Читать книгу Love In Plain Sight - Jeanie London - Страница 13

CHAPTER THREE

IF MARC HAD not been starving, he would have stayed in his room until the house had emptied after dinner. Too many drugs, too many stairs and the effort of taking a shower had kicked his ass all over again.

He wasn’t in the mood for people and wanted to sleep off the drug hangover. Unfortunately, between the smells of his mother’s cooking and the noise level that told him how good the food was, he had no choice. He made a mental note to keep protein bars in his room for the duration of this visit so he could avoid family gatherings altogether.

Against his better judgment, he made his way downstairs again. The thumping of his cane must have announced his arrival because Damon said, “Guess who’s gracing us with his presence.”

Caffeine and a shower hadn’t taken the edge off. If Marc had been thinking clearly, he would have used his phone and a twenty to bribe his niece Violet into bringing a plate upstairs.

“To what do we owe this honor?” Damon asked.

There were a few laughs from around the table, but Marc ignored his brother, which was easy to do since the kitchen looked like Bourbon Street on Fat Tuesday. He noticed Courtney immediately, seated beside his mother, quiet in the midst of all the noise, so beautiful. Sad, too, he decided. That was probably his fault. He should probably feel bad.

He didn’t want to draw any more attention to himself when he still had to get to the counter, and make it to the table with a plate and silverware while maneuvering through the obstacle course of people crowding the food. Then he’d have to get to his seat.

The table was full. His mother was all about first come, first served, and hers was the only reserved seat—the corner closest to the stove. This was her throne to hear her tell it, so she could easily replenish serving bowls. While Marc had been growing up, that seat had been at his father’s right.

“My best girl and right-hand man,” Marc could remember his father saying. “My better half.”

Today, she was Marc’s savior. After taking one look at him, she started directing traffic.

“Scoot the twins toward Anthony,” she said. “Marc, sit next to Violet. She’ll make room.”

“Come here, Uncle Marc.” Violet patted the space on the bench beside her, a strategic corner placement so Marc would be able to stretch his leg out of everyone’s way.

By the time he dropped heavily onto the bench, food started making its way toward him. Marc turned his attention to filling his plate as the conversation resumed about the wedding. Nic was finally going to marry his high school sweetheart and the mother of his teenage daughter, Violet. This wedding was a long time in coming, and the family was thrilled.

Marc didn’t want any reminders of the upcoming nuptials, though. When he had agreed to be Nic’s best man, he had assumed accompanying his big brother to the altar wouldn’t be a problem. Now the thought of being on display to a church filled with guests annoyed him. He’d already tried to beg off, citing an inability to accomplish his best man duties, but Nic had flatly refused to accept his resignation.

Marc made quick work of dinner, glad when the conversation turned from the wedding to the Saints’ performance during preseason. Everyone had an opinion, and he listened, distracting himself from his awareness of Courtney, who ate next to nothing although she made a good show of pushing food around her plate.

He was probably responsible for her lack of appetite, too. His troublemaking mother must have thought so, because when the talk about the Saints lagged, she solicited opinions about whether or not he should help Courtney with her problem.

Marc should have seen it coming. He would have bet money Courtney hadn’t. Her expression froze along with the fork she held over the plate.

“Wait a second.” Anthony swallowed hard around a bite. “Am I hearing this right? Are you telling me Boba Fett DiLeo can’t track down a missing kid? Who is this kid—the Golden Child?”

Courtney blinked a few times, still surprised her shitty situation had become the entrée of table conversation.

Violet pulled a face. “I know Boba Fett, but who’s the Golden Child?”

“Vintage Eddie Murphy, niece girl,” Damon said. “Before you were a twinkle in your daddy’s eye.”

Nic scowled. Some things never changed, and he did not like reminders that he hadn’t been privy to the existence of his daughter until two years ago.

“I didn’t say can’t track down,” his mother explained matter-of-factly. “I said won’t.”

Marc should have known nothing with this family could ever be simple. Setting down his water glass, he settled back to watch the show. He would not prepare a defense. He refused to play this game.

“I don’t understand.” Anthony feigned confusion. “Why won’t you help out Courtney?”

