by Milly Taiden
His chest vibrated against her ear, kind of like a cat purring while its back was being scratched. The sound had always calmed her when agitated.
“Dubois,” said Freeman, skirting the driveway. She pulled away and for the first time noticed the people who roamed her drive and front porch. Police, an ambulance, people in hazmat gear, a guy snapping pictures, and more police. Then there was everyone lining the fence, gaping at her blown-up front entrance.
Detective Freeman hurried toward her and Frank. “Did you find anything else?”
Frank shook his head. “Everything is clean except for the kitchen door, which had two desert people and a family member here not too long ago.”
What the fuck . . . “How the hell did you know that?” she asked. She was concerned about someone knowing her son’s whereabouts more than if someone was spying on her.
His gorgeous smile reappeared. “There were two sets of footprints that had sand particles that had fallen from their shoes or clothing.”
Seriously? How did he notice something so minute? A person just didn’t see sandy footprints. Wait a minute. She snapped her head around to him. “Detective Freeman said you were here as my bodyguard. Are you . . . you . . .” She looked his body up and down. “A security person?”
Freeman stepped forward. “Let’s go around to the kitchen and talk there.” He glanced at the crowded fence. “Too many spectators for my taste.”
She let Frank guide her along the side of the brick house to the back porch. Frank pulled her keys from his pocket. “Any of these open the door?”
She picked out one with a key cap designed like a hot pink cupcake. She loved those tiny desserts. She could eat one or three with each meal. Before she twisted the lock, she looked back at Frank. He grinned and gave her an approving nod. She continued to unlock the door and went inside.
Her heart jumped into her throat when thinking about Maria being injured. Then she remembered that with her son staying with the Running Winds, Maria took the day to visit her elderly mom. Thank god.
Frank put his arm around her shoulders. “Something wrong?”
She grinned at her memories. Frank always could read her like a very open book. He knew when she was sad, worried, or needed a hug. He was either the most perceptive man she ever met or her face screamed everything she felt. She also noted how no one since him had cared about her feelings. No one gave a shit if she was alive or dead.
No. She couldn’t let her feelings for him resurface. It took so long to push them down just to keep alive with such heartache. She was angry for a second, thinking how Frank never came looking for her. Then she remembered who she was in college—not Amerella Capone, great-great-grandniece of the infamous gangster. She was Amie Truman—normal girl from Nevada. There was no way he could’ve found her even if he tried. She wondered if he had.
No, no, no. For everyone’s sake, she had to stop this. She shrugged off his arm from around her shoulders.
“I’m fine. Everything is peachy.” She sat on a wooden chair at the breakfast table and put her head in her hands. This was a complete nightmare. Now was not the time for this man to come back into her life.
A cup of coffee slid under her nose. Her favorite roast with a hint of cinnamon. Yum. One of the other chairs squeaked as it was pulled back from the table. Detective Freeman sat while Frank popped another pod into the coffee machine.
Freeman cleared his throat. “Amerella, besides the obvious, is everything okay? Something we should know about?” She shook her head and sipped from her mug. “Do you have a place you can hide out until the judge decides if there is enough evidence to go to trial?”
She thought about the Mojave, where her son was hiding. That wasn’t an option. If she went there and they found her, her son’s safety would be jeopardized. “No. This is the only place I’ve been.”
“What about a summer home your family owns?” Freeman asked.
Again, she shook her head. “Everything like that belongs to Uncle Giuseppe.”
“Whoa, whoa, whoa.” Frank nearly dropped his coffee cup on the table. He leaned both hands on the wood. His eyes slowly rolled to her. “You’re tied to the Mafia? You’re family to the Mob?”
She glanced at Detective Freeman then back to him. “Uh, yeah. Haven’t you figured that out already? I guess we’re not all on the same page.”
Frank raised a hand. “No, we are. It just sank in. I was”—he looked at her with narrowed eyes—“preoccupied with unforeseen circumstances until now.”
