Some Like It Lethal (18 page)

I threw myself out of its path, but my feet slipped out from under me and in the next instant I was somersaulting over some shrubbery. I twisted in midair, trying to avoid crushing Spike in my bag. Then the snow rushed up and smacked me in the face.

Silence.

A door slammed and someone came crunching through the snow. A tall figure in black leather and jeans. Above me, he said, "The women in Scotland didn't throw themselves at my feet. What a nice welcome home."

Chapter 10

Even alone, Michael always seemed like a man who had an entourage. He just naturally exuded the presence of a Mafia prince.

He helped me to my feet and I tottered over to the side of one of his ridiculous muscle cars, which should have made any red-blooded gangster blush with shame. It was red and low-slung except for the rear wheels, which had been hoisted up to accommodate tires that looked as if they'd been pumped up by giants. The car looked ready to take a load of television hillbillies on a joyride.

Michael leaned me gently against the passengers door and smoothed my hair away from my damp face. "You okay?"

"My dignity is beyond repair." Then I forgot about hillbillies and noticed that the snow was suddenly looking very pretty and romantic. Michael's dark hair was windblown and flecked with flakes, and the curving planes of his face looked both dangerous and amused. The sapphire blue of his eyes still took me by surprise, especially when they reflected a daunting amount of sexual arousal. His hands cupped my elbows, and he eased his knee warmly between my thighs.

Smiling, he said, "I missed you."

"If you kiss me right now, I'll bite you."

He laughed. "Have I done something?"

"You almost ran me down!"

"I saved you from being run over by a bus." He pulled his knee back from where it had felt really good. "What the hell were you doing, anyway? You don't usually run out in traffic."

Spike fought his way out of my handbag and interrupted my response by leaping onto Michael's chest. With excited piglike squeals, the puppy wriggled his whole body and licked Michael's chin.

I suppressed the urge to do the same thing.

Michael grabbed Spike by the scruff of his neck and detached him. Spike burrowed his head inside Michael's half-open jacket and continued to make adoring noises. With a grin for me, Michael said, "Don't you want to kiss me, too?"

"I'm too busy thinking you're supposed to be in Scotland."

"I just got back."

I put two and two together. "It was you, wasn't it? You helped Emma get out of the hospital."

He shrugged modestly. "Not me personally, no."

"But you made it happen. I should have known."

"Emma's fine, if you were wondering."

Relief rushed through me so fast that my head went light. "Where is she? Can I see her?"

"Don't worry. She's fine. We're moving her around a little, just to dazzle the competition."

"Michael," I said at last, "I am so pathetically glad to see you."

I kissed him then. He tucked Spike under his arm and ran one of his hands through my hair to the back of my neck to pull me hard against him. I collided with the powerful length of his body and heard myself make a carnal sound in the back of my throat. I slid
my hands up his back and hung on for dear life while my insides felt as if they were taking a trip on a roller coaster.

Part of me wanted more than anything to take that last flying, gravity-defying plunge somewhere wonderful with him. But not yet.

A few heart-pounding minutes later I mastered myself again, and he smiled as if he knew better and bundled me into the car. He got in beside me and turned up the heater. Spike stayed in my lap but didn't take his worshipful gaze from Michael.

I regained my voice and said lightly, "Wasn't this car in a TV show once? Only with a Confederate flag on the top? And a girl with hardly any clothes?"

"You have no respect for automotive excellence. Maybe I should take you on an educational field trip to Detroit. I bet we could find a romantic hotel and still get you a tour of the hall of fame. I'd take you to the Auto Show, but I can't wait that long."

"I don't think the Detroit Ramada is going to do it for me," I said, although at that moment just holding his hand was doing plenty.

"I suppose Daytona is out of the question? Or Indianapolis?"

"I was thinking of Venice."

He deliberately misunderstood. "Vegas? We could catch an Elvis impersonator there to get us in the proper romantic mood. I love Elvis."

"Somehow that doesn't surprise me."

He turned sideways in the seat. "Are we really going to go away together? It's cruel if you're just teasing."

Maybe I'd fallen in love with him. Against my better judgement, I had certainly fallen in lust, and for some women that would be enough. For me, however, after
suffering through years of Todd's addiction and the hell of his final months, I needed some assurance that life wasn't going to blow up in my face again. Taking up with a convicted criminal, no matter how straight the line he claimed to be walking these days, seemed as sensible as signing on for the
Titanic's
second voyage.

But, boy, was I tempted. My lips still tingled, and the rest of me longed for his slow attention.

I clamped my knees together to suppress any involuntary physical response. "Tell me about Emma. Is she really okay?"

He put the car in gear and pulled away from the park. "You mean is she drinking? No, she isn't."

Sometimes he was more observant than I gave him credit for. "Michael, did you ask her about Rushton's murder?"

"A little. She doesn't remember much. She needs to know what happened, Nora. She's scared." He added, "It's been rough on her."

"Of course it has. The doctors were very concerned—"

"No, I mean there was something between her and the dead guy."

Startled, I said, "Oh, no, I was afraid of this. Was she was having an affair with Rush?"

"An affair? That word sounds like old movies. I can't tell if Emma actually sleeps with all the guys she dates or just ties them to her bedpost and tortures them. She cared about this one, that's all I know. Does that make an affair or just better-than-usual sex?"

I remember the photograph I'd seen, with Emma looking up at Rush with something more than a sexual come-on in her eyes.

