“I have some Diet Coke or coffee if you want some.”
She crossed her arms, rubbing them warm as she watched him shove his hands in his pockets and pull them out again. “No. Thank you.”
“Do you wanna sit down?” He gestured to the lumpy couch. “Or we could go out to the back porch and get a little fresh air?”
The suffocating stench of cigarette smoke wasn’t helping her raw stomach. “The porch would be fine.”
“Sure.” He grabbed a can of soda off the coffee table, along with a pack of cigarettes, and walked down a short hallway to the back of the house. “I’ve got a little table and chairs out here.”
“Great.” Stepping out onto the small concrete slab, she pulled out one of the two plastic seats, gripping her fingers together as she sat and rested her arms on the glass patio table. She tried to ignore the fact that he kept glancing at his watch and decided that small talk might help break the ice, like it always did when she consulted with a new client. “So, how long have you been here in Reseda?”
“A while.” He flicked the flame to life on a pink Bic and puffed on a cigarette until the tip burned orange.
“Nice,” she said as he took another deep drag. He hadn’t smoked when she’d been little. Mom hadn’t either, but that had changed too. “You’re killing yourself slowly.” She gestured to the plume of smoke he expelled.
He smiled. “I’m not too worried about it.” He sipped his soft drink, then fiddled with the can. “You’re beautiful.”
She looked down at her hands as he made an effort to converse—and a compliment at that. “Thank you.”
“You look so much like your mother.”
Mom stopped being lovely a decade after Dad walked out the door. Too many plastic surgeries along with the overuse of Botox and fillers had ruined Kelly Colby’s stunning natural beauty. “She’s gone. She died last year.”
“I know.”
Her gaze snapped to his. “How do you know?”
He shrugged.
She expelled a long, quiet breath. Did he have no regrets about walking away?
“What happened to her?” he asked.
“She had a chronic condition.” And that was all she planned to say about her mother’s death.
“What are you doing here, Bella?”
Her eyes sharpened on his. What was she doing here? This just kept getting better. “I thought you might like to see me.” The way I’ve so desperately wanted to see you. “You’re the only family I have left.”
“What about her brother? Did he ever stop being a bastard?”
Had Dad always been so matter-of-fact, so harsh? She remembered a quiet, sweet man who wiped away her tears when she cried and let her style his hair with her pink Barbie brush. “I don’t speak to anyone in Ohio.”
“I’ll take that as a no, then.”
“I haven’t seen Uncle Dane since we left.” She traced the edge of her polished nail with her opposite thumb. “I thought you would be happy that I came.”
He sucked in more smoke before crushing out the cigarette in the heaping ashtray. “You shouldn’t be here.”
She huffed out a quiet laugh. “I’m sorry I came.” She stood and sat just as quickly, knowing she probably wouldn’t see him again once she walked out his door. “Did you love us at all?”
“I thought about you every day.”
Not exactly a confession of love or remorse. “Then why did you go? Why did you leave us?”
“It was the right thing to do.”
Would he say that if he knew how she and Mom had lived, if he knew that his fiancée had reduced herself to a whore? “You and Mom were going to get married. I have the ring in my jewelry box.” The only piece of jewelry she’d kept from Mom’s extensive collection.
He chuckled. “It wasn’t much of a ring.”
“She talked about you before she died.”
Dad paused with the soda can at his lips.
“She said she never loved anyone the way she loved you.” She stared at him as he drank, as if she’d said nothing of importance. “This was a mistake. I’m sorry I bothered you.” She rushed to her feet and started back through his house.
“Bella.”
She kept walking, in a hurry to be gone.
“Isabella.”
She stopped as the firmness in his tone registered, but she refused to turn and meet his eyes. “What?”
“You being here. This isn’t a good idea.”
“I agree. That’s why I’m leaving.” She opened the front door.
“I made a lot of mistakes when I was younger—”
She whirled in the doorway. “What does that have to do with now?”