Oh, god. He must’ve realized everything she told him about herself was a lie. Flat-out, premeditated lie. Everything except her feelings for him. Those were as real as the sun and moon. He seemed to be debating whether he was going to sit or leave. Please sit. Please sit.
He pulled out a chair and slid his gorgeous backside onto the seat. He whipped his head toward her with a deep breath. His look was filled with anger and disappointment, nearly breaking her. She stared into her coffee.
Freeman sat back in his chair and crossed his arms over his chest. “Am I missing something, or do you two know each other?”
She would let Frank answer. She didn’t know what to say.
As usual, Frank stepped up. “Yeah, we were in college at the same time. Long time ago.”
Freeman snorted. “Can’t be that long ago. Both of you are still kids compared to me.” The detective looked between her and Frank. “Is there going to be a problem with this? Should I call Director Tumbel and get another agent?”
She said no the same time Frank did. She didn’t plan to be around him much. She’d hide in her room while he guarded the house. That would work, right? Then she remembered the RPG launcher. Shit. The bad guys could be two neighbors over and fire one of those into any window. Shit, shit, shit. This was getting worse by the second. Where could she go where the Mafia wouldn’t find her?
Frank sighed. “Getting back to the situation, the only place I can think of that would be safe for her would be my home.”
What the fuck? She replied, “I don’t think so.”
CHAPTER 7
“What in hell did you pack in these, woman?” With three large rolling suitcases, two medium-sized, and a duffel around his neck choking him, Frank struggled through the rent-a-car lot to their assigned vehicle.
“Don’t chastise me, Frank. I had fifteen minutes to pack up my entire life and move out. I didn’t have time to think about it,” Amie said.
“So you packed your entire closet and bathroom?”
“Don’t be silly. That’s not even a quarter of my closet.” Amie adjusted the two bags she’d carried on the plane. “I don’t know how long I’ll be staying. I hope the dry-cleaner in this town we’re going to isn’t too busy.” Frank bust out a laugh. She was in for a big surprise.
She refused to go to DC, where he had an apartment. So the decision was made that she’d go to his hometown, which very few people knew about. He hated the idea of dumping this woman on his mom, but she could handle it. Plus, he’d still be somewhat on vacation.
“Why are you laughing? What aren’t you telling me, Frank?”
With a sigh, he said, “Nothing, Amie. Or should I call you Amerella now?” Her chin dropped to her chest. Aww, shit. He smelled her shame and the guilt she felt. But he was pissed, dammit. She lied to him about who she was, her perfect family, and her normal life. Did she lie to him about her feelings for him, too? Was it all some kind of charade?
No. That was true. She really loved him when they were together. He saw it in her eyes and smile. And of course, her smell. But now it was different. She was different. She was a prima donna who spoke her mind whether the other person wanted to hear it or not.
He clicked the key fob to open the car’s trunk. After stuffing it, he ended up putting some bags in the backseat. He’d never seen someone with so much luggage for one trip. Granted, he didn’t know how
long she’d stay. Maybe he should tell her about a new-fangled appliance they called a washing machine.
Finally settled behind the steering wheel, he took a deep breath and relaxed. Well, as relaxed as he could be with his mate, but not his mate, sitting a couple feet from him. The entire drive, Amie stared out the window. Which he was glad for. He didn’t know what to say to her. He had so many questions he didn’t know where to begin.
Then there was the issue of her living in Spotted Creek. During their time together, he’d never told her he was a shifter. He would’ve told her before they married, but the day after he proposed to her, he never saw her again. Maybe his mom would tell her. Women knew how to talk with other women. Men only messed up things when trying to talk.
A green road sign marked five miles to his hometown. “We’re almost there.” His training kicked in and he felt more sure of himself. “Remember, you have to keep a low profile. The more people who know you are here, the more likely something could get out. You shouldn’t walk around town, but you can hang out in Mom’s backyard. It’s private and really nice. You’ll like it.”
He slowed the car and turned onto the main street.
Amie’s eyes widened. “Is this it?”
“Yes,” he grumped. “Something wrong with it?”
