Sexy Ms. Takes
Jo Leigh
Starting off the New Year – wow! Ms. Cast: Actress Bella Lacarie is looking for her shot at stardom – but ends up nearly getting shot! Good thing Detective Delicious is there…especially once he pulls out his secret weapon.Ms. Step: Instead of “breaking a leg” at her audition, Willow Hill actually breaks her leg! Lucky for her, Dr. Dreamy is by her side to administer some sexual healing.Ms. Sing: Maggie Trent can tell her best friend anything – except that she’s in love with him.Mr. Stiff Upper Lip has one more chance… three sizzling Encounters, one Blazing book!
This was no sexy mistake.
“I want you,” she said.
She didn’t touch him. Or act desperate or scared or tough.
“I know exactly where we are and who I’m with. I want you. I would like to have something good happen tonight. Something I choose. I would like to remember this day not for losing an opportunity, but for taking the opportunity to connect with someone I like. Who I admire.” She grinned. “Who I think is really hot.”
He grinned at her in return as he pulled her down onto the bed.
“This doesn’t have to be the worst New Year’s Eve ever,” he murmured. His mouth teased her lips, then started a downward trail as his hold on her tightened.
She pushed herself against him. An unmistakable message. His answer was in his arousal, in his low moan.
Oh, yes, this was sexy—and definitely not a mistake!
Dear Reader,
How fun to do a threesome for Blaze
! No, not that kind of threesome. Three short stories all in one book, which is more fun to write than you can imagine. I hope you enjoy it!
It all kicks off on New Year’s Eve. Three sexy, spirited women all hoping their lives will change after a career-making audition for a hot new Broadway show. All three lives do change, but not in the way any of them dreamed.
The sparks fly when each encounters a gorgeous man.
Detective John Greco… Duty bound and forced to face the family that betrayed him. Only actress Bella can make things right.
Dr Flynn Bradshaw… Off for a much-needed vacation from his residency until he crashes into dancer Willow.
Colin Griffith… An Englishman who turns to his best friend, singer Maggie, when his brother goes missing.
All three relationships deepen as the clock ticks past midnight to bring them not only a new year, but a new life…together.
Happy holidays, and as always, much love,
Jo Leigh
About the Author
JO LEIGH has written more than forty novels since 1994. She’s thrilled that she can write mysteries, suspense and comedies all under the Blaze
banner, especially because the heart of each and every book is the love story.
A triple RITA
Award finalist, Jo shares her home in Utah with her cute dog, Jessie. You can chat with Jo at her website, www.joleigh.com, and don’t forget to check out her daily blog!
SEXY MS. TAKES
JO LEIGH
www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
Once again, this is for Debbi and Birgit,
who, as always, have my back.
Ms. Cast
1
“TAXI!”
Yet another Yellow Cab passed Bella Lacarie, this one stopping half a block up for an older, well-dressed man. She kept her curses soft but vehement as she fought the urge to look once again at her watch. She wasn’t late. Yet. But the traffic was insane. Yes, it was New Year’s Eve Day, but it wasn’t technically a holiday until tonight, and that meant midtown was a mad mix of jostling pedestrians and unruly vehicles all coated with black slush.
Another cab came, numbers lit, and this time she stepped right into the gutter, threw her right hand in the air and whistled with her left. The combination worked, and the taxi pulled up, spraying her coat with a fine mist of mud.
“520 Eighth Ave,” she said, climbing in, then immediately spilled the entire contents of her tote bag on the floor. She would not take this as an omen. For all she knew, spilling an overloaded huge purse was the best luck ever. Still, it was hard not to sigh as she bent to collect her belongings.
Just as she picked up her hairbrush and lip gloss, she heard the driver’s door open and a man yell, “Get out!”
“What the hell?” came a high-pitched, accented voice that had to belong to the driver. “Who are you? What do you want?”
Fear froze Bella as she listened to the scuffle.
“Don’t shoot, don’t shoot!”
Oh, God, that was still the driver. The taxi rocked. She reached for the door handle, but before she could grab it, the cab shot forward, throwing her back.
She stilled where she landed. If she sat up, the assailant would see her. He had a gun. He’d shoot her. But she wasn’t all that well hidden, and the floor was big enough to hold tote bags, but not bodies.
Okay, she had to breathe. Stay quiet. He’d get where he needed to go and then run away, because the cabbie would certainly call the cops, right? So no reason to panic. Especially if she couldn’t identify the man behind the wheel.
The cab turned a sharp corner, sending her and everything on the floor into the door. She squelched a cry, but not completely. Oh, God. The only good sign was that she wasn’t seeing a montage of her life flash by.
He sped up, cursed, then said, quite calmly, “This is Detective Greco. My car’s been disabled on Church and Leonard, it’ll need a tow. I’m currently in pursuit of—”
Bella bolted upright. “Detective?”
The car swerved into oncoming traffic and the detective cursed her roundly as he struggled with the wheel. “What the hell?”
“You’re a detective? A police officer?”
He looked at her in the mirror, his brown eyes wide, then he cursed again and took a hard left that sent her back down onto the seat.
“Hey!”
“Where’d you come from?” he asked.
“I was here,” she said, sitting up again, “when you hijacked the cab.”
“Great. Jesus. Just great.”
“I’m not thrilled about this, either. Let me out.”
He said nothing, just stepped on the gas, narrowly missing another car.
She clutched the seat. “Detective! Let me out.”
“Can’t.”
“What? You have to. You can’t take an innocent person on a car chase.” Besides scaring the crap out of her, she was pretty sure this was illegal. She stared at the back of his dark head, wondering if she should try to knock him out, although that might get them both killed. “Did you hear me?”
“If I stop, I lose ‘im.”
They drove way too close to a black SUV and she squeezed her eyes shut, waiting for impact. Seconds later, she opened her eyes. “Can’t you radio for help?”
“Yeah.” He snorted. “I will. I just can’t lose him. Hold on.” He took a sharp left, cutting off two other cars, and throwing her against the door.
She groaned at the force of the door handle jabbing into her side. That was going to be a nice bruise.
“The scumbag is going to jail if it’s the last thing I ever do,” he muttered. But at least he flipped open his phone.
“I don’t need it to be the last thing I ever do. Pull over.”
The detective didn’t seem to hear her. “He’s right over there. In the old Caddy. Bastard isn’t even stopping at the lights.”
“Detective Greco, I’m going to have you arrested if you don’t let me go.” She looked in her tote, but of course, her cell wasn’t there. “Now.”
“Look, ma’am, I’m sorry. I’ll let you out. I just need to—”
“The only thing you need to do is stop this car.” This was the most important audition of her life. It could change everything. She’d worked very, very hard for this chance, and she wasn’t going to let anyone blow it. Not to mention get her killed. She lifted a shaky hand and shoved the hair away from her face. “I mean it.”
He cursed again.
“Yeah, that’s going to help.”
A MINUTE LATER, John pulled the car to the curb, trying not to go ballistic as he grimly watched Sal get away. The prick had been right there, and if he hadn’t slashed his tires.
His passenger hadn’t even opened her door. He looked at his phone, but calling in was useless. Sal would be long gone by the time another unit could be dispatched. He turned to his unwilling passenger only to find her bent over the backseat. Great. Now he’d have to pay to get the cab cleaned. He didn’t hear anything, though. “Ma’am?”
“What?” she asked, surly as hell.
“I’ve pulled over.”
“Your reckless driving tossed my bag all over the floor. You’ll sit there and wait while I get it picked up.”
He turned back to the wheel. Anger flared again as he realized he’d have to come up with a way to explain all this to the captain. As a rule, they frowned on cops commandeering a working hack to go in pursuit. Especially one with a passenger on board.
