Nick’s stomach growled, and he glanced at his watch. Midnight, and he hadn’t had a bite since lunch. He wondered briefly whether she’d had dinner tonight. He shook his head and shrugged. It didn’t matter to him if she was hungry or not.
The water gurgling and splashing into the bathtub covered any noise she might have made scrounging for items she could use to defend herself, if it came to that. She’d found nothing. Not a can of hair spray—he obviously wasn’t the hair-spray type—or even a razor blade. The jerk used an electric one. It lay beside the basin, still dusted in tiny black hairs.
She stared at the shaver and frowned. Why in the world would he have shaved in here this morning? Third floor, hidden-away apartment tucked behind a wall in a mansion fit for a king. Why use this bathroom? She pondered if for a long moment, then had to hurry to shut off the water. The tub was nearly brimming.
Steam curled from the surface, and she had to admit it was tempting. There wasn’t a muscle on her person that didn’t ache from running, struggling with him or riding in his trunk. She was chilled to the bone, and her feet hurt. She regarded the bathroom door, its lock and its keyhole. She had no doubt he had a key. She’d been in here quite some time already, and he hadn’t bothered her yet.
The robe that hung from the hook on the door was black velour. It probably came to his knees, but on her it would hover around her ankles. Still, it looked plush and inviting. Biting her lip, she turned the lock. She took a big towel from the pile in the closet and placed it within easy reach. At least she’d have something to cover up with if he decided to come barging in. She peeled off her wet blouse, shimmied out of her skirt and stockings. She exhaled as she sunk into the soothing heat.
The warmth seeped into her, easing her knotted muscles and chasing the chill away. She leaned her head back. She’d needed this, she realized as her eyes closed. Time to calm herself, assess her situation and begin to plan.
“I’m being held prisoner by a hit man,” she mused very softly in case her overgrown ruffian was listening. “So obviously my first priority is staying alive. Ranks right up there with finding a way to escape.”
She sunk until her head was submerged, soaking her hair. When she resurfaced she reached for the bottle of shampoo. It wasn’t a new bottle, as you’d be likely to find in a seldom-used guest room. It was half-empty. She allowed that information to take up residence in her brain for possible future use.
“The question is, do I really want to escape? When am I going to get this close to the mob again? This is a research opportunity like nothing I’ve ever had.”
Her last tell-all book, sold under the guise of fiction, had blown the whistle on several key members of a Colombian drug cartel. Government officials who, for one reason or another, had been dragging their feet on the investigation had been forced to act. Her sources for the book had all been genuine, her information checked to the last detail. She’d changed the names of the players but she’d made sure the people who mattered could guess the true identities. Of course, the story revolved around ex-KGB operative turned American agent, Katrina Chekov. All her books revolved around Katrina. The last two had hit bestseller lists nationwide.
“And this one will be the topper,” she mused aloud. “Katrina infiltrates the Taranto crime family.” She almost laughed. If Mr. Macho out there had any idea it was Toni Rio soaking in his tub, he’d probably have a stroke. Rumors about the subject matter of her next book were rampant, and the mob was getting nervous. Luckily Toni had always protected her identity. She accepted telephone interviews only, and everything else was handled through her agent. If her face became familiar, she’d never be able to move in the right circles and get the information she needed to make her books authentic. In a way, she was Katrina.
She shook her head. She’d like to be Katrina. Katrina had the courage to do things Toni could never do. While Toni snooped and eavesdropped behind the scenes, Katrina stormed the front gates and faced whatever was behind them. While Toni dreamed of finding the perfect man and having a home and a family, Katrina dressed in slinky gowns and seduced dangerous rogues. Katrina had all the courage Toni lacked. If Katrina had been Tito’s daughter, she would never have watched in stunned silence as her father was slowly destroyed. She’d have done something about it.
Toni blinked her guilt away and rinsed the soap from her hair and face. It had trickled into her eyes and it burned. She ignored the impulse to rehash it all and relist all the things she should have done and failed to do. It was too late for that.
