Reckless (25 page)

Lou lunged at her, gripped the front of her
blouse and pulled her to his face. His rancid breath turned her
stomach. “There isn't gonna be any book. You either get me that
envelope or you die right here. I guarantee Viper and I can
convince you to cooperate.”

She tried not to show her fear and revulsion.
Her false bravado was draining fast. She felt a tremor go through
her heart. “There already
is
a book. I delivered the final
draft the day that jerk kidnapped me,” she lied. “The deal is, all
the evidence goes to the Feds anyway, but not until the book is
out.”

“Then you can't stop it?” Lou asked, a little
of the steel gone from his voice. He stepped away from her,
releasing her shirt.

“There's a clause in my contract giving me
the right to pull out up to ninety days before publication. That
time runs out tomorrow. If you want me to help you out of this,
Taranto, you better talk fast. I can make one call at 9:00 a.m.
tomorrow that will put the brakes on this entire thing.”

Lou cupped his chin in one hand and squeezed.
He met Viper's lecherous gaze, and she knew exactly what they were
thinking. They'd humor her, offer her whatever she wanted, get the
evidence in their filthy hands and then kill her anyway. She didn't
care. It would only take a call to the publisher to tell them she'd
made the whole thing up anyway. She was betting on its being after
hours. They wouldn't be able to confirm her story until morning.
She would have bought some time and nothing more.

“How much,” Lou finally asked.

She shrugged. “A million-five?”

“Done,” he said quickly.

She nodded. “And one more thing. I'll do a
lot for that kind of money. But if I'm going to get him killed, I'd
just as soon not have to be here to know about it. I do have a few
morals. I know you have to do it, but if you want my help you're
gonna have to wait until I take my money and leave.”

Lou turned a skeptical gaze on her, and she
hoped she hadn't blown it by pleading for Nick's life. If Lou knew
how much she cared, he'd have the best weapon against her he
could've found. He eyed her now, and then Nick.

“You cold, greedy, lying bitch!” Nick’s voice
was like gravel, so full of venom she almost recoiled. He pulled at
his bonds, this time looking as if he'd like to wring her neck with
his bare hands. “I'll kill you for this. If I get my hands on you,
I'll—”

Viper smacked him in the gut again, knocking
enough wind out of him so he couldn't go on. Toni heard the breath
rush from his lungs. She turned her back to him, her throat
burning, took one step away. She felt drained. All she wanted now
was to slink back to her darkened corner and collapse. She'd done
all she could, and if Nick couldn't see that, then....

She stopped herself and gave her head a small
shake. What was the matter with her? Nick wasn't an idiot. Besides,
he knew her better than to believe a word of that line she'd fed
Taranto. He knew things about her that she'd only begun to realize
about herself. Slowly she turned, and Nick lifted his mistreated
face to meet her gaze.

“In the morning, then,” Taranto said gruffly.
She had to look away from Nick, but not before she'd glimpsed the
reassuring glint in his eyes. “You'll make that call. I'll give you
the money as soon as the evidence is in my hands. Deal?”

“Deal.”

Carl gripped the IV pole with one hand, his
heaving stomach with the other. He closed his eyes slowly and
waited for the nausea to pass.

“You can barely stand,” Joey told him.
“You're not gonna to be any help unless you’re planning to
apprehend Lou Taranto by throwing up on him.” Her tone didn't hide
the concern in her voice.

“Nausea’s normal with concussion. It'll
pass.” Carl straightened, reached for the closet door and saw his
clothes inside. He stretched his arm for the hanger, then paused
when his balance deserted him.

Joey reached past him, retrieved his clothes
and tossed them on the stiff white sheets on his hospital bed.
“'Multiple concussions' was the term I heard them use. Besides,
didn’t your boss just say they were doing everything that could be
done?”