“Dammit, I can’t find my cell phone. Look under your seat.”
She didn’t sound like a native, but her attitude was pure New York. “Yes, ma’am.”
He bent, awkwardly, and fished around for the cell, knowing he wouldn’t find the damn thing. Not the way this day was going. “Nothing.”
“My whole life is on that cell. It has to be here.”
“What’s the number?”
She was silent for a moment. Then she gave it to him, her voice slightly mollified. Maybe even impressed enough not to report him.
He dialed and a tune rang out. Jesus, the opening notes from A Chorus Line. Shaking his head, he turned to give her a hand. That’s when he saw the gun. Sticking in through the window. Pointed at her.
John dropped his cell and went for his weapon.
“Uh-uh, Johnny. I don’t want to hurt the pretty lady, but if I have to, I will.”
John stared at the beefy man, slowly showing him his hands. Clearly he knew who John was, but John didn’t recognize the guy. He wasn’t from the neighborhood, even though he had a trace of an Italian accent. Was this even about Sal? Or another case John had been working on?
“You wanna go down with Sal?” he asked the man, who smiled calmly as if he knew John was fishing.
“Pass me your gun. Nice and easy.”
Shit. John picked up from where he’d left it on the seat and slowly handed it over his shoulder.
“Excuse me. Sir?”
His passenger’s voice was remarkably steady, given the circumstances. John finally got a good look at her. She was pretty, all right. A damn knockout. Long, silky, brown hair. Red lips, pale skin. But her eyes, they were light blue, aquamarine. Doe eyes with dark lashes.
She turned to the guy with the gun. “I don’t know this man,” she said. “I’m just trying to get to Eighth Avenue, so if you don’t mind, I’ll just slip right away and leave you two to work this out.”
“Sorry, doll. I can’t let you do that.”
The woman faced John again. “You’ve got to be kidding.”
“Let the lady go. Whatever this is about, she has nothing to do with it.”
“No can do, Johnny.” He opened the back door and stuffed himself into the rear seat, forcing the woman to slide over. She reached for the door handle, but the guy’s thick hand stopped her. “Unless Johnny here does something stupid, you’ll be fine. So sit back, relax, and before you know it, you’ll be where you need to go.”
“I’m already late for an audition. This is a callback for me. I’m so close. I know the director wants me and I’ll be the lead ingenue. Please, try to understand my position.”
The big man sighed, and Johnny could swear he smelled garlic. “You seem like a nice lady, but I don’t got a choice here. Shut up and you’ll be all right.” Keeping his gun pointed straight at his target, he said, “Drive.”
“Where?”
“Just go straight till I tell you to turn.”
John put the car in gear and took off, slowly, down the street, trying to think of a way to get Blue Eyes out of this. “You wanna be in the cell next to Sal’s, is that it? So he won’t be lonely?”
“He’s not goin’ to jail, Johnny, and neither am I. Turn right.”
“Sal’s crazy if he thinks I’m gonna let this go.” John’s mind raced. The guy hadn’t denied knowing Sal. But how? What had that idiot gotten himself into?
“Yeah, well, we’ll see who’s crazy. Take the second left.”
John’s gaze darted between the road and the rearview mirror. Maybe there was something familiar about the guy’s thick black brows and the droop to the left side of his mouth. But John still couldn’t place him. Shit, he’d probably seen him in a mug shot.
“Another left at the light.”
John’s hands tightened on the wheel as he realized where he was heading. “What is this? Some kinda joke? You takin’ me to the neighborhood?”
“You’re really a very attractive girl,” the man said. “So what are you, an actress?”
Bella, who’d held her breath at every bump and turn, terrified the gun would go off, looked up in surprise. She’d hoped the detective and the maniac would get so caught up in the conversation that she’d have an opportunity to get out of this stupid car. “I do my best,” she said, channeling the ballsy babe she’d played in her last stint off Broadway. “But you gentlemen seem determined to keep me away from the biggest audition of the year.”
“Given this is the last day of the year, that can’t be too bad, right?”
“It was an expression, somewhat hyperbolic, but close enough.”
“Hyper what?”
“Never mind. What is this neighborhood you’re dragging me to?”
The man gave her an oily smile instead of an answer, and met John’s eyes in the mirror.
“Is this neighborhood in the city?”
“It’s not far.”
“Then you’ll let me go?”
He shrugged. “It’s not up to me. What’s your name, sweetheart?”
“My name is inconsequential. Just think of me as the innocent bystander. The one who’s done nothing whatsoever that would cause anyone to shoot me.”
He laughed. At least she thought it was a laugh. It could have been a cough. The man had a very thick neck, topped by a couple of chins. His face had that ruddy, unhealthy look, as if one more plate of spaghetti would send him to the hospital. Counseling him on his eating habits probably wasn’t a good idea. She just hoped he didn’t have a stroke before he stopped pointing that gun at her.
“You can call me Vince,” he said, his gaze going to her chest.
She pulled her coat closed.
“Where you takin’ us?” The detective glanced back at the big man. “A warehouse? That field by Tony’s? You don’t want to kill a cop. That’s life, buddy. Hard time.”
“Shut up. I’m talkin’ back here.”
“No, no,” Bella said. “Feel free to discuss whatever you want. I’m not even listening. I’m humming quietly to myself.” She bit her lip. Why did she have to babble when she was nervous? If she’d just stay quiet, do what he asked… Oh, God, if she could just not throw up.
“You’re damn cute.” He lifted the gun a bit. “Where are your people from, huh? France, maybe?”
“My people are from Arizona. Tempe, to be exact.”
“Naw, I’m talkin’ about your famiglia, your ancestors.”
She wasn’t going to tell this cretin a thing. Not a true thing, at least. But she didn’t want to piss him off, either. “Yes, France and England. That’s where my ancestors are from. Are we almost there?”
He looked front, and she stole a glance at the door handle.
“Turn right, next block.”
The detective started swearing a blue streak. “You’re takin’ me to Sal’s house? Where his mother and his grandmother live? Right under his roof?”
“Pull into the garage. It’s empty. Oh, and Johnny, you better hand me your cell phone, ‘cause this ain’t no joke.”
“No, shit. I kind of figured that out when Sal shot me.”
Bella tensed again, and was pretty certain she was going to be sick all over her best dress. They were taking her to a man who’d already shot a cop, who had no qualms about letting his family know. Maybe if she fainted, they’d take pity. She was good at fainting. Best in her class.
With the gun pointed at her like that, she couldn’t act anything but terrified.
2
BEFORE HE’D EVEN PUT the cab in Park, the garage door closed. In the dim light, John thought about how he was going to get the actress clear so he could shoot Vince with the gun he had stashed in his ankle holster.
The door that connected the garage to the old two-story brick house opened, and there was Sal himself, pointing not his beloved Sig Sauer but a friggin’ doublebarreled shotgun.
“Put your hands out the window, Johnny. On top of the car.”
“You know what you can do with that shotgun, don’t you, Sal?” The idiot kid always had to have the biggest toys. John couldn’t believe he’d given Sal the time of day, let alone tried to help him get into community college. Sal took after his mother’s side. He was as thin as a rail and dressed like an extra on Miami Vice.
“Just do as I say.” Sal’s gaze went to the woman. So did the barrel of his shotgun. “Who the hell is she?”
“Put the fucking gun down before you shoot somebody.” Vince sounded exasperated, and to John’s surprise, Sal backed up a step and lowered the shotgun.
