Chapter 3
Her tears were his undoing. She didn't let any spill over; she was too proud to do that a second time. He saw them all the same. They formed glistening pools that made her black eyes into rare and exotic gems. Something rose up inside him, pushing the breath from his lungs, and Nick dropped his arms and turned away, shoving one hand through his hair.
“I’m doing my level best to make this easy on you, lady, but if you want it rough, make no mistake, I can make it rough.” His voice was unnaturally gritty. He didn't care. He only knew he had to get away from her. He blocked her view of the panel with his body as he punched the numbers in, then went through the door without looking back once.
On the other side, after slamming the bookcase closed behind him, he stood still for a second. What the hell had just happened in there?
He went back over the confrontation in his mind, trying to pinpoint the moment when the tide had turned against him.
He'd been ready to kiss her cruelly, just to show her that she shouldn't be trying to slap a guy his size every time she got her dander up. He'd almost done it. Hell, it had worked the first time.
But when he'd had her there, crushed against him, and he'd looked down to see her storm-tossed eyes, something had slammed into him. He'd felt her heart pounding, and he’d been suddenly, acutely aware of his own, pounding right back. He'd heard her short, choppy breaths, and lost his own. Her scent had enveloped him, she had enveloped him until he was aware of nothing else—only her. If he hadn't stepped away, he knew damn well what would have happened and he was not happy about it. He would have kissed her—but not the way he'd kissed her last night.
In his soul, he knew he'd have slipped his arms around her until he could cradle her head in his hands. He could imagine the feel of all those silken, raven curls tangling around his fingers. He'd have tasted her lips first, drawing them between his own. He wouldn't have bruised them this time. He'd have worshipped them. He'd have—
Nick groaned and forced her golden skin and wild black mane from his mind. She must be some kind of witch, he thought. An elusive enchantress capable of casting powerful spells over men. At least, over him. What was he supposed to do with her for the rest of the time he had to keep her here?
He shouldn't be having this problem. He'd worked in close proximity to some gorgeous women in the past. He'd never had a problem. He'd always been perfectly able to take them or leave them. Never had he felt so close to losing it—as though he'd been shoved off a cliff and was scrambling for a branch to keep from falling.
“Chemistry,” he muttered. “Major chemistry.”
Turning from the bookcase door he went down to the second floor and the master bedroom. Since she'd cycloned into his life, he figured he would have to use this bedroom often. Before, he'd only done so frequently enough to make it appear lived-in. He'd have to force himself to keep her out of his thoughts for the rest of the morning. Lou Taranto and Viper would be here to see him soon, and he'd damn well better be on his toes.
If sending him to witness the hit had been a test of Viper’s loyalty, then Viper had passed with flying colors. If it had been a test of Nick's loyalty, on the other hand.... he figured he would soon find out his grade. If he'd been sent because Lou trusted him, he'd learn that, too. Those were the probable reasons for this sudden visit from the boss.
Nick grimaced as the third possibility entered his mind. If Viper or Lou had any idea that Antonia was still breathing, Nick would be a dead man in the next few minutes.
Carl knows she's in the apartment upstairs, he thought grimly. If anything happens to me, he'll come for her.
Still, his own particular preference was that he get to keep on living.
He peeled his shirt over his head and tossed it carelessly as he moved into the adjoining bathroom for a shower. Despite his decision to keep Antonia out of his thoughts, he recalled his late-night visit to her apartment as he stood beneath the pounding spray. He hadn't learned a lot. He'd had to get in and get out as quickly as possible and do it without being seen. His reasons for taking her things had been twofold. He wanted her to have everything she needed and he couldn't afford to be seen buying women's clothing and toiletries in a store. That was the first reason. The second was her sister. While it was necessary that the woman, whoever she was, act worried about Antonia’s disappearance, Nick had to give the sister something to cling to. With enough of Antonia's belongings missing, maybe she could believe Antonia had just taken off for a few days. The sickening worry could be put off for a little longer. It wasn't much, but it was the best he could do.
The apartment was nice, but not exactly spic and span. There had been a day-old newspaper spread on the counter that separated living room and kitchen. A stained coffee cup sat there, as well as a cereal bowl with the spoon still inside. A couple of blouses were slung over the back of the brocade sofa. Antonia wouldn't win any housekeeping awards.
