by Jo Leigh
He changed the subject by setting the box of food aside and turning to examine the area around the steel door. There wasn’t much room to maneuver. Not a nook to hide in, not a closet. If he tried to jump them, the second the door opened, Sal would see him. His gaze moved to Bella, even though there was something happening in the back of his mind. “What do you do?”
“Act,” she said. “Oh, you mean at my day job. I’m a research assistant.”
“What kind of research?”
She took in a deep breath, then let it out slowly, and that poked a hole in his determination and his train of thought. It was that dress. She had a gorgeous body, including beautiful breasts. Not too big, not too small, and more than tempting given that he was able to make out the small bumps of her nipples under the silky material.
“I’m a fact-checker for newspapers, magazines, and I do research on whatever for writers of all kinds. It’s interesting, for the most part, and my hours are flexible.”
“Uh-huh.”
“Detective?”
His gaze jerked up to her face. “Yeah?”
She nodded down, and he followed her look to see that if he took so much as half a step he would’ve tripped over the box and ended up on his ass. Well, humiliation was also a good way to keep his mind on business.
She took another drink, then saluted him with her almost empty glass. “Let’s hear it for the theater of the absurd. I’m actually thinking that despite your calm demeanor and reasonable arguments, that if this is my last night on Earth, I’ve sure picked a lousy place for it. A hotel room would have been better. Somewhere with great sheets, a flat-screen TV and room service. I’m not talking about a box of inedible cookies, either. While I don’t mind Chianti, there should be champagne, don’t you think? Something more dramatic and appropriate for the final curtain?”
“I agree, a hotel would have been much better. Say, at the Pierre?”
She grinned. “So what’s the deal with the accent? When the goombas are around, you talk like someone out of The Godfather. With me, you sound like a high school English teacher.”
He shook his head. “That’s low. You could have at least said college professor.”
Her laughter was low and sexy, just like her dress. “If I tell you something, Professor, will you promise not to make a big deal out of it?”
“I can try.”
She took another sip of her drink. “I had plans for tonight. Good ones. Celebratory. With a very good-looking bartender. He’s going to think I stood him up on purpose, and I’m…I’m going to be here.”
“What kind of celebration?”
She opened her eyes in a dare. “The horizontal kind.” Shit. Too much information of the wrong kind.
“You can make it up to him. If you need to, I’ll back up your story. My badge will help.”
Bella shrugged. “He’ll be fine. I’m sure he won’t go lacking. He never does.”
“So, he’s not—”
“He’s a friend. One who doesn’t expect too much.”
“Funny thing. I was hoping for the same kind of evening.”
The look she gave him could have been an invitation. She let her gaze move down his body before bringing it back up the same path. But more likely, it was that heady combination of booze and terror.
“I don’t know,” he said. “There’s not much here, but we could make a party of it. See who can eat more of Nonna’s cookies before they cry uncle.”
She sank back down on the couch. “I have a feeling if I continue to imbibe I’m going to sleep right through the night. You can wake me when the big door opens.” She picked up the Chianti bottle and stared at it a long moment before she poured herself another half glass.
The steel door made a noise. A scrape and a thunk, and then it was open, and Sal was inside. John reached for his gun that wasn’t there, then rushed to block Sal from Bella. Sal had traded his shotgun for his Sig Sauer, but the damn thing was pointed at her, and that was going to stop right now.
He got straight up in Sal’s face, the gun in his chest the only thing stopping him from taking Sal down hard.
“Back off, Johnny. I just want to talk.”
“I don’t talk to people who point a weapon at a hostage.”
“All right, all right. Go sit down, huh? I won’t point it at her, and we’ll have a conversation, okay? Okay?”
John nodded and he backed up a step, then another. Watching. Waiting. Sal started to lower the gun as John took his third small step. As soon as it was no danger to Bella, he flew at Sal, knocking the other man back into the door, one hand gripping Sal’s wrist, the other at his neck.