Which made John even more curious about Vince because the kid was too hotheaded to back down for anybody. Behind him, John heard the door opening, felt the cab rock heavily as Vince got out, then the door shut again. A moment later, his peripheral vision caught the hostage walking toward Sal. Handcuffs held her wrists behind her back and even in the puffy down coat, her arm was dwarfed by Vince’s burly grip.
“Johnny. I ain’t got all day.”
He should refuse. Dive down and get his other gun. Shoot and pray he didn’t hit the girl. But she hadn’t done anything except turn up in the wrong place at the wrong time. He really didn’t want to go to hell for killing her. Not that he wasn’t going anyway, but still. This was all his fault, not hers.
He put his hands on the cab’s roof and watched as Sal slyly inched the shotgun toward him. John stared him down, holding the kid’s hateful gaze. No way John would give him the satisfaction of showing that he gave a damn about the shotgun. But then Sal swung the barrel so it pointed at the woman. Not just pointed. Touched. John knew exactly what would happen to her if those two shells went off.
Vince came back to the cab and cuffed John’s wrists. John stood still as a statue as he was frisked, as his gun was pulled from his ankle holster. Vince snickered, and it took all John’s willpower not to knee the fat man in the groin.
Vince had everything now. John’s weapon, both cell phones, even the girl’s tote bag from the backseat. All neat and tidy. John had to wonder how this would have played out if she hadn’t been in the cab. Someone would have died, and it wouldn’t have been him.
“Let’s go,” Vince said, poking him in the back with his pistol.
“Va fungule sfacime.”
“Watch your mouth,” Sal said, snorting. “Remember your girlfriend here.”
“Let her go, Sal. She ain’t involved in this.”
“She is now, Johnny. Come on. We have things to discuss.”
“Like how you shot me?”
“Be careful,” Vince said, his voice lower, closer.
“What?”
Vince hissed at him. “Just shut up. It’ll be okay if you just shut your mouth for five minutes.”
The urge to mess up this gavone was so strong it made every muscle in John’s body tense. He kept his gaze on the shotgun, jerking forward when it met the woman’s coat.
Vince noticed and gave Sal a warning look. The whole thing made John nervous. Sal had been getting in trouble for a while, but mostly small stuff. Vince not only wasn’t from the neighborhood, but he sounded as if he was from the old country. If Sal had somehow gotten mixed up with the Mob, this wouldn’t end well.
And thanks to John, the woman was now in it up to her pretty little neck.
Sal pushed her inside, but not far. The door to the basement was open and he prodded her down. Vince did his own urging and soon they were in the basement of the Molinari family home, only things had changed since John had last been there.
For one, the new door at the base of the stairs. It looked weird. Not just because it was steel, but because it had a slot in the middle, as if it had been made for a psychiatric lock ward. It had to have cost a fortune, but Sal had probably gotten a deal from his uncle’s cousin Nick, who owned a place out in Jersey. Or maybe this was a new Family addition. “What’s with the door?”
Vince poked him on. “What did I say about keeping your mouth shut?”
“Be happy to help you with that there, Johnny,” Sal said, forcing all of them inside the room.
A brown velvet couch dominated the basement itself. The TV was gone, so was the table it used to sit on. No books. No radio. Only a dingy floor lamp. The place looked like a tomb.
“Sit down.”
Johnny stood his ground. “Take the cuffs off.”
“Yeah, right. Sit down.” Sal didn’t push at him, but he did push the girl. The fear on her face when she turned was enough to get John moving.
The couch was even bigger than he’d guessed. He sank into the lumpy cushion. “So, I’m sittin’.”
“You and me, Johnny, we have a deal to make.”
“The only deal I’m interested in is the one where you and your mook friend here end up doing five to ten.”
“Okay, so we won’t talk now. That’s cool. Sweat it out. I don’t give a shit.”
John heard movement upstairs, reminding him where he was. “Where’s Nonna?”
Sal shifted nervously. “Don’t worry about her.”
“Jesus, Mary and Joseph, Sal, you didn’t hurt her?”
Shock and then anger contorted Sal’s features. “Fuck you, Johnny. What do you think I am?”
“Good question. I don’t know anymore.”
Sal made a move toward him. Vince stopped him. “Enough already.”
“I want to talk to her.” John pushed himself forward on the couch. “Right now.”
Sal made a one-armed gesture. John hit him with curses that would make Nonna, who was ninety-two last San Gennero’s, light enough candles to torch the Bronx.
“Sal.” Vince motioned with his gun. “Get out.”
“The cuffs,” John said, preparing his posture to charge.
Sal didn’t answer. Instead, he walked backward, the shotgun still pointed at the woman, until he reached the door. The two men slipped outside and closed the door so hard the reinforced frame shook. A moment later, the slot opened, and Vince said, “The girl first.”
John stood, and so did she. He cocked his head toward the door. “It’ll be a lot more comfortable.”
“I’m not getting out of here anytime soon, am I?”
He winced at the fear in her eyes. “Not yet.”
She looked at him a few more seconds, then went to the door and turned to offer her wrists.
A minute later it was John’s turn. If he thought it would do a bit of good he’d grab Vince by his goddamn jacket and smash his face in the door. Instead, he decided to leave that option for later and concentrate on the woman.
BELLA STEPPED BACK AS John’s handcuffs were unlocked and the door slot closed. She still couldn’t believe this was happening. Of course she understood that the Mob existed, but even living in Manhattan she’d never dreamed she’d be in any way involved with them, especially not as a hostage. It should have been a good thing to have a detective with her, but he was the one who’d gotten her into this mess, so no points there.
No windows, a steel door, lunatics with guns, no phone. Her chance at stardom shot to hell. And she had to pee.
“Look, I don’t know what to say.” John met her eyes. “Sorry obviously doesn’t cover it.”
Bella blinked at him, not sure how to respond. Especially since his GoodFellas accent had suddenly disappeared. She headed for the other side of the room, hoping against hope it had a bathroom. Thank goodness it did. A stall shower, a pedestal sink and god-awful wallpaper, but infinitely better than a bucket.
She closed the door behind her, then locked it and promptly fell apart. Leaning against the door she tried to breathe, but only managed a few labored gasps. She shook so hard her teeth chattered and for a long moment she thought she was going to faint for real. Finally, her heartbeat calmed enough for her to take off her coat and put it on the hook on the door. One look in the mirror at her pasty face and she straightened up. She might be an innocent victim, but she wasn’t going to lie down and wait to die. She focused on pulling herself together, using all her sense memories to project strength and calm. Thoughts of the audition almost derailed her. Just remembering how long it had taken her to dress, to make up, to do her hair this morning made her eyes well with tears. She’d been so excited. So certain that this was going to be her best New Year ever.
She all but had the part. The director had told her he just needed to convince the bean counters, and she’d be the lead. Nothing this big had ever happened to her before and now it was all going down the tubes. She couldn’t even call to let him know why she wasn’t there.
All she could hope for was to live to see January 1. She’d rarely thought about her own death, not seriously. To never have another audition. Never see her parents again. Or her best friend. She didn’t want to die. Not today. Not like this. The whole situation was impossibly unfair. A regular Greek tragedy, only no gods were going to swoop in and save the day.
As she washed her trembling hands she tried to find something to hold on to. He was a cop. A detective, although she didn’t know what kind. Killing a cop was huge. They wouldn’t do that, right? Vince had said she’d be fine. Sal had said they needed to talk. If the plan was to leave no witnesses, they’d be dead already.
She did a relaxation exercise she’d learned from yoga class. No Greek gods were going to save her, and more than likely the cop wasn’t, either. Which meant she’d better get on with it. Save herself.
First, she looked in the vanity drawers. Surprisingly, next to several unopened toothbrushes was a half-full box of condoms. A shudder stole through her at the thought. No guns or knives or even razor blades. She did find a hair brush that looked reasonably clean, a box of bandages and some superglue, but none of that would do her any good.