She needed to concentrate now on the matter at hand. Being who she was and what she was, she probably ought to stay and consider this a golden opportunity. She swallowed hard and thought again about the man in the next room. She was afraid. Hiding fear was something at which she’d become adept, but she felt it as much as anyone else. Maybe more so. She wished, not for the first time, that she had a fraction of Katrina’s pluck.
She rinsed her hair again, just for good measure. It was so long and thick it required extra care. She leaned back against the cool porcelain to think. It didn’t look as if she could get out of here at the moment. She would escape at the first opportunity, though. She couldn’t write the book if she were dumped off a bridge somewhere. Even if the giant in the other room had decided to let her live, that could change in a heartbeat if he ever found out who she was. So, while there might be a good measure of cowardice in her decision, there was at least an equal measure of practicality.
In the meantime, she decided, there was no reason not to keep her eyes and ears alert. As long as she was stuck here, she might as well get something out of it. And she couldn’t do that by cowering in a corner and shaking like a wet dog.
When the water began to cool, she stepped out, patted herself dry and pulled on the oversize robe. The sleeves were too long, and she had to keep pushing them up while she rinsed her underwear in the basin. The stockings were beyond help. She was arranging her panties on the towel rack to dry when he knocked on the door. She only glanced toward it and scowled, but he thumped again.
“Antonia? Did you drown yourself in there?”
She lip-synced his words back at him and hopped onto the counter to wait. It would be a good idea to know for certain if he had a key to this room. She heard him swear and move away after he pounded once more. Seconds later he returned and maneuvered a key into the lock. He flung the door open, saw her sitting there and frowned.
Toni tried not to show her disappointment. She tossed her wet hair over her shoulder, slid down to the floor and moved past him. He was behind her a second later. His hand touched her elbow, and she resisted the urge to pull it away. There was no sense in letting him see how intimidated she was by his touch—how it reminded her of his size and strength. He propelled her into the kitchenette, where a pedestal table held two plates of food. He waved to one of them, and warning prickles raced one another up her spine.
Steak oozed juices and columns of delicious steam. Plump baked potatoes rested beside the meat, and small dishes overflowing with leafy green salad completed his offering. He moved to the refrigerator and stood in front of it, holding the door open. “I have Italian, ranch or Catalina.”
Right. And he expected her to buy into this?
“I’m not hungry.”
He closed the fridge, a bottle in his hand, and turned to frown at her. “At least try the salad.”
Toni’s gaze slid from his tiger-striped one to the bowls on the table. “You must think I’m an idiot.” She prayed her false bravado wouldn’t fail her now. “Let me correct that notion for you. I won’t be eating anything you push at me. You’ll have to think of something more original.” There was a numbing certainty in her mind that he’d put more than salad into the bowl reserved for her.
He stared for a moment before he understood. “You think I poisoned it, don’t you?”
Her cold, level voice deserted her. She couldn’t come up with a fitting rejoinder. A sickening mass writhed in the pit of he
r stomach when she thought of how easily she could have simply sat down and dug in. This was like walking blind through a pit of cobras. She’d have to watch her every step.
“I don’t quite know how to get this through your head, Antonia, but I brought you here to keep you alive.”
That really was too much. Her temper came into play, and her paralyzing fear was forgotten. “You brought me here to keep me quiet, so don’t try putting any noble motivations on it now. I think we might as well dispense with this bull about a couple of days, too. We both know you have to silence me permanently. A few days won’t make a bit of difference unless you’ve figured a way to resurrect Vincent Pascorelli from the dead!”
His eyes widened. He lunged forward, one long stride bringing him to her, and he gripped her upper arms hard. “How the hell did you know his name?” He asked the question softly, but his face looked dangerous.
Toni felt her heart flip over. She’d blown it with her damn temper again, and it wasn’t the first time. Now what? “I must’ve heard you say it to the other guy while I was playing dead.”
