Funeral Hotdish Read Online Free PDF Page A

knew the stakes were so high he had to push.
    “Joya. This isn’t a story about a Mafia guy ending up in Arizona in the witness protection program. This is a story that will get people killed. Sammy at the top of that list. Do you know how many goons out there want to make their mark by whacking Sammy the Bull? His family is here now and they’ll go after them, too. He’s got a wife and a daughter and a son and every one of them are marked. You write a story telling the world Sammy the Bull is in Phoenix and what do you get—an award? An interview on Pat McMahon’s TV show? And what does Sammy and his family get? Gravestones. Do you want to get these people killed?”
    Rob felt dirty, spreading it on so thick. He hoped she didn’t know enough about the Mafia to realize the family being marked was a lie. He hoped he’d touch the decency inside her. Six months of hard work depended on it. Six months of stakeouts and undercover surveillance and weeding through mountains of wiretaps.
    He put his hand on her arm and she pulled away.
    “I’m sorry. You’re nuts if you think I’d sit on this. Robbie, the goddamned piano player at the coffeehouse knows he’s Sammy the Bull. Those college students know he’s Sammy the Bull. Apparently, he’s important enough that the Phoenix PD knows he’s here. So why is it me that’s going to get him killed? It’s not, and you know it. That’s bullshit. This guy is strutting around ASU like he’s a rock star and all of a sudden, it’s ME who has to keep his secret to keep him alive? Don’t treat me like a fool. Now you can either help me with this story or you can get out of my way. It’s up to you.”
    Joya had never spoken to Robbie like that before. Had she gone too far? Not that it wasn’t where she needed to go, but she knew this couldn’t be good for them.
    Rob was taking his own measure. He’d failed to ward her off—hell, he hadn’t expected it to work in the first place—and now he had to decide how deceitful he could be and still keep her.
    If he told her the whole story now—if he shared information she couldn’t even guess—he’d jeopardize the entire investigation. It wasn’t only the Phoenix PD with a stake in his next words. How about the Drug Enforcement Administration? How about Customs? Try telling them their sting was upset because your reporter girlfriend happened to be in a Tempe coffeehouse when Sammy waltzed through.
    But when she found out the truth—when she discovered why it was so goddamned important not to announce that Sammy the Bull was in Phoenix until after they had him back in handcuffs—she’d leave him in anger.
    He didn’t want that. But he wouldn’t blow all this hard work, either. Jesus, they’d pulled him off homicide to work this case because he was such a good investigator—that reputation would be shot to hell if she spilled the beans. The only way he’d save the case was to save his relationship, because if he walked out, she’d work night and day to get that story into the paper.
    Shit, he consoled himself, she’d probably figure it out by herself anyway. She’s such a bulldog—and she’s got this streak of dumb luck—she’d probably stumble onto the rest of it, too.
    If he were to save one of the biggest cases he’d ever worked and save the best relationship he’d ever had, Rob Stiller had to own up. The best he could hope for was a deal with his girlfriend that would give him and the DEA time to finish their work.
    Joya’s mind was jumping through hoops, too—thinking on your feet was a must for an investigative reporter—and it was very clear that the real story here wasn’t that Sammy the Bull was in Arizona. The real story had something to do with the Phoenix Police Department and its homicide detective sitting across from her. She was seeing only the tip of this iceberg. What was everything below? She didn’t know, but she knew who did, and now she had to get it out of him.
    Rob took a deep