Nick had moved quickly to the bedroom to get the clothes she'd need. He found the bed made, but haphazardly. The comforter was neat, but the sheets underneath showed bumps and bulges. He took an empty suitcase from her closet but didn't bother packing it. It was faster to drop the clothes into the trash bag he'd brought along. Taking the suitcase was just to make her impromptu vacation a little more believable. He took the book she'd been reading from her nightstand, too.
He moved into the bathroom, where she'd left a towel slung crookedly over the shower curtain rod. He took her toothbrush and everything else she might conceivably need. Before he left, he’d checked the one remaining room, probably another bedroom, behind a closed door but when he tried the door, he found it locked. He frowned. Why keep a spare bedroom locked?
He would have pursued the matter, but the sound of the telephone—a landline—split the silence like an ax splitting a melon. It rang again, and Antonia's voice filled the apartment, so low and sexy it was as if she was in the room.
“...can't come to the phone right now. Leave a message and I'll get back to you.”
Nick listened. Maybe he'd learn something about Antonia after all. A woman's voice came clearly.
“Hey, Toni. I loved reading about Katrina's latest. Can't wait to see what that vixen will be up to next.” There was a long pause, then, “Look, sis, I’ve got a bad feeling. And you know that’s a big deal, for me, so if you don’t call me back, I’m gonna have to come looking.” The woman sighed. “I wish you’d move upstate, closer to me. Call me, okay? I love you.” The line went silent, and Nick continued to stare at the machine.
Sis.
Her sister. It had to have been her sister.
I love you.
Nick sighed as he noticed the framed photo near the phone. Antonia–Toni–arm in arm with a blonde who looked nothing like her. Or maybe...yeah, a little bit around the eyes. They both wore “I’m the evil sister” T-shirts and were smiling. Their eyes held real love for each other.
A rush of scalding pain filled his chest. He’d been that close to his own kid brother. He hated worrying Toni’s sister like this. But dammit, it couldn’t be avoided.
It returned to him all over again, that pain, as he stood in the shower of his phony home preparing for a meeting with his phony boss, the man he held responsible for his brother’s death. He had to focus on Lou Taranto and Viper, on playing the part he’d spent months creating.
He'd never had the chance to see what was behind that locked door in Toni’s apartment. People had been coming and going in the hallways and he’d decided to get out before he was discovered and questions were asked. He couldn’t stop thinking about the message on the machine. And he was curious as hell about that other name Toni’s sister had mentioned. Katrina. Who was she?
But he couldn't spend any more time dwelling on any of that. Lou was on his way, would be there any minute. He twisted the knobs, stopping the water flow, and stepped out. After toweling down, he dressed in one of the expensive suits he kept in the closet, and combed his hair back wh
ile it was still wet. Personally, he thought it made him look as though he was stuck in a time warp, but he did it anyway. It was part of the image, he supposed. Helped him to look like the gangsters had looked in all the movies he and Danny had watched as kids. Kept his head in the game, kept him from breaking character. And that was important. Breaking character, in this case, would get him killed.
Toni paced the small living room and wondered if he was deliberately trying to confuse her. He'd been about to deliver another rapacious kiss, crushing her lips and devastating her mind. She'd seen it in his face—but then it had changed. He'd softened visibly. His hold on her had eased until it was more like an embrace. The anger in his eyes had vanished, and the emotion that had taken its place, for the tiniest space in time, had looked like raw desire.
How would she have responded, she wondered, if his kiss had been tender, driven by attraction rather than anger?
Insane! Even the idea was insane. She wouldn't let herself think about it again. It was obvious that he was playing some kind of mind game with her—trying to convince her that, though he worked for the most powerful criminal in the state, maybe the country, he was really just a nice guy. Why else would he have taken the couch and let her have the bed, or shared her food so she wouldn't go hungry? It was all part of his ploy to confuse her—and it was working, she realized.
She forced the overdeveloped jerk out of her thoughts. Let him be as nice or as mean as he wanted. It wouldn't matter to her one way or the other. She occupied her mind fully with unpacking her clothes and finding places to stow them in the bedroom. She squashed his things to one side of the dresser drawers, trying but failing to picture him in the brilliant-colored basketball jerseys she found there. She shoved his things to the back corner of the closet and hung some of her blouses and sweaters in front of them. She glimpsed a pair of basketball shoes with neon laces in them and shook her head. They clashed with her image of him. She shouldn't be surprised, though. Anyone built the way he was obviously worked out to get that way.