The bastard kicked him in the shin, hard, then got him in the gonads, not hard, but it didn’t take much to hurt like a bitch. He took Sal by the neck and twisted him around, pushed him toward the couch. “You son of a bitch. I ought to shoot you right now and be done with it. All I’ve ever done is try and help you, and what do I get in return, huh?” His hand squeezed down and Sal squealed. Then Sal kicked his heel into John’s kneecap.
Pain blossomed in his gut, which hadn’t recovered. He cursed as Sal slipped out of his grasp, but John didn’t let go of the prick’s wrist.
They spun around, and John caught a look at Bella at the door, banging on it with her fist. Then there was another fist right to the stomach, and he’d goddamn had it.
He slammed a right into Sal’s face. Blood spurted out of his nose and his howl could have woken the dead. John gripped the gun with his other hand, but so did Sal.
“Stop it! Both of you!”
Together, he and Sal froze where they were, Bella’s voice close and desperate. John kept his hands where they were and turned to find her just a couple of feet away. She looked fierce with the flush of anger on her face, and she held a weapon of her own. A fork.
Sal laughed. “You gonna fork me?” Sal asked, and then he laughed harder.
John stared wordlessly. She didn’t look tipsy at all, just serious and brave. She wouldn’t get anywhere, but still…
“You think I can’t hurt you with this?” Bella moved even closer. “You like having two eyes, do you, Sal? Drop the gun and open the door, or I swear I’m gonna—”
Sal laughed again. “I think you’d better go sit down before you get hurt.”
He kicked out at John again, but this time, John was ready for him. He twisted, then pushed hard at Sal to get him off balance. The two of them almost went down, but John had the upper hand, which he used to finally get the gun. He brought it up and aimed at Sal’s bloody face. “Thank you, Bella,” John said, not taking his eyes off of Sal.
“Oh, crap,” she said in return, which didn’t make sense until he heard the big door slam again.
“Put it down, Johnny,” Vince said. “You, too, miss. Put it down and walk away.”
John didn’t lower the gun, but he did look back to see Vince pointing his weapon at Bella. She threw the fork and it almost hit Sal, making the man jump.
“The gun, Johnny.”
He had no choice. Not with Bella a target. He gave up the Sig Sauer.
Vince intercepted the gun before Sal took it from John. “Goddammit, Sal, didn’t I tell you to stay away from him?”
“I just wanted to explain.”
Vince muttered something in Italian, his brows drawn together, dipping into a V, and John finally figured out where he’d seen him before. “You couldn’t wait until tomorrow.” Vince tilted his head a bit, staring at Sal. “He break your nose?”
Sal’s hand went to his face, and he hissed as he touched it. “Goddammit.”
John needed to regroup, to process what he now knew. He went to the couch, grabbing Bella’s hand on the way. She gave him a look that could have singed his eyebrows, but she sat with arms crossed, legs crossed and spitting mad. John thought she looked great. Better than great. That fork thing, she’d meant business. She was brave, he’d give her that.
Sal went to the bathroom to clean up, while Vince shoo
k his head. “I don’t get you, Johnny. Sal’s your cousin. He’s family.”
“He’s your cousin?” Bella turned on John and he knew all the goodwill the Chianti had bought him was now history.
“I probably should have mentioned that.”
“Oh, my God,” she said. “You’re insane.” Then she faced Vince. “I suppose you’re related, too?”
Vince pressed his thick lips together.
“Yeah, he’s related,” John said, which earned him a wary look from Vince. It had been four years.
Bella put her face in her hands. “I don’t believe this.”
Sal came out of the bathroom holding one of the big white towels up to his face. “You broke it, you ciuccio. I’ll kill you for this.”
“Shut up, Sal,” Vince said. “Just tell him the plan.”
Sal gave Vince a stare, but eventually, he brought the towel down. “We catch a flight tomorrow,” Sal said. “To Uncle Tuccio’s.”
“You can’t leave the country. Your passport’s been flagged. You’re under a felony warrant.”