“Yeah, but my boss is in worse shape than I
am.” Harry had narrowly survived an attempt on his life. Someone
had taken a shot at him, probably had mistaken him for Nick, since
he'd been driving Nick’s car. The bullet grazed his head, and sent
him careening off the road and down an embankment. By they time
he'd been found, Nick and Toni had already led Taranto and his gang
away from Toni's building, giving Toni’s sister the chance to get
Carl to a hospital. He didn't remember much of that trip.

But no one had heard from Nick or Toni since.
Their car had been in an accident. Reports said it was full of
bullet holes. But neither of them had been found, and Carl was
scared. He sat on the edge of the bed and yanked his trousers on
without removing the tie-in-the-back hospital gown he wore. He
stood to fasten them, then offered Joey his back.

Sighing, she untied the gown for him. Carl
turned again, picked up his shirt and poked his arms into the
sleeves. As he buttoned it, he heard her inhale. He looked up fast.
Her horrified gaze on his shoulders and chest reminded him the
shirt wasn't exactly clean. Looking down, he saw the spattered
patterns of dried blood. His lips thinned. He met her gaze again.
“Sorry. I didn't think—”

“Taranto has them,” she said.

“Can’t be sure of that.”

“Maybe you can’t, but I can.”

Lying to her would be useless. She was smart,
and a little bit creepy; like she knew things. He figured she'd see
right through it. “You’re probably right,” he admitted. “But don't
think that means...” He broke off, searched his foggy brain, and
began again. “Taranto thinks he’s smart enough to wiggle out of any
situation, dodge any charge, no matter how much evidence there is.
He won't kill them if he thinks they have information he can use.
He'll keep them alive until he gets it from them. Nick knows that,
and Toni—she’s sharp. She's probably figured it out, too. They can
use that knowledge to stall, and in the meantime we'll find out
where he's holding them and—”

“I heard your boss—what’s his name, the guy
who’s running the whole operation from his hospital bed down the
hall? Harry?” Carl nodded and she went on. “I heard him say they've
checked every piece of property Taranto owns and found
nothing.”

“Every piece we know of,” Carl corrected her.
“Contrary to popular belief, we don't know everything. Toni already
proved that.”

A tiny glimmer of hope lit her eyes. “Toni’s
pretty thorough in her research. She might know of other
holdings—”

“If she did, how would I find out?”

Joey dove into the closet. She wasn’t
reluctant to help him anymore. She retrieved his shoes and socks,
his jacket and his gun. “It would be in her computer.”

Carl nodded, his mind racing ahead of him as
he mindlessly dressed his feet, checked his gun, adjusted the
holster. “Okay. Do you have a key to her apartment?” She nodded.
“Give it to me and—”

“I'm going with you,” she told him.

“No.” He straightened too quickly, and the
resulting rush of dizziness nearly knocked him down. She came
closer to him, gripped his arm until it passed.

“You wouldn't know her passwords. I do. And
I’m not telling you. So don't waste time arguing over this. Toni
and I share our stubborn streak. Got it from our father.”

Carl sighed, pulled on his jacket and turned
slightly to close the closet door. It was then he caught a glimpse
of his own reflection in the mirror mounted there. He almost
jumped. He looked like something from an old Saturday-afternoon
horror flick. Dark-colored bruises with angry purple rings at their
outermost edges covered most of his face. His nose was bent at an
angle near the center. His eyes were still swollen, their lids so
blue they looked made-up. He shook his head, closed the door and
looked at her again. “I'm surprised you didn't run screaming when
you got a look at this.” He indicated his face with an open palm
beneath his chin.

“I don’t scare easily.”

She insisted on driving—and when he saw what,
he was even more nervous. Toni Rio’s sister got around by means of
a sweet cherry red Harley. “How the hell did you get me to the
hospital on that?”

“I only got you around the corner on it. Then
I called an ambulance. You don’t remember?”

“No. Thank God.” He hopped on and within
thirty minutes he was standing behind her in the office of Toni's
apartment. Joey Bradshaw sat in a padded swivel chair, punching
buttons on her sister’s keyboard. “I’m surprised the cops didn’t
take this.”

