Читать книгу Sexy Ms. Takes - Jo Leigh - Страница 10

JOHN STUDIED HER REACTION. He needed her to trust him. She was clever, he could already tell that, but he needed her to be quick, too. Terrified people often made bad choices at the worst times. Knowing Sal, he was terrified, too, and he made bonehead choices in the best of circumstances.

Bella folded her arms across her chest and continued staring at him. A little pink came to her cheeks, but she didn’t look away. Finally, she nodded. Once.

Good. One problem solved. Bigger issues remained. Like how he was going to get them out of this.

“None of this makes sense,” she said. “Why would the Mafia want to make a deal with a detective? Why didn’t they just kill you when you went to get in your car? Or when we were in the garage?” She looked at the door. “Was that…?”

John followed her gaze, listened, but he didn’t hear anything.

When he turned back she was staring at him again, waiting for his answer. “Just because they’re Italian, it doesn’t mean they’re Mafia.”

“You’re right. The kidnapping and the guns mean they’re the Mafia.”

“Good point, but not accurate. Sal’s a wannabe. He watched The Sopranos when he should have been going to school.”

“Which reminds me. Who’s Nonna and how do you know she lives here?”

He shrugged. “She’s part of the neighborhood. Everybody knows everybody.”

“What about Vince?”

John hesitated. He owed her the truth. “He isn’t part of the neighborhood, and I don’t know what he’s doing here. My gut tells me he doesn’t want us dead, but I’m not certain.”

“Okay. Thanks for being honest.” With a calm he wasn’t buying, Bella headed toward the couch. “Even if they’re not officially in the Mafia, they still have to deal with me. If they buy you off, I’m a witness. I was kidnapped at gunpoint. I leave here, go right to the cops and report it.” She sat on the ugly couch, almost lost on the cushions.

He hadn’t realized how tiny she was, probably because she was tall. But she was slender, small-boned. “I told you, they’re not going to hurt you.”

She sighed, looking miserable. “And you were doing so great in the honesty department.”

“I’m not trying to placate you. As long as we’re here, we’ll be okay. If they’d taken us to some deserted warehouse, I’d be sweating it.” A half-truth was better than scaring her out of her mind. He was still sweating it, all right, only because he didn’t remember who the hell Vince was. This had something to do with Sal, and as much as John wanted to kick the kid’s ass right now, deep down he knew Sal wouldn’t hurt Nonna. And he wouldn’t be stupid enough to pull anything in her basement. As far as Vince was concerned, he didn’t strike John as part of one of the local crews. Smarter than Sal, but then, who wasn’t?

He glanced over at Bella again, who was nervously licking her lips. “They leave any water for us?” he asked, glancing around the room.

“I didn’t see any,” she said quickly, stiffening.

He frowned at her odd reaction. Of course she was tense, but there was something else. Maybe not. Maybe he was just jumpy, considering she was his responsibility and anything that happened to her would be on his head.

Even with her strained smile, she was really pretty. “Maybe you could ask them for some?”

“Sure.” Fair enough request, but no, something was off with her. He left the couch and at the door, yelled for Sal. He didn’t get a response, but the steel was so thick he wasn’t surprised. His fist alone wasn’t going to be enough. He needed something to hit it with, something that would carry.

“Here,” Bella said.

He turned to see she’d apparently come to the same conclusion and had taken off one of her high heels. It wasn’t quite a stiletto, which was a pity. That could’ve done some damage to Sal’s thick skull. Yet it wasn’t her shoe that had snagged his attention. She crossed her leg to remove her other shoe, and the view was real nice. So was watching her walk to him in her bare feet.

“Thanks.” He took the offered heel. “I break it and I owe you a pair.”

“Damn right.” Their eyes met, then he saw her throat convulse. “As soon as the stores open tomorrow.”

“On New Year’s Day?”

Fear lurked in her eyes, but she lifted her chin. “The day after, then.”

“Day after tomorrow. Check.” He smiled and touched her cheek.