“It’s all been worked out,” Sal said. “Nonna put her foot down. She don’t want me goin’ to jail, but she says I gotta work for Tuccio, learn the business.”
Vince didn’t look too thrilled about it. “He can’t come back until he’s got his own sales territory and gets married.”
John let out a breath, staring at the two of them. Knowing the family, he was sure that whatever passport and papers they’d rigged for Sal would get him on the plane. Working for Tuccio was actually pretty smart. The old bastard sold wine across Europe, and if Sal took so much as a sip of the goods, Tuccio would have his ass. The kicker, though, had to be Nonna’s doing. Sal had to get married? That could take a while. No woman in her right mind would marry that giamope.
But none of that mattered. If he let Sal go, the whole department would know. They’d think he had something to do with it because Sal was family. “I can’t let that happen, Sal. You know I can’t.”
“That’s why you’re gonna stay here until he’s out of the country,” Vince said. “You got no choice.”
“When, exactly, are you leaving?” Bella asked.
“Tomorrow afternoon.”
She struggled to her feet, the couch doing its best to keep her still. “Surely you don’t have to keep me until then. It’s New Year’s Eve, and I don’t care if you go to Italy. I don’t care about any of you.”
“Sorry, sweetheart.” Vince did look sorry, but the gun didn’t waver. “You just keep Johnny from hurtin’ anyone, okay?”
Sal gave Johnny as much of a sneer as his nose would allow. “He didn’t hurt me. He thinks he’s so friggin’ smart with all his degrees and crap.”
“Shut up, everybody.” John stood. “Even if this works, and I can’t stop you, I’m gonna charge you, Vince. Out of respect, I’m gonna leave Nonna out of this, but not you. You’ll never be able to step foot in this country again. Is that what you want?”
Vince winced, but the gun still didn’t move.
“Not for a wedding or a funeral, you’re never coming back here. You understand?”
John tensed as he watched Vince’s gun hand move. First he’d need to get Bella out of the way, but he was sure he could take that gun and end this farce.
He took a half step, prepared to move fast. Then Bella’s hand was on his arm and she jerked him back, hard.
“What the—”
“Get out,” she said, to Vince and Sal with her eyes locked on John’s. “Both of you. Now.”
The two men froze. Long enough for John to make his move. So why didn’t he? Bella’s hold could never have stopped him. But the way she looked at him, her eyes begging even as her back straightened with pride. That, he couldn’t ignore. He stayed. He let Sal and Vince go. For her.
5
THE DOOR SLAMMED and Bella stared at the hand on John’s arm as if it belonged to someone else.
“Bella?”She looked into his eyes again. “I don’t…I…” She let him go as her cheeks heated.
“I could have gotten the gun,” he said softly, as if he didn’t want to upset her. “I made sure you weren’t in the line of fire. There won’t be another chance. We’re stuck in here until tomorrow. Those two will get clean away.”
“Maybe they should,” she said.
“What?”
“He didn’t shoot you on purpose. You told me that. Or was that all bull?”
“Doesn’t matter. He shot a cop, Bella. In New York.”
“But you said it was an accident. Besides, it seems to me he’ll be more rehabilitated in Italy than he would be at Leavenworth.”
John shook his head. “And what about me, huh? How am I supposed to tell my captain that the man who shot me, my damn cousin, got away? You think he’s not going to assume I was in on it? That I gave him a pass? I’m already the laughingstock of the department.”
“Why?”
His gaze shifted before returning to meet her own. “My cousin shot me. That’s not enough for you?”
He was hiding something. She’d been a detective once in a play and part of her research had included learning the eye movements of liars. She didn’t understand the first thing about this insane family dynamic or what John’s motivations were. “You can tell your captain the truth. That you were hijacked and Sal skipped the country.”
“Yeah. He’ll probably clap me on the back and give me a damn cigar.” He shook his head as he went to the couch. “I had a good reputation before this. I was on the fast track. Now…”
She sat next to him and took his hand, not caring about the drying spots of blood left from his fight with Sal. “I can’t believe this one incident is going to ruin your future. We’ve just met and I know you’re a good detective. The people who work with you must know that, too.”