“No. It’s just . . . quaint.”
“I know it could use some sprucing up. The folks here are a bit stuck in the past, but they’re all great people.” He eyed the battered-looking beauty salon and falling-down warehouse next to it. The butcher’s shop could use painting. Yeah, the town could use a shitload of sprucing up.
He pulled onto the pebbled driveway alongside the house and stopped in front of a garage that no longer had room for a car. Maybe he and his mom could go through all the crap in there and toss out most of it. A lot of his dad’s things were in there. Things his mom couldn’t deal with at the time.
Mom met them at the back porch. Fortunately, he was able to call her ahead of time to warn her about what was going on. Of course, his mom was thrilled with the idea of having another lady friend around. He got the feeling that she might be getting lonely. When he was younger, his parents socialized with others in town, but after Dad’s death, Mom didn’t go outside much.
“Remember,” he said to Amie as she opened her car door, “keep a low profile.”
“Yes,” Amie said. “I got it the first time.”
His mom stood next to the car, waiting for him to get on with introductions. After stepping out of the car, he gave his mom the obligatory hug, then turned to Amie. “Mom, this is Amie Truman. She’s the one I told you about who I need to keep safe for a while.”
His mom stepped forward and gave her a hug. Amie looked at him over his mom’s shoulder with a what do I do? look. Like he had a clue. He made a silent gesture waving his hands around, then headed for the trunk.
Mom leaned back but kept her hands on Amie’s upper arms. “I’m so glad to meet you, Amie. François didn’t mention how pretty you are. Or young. Right at his age, aren’t you?” Mom looped her arm around Amie’s and started for the porch. “Are you married, Amie?”
Oh, god. Maybe this wasn’t a good idea. He leaned his head against the lifted trunk lid. What had he gotten himself into?
After hauling the suitcases out of the trunk, into the house, up the stairs, and down the hall, he left Amie to unpack. He pointed out the one bathroom that both bedrooms upstairs shared. He, of course, slept in the room on the other side of the bath.
This really was a bad idea. His cat loved it. He reminded the feline that it had no say in how this was going down. It yawned then stretched out to enjoy the show.
In the kitchen with his mom, he spoke in whispers. “Mom,” he started, “don’t start playing matchmaker between Amie and me.”
Mom slapped a hand on her chest. “Me? Play matchmaker to get grandcubs? I would never!” She grinned.
He rolled his eyes at her playfulness. He didn’t want to tell her how he and Amie knew each other. Because he never told Amie about him being a shifter, he never told his mom he met his mate. Knowing his mother, she’d make sure Amie spit out a cub exactly nine months to the day after meeting her. But he had to tell her something.
“Mom, Amie and I knew each other in school.”
She clapped her hands together. “Even better! You already know each other’s pasts.”
“No, Mom. She has no idea who we are or what we can do. And I’m not sure she should know.” He worried about others in town shifting in front of her. The town’s general rule was not to shift in public in case a human was in town. What was he going to do? Go around and tell every resident they couldn’t shift for who knows how long? Not practical.
“She’s in a shifter town, son. How do you expect her to not figure it out?”
He wiped a hand over his sweat-covered forehead. “I don’t know, Mom. I hadn’t really thought the whole thing through yet. Just keep everything a secret as long as you can. Okay?”
“All right. I’ll do my best. Would you like me to chain her to the bedroom wall so she doesn’t go outside?”
He sighed. “Mom, you’re not helping.” He had to push away the images of Amie chained to the bed, naked and wet for him. One hint of desire and his mom would be all over him. “I need to let my cat out. Can you watch her for a bit?”
“Sure, son.” Her smile worried him. “I got this.”
Oh, god. This was a really, really bad idea.
CHAPTER 8
In her heels, Amie carefully stepped on each tread of the stairs. She figured back when this older house was built, they didn’t have many big-boned women who wore four-inch-high shoes. Maybe she could go shoeless. At least she wasn’t pregnant. Been there, done that.
