Damn the Pancrizios’ values. They valued family. That trait might’ve been the only good thing about them.
“We can even meet for lunch or coffee,” she pressed, twirling her red hair. “Whatever works best for her.”
“We really aren’t that close, Josephine,” Devin snapped, his mind racing.
Had Jo sent Grell the invitation and the red shoes? But— Fuck!
“You two are on good terms. Besides, I want to apologize for how I acted at the party. The amount of drinking I did stoked my jealousy. I lashed out for no reason. When you think about it, she could’ve been a random woman asking for directions.”
Fuck, had he been made? Somehow blown his cover. He choked.
She frowned at him. “What’s wrong?”
He thrust his fingers through his hair. “Like I said, we aren’t that close.”
Her smile didn’t reach her eyes. “Then she and I will go on our own and grab a coffee or a drink. It’s important that I apologize to her.”
Shit, he was overreacting.
His cover wasn’t blown, else he’d be dead right now. If it had been Jo who’d found out, she would’ve wasted no time running to Clemente with the news.
Devin had to stay calm and not overreact. Despite how badly Jo wanted to meet Grell, she wasn’t in town, so he didn’t have to worry about a face-to-face meeting.
Jo’s insistence on meeting his wife unsettled Devin. Pancrizio women didn’t play any bigger role in Clemente’s family than the mob women from other families.
“I’ll see if I can find her, Jo,” he lied.
“This can be a chance for you two to catch up on old times and me to get to know you a little better. Just think about it. We can discuss it again in a few days.”
“We’ll see,” he answered, noncommittal.
“The date with her would make me very happy. As long as I’m happy, Clem is happy.”
He nodded, the underlying threat annoying the shit out of him.
She beamed. “Great!”
Not in a million fucking years. For him, it was anything but great. It backed him into a corner.
For him, this could be disastrous with any solution he came up with.
Chapter Eight
Grell
“You’re a doll to let me drop in on such short notice.” Jo strutted into the hotel room, which resembled a studio apartment, and lowered her dark sunglasses.
A mixture of anger and curiosity shot through Grell. Her high emotions didn’t help her throbbing head in the least. She and the girls had been holed up in an extended stay hotel, located in Sparks, just southeast of Reno, for six days.
Her daughters were growing restless, stuck in their room, with only a limited number of toys. Not long after Devin left them at the motel in Tonopah, Grell had felt the dull ache of a dawning migraine.
Praying she didn’t descend into headache hell, she’d taken a quick shower since the girls were awake by then. After grabbing drive-thru food, Grell had continued her journey, deciding on Sparks because she’d heard it was slightly safer than Reno.
The girls had been tired and cranky, and the dull ache hadn’t yet progressed to massive pain. Grell managed to keep them entertained until bedtime, then she’d crashed too. When she awakened the next morning, she knew she was in trouble. After not suffering a migraine for two months, she could barely lift her head.
Grell tried to stay prepared for these events, which had become less frequent with a change of medication. Usually her friend made herself available to help out with Hope and Bella. This time, though, Theo was hours away. She’d brought a limited amount of activities for the girls to easily access. At home, they had bins filled with blocks and playdough and puzzles, crayons, and coloring books.
Without invitation, Jo glided to where Hope and Bella sat side-by-side on the sofa, watching a kid’s show. Grell huffed in a breath, slamming the door shut.
How had this woman even found her?
Jo halted, her oversized, shaggy fur coat swirling with the abrupt move. She stared at the two little girls, and her mouth fell open.
Grell leaned against the wall, thankful she felt slightly better today than she had yesterday, but she could still barely focus from the pounding in her head.
“Hi,” Hope said, lining her feet together and squeezing her toes.
“Hi,” Bella echoed, waving. She leaned over and grabbed her sippy cup from the coffee table, eyeing Jo with curiosity.
A wrinkle creased Jo’s brow. “They share an extraordinary resemblance to Devin,” she tossed over her shoulder. Presenting her perfect profile, she smirked.
