“Stop doing that,” she said. “It makes me nervous.”
“Are you trying to signal someone?”
She turned the wheel with a shake of her head. “Who would I possibly be signaling? Aren’t you from the city? That’s so you don’t get hit leaving the alley. Everyone does it.”
Southport Avenue was busy—car traffic and foot traffic. Friday night. Everyone was out at the various theatres. SpongeBob Live was playing at the Mercury Theatre, so the streets were filled with little kids bouncing along next to their parents. Enzo wished he was taking a sugared-up kid to two hours of high-pitched torture. Anything was better than this.
“Turn right at Irving Park.” At the post office. If they were heading to their death, maybe the post office cameras would catch the car. Maggie was a great PI. She’d never let the death of an employee go without looking into it. Although stopping this whole thing would be so much better.
A few more blocks went by. “Take a right here and then a quick left.”
The cemetery. That death thing was looking more and more viable. Which was starting to piss him off.
Why the hell were they at the cemetery? Headlights lit up the interior of the car, so the rest of the goons were still behind them—following them into the dark, empty burial ground. Marble crypts and headstones shimmered as the cars rolled along the paved roadway.
“Follow this curve and then stop.” The guard nodded to the left side of the drive. “Pull over.”
Jessi did as he said and slid the car into park. The lights from the car behind them practically gave them a sunburn through the back window.
“Leave the keys in the ignition and get out of the car.”
Now that she wasn’t staring out the front window, Enzo could see her clenched jaw and widened eyes. Jessi fumbled for the latch and opened her door. Enzo got out and walked over to her side of the car. He didn’t care if the guard had a problem with that—she needed him. He could tell. Or maybe he just needed to know she was safe. His hand slid into hers.
She held onto his hand and leaned into him. She was shaking. Fear, maybe. He wanted to tell her it would be okay, but he wasn’t sure it would be. He placed a soft kiss on her forehead. Her skin was so damn cold.
He wanted to warm her up, but he had a feeling the guard had been right. Being cold was the least of her problems.
“Stay where you are.” The guard waited as the other men got out of the tailing car. Their guns glinted in the headlights.
Enzo held Jessi’s hand and pulled her behind him. “Why don’t you let her go? I’m the one who talked her into going in the office.” He had to get her out of here.
The guard smiled. “Relax. The mayor liked you. He’s giving you an opportunity to learn from your mistakes. If we see you again, next time the night will play out very differently.” He turned to his thugs. “The keys are in the ignition. I’ll finish up here.”
They were taking his car. There was no way they were going to live through this. Well, there was no way they both would. There was still a chance. He needed to make sure Jessi got out, even if he didn’t make it out alive. He angled toward her. “When I let go of your hand, I want you to run,” he whispered as two of the minions drove off with Enzo’s car. “Don’t look back.”
“What about you?” Her eyes grew wide—wider than they had been a minute earlier.
“Don’t bother running,” the head goon said without turning around. He walked toward the other car. “If you ever feel an urge to wander into the mayor’s house or to make out while looking for the bathroom in the future, don’t. Next time, you will not walk out of this cemetery.” He opened the driver’s side door and got in, lowering the driver’s side window and cranking up Eighties house music.
“How are we supposed to get home?” Enzo asked, doubting that the guard chair-dancing to the deep bass and thumping drumbeats heard him.
The car rolled forward a few feet, then stopped. The volume on the music lowered to barely audible. “How do you get home? You like wandering places where you shouldn’t be. Walk.” The music blasted again as the guard drove away.
Enzo looked around the empty graveyard as the trees rattled in the biting wind. Jessi shook, her teeth cracking a fast tempo.
Enzo pulled off his jacket and wrapped it around her shoulders, clenching his jaw as the cold sliced through his dress shirt. It was an arctic March in the city. The temperature usually hovered around thirty at night. Cold enough to freeze your skin, but not much else. Tonight, it had to be around fifteen degrees. Bitter enough to freeze your tears.