There was nothing in the trash, nothing in the shower but soap and shampoo. The towels might have helped to strangle someone, but they were awfully thick, besides, the only person she could get close to was the detective.
Finally, though, she had to leave the safety of the small room to face the reality out there. She opened the door and walked right smack into the detective. She yelped and he grabbed her by the shoulders. With her heart thudding like a bass drum, she looked into the man’s dark eyes, but he seemed as surprised as she was.
“Sorry,” he said. “I didn’t mean to—”
“What in hell are you doing?”
He licked his bottom lip, then glanced quickly to the toilet.
She felt herself blush and she looked away, her gaze landing on his chest. He let go of her shoulders and she realized just how tightly he’d held her. He was stronger than she’d imagined, which was a good thing. Now if he was half as capable.
He rushed inside the bathroom and closed the door behind him, making her blush deepen. If this were a play, he would clearly be her hero, but in real life, heroes were in short supply. She walked away from the door, rubbing her arm. It wasn’t sore, not really.
To her amazement, her stomach grumbled, and she looked at her watch. No wonder, it was after two. The auditions were still going on, and she had no doubt some other ingenue had caught the director’s eye. It had been too good to be true, anyway. As if to mock her, a wave of nausea hit hard and she pressed a hand to her belly.
Trying to take her mind off of the play, she wandered around the sparse room, wrinkling her nose at the layer of dust lining the baseboards. Thank goodness the bathroom had been clean because the rest of the place needed a good vacuuming and.
On the floor next to the couch was a dirty plate topped by a crumpled paper napkin. Her repugnance was cut short as she noticed a silver handle peeking out. A knife? Please, God. She hurried over and used the toe of her shoe to move the napkin. It was a fork. Better than nothing. She could keep it tucked in her waistband. She bent to pick it up.
“At least the towels are clean.”
Bella straightened and spun to face Detective Greco, and then quickly moved away from the fork. The sudden movement reminded her of the nasty bump she’d suffered in the cab. She didn’t think there was any real damage to her ribs, but it hurt.
“Sorry, didn’t mean to startle you. Again.”
“I—” She forgot her snippy retort as it hit her how improbably handsome he was. Black hair, cut rather short on the sides, but longish on top. Thick black eyebrows that totally worked over dark brown eyes. His jaw, already peppered with a five o’clock shadow that didn’t hide his cleft chin, was square and strong. Her gaze moved down past a broad chest to narrow hips. His dark suit had been cut well, and his taste in ties wasn’t horrible, although wardrobe would have picked out something in red.
“Uh, ma’am?”
That brought her right back to snippy. “Just how old do you think I am?”
It was his turn to be startled. “I meant no offense.”
“I’m twenty-five. I’m not married. I’m not anything but trapped here with insane mobsters and…you.” Her voice cracked. “That guy, Sal…you seem to know him. Are we going to—” She cleared her throat. “I don’t want you sugar-coating anything.”
His lips curved in a sad smile. “Look, if I’d known you were in the back—”
“We had that discussion. I don’t accept your apology. Aside from losing my audition, I’m probably going to be killed in this stupid basement. With you. I don’t even know you.”
His jaw flexed. “What’s your name?”
“Bella.”
“Bella?”
She looked at him. “What’s wrong with Bella?”
“What’s your last name?”
She didn’t want to tell him. But she supposed he’d need it to notify her next of kin. “Lacarie. Why?”
“Listen to me, Bella Lacarie.” He took her hands in his then met her gaze, his dark eyes serious. “Nothing bad is going to happen to you, understand? I’m sorry about your audition, and for getting you involved in this mess. I’d change things if I could, but I can’t. What I can do is protect you here and now. You have my word, on my mother’s life, that you’re safe, and you’ll continue to be safe. Are we clear?”
Bella felt the knot in her stomach tighten, but not from fear. She stepped out of his grasp, paced to the other side of the room and thought about his promise. She wanted to believe him. She did believe that he meant what he said. Still, she’d grab the fork as soon as his back was turned.
3
JOHN STUDIED HER REACTION. He needed her to trust him. She was clever, he could already tell that, but he needed her to be quick, too. Terrified people often made bad choices at the worst times. Knowing Sal, he was terrified, too, and he made bonehead choices in the best of circumstances.
Bella folded her arms across her chest and continued staring at him. A little pink came to her cheeks, but she didn’t look away. Finally, she nodded. Once.
Good. One problem solved. Bigger issues remained. Like how he was going to get them out of this.
“None of this makes sense,” she said. “Why would the Mafia want to make a deal with a detective? Why didn’t they just kill you when you went to get in your car? Or when we were in the garage?” She looked at the door. “Was that…?”
John followed her gaze, listened, but he didn’t hear anything.
When he turned back she was staring at him again, waiting for his answer. “Just because they’re Italian, it doesn’t mean they’re Mafia.”
“You’re right. The kidnapping and the guns mean they’re the Mafia.”
“Good point, but not accurate. Sal’s a wannabe. He watched The Sopranos when he should have been going to school.”
“Which reminds me. Who’s Nonna and how do you know she lives here?”
He shrugged. “She’s part of the neighborhood. Everybody knows everybody.”
“What about Vince?”
John hesitated. He owed her the truth. “He isn’t part of the neighborhood, and I don’t know what he’s doing here. My gut tells me he doesn’t want us dead, but I’m not certain.”
“Okay. Thanks for being honest.” With a calm he wasn’t buying, Bella headed toward the couch. “Even if they’re not officially in the Mafia, they still have to deal with me. If they buy you off, I’m a witness. I was kidnapped at gunpoint. I leave here, go right to the cops and report it.” She sat on the ugly couch, almost lost on the cushions.
He hadn’t realized how tiny she was, probably because she was tall. But she was slender, small-boned. “I told you, they’re not going to hurt you.”
She sighed, looking miserable. “And you were doing so great in the honesty department.”
“I’m not trying to placate you. As long as we’re here, we’ll be okay. If they’d taken us to some deserted warehouse, I’d be sweating it.” A half-truth was better than scaring her out of her mind. He was still sweating it, all right, only because he didn’t remember who the hell Vince was. This had something to do with Sal, and as much as John wanted to kick the kid’s ass right now, deep down he knew Sal wouldn’t hurt Nonna. And he wouldn’t be stupid enough to pull anything in her basement. As far as Vince was concerned, he didn’t strike John as part of one of the local crews. Smarter than Sal, but then, who wasn’t?
He glanced over at Bella again, who was nervously licking her lips. “They leave any water for us?” he asked, glancing around the room.
“I didn’t see any,” she said quickly, stiffening.
He frowned at her odd reaction. Of course she was tense, but there was something else. Maybe not. Maybe he was just jumpy, considering she was his responsibility and anything that happened to her would be on his head.
Even with her strained smile, she was really pretty. “Maybe you could ask them for some?”
“Sure.” Fair enough request, but no, something was off with her. He left the couch and at the door, yelled for Sal. He didn’t get a response, but the steel was so thick he wasn’t surprised. His fist alone wasn’t going to be enough. He needed something to hit it with, something that would carry.
“Here,” Bella said.
He turned to see she’d apparently come to the same conclusion and had taken off one of her high heels. It wasn’t quite a stiletto, which was a pity. That could’ve done some damage to Sal’s thick skull. Yet it wasn’t her shoe that had snagged his attention. She crossed her leg to remove her other shoe, and the view was real nice. So was watching her walk to him in her bare feet.
“Thanks.” He took the offered heel. “I break it and I owe you a pair.”
