“I wasn’t—I didn’t mean—” Horrified he would think that, Quinn stepped closer and put her hand on his shoulder. “Reif, please. Believe me, I wasn’t making fun of you. I wouldn’t. Ever.”
He slanted a look down at her. She felt trapped in the brilliant green of his eyes as he studied her. Heat swirled between them. Even where they weren’t touching she felt it. She wondered if he did, too.
He moved again, away from her. “What I was going to say was we could go get something to eat and then buy a bed and anything else you think the spare room needs. I haven’t lived here that long and I never got around to finishing the other bedroom.”
Her first morning here and he had no qualms about taking her out in public? Where anyone could see her? Anyone could find her? Hadn’t Tony told him why she was here? She’d expected Reif to keep her under lock and key, to keep her prisoner once she’d arrived, like some safe house straight out of Law & Order. But apparently that’s not what Reif had in mind.
She thought of the package she was supposed to give Reif. The one containing the burner cell phone so he and Tony could communicate, along with an envelope with Reif’s name on it. The package was buried in the bottom of her suitcase, along with her supply of cash.
An idea began to form in her mind, centered around what Reif apparently didn’t know. She didn’t see how this teeny tiny lack of knowledge could hurt him. What Tony didn’t know wouldn’t hurt him either. LA might provide her with the perfect opportunity to finally have some freedom while staying hidden at the same time. She was on the other side of the country. What could go wrong?
Quinn decided to join Reif’s effort at normalcy. He wanted to pretend this morning hadn’t happened. For a little while, anyway, she could let him.
Reif stood in the shower, trying to get the image of Quinn out of his head. Bullshit. He wasn’t trying to do anything of the sort. He was reliving every nuance of when he’d woken up, every moment they’d spent in the other’s presence, every word, every gesture, every raised eyebrow, every giggle. Half of it he was probably making up to fill in the gaps, but he didn’t care.
Each of those images was so fresh, so out of the ordinary, they seemed branded into his brain. From peering down into the depths of her eyes while he was still atop her this morning to just a few moments ago, he’d memorized it all. Did she have any idea at all how sexy she was wearing only that camisole and jeans? Even the memory of her bare feet, the toes painted a bright, perky shade of crimson, had been imprinted on his brain.
As his best friend’s sister, she was an honored guest in his home. Yet he hadn’t met her flight, or gotten her a bed of her own yet. Then there’d been the whole strangest-surprise-to-wake-up-to-ever, and to top it off, he couldn’t even offer her a piece of toast or a bowl of cereal. He’d been a lousy host so far but he promised himself he’d make it up to her.
He was kind of looking forward to going food shopping with her. Normally, he didn’t think too much about where or how he ate. Building up and maintaining his security consulting business had consumed so much of his time the past few years, he’d had virtually no social life. Except for a few close friends, his business partners and a few others, he didn’t go out, didn’t entertain. Meals were lunches at the office and takeout on the way home unless he had a business dinner. Based on what he’d seen so far, Quinn could be an interesting dinner companion. The alcohol finally seemed to have evaporated out of his system, and despite his recent sexual encounter and the fact he was standing under a stream of tepid water, he was becoming aroused all over again.
This wouldn’t do. For one thing, he wasn’t going to be having sex at any time in the foreseeable future. And never again with Quinn. He would not, could not, betray Tony’s trust by engaging in a casual sexual relationship with his little sister. Not going to happen, Reif assured himself. No way. No how.
And if she was pregnant?
That thought stopped him cold. As she’d said, it was unlikely. But men more cautious than he’d been this morning had gotten caught in that situation, so he couldn’t rule it out. Proposing marriage had been a dumb idea anyway. The fact they barely knew each other aside, he wasn’t ready for that kind of lifetime commitment. Quinn wasn’t either. Vaguely he wondered how long she would be underfoot, eating his food, using his stuff, filling the place with laughter, her perfect breasts covered by only a thin layer of cotton… He switched the shower dial from lukewarm to ice cold.
