Face of Danger

  “That’s not what I’m doing for your future.”

  She just looked at him. “What do you mean?”

  “Vivi, please forgive me for today.”

  “Forgive you? For risking your life on the airfield? You pretty much cleaned your slate for a while. We’re good, Lang.”

  “No, Vivi, we’re not.”

  “We’re not?”

  “We’re great.” He squeezed her closer. “We’re great together. We’re opposites, we’re complements, we’re… meant for each other.”

  Her mouth opened, useless again except for gaping in disbelief.

  “Tears of joy and speechless with happiness. Now this is a good look for you.”

  She laughed, but it made a tear roll. “What are you saying, Lang?

  “I’m not going to Los Angeles.”

  Not going to Los Angeles. God, those words sounded good. Too good. And they made no sense. “Today, you mean.”

  “Ever. The job is more management than law enforcement. It’s all PR and paperwork. It’s too much procedure and not enough… Vivi.”

  “You love procedure.” Tendrils of joy and hope and happiness curled around her heart, but she forced them to stay loose and still.

  “I love Vivi more.”

  She bit her lip, fighting tears again. He loved her. “So you’re not taking the job?”

  “I’m not taking the job,” he confirmed, stroking her hair, trying to smooth it down. “Because there’s no way you’re moving to Los Angeles when this business of yours is about to explode.” He eased her even closer, one hand sure and tight on her neck, the other sliding around her waist. “And there’s no way I’m spending any more of my life in the dark when Vivi Angelino is around to light it up.”

  That did it. Her heart collapsed with love. “That’s quite a risk you’re willing to take, Lang.”

  “I live for risk.” He grinned. “And I want to live for you. With you.” Closer, he put his mouth against her ear. “Inside you. Every night. I love you, Viviana Poison Angelino.”

  She closed her eyes and leaned against his chest, listening to his heart… the heart she owned. Taking a deep breath, her whole body filled with contentment. “I love the smell of cacciatore.”

  “Yeah. It smells like happiness.”

  She beamed at him. “Yes, it does. I can cook it, you know. Uncle Nino says it’ll cure a heartache.”

  “I don’t have a heartache.” He kissed her forehead and let his lips rest there like they’d found a home. “I have you.”

  Something scratched at the door, then barked. He pulled back and gave her a sheepish smile. “Oh… and we have a dog.”

  EPILOGUE

  The receiving line was endless, especially in heels that pinched her feet and a strapless dress that required constant adjustment. But Vivi’s smile was genuine as the guests made their way past a long row of cousins and finally reached the maid of honor and best man.

  “The next motherfucker in this line better bring booze,” Gabe whispered to her as some old friends moved on to kiss their congratulations to the newlyweds.

  Vivi laughed and glanced over to see if Zach had heard the comment. But he was too busy beaming at Samantha, just pronounced the next Mrs. Angelino, the vows spoken, the rings exchanged.

  The original Mrs. Angelino would have been pleased with her son’s choice of a home for her wedding ring, a gift she’d left Zach in a letter addressed to “his intended.” Had there been a similar letter for Vivi? She hadn’t asked Uncle Nino, who’d given Zach’s letter to Samantha. But there was the other half of her mother’s ring set: the engagement ring Rossella Angelino had worn. Where was that?

  “I’m the next motherfucker and you can have my wine.”

  Vivi turned at the low voice, letting out another laugh at the sight of their second—or was it third?—cousin, John Christiano. She gave him a warm hug, getting an arm full of muscles and a kiss on each cheek, family-style. “I haven’t seen you in a long time, Johnny.”

  “Hey, Vivi.” He backed up and gave Gabe a shameless grin. “So they finally sprung you from spookville, eh?”

  Gabe shook his distant cousin’s hand and exchanged manly back pats. “I’m done with government work,” Gabe confirmed. “Nice to see you, JC.”

  “You’re done? Excellent. You have to come down to New York and meet my boss. We could put you to work in a heartbeat.”