“Thank you.” She slid her arms into the sleeves and wrapped the jacket around her. Her breath up and disappeared. “What do we do now?”
“Well, I live about three blocks away. We can walk, or we can call and wait for a taxi.”
“Three blocks?” She looked around the dark cemetery and probably saw the same thing he did. A lot of nothing. By the time they got out to the road and anywhere they might be able to flag a taxi, they would be at his house.
She looked torn. Maybe a little worried. Probably because some weird guy who asked her to commit a felony, then almost got her shot, and then got her abandoned in the middle of a graveyard wanted to take her to his house. She probably had visions of spiked drinks swimming through her vision. Shit.
“If you want, we can go about four blocks instead. There’s a coffee shop. We can call a taxi when we get out of the cold.” He motioned straight through the grass to the front gate.
“No, that’s okay.” She placed her hand in his and looked up into his eyes. The night had been a total shit-show, but she wasn’t upset.
She stood on tiptoes and leaned in. Her cold lips rested on his for just second. Sweet breath. Soft lips. The electricity zooming through his body with that simple touch was adrenaline on crack. It was addictive and amazing.
“Let’s go to your place.” She pulled away and wrapped the coat tighter. They both headed for the front gate and toward his house—toward the warmth of his house and the warmth of her body. This night might have morphed into shitstorm, but that storm was about to produce one hell of a rainbow.
Five
Fifteen minutes later Enzo could see the familiar houses at the end of his block. Thank goodness. His jacket was barely keeping the chill off Jessi, given the way her teeth were chattering. His teeth weren’t faring much better.
He’d originally thought he’d have to slow down for her. She was wearing heels. But no, she was practically running full speed ahead. Which was good because he needed to call the cops about his stolen car. He had no idea what he was going to say. The mayor’s goons stole my car in retribution for my attempt to rob his house? Yeah. That would go over well.
So, that meant he couldn’t exactly tell the cops who stole the car. But he couldn’t not report it. There was auto insurance and car payments and he’d have to get a new car. His car couldn’t just disappear.
Jessi turned around and walked backward. The wind pushed her hair into her face. “You’re quiet.”
“I guess I am.” He hunched at another cutting gust, shoving his hands further into his pants pockets. His house keys jingled—good thing he’d hadn’t given them to the valet along with his car keys. He didn’t want to think what might have happened if the guys who stole his car also had his house keys.
“Want to talk about it?” She cringed as another gust shoved her. “Or maybe wait until we get to your place.”
“My house is right up this block and across the street.” He pointed to the last brown brick row house in the strip. The side street was empty of moving cars, so he grabbed her hand and slid between the parked cars to the sidewalk.
His eyes roamed the cars sleeping along the curb. To one in particular. An older dark blue Mercedes SUV parked in front right in front of his house. The thing stuck out like a sore thumb next to all the shiny current-year models parked along the block. “Shit.” He walked up to the car and checked the plates.
“Is
that your car?”
A wave of embarrassment slipped through him. She knew it was his car. She’d driven the damn thing. Yet, seeing his piece of crap next to all the shiny new models made it obvious that something did not belong on this block, and it was his car. Maybe he could pretend it wasn’t his.
Judas. Grow a set.
His car was calling him names now. At least in his head. “Yeah. This is my car.” He looked inside. The Mayor’s thugs couldn’t have just left it here—without any other repercussions. They must have left a message. Dead fishes? Horse head? No beheaded animals or any other demented communication. The doors were unlocked. He whipped open the driver’s side door. The key sparkled in the ignition.
It was a miracle the car hadn’t driven away with someone looking for a five-finger discount. Cars parked in garages without keys tended to disappear to chop shops in this city. His was sitting out in the open and yet no one took it. Either he was lucky or it was a crappier car then he thought.
“Well, it looks like they brought your car back.”
He pulled the keys from the ignition. Yep. It was back. “Which means they have my address.” He leaned over and opened the glove box. His insurance card. At least he knew where they got his address.
