Skin

by Karin Tabke

  Reese rose up on an elbow and peered at Frankie. He liked his vantage point. Her steamy pussy still twitched, and her tits sat high and proud against her glistening chest.

  “Sorry about that,” he said, pointing to her glistening breast.

  She wrinkled her nose as if just noticing his little gift. “Eww, thanks for that.” She reached for a tissue on the nightstand.

  As she cleaned him from her chest, Reese turned and watched and smiled.

  Frankie threw the wet tissue at him and he dodged it. “Next time you do that, I’m going to smear it all over you.”

  Reese pulled the twisted sheet off the bed, then straightened it. He slipped in beside her. He rolled onto his side and traced a finger around a taut nipple. “So you’re saying there will be a next time?”

  She slapped his hand away and rolled over, presenting her back to him. “Just because I have sex with you doesn’t mean you own the rights to me.”

  “I guess I’ll have to find someone else to use all of those condoms on.”

  Frankie rolled back to face him. “Look, Reese, I’m not saying no more sex, I’m saying let’s not make this any more complicated than it has to be, okay?”

  Reese smiled and traced a finger along her cheekbone. “Sex is the most uncomplicated thing I know.”

  She nipped his finger when it traced her bottom lip. He smelled like her. She found it highly arousing. Holding the tip of his finger between her teeth, she wagged it.

  “Hmm, maybe for a man —” The minute the words left her mouth she regretted them.

  He smiled and moved closer. “Frankie, you disappoint me.”

  She pushed his finger away and moved back against the pillows. “I didn’t mean it like that.”

  He moved where she had just been. “What did you mean?”

  “Women have to worry about getting pregnant.”

  “We used a condom.”

  “You never know, it could break.”

  He nuzzled her throat and her skin warmed. “Always a possibility, but not in our case. But I understand what you mean. I promise to be very careful.”

  She sighed and decided she recovered enough not to look like a cling-on. “Glad to hear that.”

  “So does that mean I can get another condom?”

  Frankie smacked him and rolled out of the bed. She grabbed the blanket at the foot of the bed and wrapped it around herself. “We need to get out of here.”

  Reese sat up. “We have another hour.”

  “I have a spread to do, and that means getting the hell out of here.”

  “In light of everything that’s happened, I don’t think Carmel is wise.”

  She hobbled toward him, cocooned in the blanket.

  “I’ve seen everything you own, you really don’t need to cover yourself.”

  She shook her head. “We need to get to Carmel.”

  He frowned. “I’m against it, we’ll go to Santa Cruz for the beach shots.”

  “Your protest is so noted. But we’re going to Carmel.” Reese opened his mouth to protest but Frankie held up her free hand. “I have my reasons, and while I agreed to allow you to call the shots, this point is not negotiable. You’ll have to trust me.”

  She flung off the blanket and stalked to the bathroom door. She opened it and threw him a saucy look over her shoulder. “There are two showers in this place, and I’m not sharing mine.” Before she closed the door, she called back to him. “I need coffee.”

  Reese stood for a long moment and stared at the closed door. He didn’t bother to contemplate going through it. Instead, he contemplated Francesca Donatello. She was quite a concoction. A woman who enjoyed sex but could turn off the afterglow like a man and get on with business. And he was sure that because of her adamancy the Carmel house held the key to both his business and hers. The sixty-thousand-dollar question was, would she trust him enough to tell him what it was?

  He was a patient man. He shrugged as he padded his way to the other bathroom and plotted ways of getting information out of her and getting her undressed at the same time.

  As the cold water sluiced down his body, Reese decided that going to Carmel was not a bad thing. Whatever Frankie was looking for down there would only help to serve the case. Besides, his team had been sitting on the “beach house” for a week. Zero activity.

  Frankie hurried to answer the insistent knock at the hotel door. “Who is it?” she called, figuring it was Jase. Frustration erupted. She was going to tell that man just what she thought about him.

  “Room service.”