  Speaking of heartbeats, Vivi’s doubled. “Oh, no you don’t,” she said quickly. “He’s already gainfully employed.”

  “I’ve heard you’re killin’ it, Vivi. Good job.” Johnny beamed with admiration.

  “We’re doing okay,” she said.

  Gabe fake-choked at Vivi’s modesty. “We’re kicking ass and taking names,” he said, warming her heart with the corporate we. “The Guardian Angelinos are bicoastal, multifaceted, and run by”—he indicated Zach and Vivi—“the geniuses of the family tree.”

  “My boss is a genius,” Johnny said.

  “She wasn’t smart enough to hire me,” Zach interjected, leaning into the conversation. “A fact we file under unanswered prayers.”

  Johnny shook Zach’s hand, his blinding smile even brighter. “Congratulations, paisano. Hope you’re as happy with Sam as I am with Sage. I met her on a case, just like you, Zach.”

  Vivi grinned knowingly. “It happens.”

  “Not to me it won’t,” Gabe said under his breath.

  Johnny just nodded, with a “Yeah, right” kind of dare in his bedroom brown eyes. “Anyway, while I have the top Guardian Angelinos together, Vivi, I actually was asked by my boss to deliver a message.”

  Vivi lifted a brow. What did Lucy Sharpe have to say now that she’d pronounced Zach not good enough to work for her? If she wanted him now, Vivi would howl with laughter.

  “She’s impressed with what you’ve done in such a short time,” Johnny said. “She might be in the mood for an acquisition.”

  She snorted instead. “Fat chance.”

  “We have very deep pockets,” Johnny assured her.

  “I bet you do. You’re overpriced and overrated,” Vivi said, the sting of Zach’s rebuff still burning. Zach had been wounded inside and out, and he’d sought a job with Lucy Sharpe’s elite security firm. His injury had kept the owner from even letting him fire a gun at her precious range, the rejection giving birth to Vivi’s vision for the Guardian Angelinos.

  “We’re not interested,” Zach said simply. “But give Lucy my regards and tell her if she’s ever in Boston, she should visit the family.”

  Johnny nodded. “I will. And, seriously, man. Congratulations. You’ll love being married.”

  “I already do.”

  From behind, warm fingers tugged on the back of Vivi’s dress, inching it higher.

  “This thing isn’t going to last the night.” A kiss pressed against her bare shoulder, brushing away the hair that she’d started to grow longer. “Not that I have a problem with that.”

  Lang’s touch still gave her chills.

  “Dance with me, gorgeous.”

  She sighed at the endearment, and the way he’d made her believe it. “Johnny, you do any undercover work in that operation?”

  “All the time. What do you need?”

  “A stand-in maid of honor.” She stepped back into Lang’s arms. “I want to dance with my boyfriend.”

  Before she had to do a round of introductions, Lang led her straight to the dance floor. Instantly they melded as one, as always.

  “Who was that?” Lang asked. “I sense some animosity.”

  “Distant cousin. No animosity, just professional jousting. He works for a competitor.” She smiled up at him, any threat to her stable world forgotten. “Are you having fun at a big Italian wedding?”

  “I am.” He curled his fingers into hers, his arm securely around her waist to dance old-school style. “The maid of honor is very… cute.”

  “Cute, huh? Talk like that and you’re sure to get lucky and go home with he
r tonight.”

  “I’m not that kind of guy,” he said. “I like to follow the rules.”

  She rolled her eyes, and let him turn her sweetly, the heels not bothering her when she was on air.

  “In fact, I was just talking to your uncle Nino about that.”

  “You were?” She glanced over to find Nino, who had left his spot in the rapidly disintegrating receiving line to join the men she’d just left. Marc was there, too, with Devyn, whom he’d married in a much smaller, family-only ceremony just last month when she could no longer hide her pregnancy and didn’t want to. Her oldest cousin, JP, loomed behind them all.

  They all turned to look at her at the very same moment after Nino said something. And they all looked… funny. Especially Zach. Hadn’t he gotten used to the idea of her with Lang yet?