Every gaze at the table was suddenly on Marc. As brother in the middle, Anthony was slick. He had learned long ago to maneuver between family factions. The top shelf contained the power brokers—his mother, Nic, Marc himself. More often than not, Anthony preferred to swing with them, but there were times he played devil’s advocate or peacemaker. He wielded humor and stupidity with equal skill, and usually managed to emerge from family disputes unscathed. Marc did not have the patience for his brother today. Any of them.

“I have helped. The lady asked for an opinion. I gave one.”

The lady still looked like a deer caught in headlights, but she recovered quickly, suddenly becoming very interested in the food she’d been pushing around on her plate.

“Courtney, you better hope your missing kid didn’t run away like this one—across continents.” Damon patted the top of Violet’s head, and she beamed at the mention of the antics that had led her to find the father she’d grown up without knowing.

Now she was the oldest grandchild and resident superstar, her status as shiny and new to the family made her special, and she was old enough not only to revel in her position but milk it for all it was worth.

“I’d have given Uncle Marc a run for his money,” she said saucily. “Can you say South America to Louisiana? There are lots of countries in between.”

Nic directed his scowl her way this time. “That’s because you don’t respect normal boundaries.”

“I don’t do continents,” Marc said.

“Really?” Violet wanted to know. “Why not?”

“I can’t legally bring anyone over the border,” Marc explained. “That’s half the fun of my work—luring criminals into the country, so I can catch him. Or her. There are lots of hers. None as pretty as you.”

That earned him a high-beam smile, and for a moment, Marc thought he might have redirected the conversation. No such luck.

“Then what’s up with this missing kid?” Anthony persisted. “Not in any real danger, I hope?”

All gazes swung Courtney’s way. She was caught and had no choice but to be sucked into this nonsense.

“It doesn’t look good,” she said simply. Then she made the mistake of pausing to draw breath.

His mother stepped into that breach and interjected her two cents about Marc’s refusal to help. By the time she was done, everyone was making noise about how he shouldn’t be able to live with himself if he didn’t help track down a missing kid.

The only thing Marc could say for Courtney was that she clearly wasn’t in collusion with his family. And the frown on her pretty face suggested she didn’t much like being used as a reason to bully him. But she didn’t not like it enough to open her mouth and tell everyone to shut up. He found that disconnect between self-interest and outrage, a struggle so evident on her face, interesting for the woman who had involved his mother in the first place. Then again, Courtney had arrived early to speak with him privately. She hadn’t intended for him to be put on the spot. He gave her credit for that.

Which begged the question about why she was so solicitous. Did she feel sorry for him?

Marc shouldn’t care one way or the other. But there was something about the way she sat there, scowling at his mother, slanting horrified glances at him whenever she thought he wasn’t looking. Each time someone opened his mouth, she sank lower into her chair. She felt bad. That much Marc knew. And he didn’t want to be the object of anyone’s pity, not even for the time it took to finish dinner. So he did exactly what he had refused to do—defend himself.

“Listen,” he said. “I’m with you. I don’t want to think about anything bad happening to this kid.”

“Then why won’t you help Aunt Courtney?” Violet asked.

“Because the situation isn’t so simple or else your father would be helping Aunt Courtney.” What was wrong with his family? A few dinner invitations made someone an honorary member?

Damon snorted with laughter. “I thought you were the dude who never met a skip you couldn’t track.”

“I track people who want to vanish. That’s a big difference from a little kid who all of a sudden went missing one day.”

“What if she didn’t just go missing? What if someone took her?” Anthony went the confused route this time. “Sounds like she disappeared a long time ago. How old was she, Courtney?”

“I can’t discuss details,” she said in an obvious attempt to redirect. “All I can say is the last accurate documentation we have on her was before the hurricane evacuations.”

Just mention of the hurricane brought a collective gasp and a reverent silence that lasted all of thirty seconds until Damon opened that mouth of his again.

“Can you imagine a kid in that mess?” he asked. “You know what this place was like during the hurricane.”

“No, I don’t,” Marc said. “I was based in Southern California, luring a corporate CEO from Beijing.” Trying to work in between watching news of the hurricane and attempting to contact anyone who could tell him whether or not his family had evacuated or if they’d been blown away by the storm, too.

“The place was a war zone,” Nic said. “Take my word.”

Obviously everyone did because there were a few murmurs of assent and some nodding heads.