“Damn right.” Their eyes met, then he saw her throat convulse. “As soon as the stores open tomorrow.”
“On New Year’s Day?”
Fear lurked in her eyes, but she lifted her chin. “The day after, then.”
“Day after tomorrow. Check.” He smiled and touched her cheek.
She didn’t flinch, only blinked and nodded. Poor kid. She was handling this better than he had any right to expect.
He turned back to the door. “Sal,” he yelled again, and then used the heel to give the door a couple of hard whacks.
Within a minute, he heard someone thundering down the stairs. “Jesus, Johnny.” It was Sal. “Can’t you just shut the fuck up?”
“We need water, Sal.”
“Use the damn tap.”
“Come on. Don’t make the lady drink that crap.” John heard more movement on the other side, then Vince’s deep murmuring.
“Hey, Vince, that you?” John glanced at Bella and winked. She was a bundle of nerves and probably wouldn’t eat, but he wanted her to have the option. He also needed her to calm down. “How about some food, maybe a bottle of vino, huh?”
Sal cursed loudly.
“Yeah, okay. We can do that,” Vince said after a pause. “Hold on.”
“Are you serious?” Bella said as soon as they heard the men leave and returned to the couch. “You can eat at a time like this?”
He shrugged. “Maybe. More importantly, if they’d planned to kill us soon, they sure wouldn’t worry about feeding us.”
Her perfectly arched brows rose. “Ah.” For the first time, a hint of a smile tugged at the corners of her mouth. “Good to know.”
“Not that I think they plan on killing us at all,” he said quickly. “You have to believe that. Oh, here.” He handed her back her shoe.
She sighed. “I was looking forward to getting a new pair.”
“Consider it done.”
“Be careful of making promises you can’t keep, Detective,” she said grimly, and bent to slip on both shoes.
His gaze followed the perfect curve of her calves and he wondered if she did some dancing as well as acting. He almost asked, but then thought better of reminding her that he’d totally screwed up her important audition.
Another few minutes and someone was back at the door. It was Vince, not Sal. Good. Except he was more careful than Sal might have been, making John and Bella wait in the bathroom while he hastily set down a box and a couple of bottles of Chianti just inside the room before again bolting the door.
John ran to the door. “Vince, wait.” Dammit, there was something familiar about the guy. Where the hell had he seen him before?
“Patience, il mio amico, no one has to get hurt. Capice?”
John glanced at Bella, her hands tightly clasped. “Just tell me where Nonna is.”
“Playin’ bingo.” The man paused. “She made cookies. They’re in the box. Now shut up, Johnny. Last warning,” he said, his voice trailing as he’d begun to climb the stairs.
It wasn’t the accent that was familiar. It was. Shit, he couldn’t remember.
“Admirable that you’re worried about Nonna,” Bella said, coming closer. “But jeez, we’re not exactly sitting pretty here.”
“Yeah, I’m worried about her, but if she knows we’re down here that tells me something, too.”
“She won’t let them kill us?” Bella said hopefully.
John smiled. “Something along those lines.” He peeked in the box. There were amaretti cookies, a loaf of bread, some cheese, two glasses, a knife. Plastic. Interesting that Vince had brought two bottles of wine, though. Probably figured if they got him drunk, he wouldn’t be so apt to kill them both. “Her cookies, that’s another matter. I wouldn’t touch them. Those suckers could take you down in minutes.”
Bella’s lips parted in surprise, and then she smiled. That made a knot deep in his chest unwind. “Are you sure you don’t just want them all to yourself?”
“Sadly, no. They really are terrible. Don’t get me wrong, she’s a great cook, even at her age, but a lousy baker.”
He filled a glass with wine, handed it to her and then took the other glass and bottle with him to the couch, hoping she’d follow. A few glasses of the Chianti might just keep her smiling. He hoped so. Not only would it mean she was relaxing, but it was nice. Her face changed with it. She must be good on the stage. A chameleon.
He waited until she sat down, got comfortable and took a sip, or rather a gulp. “You need to know, Sal’s got his problems, but he’s not a killer.”
“He shot you.”
John paused before he poured a small amount into his glass. “He didn’t intend to kill me.”
Bella shook her head, and he knew she didn’t believe him. Why should she? But he’d be damned if he’d tell her the entire humiliating truth. In fact, before she could question him further, he went for the distraction. “Lacarie. That’s what, northern Italian?”
“Yep.”
“That’s it? No story, no family history?”
“My family isn’t like that. My folks are third generation, and they assimilated long ago.”
“They named you Bella. You could have been called something boring like Jessica or Tiffany.”
Her stare turned icy. “My first name is Jessica. I use my middle name because of my job.”
John cleared his throat. “Jessica’s nice. Bella’s better.”
She took the bottle from his hand and refilled her glass.
“I can’t imagine what it’s like not to be steeped in the culture,” he said. “Around here, it’s everything, and has been since the early 1900s.”
“My father is an attorney, Mother volunteers and my sister, Andrea, is a stay-at-home mom. They belong to the country club and they donate to conservative causes. They’re as Italian as their new Mercedes.”
“You weren’t curious about your heritage?”
“I try to catch the fashion highlights from Milan.”
He smiled. “Do me a favor. When you meet Nonna, lie.”
“What, she’ll have me shot for being a bad Italian?”
He shrugged. “Maybe not shot.”
“Well, that’s one of them.”
Sighing, he pretended to take another slug of wine and when he put it down he made sure Bella was looking him in the eyes. “Hand to God, I don’t know what crazy plan they’ve cooked up, but it doesn’t include us being shot.”
From what he could see, Bella wanted to believe him. All she needed was a little more wine and he could relax about her doing something stupid while he came up with a plan.
“We okay now? You feel better?”
“Marginally.”
“We’re gonna get out of this, and you’re gonna be fine. I swear.”
“I believe that you believe it.”
He couldn’t argue with that. “You know what? I’m starving. I’m gonna get something to eat.”
“Good for you.”
“You don’t want any?”
She shook her head. “Eating would divert my attention from drinking.”
He got up, thankful at least that she wasn’t going to inhibit the alcohol with food. The bread would take care of the token sips he was taking in order to keep her drinking. He didn’t want her drunk, though, just less…
When had she taken off her coat? It must have been when she went to the bathroom. He liked that the silky blue dress was a shade or two darker than her eyes. And those legs. Another time, other circumstances, he’d have done something about it.
“Is there a problem?” she asked.
He looked up. “No. Just. No.” It was definitely time to put something in his stomach. Maybe then he could figure out what his next move was, and stop thinking about those worried blue eyes.
BELLA SHIFTED THE FORK she’d managed to snatch off the dirty plate so it wasn’t poking her in the butt. She wished she had pockets, but this would have to do. Her gaze never left John in his dark suit and white dress shirt. He certainly had nice hands. Nice shoulders, too. Neither distracted from her certainty that he wasn’t telling her the whole truth.
Something was terribly off. That Sal was dumb wasn’t hard to believe, but Vince seemed to be on the ball. That weird door had her concerned. She’d never seen one in a house before. Or anywhere, for that matter. The guns were as real as it got, and being kidnapped wasn’t a joke. Had John lied about being shot? Or about his belief that Sal hadn’t meant to kill him?
The whole plot seemed too far-fetched and weird to be anything but a farce, and yet there was nothing funny about any of it. Black comedies never ended well for everyone, and her role here was a bit player. Expendable. A red shirt on the planet Bronx.
John turned with a hunk of bread and some cheese in his hand. “The morons forgot plates or napkins. But the bread is fresh. You sure now?”
She nodded, trying to see past his handsome features to the man inside. “You married?”