  Ah, yes, coffee. Reese was more than just a pretty face after all. She was about to open the door, but she remembered Reese’s precautions last night. At an angle she looked through the peephole. A nice-looking middle-aged man in uniform smiled as if he knew she was looking at him.

  Satisfied, Frankie unlocked the door, swung it open, and screamed.

  Chapter Nineteen

  Reese toweled off, contemplating the many ways he would get Frankie out of her clothes, keep her safe, and milk her for information.

  Unlike Jase, he was convinced at this point Frankie was a target, not the trigger. Keeping her alive was paramount, and it would ultimately draw out the trigger man. He was convinced the person who killed Santini was also the same person who wanted his daughter next to him.

  Her refusal to divulge information about her business or her uncle told him she had something to hide. He wished she didn’t, but he understood her protectiveness of her family. He was working overtime in the charm department, portraying a character he was uncomfortable with but one he knew he must continue to play to get to her. If he could get her into bed a few more times, convince her he cared, he knew he could get the dirt. He needed her to slip up and drop information. And he knew she had lots of it.

  He grinned. If she wanted location, he’d give her location. Bedding Francesca Donatello was no chore for him. No, she was a definite perk, and to his dismay, his natural reticent nature had taken a vacation. He liked verbally sparring with her, and he found himself actually looking forward to a woman’s company.

  He scowled. He wanted her to be as innocent as she appeared.

  Holy shit! He vigorously rubbed the towel over his head, drying his hair. If Jase or Ty had an inkling how he felt, he’d be pulled off this case faster than he could read the bad guy his rights. Was he losing his objectivity? Just asking the question threw him off balance. He tied the towel securely around his waist. Frankie was not getting under his skin.

  The minute he opened the door to the living room he knew something was wrong. The silence, followed by the unmistakable sound of rounds being fired through a silencer, and the distinct sound of bullets splintering wood, was his next FBI clue. He grabbed his piece from the bathroom counter, where he set it before he jumped in the shower. With only a towel wrapped around him, he moved as stealthily as a jaguar to Frankie’s bedroom, where a man in waiter’s garb stood at the door to her bathroom, shooting a pattern through the door.

  Frankie’s bloodied, bullet-ridden body flashed into his mind and he felt sick.

  “Hey, wiseguy,” Reese called. The guy turned around and Reese shot him once, right between his surprised eyes.

  Reese stepped over the body and kicked in the door to find Frankie hunched down in the big sunken tub, bullet holes marring the marble. He grabbed her arm and she screamed, but quickly recovered when she saw it was him. “C’mon, sweetheart, we need to get the hell out of here.”

  She was already dressed, but he threw on his shirt and jumped into his jeans, then grabbed his boots and Frankie’s hand and ran from the room. As they waited for the elevator, Reese decided against taking it. He grabbed her hand again and pulled her down the hallway to the stairwell. He yanked open the door and came face-to-face with two men who shouldn’t have been there. He pushed Frankie back and kicked the front man in the gut, sending him tumbling backward with a loud whoosh into the smaller guy behind him. Reese slammed the door shut, jerked Fran
kie behind him, then ran back to the elevator. The door to the stairwell opened and the bullets whizzed past them. The elevator door opened and Reese jumped in, pulling Frankie behind him. Hitting the Close button, he slammed her up against the front right corner and pressed his body protectively in front of hers. The boys might get a shot off as the door closed, but flat up against the front panel, the trajectory of a clean shot would be nearly impossible, unless one of the wiseguys wanted to lose an arm when the door closed on it.

  Frankie caught her breath and looked at Reese, her eyes wide with terror. “Why?”

  Reese shook his head, watched the floor numbers go down, and jerked on his boots. “You’ve got something someone wants or you’re in the way.”

  Chills rippled through her body. “I only have Skin.”

  “Who wants it?”

  “Anthony.” She was a fool.

  The door opened and Reese pushed Frankie back against the wall. He poked his head out with his gun drawn. At the early morning hour the lobby was empty. He grabbed her hand and ran with her through the lobby and out to the parking lot.