She hadn't thought about it before. There must be a whole other side to Nick Manelli, associate to the mob. Toni's insatiable curiosity was thoroughly aroused. Why the hell was she wasting time unpacking clothes when she should be giving this place a complete once over. Who knew what kinds of things the guy was hiding?
Dragging a chair nearer the bedroom closet, she stood on it to see what was on the top shelf. At first she noticed only a couple of spare blankets and a well-worn basketball. Then she poked around some more, moving things aside to search behind them, and her fingers met something hard. A photograph in a frame, she realized as she pulled it down.
She sat on the chair and studied the faded black-and-white snapshot. A man, a woman and two little boys smiled back at her. The woman seemed young and happy, and the boy on her lap bore a striking resemblance to her. But it was the man who caught her attention. He was the image of Nick Manelli, in every way except one. He didn't have muscle bulging from every possible locale. He was lean, lanky. She let her gaze move down to the little boy standing in front of the man, and she knew she was looking at Nick. He couldn't have been more than six years old, with a wide grin and a tooth missing. His hair was a riot of dark curls beneath his father's hand. A lump formed in her throat. How did an adorable child like that, from a beautiful family like that, grow up to be a common criminal?
She was getting distracted again. She stood and put the photo back where she’d found it, then completed her examination of the bedroom, noting little of interest except the far smaller TV. Of course she’d seen it there before, but she hadn’t given it any thought. Now she did, though. Why have two televisions in an apartment this small?
In the living room, the first thing she looked over carefully were the rows of books. It hadn't occurred to her to wonder if any of hers were among them, but it did now. Her heart was in her throat as she scanned the spines on the two shelves along the wall. Not that he could recognize her just because he'd read her book. It just made her uncomfortable to think he might have one here. As it turned out, he didn't. She sighed her relief and frowned. There was one small area where the books were not pushed back to the wall. A space had been left behind them. She had to stand on a chair again, and in seconds she pulled a slender remote control from behind the books.
Why would anyone hide their remote?
She got down, knowing she was onto something. She had that tingling certainty she got from time to time. Maybe a shared gene with her half-sister Joey. Like a bloodhound, Toni always knew when she was on the right trail.
She pointed the remote at the big TV and pressed the power button. The image that lit the screen was even more confusing: a tall iron gate, standing motionless on a twisting drive. She stared, blinked slowly, and then the truth hit her. This TV was serving as a closed-circuit monitor—probably hooked up to the camera she'd noticed in the bear's head, as well as several others. She tested her theory by hitting the channel button. Just as she'd suspected, each click gave her a view of another part the mansion.
“He must have a camera hidden in every room,” she whispered, still flicking through channels. She stopped when she saw the living room with the black leather furniture and marble-topped bar. Nick stood at the bar, pouring whiskey into heavy crystal glasses. He was, once again, the gangster she'd seen in the alley. He wore a dark suit, minus the jacket. His hair was slicked down. His stance, his very expression, were different than when he'd been in the apartment with her.
Beyond him she saw Viper, his beady eyes darting constantly in his puckered little face. He stood near a fat man with white hair and flabby jowls. Toni knew him. She would have known him anywhere. Lou Taranto. She thumbed up the volume button, and it worked. She could listen to them, as well.
Nick forced a smile for his guests, but it felt stiff. All he seemed able to think about was that Antonia was only two floors above them. Having Viper this close to her chilled him right to the marrow. He splashed Johnny Walker into three ice-filled glasses, despite the early hour, and handed them each one.
Lou took his and held it up. “To new associates.”
Nick clinked his glass to Lou's, and tried not to show his relief. He was pretty sure he was the “new associate” Lou was referring to, and that meant his cover was still intact.
Viper didn't raise his glass. He apparently wasn't thrilled with new associates in the least. He was cautious. More so than Lou. Nick looked at him and felt the same bristle of aversion he'd felt from their first encounter. Trying to avoid becoming this man's enemy was essential if he was going to get the evidence he needed to put Lou away and take down his organization. It was also the toughest thing he'd ever done. The guy was a snake.
“You get Vinnie dumped okay?” Nick asked, trying to sound friendly, but not weak.
“Yeah, sure. No problems.” Viper took a slug of the whiskey and smacked his lips.
Lou shifted from one foot to the other, watching them both, his eyes missing nothing. The guy was sharp.
“Somethin' wrong, Lou?” Nick asked. “You look uneasy.”
“The girl. Where'd you dump her?”
“She's in the bay.” Nick tried not to show his reaction to the question. Did they know something? “Weighed her down real good. She won't turn up for months. Maybe never.”
