Desperate Measures

by Linda Cajio

  Ellen groaned. It was easy to guess whom he was going to ask to help him.

  Four

  Panic, Joe admitted, was probably in order. Thomas Carlini was gregarious and generous and completely without guile. While the older man would guard his part of the recipe from outsiders with his life, he was capable of giving it away to another family member—if Mario’s need was “innocent.” And Mario knew it.

  Joe had been puzzling about how Mario could have acquired the recipe. The only people who had the entire thing were Joe himself, his father, the senior lawyer, whose honesty would have made Diogenes ecstatic, and the safe. Mario had to be assembling the four parts. The situation was not as far along as he had feared. His other cousin, Jamie, and his own sister, Carol, had the other two quarters of the recipe. Ten minutes ago, he had complete faith in them. Now he wasn’t quite so sure. But even if Mario acquired only Thomas’s quarter, that in itself could be disastrous. In the same way an anthropologist could rebuild a man from an arm bone, someone could rebuild the recipe from just a part of it. They might not get it precisely right, but they could get a fair clone.

  Joe’s head was spinning, and he felt as if he were playing a chess game with someone who was changing the rules every second move. He decided that he’d make a few rules of his own before it was over. He also decided this was not the time to be peering out from behind palm trees.

  “Joe!” Ellen whispered fiercely as he took her hand and headed straight for the booth cradling his relatives. “Wait! What are you doing, and let me in on it!”

  “Just follow my lead,” he said. Her hand was warm in his, and he smiled to himself, although he knew this was hardly the moment for one of Ellen’s distractions.

  “It figures,” she muttered loud enough for him to hear. “In I Spy, Robinson was always the impulsive one.”

  He grinned over his shoulder at her. She was right. He had no idea what he was going to do. He only knew he had to do something. “Just remember Scotty’s job was to rescue Robinson.”

  They reached the booth before she could reply. The gods were with him, Joe thought, then tried to look startled and pleased as the two men glanced up.

  “Thomas! And Mario!” he exclaimed cheerfully, watching his uncle smile back in innocent delight. Mario’s initial shock was instantly covered by a smile that didn’t reach the cold, narrowed eyes. Both men rose to their feet as Joe added, “We came down to do a little gambling, but I didn’t know you two were going to be here tonight too. And together.”

  “Joey!” Thomas said. Joe ignored the snort of feminine amusement at his uncle’s use of the boyhood nickname. Thomas shook his hand, saying, “This is a wonderful surprise. Are you here for Sinatra too?”

  “Sinatra?”

  Thomas nodded.

  Joe smiled sourly. Thomas loved Frank Sinatra. Mario was pushing all the right buttons. “We’re here for the gambling.”

  “You’re missing a great show then. Mario got some tickets from somewhere—I don’t ask—for this private late show Sinatra’s giving tonight, and he’s treating his uncle Thomas instead of some pretty girl, bless him.” Thomas looked at Ellen and smiled. “I see you have a pretty girl with you, Joey. A very pretty girl. Come and join us for a little while. Mario won’t mind my asking. We’re all family.”

  Joe pulled Ellen closer, putting his arm around her waist. His mind was racing with the twin thoughts of keeping Thomas from trouble and watching his own back at the same time, but it was instantly sidetracked by the soft curve of Ellen’s waist and the subtle wave of heat that threatened to send his senses into oblivion. She stiffened at the contact, and he realized she was as affected as he.

  “This is Ellen Kitteridge,” he said, keeping his response to her at a minimum. “Ell, my uncle, Thomas Carlini, and my cousin, Mario Penza.”

  Ellen’s smile was serene as she shook hands with both men. Joe wondered what Mario thought at seeing the woman from the skating rink with him again. Whatever he thought, it didn’t show on his face.

  “Do we have a few minutes, Ell?” he asked her, deferring to his “date” as any gentleman would.

  Her smile never faltered. “I think so.”

  Joe decided he never wanted to play poker with her. No one would ever know if she held a royal flush or a pair of deuces.

  “Wonderful!” Thomas exclaimed.