“Everything.”
She shook her head and walked outside.
He hurried after her down the steps and short path to the street. “It was good to see you, to see that you’re grown and beautiful and doing okay.”
“Yeah.” She reached into her purse, grabbing a business card. “If you’re ever down in the Palisades.” Not that she expected him to look her up.
He took it, running his thumb over her name. “Your own business.”
“I contract with a dermatologist. I have an office in her building.”
“I’m glad you came.”
She wasn’t, but she nodded as she grabbed for the door handle and got behind the wheel. She turned over the ignition as she shoved her sunglasses in place, looking at the man who could have been any other stranger—except they shared the same brown eyes. No longer cold, she wanted the top down, but settled for rolling down the windows instead. She put the car in drive and pulled away from the curb, glancing in her rearview mirror as he stared after her.
“God,” she shuddered out as she followed the GPS’s directions back through town. That couldn’t have been any more of a disaster. Technically, he could have slammed the door in her face, but for the most part he had—just more painfully, dragging out a moment in time she wished she could take back. It would have been so much better to have the memories of a man who’d cared and loved her…or maybe he never had.
Her eyes filled as she found her way to the 405 and punched the gas, eager for speed and the wind blowing through her hair. As the Volkswagen ate up the miles, her mind raced, remembering the night Dad had told her he needed to go away. She could recall only snatches of their last evening together: a book about a dog, the smell of the garage on his shirt, the long hug before he said good-bye.
“I thought about you every day.”
“Right.” But he might have been telling the truth. Shaking her head, she dismissed the idea as nothing more than her desperate need to believe that there’d been something more to his quick departure than simply flaking on his family. It happened all the time, right? Men and women walked out—gave up, caring little that they left a mess behind.
“Exit in one mile,” the GPS reminded her.
She focused on the road, realizing she’d lost track of time as she merged right and took exit 57, impatient to get home. Lucy would likely be in full-pout mode because she hadn’t been invited along, but that’s what the beach was for. They were going to walk until the ebb and flow of the ocean waves soothed the sickness in her heart…after she took a shower and washed away the stink of cigarette smoke.
Her phone rang and she dug through her purse, glancing at the readout, not recognizing the number. She pressed talk anyway, hoping Ms. Sanderson wasn’t experiencing some sort of complication after yesterday’s chemical peel. “Hello?”
“Bella, it’s—it’s Dad.”
Not Ms. Sanderson or any of her other clients. For the second time in one day, she had no idea what to say.
“Hello?” he prompted her.
“Yes. I’m here.”
“I don’t like the way we left things. You caught me off guard.”
She appreciated his honesty. “I’m sorry about that.”
“It’s probably not a good idea, but maybe we could go out for lunch sometime.”
He wanted to have lunch. Dad wanted to sit down and enjoy a meal together. “Uh, sure.” She eased on the brake as she came to a red light. “When?”
“I don’t know.”
“What are you doing tomorrow?” she blurted out, afraid that if she didn’t make plans now, he would change his mind.
“Nothing much.”
“We could go to lunch or do brunch.”
“All right. We’ll meet somewhere.”
“Or I can come by and we’ll go together.”
“It would be better if we meet up. I prefer using taxis.”
Why didn’t he have a car? He’d driven just fine when she’d been a child. They’d driven all over western Ohio, picking up automotive parts for the garage he’d worked at, always stopping for ice cream when they got back to town. “It’s no trouble for me to pick you up.”
“No. There’s a place that serves a good lunch in Van Nuys. I’ll text you the address. They have excellent sandwiches. I like a good grilled cheese.”
She smiled sadly. “I remember. What time?”
“One o’clock, maybe two?”
“How about we meet at two?”
“I’ll see you then,” he said.
“Okay. Bye.”
“Bye.”
