by Ginna Gray
Sticking to the shadows close to the buildings, Angelo kept his prey in sight and waited for the right opportunity. He knew it would come; he just had to be patient.
After a few blocks he realized that Tony was taking a roundabout route. He turned first one way, then the other, then cut over a couple of blocks to Times Square, where he tried to blend in with the theater crowd.
The ploy amused Angelo. Nice try, loser. Following Tony was not difficult. He was easy to spot, even among the crowd. Clutching his bottle of liquid courage, he scuttled along like a rat trapped in a maze, his movements jerky and frantic. Even staying a half block or so behind, Angelo could smell the fear coming off him.
After a few blocks, Tony cast another desperate glance over his shoulder, then darted between two buildings. Angelo broke into a trot, which, at his massive size, was his top speed. Reaching the alleyway, he flattened himself against the building and peered around the corner. A few feet down the alley, a wino staggered out of the shadows and accosted Tony.
"Whatcha got there, man? Looks like a bottle. How 'bout sharin'?"
"Get away from me, asshole." Tony shoved the wino out of his way and hurried on.
Mumbling obscenities, the old bum staggered out onto the sidewalk, passing Angelo without seeing him.
Angelo slipped into the alley. Immediately the smell of rotting garbage, vomit and other human waste assailed his nose.
Silent as a ghost, he followed Tony into the darkness. Never taking his eyes from his target, he pulled his gun out of its holster with his right hand and a silencer from his pocket with his left. Inexorably closing the gap between him and his prey, he screwed the silencer onto the barrel of the weapon.
Angelo would have preferred not to use the Glock. He'd never been that good with a gun, and these days his eyesight was getting so bad he had trouble hitting anything unless it was at point-blank range, but he couldn't afford to let anyone know that. He'd no longer be of any use to Mr. Voltura, and he knew where too many bodies were buried.
Angelo's weapon of choice was a garrote. It was silent and untraceable. Plus he got a rush out of using brute strength to choke the life out of a target. But skittish as Tony was, he doubted he could get close enough to use the choking device that lay neatly coiled in his overcoat pocket.
With chilling calm, Angelo followed his target through the darkness, slowly gaining ground.
Tony must be close to the rat hole he'd been hiding in, he thought. He was getting careless, not checking over his shoulder as often. Or maybe he felt safe in the darkness of the alley.
With no more than twenty feet separating him from his target, Angelo stopped, raised the Glock at arm's length and took aim.
His finger had barely begun to squeeze the trigger when a shrill chirping sound broke the silence. "Damn!" Angelo spat.
Tony darted a wild-eyed look over his shoulder and bolted.
Angelo got off two shots. The silencer reduced the Glock's reports to sharp phttt, phttts. Both shots missed.
Tony turned on more speed and disappeared around the rear corner of the building to his right, into the back alleyway.
Ignoring the incessant chirping phone in his pocket, Angelo lumbered after him, but his target was too fast. By the time he reached the intersecting alley, Tony was nowhere in sight.
Spewing a string of obscenities, Angelo kicked a garbage can and sent it clattering down the alley. Emitting hair-raising yowls, three startled cats streaked away and a rat scuttled along the foundation of the building, squeaking, whiskers twitching.
Bending from the waist, Angelo braced his hands against his knees and struggled to catch his breath.
"Damn, you're getting careless," he berated himself. He'd forgotten that the cell phone was in his overcoat pocket. He should have turned it off before he went out on this job. Hell, he should have left the damned thing at his apartment.
The annoying chirping continued unabated, finally penetrating his anger. Straightening, he fished the instrument out of his pocket and jabbed the on button. "Dammit! What the hell do you want?"
A moment of startled silence was followed by a throat-clearing sound, then, "It's been almost two weeks. I'm calling to find out when you're going to fulfill the Stanton contract."
"Dammit, I told you that I had two other jobs to take care of first. The first one is done and I was just about to complete the second one. If I had I'd be on a plane to Houston tomorrow, but thanks to you and this damned telephone, he got away. Now I'm going to have to hunt him down all over again."