Unease slid into Grell, and she squeezed her eyes shut, trying to focus. But the noise from the TV nauseated her.
“Your daddy definitely spit you two out,” Jo continued.
Hope and Bella were undeniably Devin’s daughters. They shared his dark brown hair and startling blue eyes. Now that Hope’s features were transforming from toddler to a little kid’s, her resemblance to Devin was unmistakable.
“Daddy!” Bella screamed. “I want Daddy, Mommie.”
Hope got to her feet and rushed to Jo. She craned her neck back so far to look up, Grell feared she’d tip over.
“Where’s Daddy?” Hope demanded.
Instead of answering the question, Jo smiled, surprising warmth on her face. She held out her hand. “I’m Jo,” she announced.
“Miss Jo,” Grell inserted, forcing firmness into her tone and stepping around the other woman. “Come on, girls. Mommie has to talk to Miss Jo. Go in our bedroom and play blocks for five minutes.”
Hope eyed Jo.
“Now, Hope,” Grell ordered, determined to get through this. “You too, Bella.”
The more cooperating of her two daughters, her youngest slid to her feet, popped a thumb in her mouth, then followed Hope to the room with a comfortable king-sized bed that they all shared.
“Please, have a seat.” Grell indicated the sofa where Bella had been sitting, then walked the few steps to the bedroom to peep at her girls.
Hope was rolling on the floor. With no carpet to cushion her, Grell couldn’t imagine how uncomfortable that was. Bella leaned against the bed, still sucking her thumb and using her free hand to slap the plastic blocks.
Sighing, Grell decided to leave them be. She didn’t have the energy to direct their attention away from thumb sucking and floor rolling. “Five minutes,” she said again, praying Hope might gauge how long that would be based on her timeouts. One minute for each year. Hope was already up to six minutes, something Grell still found hard to believe.
She left the door ajar before walking back out into the living area, complete with kitchenette, and facing Jo. The woman had removed her coat, revealing a clingy, long-sleeved silk dress. The emerald color made the green in her hazel eyes outstanding.
Grabbing her mass of long, red hair, Jo situated it over her shoulder, allowing it to cascade past her belly. “Faux fur,” she announced, sitting on the sofa and crossing her legs. The short hem revealed toned thighs. “My coat.”
Grell blinked as Jo’s meaning dawned on her, then staggered to the other end of the sofa to sit. “It is really lovely.”
“Got to be socially conscious.” She folded her hands and rested them in her lap, her eyes gleaming. “You don’t look well. Are you okay?”
“I suffer with migraines,” she said on a swallow. “This latest episode has been particularly bad.”
Jo winced. “Oh, doll face, I am so sorry.”
Not really. Her sugary tone wove into Grell’s brain, bringing her to the realization she should’ve had when Jo first called last night. The woman had no interest in Grell’s wellness or even being her friend, only her competition. She wanted Devin . . . Fitz. What was wrong about that name? Vague panic ran through her, but she couldn’t pinpoint a reason.
Not that it mattered. Grell had absolutely no reason to continue their guise of pleasantry. The sooner the point of this visit was revealed, the so
oner Jo would leave and Grell could crawl back into bed.
“What do you want?” she demanded. “You called, out of the blue, to ask us to go to lunch. Not only do you seem to be a long way from Las Vegas, but I didn’t give you my number.”
Jo kept her expression serene. “I have my ways.” She flicked an unseen particle from her dress.
“Why are you here?” Grell demanded again, increasingly uneasy. It really didn’t matter that she had the number. The point was moot now, anyway. Jo was already there. Had she not been suffering with her migraine, Grell would’ve questioned the other woman more. Devin was using Jo to bring down the shadowy figures he sought and had insisted Grell hide to get out of danger. For some reason, though, she hadn’t thought of any of those things. She’d just been curious as to why Jo was calling and even more curious to know what she and Devin had been up to. “I think it’s time for you to leave. My head is really in a bad way. I doubt I will be a very good hostess.”
“Pssshhh.” Jo waved Grell’s words away. “I won’t take long.”
“I want you to leave.”
