He’d incurred some gambling debts and owed some unsavory characters money he didn’t have as part of his cover. But the way events unfolded after that had taken the investigation in a whole new direction.
Three months ago he’d exited a Starbucks on Lincoln Road with a double tall cappuccino when he saw an entire tableau about to take place. He had excellent situational awareness. No matter where he was, he was aware of his surroundings in a way few others ever were.
He’d seen the gunman, and he’d seen the target, an older man about to get into a black Cadillac. A younger man held the door for him, his back to the gunman.
It would be quick, Tony realized. A pop of a bullet, probably two, because something about all three men screamed organized crime. Tony operated on instinct. He was close enough to the Cadillac to scream, “Gun!” at the top of his lungs and dive for the old man, knocking him to the ground.
A shot was fired, then another. The old man’s companion went down, red blooming across his chest. Pedestrians screamed and ran for cover. Tony peered cautiously over the door but the gunman had disappeared into the crowd or into a waiting vehicle. No way to tell.
Tony called it in. One look at the guy on the ground told him he wasn’t going to make it but he asked for an ambulance anyway.
He helped the old man up. It was then that Tony realized who he’d saved. Paul “Pops” Carboni, head of the Carboni crime family.
Pops had gone out of his way to show his gratitude to Tony. The FBI had moved in and quickly taken advantage of the situation. With Tony’s cooperation they had set him up as a double agent of sorts. Since Carboni knew he was a cop, they’d go along with the plan to paint him as corruptible. But now he’d also feed Carboni “information” while getting close to his operation.
It shouldn’t have been as easy as it was. That’s what Tony thought from the start. He’d gone along with it because he’d thought it just might work. Paul Carboni was no fool. He hadn’t got where he was by being played. But the task force wasn’t getting anywhere in south Florida and this plan seemed better than any other that had tried and failed.
Quinn had also been tapped to help out, because she worked in the restaurant that had become a favorite of the local hoods. Not that she had to do much except wear a pin with a camera attached to it at work. Everyone, even his father, agreed the risk would be minimal.
But they couldn’t predict that the warring crime families would choose the restaurant’s garage to take out Nick Rosetti. Quinn and her coworker had been there when it happened. The hitman had shot Julio, and Quinn would have been killed too if a car hadn’t pulled in just then and the gunman had bolted. But she’d seen the man who’d pulled the trigger, and he had seen her. She was the only eye witness to the murders.
After the debacle at the safe house, Tony had managed to get her on a plane out of Florida. The only other people who knew where she was right now was their father and Tony’s liaison with the FBI. Tony planned to keep it that way. As far as everyone else knew, Quinn had simply disappeared.
The D.A. had decided to move forward with a trial and try to get a conviction using Quinn’s deposition. But it would be a much stronger case if Quinn were there to testify in person. Tony was determined, with the help of his best friend, she would be.
As the trial date grew near, when he couldn’t sleep because his thoughts went round in circles, he called up his memories of Emma Callaghan for comfort.
It helped to pretend she was here now, lying in his arms already asleep, her hair spilling across the pillow. Reif would kill him if he ever found out Tony had slept with Emma, but the truth was Tony’d had a thing for Emma from the moment they’d met when he was in college and he never forgot her.
When their paths crossed again, he was on a flight back home after an intense eight weeks of training at FBI headquarters. There she was, offering him something to drink from the cart parked in the middle of the aisle.
Their eyes met and held. He knew she recognized him. But she was working, so he asked for a Diet Coke and let it go. Later, when everyone had been served she strolled down the aisle and he’d watched her, a slender vision in a blue uniform dress with the funny tie at the throat and a name tag on her lapel.
“Hi, Tony.” She smiled that smile of hers and he was lost.
“Hi, Emma.” He couldn’t think of anything else to say. Some undercover cop in training he was shaping up to be.
“It’s great to see you. How have you been?” She was managing far better than he was.
“Good. I’ve been good.” More brilliant repartee. He should write poetry.
They’d made some small talk, then Emma said, “I’d love to go for a drink or coffee and catch up some more. If you have time.”
He’d stupidly agreed and then she had to go do whatever flight attendants did before landing, and he’d had no choice but to wait for her after he disembarked.
Not that he didn’t want to wait for her, it was just there was Reif to think of and what losing Reif’s friendship would feel like. They were brothers for life. Unless of course, Tony did something really stupid…like sleep with Reif’s sister.
Which he had ended up doing, of course. More than once. Because once wasn’t enough. Not by a long shot. Then things got complicated with his job, being thrust into undercover work way earlier than he’d planned. Ironically, in his “undercover” persona he was still Tony Fontana, but now he was a dirty cop. The bizarre relationship he’d developed with Paul Carboni made what he was doing ten times more dangerous. Tony had to tell Emma he couldn’t see her anymore, at least for a while. He’d assured her that as soon as things cooled off, she’d hear from him. But had it been enough?
Even now he remembered the look on her face. She wanted to believe him. But she hadn’t.
