“Nonsense,” Maria said. “We insist. We have plenty of room, and besides, there’s not a decent motel for miles.”
Nick Branson didn’t look too happy, but he smiled and said, “Of course. Please let us do this little thing to repay you, Mr. Giovanni.”
Slowly, Dante nodded. Conversation lapsed after that. Dante lifted his glass to take a sip of tea and even the clink of ice in his glass seemed loud in the silence.
Finally, Lee Ann came to clear away the dishes and Nadia stood. Brushing the napkin against her mouth, she said, “Come on, Dante. I’ll show you to the guest room.”
Dante was still getting this weird vibe from her, like she’d thrown up a wall between them, and he couldn’t stand it anymore. She walked quickly up the stairs in front of him, and he waited until they reached the hallway to catch her wrist.
She froze.
“What?” she asked without turning around.
“Look at me.”
Her shoulders contracted. She took a deep breath and slowly turned to face him, plastering on another of those false smiles.
“What?” she repeated.
“I’m sorry for what happened in the bathroom. If I hurt you, if I scared you …”
With a nervous laugh, she said, “You scare the hell out of me.”
He thought he saw the glimmer of a tear in her eye before she ducked her head, and he wanted to know what caused it.
“I didn’t mean—”
She silenced him by pressing a fingertip to his lips. “It’s okay.” She leaned against him to brush a soft kiss on his cheek. “It’s a good kind of scared.”
She turned and started walking again. Dante decided not to press the issue.
“This is it,” she said, and pushed open a door to reveal a king-sized bed with a royal blue comforter. The battered duffle bag from his trunk lay at the foot of the bed.
“Do I get a map?” Dante joked. “I’ll be afraid to go to the john. If I get lost in this place, you’ll have to send a search party to find me.”
She gave him a patient smile. “There’s a bathroom connected to your room. You should find towels and whatever else you’ll need inside, but feel free to holler if you need me. I’m only three doors down.”
She blew him a kiss and sauntered down the hall. Once again, Dante found himself unable to look away.
Finally, he let himself in and shut the door. Something felt off with this whole thing, but Dante wasn’t sure if his instincts were true, or if his perceptions were off because Nadia made him such a wreck.
He placed the duffle bag on the bed, tugged his T-shirt over his head and pulled out his phone to call his office. When the machine picked up, he remembered how late it was and dialed Sanders at home.
“Hello?”
“Hey, Sanders. This is Giovanni again. Sorry to call you after hours.”
“Not a problem. Diane’s got me cleaning out the garage, so I need rescuing. What can I do for you?”
“It’s about Nick Branson.” Dante paused, perching on the edge of the bed to tug off his boots. “Tell me again what you know about him.”
“Um, okay. Hang on a minute while I go inside to get the folder.” Dante heard the phone clatter, then, a few moments later, the rustling of papers over the line. “Okay. Let’s see what we have here … my sources say Branson had a pretty good business going, shipping illegal aliens from Mexico to work on tobacco farms, but he’s branching out into new and naughtier things. Sources say they’d probably classify him as a mid-grade dealer, Mexican meth, but he’s got his eyes on the prize. He’s involved in a turf war with a drug lord named Diego Cortez over a section of business in Grundy County.”
“Okay.” Dante sighed and raked a hand over his face. “That’s pretty much squares with what Vandergriff told me. And you didn’t find anything at all on Vandergriff?”
“No, nothing. He looks clean. A few speeding tickets, but nothing out of the ordinary. His company makes those little foam thingies that keep my beer nice and cold this time of year.”
“What about family?”
“No close relations, now that his father is dead. He has an aunt and a couple of cousins in Maine. One ex-wife, who is now the honey of our notorious Mr. Branson. One daughter, the lovely Nadia, who was three months old when Maria walked out.”
“Okay, thanks, Sanders. I only wanted to be sure about all this.”