  They ordered drinks and settled into the booth, with Ellen between him and Thomas. The long, lush line of her thigh brushed his, sending primitive signals coursing through him. Ellen jerked as if he’d run his hand along her leg. He wanted to. Badly. But he had a recipe to save. He felt caught between heaven and hell.

  Deciding to take care of the hell first, he asked, “Well, Mario, how did you manage to get tickets for Sinatra? I heard the regular shows were sold out within hours of being booked.”

  “It’s all in who you know,” Mario said, shrugging.

  “And you actually know someone. I’ll keep it in mind next time I need hard-to-get tickets.”

  Mario glared at him, knowing he was being baited.

  “I didn’t realize you were a Sinatra fan, Mario,” Joe went on, smiling. “I would have thought Sting was more your style.”

  “Who?” Uncle Thomas asked.

  Mario shrugged again. “I wanted to treat Uncle Thomas.”

  Joe raised his right hand and vowed, “I promise not to tell your parents about your ‘hot’ date tonight. If I remember rightly, they like Sinatra too.”

  Mario’s expressionless face could have been made from stone, Joe thought, knowing full well he had just hit the mark.

  Thomas chuckled, then turned to Ellen. “Mary, Mario’s mother, is a bigger fan than I am. And we’re talking big!”

  Everyone laughed.

  Suddenly Thomas frowned. “Mary is a bigger fan. And she was just saying last week that she wished—”

  Mario brought his hands together in a loud clap. “So, Joe, tell us about this beautiful new lady of yours. Have we met before, Ellen? You look very familiar.”

  Joe flinched at this sudden turn of the conversation. He had planted a little seed with Uncle Thomas that he expected, or more precisely hoped, would now niggle at the man. Thomas might just realize that he was being singled out in a big way by a nephew who had barely acknowledged him before. That Mario would attempt a diversion at this point wasn’t surprising, but the direction of that diversion was. Joe didn’t like it in the least that his cousin was focusing on Ellen.

  She smiled demurely. “We haven’t met before.”

  “Are you sure? But … Kitteridge … why is that name so familiar?” Mario mused aloud, the malicious glint in his eyes all too clear.

  Joe could see his uncle frowning now for a different reason. The diversion was clearly working, but that was the least of Joe’s worries. Clearly, Mario was about to bring up Ellen’s infamous background, possibly even the tragedy with her son. Red-hot anger shot through him at the thought of any embarrassment his cousin might cause Ellen. He’d take Mario by the throat to stop him, if he had to.

  But Ellen was speaking already, calm and outwardly unflappable. “Kitteridges have been around Philadelphia for about two hundred and fifty years. Everybody knows us. My family does a lot of charity work, and several Kitteridges are in local politics. In fact, my father’s cousin, Talman, is a rather flamboyant city councilman at large. He’s always in the newspapers as an opponent of the current administration. It never seems to matter whose administration it is.”

  Uncle Thomas slapped the table. “Of course! Talman Kitteridge. He’s run unsuccessfully for mayor five times.”

  “Six, actually,” Ellen said, laughing. “The family joke is that nobody would be more shocked than Talman if he ever did win.”

  Joe hid a smile as she and Thomas launched into a discussion of her relative’s antics. She had effectively cut off Mario’s attempt to bring up her own past. He couldn’t pursue the subject now, without looking as if he were deliberately trying to embarrass h
er. Joe gazed at her with frank admiration, at first for her adept turn of the conversation, and then just because she was Ellen. Her face was glowing and animated, and he knew it was partly because she was caught up in her role as spy. The other part he hoped had something to do with being with him.…

  “She’s delightful, Joey,” Uncle Thomas pronounced with great satisfaction a few minutes later.

  “Yes, I know.” Joe smiled and took her hand under the table. He wasn’t surprised by the jolt of electricity that passed through him. Ellen didn’t flinch. Outwardly. After a decent moment, though, she deftly pulled her hand from his and began to fiddle with her glass.

  Mario made a show of glancing at his watch. “We’re going to have to go, Uncle Thomas.”

  Thomas nodded. “Sure. In a way it’s a shame to go now. We were having such a nice talk with Joey and Ellen.”

  Ellen patted the older man’s hand. “What a polite thing to say, and you’re not fooling either of us with it. Go and enjoy the show, Thomas.”

