by Lauren Layne
“We won’t let anything happen to Ms. Walker.”
Anthony’s eyes narrowed, sensing that he was missing something.
Garny cracked his knuckles. “It’s time to tighten our noose, Captain.”
“Spell it out for me,” Anth said warily.
The agent leaned forward, his eyes gleaming behind the thick glasses. “It’s time we put Smiley’s affection for Ms. Walker to use. We’ll use her to set a trap.”
Anthony’s stomach twisted at the thought. “You want to use her as bait.”
Agent Garny’s brow wrinkled. “That’s a rather emotional way of putting it, Captain. You’ve never used an asset to catch a perp before?”
He had. Dozens of times. And he hadn’t thought twice about it. If done right—and he always did it right—there was virtually no risk to the person used to entice the bad guys.
But this wasn’t just any person.
This was Maggie, who snored when she slept, who wrote amusing love stories about teenagers and was damn good at it.
Maggie, who’d already been used mightily by every man in her life.
Anthony saw the resolve on Garny’s face.
Even worse, he knew Garny was right. This was the best shot at getting Smiley. A long shot, but it was something. More than he had now.
He closed his eyes briefly.
God help him. Once again, he was going to choose the job over the woman.
Chapter Eighteen
You look like shit.”
“I’m going to let that slide, only because you brought whiskey,” Anth said, accepting the glass Vincent dangled in front of his face.
His brother sat in a chair across from where Anthony sat slouching on their parents’ couch. Sunday dinners had become a “come if you can” affair over the past few years (unlike brunch, which was mandatory), and since Luc had picked up an extra shift and Elena was on a date, it was just him and Vin tonight.
“Where is everyone?” Anthony asked.
“Dad’s on the phone with Uncle Mike, and Nonna and Mom are arguing about the brand of pasta Mom switched to.”
“So everything’s normal then,” Anth muttered distractedly.
He felt his brother studying him and narrowed his eyes. “What?”
“Nothing.”
Anth snorted. “Since when have you picked up passive-aggressive skills? I know that look. It’s not nothing. Say it.”
Vincent swirled his glass, watching the ice clink against the sides of their mother’s crystal tumblers.
Whiskey might not be an Italian thing, but it was definitely a cop thing, at least in this house. There was always a decent supply of bourbon, Scotch, and Johnnie Walker on hand for the shitty weeks.
And this was definitely a shitty week. A shitty month.
“Pops told me about the sting opp,” Vincent said. “To catch Smiley.”
“It’s not an opp yet,” Anthony muttered. “Just an idea.”
A crappy idea, he’d decided. The very thought of putting Maggie in the middle of Bryant Park with an open invitation to Eddie Hansen to come to her made him want to hurl the crystal tumbler against his mother’s wallpaper.
“What’s the holdup?” Vincent asked.
Anthony took a long swallow of his drink. “Maggie’s not on board.”
Vin frowned. “You mean she doesn’t want to participate?”
“Meaning…I haven’t asked her yet.”
Vincent stared at him. “Dude.”
“Don’t dude me. You’ve been talking to Marco too much. Picking up California surfer talk.”
“You sound like a grumpy old man,” Vincent grumbled.
“This from Mr. Sunshine?” Anth shot back. “Last time I checked you weren’t exactly riding a white unicorn around the city, passing out candy to children.”
“Yeah, because I’m not a child molester, you sick fu—”
“Problem?”
Both brothers turned to see their father standing in the doorway.
“Yes, there’s a problem,” Vincent said, standing and going to the sideboard where he refilled his glass. “Your eldest son has his head up his ass. Drink?”
“Yeah,” Tony said gruffly, ambling over to the second chair where he sat across from Anthony. Vincent handed his father a glass, then took the chair next to Tony’s.
Anth rolled his eyes. “Great. Facing the firing squad.”
“I only wish I had my gun,” Vin said.
Tony took a sip of his drink before setting it on the table. Started to lean back, then shifted again, reaching for a coaster and replacing his beverage.
