchen, that’s where Stack headed. As he passed the bathroom, the guest bedroom, he peeked into those rooms, too. Empty.
So it’d just be him and Phil. Perfect.
At the bedroom door, Stack leaned in the door frame. Phil had his back to him while loading all of his clothes from a dresser onto a sheet spread across the bed. Beside the clothing pile rested a plastic freezer bag filled with pot. Stack had no idea of the street value, but he knew Phil didn’t have that kind of cash on hand, so how had he gotten it?
Worse, Stack saw a small array of Tabby’s jewelry laid out on a T-shirt, some of it cheap, a few nicer pieces Stack had given her and a special necklace from their dad.
His jaw ticked, but Stack continued to wait, curious how long it would take the idiot to realize he wasn’t alone.
When Phil clunked a gun to the top of the dresser, Stack’s patience ended. Having no idea if it was loaded and not about to chance it, Stack used the element of surprise to stride in and snatch it up.
Phil was so startled he lunged back, tripped over his own feet, crashed into the nightstand and broke a lamp. He started to scramble up, no doubt to flee.
“Stop.” Stack loomed over him. “Break anything else, and you’ll be paying for it.”
“What are you doing here?”
Smirking, Stack hefted the gun. “Yours?”
Phil nodded, his eyes a little wild.
“Planning to shoot someone?”
“No! I mean, I got it for protection.”
What a joke. “Protection from what?”
Phil swallowed loudly. “You.”
That made him laugh. Sure, he wanted to pulverize Phil, but he wasn’t a thug. Only if physically provoked would he ever hit him.
Stack still held out hope that just such an occasion might arise.
He hefted the small black revolver. “A .38 Special, huh? My sister know you had this in her apartment?”