“God, the thought of a kid unprotected in that...” Anthony’s words trailed off. Obviously becoming a parent had added newfound understanding.

“New Orleans, cher.” Damon glanced knowingly at Courtney. “Crime capital ten years straight. Kid could have met up with gangs, perverts. Hell, kid could have been trafficked.”

Courtney visibly paled until her black eyelashes stood out against skin that seemed cast in ivory.

“Sounds like someone’s police department isn’t doing their job.” Marc deflected the attention. Let someone else get rolled under the bus for a change. He didn’t even live here anymore.

“My police department is doing just fine,” Nic shot back. “No thanks to people who refuse to help. Like someone who shall remain nameless.”

“I’m not sure why you all are so determined to involve me in Courtney’s business. I gave my opinion. If this kid was trafficked, she’ll probably be dead by now.” He was the voice of reason. “Kids don’t last long under those conditions. Not when they’re turned into junkie whores.”

Anthony’s wife, Tess, dropped her silverware onto the plate with a clatter. “Gentlemen, do you mind? This is not what I call dinner conversation.” With one fluid move, she was on her feet scooping up a plate and helping her daughter from the bench. “Violet, would you give me a hand with Rocco?”

Violet popped up and grabbed plate, drink and kid before Marc’s sister-in-law had cleared the room.

Damon watched them go with a frown. “You can’t even help Courtney take a look, Marc? What else do you do all day?”

Once, Sensei Damon would have wound up on his ass for that question. That’s why he held tenth dan grades in five disciplines. An inability to control what came out of his mouth chronically had him in trouble with one or more of his brothers. He’d be dead if not for learning how to defend himself.

Now all Marc could do was motion to the leg stretched out and make excuses. “See this leg, champ? Taking about everything I have in me to get it up and running again.”

“We’re not talking ten-hour workdays here,” Anthony pointed out.

“How do you know how much work it takes to track anyone? They teach that in automotive repair school?”

That blow hit. He could see it all over Anthony’s face, and Marc was sorry about that. He liked Anthony. He really did. Out of all his brothers, Anthony was the one good-natured enough not to get on Marc’s nerves most of the time. But if Anthony, and everyone else for that matter, was determined to back him into a corner, they had better prepare for him to come out swinging.

“Can you say physical therapy?” Marc forced calm. “And when I’m not torturing my leg into submission or hobbling around with this cane, I’m supposed to be healing. Don’t any of you listen to Vince?” Time to roll the family doctor under the bus. Helping should be his choice, and he resented otherwise.

But resentment didn’t cloud his vision, and he clearly saw his mother elbow Courtney under the table. The move was merely a nudge, intentionally meant to go unnoticed. But Marc noticed everything. Attention to detail was his gift, exactly what made him such a good hunter.

He watched the play of emotions across Courtney’s face, waited to see how she would respond. She met his gaze across the distance, tried to look calm and collected when her discomfort was leaking around the edges in a big way. “Is it possible to explain how I should proceed, Marc? Point me in the right direction, so I know what I’m looking for.”

Is it possible?

Looked like Anthony wasn’t the only diplomat at the table. Courtney gave Marc an out even though she walked a tightrope among loyalty to his mother, desperation to track down her missing kid and looking herself in the mirror. She handled the pressure fairly well, considering she had already asked him this question.

When he replied, he addressed the whole table. “Frankly, I’m disturbed by the way all of you are trying to muscle Courtney and me into doing what you want. I shouldn’t have to defend my decision. I’m the one who would be doing the work, and since not a one of you knows what tracking someone involves, I don’t think you’re in any position to tell me what I should be doing. And you definitely shouldn’t be manipulating Courtney.”

His mother scowled, but Marc’s rant had the desired effect—for all of ten seconds the entire kitchen went silent. Then, in that moment of breathless pause, the security alarmed beeped when the front door opened.

“Uncle Vince,” Violet squealed from the living room.

There was a muffled reply and laughter before footsteps echoed down the hallway.

Everyone was still staring at Marc when Vince appeared in the doorway, looking like a younger male version of everyone else around the table, only dressed as if he’d come straight from making rounds at the hospital in his jacket and tie.

