Читать книгу Charade - Kate Donovan - Страница 10

Exhausted, Sasha would have crashed into bed within minutes of arriving home, but she was anxious to follow up on a news story that had been taunting her all week despite her need to focus on preparation for the wedding op. Now that she had been debriefed, she could stop tuning out the rest of the world, beginning with the fate of two kidnapped girls.

Her favorite twenty-four-hour news channel was rerunning a video of Representative Bryan Ellis of Arizona, who pleaded into the TV camera for the return of the two teenagers. According to Ellis, both victims had been students at a prestigious Arizona prep school for girls.

Athena Academy.

Thirsty for information about the status of her fellow Athenians, Sasha fired up her laptop to check AA.gov, but the alumni Web site was strangely silent about the fate of the girls. It simply parroted what Ellis had already told the media: that the abduction had been bold and well planned, the families had been notified and the whole country was praying for the safe return of the students.

“Bullshit,” Sasha muttered. “There’s a lot more than praying going on. We have women in the FBI, the CIA, NSA—you name it. These creeps are gonna wish they’d never been born when they come face-to-face with pure, unadulterated Athena force.”

Every fiber of her being wanted to call the school and offer to help, but it was the middle of the night. Plus, she knew that the Athena Academy had alumni much more experienced than she to tap. After all, Sasha’s function with the FBI was to be a glorified snitch. An asset, not an agent. It made sense, given the nature of her work, but still it rankled her, even on a good day. And on a bad night like this, it truly frustrated her.

As if they’re going to ask a Mafia princess for help on something like this? she mocked herself.

Immediately, she tensed. That was Jeff Crossman’s viewpoint, not her own. Apparently he had really gotten under her skin with his doubts about her reliability. And while she knew it wasn’t totally his doing—she had her own internal conflicts, especially in regard to her father—she still cursed Jeff for daring to speak them out loud so often.

Sleep, or even resting under the covers, was out of the question. She would stay up all night if necessary, monitoring the TV and the Web site until she was sure the students were safe.

Twisting her hair into a knot that barely fit inside a plastic cap, she took a quick shower and slipped into a long, silky blue robe. Then she curled up on the couch with a glass of Pinot Grigio, her laptop and the remote control, determined to hunker down indefinitely.

She had just taken the first sip of her drink when someone knocked on the door to her condominium. It was an odd occurrence for multiple reasons. She rarely had visitors. It was nearly eleven o’clock at night. And her building had excellent security, which meant she should have gotten a phone call from the front desk announcing any guest who sought admittance.

Sliding to her feet, Sasha considered her options carefully. There was the pistol in the bottom drawer of her nightstand. Or a call to the front desk. Or…

Forget those screwups at the desk. Just call 9-1-1!

But that seemed imprudent, given the nagging sensation in the back of her tired brain that her visitor was probably Carmine Martino, determined to collect on his bet.

Which led her to her final option—one she didn’t usually consider. She could simply kick the crap out of any assailant. Wasn’t that the most practical part of her Athena Academy legacy?

Smiling at the thought, she walked over to the door and peeped through the peephole. Then she frowned in confused disbelief.

Jeff?

Without thinking, she threw open the door and demanded, “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing. Can I come in?”

She was literally stunned. This guy never, ever came to her place. She always went to him, which made sense, since it wouldn’t have been prudent for an FBI agent to be spotted entering the residence of a Mafia boss’s daughter. Not prudent for Jeff, and certainly not for Sasha.

So why was he here?

Stepping aside, she allowed him to enter. Then she asked hesitantly, “Did you guys apprehend Vincenzo Martino?”

“We’re still working on it.” He gave a long, appreciative whistle as his gaze traveled around her sumptuously furnished living room. “Nice place.”

“My design work pays all the bills. And, yes, the down payment came from my mother’s trust fund, but every penny of that was completely legitimate. Not that it’s any of your business.” Sasha felt her temperature rise. “Even if every inch of this place was financed with mob money, I don’t have to explain it to you.”

