Summer Kisses (188 page)

Instead, Dave nodded his head at Murray as they walked past.

“Goodnight, Murray,” Marisa said to the surprised looking doorman.

On the sidewalk, Dave took her arm. “I have my own list of great qualities, too.”

“Do you?”

“I can tell you some if you like.”

She slid her look provocatively up and down his body. “I can see a few . . . imagine a few others. That’s enough for now.”

Her words sent heat straight to his groin. She obviously knew how to play with fire. But for the moment, he couldn’t have the flames stoked. Later, though . . .

“Tell, me,” he said, “where are we supposed to meet Sandro?”

“I’m meeting Sandro,” she pointed out. “You’re waiting out of sight.”

“I never agreed to that. For the safety of you and Sandro, I think I should know what you two are planning.”

“Sandro wants no more leaks.” She turned into a schoolyard.

“And that’s why we’re meeting here at the . . .” he waited a moment until her direction became obvious. “. . . at the school playground. I’m alone. Just you, me, and him. Nobody but us, and we’re all trustworthy.”

“How do I know that? You could be wired.”

Dave held out his arms, raised his eyebrow and gave a smug little grin. “Feel free to pat me down.”

She hesitated, then ran her slender hands over him, carefully avoiding the part he most wanted her to touch. Holy Mother, help him.

“You missed a place,” he managed to choke out, sudden need burning away any previous smug thoughts.

She followed his gaze downward. “I can see there’s something definitely there.” She brought her gaze back to his face. “But I don’t think it’s a recorder.”

“What’s he doing here?” Sandro stepped out of the shadows.

Marisa whirled, her normal calm seemed a little ruffled.

The need to play hero came on strong. “I didn’t give her a choice,” Dave said, placing his hands protectively on Marisa’s shoulders.

Sandro gave him a stone-cold look, taking in Dave’s protective gesture.

“He’s alone,” Marisa said, her voice breathier than usual. She cleared her throat. “He’s willing to work outside the law to help us–”

“To help Nia,” Dave corrected, her outside-the-law comment somewhat cooling his ardor. Marisa stiffened under his hands.

Sandro’s cold look didn’t waiver. “We wouldn’t want to forget that you are doing this to help
my
wife.”

“But Sandro, whatever his reasons, he can help-”

“We don’t need his help.”

“What about Roberto?” she asked.

“Yeah, what about Roberto? The accountant?” Dave wondered aloud. What would Roberto have to do with anything? Of the mob guys, Roberto seemed the least threatening.

Sandro shook his head. Dave released Marisa and pulled the papers from his pocket. “Then what about these?”

Sandro’s narrow gaze barely concealed the anger and frustration boiling under the surface. As ridiculous as it sounded, Dave found himself fighting not to squirm under the deadly, probing look.

“What are those?”

Marisa glanced at Dave before telling Sandro, “A list of my father’s properties—places he might be holding Nia.” She turned back to Dave. “I told you I could get other copies.”

Sandro took two steps forward and pulled Marisa to stand beside him. “If she can get others, then we don’t need those.” The message was clear.
We don’t need you, either.

Marisa hadn’t even given a squeak of objection to standing beside Sandro. And there Dave thought he’d made progress with her. He supposed her loyalties couldn’t be shifted easily. That was a good thing, he told himself.

Still, Dave couldn’t squelch the urge to taunt.“No?” Unreasonably jealous or not, Dave twisted his point to a sharp threat. “Perhaps you can get other copies, but if you don’t let me help you, I’ll have to bring my Task Force up-to-date. They can help me search these properties.”

Sandro, his face even more hard and menacing, if possible, stepped forward and squared off with Dave. “The last help your task force gave me nearly got me killed and it did get my wife kidnapped. I will not let you risk her life again.”

His angry response made Dave feel he’d evened the score. He softened his tone. “Then let me help you. Work with me here.”

Sandro slowly shook his head. “You have obligations to your job. You can’t go off on your own and keep your task force uninformed.”

“I can tell them what they need to know without jeopardizing my career.”

“No.”

“Damn it, I have resources you don’t have.”

Marisa turned to Sandro. “I think he’s being truthful.”