“Nope,” he said, as he joined her back on the couch. “I was engaged once. It didn’t take.”
“The women of Little Italy must be rending their garments. Letting someone like you get away.”
He smiled as if he’d heard that a thousand times. “You’d be surprised.”
“I am. You’re young, handsome and a detective. What’s not to like?”
“Plenty.” He took a manly bite of a hunk of bread slathered with soft white cheese.
“For example…?”
“I haven’t confessed in years,” he said, after he swallowed. “I’m not going to start now.”
“You drink?”
He brought his glass up from the floor. “Sometimes.”
“Smoke?”
His dark eyebrows lowered. “No.”
“Gamble?”
“Not with money.”
“It must be women, then.”
He paused with his glass halfway to his lips. “I like women.”
“Too much? Or not in that way?”
He sighed, then took another bite. “I’m not a dog and I’m straight as an arrow.”
“So come on. What’s wrong with you?”
“If we’re baring all, then you’re going first.”
Bella shook her head before she took another drink. “No way. You owe me. I’d never even be here if—”
“I work too much,” he said, cutting her off.
“Ah, that old chestnut. It doesn’t fly. Women fall in love with workaholics every day.”
“And cheat when they never see the object of their affections.”
“Why do you spend so much time at work?”
He looked at her curiously. “Why the third degree?”
“I’m supposed to trust you to save my life. How can I unless I know who you are?”
He took the last bite of bread, dusted his hands and reached into his back pocket for his wallet and his badge. He handed them to her. “Peruse.”
She flipped open his NYPD badge and ID. Damn, he even took a great picture. She had to focus a little harder to read the print. Everything seemed legit, including him being thirty-two, but it didn’t tell her anything about the man. “I’ll take down your badge number in case I have a complaint. Now tell me why you live for your job.” She opened his wallet. No pictures, however, there was a little foil packet tucked away.
“It’s a big city. Lots of criminals.”
She leaned back. “You’ll never catch them—” The fork poked her right in the butt. She jumped practically on top of John and he had to do some fancy juggling to keep her wine from spilling.
“What’s wrong?”
She had the fork in her right hand, but she was still leaning on him, holding on to his arm with a death grip. Damn it. “I’m sorry,” she said, lowering her voice and her lashes. “I guess I just got frightened.”
“Frightened?”
She nodded, while trying to come up with a way to distract him. “I couldn’t help but notice that you take good care of yourself.” Squeezing his arm a little, she tried to give him a flirty smile.
He returned his wallet to his pocket, careful not to disturb her hold. “You okay?”
“Yes.”
“No epilepsy or tremors?”
So much for acting. She pulled away from him, careful to put the fork where it wouldn’t attack her again. “No. I may, however, be a little drunk. Not to mention terrified. So excuse me if I’m not the perfect guest.”
The look he gave her said he wasn’t buying it. But what was he going to do? Lock her up for lying?
He picked up his glass, glancing at her in quick intervals as he took a long, slow sip. Bella had to move, just so she wasn’t on the other end of his stare.
She’d played the scene horribly, yes, but what bothered her just as much was the realization that she’d felt better leaning on him, holding his arm, than she had since she’d gotten in the taxi.
Nothing bothered her so much as feeling weak and helpless. It also bugged the crap out of her that she’d turn so girly at the first hint of trouble. But it was true. She was scared and the only plan she had to save herself was a stupid fork.
She stood up, gripping her pitiful weapon tightly as she did so. When she looked up, he was right in front of her, close. Really close.
“What, exactly, do you want to know about me?” he asked.
Bella could see tiny gold flecks in his eyes. Feel the heat from his body. She should step back, regain her personal space, but she didn’t. “Why should I trust you?”
He stared directly into her gaze. “I give you my word I’ll keep you safe.”
She shook her head, which made her just the slightest bit dizzy. “How many times have you said ‘I love you’?”
He leaned forward, just enough for her to get his scent. Not just his breath, which was surprisingly not bad, but the way he was clean. No cologne, no smell of fear. “Only once,” he answered. “And I meant it.”
“So you’re an honorable man, are you?”
“Mostly. I’ve made mistakes, but this won’t be one of them. I can handle Sal and Vince. You’re inconvenienced, not in danger.”
A shiver ran up her spine. “I’m not so sure about that.”
His lips parted slightly and for a moment she thought he was going to kiss her. “I am,” he whispered. “No one will touch you.”
“No one?”
He smiled, and in that smile was all manner of promises of a different sort. Then he took a step back and walked away.
4
JOHN TOOK IN A BIG BREATH as he got some distance from Bella. The alcohol had already begun it’s job on her, which was great in a number of ways. Not just to keep her relaxed, but if he didn’t get too close to her, it would help him keep focused. He wasn’t the kind of guy who wanted a woman to be less than her best. It was important when things got intimate that intentions were clear. No misunderstandings and no regrets. Now was no time to get sidetracked. His reassurances to her were real, but that didn’t mean the situation couldn’t turn ugly. He needed to be sharp, think things through. He couldn’t do that with a hard dick.
So Sal, the genius, had come up with a plan. Something the family not only knew about, but had agreed to. Vince hadn’t come out and admitted Nonna knew what was going on, but the thing was, it was hard to get away with anything secret in the neighborhood. That, more than anything else, encouraged John.
The family also knew there was no way in hell he was going to let the shooting go. Accident or not, there were legal repercussions. Maybe they were hoping for reckless endangerment charges instead of attempted murder. That might have made sense if he wasn’t a cop. No way his captain would agree. There was too much at stake, especially in this city. It wouldn’t matter that Sal was his cousin, that Sal had tripped as he’d tried to run away.
Two months ago John had caught him in a chop shop, stripping a BMW. Sal, having to act like a big man, had waved his gun around, and when some of the others made a break for it, Sal had, too. Only the idiot had tripped on a tool box and his weapon had gone off. John had been hit, the bullet leaving a minor flesh wound.
All the lawyers in the country would hop right on that big old “accident” wagon and there’d be the devil to pay.
Even if Nonna herself asked him, John would have to tell her his hands were tied. The law was the law, and Sal had shot a police officer. Which would piss off every mother in a ten-block radius. Christ, the whole damn family would be all over his ass.
He turned and looked at Blue Eyes, still standing where he’d left her. Her gaze met his, and that same sly grin was just as distracting from a distance. It would have made things so much simpler if he’d gotten in an empty cab. “What about you, fair Bella? You must have a full dance card.”
She slowly shook her head, causing her hair to shift on her shoulders. “Nope. Nary a name.”
“Why not? No way you haven’t been asked.”
She shrugged. “I have other priorities.”
“Such as?”
“Whenever I’m not at my job, I’m taking classes or auditioning. When I get a break, I sleep.”
“Is that so? Gee, I could have sworn you were all up in my face about that very thing not two minutes ago.”
“It’s entirely different. I’m not trying to save the world.”
He grunted at that. Save the world. He’d be lucky to hold on to his job. One thing he did know, though, was that he could save her. He had to. She was something else. Not like the girls from the neighborhood, but not like the Manhattan brigade, either.
He liked her. He didn’t want to. All liking someone did was get him in trouble. So he kept his pants zipped around his precinct, didn’t dally with the nice, or not-so-nice, Italian girls. The farther away from the Bronx he got, the better.
He changed the subject by setting the box of food aside and turning to examine the area around the steel door. There wasn’t much room to maneuver. Not a nook to hide in, not a closet. If he tried to jump them, the second the door opened, Sal would see him. His gaze moved to Bella, even though there was something happening in the back of his mind. “What do you do?”
“Act,” she said. “Oh, you mean at my day job. I’m a research assistant.”