  “What were you talking about with Nino?” she asked.

  “Oh, he had something to give me. A letter. From your mother.”

  Her knees buckled a little. So there was a letter from her mother. Zach’s fiancée had gotten one. And now—

  Her heart galloping, she looked up at Lang. “What did it say?”

  “Beats me—it was in Italian.”

  “Then why did he give it to you?”

  “He likes to do things the proper way, too,” Lang continued. “And, of course, so do I.”

  He turned her again, and now she could see some of the females of her clan clustering around the bride. Her cousins Chessie and Nicki wore the same strapless peach dress she had on, and there was Aunt Fran—all looking at her. Samantha, her closest friend and former neighbor, had tears in her eyes.

  Well, it was her wedding day and she had waited an awful damn long time for Zach to get his act together. Still, the look on Sam’s face—on all of their faces—had that little thump in the back of her neck warning her of impending… something. She glanced around the room. Everyone was looking at them.

  “Lang,” she whispered, a slow heat crawling up under her silky dress. “We’re out here alone.”

  “So we are.” He didn’t take his eyes off her. “Guess the dancing hasn’t officially started. See what a rebel I am?”

  She laughed, totally self-conscious. “Why is everyone looking at us?”

  “Because I told them to.”

  She almost stumbled. “Why?”

  “Because I wanted to be sure every single person you know and love witnesses what I’m about to do.”

  Her arms and legs grew numb and light as he let go of her hand and reached into his jacket pocket, pulling out a diamond ring.

  She stopped dancing. Not any diamond ring. Her mother’s diamond ring. She wanted to look at Nino, at Zach, at the whole damn wedding, but she couldn’t take her gaze from the man she loved as he lowered himself to one knee.

  Everything just blurred.

  “Viviana Belladonna Angelino. I love you with all my heart and all my soul, and can only hope that you can love me the same way for the rest of our lives. Will you do me the honor of being my wife?”

  She laughed a little and cried a little and shook a lot, aware that everything—laughter, voices, music, dishes, time itself—hung in suspended silence. The world held its breath for her answer.

  “Do I have to golf?”

  “Never.”

  She smiled. “Then, yes, Colton Gregory Lang, I would love to be your wife.”

  He slipped the ring on her finger, where it fit perfectly and reminded her so much of her mother that a tiny whimper caught in her throat. But the applause and hollers and clinking glasses drowned everything out as he rose, lifted her, and whirled her around with a kiss.

  “That was so traditional,” she whispered through her tears.

  “Of course it was.” He winked and wiped her cheek. “That’s how I roll.”

  She laughed and looked over at her brother, who raised his champagne glass in a toast. On his hand, the other half of their mother’s wedding ring set glinted in the candlelight.

  Two halves of a set, finally where they belonged.

  The killer she can’t escape…

  The heartbreak she can’t forget…

  The one man who can stop them both…

  Please turn this page for an excerpt from

  EDGE OF SIGHT

  CHAPTER 1

  I understand you got into that little law school across the river.”

  Samantha Fairchild scooped up the cocktails from the service bar, sending a smile to the man who’d been subtly checking her out from behind rimless glasses. “Our trusty bartender’s been bragging about me again.”

  Behind the bar, Wendy waved a martini shaker like a sparkler, her eyes twinkling. “Just a little, Sam. You’re our only Harvard-bound server.”

  Sam nodded to the light-haired gentleman, not really wanting to start a conversation when Paupiette’s dining room was wall-to-wall with a Saturday night crowd. Anyway, he wasn’t her type. Too pale, too blond, too… safe.

  “Nothing to be ashamed of, a Harvard law degree,” the man said. “I’ve got one myself.”

  “Really? What did you do with it?”

  The smile widened. “Print money, like you will.”

  Spoken like a typical Harvard law grad. “I’m not that interested in the money. I have another plan for the future.” One she doubted a guy dripping in Armani and Rolex would appreciate. Unless he was a defense attorney. She eyed him just as two hands landed on her shoulders from behind.