“No offense, but you don’t know anything about it.”
“Explain it to me.”
He looked at her for a long moment. Finally, he said, “It doesn’t matter. There’s nothing I can do about it now.”
Bella sat back—actually sank back—on the couch. She still didn’t understand why she’d stopped him. Self-preservation was the easy answer, but that explanation didn’t sit right. Something in her had changed during those few minutes of arguing. Not about Sal, God no. And while Vince was smarter, he was still on her shit list. Her reaction had been all about John. Maybe it was as simple as her not wanting him to get hurt.
“Hell, Bella,” he said, his voice low, his hand squeezing hers. “I’m just sorry you got caught up in all this. I hope you’re convinced that no one’s going to hurt you.”
“I’m leaning that way, but frankly I won’t be convinced until I’m safely at home. It would have helped, FYI, if you’d mentioned those two jerks were your cousins.”
He grinned. “That’s not an easy thing to admit. Besides, technically Vince is Sal’s cousin, not mine.”
She sighed and rubbed her temple. “I do feel better.”
“So why don’t you have something to eat, and I’ll fill up your wineglass. We’re here for the duration.”
Now that she wasn’t nauseous with fear, she felt she should eat something. “I’ll get out the rest of the bread and cheeses while you go clean up.”
He seemed a little surprised to see the dried blood on his hands and clothes. And a little pleased. He was such a guy.
NEW YEAR’S EVE IN a basement somewhere in Little Italy. Bella sighed as she broke off a hunk of bread, then laid it back on the cloth napkin it had been wrapped in. It was really fresh and smelled great. Wine, bread and cheese, a disgruntled detective, the world’s most horrible couch. Sadly, except for missing the audition, it wasn’t her worst New Year’s Eve. Not even in the top ten.
Thank goodness there was another bottle of wine left. Her buzz was long gone, and she wanted it back. No matter what she’d told John, she was still scared. She’d be crazy if she wasn’t.The bathroom door opened and a somewhat cleaner John joined h
er on the couch where she’d spread the napkin. “The bread’s good. They make it fresh every morning.”
She held up her piece. “It smells wonderful. I tend to live on salad and chicken breasts, so having no choice about eating carbs is pretty cool.”
“If Nonna saw you, she’d force-feed you for a month, at least.”
“You think I need to fatten up?”
He smiled at her. “I think you’re beautiful.”
A little flutter that wasn’t hunger danced in her tummy. “Thank you. I think you’re beautiful, too.”
He sighed. “Beautiful, huh? Great.”
“Oh, stop. I was being fetching. You’re ruggedly handsome and all man.”
“That’s better. If I didn’t have my hands full, I’d adjust myself and grunt.”
“Thanks for putting that image in my head.”
“Sorry.” He slumped and she could tell that he did feel sorry. For himself.
Something would have to be done. After all, she was stuck with him for the foreseeable future. More importantly, she understood. He was afraid he’d lost his chance. No one knew the feeling more acutely. She supposed his situation was worse. After all, he was a detective in the NYPD. He saved lives. Even if she’d gotten the part, it wouldn’t have saved anyone’s life but her own.
She studied him, not sure what her approach should be. Flirting had its merits, but in his current state she wasn’t sure it was appropriate. It wasn’t easy to cheer up a stranger. She had no idea what would bring him around. Alcohol seemed her best bet.
With his elbows on his knees, he bit into a piece of bread and chewed as if it were a penance. Not good.
She reached for her half-empty glass. “I think it’s time to crack open bottle two.”
He picked up the open Chianti and shook it. “Nope.”
“Great. Now all you need to do is catch up.”
He eyed his glass on the floor, still almost full. “You can have that. I’m not in the mood.”
“Get in the mood. The sun’s almost down, and since we won’t be going out dancing, or watching the ball drop in Times Square, we’ll need to entertain each other.”