Jessi huddled in his jacket. “Only slightly creepy.”
Yep. Only slightly.
He didn’t want to think about that at all. Not tonight. “Are you comfortable coming inside?” He motioned to his house. If she wanted to walk another block to the coffee shop, he’d do it no problem. However, he could really use some coffee, a fire, indoors.
“Sure.” She headed up the walk to the stairs and waited as he ran up behind her and opened the door.
A tidal wave of warmth rolled out as he opened the front door. He held it ajar as Jessi walked in. Her heels clicked on the honey maple hardwood floor as she crossed the entry and went down the three steps to the living room.
Warmth was already spreading over his body, but that didn’t stop Enzo from flipping the switch to turn on the fireplace. “Make yourself at home.” He tossed his keys on the side table. “Would you like coffee? Tea?”
“Coffee would be amazing.” Jessi stood in front of the fire and rubbed her hands together. She looked beautiful. The light bouncing off her dark hair. The whole night, the goons, the freezing…all of it was worth it. It was worth it to have her here. To get to spend time with her. And he planned on spending every moment he could with her.
If she’d let him. And he was hoping she’d let him.
Jessi could barely feel her legs and her hands were a mass of pinpricks immersed in throbbing. The cold wasn’t horrible if you were running from a warm house to a warm car. But throw in over a mile walk, and this wasn’t the type of weather that left a person unscathed.
“Coffee. Not as good as Café Colao, but it’ll be close.” Enzo walked around a black granite island into what she guessed was the kitchen. “What do you want in your coffee?”
“Just a splash of cream and two sugars.” She shook her hands and feet. Her skin was an interesting shade of blue. Everything throbbed as the blood snaked through her frozen veins.
She should have worn pants. Maybe even a snowsuit. She dragged Enzo’s jacket and her ineffective leather jacket off and went back up the three steps to put them on a coat rack by the door. Her whole outfit was based on looking good, not keeping out the elements. Getting home was going to be interesting. Although his SUV was sitting outside, so maybe it wouldn’t be as problematic as it seemed.
Shoes weren’t allowed in her house, so she unzipped her boots and left them near the door as well. She was used to being shoeless. Pulling her stockings off, she sighed at the feeling of the warm floor on her frozen toes.
Her feet slid along the light honey floors as she explored the room. Framed pictures of Enzo with an older man and woman sat on a side table—maybe his parents. The man looked like him. Italian. Gorgeous. The woman had Enzo’s eyes.
Across the room, a guitar hung on the wall in a glass case, a signature scrawled across the body.
“It’s a Fender. Signed by Buddy Guy,” he called over the island as he measured out ground coffee and then grabbed mugs from a cabinet.
“Buddy Guy?” She’d never heard of him. Not that she was up on all the guitarists in all the bands out there. But she’d played Guitar Hero, she could appreciate a good guitar.
“He plays the blues. Do you like the blues?”
Blues, huh. “Some.” She’d heard some blues, but never enough to know the names of groups or singers.
Enzo leaned over the island. “What do you listen to?”
“Usually alternative, I guess. Sometimes I’m in a pop mood or heavy metal.” She didn’t like to commit to one type of music. She liked it all—well, not all. She liked some more than others.
“Metal? The shadow box on that wall has a drum stick from Lars Ulrich.”
She searched the shadow boxes and then the bookshelf. He had all kinds of musical paraphernalia. Guitar picks, drumsticks and even a rag used by Flea from the Red-Hot Chili Peppers, if the sign inside the box was to be believed. Now that was something she could appreciate. She loved the Chili Peppers.
Clanging and thumping came from the kitchen. It was a nice place. Small enough for a single guy. She turned away from the souvenirs lining the wall and took a good look at the rest of the room. Dark blue couches surrounded a fireplace. A large screen TV hung above the mantel. It was warm, inviting.