"I just wanted—"
"I don't give a damn what you wanted. Don't call me again. When the job is done I'll call you."
The moment Elizabeth and Max entered the country club ballroom, their host and hostess, Carter and Helen Van Cleaves, rushed over to greet them.
"Elizabeth, darling, I'm so thrilled that you could make it."
Grabbing Elizabeth's hands, she pulled her closer and kissed the air on either side of her face. "And your husband, too, of course," she added, casting a speculative eye on Max. "When we heard that you two were married I wasn't sure you'd be back from your honeymoon in time."
"Actually, we cut our trip short for several reasons. One of which was to attend your party," Elizabeth assured her. "We couldn't miss the social event of the season."
Max watched with mild amusement as the older woman responded to the flattery, puffing up like a peacock. "Oh, you're such a dear sweet thing." Helen slanted Max a glance. "I do hope you realize what a terrific catch your wife is."
"I know. I'm a lucky man."
"Indeed, you are."
Another couple came in behind Elizabeth and Max, and the Van Cleaves excused themselves and began to work their way counter-clockwise around the room. All the while Elizabeth kept a sharp eye out for Natalie. Max stuck by her side and watched in silence as his wife worked her magic on each group.
That she'd been born to this way of life was evident. She was relaxed, friendly and warm and always seemed to know just what to say and what tone to take. At strategic points in their conversations she slanted him affectionate looks or squeezed his arm and dropped hints about how lucky she now felt to have Max to advise her on investments and money managing.
"He is a wizard when it comes to finance and investments," she said to a group that included two men who thought of themselves as investment gurus. With her arm slipped through Max's, she smiled at him with pride and added, "I feel so pleased and lucky to be in on the ground floor of his newest project."
"Oh? And what would that be?" one of the men asked, with obvious skepticism.
"Oh, dear!" Elizabeth clamped her hand over her mouth. This time she cast Max a contrite look. "Oh, I'm so sorry, darling. I wasn't supposed to mention that, was I."
"No. You weren't," he replied, playing along.
She turned back to the man with an apologetic look. "I'm sorry, Warren, but I'm not at liberty to discuss the project yet. Not until the preliminary business is finished."
"Come, come, my dear. You can't dangle a carrot like that, then change your mind. Tell us."
"No. I'm sorry. Really, I am. Ignore what I said. It was just a slip of the tongue. Now, if you'll excuse us, we really must go talk to the Martins."
"Damn, you're good," Max whispered in Elizabeth's ear as they headed for the next group.
She smiled up at him. "Only because I've known these people all of my life. I know their personalities and their strengths and weaknesses. It's just a matter of using the right approach with the particular person.
"For instance, Judge Felton and Blake Armour and a few others think of themselves as wise men, sages almost. You approach them by asking for their advice. On the other hand, as you just saw, neither Warren nor Simon can abide being left out. Getting in on the ground floor is almost as important to those two as the rate of return. Plus they're always competing with each other.
"I'm willing to bet that by no later than tomorrow Warren will have his wife call
and invite us to dinner. I'll be surprised if Simon doesn't do the same."
"Do we accept?"
"We'll see," she said, slanting him a look of bland innocence. "But I think our calendar is going to be full for the next week. To make it up to them, we'll have them over for dinner the week afterward. Make Warren or Simon stew for a week and they'll be ready to sign on to the project the instant they step inside the house."
"Why, you clever little devil, you." Max threw his head back and laughed, a rich, robust sound of genuine amusement that drew curious looks from people all around them and sent a tiny frisson of pleasure down Elizabeth's spine.
When he regained his composure, he grinned at her and shook his head. "Dumb me, I assumed I was marrying a woman who could put me in contact with the right people, but that winning them over would be my problem. Who would have thought that behind that pretty face lurked a born negotiator."