Lou nodded, looking fractionally easier. “Who was she?”
Nick shrugged as if it didn't matter.
“Dammit, Nicky, didn't she have any ID on her? Didn't you check?”
Nick took a long pull from his glass. The less Lou knew about Antonia, the better. “Didn't think it was important. She saw us, she had to go. There was no time to check her out before I hit her, and after I just wanted to get her the hell outta my trunk before I got stopped or something.” He shrugged. “Doesn’t matter anyway. Dead's dead, Lou.”
Lou grunted and didn't say anything. Nick felt a cold finger of unease trace the curve of his spine. Finally Lou sipped his whiske
y and sat down, his substantial weight noisily crushing the leather cushions. “Viper tells me Vinnie went down easy. You agree?”
“Viper didn't wait for me. It was a done deal by the time I got there.”
“But you're sure it was Vinnie? You took a look at his face before it was...altered?”
“Sure did, Lou. No mistake. Vinnie the songbird in the flesh.”
“He won't be singing anymore,” Viper put in. He laughed aloud, and Lou did, as well. Nick forced himself to join in.
“What about the body?” Lou drained his glass, got up with an effort and refilled it from the thousand-dollar bottle without asking. He was speaking to Nick.
“Lou, I couldn't watch the dumping. I had to get the girl the hell outta there. Some nosy shit had already called the cops.”
“You don't need to send witnesses on my jobs, Lou,” Viper snapped. “You know I always come through. Vinnie's feedin' fishes.”
Lou nodded, still standing. “Let's hope he's a lesson to the next rat who thinks of squeaking to the D.A.” Nick raised his glass and nodded hard. He downed the rest of the whiskey in a slug that burned a path down the center of his chest.
Lou cleared his throat. “Things'll be hot in the city for a while—as soon as they miss Vinnie.”
“They knew what they were doing when they sprung him, Lou. They didn't care. He wouldn't give the testimony he promised, so they just didn't care. And they call us the criminals.” It was the longest speech Viper had ever made in Nick's presence. The worst part was, he was right.
“Sure, but no one's gonna admit that,” Lou said. “It’d be political suicide. Besides, it gives 'em a great excuse to hassle me. When did you know 'em to pass one up?” Lou shook his head, frowning. “At least it's what I expected. I don't like surprises. That's why I'm worried about that girl. She was a surprise.”
“Too bad Nick was in such a hurry to off the bitch,” Viper said slowly. “I could'a made her tell me her life story.” He licked his lips. “She was a looker, Lou. We could'a kep' her awhile—like we did with that uppity hooker who tried to put the squeeze on you. ‘Member her? But Nick, he’s got a hair trigger, this guy.”
Nick's jaw clenched tight, and he felt a muscle work near the corner of his mouth. He turned slowly and glared at the slime standing across from him.
Viper met the scorching gaze with one of his own. Lou was quick to step between them. “I don't think Nicky likes you findin' fault with his work.” His tone made the simple statement a reprimand. He glanced at Nick. “It's okay, Nicky. I think you done good. Hell, Viper said she was off and running when you popped her. If she'd have got away, all hell would'a broke loose.”
“Funny, though,” Viper said, slow and confident, his snake's eyes never leaving Nick's face. “I drove by there this morning and I didn't see no blood.”
“You saying she didn't bleed, Viper? Or are you saying something else?” Nick took a step closer to the little weasel, his temper approaching the boiling point
“I'm saying I'd feel better if I’d’a had a look at her before you took off. How do I know she's dead? She saw my face.” Viper stepped closer as well, and Lou's pudgy body was wedged between them.
“Maybe you'd like a trip to the bottom of the bay yourself, pal. Maybe you'd feel better if you saw her up close and personal.” Nick leaned over Lou, his voice level but tight.
“Enough, already.” Lou's command cut the tension between them and Nick backed off. “I got enough trouble without you two going at it like a couple of punk kids.” He nailed Viper to the spot with his gaze. “Nicky says he killed her. That's good enough for me. I don't want to hear you talk him down again.”
“You're crazy, Lou. He's not even one of us—”
“But he will be.” That statement earned stares of disbelief from Viper and Nick. Lou turned and encircled Nick's shoulders with one beefy arm. “Next commission meeting is this weekend, Nicky. When it's over, you'll be a made man—officially.”
Viper downed his whiskey and slammed his glass on the bar. “You really think that’s a good idea, Lou? Nick isn't proven.”