Jeff turned and gave her a patient smile. “All I said was, it’s a nice place. You look good, too, by the way.”

Sasha sucked her breath in so quickly it made her chest ache. What the hell was he doing? Being nice to her? Complimenting her? Using his Summit voice on her in person, when he surely knew it was meant solely for electronic communications over safe distances?

But there he was, sounding strong and safe and sexy. Combined with his deep green eyes and admiring smile, the effect was lethal. Yet she knew it was false—this guy thought she was a crime waiting to happen!—so she steadied herself, then demanded, “Why are you here, Agent Crossman?”

“Sorry, I know it’s late. I just wanted to apologize for the way I acted earlier.”

Sasha moistened her lips. “Pardon?”

“You did a great job today. And I gave you a rough time. I’m sorry.”

“You always give me a rough time,” she reminded him. “What’s so different about today?” Before he could respond, she insisted, “Don’t give it another thought. I’m used to it.”

“That’s my point. I’ve been wrong. I admit it.”

She would have been shaken by the sentiment had she not noticed his gaze slip, just for a moment, from her face to her body, which probably looked fairly good in this particular robe. “Oh. My. God. Don’t even think about it. Just go home and sleep it off.”

He flushed. “It’s not that, either. Although like I said, you look great. You’re amazing, actually. If we land Vincent the Butcher because of you—well—”

“So? You came here—at eleven o’clock at night—to apologize for calling me a spoiled Mafia princess? Fine. Apology accepted. Now go home.”

Jeff frowned. “I never called you that. At least…”

“Not to my face? Yeah, you’re a classy guy. No doubt about it.” Stepping close to him, she raised her chin defiantly. “You know what really bugs me? All these months, you’ve been railing about my divided loyalties and crappy motivation because of my so-called vendetta against my father. But you know what? I think you’re the one with a vendetta. Against me.”

“That’s not true,” he assured her, using his Summit voice again.

“Isn’t it?” She smiled grimly. “You’ve seen all my advantages—fancy houses, elite prep schools, zillion-dollar weddings and colorful relatives. And then there’s you. So drenched in normalness you can’t possibly relate to all that. So you denigrate it.”

He arched a teasing eyebrow. “How am I drenched in normalness? If that’s even a word, which I doubt.”

Sasha bit her lip, regretting the display of temper. Wasn’t she just feeding the stereotype? The hot-blooded Italian female? Plus, he was right about normalness. It wasn’t a word per se, but it fit him sooo well.

Except for his body, which was anything but normal. And his face was superior, too. And his voice. And to be fair, winning the Heisman Trophy in his junior year at Princeton was nothing to sneeze at, especially since her father—Big Frankie—had reportedly made a bundle on a related bet.

Jeff touched her shoulder lightly. “Come on, Sasha. Let me apologize. I’ve been tough on you. For a lot of reasons. I see now I was wrong. You’re invaluable to my operation. And the most amazing person I’ve ever worked with.”

“But…?” She licked her lips. “You still don’t trust me. Right?”

“I’ve always trusted you. It was your motives I questioned. Because of your relationship with your father.” He exhaled sharply. “I’m sure I would have reacted the same way you did if I—well, if I suspected my father of—well, of doing what you think your father did.”

“You can’t even say it!” She backed away in embarrassed disgust. “That’s the real reason you didn’t trust me. You have so much contempt for the world I grew up in, you can’t believe—not even for one minute—that something or someone decent could come out of it.”

“Sasha—”

“Your father would never have anyone killed. Even if your mother had had sex with another man right in front of his eyes! They’d all just troop over to group counseling, right? But scum like my father and me—”

“Cut it out,” he instructed firmly. “I never said that. And I never thought it, either. Not once.”

She forced herself to settle down. Then she said with a sigh, “You figured I’d forgive Dad one day, right? And then my loyalty to you would shift back to him.”