Dante clicked the phone shut, grabbed a change of clothes and headed to the shower. He wasn’t sure how he was going to manage it, but as soon as he got a chance, he had to get Nadia out of here.
Gary Vandergriff stared at the phone and contemplated making another call to his bounty hunter.
Not yet. Don’t push him, the voice in his head whispered. It’s simply a matter of time now.
A shiver of anticipation stole through him when he thought of how perfectly his plan was working. His Trojan horse was inside, quicker than he’d ever dared to hope. He didn’t know if that was a credit to the bounty hunter, or a chink in Andreakos’ armor. He preferred to think the latter, because it pleased him to think his old enemy was slipping when he himself had never felt more cunning. More alive.
Andreakos had started this war, for years holding him powerless with his cowardly blackmail, but Gary had known his patience would pay off eventually.
So many times he’d been tempted to call Andreakos’ bluff because he knew his father. The old man had cloaked himself in religion, but the god he served was himself, and the number one commandment was “Thou Shall Not Tarnish the Family Name.”
If Andreakos had gone to him when the old man was still in power, he would’ve been signing both his and Maria’s death warrants. But also because he knew his father, and the fact that he harbored a strong sense of self-preservation, Gary had bided his time and made his plans. This time, he would not be denied.
CHAPTER 3
Nadia crawled under her bed, straining to reach the pack of cigarettes stashed below the headboard. Her fingertips grazed the cellophane wrapper, but it remained just out of her reach.
Muttering to herself, she wiggled back out and yanked a clothes hanger from her closet. Resuming her position on the floor, she finally fished the pack toward her and blinked in surprise at the yellow Post-it note stuck on front of it.
It read, “Sorry, loser. A bet’s a bet.”
“Damn you, Ronnie,” she said, and crumpled the empty pack into a ball. She tossed it at the waste can and missed.
If there was ever a time she needed a cigarette, it was now.
Nadia couldn’t sleep. Her head was pounding like a drum, and the events of the day wouldn’t let her mind shut down. She felt hyper, anxious, and it had everything to do with the man down the hall.
After futilely searching her dresser again, Nadia placed both palms on her dresser and stared into the mirror.
She didn’t like what she saw.
The wan reflection gazing back at her looked scared and confused, and it made her furious.
She thought about how Dante had looked at her in that mirror, like he could see into her soul—like he knew her. But that was impossible. No one knew her.
Because if he did know her, he wouldn’t want her.
She was nothing. She was empty.
With another growl of frustration, she yanked open her door and wandered downstairs in her bare feet.
The mansion was oddly built, a result of Nick’s obsession with security. An outdoor garden was situated in the very center of the house, visible through three sets of sliding glass doors. Nick had built it for her mother, a place where Maria could feel safe when she tended to her flowers, but it had become Nadia’s favorite place, a place where she went to sort out her thoughts.
She felt better the moment she walked outside.
Pale marble statues glowed in the moonlight, reflective of Maria’s passion for Greek mythology. Nadia had never felt alone under their watchful stares.
Poseidon, god of the sea, presided over a cascading f
ountain, looking so real that sometimes Nadia could almost swear she saw his robes flutter. She gazed into the rippling water for a moment, standing close enough that a faint spray of water covered her face.
Her father had taken to throwing pennies in the bottom of the circular fountain when she was only a girl.
“Make a wish,” he’d say, then he’d send the coin sailing into the clear water. Although she had no coin to offer tonight, she made a wish anyway.
“Let him be the one,” she whispered, then flushed with embarrassment.
What a stupid little girl wish that was, because there was no “one”. Not for someone like her. Nadia wiped the mist from her face with the back of her hand and continued down the walkway.
The white cobblestones were smooth and cool against the bottoms of her feet as she wandered deeper into the garden. She trailed her fingers down the muscular arm of Ares when she passed and tried to enjoy the warm summer breeze that ruffled her hair. The scent of her mother’s roses hung heavy in the air around her.