She didn’t flinch, only blinked and nodded. Poor kid. She was handling this better than he had any right to expect.

He turned back to the door. “Sal,” he yelled again, and then used the heel to give the door a couple of hard whacks.

Within a minute, he heard someone thundering down the stairs. “Jesus, Johnny.” It was Sal. “Can’t you just shut the fuck up?”

“We need water, Sal.”

“Use the damn tap.”

“Come on. Don’t make the lady drink that crap.” John heard more movement on the other side, then Vince’s deep murmuring.

“Hey, Vince, that you?” John glanced at Bella and winked. She was a bundle of nerves and probably wouldn’t eat, but he wanted her to have the option. He also needed her to calm down. “How about some food, maybe a bottle of vino, huh?”

Sal cursed loudly.

“Yeah, okay. We can do that,” Vince said after a pause. “Hold on.”

“Are you serious?” Bella said as soon as they heard the men leave and returned to the couch. “You can eat at a time like this?”

He shrugged. “Maybe. More importantly, if they’d planned to kill us soon, they sure wouldn’t worry about feeding us.”

Her perfectly arched brows rose. “Ah.” For the first time, a hint of a smile tugged at the corners of her mouth. “Good to know.”

“Not that I think they plan on killing us at all,” he said quickly. “You have to believe that. Oh, here.” He handed her back her shoe.

She sighed. “I was looking forward to getting a new pair.”

“Consider it done.”

“Be careful of making promises you can’t keep, Detective,” she said grimly, and bent to slip on both shoes.

His gaze followed the perfect curve of her calves and he wondered if she did some dancing as well as acting. He almost asked, but then thought better of reminding her that he’d totally screwed up her important audition.

Another few minutes and someone was back at the door. It was Vince, not Sal. Good. Except he was more careful than Sal might have been, making John and Bella wait in the bathroom while he hastily set down a box and a couple of bottles of Chianti just inside the room before again bolting the door.

John ran to the door. “Vince, wait.” Dammit, there was something familiar about the guy. Where the hell had he seen him before?

“Patience, il mio amico, no one has to get hurt. Capice?”

John glanced at Bella, her hands tightly clasped. “Just tell me where Nonna is.”

“Playin’ bingo.” The man paused. “She made cookies. They’re in the box. Now shut up, Johnny. Last warning,” he said, his voice trailing as he’d begun to climb the stairs.

It wasn’t the accent that was familiar. It was. Shit, he couldn’t remember.

“Admirable that you’re worried about Nonna,” Bella said, coming closer. “But jeez, we’re not exactly sitting pretty here.”

“Yeah, I’m worried about her, but if she knows we’re down here that tells me something, too.”

“She won’t let them kill us?” Bella said hopefully.

John smiled. “Something along those lines.” He peeked in the box. There were amaretti cookies, a loaf of bread, some cheese, two glasses, a knife. Plastic. Interesting that Vince had brought two bottles of wine, though. Probably figured if they got him drunk, he wouldn’t be so apt to kill them both. “Her cookies, that’s another matter. I wouldn’t touch them. Those suckers could take you down in minutes.”

Bella’s lips parted in surprise, and then she smiled. That made a knot deep in his chest unwind. “Are you sure you don’t just want them all to yourself?”

“Sadly, no. They really are terrible. Don’t get me wrong, she’s a great cook, even at her age, but a lousy baker.”

He filled a glass with wine, handed it to her and then took the other glass and bottle with him to the couch, hoping she’d follow. A few glasses of the Chianti might just keep her smiling. He hoped so. Not only would it mean she was relaxing, but it was nice. Her face changed with it. She must be good on the stage. A chameleon.

He waited until she sat down, got comfortable and took a sip, or rather a gulp. “You need to know, Sal’s got his problems, but he’s not a killer.”

“He shot you.”

John paused before he poured a small amount into his glass. “He didn’t intend to kill me.”

