Family Treed

“
F
amily Treed
”
is
1.5 in my
Big Uneasy
series. This short story is my
amuse bouche,
because it is a taste, a quick bite for my readers, a chance to check in on Nell and Alex (from
Relatively Risky
)
.

Nell's not sure why the mob wants to have dinner with her. She is sure she wants a cop at her side.

Alex wouldn't let Nell dine with the mob without him, despite much unease from his many siblings.

But when Nell's newly found relatives start making threatening noises, Nell wonders if she's putting Alex's life in danger.

Can they survive dinner with the killing cousins?

This short story is about 13,000 words or 31 printed pages.

When I started “Family Treed,” I was determined to keep it a short story. The plot, the characters fought back, throwing complications at me like knives and bullets. I dodged. I ducked. And when they weren't looking, I trimmed out everything trying to turn it into a novel. And while I trimmed, I watched
Top Chef.
When they were asked to create an
amuse bouche
, I had an
aha
moment.

That's what “Family Treed”
was supposed to be. And an
amuse bouche
was it is. It's a peek, a tiny taste of the challenges still facing Nell as she tries to come to terms with what has bubbled up out of the past. Secrets only stay secret if one person knows the secret. And once they start to spread, well, crap happens.

There will be more adventures for Nell and Alex and yes, there will be upcoming adventures for Alex's many siblings. When one “meets” a family like the Baker's, it would be crazy not invite them in to play. So I hope you'll stay tuned for more installments in
The Big Uneasy.

While you're waiting for the next novel in the series, I hope you'll browse through my back list. In addition to
Relatively Risky: The Big Uneasy 1
, I have some more romantic suspense cluttering up my back list. There's my
Lonesome Lawmen
and
my humorous romantic suspense (
Do Wah Diddy Die, Mystery Stories,
and
The Spy Who Kissed Me.)
I also plan to re-release my lone gothic,
A Dangerous Dance
, by the end of the 2014. For now, it is only available in audio and used print editions.

If you don't mind expanding your reading horizons to the stars and beyond, then I hope you'll check out my science fiction romance and my science fiction/steampunk romance series,
Project Enterprise.
The series began with
The Key,
then continues with:
Girl Gone Nova, Tangled in Time
(novella/steampunkish),
Steamrolled
(steampunk/science fiction romance), and
Kicking Ashe.
There is also a short story collection called
Project Enterprise: The Short Stories.
The series is also available in audio.

And last, but hardly least, is my time travel novel to World War II:
Out of Time.
Most authors have a book that is THE book they had to write no matter what.
Out of Time
is that book for me. For more information about all my novels,
www.paulinebjones.com
.

I
t was
a dark and stormy night.

A shot hadn't rung out.

Yet.

She was having dinner with the mob.

Nell Whitby didn't want to have dinner with Aleksi Afoniki and his creepy nephew, Dimitri. She didn't want to have anything to do with any of them. Miss Manners had been no help with an invite minus an RSVP. So here she was. About to drive into the den of the Russian Wolf and his, um, evil cub.

The invite had been directed to her and her best friend, Sarah, but Nell hadn't told her. Hadn't planned to tell Alex either. You didn't spit into the wind or expose your friends to the mob, even if one of the friends was a big tough cop.

Nell stole a peek at the big tough cop. Alex Baker had been showing up, off and mostly on, since her world spun off its axis into weird mob-relatives-ness. Even though the on times had gotten more frequent, there was a part of Nell that expected him to bolt at some point. He was a cop, the son of a cop, the sibling of legal types up the whazoo. She was related to two mob families and had been insistently invited to dinner with a third mob family. If that weren't enough of a kiss of death for the relationship, Alex, the oldest of thirteen, had a serious kid phobia going. And she attracted kids like honey attracted ants. It was a hookup made in hell.

He'd probably break her heart. She kept telling herself to tell him no when he called. So far she'd not listened to herself. She hadn't had a lot of cute guy in her life up to now, and he was the poster guy for cute. Dark hair. Tall, with broad shoulders and narrow hips. His eyes were an amazing blue and he had a stubborn, needs-a-shave jaw. Had tough guy down pat, but not bad boy. He wasn't bad. He was good. He couldn't leap tall buildings, stop bullets, or outrun locomotives. But he'd saved her life once or twice, made her heart skip with a look, and kissed her like he didn't want to stop. How did a girl say no to that?

He looked at her and grinned, and yup, her heart skipped. Despite the skipping, she noticed that he didn't look worried enough for a guy about to drive into the Wolf's den.

“You're not wearing a wire, are you?” Did she hope he was? The idea his many law-minded siblings might be listening in was a bit comforting, but not if it got them killed. Bullets did move faster than cars. It was the kind of physics even a former librarian could do.

He grinned. “Afoniki'd expect that.”

Not exactly a no. “But you're carrying?” Did not seem like a good idea to go in without one of them armed and dangerous. She might be a bit wistful that she wasn't the one. It's not that she wanted to shoot someone again—she mentally winced over that memory—but it felt wrong to be the unarmed lamb among the Russian wolves. His grin widened. Armed, dangerous and cute enough to kiss. She half sighed.