Nadia sat on a marble bench beneath a bronze replica of Rodin’s The Kiss. The embracing lovers should’ve seemed out of place among the other statues, but somehow they didn’t. She stared at them and then up at the full moon, and found herself thinking again not of the man who had tried to kill her, but of the man who had rescued her.
“Nadia?”
Magically, Dante appeared behind her, looking like a Greek god himself in the moonlight. His shirt was gone again, and Nadia stared at the chiseled planes of his body for a beat with total objectivity, the way an artist appreciates a fine sculpture.
That objectivity vanished when he sat beside her. Her heart twisted when Dante withdrew a single orange rose from behind his back and presented it to her.
“Stolen flower,” he said with a smile.
Nadia took it from him and buried her nose in the soft petals. She inhaled deeply, and whispered, “Maria Stern.”
“Sorry?”
“That’s the name of the rose. Nick had them flown in from Florida because they share my mother’s first name.”
She remembered how he’d tickled her mother’s face with one and sang, “Maria Stern, for when my Maria is stern with me.”
The memory made a lump in Nadia’s throat because she wanted what they had, and it could never be hers.
“It reminded me of you. Beautiful, vibrant, surprising.”
Nadia wasn’t sure how to respond to that. He only saw the outside. He didn’t see what was cold and ugly and empty.
She broke off the thorns and tucked it behind her ear. The emotions she felt when she stared into those whiskey-colored eyes unnerved her. Her whole life, her relationships with men had been superficial. Nothing ventured, nothing gained, and that was okay. She’d had fun and she’d been in control, always the one who walked away before things got serious. She wasn’t sure she could do that with Dante.
“I couldn’t sleep, either,” he said. “I hope you don’t mind. I saw you come out here and thought I’d join you.”
His gravelly voice rolled over her like scotch over ice, causing heat to pool in her belly.
“No,” she said. “I don’t mind.”
Abruptly, she stood and turned her back to him, pretending to inspect the pink blooms of a nearby bush.
“You’re doing it again,” he said.
“What?” she asked, although she knew what he meant.
“Talk to me. Tell me about yourself.”
With a shrug, Nadia said, “There isn’t much to tell. I’m just a princess, and this is my cage.”
She winced. Why on earth had she said that? She’d meant to say castle. Panic spiked through her when she sensed him stand.
“Do you feel trapped?” he asked, walking toward her.
She shut her eyes and forced a laugh. “Yeah, right now. Can we please change the subject?”
“Why do I scare you?”
“Don’t push me, Dante,” she said quietly.
“It was only a question. I want to know.”
He was at her back, so close she felt the heat of his body and his breath on the back of her head, but he didn’t attempt to touch her.
“Why are you afraid of me?”
Taking a deep breath, she faced him. It would be better for him to find out how crazy she was now than before they got in too deep.
“Because I feel you.”
He opened his mouth, then clamped it shut again.
Nadia hugged herself, but she couldn’t stop the words that seemed to burst from her chest. “I do things … I’ve jumped out of an airplane, skied off the top of a mountain, bungee-jumped off a bridge. I do all these things, just for that moment, for those few seconds when nothing else matters and I can feel something. I’m cold inside, numb. I don’t feel much of anything, but when you touch me … I feel you.”
Sudden, unthinkable tears stung her eyes, horrifying her.
Nadia Branson did not act like a babbling idiot in front of some guy she’d just met and she most certainly did not cry. But she had, and she was.
The shocked look that crossed his face shamed her, and she looked away.
Silence fell over the garden. Even the crickets seemed to wait on his response.
Dante touched her shoulder, his big fingers brushing against her bare shoulder. “Nadia, I understand what you’re saying,” he said.
Was he making fun of her?
Her eyes narrowed, and she pulled away. Dante grabbed her chin and forced her to look at him.
“I … understand,” he repeated.
Nadia searched his eyes and saw the truth in their brown depths.