She hung up and pulled into her sweet little neighborhood, starting toward her building down the road. Nothing about today was turning out the way she’d anticipated. Apparently she was having grilled cheese with Dad tomorrow when she’d fully expected never to see him again.
~~~~
Reed dropped the kickstand in place and took off his helmet as he kicked his leg over his Ducati. He took two steps toward the house, frowned, and turned back to the bike when a streak on the polished black paint caught his attention. Using the edge of his T-shirt, he wiped away the smudge, then made his way to his front door. The sun was warm, the breeze just right—a perfect evening for a long ride. It was too damn bad he wasn’t in a better mood. His latest conversation with Mom was still pissing him off. He’d stopped by only to grab the sunglasses he’d forgotten yesterday, not to listen to her crap.
“You’re different, Reed—cold. I was always afraid your father would have ended up the same way if he’d lived long enough to see retirement.”
It was no secret Mom hated that he’d followed in Dad’s footsteps—and he couldn’t necessarily blame her, but did she realize she insulted her husband’s memory and the sacrifices he’d made every time she brought him up like that?
He unlocked his door and stepped inside, pulling off his backpack, then the leather jacket he wore whenever he took the motorcycle out for a spin. Muttering a curse, he tossed the bag on the floor and hung up his coat with far less care than usual, unable to shake off the sting of Mom’s words. Maybe he was hard. Maybe he’d turned into a cynical son of a bitch somewhere along the way. But he was alive, wasn’t he? And despite what Mom thought, he didn’t need a woman in his life to help him with his problems or smooth out his rough spots.
Shaking his head, he kicked off his sneakers and headed upstairs, taking a quick shower. He was securing a towel around his hips when his phone started ringing on the counter. Groaning, he glanced at the readout and turned away for his deodorant, waiting for Joey’s call to go to voicemail. He didn’t want to chat with his old partner in crime today, especially after his little go-round with Mom.
The ringtone started again less than thirty seconds after it stopped. “Son of a bitch.” He yanked it up. “Why do I talk to you more now than when I was in New York?”
“What can I say? I miss you, man.”
Surprisingly, he missed Joey too, but not enough to go back. “Tell me what I have to do to get rid of you for twenty-four—no—forty-eight hours.”
“You can go check a few leads.”
“I told you no.”
“I had Leo, that PI I work with sometimes, compile lists for me so I didn’t have to run anything through my home or work computers. I don’t want nobody figuring out what we’re up to.”
Reed closed his eyes and let his head fall forward in a moment of defeat. “We’re not up to anything.”
“I didn’t give Leo any specifics—physical descriptions or whatnot. Just told him to get me names, so the lists are a little long—people we’ll definitely be able to eliminate once we get a good look at them.”
Reed held the phone with his cheek and shoulder as he made quick work of rolling on his deodorant. “Joe—”
“You’ve got several possibilities right there in LA and the surrounding areas,” Joey continued.
Reed jammed the cap in place and set the stick down with a snap. “No.”
“If I’m remembering right, there’s eight, maybe nine Tim Wolcotts and the rest are Vincent Pescoes.”
He clenched his jaw, staring at his blue eyes flashing with temper in the foggy reflection. “This is bullshit and a waste of our time. What about all of the other Vincents and Tims out there? You really think our guy’s just sitting here somewhere in California?”
“I’m giving you twelve, more like fifteen names. We’re not exactly looking for John Smith, buddy.”
Reed turned away from the mirror, leaning against the counter. “We might as well be. Eight or nine Tim Wolcotts and potentially seven Vincent Pescoes? And that’s one state.”
“Nationwide there aren’t a huge number. Several states don’t have a hit on either name. I’m gonna check the few here in the five boroughs, although something tells me our boy isn’t stupid enough to hang around his old haunts when his family wants to blow his head off. We got a Tim in Montana—”
“I am not flying to Montana.”
“Take a fuckin’ pill. I’m gonna go myself next week when I have three days.”
Reed flared his nostrils. “Why? Why won’t you let this go?”
