Читать книгу Married To The Mob - Ginny Aiken - Страница 8

Yes, she should be scared.

And yes, she was in serious danger.

But what could she do for herself? Nothing. So Carlie blocked out Dan’s griping and turned to the Lord.

Father, I’m not so good at this yet, but I don’t want to die. Don’t get me wrong. If You want me, I’m there. But if it’s not urgent, then I’d like to hang around here a little longer. The deal is, I don’t know what to do, how to avoid Dad’s and Tony’s slimy friends. And Dan? Well, he tries, but there’s a lot more of them than of us. So help us out here. Okay?

“You! Did you go deaf or something?”

Carlie shook herself. “No. I just had to…” He didn’t share her new faith, but with this latest development…He’d asked. “I had to pray.”

“Okay.” He looked way uncomfortable. “Well. That’s fine. Ah…we’re going to have to pull over long enough for me to make some calls, get an idea what we should do next.”

“Fine. What do you want from me?”

“Ah…nothing. I just figured you’d want to know why I was stopping when we need to get away ASAP.”

Carlie peered at her companion, but couldn’t read him, and she really did try. “Oh-kay, Mr. Secret Agent Man. I’ll be right here, seat belt on, ready for takeoff whenever you’re ready.”

He gave her another of his exasperated looks. She had come to identify and catalog 37 flavors of weird looks Dan Maddox used on her—she would’ve preferred the ice cream. Pulling over to the side of the road wasn’t the smartest thing to do. And yeah, yeah, she’d figured Dan as the Boy Scout–type right from the start. He’d never cell phone and drive. But the New Jersey Turnpike was no lonely country lane. Anyone could come along here and pop the two of them with the greatest of ease.

Ever since she’d helped Maryanne Wellborn, now Prophet, save her elderly father from dear brother Tony’s murderous intents, Carlie’s world had turned into a surreal series of images, each one weirder than the last. All because she’d agreed to testify against her father, her brother Tony and a bunch of their mob pals.

She’d also acquired her intense, good-looking blond shadow.

Carlie had never been so squeezed into a box. She’d called her father a tyrannical spoilsport during her high-school years. Then, after she married, Carlo gave her complete freedom—as long as she stayed out of his business.

That business, the same as her father’s and brother’s, was what landed her smack in the middle of this mess. She’d done everything she could during those years of marriage to ignore the signs, the same ones she’d ignored at home. What woman wants to admit her family, and the handsome, debonair older man her father insisted she marry, were all mobsters?

The driver’s side door opened. “Okay,” Dan said once behind the wheel again. “We’re on our way.”

“On our way where?”

“Some other place over in Pennsylvania.”

“Could you be a little more specific? That covers a big chunk of ground, you know?”

He gave her another of those worried looks. “It’s probably safer for you not to know too much about our plans.”

“Oh, sure. I might telepathetically transmit the location to Dad’s pals. Give me a break. What do you think I’m going to do? Hop out of the car—while it’s zipping down a highway—flag down some unsuspecting soul, then run and tell on you?”

“It’s telepathically, Carlie. And it’s safer for you not to know too much in case someone takes me out and they snatch you.”

“I like telepathetically better. And what you just said made no sense. If they snuff you—that’s so cool! I feel like I’m reading the script for a TV cop show. Yeah, if they snuff you, don’t you think they’ll just grab me from the passenger seat? I’ll be no more than a memory.”

His knuckles went white on the steering wheel. “Sorry. You’re right. I don’t know what’s wrong with me. I don’t usually get this rattled on a case. I guess it doesn’t help that I didn’t get much sleep last night.”

“Are you an insomniac?”

“No. Just working a tough case—you.”

“Takes one to know one.”

The corner of his mouth tipped up. “What is this? Elementary school?”

“Beats me. It’s your game, remember? I’m just along ’cause you agency guys insisted I play. So where are you taking me? And I don’t mean that little piece of ground out on the back forty of New Jersey some call Pennsylvania.”

“Lancaster County.”

She turned as far as the seatbelt let her to better look at him. “Oh! Can we stop at the outlets? Please. I love shopping there. You get the best deals on just about everything with a label.”