Bella shook her head, and he knew she didn’t believe him. Why should she? But he’d be damned if he’d tell her the entire humiliating truth. In fact, before she could question him further, he went for the distraction. “Lacarie. That’s what, northern Italian?”

“Yep.”

“That’s it? No story, no family history?”

“My family isn’t like that. My folks are third generation, and they assimilated long ago.”

“They named you Bella. You could have been called something boring like Jessica or Tiffany.”

Her stare turned icy. “My first name is Jessica. I use my middle name because of my job.”

John cleared his throat. “Jessica’s nice. Bella’s better.”

She took the bottle from his hand and refilled her glass.

“I can’t imagine what it’s like not to be steeped in the culture,” he said. “Around here, it’s everything, and has been since the early 1900s.”

“My father is an attorney, Mother volunteers and my sister, Andrea, is a stay-at-home mom. They belong to the country club and they donate to conservative causes. They’re as Italian as their new Mercedes.”

“You weren’t curious about your heritage?”

“I try to catch the fashion highlights from Milan.”

He smiled. “Do me a favor. When you meet Nonna, lie.”

“What, she’ll have me shot for being a bad Italian?”

He shrugged. “Maybe not shot.”

“Well, that’s one of them.”

Sighing, he pretended to take another slug of wine and when he put it down he made sure Bella was looking him in the eyes. “Hand to God, I don’t know what crazy plan they’ve cooked up, but it doesn’t include us being shot.”

From what he could see, Bella wanted to believe him. All she needed was a little more wine and he could relax about her doing something stupid while he came up with a plan.

“We okay now? You feel better?”

“Marginally.”

“We’re gonna get out of this, and you’re gonna be fine. I swear.”

“I believe that you believe it.”

He couldn’t argue with that. “You know what? I’m starving. I’m gonna get something to eat.”

“Good for you.”

“You don’t want any?”

She shook her head. “Eating would divert my attention from drinking.”

He got up, thankful at least that she wasn’t going to inhibit the alcohol with food. The bread would take care of the token sips he was taking in order to keep her drinking. He didn’t want her drunk, though, just less…

When had she taken off her coat? It must have been when she went to the bathroom. He liked that the silky blue dress was a shade or two darker than her eyes. And those legs. Another time, other circumstances, he’d have done something about it.

“Is there a problem?” she asked.

He looked up. “No. Just. No.” It was definitely time to put something in his stomach. Maybe then he could figure out what his next move was, and stop thinking about those worried blue eyes.

BELLA SHIFTED THE FORK she’d managed to snatch off the dirty plate so it wasn’t poking her in the butt. She wished she had pockets, but this would have to do. Her gaze never left John in his dark suit and white dress shirt. He certainly had nice hands. Nice shoulders, too. Neither distracted from her certainty that he wasn’t telling her the whole truth.

Something was terribly off. That Sal was dumb wasn’t hard to believe, but Vince seemed to be on the ball. That weird door had her concerned. She’d never seen one in a house before. Or anywhere, for that matter. The guns were as real as it got, and being kidnapped wasn’t a joke. Had John lied about being shot? Or about his belief that Sal hadn’t meant to kill him?

The whole plot seemed too far-fetched and weird to be anything but a farce, and yet there was nothing funny about any of it. Black comedies never ended well for everyone, and her role here was a bit player. Expendable. A red shirt on the planet Bronx.

John turned with a hunk of bread and some cheese in his hand. “The morons forgot plates or napkins. But the bread is fresh. You sure now?”

She nodded, trying to see past his handsome features to the man inside. “You married?”

“Nope,” he said, as he joined her back on the couch. “I was engaged once. It didn’t take.”

“The women of Little Italy must be rending their garments. Letting someone like you get away.”

He smiled as if he’d heard that a thousand times. “You’d be surprised.”

“I am. You’re young, handsome and a detective. What’s not to like?”

“Plenty.” He took a manly bite of a hunk of bread slathered with soft white cheese.

“For example…?”

“I haven’t confessed in years,” he said, after he swallowed. “I’m not going to start now.”

“You drink?”