He had a feeling he might be doing that a lot.
When he was done, Reif waited for Quinn at the bottom of the stairs. She came down wearing a short denim skirt paired with a long-sleeved vee-neck cotton sweater and a black belt. Easy. Perfect. And, he thought, classy. She also had a denim jacket with her and a small black shoulder bag.
Reif forgot to breathe as he watched her come down the stairs. He wished he was back under that cold shower. Quinn Fontana embodied a combination of sexiness and innocence that packed a punch, like getting a whiff of baby powder and Calvin Klein’s Obsession at the same time.
He was five years older but at that moment, he felt all of sixteen with a powerful crush on a girl he knew he’d never have.
He didn’t realize he was gawking until she was standing in front of him.
“Is this okay? Is something wrong? I wasn’t sure what to wear.”
“Huh? What?” He mentally shook himself, like a dog coming out of a cold lake. “Yeah, sure. It’s fine.”
A horn beeped out on the street and he hustled her out the door, punched in the code for the security system, and locked the door behind him. At least he’d had enough wits to call a cab, remembering that he’d left his wheels back at the club.
* * * * *
It wasn’t long before they were perusing menus and ordering food at a bistro with outdoor tables. “So, what’s going on in Coral Bay?” Reif was starving, and she must have been as well.
“In Coral Bay?” Quinn tried to deflect the question. She’d donned a pair of sunglasses, as had Reif. The morning was still cool even though the sun shone clear and bright. She took a sip of orange juice.
“I know Tony’s been worried about you. He told me a while ago he might need to send you here on short notice.”
“He didn’t tell you why?”
“Not really. He was rushed and stressed and the connection was bad but he said he couldn’t call back. Basically he just asked if he could send you here if he needed to.”
“Of course you said yes.” Quinn looked directly at him.
“Of course. There’s not much I wouldn’t do for your brother.”
While Quinn considered how to respond, Reif went on. “I’m assuming you’re in some kind of trouble. I thought he’d give me more details before you arrived.”
Quinn chewed her lip, stalling. How could she play this so Reif wouldn’t panic and hustle her back to the house and lock her in? She had to start talking before he got suspicious. “There’s a restaurant called The Turtle Club, on the water right between two of the big hotels. I was a hostess there so that put me in the perfect position to observe meetings and overhear conversations which were of interest to certain branches of law enforcement.”
“They recruited you to spy for them?” Reif was no dummy. She’d have to be quick to stay a step ahead of him. She nodded. “Dad and Tony weren’t too thrilled with the idea of me being an FBI informant, but they wanted to clean up the town as much as the feds, so they agreed I was the logical candidate. Besides, the risk was minimal.”
“Huh. Knowing how protective your dad and Tony are I thought there must be a boyfriend they didn’t approve of.”
Damn, why hadn’t she gone with that instead?
Reif leaned forward. “You were working undercover? For the FBI?”
“I was just an informant. They put a neat little camera in my jacket lapel that did most of the work.”
“So what are we talkin
g about here?” He lowered his voice. “Gangs? Organized crime? Drug trafficking?”
Quinn looked at the tables around them. No one appeared interested in the two of them. Still, there was no reason not to be cautious. “The second thing you said.”
“Jesus.”
“The feds were afraid their operation had been compromised, and they wanted to put me in protective custody, but…”
Quinn sensed the beat of the city, its citizens all going in different directions, life moving along as it always did. She wanted to be part of it just for a little while. If she told Reif about witnessing a mob execution and the attack on the safe house, if she gave him the package Tony had entrusted to her, Reif would hustle her back to his house, lock the doors and windows and sit on her until the trial. She’d give the package to Reif. Eventually. But until then, she assured herself again, what he didn’t know wouldn’t hurt him.
“But?” Reif prompted.
Quinn improvised “But Tony didn’t trust them to keep me safe. Too many leaks. He thought I’d be safer here. With you.”
Reif frowned. “I wish I could justify his faith in me.”