“Oh, they will, trust me. They haven’t
processed the apartment yet. Everyone’s out looking for Taranto and
Nick.” There was crime scene tape across the front of the door, but
no one stood guard. Toni’s evidence was all in police custody
already, thanks so her sister. No one was overly concerned about
the apartment.

“And Toni,” she added.

In a moment the words “Holdings: Real Estate”
appeared on the screen. Joey scrolled slowly down the list, and
Carl’s eyes sped over every line, his impatience nearing an
all-time high. Then he saw what he was looking for.

“There! Number eighteen, that's one I've
never heard of. I don't think we knew about that one.”

Joey clicked on the listing. “Farmhouse,” the
screen told them. “Rural Chenango County—Upstate N.Y.” Carl read
that Taranto had purchased the property for back taxes, using his
cousin's name on the deed. Toni’s notes said she had suspected the
place was a dispatch point for drugs being shipped to Syracuse,
Binghamton and other surrounding cities. The house itself, she'd
noted, was in a state of chronic disrepair, but ideal for Lou's
purposes, being completely surrounded by state forest.

Carl shook his head, a sickening feeling in
his stomach that hadn't been caused by his concussions this time.
“How do we find this place?”

“It’s just over an hour from where I live. I
know the area.” Joey yanked out her cell phone, opened the map
feature and tapped in the address. “It’s a four-hour drive from
here.”

“Who said anything about driving?”

It was several moments before Nick could
speak again. The last blow to the midsection had struck a rib on
the way in. He couldn't draw a breath. He forcibly clung to
consciousness despite the pain that washed over him like a tidal
wave and the dizziness it brought with it. He had to stay lucid. At
least until he could be sure Toni knew why he'd said what he had.
When she'd asked that he not be killed right way, Taranto got
suspicious. Nick knew him well enough to recognize the look. He had
to do something to convince Lou that there was nothing between
them.

Taranto and Viper left the room, and he heard
locks being slid home. A second later Toni was behind him, deftly
untying his hands. Circling to the front of him, she dropped to her
knees and loosened the ropes that held his ankles. She stayed there
a minute, not looking up.

Then she took a deep breath and said, “I hope
I'm right about how well you know me, Nick.”

He rubbed his wrists roughly, then put both
hands on her shoulders. “You put on one hell of an act, Toni. And
you'd better damn well know by now when I'm doing the same. Call it
a supporting role.”

Her head rose slowly, her eyes scanning his
face. “You knew what I was doing?”

“Almost as soon as you did. It never entered
my mind to believe a word of it.” He closed his arms around her,
but she stiffened and held herself away.

“You’re hurt pretty badly, Nick.” Her eyes
danced back and forth as she studied his face. “I wanted to club
that bastard with something...I almost jumped on him without
anything but my hands to use as weapons.”

“I believe you.” He smiled to show her he was
okay, but she touched his face gently with her palm, and her eyes
got damp again. “I'm fine, I swear to God. It probably looks worse
than it is.” Seeing the fear in her eyes was more than he could
handle right then, so he tried to change the subject. “You were
good with Taranto, Toni. You pinpointed his weakness and you nailed
him with it. He'd do anything to save his organization.”

She shook her head, getting to her feet.
“He'll be angrier than ever when he finds out I was lying.”

Nick rose, as well, glancing around the musty
room. “You bought us some time. Now all we need to do is find a way
out of here. It's a basement...a cellar. This is just a house, and
not a new one by the looks. I wonder where the hell we are?” He
walked as he spoke, examining the rotted wood, the toppled water
tank, the broken wooden crate. He knelt beside it and pawed through
the dust-covered bottom to identify the shapes there. He found bent
nails, a broken screwdriver and some wire. He tucked the
screwdriver into his rear pocket and got upright again, glancing
upward at the cobweb-coated ceiling.