Deadly Exposure

by Linda Turner

  Abby winced at the question and would have preferred not to disc personal life at all. After all, she knew what everyone thought about Dennis. It had been painfully obvious at the reunion that he talked too much and thought he knew everything, and she couldn’t blame her friends for not wanting to be around him. After all, there had been times when she didn’t want to be around him, either.

  “I keep telling myself it will work if I just give it enough time,” she said huskily. “But how much is enough?”

  “I used to think I would be happy if I just kept working at a job I hated,” Lily confided. “I was a damn good accountant. And it wasn’t all bad. I was friends with the people I worked with, I had seniority, great benefits, everything anyone could want. I put in ten years, Abby. Ten years! And it never got any better. Not once did I ever look forward to going to work.”

  “Oh, Lily, I’m so sorry. I had no idea you hated your job so much. You were always so good in math.”

  “All I ever wanted to do was be a photographer,” she said simply. “That didn’t seem to matter to my father. Not,” she added, “that I can blame him for the fact that I stayed with my job all these years. That was my fault. I knew quitting would cause a rift between us, and I didn’t want that. He’s the only family I have left. I hate being at odds with him.”

  “But you did it, anyway,” Abby said as the waiter delivered their food to the table. “How did you work up the nerve?”

  “I realized I just couldn’t do it anymore. Not for my father, not for anyone. This is my life, not his. I had to do what was right for me. If my father has a problem with that, he’ll have to learn to live with it.” She met Abby’s gaze head-on. “You have to follow your heart, Abby. You’ll never be happy if you don’t.”

  “I know,” she sniffed, blinking back the tears that suddenly welled in her eyes. “It’s just so hard. What if what’s out there is worse than what I already have?”

  “It won’t be,” Lily assured her. “You’re looking for something better, not worse, and you won’t stop looking until you find it.”

  “But I’m not like you. I never had much self-confidence.”

  “I didn’t either when it came to standing up to my father,” Lily confessed. “But I just felt the years slipping through my fingers and I had to do something. Life’s too short to be miserable.”

  “But what about Neil? Didn’t he want to be part of your new life? You were engaged.”

  “He couldn’t accept what I wanted to do any more than my father could,” she replied. “As far as he was concerned, I had a good job with a secure retirement. He didn’t care that I hated it. If I hadn’t broken our engagement, he would have. He was furious with me for not taking his advice.”

  “Dennis gets mad at me for the same thing,” she confided huskily. “I hate it. Do you think all men are like that?”

  Lily started to say yes, but then she heard Tony’s voice as clear as day in her head. I’m all for wom they want, especially when it comes to education and working. He hadn’t been just telling her what she wanted to hear—he was sincere. Even though she didn’t know him nearly as well as she would have liked, every instinct she possessed told her he would be supportive of the woman he loved. What would that be like? she wondered. To have someone in her life who wouldn’t treat her like a child or want to control her…

  “Lily? Hello? What’d I say? I lost you.”

  Caught up in her thoughts, Lily blinked. “What?”

  “You’ve met someone, haven’t you?” Abby said, smiling at her curiously. “Just a minute ago, you had this look on your face—”

  “No! Really,” she insisted when her friend looked skeptical. “I was just thinking that it would be nice to meet someone who didn’t want to control me.”

  From the glint in her friend’s eye, it was obvious that Abby clearly didn’t believe her, but she didn’t push the issue. “If you say so. Enough about men. It’s time to talk about something important…like dessert. When we finish with the main course, what are you having next? Cheesecake or the double-chocolate hot-fudge cake?”

  Lily didn’t even have to think about the answer to that one. Grinning, she quickly supplied, “Hot-fudge cake.”

  “Table number four’s getting restless,” Tony told his uncle as he hurried into the kitchen to retrieve the almond torte one of the wedding parties had ordered for dessert. “Their drink orders should have been taken ten minutes ago. Where’s Maria?”

  “Sick,” Angelo retorted as he slapped more steaks on the grill. “I just sent her home. I think she’s got what Stephen has. It seems to be making the rounds.”

  If he hadn’t spent most of his adult life helping his uncle in the restaurant whenever he needed him, Tony might have panicked. But he’d learned from the best and it took a heck of a lot more than a flu virus decimating the waitstaff to make him panic. “No problem—I’ll get George and Cindy to take over her tables. How’re things going in here?”

  “Crazy,” he replied. “Tomorrow I may not be able to move, but you won’t hear me complaining. We haven’t had a night like this in ten years. You were right about the band.”