“Reif, please.” Quinn covered his hand with hers. “Stop beating yourself up about what happened.”
“I don’t think I can.”
Their food arrived and she removed her hand from his. Her stomach growled at the sight of the veggie omelet. For a few moments they both addressed their meals before Reif spoke. “You know after Tony called me I did some research. I read about two men being murdered in a parking garage. You’re not connected to that, are you?”
“One of them was a busboy at The Turtle Club. He was just a kid, in the wrong place at the wrong time.” Quinn managed to keep her tone even and matter-of-fact. She wasn’t telling Reif everything but she also wasn’t telling him anything that wasn’t true.
“But there was nothing in the Coral Bay Banner’s online account about a connection to organized crime, even though it sounded to me like one of those guys took a double tap to the head.”
“Of course not,” Quinn said. “Do you know what that would do to the county’s tourism industry?”
“You can’t be serious. The local press would cover up something like that?”
“Most of the paper is comprised of advertisement. Who do you think advertises in the Banner? Real estate companies. Hotels. Restaurants. Marinas. No one’s going to invest in a waterfront condo or take a vacation where they’re likely to stumble across dead bodies due to mob hits.” Quinn buttered a croissant. “Besides, I’m sure the cops were less than forthcoming with the details. It’s not like anyone wants to believe what’s happening there. It started slowly and spread before they could get a handle on it. Kind of like cancer.”
Reif seemed to think about what she said for a moment. “But you need to keep a low profile while you’re here.”
Quinn’s brow wrinkled. “I think it’s highly unlikely anyone will connect me with you. Not anyone in the mob anyway.”
“You might be surprised. They could have a network you and I wouldn’t even be able to imagine. Plus they have money. Lots of it. Which can be quite useful when you’re looking for information. All they have to do is investigate Tony’s background, find out who he’s close to. Who would help him. They’re probably doing the same with your dad even though he’s retired. I’m guessing neither of them will be in touch with me for a while.”
“I won’t be kept under lock and key while I’m here,” Quinn informed him. “So you can forget that.”
“If they wanted you in protective custody your testimony must be more valuable than you realize. So just be careful, would you? Especially when I’m not around.”
She grinned. “So I don’t have to be careful when you are?”
“No. You better be even more careful then. I think this morning proved to both of us that I’m not very good at protecting anyone.”
“And yet you work in security,” Quinn quipped. “Besides, now that I know what you’re capable of hasn’t it occurred to you I don’t want to be protected from you?”
Reif blushed again. What had Tony and her dad been so worried about? Flirting was fun. Sex could be great. Well, at least sex with Reif had been great. She’d been deprived and later disappointed in that area for far too long. She had a lot of time to make up for. She was going to live her life on her terms and Reif was going to help her. Whether he wanted to or not.
Chapter Four
Vinnie “The Nose” Pellegrino closed the office door quietly and stood silent in the dim corridor, his narrowed dark eyes darting back and forth, before he turned right and hustled out of the building.
Blessed with a suspicious nature and an almost uncanny ability to spot a phony, Vinnie had slowly, carefully worked his way into a position of favor in the Carboni family. The elder, Paul “Pops” Carboni, had come to rely on Vinnie more and more as “The Nose” continued to build an extensive information network both inside and outside the family.
Once on the street, Vinnie returned to his black STS. Puccini poured forth from the sound system, soothing the frown lines from Vinnie’s olive complexion, allowing him to relax. He’d stop at Petsmart on the way home and pick up some treats for his babies. He’d grab dinner to go at Olive Garden, have a nice glass of red wine and contemplate his most pressing problem.
Make that problems.
Snitch and Snatch barreled into him the moment he opened the door to their room. He greeted them, chuckling at their squirming bodies and inquisitive noses. They sniffed for the treats he’d hidden in his pockets.
He’d outfitted their room with a variety of playthings and carpeted towers designed for cats, as well as special beds and places for them to hide. It wasn’t like he ever had guests and after Snatch had chewed nearly all the way through one of the cords in the computer room, Vinnie realized he didn’t want to come home one day to fried ferret.