“At some point you’re probably going to confront her father,” Dave said. “How do you plan to walk away alive?”

Sandro remained silent.

“You know he’ll never meet you alone, and even if you hold some sort of information that will let you walk away, he’ll have his mobsters follow you and kill you after they get what they want. I can have men in place to help you.”

Marisa said something to Sandro in Italian. He answered, and they went back and forth for at least two minutes. Dave stood, waiting, trying to remain patient. Still, he clenched and unclenched his fists, fighting the urge to wrap his hands around them both and shake some sense into them.

Finally, he moved between them and broke into their conversation. He laid his hands on Sandro’s shoulders, in a begrudging offer of friendship. “Sandro, you’re right. I put her at risk. Let me work with you now. Let me correct my mistake.” He swallowed a feeling of distaste and added, “Please.”

Sandro’s gaze searched Dave’s face. Time hung suspended between the three of them while Sandro made his decision.

At last he spoke. “All right, Dave Armstrong. You will help us. But take this to your heart. If you fail again, and my wife is harmed, you will pray to the blessed Virgin for a quick death. If you make another mistake and we lose, you will die a tortured fragment at a time until there is nothing left of you for anyone to remember. And then I’ll kill you a little more.”

She was running . . . .

Move, move, move . . . .

Safety was close . . . .

A gunshot . . . .

Someone hurled a bowling ball into her shoulder. Another loud crack sounded.

Blood dripped from her hand. She followed the red sticky trail up her arm. A bowling ball hadn’t hit her. A bullet. She’d been shot . . . .

Nia bolted upright, eyes wide open, heart pounding. She hadn’t meant to fall asleep; she needed to work on her next escape plan. But her exhausted body had claimed her unwilling mind.

Concentrating on making her heart rate slow to normal, she breathed deeply and stretched. Stiff and sore muscles made her moan. Mikey had really done a number on her. She owed him for that. She wasn’t a vengeful person, but she could learn fast.

For a moment, the real nightmare, not the dream one, that had become her life threatened to crush her. Alone in a strange house, with dangerous men guarding her, she had a brief urge to crumple in despair.

Oh, Sandro, where are you?

Mental toughness honed from years of relentless physical conditioning, pitting her wits against an opponent’s, along with being raised with five brothers, lent her strength. Resolve stiffened her spine and her will. She would not be defeated. She would escape, get to her child then find her husband. Wonder Woman, move over. Here comes Nia Crocetti, the newest Superhero.

The thought forced a chuckle. Yeah, right.

At least the whimsical idea of her soaring through the air with a red, white and blue cape whipping behind her dispelled the last of her uncharacteristic feelings of hopelessness. She climbed out of bed.

Her watch read just past two in the morning.

She took a bathroom break, relieved to find no blood, no spotting, and she was experiencing no cramps. Mikey’s beating hadn’t robbed her of her unborn child. Proof the universe was on her side.

Slipping the plastic Woo-Sung’s Chinese Food advertisement card from her pocket, she listened against the wooden door for sounds of activity beyond. Everything was quiet. Time to put her plan in motion.

She eyed the ordinary bedroom door lock—it had been turned backward, where the locking part was on the outside. She supposed they had been in a hurry and holding her prisoner had been a makeshift plan. Whatever the reason, she was grateful for such a simple lock which wouldn’t call for more intricate lockpicking skills with tools she didn’t have.

Taking a breath, she whispered a prayer for luck, then slipped the card into the doorjamb and jiggled the door, trying to force the card past the latch.

“Come on,” she muttered to herself. After only moments, the door slipped open. She bit back a gasp and stifled a shout of excitement. In her mind, though, she was jumping up and down and screaming for joy.

Cautiously she peered into the hall. Angie sat at one end in a wing backed chair between her and the stairs.

Damn.

Quickly she unlocked the door from the outside then quietly closed it back. Pressing her forehead against the hard wooden door, she debated what to do. Angie looked as if he were asleep. Perhaps she could slip past him. Pulling the door open again, she poked her head out into the hallway and studied him. Should she risk it?

She glanced the other way. Nothing more than a window at that end, and she wasn’t going that route again. Her gaze lit on a dark green clay vase that sat on a decorator table beneath the window. It was filled with artificial blue, orange and purple flowers arranged in artful disarray.