Oh God, he did understand. Somehow, that terrified her more than anything.
Dante folded her into his arms and she buried her face against his bare chest. “What are we getting ourselves into?” he murmured into her hair.
Nadia didn’t answer, because she didn’t know. How could she have just met him?
“Would it make you feel better to know you scare me, too?” he asked, and a helpless laugh burst from her.
“I bet I do,” she said. “Because I’m scaring myself right now. This is not me. I don’t talk like this. I don’t cry.”
His arms tightened around her, and she clung to him. Slowly, in the safety of his arms, with his heart pounding in her ear, Nadia began to calm down. He held her for a long time. She thought he would have probably held her all night if she’d asked.
She wanted to ask if he felt her, too, but she wasn’t feeling quite that brave. So, instead, she changed the subject.
“Okay.” She pushed away from him with a smile. “There’s only so much of this touchy feely stuff I can take in one night. Let’s start over.”
She walked to the bench and sat down, staring up at him expectantly.
Dante looked puzzled for a moment, then he grinned. “Oh, okay … let’s see here.” He cleared his throat and stuck his hands in his pockets. “Hi, there, Miss Branson. I couldn’t sleep. May I join you?”
She giggled and patted the bench beside her. “Yes, you may.”
“I love this garden. It’s a beautiful place.”
“This is the place I come to think.”
They sat in silence for a few minutes, then Dante asked, “What were you thinking about, before I so rudely interrupted you?”
“I was thinking about kissing you.”
His eyes widened and his jaw dropped a fraction. Then he laughed. “You’re a straight shooter, aren’t you, princess?”
“Does that bother you?” she asked, feeling a little defensive. She knew her personality did bother some men.
“No, it’s kind of … refreshing.”
Nadia smiled, but didn’t look up. He was sitting close, with his leg pressed against hers, and somehow even that small touch was comforting.
“There’s one thing about me, Dante. Despite all my faults—and there are many—I never lie.”
“Hmmm, that could be a good thing to know,” he teased, a
nd finally she looked up at him, into the velvety depths of his eyes.
“What were you thinking about our kiss?” he asked, then a funny look crossed his features, as if he were surprised he’d asked that.
Nadia stared up at the bright moon and sighed. “I was thinking that I’d like to kiss you again.”
She heard Dante’s sharp intake of breath and suddenly his rough fingers skimmed her face. With a tenderness that belied his appearance, he caressed the line of her cheekbone with his thumb. Part of her was screaming “run”, but another part had already lost that battle by the time his lips brushed against hers.
He caught her lower lip between his teeth and gently sucked it. When his tongue began its hesitant exploration, Nadia parted her lips, welcoming him. She groaned when Dante’s hands grasped her hips and pulled her into his lap.
Touching him was a marvel. Hard muscles covered by warm, soft skin. She ran her hands over his head, enjoying how the faint rasp of new hair tingled against her palm.
The force of her desire stunned her. Everything in her wanted this man, and she knew little more about him than his name. She should pull away, save herself while she still could, but her body betrayed her.
Dante’s mouth hovered at the racing pulse on her throat. The feel of his labored breathing against her neck and the heat of his hands through her flimsy silk nightgown were driving her to the brink of insanity. His rough fingers glided across the material, caressing her hips.
An alarm blared, shattering the silence. Nadia jerked and nearly fell out of his lap. Dante’s hands closed around her waist, and he gently sat her aside.
“Stay here until I see what’s going on,” he commanded.
Nadia rolled her eyes. Right.
She jumped to her feet and followed him. Dante turned to frown at her, but then she saw the resignation cross his face.
When they went back in the house, she wasn’t surprised to find Nick already downstairs, barking into the intercom.
He barely spared them a glance as he demanded, “Somebody talk to me. What’s going on out there?”
“Sorry, boss,” Waynie’s sheepish voice crackled over the intercom. “It’s only me. I didn’t get the code punched in time.”
In Enemy Hands Page 5