Another weird look from Mr. Intense. “A bargain hunter mob wife? One who’s become their number one target?”

“Hey! They can get me just as easily in a store as in this car. And just because I could get my hands on Carlo’s and Daddy’s money, doesn’t mean I’m ready to pay more than I have to. That’s just stupid.”

“Okay. So you’re a thrifty mob wife—”

“Widow, remember? The hit on Carlo is what started all this.”

“You think I could forget?” He clamped his lips shut, swerved to avoid a maniac driver who cut them off from the right, then, once the nut was far enough away, changed lanes back to the right. Carlie clung to her seatbelt for dear life.

“By the way,” he went on. “What was the deal with that empty coffin you guys shipped to Italy? He was supposed to be inside, but when Italian customs agents X-rayed the thing, it was empty as…well, you get my drift.”

She sure did. He’d probably been about to say “your head” or pay her some other similar compliment, but she let him get away with the near-smear this time.

“There’s no ‘you guys,’ Dan. I never knew what went on day-to-day, and I absolutely, positively had nothing to do with the funeral home, the funeral and why or for what reason they shipped off the empty casket for an Italian burial. I just knew Carlo’d died. His uncle Louie handled all the details.”

He shot her a look Carlie didn’t like. He didn’t seem to believe half of what she said, but there was nothing she could do about it. The guy was the most suspicious critter she’d ever met.

He pushed the gas pedal, and the speed shoved her back into the seat. “What are you doing?”

“Getting off the Turnpike. This rush hour traffic is not my thing.”

“But you live and work in Philly.”

“Doesn’t mean I have to like the traffic there.”

Carlie studied his profile as they crossed the Delaware Memorial Bridge. So far, she hadn’t found a thing Dan liked. What really threw her was that when he’d first been assigned to protect her, J.Z. Prophet, Dan’s usual partner at the Bureau, had described her shadow as an easygoing, laid-back kind of guy.

This guy didn’t have a laid-back hair on his blond head. And she was stuck with him. At least, until the trial was over and the verdict came in. After that…well, she didn’t know what came after that, but she wasn’t about to give it much thought. She still had to live long enough to get to “after that.”

“Then allow me the pleasure to distract you from the horrors of after-work traffic,” she said with a grin. “How about you tell me where you’re taking me? I really, really want to know.”

“We’re going to a safe place just outside Bird-in-Hand.”

“Huh?”

He shot her a smile. “So you don’t know everything. Bird-in-Hand is a sleepy little town with the best Amish bakery and a huge quilting shop.”

“You know about bakeries and quilt shops?”

“I’m a multifaceted kind of guy.” He turned just enough for her to see his wink. “Actually, my mom’s crazy about quilting, so she knows every one of those stores in the eastern half of Pennsylvania.”

“So you’re from that area.”

“I grew up in a suburb of Harrisburg.”

“Okay. Sounds good.” By now he’d relaxed enough that his fingers didn’t remind her of the color of overcooked macaroni before the cheese was added anymore, a food group she now knew too much about thanks to her underground existence. “So how about you tell me where you’re taking me—exactly where you’re taking me? I mean, I have nothing against road trips, but really. This is just too weird.”

“Curiosity is a dangerous thing, Carlie.” He slowed down for a red light. “But I’ll go ahead and tell you. My mom knows a Mennonite family who’s willing to let us stay at their farm.”

“Farm, huh?”

“Yes, the Millers own a dairy farm, and I remembered them when I tried to come up with a quiet, inconspicuous place to stash you. My mom and Mrs. Miller shop for their quilting supplies at the Bird-in-Hand store. Over the years they’ve become friends.”

What was he getting them into? “The Mennonites, they’re not the ones with the buggies and no electricity, are they?”

“No, those are Old Order Amish, but Mennonites are still very, very conservative.”

She shrugged. “I’ll figure it out as I go. I can handle anything as long as I get a decent night’s sleep, a shower in the morning and a blow-dryer for my hair.”