He didn’t have a choice. There was too much at risk. Reif would never forgive him if something happened to Emma because of her involvement with him. Tony couldn’t tell Emma the truth. She didn’t know where he lived. He couldn’t even tell her exactly who he worked for.
A conversation he’d had with Vinnie Pellegrino after the botched raid on the safe house had chilled him to the bone. The Nose had pegged Tony from the start. He’d never bought the dirty cop routine and he’d resented the way Pops favored Tony. Even though Pops wouldn’t listen to him, Vinnie Pellegrino was still a dangerous man.
“I found her once. I’ll find her again,” he’d assured Tony in regard to Quinn. “And when I do, I’m going to make sure you tell Pops everything. And if he hears what I think he’s gonna hear, I’m gonna enjoy watching Pops put a bullet in her head and then two in yours. Pops may not be what he once was, but his aim is still pretty good.”
Thank God Tony’d distanced himself from Emma when he had. He hadn’t seen her in months and it was killing him, but that was far better than the alternative.
But dreaming of her, holding memories of her close, had made it easier, if only a little.
Chapter Sixteen
Quinn poured herself a diet soda and plopped onto the sofa with her laptop and the remote. She tuned in to HLN. The soothing background noise of the news headlines alleviated the emptiness of the house, but didn’t distract her from concentrating on her thesis. She kept the volume just loud enough to distinguish the words so that if anything truly newsworthy came on she could hear it.
Reif and Emma had left for the airport at the same time yesterday morning. Emma was headed to San Diego. Reif had flown to New York on business. He was due back this evening. Quinn chided herself for moping while he was gone. She hadn’t expected to miss him as much as she did, though she supposed she still had his stupid bracelet to remember him by.
He’d called yesterday afternoon when he knew she should be home. This morning she’d put together a lasagna. She’d have it in the oven when Reif walked in the door. Reif had become the one person she looked forward to spending
time with as of late. She’d been behaving herself more, ever since the beach outing, but it hadn’t been easy.
What was worse, she was afraid she’d done something dumb. Something all too predictable. She’d gone and fallen in love with the man. She didn’t just want to be with Reif she wanted to be with him. All the time. In bed. Out of bed. Morning, noon and night. But if she gave in to him now, how would she ever know if he really loved her back, or if he’d just won the battle of wills they’d been engaged in?
She had to be smart about this. She couldn’t let him think he had the upper hand. She couldn’t let him think he’d won because he was just smug enough to rub her…
Quinn looked up to see a shot of a commercial airliner engulfed in flames. She increased the TV volume. “—The TransCon 737 crashed shortly after take-off from New York’s LaGuardia Airport. Although it appears that all 237 passengers and six crew members were killed, rescue efforts have been hampered by bad weather. Flight 477 was bound for Los Angeles. We’ll have further updates as they become available.
“Turning to international news—”
Quinn hit the mute button, shoved her laptop aside and moved mechanically into the kitchen. With shaking fingers she removed the magnet which held Reif’s itinerary to the refrigerator door. Her gaze dropped to the line outlining his return flight.
TransCon 477.
Quinn stared at the paper, refusing to believe what was printed there. She picked up the landline and dialed the number printed on the itinerary for TransCon Airlines. A recorded menu asked her to press various numbers for access to domestic or international reservations; arrival and departure times; lost luggage or using frequent flyer miles.
What Quinn needed more than anything at that moment was to talk to another human being. Someone who was in charge and knowledgeable. Someone who could assure her that Reif Callaghan had not been a passenger on Flight 477. She wanted a stranger with a reassuring voice to tell her that Reif had missed his flight. That he was scheduled on a later flight or that he’d taken an earlier one.
An hour ticked by as she waited for the next available TransCon representative. She moved back to the living room and flipped to the other news channels, settling on Fox News which appeared to have reporters on the scene. She was continually reassured that her call would be answered in the order it had been received and that she would not be disconnected.
Why then, did she feel so disconnected? Inside she felt as if someone had taken a giant spoon and scooped everything out of her. She couldn’t reconcile herself to the fact that she would never see Reif Callaghan again. She simply couldn’t. She refused to believe it.
“Thank you for calling TransCon. This is Sharon. May I help you?”
“I need,” Quinn choked out, “I need to find out if someone I know was on Flight 477 today.” She took a shaky breath, willing herself not to fall apart, not to start screaming at Sharon.
“Certainly ma’am. I can give you a number to call, but I can also try to transfer you from here. The switchboard might be backed up, so if we don’t get through you try again at this number I’m going to give you, all right?”
“All right,” Quinn whispered. Sharon was being so kind, so gentle. Quinn dutifully wrote out the numbers then waited while her call was transferred. She wiped the palms of her hands on her jeans, staring at the numbers on the notepad in front of her until they blurred.
The line rang and rang but Quinn refused to hang up.
Finally, the weary-sounding voice of a harried female answered. She must have been having just as rough a day dealing with hundreds of people like her. Quinn repeated her request.
“What is your relationship to the passenger?” the woman asked.
Quinn hesitated. She hadn’t expected to have to explain her relationship with Reif to a complete stranger. That was going to be hard to do since she’d never been able to explain it to herself.
