by K. J. Larsen
I felt my cheeks heating up.
“Max?”
I didn’t respond and Joey smacked his forehead. “Not the dead man.”
“Dead man?” Cleo shuddered.
“His name is Chance Savino,” I said.
“He’s a vampire,” Joey said.
Cleo crossed herself.
“Ha ha,” I said.
“If you marry him you’ll have devil children,” Uncle Joey said.
“He’s Italian,” I said.
Joey shrugged. “He’ll do.”
He narrowed his gaze on me. “Tell Savino to give up smuggling diamonds. He can’t hold on to them.”
I waved a protesting hand. “He’s not a smuggler. The FBI wanted to use the diamonds to bring down Eddie and his crime buddies.”
“Right,” Cleo grinned.
“I like your new partner,” my uncle said.
I opened my mouth and closed it again.
Joey reached in his pocket and tossed a small black box beside my glass of champagne.
“What’s this?”
“You had a couple rough weeks there. I didn’t have a chance to give you your birthday present.”
I looked at him curiously and opened the lid. Two brilliant pink diamond earrings set in platinum. They took my breath away.
“Happy birthday, Caterina.”
Cleo choked.
I popped out the silver hoops and slipped the dazzling pink diamonds on my ears.
“I don’t know what to say.”
“Don’t say you can’t keep them.”
Cleo jabbed her fork in a ‘shroom. “She won’t,” she said firmly.
I leaned across the table and kissed his cheek. “Thank you.”
Uncle Joey looked enormously pleased with himself.
“There’s one thing I need though,” I said.
“Name it.”
“I want the diamonds back.”
Joey groaned. “You aren’t giving them to the Feds, are you?”
“No.”
“I have a buyer. He’ll pay top dollar.”
I mulled the idea over in my head. “OK,” I said. “Sell the stones.” I fished through my purse and dropped a piece of paper on the table.
“I did some checking and came up with three research hospitals. You can split the money from the diamonds among them. I’d like the donations made in Rita Polansky’s memory.”
Joey smiled. “There will be a small handling fee, of course.”
“Of course.”
Uncle Joey’s eyes focused beyond my shoulder and across the street. I followed his gaze and stiffened.
“That’s Eddie Harr,” I hissed.
“So it is.”
“He’s getting into his car.”
“So he is.” Uncle Joey lavished duck paté on crunchy toast. “Did I mention Slick Eddie owns a big interest in that business across the street?”
The neon sign flashed “Midwest Oil.”
“He makes a killing with the gas prices.”
I pushed my plate away. “Just when I thought I couldn’t dislike Eddie more.”
An ear-splitting boom erupted outside. I felt as if my chest would collapse. Screams pierced the café. Flying debris and an amazing amount of dust billowed out in the street.
Cleo dived under a table and disappeared. A quivering stun gun flashed beneath the table cloth.
“Where’s Eddie?” I choked. “Is he—”
Another blast and I was under the table with Cleo. I couldn’t breathe. I waited until the thunder stopped. I lifted the white satin tablecloth and poked my head out. The tables around me were empty. Everyone had scrambled for cover.
Except for my Uncle Joey. He poured us another glass of champagne.
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