“Loyalty to me, loyalty to him.” Jeff exhaled again, this time in clear frustration. “That’s my point, Sasha. You’re setting yourself up for a huge disappointment—or worse, if you look at it that way. Real loyalty has to be grounded in something unshakable. It’s great that your culture respects family above all else, but that opens the door to factions, infighting, jealousy—”

“What’s your loyalty grounded in?”

“I guess, justice. The rule of law. Our legislatures and courts. Not personal vengeance and passion.”

“Judges and politicians are just as corrupt as anyone else who wields power,” Sasha insisted. Then she turned away from him, folding her arms across her chest. “Maybe you should just go.”

“Hey.” He rested his hands on her waist and massaged it lightly. “Don’t be mad, okay?”

She turned back to him, completely disoriented. “What are you doing?”

“Tell me to stop,” he suggested hoarsely.

She wanted to say something—anything—but found herself moistening her lips instead.

Countless fantasies, some from earlier in Sasha’s life, some from the day she first met this frustrating, judgmental hunk, flooded her mind and body with heat and excitement. Not that she needed it. He was supplying more than enough juice with his hot, appreciative stare.

Then he pulled her against himself, and she gasped at the hard-body feel of him. In an instant his tongue was sparring with hers, his hand roving under her robe, his breathing growing ragged and needy—

And then—as if to rescue them from themselves—there was another unexpected knock on the front door.

“Damn.” Jeff realigned Sasha so that her cheek was nestled against his chest. “Are you expecting someone?”

She loved the erratic way his heart was pounding, mostly because it offered proof that he was as excited as she. Not that other proof hadn’t been pressed against her, but that was just physical. Just a guy thing. This breathless lack of control was something else. Emotion. Confusion.

All the things Sasha was experiencing.

“I wasn’t expecting anyone. Especially not you,” she told him.

“Yeah. Me, either.”

She pulled free and tried not to smile too widely. “It’s probably Carmine Martino. Here to collect on his bet.”

Jeff’s amorous expression rearranged itself instantly. “He can collect on my fist, the asshole.”

“Earth to Jeff. If he sees you here, my cover’s blown, remember?” She stroked his tightened jaw. “I can handle him, believe me. Go hide in the bedroom.”

Jeff shook his head. “I don’t want him alone with you. Not ever.”

“I won’t be alone with him. You’ll be in the next room. Plus,” she added playfully, “I can kick his ass. And yours. Thanks to my fancy prep school.”

He hesitated, then grinned. “Yeah. I know all about that from your file.”

“Don’t forget it,” she said in mock warning. “Now shoo.”

Still smiling, Sasha forced herself to recover from the lip-lock with Jeff, then took a few moments to re-belt her robe, which had been forced open during the kiss. She knew she should change into something less sexy, but her clothes were in the bedroom with Jeff and the bed, and that combination seemed just as dangerous as whatever was waiting for her in the hall.

Moving to the peephole, she was surprised to see that her second visitor for the evening wasn’t Carmine, either. Instead, it was a bored-looking delivery boy with a long white box. And once again, security hadn’t alerted her, which was baffling. Not to mention, annoying.

Your Christmas bonus is in jeopardy, boys, she warned the front-desk crew.

Then she took a moment to warn herself, as well. Since when are flowers delivered in the middle of the night? Something screwy’s going on.

Her best guess was that Carmine had sent them. He would have ways of getting them past the guards, either covertly or otherwise. If that was the case, she needed to get this over with as quickly as possible, then get back to Jeff—hopefully for another round of X-rated kissing.

Wise up. You’re still Franco Bracciali’s daughter. This could be a completely different kind of package, so stop being such a sap. Girls who let strangers into their homes in the middle of the night make headlines the next morning, and not in a good way. So forget about sex and try to focus, will you?

Clearing her throat, she called out, “Who is it?”

“Flower delivery. Sorry for the late hour, but it’s a rush.”

Sasha scowled. “Just leave the box where I can see it through the peephole, then go. Sorry about your tip, but like you said, it’s late.”

“No problem, ma’am. Have a good night.”

Jeff was beside her before she could open the door. “Flowers? What’s that about?”