Anth nearly smiled at the gesture. His father may be the patriarch of the house, but his mom definitely was in charge.
“This about the girl?” Tony asked Vincent, never taking his eyes off Anthony.
“Obviously,” Vin said.
“He likes her,” Tony said.
“Definitely,” Vincent confirmed.
Their father nodded thoughtfully. “You haven’t told her about the sting opp?”
Anth pointed a finger at his own chest. “Oh, I’m sorry. Are you talking to me directly now? I thought the two of you would just proceed like I wasn’t here.”
“Wouldn’t that be nice?” Vincent said into his glass.
Tony leaned forward, linked his fingers together, and studied his oldest son. Anth resisted the urge to squirm. He was thirty-six. Well past the age where he should have to explain his career or his love life to his father.
But of course, they were Morettis, and the distinction between career and family was nonexistent.
“You know, Anth, the sooner you catch Smiley, the sooner you can date Maggie, clear and free.”
Anthony blinked in surprise. Not what he’d expected his father to say, and since he didn’t do well with the unexpected, he blurted out something he wasn’t at all sure was true. “I have no intention of dating Maggie.”
“Bullshit,” Vincent said around an ice cube. “Your head’s so far—”
“Oh, fuck off.” Anthony’s temper ignited as it often did when confronted with the most irritable of his three brothers. Vincent pushed his buttons on the best of days, but then there were times when his younger brother just plain went too far.
Vin held up his hands. “Hey, don’t take it out on me just because you—”
“Oh, enough,” Tony said, directing the order at Vincent for once. “You, of all people, don’t get to badger your brother about being an idiot when it comes to women.”
Vincent had had one foot crossed over his knee, but he dropped both feet to the ground and sat up at his father’s statement.
“What do you mean, ‘me of all people’?”
“You know exactly what I mean.” Tony took a sip of his drink.
“Obviously not,” Vincent snapped.
Anth watched the entire interaction with interest. He knew, of course, what his father was talking about. Who his father was talking about.
Jill Henley was Vincent’s other half. His cuter, nicer, more smiley half, obviously. But if there was ever a male/female duo destined for romance, it was those two.
Only his brother was too damn blind to see what was right in front of him.
Anthony studied Vincent, saw the torment there, and silently amended his previous thought. Or maybe Vincent knew exactly what was right in front of him. Maybe there were reasons he held himself back from Jill.
Reasons Anth had never bothered to ask.
“This isn’t about me,” Vincent finally grumbled. “I’m not the one who’s got a boner for an informant.”
Anth mentally crossed his fingers that his father would linger on Vincent’s love life a bit longer, but no such luck. Tony’s attention swung back to him.
“Son, do you know how many sting operations I did in my day?”
“A billion?” Anth said, knowing his father was going to name some astronomical number to prove his point, and wanting to get it all over with.
“Close,” his f
ather said with a decisive nod. “And you know how many went south?”
Anthony didn’t bother to respond, just continued to sip the now watered-down whiskey until his father got down to it.
“One. One case.”
“Oh, BS,” Vincent said. “You’re telling me all but one were successful? No way.”
“Well, no, I didn’t say they were all successful. But collateral damage? Only one case. One case out of hundreds.”
“I thought you said it was a billion?” Anth asked.
His father jabbed a finger in his direction. “You’re deflecting. Deflecting because you’re scared something will happen to the girl and it’ll be on you. But, son, this isn’t that girl. Maggie isn’t that Vannah character. And her life isn’t on you.”
“It sure as fuck is if I put her in the middle of a criminal investigation!” he lashed out, angry that his father would dare to mention Vannah.
“We’re not talking about luring a serial killer to a lone woman in a deserted warehouse. We’re talking about a B-player criminal coming to a public park in the middle of Manhattan.”
Anthony stared stubbornly into his drink.