  “I seated Joshua Sterling and company in your section.” Keegan Kennedy’s soft voice had a rumble of warning in it, probably because she was flirting with lawyers in the bar when her tables were full. “I’ll expect a kickback.”

  “That sounds fair.” She shrugged out of his grip, balancing the cocktail tray.

  “I bet he’s a generous tipper, Sam,” the lawyer said as he placed two twenties on the bar and flicked his wrist for the bartender to keep the change. “You’ll need it for the Con Law texts alone.”

  She gave him a wistful smile, not too encouraging, but not a complete shutdown, either. “Thanks…”

  “Larry,” he supplied. “Maybe I’ll stop in before you start classes with some first-year pointers.”

  “Great, Larry.” She forced a more encouraging smile. He looked like a nice guy. Dull as dry toast, but then he probably wouldn’t kick her in the heart with an… army boot. “You do that.”

  She turned to peer into the main dining area, catching a glimpse of a party of six being led by the maître d’s second-in-command.

  Joshua Sterling’s signature silver hair, prematurely gray and preternaturally attractive, glistened under the halogen droplights, hung to highlight the haute cuisine but casting a perfect halo over this particular patron.

  It wasn’t just his tipping that interested Sam. The last time Boston’s favorite columnist had dined here, they’d gotten into a lively debate about the Innocence Mission, and he ended up writing a whole article in the Globe about the nonprofit. The Boston office where Sam volunteered had received a huge influx of cash because of that story.

  “Good work, Keegan.” Sam offered a grateful smile to the maître d’, who had vacillated between pain in the ass and godsend since he’d started a few months ago. “Count on ten percent.”

  He laid a wine list on her cocktail tray, threatening the delicate balance of the top-heavy martini glasses. “He tips on wine, so talk him into something from the vault. Make my cut fifteen percent and I promise you we will not run out of the tartare. It’s Sterling’s favorite.”

  She grinned. “Deal, you little Irish weasel.”

  After delivering the cocktails to another table, she headed toward the newly seated party, nodding to a patron who signaled for a check while she paused to top off the Cakebread chardonnay for the lovers in the corner, all the while assessing just who Joshua Sterling was entertaining tonight.

  Next to him was his beautiful wife, a stunning young socialite named Devyn with sharp-edged cheekbones and waves of golden hair down t
o trainer-toned shoulders. Two other couples completed a glossy party of six, one of the women finishing an animated story as they settled into their seats, delivering a punch line with a finger pointed at Joshua and eliciting a hoot of laughter from the rest. Except for Devyn, who leaned back expressionless while a menu was placed in front of her.

  Joshua put a light hand on his wife’s back, waving casually to someone across the dining room. He whispered to her; then he beamed at Sam as she approached the table.

  “Hello, Samantha.” Of course he remembered her. That was his gift, his charm. “All ready to tackle Hahvahd?” He drew out the word, giving it an exaggerated Boston accent.

  “Classes start in two months,” she said, handing over the wine list, open to the priciest selection. “So, I’m ready, but nervous.”

  “From what you told me about that volunteer work of yours, I think you’ve got more legal background and experience than half that first-year class. You’ll kick butt over there.” He added a smile to his laser-blue gaze, one that had been getting more and more television airtime as a talking head for liberal issues on the cable news shows.

  No one doubted that Joshua Sterling could hit the big time down in New York.

  “I hope you’re right,” she said, stepping aside for the junior maître d’ to snap a black napkin on Devyn Sterling’s dark trousers. “Otherwise I’m going to give it all up and go back into advertising.”

  “Don’t doubt yourself,” Joshua warned with a sharp look. “You’ve got too much upstairs to push computers and burgers. You need to save innocent victims of the screwed-up system.”

  She gave him a tight smile of gratitude, wishing she were that certain of her talents. Of course, doling out bullshit was another gift of his. “What’s the occasion?” she asked, wanting to get the conversation off her and onto a nice big drink order.

  Joshua waved toward the brunette who’d been telling the story. “We’re celebrating Meredith’s birthday.”