He watched some of the pleasure drain out of her face, her expression turning polite but distant. "I'm sorry. My mistake. I've always felt that when you married someone you became their helpmate. I keep forgetting that ours isn't a normal marriage. I'll stop—"
"Hey, hey. That wasn't a criticism. Look, maybe I have a clumsy way of expressing myself. All I meant was, I'm beginning to realize how lucky I am. When I married you I got a lot more than I bargained for."
"Are you sure?"
"Absolutely. Don't change anything. You're doing great."
She looked deep into his eyes, searching for the truth. Finally she nodded.
They continued to work their way around the ballroom, greeting people, accepting congratulations and best wishes on their marriage and dropping hints and chitchatting. They had just finished a complete circuit of the room when they encountered Mimi standing alone at the edge of the dance floor, sipping champagne.
"Hi, you two." She gave Elizabeth a hug, then held her at arm's length, her eyes widening. "The Stanton diamonds? I thought—"
"Max bought them back for me. They're my early Christmas gift."
"Good for him." She looked Max up and down. "Damn, stud, you do look great in a tax."
"Thanks," he replied in a dry tone. He snagged two glasses of champagne from the tray of a passing waiter and handed one to Elizabeth. "Man, I'm glad that's over."
Mimi laughed. "I know what you mean. It's kinda like running the gauntlet, isn't it. I've been having fun watching everyone else watching you two. They're all curious to see how you get along. But you can relax. Now that you've 'made nice' with everyone, it's time to enjoy the party."
"Where is your escort?" Elizabeth asked, looking around.
"Oh, I ditched Dexter hours ago," Mimi said with a dismissive flap of her hand. "He downed four martinis the first half hour and he shows no sign of slowing down. Which reminds me. I'll need to bum a ride home with you two after I pour Dex into a taxi."
"Sure. No problem," Max replied.
As she focused on something over Max's shoulder, Mimi's smile dissolved. "Uh-oh. Red alert. Slut at two o'clock, heading this way."
"What?" No sooner had Elizabeth asked the question than she spotted Natalie bearing down on them. All around them people stopped chatting to watch, and silence spread over the room like a wave.
"Great balls of fire. I can't believe that woman has the gall to come over here and speak to you," Mimi muttered.
"Hello, Elizabeth." Natalie's smile held cool challenge.
Elizabeth nodded. "Natalie. How was the Riviera?"
Surprise flashed across the other woman's face. Clearly she hadn't expected a frontal attack by Elizabeth. "Well, well. I do believe that you've grown claws since we last met."
Ignoring the comment, Elizabeth merely stood her ground and stared at her.
After a few moments, Natalie began to fidget. "As to your question, the Riviera was fun at first. But after a while Edward can be a big pain. He's so persnickety about everything. But I don't have to tell you, do I?"
"What do you want, Natalie?" Elizabeth demanded. "I know you didn't come over here to exchange pleasantries or compare notes on Edward's idiosyncrasies."
"You're right. I wanted to get this first awkward encounter over with so that we can put this … unpleasantness behind us. After all, we're both adults. And we're going to run into each other fairly often."
"Not if I can help it," Elizabeth said baldly.
This time it was Natalie's turn to ignore her. "I was surprised to hear that you and Max were married." She turned her sultry gaze on him, giving him a thorough once-over. "I must say, your taste in men has improved."
Elizabeth did not bother to respond to that, but Natalie didn't seem to notice.
"You know, Max, if I'd known a year ago that you were in the market for a wife, I would have stuck around."
"It wouldn't have mattered. You're not my type."
"Ooh. Now, there's a challenge if I ever heard one." She glanced at Elizabeth. "You don't mind if I steal your husband, do you?"
Nearby several people gasped.
"Just for a dance," Natalie tacked on.
Elizabeth knew that the phrasing of the question had been deliberate. Natalie's smile was all innocence, but her eyes held pure malice.
"Gee, at least this time she had the manners to ask," Mimi drawled.
Natalie shot Mimi an annoyed look. "Must you always be so crass?"
"I'm crass?" Mimi chuckled. "Maybe so, but I'm not a home-wrecker."