“Pops is right,” Vincent said, surprising Anth with his gentler than usual tone. “Maggie won’t be in any danger. You’ll be there. The FBI will be there. Luc and I will be there, plus Jill—”
“And I’ll for sure be there.”
All three men turned to see Anthony’s grandmother standing in the doorway.
“Mother, no way in hell will you be anywhere near this,” Tony said wearily.
Nonna folded her arms across her flat chest, her eyes getting that narrowed, stubborn look that Anthony knew all too well. It was a trademark Moretti move.
“I’ll bring my sharpshooter.”
“Question.” Anthony lifted a finger. “Do you know what a sharpshooter is?”
“Absolutely. And I’ll bring one.”
“Wrong,” Anth said, making a buzzing noise. “A sharpshooter is a person.”
Nonna scowled. “Well, fine. If you’re going to be particular about it, then I won’t bring a sharpshooter, I’ll be a sharpshooter.”
“Oh my God,” Vincent muttered.
“Maggie would want me there,” she persisted.
“Not with a firearm, she wouldn’t,” Anth’s mother said, coming into the doorway.
Nonna bristled. “I know how to shoot.”
“When was the last time you actually held a gun?” Maria said, folding her own arms to match her mother-in-law’s posture.
“1964,” Nonna said proudly. “Back when people weren’t so—”
“Okay,” Tony said, standing. “Enough. Mother, no guns. No anything. Just…stay out of police business.”
“Well, who will take care of my Maggie?” Nonna said.
“Anthony will,” Maria said. Her tone was matter-of-fact.
Anth rolled to his feet, starting to put his glass on the table and then tugging a coaster toward him when he caught his mom’s look. “Ma, it’s not that simple. Even if I did feel good about putting her into the middle of a trap for Smiley, there’s the not-so-minor problem that she hasn’t agreed to do it yet.”
“She refused to help?” Maria asked.
Anth tugged his earlobe. “Not exactly. More like—”
“He hasn’t asked her yet,” Vincent said for him.
“Right. More like that,” Anthony said sheepishly.
“Well, don’t worry,” Tony said with a wave of his hand, heading out of the room toward the kitchen as though it was all decided. “That woman is strong. If she can handle the Darby Diner on a Sunday morning shift, she can handle sitting pretty in a park with a dozen policemen swarming around her.”
“We’re asking a bit more than that,” Anth said quietly. “The woman crossed state borders and changed her phone number to get away from Eddie Hansen. We’re asking her to face him again.”
“True,” Maria said thoughtfully. “But she has something now that she didn’t before.”
“A gun?” Nonna asked. “I could teach her to shoot.”
His mother’s eyes never left Anthony. “No. She has you.”
His mom gave him a meaningful look before regally leaving the room. His father and grandmother followed, leaving him and Vincent alone.
Anthony gave his brother a bemused look. “You know what I can’t wait for? When it’s your turn to be under their microscope.”
“Not gonna happen,” Vin said, clamping him on the shoulder as he walked past.
“Why, because your cop record is so flawless?” Anthony asked irritably.
“Nah,” Vin said into his whiskey glass. “Because I’ve never been stupid enough to fall in love.”
His brother turned away and missed Anthony shooting him the bird.
Anth wasn’t in love.
He didn’t know what in love felt like.
But he did know that whatever the hell he and Maggie were mixed up in was complicated as hell.
Chapter Nineteen
Maggie had long ago recognized that the best things in life were often the simple pleasures.
Taking your shoes off after a double shift.
Heck, taking your bra off after a double shift.
A glass of cold water on a horribly humid August afternoon.
The happy grin of a baby on a subway.
And today, Maggie was discovering a new pleasure, long forgotten since Gabby had moved to Denver:
Girl time.
Actually, if Maggie were totally honest, she’d have to admit that she hadn’t had this sort of unabashed girl time since even before her best friend moved across the country.
It wasn’t that Gabby had dumped her after Maggie had gotten divorced. Far from it. But Gabby’s relationship had been soaring just as Maggie and Eddie’s had been exploding, and although her best friend had had her back—fiercely—back then, their conversation had all been about Eddie, and Maggie’s escape from him.