  “Aha! So you admit it,” he teased. “It’s about time.”

  For the last six months, he’d been trying to convince Angelo to have live music on Friday and Saturday nights, but his uncle had been afraid that his older customers wouldn’t like the change. He’d finally convinced him to at least give the band a try for a couple of weekends, and the payoff had been almost immediate. The reason the two wedding parties had decided to have their rehearsal dinners at Angelo’s was because he’d promised them live music. Advertising, and, of course, reputation had brought in the rest of the crowd.

  “Okay, okay, so I should have done it sooner,” Angelo said with a wry grin. “Maybe I’ll listen to you more

  “Maybe you should,” Tony said. “Aunt Tootsie said I’m one of your biggest assets.”

  “I know,” he groaned. “She came back here before she left and told me the same thing. She also said the pretty brunette at table three has been flirting with you all night, but you didn’t even notice. That doesn’t sound like you at all. What’s wrong? You’re not sick, too, are you? I can’t afford to lose you and Stephen all in one night.”

  “I’m fine,” Tony replied. “I’m just busy. And I did notice the brunette. She just wasn’t my type.”

  Even to his own ears, that sounded outrageous. Tony readily admitted that he liked women. He enjoyed them, enjoyed talking and laughing with them. He hadn’t been kidding when he’d told Lily that he hadn’t dated anyone in six months, but he still enjoyed flirting.

  So why’d you ignore the brunette? an irritating voice in his head demanded. She was gorgeous, and you didn’t even give her the time of day. What were you thinking? Or maybe I should say who were you thinking about? Could it be the blonde in her bathrobe who needed you to light her hot-water heater? What’s going on there?

  Nothing, he growled to himself as he made the excuse that he had to check on the wedding party in the main party room, then strode out of the kitchen. Nothing at all was going on. If he couldn’t get the image of Lily in her bathrobe out of his head, that was perfectly natural. She was a beautiful woman, sexy as hell, and he liked teasing her as much as she seemed to like teasing him. There was nothing more to it than that.

  Chapter 4

  Standing in the shadows of the alley across the street from Angelo’s Italian Restaurant, Sly Jackson felt rage ignite inside him like a wild fire fanned by a hot breeze. The bitch was gone—she must have slipped out the back—and he still didn’t have a clue which apartment was hers. Cursing under his breath, he told himself it didn’t matter. The building wasn’t that big, and he’d search every apartment in it if he had to in order to find hers. Then he’d sit and wait. She had to come home eventually. When she did, he’d make her wish she’d never picked up a camera, let alone taken his picture.

  But first he had to find a way inside the dam
n building.

  His cold, steely eyes narrowed on the glass door at the front of the building that gave access to the stairwell and stairs that led upstairs. He’d tested it earlier and, not surprisingly, found it locked. There wasn’t a doubt in his mind that he could pick the lock, but there was, for the moment, a slight problem. The sidewalk tables at the restaurant next door were crowded with diners and people lingered near the entrance, waiting to get in. With so many witnesses on the street, he couldn’t move without someone seeing him.

  Cursing again, he wanted to lie low until the streets emptied, but he couldn’t, dammit. Everyone else in the building would be home by then, and the odds of him finding the bitch, Lily, without anyone hearing him would be slim to none. decided, if he was going to break in, he had to do it now and take advantage of the fact that everyone was gone. Then, when Miss Candid Camera finally came home, he’d be waiting for her. In the darkness of the alley, he allowed himself a tight, cold smile of anticipation. He was going to enjoy this.

  In the meantime, however, he still had to find a way into the building. His gaze shifted from the entrance to the apartment stairwell to the diners just fifty feet away. Grimly, he had no choice but to accept that he had to find another way in. And he couldn’t do that by staying where he was.

  A muscle ticking in his jaw, he straightened his shoulders, smoothed his hair and dragged in a bracing breath. A split second later, he stepped out of the dark shadows of the alley, crossed the street and turned away from the restaurant as he headed for the corner. Fighting the urge to hurry, he kept his pace slow and easy as if he was out for a stroll in the moonlight. Anyone seeing him would think he didn’t have a care in the world, but on the inside, he was wound tighter than a time bomb on the verge of exploding.

  The second he turned the corner, darkness immediately enveloped him, and he released a silent sigh of relief. The cross street was empty and full of shadows, but there were no watchful eyes here to note his progress as he soundlessly strode down the block to the back alley that ran behind the restaurant.