She might have felt hesitation about walking into Enzo’s home—a veritable stranger—who’d already put her in a situation where a gun was pointed at her head. But even with that hesitation, the words she’d heard from Maggie swirled around her mind and kept her from walking away. He’s a good guy. Nice. If he needs your help, it’s for a good reason.
So, no matter what happened at the party, she knew he’d had a good reason. And so far, he’d turned out to be a good guy. Maggie was right.
“Coffee.” He handed her a steaming mug. “Cream and sugar.”
It was too hot to drink, but damn if the steam didn’t feel good on her face. And the mug? She wrapped her hands around the cup and slid them up and down. Her eyes shut, and she nearly groaned. The warmth was almost orgasmic. If she could rub the thing up and down her body without spilling the contents, she’d be on it like a cat in heat.
“Ummm…”
She opened her eyes to the noise coming from the man across from her. She’d almost forgot he was here.
Enzo’s face was stuck. His eyes weren’t moving. They were wide and staring. At her. At her face to be exact.
“What?” She ran a hand over her upper lip. How she would’ve gotten coffee on her lip without having taken a drink she had no idea. But it was more instinctive than anything.
He shook his head and nodded to the couch. “Do you want to sit?”
“Sure.” She sank into the overstuffed couch. The soft enveloped her. It was a giant hug. This couch, a book, and coffee would make for the perfect weekend—the man above her didn’t hurt either.
“Do you want to watch TV?” He picked up a remote off the mantel and sat next to her on the couch.
She swung her feet into his lap. “Sure.”
“Oh my god, your feet are freezing.” He lifted her legs and ducked sideways.
What had she been thinking? Jessi tucked her feet under her as scalding heat crawled up her neck. If she could just get the embarrassment to float down to her feet, they wouldn’t be icicles. But that’s not how the world worked. No. Instead her face blazed, her feet froze, and the really hot guy knew she had no circulation and had called her out on it.
“What are you doing?” He reached for her legs and drew them back to his lap. “We need to warm you up.” He covered her feet with a thick cotton blanket and rested his hand on top, keeping her in place. With his other hand, he clicked on the TV, pausing at a South Park rerun. She knew she should be an adult, but infantile humor and fart jokes cracked her up.
And South Park provided that between bouts of socioeconomic grandstanding. Although she liked their grandstanding as well. The show was just fun.
She drank the coffee, and her body slowly returned to a normal temperature.
Enzo laughed at something on the show and Jessi turned to really look at him. Strong jawline. Dark olive skin. Pink lips. And brown eyes that sparkled when he smiled. He was gorgeous, and now that her body felt more like her own and not a refugee from Hoth, she wanted to see just how gorgeous the man was. All. Over.
She needed to get his attention. She couldn’t just fly across the couch and jump him. Could she?
No. She needed subtle. She shifted her feet back and forth on Enzo’s lap, first rubbing together, then rubbing the bulge in his lap. Not really subtle, but hopefully it would get the job done.
He looked at her roving feet slowly moving beneath the blanket. His eyebrows arched. Confusion maybe. Not really the reaction she was hoping for.
He pressed his arm down over her ankles, trapping her in place. Again, not really the reaction she was hoping for. But maybe he wasn’t into her like that.
“I’m sorry. Did I misread this?” She raised her knees to pull her feet out of his lap.
He brought his hand down more firmly. “No.” He shook his head and ran his finger along the blanket covering her ankle, not looking at her. “But I have to tell you something.”
I have to tell you something ranked up there with we need to talk and don’t be mad, but…
If someone started with don’t be mad but, it meant they did something that would certainly make you mad. Same with we need to talk. No one ever said We need to talk, I won the lottery and we need to sit down and determine how to spend all the winnings. No, those conversation starters always led to bad things.
The question here was what bad thing.
Jessi looked at the living room and kitchen. There didn’t seem to be a woman’s touch. So the big reveal probably wasn’t a secret marriage. She’d read enough romance novels to know it could be a secret baby. But there were no toys, and nothing was safety-latched.
Busting In (Busted Series Book 1) Page 5