He brought his glass up from the floor. “Sometimes.”

“Smoke?”

His dark eyebrows lowered. “No.”

“Gamble?”

“Not with money.”

“It must be women, then.”

He paused with his glass halfway to his lips. “I like women.”

“Too much? Or not in that way?”

He sighed, then took another bite. “I’m not a dog and I’m straight as an arrow.”

“So come on. What’s wrong with you?”

“If we’re baring all, then you’re going first.”

Bella shook her head before she took another drink. “No way. You owe me. I’d never even be here if—”

“I work too much,” he said, cutting her off.

“Ah, that old chestnut. It doesn’t fly. Women fall in love with workaholics every day.”

“And cheat when they never see the object of their affections.”

“Why do you spend so much time at work?”

He looked at her curiously. “Why the third degree?”

“I’m supposed to trust you to save my life. How can I unless I know who you are?”

He took the last bite of bread, dusted his hands and reached into his back pocket for his wallet and his badge. He handed them to her. “Peruse.”

She flipped open his NYPD badge and ID. Damn, he even took a great picture. She had to focus a little harder to read the print. Everything seemed legit, including him being thirty-two, but it didn’t tell her anything about the man. “I’ll take down your badge number in case I have a complaint. Now tell me why you live for your job.” She opened his wallet. No pictures, however, there was a little foil packet tucked away.

“It’s a big city. Lots of criminals.”

She leaned back. “You’ll never catch them—” The fork poked her right in the butt. She jumped practically on top of John and he had to do some fancy juggling to keep her wine from spilling.

“What’s wrong?”

She had the fork in her right hand, but she was still leaning on him, holding on to his arm with a death grip. Damn it. “I’m sorry,” she said, lowering her voice and her lashes. “I guess I just got frightened.”

“Frightened?”

She nodded, while trying to come up with a way to distract him. “I couldn’t help but notice that you take good care of yourself.” Squeezing his arm a little, she tried to give him a flirty smile.

He returned his wallet to his pocket, careful not to disturb her hold. “You okay?”

“Yes.”

“No epilepsy or tremors?”

So much for acting. She pulled away from him, careful to put the fork where it wouldn’t attack her again. “No. I may, however, be a little drunk. Not to mention terrified. So excuse me if I’m not the perfect guest.”

The look he gave her said he wasn’t buying it. But what was he going to do? Lock her up for lying?

He picked up his glass, glancing at her in quick intervals as he took a long, slow sip. Bella had to move, just so she wasn’t on the other end of his stare.

She’d played the scene horribly, yes, but what bothered her just as much was the realization that she’d felt better leaning on him, holding his arm, than she had since she’d gotten in the taxi.

Nothing bothered her so much as feeling weak and helpless. It also bugged the crap out of her that she’d turn so girly at the first hint of trouble. But it was true. She was scared and the only plan she had to save herself was a stupid fork.

She stood up, gripping her pitiful weapon tightly as she did so. When she looked up, he was right in front of her, close. Really close.

“What, exactly, do you want to know about me?” he asked.

Bella could see tiny gold flecks in his eyes. Feel the heat from his body. She should step back, regain her personal space, but she didn’t. “Why should I trust you?”

He stared directly into her gaze. “I give you my word I’ll keep you safe.”

She shook her head, which made her just the slightest bit dizzy. “How many times have you said ‘I love you’?”

He leaned forward, just enough for her to get his scent. Not just his breath, which was surprisingly not bad, but the way he was clean. No cologne, no smell of fear. “Only once,” he answered. “And I meant it.”

“So you’re an honorable man, are you?”

“Mostly. I’ve made mistakes, but this won’t be one of them. I can handle Sal and Vince. You’re inconvenienced, not in danger.”

A shiver ran up her spine. “I’m not so sure about that.”

His lips parted slightly and for a moment she thought he was going to kiss her. “I am,” he whispered. “No one will touch you.”

“No one?”

He smiled, and in that smile was all manner of promises of a different sort. Then he took a step back and walked away.