Jo cocked her head to the side, her mouth thinning into a hard line. “Do you know what it feels like to be made a fool of? Be a woman scorned?”
Frowning, Grell licked her lips, her instincts warning of danger. If Jo was here, speaking of scorned women, then where was Devin? Devin.
Devin. Jo had called him Devin, not Fitz. Grell’s heart lurched, and another blinding pain went through her head. Where was her husband? Had Devin been identified as a rat and taken care of?
Drawing in a deep breath, she willed herself to calm down. She still had Hope and Bella to save, and Jo had identified them as Devin’s daughters.
She . . . never mind. It didn’t matter. She had to keep Jo calm and, somehow, get her to leave. Hope and Bella were in more danger than Grell herself. They could always be used as leverage against Grell or Devin.
At the moment, the trick was not hinting to Jo that Grell knew that she was aware of their true identities.
She lowered her lashes. “Every woman has been scorned at some point. It is the most horrendous experience in the world.”
“Exactly, and I’m a Pancrizio through and through. We don’t share and we don’t like to be duped. It just makes you feel so brainless and crushes your pride.”
Grell nodded, wishing she wasn’t as sluggish. Whatever else happened, protecting her kids was the most important thing. Jo opened her purse and took a small bottle out. Uncrossing her legs, she stood, compelling Grell to get to her feet. As she began to back up, Jo raised her hand and blasted Grell’s face with a stream of water.
Gasping, she raised her hands to block another spray. Jo shoved her against the wall and started for her again. Grell pushed Jo with all her might, but her vision was beginning to blur and her muscles were weakening. She staggered forward, blinked, and sank to her knees.
“Come up. We’re ready.”
Jo’s voice echoed around Grell, but she couldn’t make sense of anything. She stretched out on the floor and stared at the ceiling, struggling to regain consciousness. Awake, for the time being, she lay in a fog, having no sense of reality or awareness.
Chapter Nine
Devin
Nine days into the new year, Devin’s life was spiraling out of control. He hadn’t seen Grell since he’d found her in Tonopah, then left because Jo wouldn’t leave him alone. He’d spoken to his handler two days after riding away from his family, in the interest of the case.
He’d had to be very careful, so he’d gone to a Mini Mart near the Strip, and used a payphone to schedule a meeting, which took place the following afternoon at a downtown eatery, right off E. Carson Street, a block from Fremont. The meeting had lasted long enough for Devin to polish off his burger and fries.
With the possibility of a blown cover, Devin was told the investigation had to come to a close. He didn’t disagree, determined to bring the operation to a close before the thirty days he was given. For extra protection, he was assigned a surveillance group for backup.
He’d kept as close to Clemente as he could, although he didn’t know Jo’s location. This morning, Clem called Devin and summoned him to a meeting at a hotel in the heart of the city.
Following the directions he’d been given, Devin bypassed the hustle and bustle of the main property and turned onto a side street, hidden in the shadows of the mega-resort’s glass buildings. The road was quiet, insulated with landscaped flowers and hedges that ended at tall stucco walls and wrought-iron vehicle entrances. The boutique hotel was concealed within the shadow of one of its parent resorts. It was the stuff of legends, an urban myth that not many people had personally seen. Devin certainly hadn’t.
When Devin reached the property, the security gates opened, as if they were awaiting his arrival. As the gates closed behind him, he continued down the stone driveway, where a Mediterranean-style villa rose up to greet him, a palace in the middle of the Strip. In the center stood a huge fountain, where the sound of the flowing water enriched his surroundings.
“Mr. Bradshaw,” a uniformed man greeted at the door, once Devin got out of his car and headed for the entrance. “I am Masterson. I’m at your service, sir.”
He nodded, admiring the butler’s pristine finery. “Thank you.” Not that he believed he’d have need of Masterson’s service. He would keep the meeting with Clemente as short as possible, then call Grell. Maybe, drive to Reno and visit her and his daughters. They could picnic in a park.
“Mr. Pancrizio is expecting you,” Masterson broke in. “If you will follow me.”