“What kind of research?”
She took in a deep breath, then let it out slowly, and that poked a hole in his determination and his train of thought. It was that dress. She had a gorgeous body, including beautiful breasts. Not too big, not too small, and more than tempting given that he was able to make out the small bumps of her nipples under the silky material.
“I’m a fact-checker for newspapers, magazines, and I do research on whatever for writers of all kinds. It’s interesting, for the most part, and my hours are flexible.”
“Uh-huh.”
“Detective?”
His gaze jerked up to her face. “Yeah?”
She nodded down, and he followed her look to see that if he took so much as half a step he would’ve tripped over the box and ended up on his ass. Well, humiliation was also a good way to keep his mind on business.
She took another drink, then saluted him with her almost empty glass. “Let’s hear it for the theater of the absurd. I’m actually thinking that despite your calm demeanor and reasonable arguments, that if this is my last night on Earth, I’ve sure picked a lousy place for it. A hotel room would have been better. Somewhere with great sheets, a flat-screen TV and room service. I’m not talking about a box of inedible cookies, either. While I don’t mind Chianti, there should be champagne, don’t you think? Something more dramatic and appropriate for the final curtain?”
“I agree, a hotel would have been much better. Say, at the Pierre?”
She grinned. “So what’s the deal with the accent? When the goombas are around, you talk like someone out of The Godfather. With me, you sound like a high school English teacher.”
He shook his head. “That’s low. You could have at least said college professor.”
Her laughter was low and sexy, just like her dress. “If I tell you something, Professor, will you promise not to make a big deal out of it?”
“I can try.”
She took another sip of her drink. “I had plans for tonight. Good ones. Celebratory. With a very good-looking bartender. He’s going to think I stood him up on purpose, and I’m…I’m going to be here.”
“What kind of celebration?”
She opened her eyes in a dare. “The horizontal kind.” Shit. Too much information of the wrong kind.
“You can make it up to him. If you need to, I’ll back up your story. My badge will help.”
Bella shrugged. “He’ll be fine. I’m sure he won’t go lacking. He never does.”
“So, he’s not—”
“He’s a friend. One who doesn’t expect too much.”
“Funny thing. I was hoping for the same kind of evening.”
The look she gave him could have been an invitation. She let her gaze move down his body before bringing it back up the same path. But more likely, it was that heady combination of booze and terror.
“I don’t know,” he said. “There’s not much here, but we could make a party of it. See who can eat more of Nonna’s cookies before they cry uncle.”
She sank back down on the couch. “I have a feeling if I continue to imbibe I’m going to sleep right through the night. You can wake me when the big door opens.” She picked up the Chianti bottle and stared at it a long moment before she poured herself another half glass.
The steel door made a noise. A scrape and a thunk, and then it was open, and Sal was inside. John reached for his gun that wasn’t there, then rushed to block Sal from Bella. Sal had traded his shotgun for his Sig Sauer, but the damn thing was pointed at her, and that was going to stop right now.
He got straight up in Sal’s face, the gun in his chest the only thing stopping him from taking Sal down hard.
“Back off, Johnny. I just want to talk.”
“I don’t talk to people who point a weapon at a hostage.”
“All right, all right. Go sit down, huh? I won’t point it at her, and we’ll have a conversation, okay? Okay?”
John nodded and he backed up a step, then another. Watching. Waiting. Sal started to lower the gun as John took his third small step. As soon as it was no danger to Bella, he flew at Sal, knocking the other man back into the door, one hand gripping Sal’s wrist, the other at his neck.
The bastard kicked him in the shin, hard, then got him in the gonads, not hard, but it didn’t take much to hurt like a bitch. He took Sal by the neck and twisted him around, pushed him toward the couch. “You son of a bitch. I ought to shoot you right now and be done with it. All I’ve ever done is try and help you, and what do I get in return, huh?” His hand squeezed down and Sal squealed. Then Sal kicked his heel into John’s kneecap.
Pain blossomed in his gut, which hadn’t recovered. He cursed as Sal slipped out of his grasp, but John didn’t let go of the prick’s wrist.
They spun around, and John caught a look at Bella at the door, banging on it with her fist. Then there was another fist right to the stomach, and he’d goddamn had it.
He slammed a right into Sal’s face. Blood spurted out of his nose and his howl could have woken the dead. John gripped the gun with his other hand, but so did Sal.
“Stop it! Both of you!”
Together, he and Sal froze where they were, Bella’s voice close and desperate. John kept his hands where they were and turned to find her just a couple of feet away. She looked fierce with the flush of anger on her face, and she held a weapon of her own. A fork.
Sal laughed. “You gonna fork me?” Sal asked, and then he laughed harder.
John stared wordlessly. She didn’t look tipsy at all, just serious and brave. She wouldn’t get anywhere, but still.
“You think I can’t hurt you with this?” Bella moved even closer. “You like having two eyes, do you, Sal? Drop the gun and open the door, or I swear I’m gonna—”
Sal laughed again. “I think you’d better go sit down before you get hurt.”
He kicked out at John again, but this time, John was ready for him. He twisted, then pushed hard at Sal to get him off balance. The two of them almost went down, but John had the upper hand, which he used to finally get the gun. He brought it up and aimed at Sal’s bloody face. “Thank you, Bella,” John said, not taking his eyes off of Sal.
“Oh, crap,” she said in return, which didn’t make sense until he heard the big door slam again.
“Put it down, Johnny,” Vince said. “You, too, miss. Put it down and walk away.”
John didn’t lower the gun, but he did look back to see Vince pointing his weapon at Bella. She threw the fork and it almost hit Sal, making the man jump.
“The gun, Johnny.”
He had no choice. Not with Bella a target. He gave up the Sig Sauer.
Vince intercepted the gun before Sal took it from John. “Goddammit, Sal, didn’t I tell you to stay away from him?”
“I just wanted to explain.”
Vince muttered something in Italian, his brows drawn together, dipping into a V, and John finally figured out where he’d seen him before. “You couldn’t wait until tomorrow.” Vince tilted his head a bit, staring at Sal. “He break your nose?”
Sal’s hand went to his face, and he hissed as he touched it. “Goddammit.”
John needed to regroup, to process what he now knew. He went to the couch, grabbing Bella’s hand on the way. She gave him a look that could have singed his eyebrows, but she sat with arms crossed, legs crossed and spitting mad. John thought she looked great. Better than great. That fork thing, she’d meant business. She was brave, he’d give her that.
Sal went to the bathroom to clean up, while Vince shook his head. “I don’t get you, Johnny. Sal’s your cousin. He’s family.”
“He’s your cousin?” Bella turned on John and he knew all the goodwill the Chianti had bought him was now history.
“I probably should have mentioned that.”
“Oh, my God,” she said. “You’re insane.” Then she faced Vince. “I suppose you’re related, too?”
Vince pressed his thick lips together.
“Yeah, he’s related,” John said, which earned him a wary look from Vince. It had been four years.
Bella put her face in her hands. “I don’t believe this.”
Sal came out of the bathroom holding one of the big white towels up to his face. “You broke it, you ciuccio. I’ll kill you for this.”
“Shut up, Sal,” Vince said. “Just tell him the plan.”
Sal gave Vince a stare, but eventually, he brought the towel down. “We catch a flight tomorrow,” Sal said. “To Uncle Tuccio’s.”
“You can’t leave the country. Your passport’s been flagged. You’re under a felony warrant.”
“It’s all been worked out,” Sal said. “Nonna put her foot down. She don’t want me goin’ to jail, but she says I gotta work for Tuccio, learn the business.”
Vince didn’t look too thrilled about it. “He can’t come back until he’s got his own sales territory and gets married.”