Michael said, "Emma didn't whack the guy. But she's afraid she contributed somehow, and it's killing her. Whatever she had going with him, she's broken up now."

"Did she cry on your shoulder?"

"A little," he said.

While I processed that information, he reached across and patted my knee.

I took his hand in mine again to ease the harshness of what I was about to say. "You shouldn't have helped her, Michael."

"What?"

"When Emma left the hospital, she just made herself look guilty."

"She already looked guilty. I only helped her buy some time."

"When the police find out you were involved, you'll be in worse trouble than before."

"Who's going to tell them? You?"

I let him withdraw his hand. "According to my sources, you're not considered the most upstanding citizen at the moment. I'm worried, and not just for Emma. I don't want your own trouble getting blown out of proportion by a connection with a murder."

"Stop," he said.

"I mean it."

"I do, too. Stop."

Spike had been looking between us as if we were smacking a tennis ball back and forth. He gave a nervous whine.

I said, "The police think you left the country to avoid prosecution for money laundering."

"I came back, didn't I?"

"Do they know that yet?"

"I didn't set off any alarms at the airport, if that's what you mean. What's got you more upset? Emma accused of murder or me looking like a goodfella?"

"Are we going to argue about this again?"

"I'm game if you are."

I didn't respond, but my heart was beating very fast. Spike gave a long tremble, and I smoothed the bristly hair on his back.

A moment later, Michael said more gently, "Tell me what you were doing in the park."

"Talking a walk."

He shook his head. "You're a terrible liar. Reed called me to say you were acting suspicious, so I came over. It looked like you were tailing a guy. Who was he?"

"Tottie Boarman."

"The financier who lost all the money?" Michael sounded surprised. "What's he doing that needs you to watch?"

"I suspect he was leaving a briefcase for the blackmailer."

Michael drove too abruptly around a corner and overcompensated, making Spike lurch in my lap. "I thought the blackmailer was dead. Jesus, what the hell are you doing? Getting hit by a car wasn't the most dangerous thing that could have happened to you tonight. Did you see who picked up the case?"

"Yes. Kitty Keough."

He frowned. "How does that make sense?"

"It doesn't. My friend Hadley Pinkham followed her to see what happens, and I was supposed to stick with Tottie."

"Who's Hadley Pinkham?"

"And old friend. You'll hate him on sight, I'm afraid. He's a completely useless person, but a lot of
fun. Anyway, we split up. Hadley followed Kitty, and I went after Tottie."

"Why?"

"Well, why not? To learn something, of course."

"And your friend is going to watch what Miss Kitty does with the briefcase?"

"I presume she'll take it home and start counting the cash."

"In that case, she's really stupid."

"Startled, I said, "Why?"

"What blackmailer goes to the drop in person?" He shook his head in derision. "A rookie move like that should have had the cops getting their promotions long ago."

I considered the logic of his theory. When it came to crime, Michael was rarely wrong. "So maybe Kitty was picking up the briefcase for someone else?"

"If she wasn't, your criminal is an idiot."

My imagination went into overdrive. I thought about what I knew. Kitty had access to Andy Mooney, a photographer who labored at her beck and call. She also possessed the white envelopes and knew people who had pots of money. And she had the egocentric chutzpah to believe she was more entitled to the money than the current owner.

But if Kitty was the blackmailer, why was Rush Strawcutter dead?

I had finally become aware of our surroundings and didn't recognize the neighborhood. We had left Rittenhouse Square far behind and were thumping through potholes and passing places of business I had never patronized.

"Where are we going?"

Michael said, "I don't like doing this with you in the car, but it'll only take a minute, I promise. Then
we'll get some food. I know a great pizza place near here."

"Good heavens, you eat something as pedestrian as pizza?"

"Sure. It's my sister's place."

The possibility that I might meet an actual member of the Abruzzo family struck me dumb. I knew he had a great affection for his sister and her two young daughters, but he had never before suggested we meet.

He drove into a dark alley, past a line of trash cans that stood drunkenly against a crumbling brick wall. The snow had tapered to light, lacy flakes. Michael eased the car into a parking space alongside a large dark automobile with a sagging tailpipe. Then he shut off the engine and said, "Hop out."

With Spike in my arms, I climbed out of the car and met him at the trunk. He unlocked it, and in the dim light I saw two duffel-style suitcases and a long, tubular case for carrying fishing rods. He handed me the rod case and shouldered the larger of the two suitcases before picking up the other in one hand. Then he closed the trunk and led the way to the other car, carrying his gear.

He said, "You'll like my sister. Vanessa's my half-sister, of course, but she's smarter than my brothers. She makes a great pizza, if you can stand the advice that always goes with it."

With another set of keys, he unlocked the trunk of the other car. It opened, and a light went on inside. He said, "Hey, Em. Warm enough?"

My sister Emma sat up in the trunk and threw a tire iron at him. It missed.

She snapped, "I have to pee, you son of a bitch. Another ten seconds, and I was going to do it right
here in your goddamn car. I was supposed to be here just five minutes!"

"I ran into somebody." Michael picked up the tire iron and reached to help Emma out of the car. She smacked his hand away.

"Oh, Em," I said.

She climbed out of the car and allowed me to hug her, but she was still angry. Then Spike squirmed and tired to climb onto her. She pulled him out of my arms and gruffly said to me, "Oh, damn, you're not going to faint, are you?"

I leaned weakly against the tail fin of the car. "I'm just glad to see you in one piece."