  The two thugs in the stairwell raced out of the hotel just as Reese peeled out of the parking lot.

  Frankie held on to the door handle, looking over her shoulder as the two jumped into a dark sedan. “They’re following us!”

  “Not for long.”

  He sped down the freeway ramp, blending into the oncoming traffic. He took the next exit ramp, drove under the overpass, and timed his merging back onto the freeway, going the opposite direction. As he merged, Frankie looked behind them. “They passed, and no brake lights.”

  Not taking anything for granted, Reese put the pedal to the metal and they headed east, taking the long way to Carmel.

  “Why are you going east?”

  “We’re going to backtrack.”

  She didn’t argue.

  “Did you recognize any of those guys?” Reese asked.

  Frankie shook her head. “No.”

  “Level with me.”

  “I am!”

  “What’s the big deal about Skin?”

  “The big deal is it’s a profitable magazine.” She hadn’t wanted to tell him about the missing will and the fact that if her father had kept his word, she owned Skin lock, stock, and barrel. Or about Anthony’s accusations — her blood chilled. But what if there was money missing?

  “How profitable?”

  She scrunched her nose. “Profitable enough.”

  “Enough?”

  “Yes, enough. We’ve been down a bit the last couple of years, but you’re going to change that.”

  “Why is Anthony so interested?”

  She shrugged. “Spite.”

  “He doesn’t strike me as that type. Arrogant, yes, but spiteful? Doesn’t he have other things to do, like run your father’s businesses?”

  Frankie thought about that. “I — I don’t know. Right before Father was killed, Anthony started coming around the office.”

  “Maybe Skin isn’t all it’s cracked up to be?”

  “What are you insinuating?”

  “I don’t know, you tell me.”

  She ran her fingers through her wet tangles. “Are you saying Skin is involved in illegal goings-on?”

  He shrugged.

  “No! My father promised. No family business. Skin is legit!”

  “Maybe your father changed his mind.”

  “He gave me his word.”

  “Maybe Anthony wants to convert it.”

  She shook her head again. “There’s too much to do with all of the other businesses. I don’t know where he and Unk find the time. There aren’t enough hours in the day for me just as creative director.”

  She thought of Unk and his many accountants and advisors. The family had many businesses, some legitimate. Her father tended the seedier side of Donatello Inc., the service side, if you will, and she naturally assumed Anthony would follow in his footsteps. So why would he have an interest in Skin? An interest so strong he’d kill for it?

  “It doesn’t make any sense.”

  “What about your uncle?”

  She snapped her head up and narrowed her eyes. “What about him?”

  “Maybe he wants Skin.”

  “I’m going to tell you something, then understand this conversation about my family is over. Uncle Carmine has as much of a vested interest in Skin as me. We’re a family, we share. There is no power trip going on here, at least not between my uncle and me. Maybe Anthony has a few issues with Unk, and his mother, Connie, but —”

  “What kind of issues?”

  She shook her head. “Never mind.”

  “Let me in, damn it! I can help you. Otherwise you’ll wake up one morning next to your father.”

  She sat silent. She was aware. Painfully aware. And just as aware that she didn’t want to tell this man, this person who came into her life two days ago and turned it upside down, a man who she knew had ulterior motives, that she was too busy trying to survive to pursue, that her family was the poster child for fucked-up beyond recognition, and that deep down she was humiliated by them and, worse, feared them.

  She glanced at Reese and wanted to trust him, to tell him everything, to let someone else deal with this mess. But she couldn’t.

  “If you won’t let me help, would you at least consider going to the cops and telling them what you know?”

  She looked at him, incredulous. “Are you kidding? I go to the cops and I am as good as dead.”

  “They have witness protection.”

  “I know lots of dead people who went WP. No thanks.” She crossed her arms over her chest.

  “I know a place on the coast where we can lie low for a while and get some of those beach shots you talked about.”