He’s my best friend. He takes care of me. He makes me laugh. He keeps me safe and watches over me, but he gives me my freedom, too. He’s kind of old fashioned but in a really sweet way and I’m thinking I shouldn’t have turned him down when he asked me to marry him even though it was a really silly thing to do just because we’d slept together once.
“I’m his—he’s my—he’s my friend.”
“I’m sorry, ma’am. We can’t give out any information until we’ve notified the next of kin. Perhaps you should contact his family.”
“I see. Thank you.” Quinn hung up the phone and slid down the wall to the floor.
His family. Reif’s family. In San Diego. She had no idea how to contact them. He’d mentioned them, but it seemed he always spoke to them during the day from the office.
Stupid, she told herself. Why didn’t you just say you were his wife? He asked you enough times. Even if he was joking most of the time. Now he’ll never ask again. How many opportunities did you think you’d be given? You were so smart, weren’t you, coming up with every excuse in the book. You’re too young. He’s too old-fashioned. It’s just a physical attraction. What were you waiting for?
The more she berated herself the further into despair she sank. Grief, guilt and regret crowded in on her, but she didn’t feel she deserved the relief tears would give her. Still they spilled out, ignoring her attempts to stop them with her sleeve.
A key turned in the front door and her heart stopped. The door opened and closed and she shot up and skidded into the hallway.
Reif glanced up from the mail he was looking through and dropped his overnight bag on the floor.
She gaped at him as if she were seeing a ghost, then she launched herself at him, wrapped her arms around his neck and burst into tears all over again, babbling incoherently. He held her, stroking her back and her hair. “What is it? What happened? Are you okay?”
She actually laughed at that. Was she okay? But despite how relieved she felt now she couldn’t stop crying. Reif made soothing sounds until she calmed down.
He eased his hold on her but her arms remained tight around his neck. “Are you ever going to let go of me?”
“Never,” came her muffled reply against his shoulder.
“I’ll get a hunched back if you keep hanging on to me like this.” He reached up and pried her hands apart so he could look at her. “Seriously, what is going on?”
Quinn led him into the living room. Fox was flashing new scenes of the crash. She hit the mute button to restore the sound and leaned into him, burying her face in his neck.
Reif’s arms automatically curved around her. “My God…that was…I was supposed to be…”
She nodded, clutching a handful of his shirt.
“You thought that I was…”
Again Quinn nodded. His arms tightened around her. “I got to the airport in time to catch an earlier flight. Q, I barely had time to get on the plane or I would have called. I didn’t think it would matter to you anyway, what time I got back.”
Calling her Q was one of those odd, funny things she would have missed about him.
“When I called to find out if you were—they wouldn’t tell me anything. They asked if I was related to you and I had to say no. All I could think about was that I should be related to you.”
Reif smiled and smoothed her hair back.
“You asked me to marry you and even though I know you were just being silly and old-fashioned and you were probably joking, all I could think about was that I’d never get the chance again.”
Reif grinned. “The chance to what? To turn me down?”
“To tell you yes.”
“Hey,” he told her as he cupped her chin in his hand. “The offer still stands.”
Quinn held his gaze. “I’m serious.”
“You’re serious? About marrying me?” Reif’s brows knit together. “Because you thought I was dead? I don’t want you to marry me out of some misgu
ided sense of guilt.”
“Why? Isn’t that why you initially proposed? Because you felt guilty?”
“Maybe so, but you’re the one who told me—”
“So why isn’t it okay if I accept your proposal because I thought you were dead?”
Reif rested on the sofa and stared at the ceiling for a moment before he covered his face with his hands. He rubbed his eyes with his fingertips before he looked at Quinn again. “You drive me crazy, you know that?”
“But in a good way, right?”
“That is yet to be determined.”
She sat next to him and socked him in the arm.
“Ow.” He rubbed it. “Look, you didn’t want to marry me to save my friendship with Tony or because your father might find out about us. You weren’t going to marry me even if you were pregnant. And you were right. It was a dumb idea.”
“Yeah, but it was good dumb idea.”
“Bottom line is you didn’t want to marry me at all. But now all of a sudden you do. What gives?”
“I’m in love with you, dumbass.” Her voice was shaky, but she made herself say the words. She had to see his reaction.
Everything about Reif seemed to relax. He reached a hand out to cup her jaw, his fingers sliding back into her hair. “You are, huh?”
“And if I’m being totally honest, I’ve kind of had a thing for you since the first time we met.”
He grinned. “I don’t know what to say to that—”
She threw her fist at him again, but he caught it before she could hit him and held on tight.
“—Unless I tell you that every time I’ve said you drive me crazy or you’re killing me what I really meant was that I’m crazy about you too.”
“Reif.” The name was like a question, asking if he was being serious. Reif nodded in reply, and suddenly everything in the world made sense to her.
Her lips met his and time stood still. She wrapped her arms around his neck and pressed up against him. Long after the kiss ended the embrace did not.
Fantasy Man Page 13