  He grinned unabashedly at her.

  “Yes, you lucky dog,” Joe added, smiling at his uncle. “Besides, Mario would be mad as hell if you skipped the show, after all the trouble he went to for the tickets. I’m not surprised, though. After all, you’re my favorite uncle, too.”

  “And mine, of course,” Mario chimed in.

  But it didn’t ring true, and from Thomas’s puzzled frown Joe knew his uncle was having doubts on the subject. He felt Thomas would be just a little suspicious and untrusting of Mario now. Enough to make the man stop and think about anything out of the ordinary before acting. Still, he would have to have a further chat with his uncle later to emphasize the point.

  He imagined that Mario was none too happy with him at the moment. It was the second time he had taken him by surprise, Joe thought with satisfaction. He noticed Mario’s set expression as the two men took their leave of him and Ellen. He could almost feel the wheels in Mario’s head turning as he assessed the damage done tonight and worked on figuring an alternative plan. The one thing Joe couldn’t sense in Mario was defeat. So far, he had managed to block his cousin through sheer luck. It didn’t do to think how much longer his luck would last.

  Once Mario and Uncle Thomas were gone, Ellen flopped back into the padded seat and sighed loudly in obvious relief.

  “I was terrified he would recognize my voice after talking with me on the phone,” she said. “Remind me to leave you to be hoisted on your own petard next time, Joe.”

  He leaned his elbow on the table and said, “You were terrific. Scotty couldn’t have done any better, Ell.”

  “Scotty,” she pronounced, grimacing, “should have had his head examined for being the rescuer. If there were a next time, I would definitely be the impulsive one.”

  Joe knew she was reminding him of their agreement. He let it go—for the moment. “Uncle Thomas likes you.”

  She smiled. “And I like him. Very much. Dammit, Joe, he would be devastated if he knew what Mario was up to. And now that I’ve met Mario, I … well, I don’t feel guilty at all about helping you. If I may say so, like Cassius in Shakespeare’s Julius Caesar, he ‘has a lean and hungry look.’ ”

  “I’ve always thought that,” Joe said.

  She nodded. “You better tell Thomas right away about Mario.”

  “I have no choice, really, even though he’s going to be hurt. But I think Uncle Thomas will be safe enough from giving away company secrets tonight.” He chuckled. “Let him enjoy Sinatra. Mario must have paid a fortune for those tickets, and it would be a shame to waste them.”

  “A shame,” Ellen agreed, grinning.

  The momentary silence between them was easy. Joe reached up and touched her hair, feeling the silkiness wrap around his fingers. Beautiful, he thought. The tendrils slid away as Ellen shifted farther around the horseshoe booth. Her movements were natural and unhurried.

  “I must say I’m glad I could help you somewhat,” she said in an easy tone. Her blue-green eyes were wide with apprehension, however. “Even though Uncle Thomas wasn’t the man at the rink. Still, you’ve put your cousin on notice, I’m sure. When he realizes how futile it really is, he’ll probably abandon within a day or two his crazy idea of selling the recipe.”

  Joe smiled at her, deciding he’d had enough of subtlety. “I like the way you so casually and adeptly put space between us like that. Any other man would think you hadn’t been aware he was touching you, and you had moved over only to face him more directly.”

  She raised her eyebrows. “But you’re going to tell me you aren’t any other man, right?”

  “You aren’t any other woman, Ell,” he replied. “I know it. And you know it.”

  She gazed at him steadily for one long moment, then blinked and said, “I agreed to help you this one time, Joe. I felt I owed you that. And it was just a kiss, remember? You said so yourself. And I couldn’t agree more.”

  He stared at her, trying to suppress his anger at her refusal to acknowledge the attraction growing between them. She would have to remember his stupid words too. But she had been through so much, and he sensed that the more he attempted to force her out of her shell, the more she would withdraw. He had no choice but to concede. For now.

  “All right,” he said, and uttered the words that seemed like a death knell. “We’ll keep it light. Your mission is accomplished, Scotty, and I thank you very much for your invaluable help, without which I might possibly have managed on my own, but we will never be sure now—”

  She giggled reluctantly. “You sound just like Robert Culp.”