“I don’t know,” she admitted. “How did he get past security? In fact—” she arched an inquiring eyebrow “—how did you get past it?”

“The alarm system on the delivery door in the alley is prehistoric. Typical of these ritzy buildings—all the show is up front. But I reset it after I was inside, so…” His tone grew brisk. “Stand back. I’ll handle it.”

She laughed. “You’re kidding, right? It’s my condo, so you stand back. Never let it be said that a Bracciali allowed an honored guest to get blown up on our turf.”

“I knew you led an interesting life,” he drawled, “but this just about beats it.”

She liked the way his green eyes twinkled when he teased her, but reminded herself that he had mostly been an enemy—or at least a detractor—for the majority of their relationship, so she shouldn’t let her guard down so easily.

Turning away from him, she leveled her eye with the peephole again, then had to admit, “It looks legit. Let’s check it out.”

Opening the door, she edged into the hall and knelt beside the long white box. “No ticking,” she told Jeff, half jokingly.

“Allow me.” He grabbed her by the elbow, pulling her to her feet. Then he pushed her behind himself before nudging the lid with his foot. The box opened easily, revealing a bouquet of long-stemmed red roses.

“Ooh, nice.” Sasha knelt again, scooping the flowers into her arms. The she flashed Jeff a playful smile. “You didn’t send them, did you?”

“Given how things are going, I kinda wish I had. But no. You’ve obviously got another secret admirer. Some sort of belated Valentine’s Day gift.”

Sasha could see a tiny envelope nestled between the dark red blossoms. Pulling the card free, she opened it and scanned the simple inscription.

Your cell and landlines both roll to voice mail. We need to talk. Check your e-mail. AA.

“What does it say?” Jeff demanded. “Are they from Martino?”

Sasha pursed her lips, buying time to decide how to respond. Given what was going on at Athena Academy, this mysterious message could only be about the kidnapped girls.

Which meant they had found a way to allow Sasha to help! And it also meant she had to get rid of her sexy guest. Fast.

“It’s from my father,” she lied finally. “He feels awful that we couldn’t attend the wedding together. He thinks it’s time to talk.”

“Man, that’s huge.” Jeff rested a comforting hand on her shoulder. “Are you ready for that?”

“Honestly?” She gave an audible sigh. “It bothered me, too, avoiding him the way I did. Gianna and I—and her sister Vittoria—were inseparable when we were little. We played in that ballroom on bad-weather days while Dad and Uncle Antonio sat nearby talking. Obviously they were up to no good, but still…”

“Still, it was innocent in its own way,” Jeff agreed. “I get that, you know. You think I’m constantly judging you, but the truth is, I get it. That’s the only reason I’ve ever thought you’d crack under the strain. Because it is a strain. He’s your father. You love him. I get that.”

Sasha stood and looked him in the eye. “Thanks.”

“What are you going to do?”

“I don’t know. I could call him. Or I could blow it off. I’ve done that before. But either way, I need to think it through. Alone. I’m sorry.”

“No problem. I should be going anyway. This was sort of nuts from the start. Not that I planned it. At least, not from the start.” His handsome face flushed. “Did I mention how good you look?”

Sasha felt her cheeks redden. “You look good, too. I guess we were set up by our own hormones.”

“Yeah?” He chuckled. “I like that.”

She couldn’t help but smile. “You’d better go.”

He nodded, but didn’t move toward the elevator. “I know this sounds corny, but I’m gonna remember that kiss for a long, long time.”

“Me, too.” She gave him another, more wistful smile. “Too bad I wasn’t wearing the bra-cam, or we’d have videos of it. For old times’ sake.”

“Actually…” He rested his hands on her hips as he’d done just before their kiss. “I’m kind of glad you weren’t wearing a bra.”

“Mmm.” She brushed her lips across his, then pulled free quickly. “Definitely time for you to go, Agent Crossman.”

“Yeah. I’ll call you.” He cleared his throat, then explained, “To let you know what happens with Vincent.”

“Right.” She bit her lip again. “Bye, Jeff. And thanks.”