John let out a breath, staring at the two of them. Knowing the family, he was sure that whatever passport and papers they’d rigged for Sal would get him on the plane. Working for Tuccio was actually pretty smart. The old bastard sold wine across Europe, and if Sal took so much as a sip of the goods, Tuccio would have his ass. The kicker, though, had to be Nonna’s doing. Sal had to get married? That could take a while. No woman in her right mind would marry that giamope.
But none of that mattered. If he let Sal go, the whole department would know. They’d think he had something to do with it because Sal was family. “I can’t let that happen, Sal. You know I can’t.”
“That’s why you’re gonna stay here until he’s out of the country,” Vince said. “You got no choice.”
“When, exactly, are you leaving?” Bella asked.
“Tomorrow afternoon.”
She struggled to her feet, the couch doing its best to keep her still. “Surely you don’t have to keep me until then. It’s New Year’s Eve, and I don’t care if you go to Italy. I don’t care about any of you.”
“Sorry, sweetheart.” Vince did look sorry, but the gun didn’t waver. “You just keep Johnny from hurtin’ anyone, okay?”
Sal gave Johnny as much of a sneer as his nose would allow. “He didn’t hurt me. He thinks he’s so friggin’ smart with all his degrees and crap.”
“Shut up, everybody.” John stood. “Even if this works, and I can’t stop you, I’m gonna charge you, Vince. Out of respect, I’m gonna leave Nonna out of this, but not you. You’ll never be able to step foot in this country again. Is that what you want?”
Vince winced, but the gun still didn’t move.
“Not for a wedding or a funeral, you’re never coming back here. You understand?”
John tensed as he watched Vince’s gun hand move. First he’d need to get Bella out of the way, but he was sure he could take that gun and end this farce.
He took a half step, prepared to move fast. Then Bella’s hand was on his arm and she jerked him back, hard.
“What the—”
“Get out,” she said, to Vince and Sal with her eyes locked on John’s. “Both of you. Now.”
The two men froze. Long enough for John to make his move. So why didn’t he? Bella’s hold could never have stopped him. But the way she looked at him, her eyes begging even as her back straightened with pride. That, he couldn’t ignore. He stayed. He let Sal and Vince go. For her.
5
THE DOOR SLAMMED and Bella stared at the hand on John’s arm as if it belonged to someone else.
“Bella?”
She looked into his eyes again. “I don’t. I.” She let him go as her cheeks heated.
“I could have gotten the gun,” he said softly, as if he didn’t want to upset her. “I made sure you weren’t in the line of fire. There won’t be another chance. We’re stuck in here until tomorrow. Those two will get clean away.”
“Maybe they should,” she said.
“What?”
“He didn’t shoot you on purpose. You told me that. Or was that all bull?”
“Doesn’t matter. He shot a cop, Bella. In New York.”
“But you said it was an accident. Besides, it seems to me he’ll be more rehabilitated in Italy than he would be at Leavenworth.”
John shook his head. “And what about me, huh? How am I supposed to tell my captain that the man who shot me, my damn cousin, got away? You think he’s not going to assume I was in on it? That I gave him a pass? I’m already the laughingstock of the department.”
“Why?”
His gaze shifted before returning to meet her own. “My cousin shot me. That’s not enough for you?”
He was hiding something. She’d been a detective once in a play and part of her research had included learning the eye movements of liars. She didn’t understand the first thing about this insane family dynamic or what John’s motivations were. “You can tell your captain the truth. That you were hijacked and Sal skipped the country.”
“Yeah. He’ll probably clap me on the back and give me a damn cigar.” He shook his head as he went to the couch. “I had a good reputation before this. I was on the fast track. Now…”
She sat next to him and took his hand, not caring about the drying spots of blood left from his fight with Sal. “I can’t believe this one incident is going to ruin your future. We’ve just met and I know you’re a good detective. The people who work with you must know that, too.”
“No offense, but you don’t know anything about it.”
“Explain it to me.”
He looked at her for a long moment. Finally, he said, “It doesn’t matter. There’s nothing I can do about it now.”
Bella sat back—actually sank back—on the couch. She still didn’t understand why she’d stopped him. Self-preservation was the easy answer, but that explanation didn’t sit right. Something in her had changed during those few minutes of arguing. Not about Sal, God no. And while Vince was smarter, he was still on her shit list. Her reaction had been all about John. Maybe it was as simple as her not wanting him to get hurt.
“Hell, Bella,” he said, his voice low, his hand squeezing hers. “I’m just sorry you got caught up in all this. I hope you’re convinced that no one’s going to hurt you.”
“I’m leaning that way, but frankly I won’t be convinced until I’m safely at home. It would have helped, FYI, if you’d mentioned those two jerks were your cousins.”
He grinned. “That’s not an easy thing to admit. Besides, technically Vince is Sal’s cousin, not mine.”
She sighed and rubbed her temple. “I do feel better.”
“So why don’t you have something to eat, and I’ll fill up your wineglass. We’re here for the duration.”
Now that she wasn’t nauseous with fear, she felt she should eat something. “I’ll get out the rest of the bread and cheeses while you go clean up.”
He seemed a little surprised to see the dried blood on his hands and clothes. And a little pleased. He was such a guy.
NEW YEAR’S EVE IN a basement somewhere in Little Italy. Bella sighed as she broke off a hunk of bread, then laid it back on the cloth napkin it had been wrapped in. It was really fresh and smelled great. Wine, bread and cheese, a disgruntled detective, the world’s most horrible couch. Sadly, except for missing the audition, it wasn’t her worst NewYear’s Eve. Not even in the top ten.
Thank goodness there was another bottle of wine left. Her buzz was long gone, and she wanted it back. No matter what she’d told John, she was still scared. She’d be crazy if she wasn’t.
The bathroom door opened and a somewhat cleaner John joined her on the couch where she’d spread the napkin. “The bread’s good. They make it fresh every morning.”
She held up her piece. “It smells wonderful. I tend to live on salad and chicken breasts, so having no choice about eating carbs is pretty cool.”
“If Nonna saw you, she’d force-feed you for a month, at least.”
“You think I need to fatten up?”
He smiled at her. “I think you’re beautiful.”
A little flutter that wasn’t hunger danced in her tummy. “Thank you. I think you’re beautiful, too.”
He sighed. “Beautiful, huh? Great.”
“Oh, stop. I was being fetching. You’re ruggedly handsome and all man.”
“That’s better. If I didn’t have my hands full, I’d adjust myself and grunt.”
“Thanks for putting that image in my head.”
“Sorry.” He slumped and she could tell that he did feel sorry. For himself.
Something would have to be done. After all, she was stuck with him for the foreseeable future. More importantly, she understood. He was afraid he’d lost his chance. No one knew the feeling more acutely. She supposed his situation was worse. After all, he was a detective in the NYPD. He saved lives. Even if she’d gotten the part, it wouldn’t have saved anyone’s life but her own.
She studied him, not sure what her approach should be. Flirting had its merits, but in his current state she wasn’t sure it was appropriate. It wasn’t easy to cheer up a stranger. She had no idea what would bring him around. Alcohol seemed her best bet.
With his elbows on his knees, he bit into a piece of bread and chewed as if it were a penance. Not good.
She reached for her half-empty glass. “I think it’s time to crack open bottle two.”
He picked up the open Chianti and shook it. “Nope.”
“Great. Now all you need to do is catch up.”
He eyed his glass on the floor, still almost full. “You can have that. I’m not in the mood.”
“Get in the mood. The sun’s almost down, and since we won’t be going out dancing, or watching the ball drop in Times Square, we’ll need to entertain each other.”
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