“He took the broad out.” Lou slapped Nick's shoulder repeatedly. “For me, he did this. He acted from loyalty, and loyalty to Lou Taranto doesn't go unrewarded. You should know that.” His arm tightened, and he grinned until his fat face puckered. “What do you say, Nicky?”
“I'm honored, Lou. I—I wasn't expecting this.”
Lou reached into a pocket and extracted an envelope that appeared stuffed to the bursting point. He pressed it into Nick's hand. “A little thank you, for the girl, Nicky. You done good.”
Nick accepted the money, thanked Lou, but his thanks were waved away. “I need a favor,” Lou told him. “Like I said, things'll be hot in the city. The Century won't be practical, and we need this meeting. This place—” he waved an expressive arm to indicate the entire room “—this place would be perfect.”
Nick swallowed and tried to appear bowled over with joy that the leaders of several organized crime families would be meeting here. The idea shook him. These guys were sharp. But he had no choice. You didn't thumb your nose at an offer like this. It was an honor. To refuse would be taken as a personal insult, and Viper was already suspicious of him.
“My place is yours, Lou.”
“Good, then. Saturday night. And don't worry about the vote. I'll speak to the others. They’ll fall in line.” He gave Nick one last slap on the back, put his glass down on the bar and turned toward the door without another word.
Viper glared at Nick. “Don't get too cocky, Manelli. The vote isn't over yet, and if I have anything to say about it, you'll come out on the short end.”
“Lucky for me you don't have anything to say about it, then, isn't it, Viper?”
Toni’s stomach convulsed when she heard Viper talking about how he could've “made her talk.” Thank God Nick had been there.
She brought that thought to a grinding halt. Nick was no hero. He was only the lesser of two evils. He'd taken part in a murder. No, she corrected herself. He'd arrived in the alley after the fact, if she could believe what she'd just heard. Still, he was about to be inducted into the mob.
She watched him after the crime boss and his favorite henchman had gone. Nick turned in a slow circle, pushing one hand through his hair and rumpling its slick perfection. He looked stunned and more than a little bit worried. He ought to be, she thought. If those two found out what he'd done—that he'd lied to them and hadn't killed her at all—he'd be a dead man.
He really had taken a risk in not letting Viper shoot her that night—or letting him take her alive and do far worse. There was no way she could deny it. Nick had saved her life. According to the slimy Viper, he'd saved her from more than just death—a lot more.
But why?
He moved as if deep in thought, picking up glasses, replacing the whiskey bottle, wiping the bar with a soft cloth. Toni was sure of just one thing. She wouldn't leave here now—not even if he left the doors wide open and offered her a ride to the bus station. The bosses of at least three major crime families would be meeting under this very roof. She had this wonderful setup to watch them and listen in. To turn her back on a research opportunity like this would be nothing short of pure cowardice. She couldn't let fear chase her away from this. She'd leave here somehow, soon, but after that meeting. She ought to be able to survive four more days here. Nick obviously wasn't planning to kill her. He wouldn't have risked his life to keep her alive, only to kill her later. She'd be fine as long as he never guessed who she really was.
She glanced at the screen, stiffening when she saw only an empty room. Shit, he must be on his way back. Quickly, she shut the TV off, jumped up onto the chair and replaced the remote in its unoriginal hiding place. The she placed the chair exactly as it had been before and ran into the bedroom to finish unpacking so she'd appear busy when he returned.
She pulled the last armful of things from the bag and stuffed them into an already crowded dra
wer. That done, she bent to pick up the bag, surprised to find there was still weight in the bottom. She bent and pulled out the last items in the bag: two brand-new spiral notebooks and her own copy of On Being a Writer. She'd left the book on her nightstand beside her bed.
Did he know? My God, had he been inside her office? The office door was always locked, but there were copies of every book she'd ever written in there—and in the safe behind the framed painting of her first cover, there was enough evidence to put Lou Taranto behind bars for the rest of his life. If Nick had found it, he would kill her. There was no chance he'd do otherwise. She should have turned it over to federal authorities, she moaned inwardly. She'd known that was the right thing to do, and she'd come perilously close to handing it to a cop she’d later learned was on Taranto's payroll. She'd been terrified to make the same mistake again.
Did Nick know now that she was Toni Rio? He must. Bringing the book and the notebooks were his way of telling her the game was over. She held the books in hands clenched tight and white knuckled.
“I found it in your bedroom.” She jumped as if jolted and spun to face him.