Her words brought a smile to his lips. “My pleasure. Get inside, Camper. And lock the door. The security in this dive sucks.”

His expression—not to mention his tone—was so seductive, she felt herself beginning to melt again, so she gathered up the flowers and the box, then bustled past him, calling good-night over her shoulder. Then she followed his instructions by engaging the dead bolt as soon as she was inside the condo.

“Ohmigod,” she told herself, leaning against the door and exhaling with exaggerated need. “What was that about?”

It was a question she could have dwelled on—and drooled over—for hours, if Athena Academy hadn’t been waiting to hear from her.

When Sasha dialed the number supplied in the e-mail from AA.gov, Allison Gracelyn, an Athena board member who now worked for the NSA, answered on the first ring, saying only that a car would be arriving for Sasha in ten minutes. That gave her just enough time to don a pair of black jeans and a stretchy purple V-neck sweater. Then she grabbed her favorite butter-soft black leather boots and a cozy parka, along with her purse, and headed for the door.

Unfortunately, her third unexpected caller of the evening was waiting in the hallway. And this time, it really was the much-expected Carmine Martino, who asked pointedly, “Going somewhere?”

Oh, crap, Sasha complained to herself. But aloud, she kept her cool. “A delivery guy just dropped off some flowers. But he took off before I could give him a tip. So I wanted to catch him—”

“He’ll live,” Carmine assured her, his thick voice indicating he had had too much to drink. “The real question is, who the fuck is sending you flowers in the middle of the night?”

“A client, if you must know.”

He grinned. “The fat one that got trapped in her zipper?”

“She isn’t fat. Not at all. It was a defective zipper….” Sasha narrowed her eyes in warning. “Go away, Carmine. If you want to visit, come back at a decent hour.”

“I don’t want to visit. I want to collect on my bet.” He pushed her into the living room, then closed the door behind them and warned, “No more tricks.”

Sasha’s training, both from Athena Academy and from her boutique-but-effective karate classes thereafter, would have allowed her to teach him a lesson, but she knew it would raise questions about her seemingly innocent lifestyle, so she decided on a different tactic. “We can sit on the sofa and talk. After I get these roses into water.”

“Sitting on the sofa is a good start,” he said with a leer. “Hurry up. I’ll pour the booze. Where is it?”

“Check the sideboard. I have a little of everything. The glasses are on the top shelf.”

With her purse still clutched under her elbow, she grabbed the flowers and headed for the kitchen. Once there, she fished out her cell phone and address book, thumbing until she found the number for Antonio Martino’s consiglieri. Dialing rapidly, she listened to the ringing as she shoved the roses into a vase.

“Who is this?” a gruff male voice answered.

“This is Sasha Bracciali. Don’t talk, just listen.”

The man was apparently good at taking instructions, because his only reply was soft, steady breathing. Encouraged, Sasha hid the cell phone among the blossoms, then returned to the living room, where Carmine was waiting for her with two glasses of red wine.

Setting the vase on the sideboard, Sasha insisted in a firm voice, “I don’t want any trouble, Carmine. You need to go home and sleep it off before you do something we’ll all regret.”

“You’re so full of yourself,” he retorted, slamming the glasses down, then stepping to within inches of her. “We can do this friendly, or we can just do it. It’s you’re choice. Either way, you’re gonna thank me for it.”

“My father would be furious if he knew you were doing this. Your father, too.”

“Fuck ‘em both. And you. Literally in your case,” he added with a grin, reaching for her neck with one hand while his other began unbuckling his belt.

But the sound of a phone, ringing from inside his jacket, stopped him, at least momentarily. “Fuck! Who the fuck…?” He pulled out the phone and scowled at the display. Then he grimaced. “I gotta take this. Don’t go away.” Flipping it open, he asked carefully, “Pop? Is everything okay?”

Sasha watched as his eyes widened with obvious fear. “Sure, Pop. I was just—yeah, yeah, I got it. I’m going. Fuck… Yeah, yeah, I’m going.”

