The Claim (7 page)

He smiled sadly. “My learned friend, I beg to differ. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

Mimi, the sleek and normally patient Amelia Johnson, looked unimpressed when Anna saw her tapping the rim of a half-empty wineglass. “Sorry, sorry, sorry!”

Mimi accepted the kiss on the cheek. “You are taking the blind arse mick with me.”

“I said sorry!”

“Imogen?” she asked warily.

“Funny story,” Anna replied, removing her coat and sitting her bag on the nearest chair. “Imogen came asking for me to babysit.”

“Nothing new.”

“She saw Rocco and called me mad, asking me what the hell I was doing after everything he did to me.”

Mimi’s bottom lip nearly hit the table. “She said what?”

“Oh wait, there’s more. So I’m in the lift with Rocco—”

“Really?”

“Shut up. And he tells me that Imogen made it up.”

“Why?”

“He made out like she’s obsessed with me and she’s trying to make herself an important person in my life. He then said I should ask Imogen where his tattoos are, like that will make any difference.”

“Do you know where my piercings are?” Mimi asked dryly.

“Eww no!”

“That’s because you and I haven’t had sex. Trust me, you wouldn’t forget.”

Anna winced, and then curiosity prompted her. “Tits or kitty?”

“None of your business, but it’s a fair point. Did you compare notes?”

“No. I wanted to forget he and Imogen ever exchanged bodily fluids. Maybe they did it in the dark and he fucked her from behind. Doesn’t mean jack.”

Mimi watched her carefully. “Where are his tattoos, for the sake of argument?”

Anna closed her eyes for a brief moment, and the image of Rocco’s body flashed behind her lids. “He’s got a crucifix over his heart, with
In Nomine Patris, et Filii, et Spiritus Sancti
written beside it. Then he’s got a gun just over his left hip. And then...right on his...”

“Say it!” Mimi pressed. “Is it on it?”

“No! It’s just above the
pubes
,” she whispered. “It says
chase the storm
.”

Mimi grinned over the rim of her wineglass. “When did he get that? Before or after he met you?”

“After,” Anna admitted. Rocco said that she’d known his body. She could have picked out that man’s body by touch and taste alone. When he showed her the new tattoo, she went all hot with pleasure and decided it was her job to make sure it healed properly by carefully rubbing in skin cream with slow strokes of her fingertips. It’d take less than a minute for Rocco to encourage her hand lower, to tell her how much better it would feel—

“Stop reminiscing! And she never mentioned any of them?”

“No. Like I said, I didn’t want details.”

Mimi sighed. “You need to talk to him.”

“No. It’s what happened, it’s over. End of story.”

“It’s not, because it’s right in front of you.”

Anna started to feel frustrated. “Why are you taking his side?”

“One, I’ve never liked Imogen. You know that. Two, you need to put this whole thing to bed. You’re clearly not sleeping properly, which means you’re going to kill his grandmother if she does the smallest thing to annoy you and I don’t want to visit you in prison.”

That blasted old woman. Maybe prison would be worth it. “Shall we order? We have to be at the show in a bit.”

“Side steps,” Mimi singsonged. “Whatever makes you feel comfortable, but you know that you’ll never deal with it unless you actually deal with it. Talk to him last year already.”

“You’re not my friend anymore,” Anna muttered.

Chapter Eight

Rocco looked in the bottom of his bottle of beer. Beppe was pulling notes from a huge roll of cash. “Cannot believe G got us in here for free. Again.”

“You think Gina still strips on the sly?” Beppe asked.

Rocco appreciated that idea for a half second. “Doubt it. She lasted ten minutes, that’s what I can’t believe. Can’t see her trying to slide down the pole and falling asleep before she’s half finished.”

“Good point. Do you think she’ll let me take a sample of blood? I’m thinking about sedatives.”

“No.” Rocco choked a laugh.

“What’s wrong with you?” Beppe demanded. “Is it still Anna?”

Rocco sent him a dirty look. “No, SARS. Yes, of course it’s Anna!”

Beppe ignored the taunt. “Nick can’t wait to be reacquainted, by the way. Get you back for the ‘hot for a black chick’ comment.”

Rocco growled, “He can fuck off about that, I was winding him up. Easiest thing on the planet when it comes to Gina.”

“I do miss those early days. That was fun. Good times.” Beppe sighed. “But you need to be prepared to get it fourfold. I think there were days when Tony was almost in tears when he first met Lyds coz of Nick. He’ll be happy to comedy roast you.”

“Again, he can jog on.”

Beppe rolled his shoulders. “Ah well. It’ll be fun for me anyways. Did you tell her about Imogen?”

“Oh, get this. Imogen was in the office and was all imperious with me. Like she was defending her friend.”

“That crazy bitch wouldn’t know a friend if it slapped her in the face with a dick. Did you tell Anna what she did at your birthday?”

Rocco snorted. “Mate. Even I think you’re lying about that.”

“Why would I lie? No one has ever done that to me. I have never dry heaved like that in my life.” Beppe made dramatic motions with his hands. “You know what? I can feel it repeating on me.”

“Calm down.”

“Would Anna listen to me?”

“Nope,” Rocco said shortly, peeling at the beer label. “But then, today was the first time we’d had a conversation where she didn’t threaten to throw something at my head.”

“Ah, well that can only be a good thing.” Beppe leaned into Rocco’s view. “Sorry to say, mate, but you may have to treat this like you did cheat.”

“I did not touch that
skank
.”

“That’s not my point. I mean, does she think at the end of the day that you’re sorry?”

That gave him serious pause. He’d been so intent on proving his innocence to Anna, he hadn’t let her know that if he could have done anything differently, he would have told her he was sorry she’d been hurt. A stripper approached their table, with a glossy smile and perfectly mussed hair. “Private dance for you?”

“No thank you,
bedda
.” Rocco sighed, taking one of Beppe's notes and tucking it into her g-string. She gave him a wink and moved on. What was it that another beer wouldn’t assist with? “I’m going for a slash.”

“Nice,” Beppe answered. “Think about it.”

“In the minute and a half it’ll take to go and come back? All right then.”

“And cheer the fuck up too,” Beppe called out after him.

Beppe waited until Rocco was two tables away, then removed his friend’s phone. He hadn’t lifted a mobile in years. “Still got it,” he murmured to himself. Humming along to the Britney song that was playing in the background, he pulled up Anna’s number.

Someone answered who was not Anna.

“Is that Rocco?”

“No, and you’re not Anna.”

“No, Interested Party. She’s gone to get us a drink. Tell me where you are and I’ll get her to you guys. Things need straightening out.”

“What a thoroughly intelligent woman you are. We’re at Sun Lounge. Fair warning, it’s a strip club. But to be honest, it was our friend’s idea and she’s a girl, a pregnant one at that, so. Yeah.”

“Okay, I’ve got to go,” mystery woman said slowly. “See you in about half an hour.”

“Later.”

Beppe deftly ordered shots and enough beers to keep Rocco in one place for half an hour. Or at the very least at the edge of passed out. Maybe a little of that powder he’d been experimenting with would do the trick? No, he swore to himself, no more human testing. Okay, just this once. It’d do Rocco the world of good.