“Hey, everyone.” He waved, oblivious to the scene he’d stepped into. “Hope you saved some food for me. I’m starving.”

His mother was already on her feet, closing the distance and giving her youngest son a hug. “You’ll never starve in your mama’s kitchen, cutie.”

Vince smiled dutifully when she pinched his cheek.

“Come on, let’s get you a plate.” She was already on her way to the counter. “Courtney, will you please make some room on the table? That’s right. Scoot the salad bowl back. Vince will fit next to you now that Marc has run off Tess.”

“Will do.” Courtney looked grateful to get out from beneath the spotlight.

His mother piled a plate with everything from the counter, then headed back to the table. “Come on and eat, Vince. You’ll need energy to talk some sense into your brother.”

Vince shrugged off his jacket and wedged in between Courtney and Anthony. “Which brother?”

“Marc.” There was a “Who else?” in there.

Marc could see where this was headed. He steadied himself on the table while maneuvering his leg.

His mother kicked off the debate as Marc tried to make his getaway. “Courtney needs help locating a missing child,” she said. “But Marc won’t help her because he says he should be healing, not working. As his doctor, what do you say?”

Vince technically wasn’t Marc’s doctor. Not that he hadn’t been dispensing medical advice since the accident. He had overseen every course of action, handled the medical decisions when Marc hadn’t been coherent enough to understand his choices and make decisions. Now Vince spooned grated cheese over his pasta and played Monkey in the Middle.

He could go either way on this. He was even-tempered and comfortable in his role as family baby. He wasn’t a pain in the ass like Damon or a bully like Nic or a backstabber like Anthony. He was a mama’s boy by default, and that would count. But it also counted that Marc had spent the past decade helping to finance that expensive medical education, keeping a roof above Vince’s head, a car under his ass and making the loan payments that couldn’t be deferred.

Vince must have been thinking the same thing. “Without you I would have never made it through school, so you’ll get perks as long as you want them because I appreciate everything you’ve done. Helping Courtney is just what the doctor orders.”

“Keep your perks to yourself, doc.” Marc shoved up from the table, leaning heavily on the cane. He was done.

Vince frowned. Their mother hovered behind him, patting his shoulder consolingly. She cut Damon dead with a sharp, “You better think twice before you open that mouth.”

Damon’s mouth snapped shut before he uttered a word, taking their mother’s advice for once.

This damned family. Marc was done with being at their mercy.

Levering his weight onto his cane, he stood. For one shining moment, he felt some semblance of control, empowered almost, as he stared down at everyone seated before him, waiting expectantly for his next move.

“Courtney,” he said, and met her surprised gaze. “You’ll provide a place to work and transportation.”

Her eyes widened, but she nodded.

“And pay my premium?”

She didn’t even blink. “Yes.”

Marc wasn’t surprised. She came from money. Otherwise she would wait for the FBI like most law-abiding citizens. He chased people like her—the ones with enough money to think rules didn’t apply to them. They broke laws, and if they were stupid enough to get caught, they had the means to try to escape paying the price.

Those were the skips he brought to justice.

This case would be different, but given his present circumstances...

Marc motioned to the door. “Then you’re on. Let’s go.”

He began his trek across the kitchen. He headed down the hallway and didn’t stop until he got to the front door. He didn’t need anything. Not his wallet. Not money. Not a damned house key.

The spare was kept under the porch swing if he needed to get in when his mother wasn’t home. Courtney could drive him if he did. His cell phone and painkillers were in his pocket.

All he needed was out of this house.

* * *

“GO, GO, GO!” Mama said urgently under her breath.

Courtney stood and reached for her plate, unsure. “That was coercion. You all were merciless.”

“Just another day in the DiLeo house.” Vince shrugged and dug his fork into the pasta.

“Better hurry or Gimpy might get away.” Anthony gestured that she follow.

“Leave the plate,” Mama commanded. “Go.”

So Courtney could face the resentful man who’d been bullied into helping her? Why had this seemed like a good idea again?

Hurrying from the kitchen, she saw the door wide open and Marc making his way across the yard. From behind, he could have been any one of his brothers, any one of the broad-shouldered, tawny-haired Italian boys with the big laughs and bear-hug welcomes.

Except for the cane. And the attitude. And the fact that she actually liked all the other DiLeo brothers.