He squirmed in his seat, looked very, very uncomfortable. “We can do the sleep, and the shower shouldn’t be a problem. But the blow-dryer might not be so easy. Because the women wear their hair twisted up in the small white kapps, I’m not sure the Millers own one, and yours is…”

Carlie’s stomach sank. “Mine’s a blob of melted plastic and a couple of blackened wires. So we need to look at this as a new life experience. Okay. I’m sure it’ll come in handy someday.”

From the way Dan’s shoulders shook, she knew he was trying to hold in his laughter. At least she was good for comic relief. They had enough grim to survive. And Mennonites were Christians, so staying with the Millers couldn’t be too bad.

They’d ditched the Pennsylvania Turnpike at around four o’clock. They pulled into the Miller farm at around six. The white farmhouse stood at the end of a long gravel drive. A huge oak tree spread its full, green branches in front of the home and shaded the wide porch. A big red barn flanked the rear of the house to the right. Various other smaller structures spread out toward the left rear. A bunch of black-and-white cows crowded each other on their way to what must have been dinner.

“Speaking of dinner,” she said, “what are we doing for food?”

“Trust me,” he answered with a smug smile.

“Oh, fine. Have it your way.”

“I’m planning an experience you’ll never forget.”

Her stomach flipped. That easy smile made Dan look more human. And a million times more attractive. She wondered what he was like when not on the job.

“Come on,” he said.

Carlie blinked. Saved by the bell…or something like that. She really couldn’t afford to find her keeper appealing. So she’d better think about these people whose quiet life they were about to invade.

The woman who opened the door looked like a storybook grandma. This one, though, wore an unusual gray dress with sleeves that poufed a little on the shoulders then snugged down to just above the elbows. The dress made Carlie think of something one might have seen decades ago, if not way more than that. The plain top had a flat-over thingy that ended at the waistline. A skirt generous enough for the woman to do just about any kind of farm chore came down to the shin, where legs covered with dark cotton stockings led to old-fashioned black lace-up shoes.

Mrs. Miller shook her head when Dan told her a gas problem had left Carlie temporarily homeless. “So sorry to hear,” she said, her voice spiced with a slight accent. “But please, make yourself welcome.”

Carlie was charmed, but she felt like an impostor, lower than a slug. “Thank you so much, Mrs. Miller. I do appreciate your hospitality.”

Their hostess smiled and gestured for them to follow her. “Come, come. Supper is served.”

“Pay attention,” Dan whispered close to her ear.

On their way to the kitchen, Carlie asked Mrs. Miller about the farm. She learned all kinds of details the woman gladly shared. And when they entered the enormous kitchen, Carlie understood what Dan had meant. A huge oak table filled the center of the room. Spread out over its surface was a feast, a banquet, a smorgasbord of sights and smells. Carlie’s stomach growled.

Dan chuckled. “Told you.”

“No, Mr. Close-mouthed Secret Agent, you did not. All you said was another of your enigmatic ‘trust mes.’ That didn’t even give me a hint.”

“You can’t fault a guy for wanting to surprise a girl.”

“You surprised me, all right.”

“This is Richard.” Mrs. Miller indicated the oldest boy. “Beside him is Jonas, then Ruth. On the other side, Rachel and Stephen…”

In minutes, Carlie asked and learned the children’s ages, where they went to school and their usual chores around the farm.

Finally, they joined the Millers, all seven of them, for the meal. Mr. Miller said grace in what sounded kind of like German, and after resounding amens, everyone dug in.

Evidently, Mrs. Maddox had let her friend know she’d soon have guests, and Mrs. Miller had put on what she called “a little more” into the pots and pans. To Carlie, it looked like she’d gone a whole lot further than that. A gentle prod with her fork broke the pot roast into tender morsels. Parsley and butter coated the potatoes, a colorful variety of homegrown veggies filled another third of her gargantuan plate, home-baked bread melted in her mouth, and cinnamon-dusted applesauce tasted more refreshing than Carlie remembered from her childhood.

“What do you think?” Dan asked.

“Wow! Nothing but wow.”

Just when Carlie was sure she couldn’t possibly swallow another mouthful, Mrs. Miller brought out two different pies. One was apple, and the other the well-known Pennsylvania Dutch shoofly pie.

“Which one?” their hostess asked.

“Oh, I’m going to try the shoofly,” Carlie answered. “I’ve always wondered what it was like.”