“You nervous?” Alex slowed his truck and gave her a concerned look.

Lightning flashed against thick dark clouds, fitfully illuminating the brooding outlines of the mob mansion. It was such a cliché. How had they managed it? Did they have something on Mother Nature, too? She studied the appropriately sinister gates, their widening gap a bit too canine. The heavy rain made them almost foam. A cliché on steroids.

“I'm scared almost out of my mind,” she said lightly, as if joking, even though it was the truth. When his look of concern deepened, she summoned up a smile, though it had some wry to it. “If the old man is half as creepy as the nephew…”

She'd met Dimitri Afoniki about the same time the past bitch-slapped her. Hadn't liked him before she found out he was a wise guy.

“We can leave,” Alex offered.

“And drive straight to Wit-Sec?” Just how offended would the wise geezer be if she stood him up? Did she want to find out?

Alex considered the question, then shrugged. “Maybe the food will be good?”

As if they'd sensed her desire to flee while she could, the gates snapped closed behind them with an ominous clang. Okay, maybe ominous was a bit dramatic. A lot of people knew where they were going, most of them related to Alex and packing weapons. If they disappeared, there'd be a lot of heat on the Afonikis. Of course, the fact that they lived in New Orleans seemed to indicate they could handle the heat.

Alex steered his truck along the drive that curved toward the house. It passed under a portico, then turned back toward the gate. Every light in every room of the house appeared to be on but it still managed to be unwelcoming. Some goons waited under the portico, and one of them stepped forward to open her door. The other goon opened Alex's door and indicated his intention to park the truck for him. Or drive it off for stripping and shipping to Mexico. She should probably set her expectations low when breaking bread with a wise geezer.

At least she wasn't related to Afoniki.

She hoped. Were there still secrets waiting to ooze up out of the past? Was that why he'd summoned her to meet some of her mob cousins in this so-called neutral territory?

The ornate entry was about as welcoming as a funeral parlor. Nell looked around. No, that was unfair to funeral parlors. They were definitely more welcoming. Though this place smelled better. Maybe the food would be good. There was a brief transition from damp warm outside into headache-inducing cold inside, then the large doors closed them in the wise dwelling and there was no more warm. Just cold.

Another goon, who bore a faint resemblance to a butler, indicated her sweater with a brusque, “Take that?”

Nell clutched the edges and shook her head. Maybe her host had cranked down the A/C to enhance the house's “Return of the Czars” theme. Too bad she'd left her white fur coat in the store. With the new dress she also couldn't afford. When she and Alex stopped at the doorway of an obscenely ornate room, occupied by a small cluster of possible cousins and Dimitri, Nell realized she was not the only one to go with the basic little black dress.

And that not all little black dresses were created equal.

There was a blonde whose little black dress took the room prize for littlest little black dress. The fabric to skin ratio was interesting even for New Orleans. The brunette had more dress but she had more to cover. They'd also donned some serious snooty to go with their blingy bling. If their noses elevated any more, they'd fall on their backs.

With some reluctance Nell considered Dimitri, their host's bad boy cub—a host who did not appear to have made an appearance at his own dinner party. Certainly no sign of a geezer-like dude from their vantage point. The cub flanked the girls on one side. Opposite Dimitri was a guy who was as pretty as the two women, only with more clothes. His perfectly tailored suit probably cost more than she'd make the rest of her life. It took Dimitri a moment to realize they were there—or he'd pretended to take a moment—before he turned, starting with considerable charm. Nell would have liked to know how he managed that. Making rude seem charming would be a useful skill for this new reality of hers.

Her chin lifted as the chilly gazes of both women swept down Nell's dress—which hit modestly at her knees—to the black flats. Sarah would have lent her some killer heels, but Nell had thought wearing anything killer would send the wrong message.

Dimitri surged her way, lightly clasping Nell's shoulders. When he leaned in to kiss her on one cheek, then the other, Nell quelled a totally natural desire to knee him in the groin. Luckily he didn't cling, so quelling was possible.

Nell wished she dared edge closer to Alex. She didn't like feeling pinned in place. “You remember Alex, don't you, Mr. Afoniki?”

The look in his eyes told her that, yes, he remembered Alex and wasn't happy she'd swapped him for Sarah. Nell had sensed a little something from Dimitri for Sarah, which is why she hadn't told Sarah she'd been invited. Not the way a friend thanked their bestie for pulling one out of the pit of despair. Not to mention the place to live and the job.

The charm of his smile lessened, though he nodded politely enough at Alex. Perhaps he thought the DBYOC—Don't Bring Your Own Cop—was so obvious it didn't need to be added to the invite. Too bad there wasn't a Wiki on how to deal with these people. And how sad was it that she'd looked?

He ramped the charm up again and deployed a smile. “I thought I asked you to call me Dimitri?”

To mute her deer-in-the-headlights, yeah-that's-never-going-to-happen look, Nell deployed her fake smile, then shifted her gaze to his companions and lifted her brows in what she hoped was polite inquiry.