“Why are you walking away so easy?”
“You’re kidding me, right?” He paced into the bedroom and back. “Explain this one to me. Say we find him. Say we find Nicoli Caparelli aka Vincent Pescoe aka Tim Wolcott or whoever the hell he is. What do we do with it? What the hell good does knowing where he is do us, especially when we have no jurisdiction and I don’t have a badge?”
“Let’s find the guy first. We’ll figure out the rest later because, buddy, I do wear a badge. You’re forgetting that.”
Reed mimed bringing the barrel of a gun to his temple and pulling the trigger before he dropped his towel and went to his chest of drawers, grabbing boxers, then a pair of black gym shorts. He pulled on a white Ethan Cooke Security T-shirt next, intending to beat the hell out of a punching bag since he couldn’t get at Joey. “Why are you doing this, Joe?”
“The same reason I know you’re gonna check the addresses I send you. It’s in your blood. It’s in mine. You wanna keep Alfeo in prison?”
He gritted his teeth. All the years of hard work he and Joey had put in. All the risks of deep cover and the “leads” that had gotten them absolutely nowhere, then they get a carrot like this dangling in front of their noses. Nicoli Caparelli was their only hope of bringing down a notorious crime family and keeping a cold-blooded killer where he belonged. “Yeah, I want to keep him in prison.”
“Then let’s find his fuckin’ brother. If we don’t get something on Alfeo now, we both know we never will.”
He sighed. “Send me the addresses.” He hung up and tossed his phone on the bed, where he intended for it to stay. For the next two hours, he was unavailable. Grabbing his gym bag, he walked downstairs and outside, stopping when Lucy ran his way through the small side yard separating the properties, accessorized with a purple bandana around her neck and the same pink paint on her nails.
“Lucy!” Bella shouted, scrambling around the side of her house, barefoot and beautiful with an apron tied over a simple white sundress. She’d pulled her hair back in a French braid, leaving her stunning face unframed.
“Hey,” he said.
“Hi.” She smiled, pressing a hand to her
chest while she held a spatula in the other. “Lucy scared me half to death. I don’t know why she keeps doing this, running after you the way she does.”
“She likes me. Don’t you, girl?” He crouched down, accepting the puppy’s kisses on the cheek while he gave her sides a good rub.
“She definitely has a puppy crush.”
“I don’t mind saying hello.”
“She can’t just run off, though. I don’t want her wandering out by the cars.”
He stood, glancing toward the white smoke coming from the back of her house. “What are you grilling?”
She glanced over her shoulder in the same direction. “Just a couple pieces of chicken, which are going to burn if I don’t get back.”
Why did seeing Bella all tidy and domestic stir his libido? “I’ll let you go.”
“Okay. Bye. Come on, Lucy.”
Lucy didn’t budge from her spot next to Reed.
“Lucy. Right now.”
Lucy stayed glued to his side.
“I can follow you around back,” he said.
“That would be great.”
He fell into step beside Bella, breathing her in as they walked to her deck.
“Lucy’s well-trained—or I thought she was. Maybe we need another class.” She hurried to the grill and flipped the two chicken breasts with an expert hand.
“Looks good.”
“It’s simple—lemon pepper. The best I can do for now.”
He peeked into her cozy kitchen through the open French doors: granite countertops similar to his, white wood cabinets—again much like his, but the upscale cooking gadgets set here and there and thriving plants scattered about gave her place a homey feel. Bella was certainly classy all the way.
“Thanks for walking Lucy back.”
“No problem.”
“Do you want to stay?”
He frowned. “Do you always invite strangers to dinner?”
She smiled. “I guess I don’t think of you as a stranger. She pointed to the Ethan Cooke Security insignia on his T-shirt. “Plus, Lucy can be vicious, so I don’t worry about it too much.”
Deceiving Bella: Book Eleven In The Bodyguards Of L.A. County Series Page 3