With her first bite, she fell in love, as she told her hostess, and thanked the kind woman for the best meal she’d eaten in years. Afterward, she insisted on helping Mrs. Miller and the girls in the kitchen, and when the last plate was put away, Carlie found herself more tired than she’d ever thought she could be. She yawned, and Dan caught her.

“Time to hit the hay,” he said with a wink and a grin. “Say good night to our hosts, Carlie.”

“Good night,” she said like a dutiful child. But instead of heading upstairs, where she figured the bedrooms would be, Dan led her to the back door. “Where are we going?”

“I told you. You’re going to hit the hay.”

The glee in his face told Carlie more than she wanted to know. “You mean that literally, don’t you?”

“Yup.”

“How can you do that to me? I’ve been shot at, bombed—more than once, I might add—burned out of my apartment, and now you want me to sleep with the cows? You never told me about the perks of this deal, Danny Boy.”

“Give me a chance to explain. Mrs. Miller didn’t understand why I wanted you in one of the older outbuildings either. But think about it. If your family’s pals follow us out here, and I’m not saying they will, but you never know, do you want to put the Millers at risk?”

“I never thought of that, and I should have.” She sent a silent prayer heavenward. “Thanks, Dan. I’m so glad you did think it through.”

Unless she was much mistaken, a hint of a blush warmed up the tan over his chiseled cheekbones. To her amazement, he looked embarrassed. By a simple thank-you. Go figure.

To defuse the awkward moment, she said, “Lead on, fearless leader. Where do you want me? Roosting with the chickens?”

He pointed toward the left field. “There.”

Oh, yeah. It was the one she’d feared he would choose. “Tell me why you decided we needed to occupy the frumpiest, dumpiest, most dilapidated pile of boards here?”

“Because the Millers are about to tear it down plus a couple of the other outbuildings, now that they put up the big red barn. If something happens while we’re here, I don’t want them to suffer any major loss.”

Again his thoughtfulness surprised her—for the Millers, that is. “Let’s go, then.” She began to sing “Away in a Manger.”

“You are just too much.”

She snickered. “Too much what? Too much trouble? Too much fun? Too much of a good thing? Or maybe too much effort?”

“No way. That’s the problem with you women. You lay traps for us guys to trip into. I’m not touching that one even if I’m drowning and it’s the only thing that floats.”

In a good mood, they reached the old structure. Dan held the wide, warped door open for Carlie. “Rich, the Millers’ oldest son, brought out some pillows and bedding,” he said. “You should be pretty comfortable.”

She frowned. “What about you?”

“I’m keeping an eye out for trouble. Naps in the car aren’t so bad.”

“Great. Another guilt trip. I’m kinda tired of all the extra travel you’re taking me on.”

“Forget it. It’s my job. I’m used to stakeouts.”

She tilted her head and gave him a long look. “One of these days you’re going to have to tell me all about being an FBI guy. It’s not your everyday kind of job.”

“Neither is being married to the mob. So once you tell me, I’ll tell you.”

Carlie held out her hand. “You got yourself a deal, Mr. Secret Agent Man.”

He gave it a brief shake then let go as if burned. “Well. Ah…good night, Carlie.”

“You, too.”

She went inside, and on a pile of fresh-smelling hay against the rear wall Rich Miller had spread out the bedding. At one end, a pair of fluffy pillows were piled one on top of the other. All of a sudden, the strain of the recent upheavals overcame her.

Exhaustion claimed Carlie. She plopped down onto her makeshift bed, pulled the lightweight quilt over her shoulders, and dropped off faster than she thought possible.

A while later, she woke up. She had no idea what roused her, but she opened her eyes, her heart beating a frantic, furious pulse. Instead of her cozy quarters, she found herself in Dante’s vision of Hades.

Tongues of flames licked toward the roof, the walls, her nest of hay. Smoke made it hard to see—worse, to breathe. The billows swirled before, beside, behind the flames.

“Oh, Father…dear God. Your will be done.”

As she finished her scrap of prayer, she heard Dan’s yell.

“Hang on, Carlie! I’m coming for you.”

Everything went black.