Before leaving her guest bedroom, she’d called Maria and told her what happened at the house and to stay with her mother until everything settled. Last thing she wanted was for Maria to walk into some ambush and get hurt.
Then the thought of her son being hurt sent fear straight to her heart. She’d talked to Grandpa Running Wind and he told her to not worry about her “cub.” He would make sure the child was well taken care of. He told her to take care of herself first, then she would be ready to take care of her son. She hoped he was right.
The scent of cooking steak wafted in from the other room. She realized how hungry she was. With everything going on in Vegas, they hadn’t stopped to eat. Not too long from now, the sun would be setting.
“Amie? That you?” Frank’s mom said.
How could the woman possibly know she was standing on the stairs? Frank’s mom popped her head around the corner. “I forgot to mention to be careful of the sixth step. Occasionally it gets loose. When it creaks like it does now, usually means I need to take a hammer to it again.”
Amie looked back at the steps. She hadn’t even noticed the sound, she was so focused on not falling. But that explained how Frank’s mom knew she was coming down.
“Come on in.” The woman gestured with a tilt of her head toward the kitchen. “I’m making something to eat. Bet you all haven’t had anything in a while with all your carrying on.”
Amie followed her into the kitchen. The room was . . . cute. In a fifties kind of way. Frank’s mom blended in perfectly. Her dark hair was pulled back in a bun at the nape of her neck. The housedress she wore was gray with small white flowers. She wore no makeup or jewelry. Yet she looked timeless.
“François mentioned you know each other from college. What did you major in?” Oh, she hadn’t thought about what she’d tell his mom. Apparently, Frank hadn’t told her everything, so she wouldn’t, either. She’d gotten good at selective fact-giving—not outright lying, but carefully choosing what to divulge—over the past several years after college. If she could fool Uncle Giuseppe, Frank’s mom would be a cinch.
“We did know each other. I saw him around ca
mpus and we had some mutual friends, too. My degree was in art and artistic design. He was much more into math and science.”
“Oh, how nice,” his mom said. “There’s something to be said about opposites attracting.”
Hold the phone. If she didn’t know better, that sounded like Frank’s mom wouldn’t mind if they hooked up. Not happening. Amie thought back to his sculpted body and the muscular valleys she used to run her tongue along. Her body shivered.
His mom turned to her with a wide grin. “I hope you like steak. That’s all I have right now. Need to go to the butcher’s tomorrow to pick up more red meat for the rest of this week. Maybe you could come with me.”
At least she’d be able to get out of the house, Amie thought. “That would be great, Mrs. Dubois.”
“Oh, no, no, no. That just won’t do,” the woman said. “I insist you call me ‘Mom’ just like François does. If you must, Mom Dubois would be fine also.”
“Thank you, Mom.” Maybe this place wasn’t going to be all that bad. It was Frank’s family, who he seldom talked about. She hadn’t talked about hers, either, but she was hiding the fact that she was related to the Mafia. What could a perfect guy like François have to hide?
Frank came through the kitchen door in different clothes. Now he sported a tight white T-shirt and sweatshorts that hung low on his hips. Damn, the man could be wrapped in a rug and look sexy.
“Uh, I need to change. Be right back.” With that he was gone. His mom watched him go with a gleam in her eye. What did that mean?
“Amie,” Mom said, “would you mind pulling out three dinner plates and setting them on the table, please?”
She jumped from her chair. Finally, something she could do besides sitting with her thumb stuck up her ass. “Absolutely.” She opened a cabinet to the largest dinner plates she had ever seen. They were more like serving dishes. She could fit several veggie burgers and salads on one.
After setting the table with plates, silverware, kick-ass steak knives, and cups, she wondered if anything needed to come from the fridge. The only thing cooking was steak. No beans or corn, no lettuce salad or fruit. She opened the fridge to see what was there and stared in disbelief. The only thing besides milk—skim at that—was meat: chicken, pork, ground beef, a couple steaks, bacon, sausages, sliced deli meats—a package of Colby jack cheese; woo-hoo—shoulder roast, and brisket.