It had been years since she’d enjoyed the pleasure of chatting with women about absolutely nothing of substance.
“No, no, no,” Elena was saying as she shifted half a dozen shopping bags from one hand to the other. “No way are we going lingerie shopping. We’ve already been to like a million different stores.”
“Um, no,” Jill said as she led the way down the crowded sidewalks of SoHo. “You went to a million different stores where the rest of us couldn’t even afford a key chain, and watched you buy eighty pairs of shoes with your attorney salary.”
“Hey!” Elena said, swinging one of her bags so it hit Jill in the butt. “Who insisted we go in all of those designer stores, and who insisted I need all the shoes?”
Jill sighed. “I can’t help it. I’m a glutton for punishment.”
“Well, that’s obvious,” Ava chimed in. “You’re partnered with Vincent.”
“Right?” Jill said, turning around to walk backward, incredibly managing not to walk into anyone. “Get this. Yesterday we went into Starbucks and when I ordered my usual mocha he asked if I was sure I wanted the whipped cream. Then he looked at my hips. And then he walked away, so I had to pay for his boring drip coffee.”
“You could petition for a transfer,” Elena said, slowing slightly to check out the window display of a store Maggie had never even heard of. “I mean, there’s got to be a way not to be stuck with the same grump for your entire career.”
Maggie watched Jill carefully at this suggestion and noted that the other woman’s smile slipped slightly at the suggestion, before the smile widened again even brighter than before. “Totally! I should. Okay, but seriously, El, we’re not going in that store. I want to find some sexy panties for my date on Friday.”
“And I need a couple new bras,” Ava added. “My favorite ones keep getting ripped when Luc—”
Elena held up a hand. “And this is why I don’t want to go lingerie shopping with this crew. One of you is banging my baby brother and the other wants to bang my big brother.�
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“I do not want to bang Vin!” Jill exclaimed.
Ava and Elena both gave her a look, and her wide blue eyes blinked. “Oh. Ohhhhhh.”
All three of them turned and stared at Maggie, who’d been eyeing a gorgeous blue wool coat in the window that she could never, ever afford.
“What am I missing?” she asked.
Ava flicked her shoulder. “Don’t tease us. Are you doing it with Anth or not?”
Elena dry-heaved, but then immediately resumed her curious stare. “So gross. But yes, are you?”
“No!”
The other three women exchanged a glance, and Maggie narrowed her eyes at them. “Is this why you let me into your little shopping circle today? To pump me for information?”
Jill giggled and linked arms with Maggie. “You said ‘pump’ in the middle of a conversation about sex. Well done, you! And no, silly. We asked you because we like you. And because you round us out.”
“How’s that?” Maggie asked warily, letting herself be dragged forward by the pint-size blonde who was surprisingly strong for being like five-foot-one.
“Well, I’m the bubbly one, and Ava and Elena are always vying for the spot of sophisticated and sassy, but you are sweet and fierce.”
Sweet and fierce?
The sweet, she got. Not because she thought she was, but because she’d been hearing it most of her life. It’s what people called other people that they could push around. Maggie didn’t exactly consider it a compliment, but she knew Jill didn’t consider it an insult either.
But the fierce—
“I’m so not your girl for fierce,” she said.
“Oh stop,” Ava said, coming up on her other side. “If you try to take on the label of self-deprecating, we’ll kick you out of the group. No room for that.”
“Nope, none,” Elena said. “And you are too fierce. I’ve seen you lift those trays at Darby’s. And more important, I’ve seen you stand your ground to every one of my family members. My dad when he’s trying to order the sausage he’s not supposed to have, Nonna when she tries to talk about her favorite sex positions, the boys when they’re, well, boys. You even manage to manipulate Mom into ordering the freaking pancakes instead of oatmeal once in a while, and that is no small feat.”