He dropped into the easy chair he kept there and they were immediately all over him, scurrying across the back of the chair, putting their noses in his ears and his pockets before he handed them each a Bandit.
The ferrets entertained him in a way little else in his life did. They were relatively low maintenance as pets went. He’d grown rather fond of these two. He fed them, refilled their water and cleaned their litter boxes. “Time for Daddy’s dinner now,” he told them. They were probably ready for a nap anyway.
While he ate his pasta and sipped his wine, Vinnie thought about how bad Tony Fontana smelled. He reeked, in fact. Vinnie’s nose had picked up on it almost immediately, but Pops had waved away Vinnie’s warnings about “The Kid,” as he now affectionately referred to Fontana.
The Kid had done a number on the old man, that was for sure. Paul Carboni, who’d been nicknamed “Pops” not because of his fatherly nature, but because he’d been so quick to pop anyone who got in his way when he was younger, had gotten soft and practically adopted Tony Fontana after the cop offered to trade information in exchange for wiping his gambling debts at the mob-controlled Indian casino. Of course, that was after Fontana had saved Pops’ life on a crowded Miami street.
Vinnie, the nephew of Pops’ second cousin on his mother’s side, had spent years trying to get close to the old man. Tony Fontana had just waltzed in, accidentally saved the old man’s life, worked a couple of deals with the local cops, gave Pops some information on an FBI investigation, and he was in like Flynn. Tony’s gambling debt, which Vinnie was convinced had been part of some double blind undercover gig, had been forgiven. Tony had set himself up as a dirty cop to worm his way into the organization. Pops had fallen for his act, but Vinnie wasn’t buying it.
It didn’t matter if Fontana flashed his badge or his night school law degree. With his fast-talking, quick-thinking style, he and Pops were like father and son.
It made Vinnie want to puke.
Paul Carboni,
Jr., had been killed in a boating accident at the age of fifteen. Pops had mourned the loss of his only son far beyond the normal grieving period. Tony Fontana not only bore a slight resemblance to the younger Carboni, he also possessed the same rapid fire wit, tempered with what appeared to be sincere respect for the old man.
Mostly it seemed Pops found The Kid entertaining. He used him as a sounding board for personnel, tactical or legal problems. The Carboni organization had an entire fleet of expensive attorneys at various law firms on both Florida coasts on retainer, but Pops had begun second-guessing them, deferring to Tony’s suggestions at an alarming rate.
The other problem with Tony being so close to the old man was that he knew too much. Pops didn’t seem bothered by this at all. He didn’t seem bothered by the fact that Quinn Fontana was Tony’s sister. Vinnie thought maybe Pops was losing his marbles, and he wasn’t the only one.
Ever since Pops’ quadruple by-pass surgery last year, there had been rumors that Pops was being phased out. The big boss up in Jersey hadn’t been too keen on Pops’ expansion beyond Dade County to begin with. Pops had messed up before but now Tony’s sister had witnessed one of their guys taking out the hired gun the Gambiani’s had sent to take out Pops.
Pops hadn’t listened when Vinnie had said taking out Nick Rosetti in a public place was a bad idea. Pops had wanted to make a statement. He wanted the Gambianis to back away from Coral Bay. He was there first. He’d seen the opportunity for expansion. He’d muscled his way into the Indian casinos. Pops planned to own not only the town but the county and he wanted to send a message to George Gambiani—get out. Pops could do anything he damn well pleased, including taking out a rival family’s gun.
And so Nick Rosetti had been executed. Neatly. Cleanly. A double shot right between the eyes from a gun held by Benny Strollo. And Benny just happened to be the big boss’s Godson.
But Pops’ plan had not been nearly as clean as if they’d simply grabbed Rosetti, taken him out to one of the canals, shot him and left him for the alligators. Pops’ plan had also killed a bystander and left a witness, Quinn. Benny had been arrested for murder and denied bail. He’d been sitting in the county lock-up awaiting trial ever since.
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