Unconcerned with the artistic qualities of the vase, she debated whether to risk using it to knock Angie unconscious. He was between her and freedom. Between her and her family. Would the vase be heavy enough to knock him out?

But what if Giovanni or someone else was still here? Would the noise alert them and hamper her escape plans? She strained to listen for other sounds of life, but heard nothing other than Angie’s deep breathing.

It was a risk she would have to take.

Quietly, she sneaked to the end of the hallway and lifted the vase. It was heavier than it looked. It must’ve been made of pure concrete. All the better to knock him out cold. Or kill him. She paused with distaste at the thought, but there was no guarantee they’d leave her alive. And her family needed her. So she had to use any method she could. If she killed someone, she’d deal with the fact later.

Determination steeling her spine, she jerked the flowers out, dropped them on the floor, and hefted the vase into her arms. Tiptoeing down the hall, the vase securely in her grasp, she held her breath, afraid to make any noise. At last she stood next to Angie. Carefully, she forced the heavy vase over her head. One hard swing ought to–

“Hey, Angie, it’s time for me to take over. You asleep up there?”

Damn! Giovanni was climbing up the stairs. Trapped!

No! She’d take them both out.

Angie stirred, beginning to awaken. He opened his eyes, sleep, then confusion as he saw her, clouding his gaze.

Now or never.

She brought the vase down. She felt a dull thud at impact, like the time she’d busted a pumpkin. Angie’s eyes widened, then blinked out.

She hurtled down the stairs, rushing Giovanni, using the vase as a battering ram. He stumbled from her onslaught, losing his balance. Tumbling backwards, he rolled down the stairs. He didn’t move once he landed. After a fall like that, he could well be dead.

Nia never slowed to contemplate his condition. Dropping the vase, she jumped over Giovanni’s body and barreled out the kitchen door into the night.

She ran to the Town Car and jerked open the door. No keys. She flipped down the visor and looked on the floorboard. No luck there since she hadn’t learned hotwiring with lockpicking 101.

She repeated the process with the red truck parked in the drive, but no luck there either. The SUV and silver Lexus were gone. There was a jacket and some dollar bills lying on the truck bench seat. She grabbed the jacket, the money, and a flashlight she’d found under the seat.

Nerves threatened to overwhelm her at the obstacles still facing her. But she had to be clearheaded. She pulled her thoughts together and focused. Earlier, she had thought it best to make her escape through the woods. Now, that it was pitch dark, she changed her mind, not wanting to risk getting lost in the dark.

The best plan would be to follow the road. If Giovanni was still alive and managed to come after her, she could hide on the side of the road. The darkness would work to her advantage. By first light, if she ran most of the way, she should have covered a good distance. Perhaps even found a sign of civilization.

Good thing she was in prime physical shape despite being pregnant.

She sprinted toward the road.

Breathed in freedom.

“She got away.”

“How the hell’d that happen?” Joey asked, still groggy from the ringing phone jerking him out of sleep.

“Shit, I don’t know. I checked that door,” Giovanni answered holding an ice pack on the back of his neck. He ached all over. “It was locked. But now it’s open. I shoulda got a deadbolt when I was at the store.”

“Or you shoulda been guarding her. You know she’s smart.”

“We was guarding her . . . well, Angie was and I was on my way to relieve him. But she’s not only smart, she’s one mean bitch, too. She got the jump on him and laid a vase upside his head. Cracked his skull open, then she shoved me down the stairs.”

“You okay?”

“Yeah, I’m fine, but Angie’s still out cold, bleeding all over the fuckin’ floor. No way I could move him, heavy ass shit. I got some towels piled under his head.”

Joey made a disgusted sound. “The fat son-of-a-bitch must’ve fallen asleep for her to catch him like that. You called Carlo yet?”

“Fuck, no, you think I’m crazy? I wanna get her back before he finds out,” Giovanni answered. “Especially after you took care of that piece of business earlier. I ain’t goin’ on no ride with you guys.”

“So, what’s your plan?”

“Get ahold of the dog trainer that trains our guard dogs. Doesn’t he have a team of tracking dogs?”