“I'm sure you're anxious to meet your cousins.” He stepped back, widening their little circle.

She wasn't, but there was no escape.

The other guy reached her side first. “I'm your second cousin, Guido Calvino.”

He took her hand, lifting it to his mouth. His lips lingered way too long. Why did he feel a need to be a second cousin? Or a cousin at all? She'd kind of expected her wise cousins to disavow her. Or shoot her. That had been grandma not dearest's choice.

“It's,” Nell hesitated, but there really wasn't a polite alternative, “nice to meet you.” Her fake smile was getting a serious workout and they were only minutes into the evening. Nell got her hand back and looked toward the two women, deciding that laugh lines would never be a problem for either of them. Okay, that was a bit bitchy. Usually she tried not to be.

“Mirabelle St. Cyr,” Dimitri said.

Nell would have known she was a St. Cyr without the intro. This cousin was a feminine version of their recently deceased grandfather, Phineas St. Cyr. She certainly had his dissecting gaze. If looks could kill—

“And this is our cousin, Cinzia,” Guido said, positioning himself on Nell's other side while gesturing toward the voluptuous brunette, who did not look at all like their still living grandfather, Antonio Calvino. Both she and Guido must take after their mamas.

Cinzia va-va-voomed her way into their little circle, managing to brush against Dimitri before she got all her assets stopped on the other side of Alex. She gave Nell a token smile, then ramped it up for Alex. Mirabelle had seemed content to stop next to Dimitri and subside into sulky sexy, but perhaps her competitive instincts were roused. Whatever the reason, she insinuated herself between Nell and Alex, forcing Nell closer to Guido. As if Nell had done it on purpose, Guido looked delighted. He took her arm and lead her toward a flash bar setup off to one side of the room. Digging in her heels didn't help. Her flats didn't have heels. Dimitri closed on her other side, then passed them so he could play bartender.

“What would you like, Nell?” The question was innocuous, the tone too friendly. There was no reason she could think of for him to be friendly to her.

What did she want? To flee into the night like a gothic heroine? “Just some water, thanks.”

Behind her, the deep rumble of Alex's voice was broken by feminine laughter of the flirtatious kind. Nell didn't look at them, though it wasn't easy. And it kind of was easy. Was she afraid of what she'd see? Both women were more everything than she was. She halfway expected to other two men to head back to the fun group, but they didn't. Guido leaned against the bar. No question he made the bar look better. Was he a bad guy? She honestly couldn't tell. If he was playing nice, he was very good at it.

“Flat or sparkling?” Dimitri held up one of each.

“Flat is fine.” Maybe she should have chosen sparkling. Flat felt too much like a metaphor.

As if Guido sensed her need for flight, he began a funny—and oddly soothing—story involving sparking water and a politician. Though not good at small talk, Nell had a good handle on no talk, being a former librarian and all. Imperceptibly she felt her insides begin to relax, and even managed to chuckle once. Dimitri kept the conversational ball rolling. When she finally found something to say, she looked at Dimitri and caught him looking at her with a weird look in his eyes. He masked it quickly, but it was too late. A prickle of unease ran down her back like a targeting dot. It was totally the moment for that shot to ring out.

Instead of a shot, there was the ping of an elevator arriving.

She started and turned toward the sound, just in time to see an ornate wall out in the hallway turn into an elevator door. Inside was a shriveled figure in a wheel chair, a creepy crowish shape that had to be the wise geezer, Aleksi Afoniki. He rolled forward like a small but deadly storm cloud.

She'd met the other two wise geezers, so a comparison was possible. St. Cyr had papered over creepy with some charm the one time she'd met him. Her other grandfather, Antonio Calvino, had tried to be the hearty hail-granddaughter-well-met bad guy, which had been a different kind of creepy.

This man made no effort to be anything but evil.

Dimitri came out from behind the bar, but stopped next to Nell, waiting as his uncle rolled toward them, their gazes clashing. No lightning flashes, but there should have been. It was that intense. It not only stripped away the charm of the younger man, it exposed his dark heart, showing what he was eager to have, what he was willing to become to get it.

Instead of angry at this challenge from the young cub, Afoniki smiled grimly at his nephew before his gaze tracked to Nell. The smile changed to something harder to parse. Nell's chin lifted again. She might not have grown up “wise,” but she was her father's daughter. And her mom's. She knew what he saw when he looked at her. She'd been told often enough that she looked like her mom, had learned she also looked like her grandmother, Ellie Calvino—a woman the three wise geezers had apparently vied for way back when. A woman who had chosen someone else. Afoniki didn't look like the type to hold a grudge. Why waste time on grudges when you could hire a hit man? Is that what he'd done?

Ellie Calvino was missing, presumed dead, and had been for a very long time.

His skeletal hands clenched the arms of his wheelchair drawing her attention to the huge, emerald stone of his ring—the ring of his wise guy power. All three wise geezers had had one, though with different gem stones. She'd seen St. Cyr's. Because he'd managed to dump it on Nell just before he died. Did Afoniki wear it all the time or had he brought it out for her to see?