Sasha backed away, trying not to let Carmine see how entertained she was by his transformation. Not that she blamed him. She had heard some fairly gruesome stories about Antonio Martino’s temper, and she imagined Carmine had felt the sting of his displeasure more than once in his twenty-nine years.

“You bitch,” Carmine whispered, his face purple with anger. “I can’t believe you had the fucking nerve to call him.”

“Shh…” She put her finger to her lips, then inclined her head toward the roses. “He’s still listening. You’d better go, Carmine. We’ll just chalk this up to all the excitement over the wedding, and a little too much Chianti. Okay?”

“Bitch,” he repeated, but fear had returned to his voice. And while he clearly wanted to threaten her—or worse—he settled for flipping her off, Martino-style. Then he stormed out of the condo, slamming the door behind himself.

Sasha retrieved the phone and held it to her ear as she walked over to re-secure the dead bolt. “Zio Antonio? Multo grazie. I know he wouldn’t have hurt me, but I was still scared.”

“I’m very disappointed in my son,” Antonio assured her solemnly. “First he ruins Gianna’s wedding day, then he dares threaten an angel like you. And after I spoke with him this very evening about the need to treat you with respect. Can you forgive us?”

“I’m just so grateful for the rescue.”

“Anytime. Any place. I hope you know that, Sasha.” The don paused, then said bluntly, “Your father will be very angry about this. And with good reason.”

“Except he won’t ever know,” Sasha promised. “It’s not like I talk to him these days. And even if I did, you took care of everything. So why bother?”

“You’re a good girl,” Antonio told her in a husky voice. “And my son is a fool. Sleep well, cara mia. Don’t worry about a thing.”

“I won’t,” Sasha assured him softly, genuinely grateful for his solicitude. “Ciao, zio.”

Aware of the fact that Allison Gracelyn worked in Washington D.C., Sasha half expected the Athena Academy limousine to take her to O’Hare Airport so that she could meet with the board member on the East Coast. And if not, then to Arizona, where the Gracelyn family lived, and where the school itself was located.

But to her surprise, the driver took her to the nearby Grand Union Hotel and instructed her to go directly to Room 2003. And so after a quick stop in the restroom to check her appearance—Allison was something of a heroine to her after all—Sasha made her way to the twentieth floor.

Allison answered the door right away, greeting Sasha with warm enthusiasm. “Come in. It’s great seeing you again.”

“I wasn’t sure you’d remember.”

“You make an indelible impression,” Allison assured her. “We met at the welcoming reception when you first came to our school, and then again at your graduation. Correct?”

Sasha felt a surge of pride that this lovely, accomplished woman would remember such details. Of course, it was probably all in a file somewhere. And Allison undoubtedly attended all the initiations and graduations—

“At the initiation, you and I spoke about the portrayal of Italian-Americans in movies and on television. But at your graduation, all you wanted to talk about was your acceptance to the School of Design. Your enthusiasm was contagious. And I hear your success has been electric, as well. We’re all very proud of you.”

Sasha bit her lip. “I’m so flattered you remember all that. Especially considering everything that’s going on.” Daring to grab Allison’s hands in her own, she demanded, “Is there any news?”

“Come and sit with me.” Allison led her to a large table and motioned to one of the overstuffed chairs that surrounded it. Once they had settled in, she explained. “One girl has been rescued. That’s the good news.”

“Oh! That’s such a relief. But…”

“The other girl is unharmed. Unfortunately we were unable to rescue her. Mostly because she didn’t cooperate with us.”

“Why not?”

Allison grimaced. “She wants to investigate from the inside. To learn who masterminded the kidnappings, and for what purpose.”

“Cool kid.”

“I suppose. But she’s driving us crazy in the process.”

“I can imagine.” Sasha took a deep breath, then said in a rush, “I really appreciate getting all this information, especially firsthand like this. But I’ve got to ask. Why are you telling me of all people?”

Allison gave her a confident smile. “Because you—of all people—are the perfect person to help us recover the missing student. Assuming of course, that you’re willing.”