  “Then let’s beat it home before somebody expects me to play tennis. I’m about as good at tennis as I am at roller skating.” He slid out of the booth and helped Ellen around and up on her feet. He refused to show any reaction to her touch, knowing he had to keep things light. “Thanks, really, Ellen. You were wonderful.”

  She smiled shyly and began walking to the lounge entrance. They had taken no more than three steps when a waitress stopped them.

  “Sir, I’m sorry,” she said, pushing something into his hand. “But you forgot this.”

  Joe looked down at the piece of paper he was holding. “Dammit! Mario stuck me with the check.”

  Ellen burst out laughing.

  Grumbling, Joe paid the bill, leaving a generous tip. Ellen was still laughing long after the waitress disappeared and they were again on their way out of the lounge.

  Although his every instinct protested the thought, Joe knew he had to let her go peacefully tonight. Ellen was vulnerable, and he had no wish to trade on that in any way. He’d have to have a plan, he decided.

  One hell of a plan.

  “What is Joe Carlini to you?” Lettice Kitteridge asked, the fire of determination in her eyes. “That’s all I asked three days ago when you left so abruptly for Atlantic City with him and that’s all I want to know now. But you, missy, have given me a load of baloney. And don’t tell me this is the end of the discussion this time! I love you, and I’m concerned, and I want to know.”

  Ellen glared at her grandmother from across the breakfast table. Inquiring minds, she thought, were a pain in the tush. Her ravenous appetite of a moment ago for the sausage and eggs on her plate had vanished.

  “And I’ve been telling you for three days that he asked me to go to Atlantic City, and I decided to go,” she practically growled between clenched teeth. She was suddenly tired of suppressing her frustration on the subject of Joe. “That’s all there is to tell. Honestly! He hasn’t called again, has he? Or written, or used a carrier pigeon or satellite, or any other means of communication?”

  “Did he dump you?” Lettice asked.

  Ellen nearly screamed, aggravated beyond endurance. “No, he didn’t dump me! There’s nothing to dump from one trip to Atlantic City. For goodness’ sakes, you were just yelling at me to get out more, and when I do, you complain!”

  What else, she wondered, could she tell her grandmother anyway? That she went on
an exciting spy hunt with a sexy man, who drew her to him as helplessly as iron to a magnet, was told she was terrific and wonderful … and then was dropped on the doorstep at one in the morning without a word since? She knew she shouldn’t even be thinking these things herself. Her perverse mind and body needed no reminders at all where Joe Carlini was concerned.

  “Well, you’re moping around worse than before,” Lettice snapped. “So don’t tell me a tale about a casual date, young lady. Every time that phone rings, you jump and rush to answer it first.”

  Ellen reminded herself that she needed to explain nothing. There was nothing to explain. One time they had both agreed. And one time it had been. Whatever was happening now with Mario wasn’t her business.

  If it wasn’t Joe himself wreaking havoc with her peace, then it was Joe’s problems. She wondered for the hundredth time what was happening with Mario and the sauce. Had Uncle Thomas been saved from betrayal and embarrassment? She hoped so. He was such a sweet man. But what about the others Joe had mentioned? Had Mario gone after them too? And if he hadn’t, what was he trying now? The questions had been racing around in her head for days. She had even looked up the phone number for Carlini Foods and was irritated with herself for doing so.

  Damn the man, she thought, unconsciously clenching her fists. He had disrupted her peace and quiet with a vengeance. He had made her forget things she never should be forgetting. Because of him, she had been having fun when she had really only wanted …

  “Well?” Lettice prompted.

  Ellen jumped up from the table. She couldn’t stand the questions from her grandmother combined with the questions in her own head any longer.

  “Okay, okay. I’ll confess,” she exclaimed. “I was involved with Joe to stop a dastardly plot to steal a secret formula from his company. That’s the only reason I went to Atlantic City with him! Now that’s the real truth, Grandmother. I promise not to mope around the house and rush to answer the phone. Are you happy?”

  Lettice arched her eyebrows in clear disbelief. “I suppose you’ll try to sell me Grant’s tomb next.”