  “I told you, we’re going to my father’s house. It’s very secluded on Seventeen Mile Drive. It was closed up after Father’s death. Only the caretakers are there.”

  “Who are they loyal to?”

  “My father.” And, she thought, herself. Mrs. Wilson had been there for all of her cuts and scrapes after the divorce. She trusted the older woman.

  “We’ll need to be ready to take off.”

  She nodded.

  Frankie sat back in the seat. The Carmel house was the key to Papa’s will. It was the last place she saw him, the place where they quarreled. Her heart hurt. She let out a long breath.

  Reese didn’t miss it. “You’re going to need clothes and a camera.”

  She looked down at her bare feet. “And shoes.” She smiled halfheartedly. “And panties.”

  Reese winked. “I don’t mind you going commando.”

  “I can have Tawny wire me cash.”

  “She’d know where you are. I’ve got my wallet, don’t worry.”

  A tumult of emotions collided in her head. She was with a virtual stranger. Well, not that strange, considering what she did with him, but she didn’t know him, and yet she was running for her life with him.

  “I need to call my uncle. May I use your cell phone?”

  Reese started to say no, but he removed it from the clip on his belt and handed it to her. Luckily he’d left his belt in his pants last night with the phone attached. He needed a way to get in touch with his task force. At least with the GPS in his phone and in the truck, they had a bearing on them.

  Frankie wished she had some privacy. She wanted to tell her uncle how scared she was, she wanted him to come get her, but she didn’t. It would be showing weakness. Besides, she was a big girl, and, after all, the daughter of Santini Donatello.

  “Hi, Unk.”

  “Francesca! Where are you?”

  “I’m” — she glanced at Reese, who kept his eyes focused on the road — “with a friend. On location.”

  “Cara, the police were here. There were two dead men in your house. Made men. Anthony is threatening to put contracts out on anyone who won’t talk.”

  “Who hired them?”

  “I’m working on tha
t right now. One of them was Tommy Two Socks. I thought your father took care of him years ago. I’m not sure who he’s working for. When I find out…”

  “I don’t know what to do.”

  “Come home. I will protect you.”

  She glanced nervously at Reese. His hands clenched and unclenched the steering wheel. “I — I need to get some work done, Unk. I needed to get away, so it’s a good time.”

  “Tell me where you are. I’ll send protection.”

  “I don’t need it.”

  “How can you say that? Two dead goons in your house! I believe now that the shot here at my office was meant for you. Anthony told me about the car incident yesterday. I never should have let you leave alone.”

  “I wasn’t alone.”

  “Jimmy told me about your model and his friends.”

  “Did you find out anything?”

  “Yes and no. Reese Barrett came up smelling too sweet. Like a buried cop.”

  If she had been shot point-blank by a wiseguy, it would have been less shocking than her uncle’s words. Her chest tightened and she felt the urge to vomit. She was a fool. Frankie glanced at Reese, who acted as if he wasn’t listening. It’s all about perception, Frankie. The truest words Reese had spoken to her. How blind she had been. If he wasn’t a cop, he was a fed.

  Spots flashed in front of her and for a moment she felt faint. Get a grip on yourself, Frankie. It’s not the end of the world. You have the advantage now. Her brain raced for an answer on how to proceed. A cop! She should have known. In hindsight all the signs were there. “Unk, I’ll call you when I get settled.”

  She swallowed hard and asked her uncle another question. “Did you talk to Anthony about that accounting error?”

  “I’m looking into it.”

  He didn’t sound happy. Did he actually think she had disrespected the family by stealing from them?

  “Cara, please, be careful and don’t trust anyone.”

  “I won’t.”

  She hit the End button and handed Reese his phone. Without looking at her, he clipped it back onto his belt.

  She refrained from comment and instead kept her eyes focused on the road ahead of her. A cop! Of course. She’d confront him when she had more control of the situation. She slanted a hard glare his way. He looked at her, his brows raised in question. Oh, he was good. Really, really good.