She watched him turn that one over, trying to remember if anyone had mentioned the victim’s name. She waited. He must not have been sure, because he let the matter drop. He continued holding her arms, though. “I need to know if you have a family. Anyone who’s going to miss you.”
She thought of her mother, and her anger flared anew. “You think I’d tell you if I did? Would you have to silence them, too?”
He released a short breath and shook his head. “You mentioned your mother. How long before she realizes you’re missing?”
She eyed him and she felt her defiance oozing from every pore in her. The day she’d breathe a word about her mother to this bastard would never come.
“I don’t want to silence her, Antonia. I only need to—” He broke off there, released her arms and looked at the floor. “Hell, I don’t suppose I’d tell, either, if I were you.” He reached for one of the salad bowls and thrust it toward her. “I’m not going to poison you, Antonia. Eat your salad.”
With an angry swipe of her hand, she knocked the bowl to the floor. Cherry tomatoes, lettuce, slivers of onion and cucumber chunks littered the place like confetti. His face turned murderous. He grabbed for her again, but she was faster. She ran into the bedroom and slammed the door as she had before. He came after her this time. He threw the door open so roughly that she was knocked away from it. He stalked toward her, rage marking his every movement. He grabbed her by one arm and jerked her toward him until her chest was pressed to his. He held that arm so tight his fingers burrowed into her flesh and she winced. His other hand went to the back of her head, and he twisted a handful of her hair around his fist. He yanked once, pulling her head back. She felt tears of pain and fear burning her eyes.
Then his mouth descended. He was brutal, making sure he hurt her, forcing his tongue into her mouth. She twisted away, but another tug at her hair forced her compliance. His tongue invaded her mouth, attacking, plundering. Her lips were ground between his teeth and her own.
When he finally lifted his head away, she knew there were tears pouring down her face. She tried to check them and found she couldn’t.
“Have I made my point?” He let his hand fall from her hair but still held her upper arm, forcing her to face him.
She met his triumphant gaze with tear-blurred eyes. “Oh, yes. You made your point. You are bigger than I am, therefore, you are in charge. What you say is law and I am at your mercy. Is that the point you wanted to make?” She rushed on before he could say another word, angrier than she had ever been in her life—with one exception. “Now I’ll make mine. If you close your eyes in my presence, I’ll slit your throat. If you lose track of your gun, I’ll use it to blow your head off. If you forget to lock the bathroom door while you’re bathing, you might find a toaster landing in the water beside you—plugged in. And if there is any poison floating around this hole, you can bet you’ll be the one who ends up ingesting it. Have I made my point?”
She doubted her words had much impact, since she blurted them as she cried uncontrollably. He released her arm, shook his head in exasperation and turned toward the door. “Get some sleep,” he muttered. “I’ll spend the night on the couch.” He turned and left her standing there, feeling as if she really could carry out those ridiculous threats she’d hurled at him. She felt she could wring his neck with her bare hands, if she could get them around it.
Nick went to the table and attempted to eat, but the little witch had ruined his appetite. She was being about as uncooperative as was humanly possible and she was only hurting herself. His little show of aggression had scared her into submission—for a moment. His lips thinned and his stomach twisted when he recalled the sight of twin rivers of tears burning down her face. He’d scared her, all right. He’d terrified her, acted like a crazed maniac, made her fear and despise him. He had no doubt she’d meant what she’d said. She might very well try to slit his throat in his sleep, if he gave her the chance.
He sawed off a piece of steak and speared it with his fork. “Good, let her hate me. That’s just the way I want it.” He lifted the fork to his lips and paused. He threw it down in disgust. He rose and took two steps toward the bedroom door, then stopped himself. What am I going to do, go back in there and apologize? he asked himself. Tell her I’m not the bastard she thinks I am? “You have me all wrong, lady. I’m a nice slime bag.” Right.
He could just tell her the truth.