Marc must have heard her approach because he said, “Can you get to your car?”

“I’m parked on the street.”

“The Mini Cooper, right?” His tone made it clear he wouldn’t have expected anything else.

She quickly realized he would have trouble getting in and out of her small vehicle with a leg that didn’t bend easily. Covering the distance between them, she set her hand on his arm to stop him.

They needed to clear things up here and now.

“Marc,” she began, but when he glanced at her, the whiskey eyes all the DiLeo boys had inherited from their mother belonged to a stranger.

How had she not realized he was even taller than Anthony? She had misjudged the distance because suddenly she was too close, had to tip her head back to meet his stormy gaze.

The impulse to retreat a step hit hard, but Courtney stood her ground. “Listen, that didn’t go the way I expected in there. You don’t have to help me. Not unless you’re willing.”

“You don’t want to pay me?” he asked in that dark voice, throaty yet somehow smooth like molasses.

“No, that’s not it. It’s not the money.”

Something flickered deep in his gaze. She might not know this man well, but she knew his brothers. Every one quick-witted and a bit of a ballbreaker in his own way. Marc was making her uncomfortable and didn’t mind.

What was it about this man, the one and only DiLeo she didn’t absolutely adore?

“I don’t understand why you need to be rude, Marc. I know your family coerced you. I was there, remember? And if you remember correctly, I wanted your opinion. I never asked you to do anything.”

“I don’t come cheap.”

“It has nothing to do with your fee.”

“Your call, then. Pay me for my time and provide chauffeur services to everywhere I need to go, or let me get back to my busy day.”

The everywhere I need to go made red flags fly. Did he mean everywhere he needed to go to discover what had happened to Araceli or did he mean everywhere everywhere he needed to go?

Courtney didn’t ask. Ironically, she probably had less to do with her days than he did. And the only thing she cared about was finding Araceli.

“Getting you where you need to go is no problem,” she said. “I’ll make arrangements for a different vehicle if we need to do a lot of running around.”

“We’ll need to do a lot of running around.”

“No problem.” He was only trying to provoke her. She knew it, but she didn’t want him to think he could push her around. As she faced Marc’s somber expression, she suddenly felt as if her very life depended on standing up to this man.

So she stood there, gaze unwavering, though the effort cost. Her chest grew tight, making her breaths come in shallow bursts, but she refused to look away, refused to blink, even though her neck felt as if it might snap from keeping her head tilted.

“We’re good then.” He was the first to break. “You’ve hired yourself a bounty hunter. For what that’s worth nowadays.”

That said a lot about why Marc had resisted.

“Thank you.” She meant it.

He leaned heavily on his cane and repositioned himself in the springy grass, and Courtney suspected she hadn’t won that little battle of wills at all. Marc had probably only needed to move his injured leg so he didn’t topple over.

His physical limitations were all too evident as he made his way to the car and braced himself with a hand on the door frame to lower himself into the passenger seat. She held the door, watched the muscles bulge in his arm. His jaw tensed as if he fought the pain of bending his knee to wedge his big body into the compact compartment.

She opened her mouth to tell him to use the seat release, but he was already there. The seat jumped back with a metallic spring, and his expression eased.

She didn’t know what to say, so she circled the car, leaving him to pull the door shut himself. She had only meant to consult with this man, to be advised about how to proceed. Now she had her very own bounty hunter, broken though he was, and she had no clue about what came next.

He sat so close, his elbow propped on her console, his hand draped casually on a knee. Somehow he managed to fill up her spacious-for-a-compact-car interior, and she wasn’t sure what to say or do.

Drive...that much was a given.

Cranking the car, she slipped the shift into gear, feeling flustered and off-kilter. Driving away from the curb, Courtney was determined to find her center and regain control. “So what kind of place do you need to work? Let’s start there.”

“Standard office setup. Wi-Fi. Printer. Fax.”

Okay, great. “One office coming up.”

He didn’t reply, just stared ahead, so she drove along in silence, remembering what Mama had said about being an answer to a prayer. What had Mama wished for this son?

Courtney didn’t have a clue. Up until Marc’s protracted visit after his accident, she had seen him only a handful of times through the years. He was quiet, intense, brooding almost, and suddenly seemed to suck up more than his share of air.