"Ignore her," Natalie advised Max, tugging on his arm. "C'mon, dance with me."
"No," came his blunt response, no hemming and hawing, no attempt at tact or diplomacy.
Assuming his acquiescence, Natalie had already taken a step toward the dance floor before his one-word reply registered. She stopped and blinked at him, as though she hadn't understood. "What?"
"I said, no." He removed her hand from his arm for good measure. "That would be an insult to my wife."
"Oh, f-for goodness sake," Natalie stammered, casting an embarrassed glance around at the people watching the little tableau unfold. "All that stuff with Edward is water under the bridge now. Anyway, what's a little dance?"
"Sorry, my dance card is full." With deliberate movements he took Elizabeth's glass and set it and his own on a nearby table, then hooked his arm around his wife's waist. "C'mon, sweetheart. I think they're playing our song."
For Elizabeth, the few steps to the dance floor were like walking on air. Smooth as silk, Max folded her into his arms and picked up the beat.
"Thank you," she murmured, looking up at him with gratitude.
"You don't have to thank me, Elizabeth. You are my wife. I'll always protect you when I can."
"Oh. I see."
It had not been concern born out of affection that had prompted him to take up for her, she realized. It had been simply that she was his responsibility, and Max took responsibility seriously.
Not that she wanted him to love her. That would be awkward, since she wasn't in love with him. But she had to admit, over the past few weeks she had come to respect and admire him. And yes, she was growing fond of him, despite his blunt, sometimes roughshod manner. He was someone on whom she could depend. Someone with whom she felt safe and secure. Someone she felt she could trust.
After what she'd been through with Edward, that alone made him special. She hadn't believed that she would ever completely trust anyone ever again. But for some odd reason, in just two short weeks of marriage, she'd come to trust Max.
Elizabeth sighed. It would be nice, and certainly make their life together more pleasant, if her feelings of fondness, friendship and trust were reciprocated.
"Good," Max pronounced. "As much as I hate to admit it, I think Mimi has the right idea. We've dangled the carrot enough. For the rest of the evening, what do you say we forget about business and Natalie Brussard and just enjoy ourselves. Okay?"
"Forget about business? What? Are you ill?" she teased, and felt his forehead with the back of her hand.
"Very funny
," he retorted, and turned her in a series of dizzying circles. "You'll pay for that when we get home," he whispered in her ear. "Don't think I've forgotten about that thong."
Elizabeth laughed and laid her head against his chest. Anticipation and excitement bubbled through her. Count your blessings, she told herself as Max whirled her around the dance floor. You've married an honest, good man. Be happy with that.
To her surprise, she did enjoy the remainder of the evening. Max, it turned out, was a fabulous dancer. For a big man he was surprisingly graceful and light on his feet, and his sense of rhythm was impeccable. During the fast dances he led her through intricate maneuvers and twirled and dipped her. When the band played a slow song he wrapped both arms around her and held her close with her cheek against his chest, the side of his jaw against the top of her head, and they drifted to the music as though in a dream.
For Max's part, he was as surprised as Elizabeth. He'd made the suggestion to get her mind off her old nemesis, but as the evening wore on he discovered he was having a great time.
He and Elizabeth danced together as though they had been practicing for years, as though they were one. Had she not urged him to dance with Mimi he would have gladly partnered her exclusively.
"You know, stud, I owe you an apology," Mimi said the moment they began to move to the music.
"Oh? How's that?"
"I had my doubts about you at first. I'll admit, I tried my best to talk Elizabeth out of marrying you. But I've changed my mind."
"Oh? And what brought that about?"
"Oh, several things. The way you're all protective with her, the considerate things you do for her, like buying back the Stanton diamonds. You have no idea how much they mean to her and how difficult it was for her to part with them.
"But the real clincher was the way you handled Natalie. Stud, I could have kissed you when you turned her down." Mimi cocked her head and studied him through narrowed eyes. "I think you're going to be good for Elizabeth. And sure as shootin', she's going to be good for you."