Nick shook his head the minute that notion popped into it. No way. He was already beginning to wonder if her appearance earlier had been an accident. That alley wasn’t in what he’d call a good neighborhood. So what was she doing there? How had she known Vinnie’s name? She sure as hell hadn’t heard it from him, and he knew she hadn’t been close enough to see the man’s face. He couldn’t have mentioned the name. It was too well-known, had been plastered all over the papers since Vinnie had been busted on a trumped-up racketeering charge. The D.A. had put a scare into Vinnie, leaned on him until he’d agreed to testify against Lou Taranto. Then at the last minute, Vinnie the songbird had changed his tune. There wasn’t a person in the city who couldn’t guess why. Lou had got to Vinnie while he was inside. Lou scared Vinnie a little more than the D.A. did. Vinnie recanted. The D.A.’s bluff was called. He’d never had a stand-up case against Vinnie to begin with, so he’d turned him loose. Then Lou sent his top hitter to repay Vinnie for his loyalty. By the time Nick got to the alley to witness the hit, Vinnie was dead.
Nick remembered the fear in Antonia’s face when she’d seen Viper level his gun at her. That had been Nick’s first glimpse of her, standing in the rain, pale with fear and revulsion. No wonder she didn’t want to eat. If he could guarantee the food was safe, she probably wouldn’t be able to eat it.
Two hours later the light flashed near the door. Nick flicked on the big-screen monitor, reminding himself to hide the remote control when he was finished. The screen lit, giving him a view of the front gate and the pizza truck parked beyond it. Joey stood beside the truck, pressing the button there.
Antonia was asleep. Nick had peered in a few moments ago. He depressed the button on the speaker and spoke softly. “Yeah?”
“Pizza delivery, Mr. Manelli.”
“Extra anchovies, kid?”
“Sausage and mushrooms, just like you ordered.”
He’d given the right answer. Joey was alone. Nick used another button to open the gate and watched the monitor as the truck lumbered through and stopped near the front door. Nick used the remote to switch the view on the screen to that of the foyer as Joey came inside.
When Nick let him into the apartment a few moments later, Joey tossed the pizza box on a table and glared at him. “I knew you wanted him bad, Nick, but not this bad. How could you do it? She was just…” He swallowed hard and looked toward the ceiling. “She was such a little thing.” He closed his eyes, cleared his throat. “The suits are gonna have a ball wit
h this one, Nick.”
“Then you were there,” Nick asked.
“Vacant room over the bar. I saw the whole thing go down.” His gaze was accusing. “I never thought you had it in you—”
Nick pressed a finger to his lips, and Joey instantly went silent. He glanced around as if he expected to see Fat Lou himself emerge from the shadows with an Uzi. Nick walked to the bedroom door, opened it slightly and looked through. Antonia lay on his bed with the covers pulled protectively up to her chin. Her hair spilled over his pillow, completely hiding it from view. Her thick black lashes touched her cheeks. He stood back and allowed Joey to peer through the crack in the door. Joey pulled back in shock, and Nick closed the door again, urging his friend away from it.
“What did you do?”
Nick sat on the couch, stretching his legs out fully and tipping his head back. “The only thing I could do. You didn’t really think I’d shoot an innocent bystander, did you?”
“What was I supposed to think when I saw it with my own eyes?”
Nick shrugged. “She was convincing, wasn’t she?”
“What, you just told her to fake it and she did?”
Nick didn’t want to relive the tense moment. “I told her I’d kill her if she didn’t.”
“And she just came here with you? How much did you have to tell her?”
Nick’s head came up. “I didn’t tell her anything, Joey. She already knows too much. She saw Viper.”
Joey paled visibly. “I was afraid of that. It’s as good as her death warrant, you know that, Nick.”
“Exactly. I brought her here because I had no choice. If I didn’t have one, how the hell could I give her one?”
“You kidnapped her!”
Nick winced at the term. “I’m trying real hard to think of it as protective custody.”
Joey shook his head, got up and went to the refrigerator. He took out two beers, tossed one to Nick and popped the top on his own. “Man, I’m relieved. I thought you finally went over the edge.” Joey took a long drink from the can. “So do you think Lou trusts you, or was it a test?”
Reckless Angel Page 3