“Lead the way,” Devin said pleasantly, his annoyance toward Clemente soothed by thoughts of visiting his family.
He wasn’t one to gawk, yet it felt as if he’d stepped into another world with all the expensive appointments and gleaming marble. Spying an elaborate double door, he headed that way, opened one, then stepped outside.
Landscaped gardens surrounded bistro style tables and seating. The cold January morning was crisp and clear, and the smell of food in the air watered Devin’s mouth.
“I’ll take it from here, Masterson,” Gabiano said, walking out onto the terrace, and ruining the scene for Devin.
“Of course, sir,” Masterson said, then turned and walked away.
Gabiano scowled at Devin. “He’s waiting for you. What took you so long?”
Annoyance surging into him, Devin stuffed his red tie back inside his suit jacket. In this exclusive place, he had to look the part. He started forward, bounding up the three steps to join Gabiano.
“I’m here now, aren’t I?” Devin drawled, very aware of the camera hidden in his lapel pin, although he knew he was safe. The jewelry appeared to be nothing out of the ordinary.
“Come on.” Gabiano went to the terrace door and walked in.
Wanting to get this over with, Devin didn’t hesitate to follow the other man inside. Once again, opulence greeted him. Works of art hung on the walls, museum-worthy masterpieces. Polished travertine floors added to the timeless elegance, while elaborate archways marched down the long, gleaming hallway. Bunches of fresh flowers in huge crystal vases gave the room a pop of color. He noted an entrance to the exclusive restaurant, available only to those who had rooms in this elite place. They walked into the gated courtyard and headed for the villa with its French doors open.
Gabiano stepped aside to allow Devin to precede him inside. He only had the chance to note the door closing, the Old-World charm of the setting and two other men lingering in the shadows, before Clem grabbed his attention.
“You made it.”
Devin’s lips thinned. “You made it sound as if I didn’t have much choice.”
Clearing her throat, Jo made her presence known. She sat on an elaborate sofa situated in an alcove, reading a magazine. Glancing up, she sidled a sly smile at Devin, then set the magazine aside. “Hi,” she cooed.
At her greeting, he started forward, immediately blocked by one of Clem�
�s goons. “Where’ve you been, Jo?” he gritted, irritated at their treatment of him.
“Around,” she responded.
“What does—”
“Devin,” Clemente interrupted, sipping red wine. Carefully, he set the glass down and leaned back in his fancy armchair. “I have a surprise for you.”
“I’m with you every day,” Devin snapped, not liking the tension in the room. “It couldn’t have waited until I visited you later?”
Clem’s slow smile didn’t comfort Devin. “You decide,” he said, then nodded at a closed door.
Jo’s giggle grated on Devin. “I helped with your surprise.”
Resembling Stripe from the old movie, Gremlins, Gabiano hurried and did as bade, dragging Grell into the room. Bruises and wounds marred her face, hands, and arms. To Devin, it seemed as if she’d been jabbed with a knife repeatedly, just enough to make her bleed.
“Grell,” he whispered, her real name slipping out in his moment of shock and fear.
“Indeed, it is, Devin,” Clem boasted, the fury turning the almost cheery sound chilling.
“Where are my children?” Grell demanded, in a scratchy, watery voice that made Devin’s heart turn over.
Dread settled into him, but before he spoke, Clem tasted his wine again before getting to his feet, prompting Jo to stand as well.
Two men advanced from Devin’s right side. He stood so near the door, he could’ve turned and ran, but he wouldn’t leave Grell. By the time the thought crossed his mind, she’d delivered a roundhouse kick to Gabiano, smashing her foot against the bodyguard’s head and clearing her escape route.
The other two men seized Devin before he had a chance to react. His wife gave one an uppercut and a right hook, allowing Devin an even advantage, which he seized upon and slammed his elbow against the asshole’s nose. Blood spurted onto Devin as the asshole screamed and grabbed his nose. Jo rushed toward him, raising a gun and aiming it at Grell’s head because she’d stopped to grab his hand.
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