  In the quiet of the night, the muted music from the live band inside Angelo’s throbbed like a heartbeat. Pleased, Sly smiled coldly in the darkness as he approached the rear entrance to the apartment stairwell. There was nothing like a good band to drown out the sound of someone breaking in. He couldn’t have planned this better if he’d tried.

  Unlike the street-side entrance to the stairwell, which was glass, the rear one was steel. Undaunted, Sly reached into his pocket and pulled out a small tool kit he took with him everywhere. In the darkness, his fingers immediately found a penlight that was no bigger than a fountain pen, then a lock pick. Taking a quick look around to make sure he was truly alone, he silently went to work. And all the while, the band played on.

  In the restaurant kitchen, Angelo was in the process of pulling another pan of lasagna from the one working oven when he suddenly stopped in his tracks and cocked his head, listening. Across the room, Tony glanced up from where he was dishing up cheesecake for table twelve and studied him in amusement. “What are you doing?”

  “Listening,” he said with a frown. “I thought I heard something.”

  “It’s probably rats,” Tony replied. “It’s time to get up on the roof again and check the covers on the vent pipes. I’ll do it tomorrow, after my shift ends.”

  Still listening to the noise in the stairwell, Angelo frowned. “I had those covers fixed two months ago. They shouldn’t be loose again so soon.”

  “Maybe that storm last weekend loosened them. The winds were pretty strong.”

  Unconvinced, Angelo shrugged. “Maybe. I don’t think so.”

  Tony had to admit that his uncle usually had good instincts. He certainly wasn’t in the habit of imagining things. If he thought he’d heard something, then he probably You want me to check it out? I can put out some traps in the stairwell—”

  Angelo hesitated, then shook his head. “We’re too busy. I’ll do it later, when I close up.”

  “You’re sure? Okay,” he said. “Then I guess I’d better get this cheesecake to table twelve.” Hefting a tray laden with desserts, he pushed open the swinging door that separated the kitchen from the dining area. “We’ve still got a full house,” he warned his uncle. “It’s going to be a long night.”

  With a soft click, the lock opened. His heart pounding louder than the restaurant band, Sly quietly stepped into the stairwell and shut the door carefully behind him. The light overhead made him clearly visible to anyone who might suddenly appear, but he wasn’t deterred.

  Ten seconds later, he reached the upstairs landing without incident, only to stop in his tracks with a muttered curse. This was just great, he thought grimly. Three apartments opened off the upstairs hallway, but it might as well have been ten. There wasn’t a name anywhere to indicate which apartment belonged to which tenant.

  Furious, he didn’t even consider backing out now—not when he’d come this far. He had to choose an apartment, and he had to be pretty damn quick about it. Because every second he stood in the hallway, he was risking discovery.

  Lightning quick, he chose the apartment closest to the stairs and immediately picked the lock. Amused, he almost laughed aloud at the ease in which he did it. Damn, he was good! One of these days, he’d have to go back to Brooklyn and thank old man Thompson for teaching him everything he knew about locks when he’d worked for him that summer he was sixteen. Over the years, he’d lost track of how many times that little skill had come in handy.

  In the quiet stillness of the upstairs hallway, he slipped into the apartment like a dark shadow, not making a sound. No lights had been left on, and the second he shut the door behind him, darkness swallowed him whole. His nerves now as steady as an executioner’s, he leaned back against the door and waited for his eyes to adjust.

  It didn’t take long, and almost immediately he noticed that the living-room windows, which faced the busy street, were uncovered. If he turned on a light, he would be clearly visible to anyone who happened to live in the upstairs apartments across the street. He’d have to search the place in the dark.

  Quietly stepping away from the door, he proceeded to examine the living room in the dark, but from what he could see, the furnishings were generic and could have belonged to anyone. The apartment wasn’t very large, and within a matter of moments he found the bedroom. It, too, faced the street, and the blinds were wide open. In the darkness, he could make out the outline of the bed and dresser, and little else. Muttering a curse, he moved to the closet and pulled open the door.

  Not surprisingly, the inside of the closet was as dark as pitch and he couldn’t see a damn thing. Scowling, he pulled his penlight from his pocket, then pulled the closet door half-shut behind him so that the small beam of the flashlight couldn’t be seen by anyone through the windows. Only then did he turn on the light.

  ”

  His eyes riveted on the police uniforms hanging right in front of his nose, he swore and jerked back like a scalded cat. A cop, dammit! How the hell was he supposed to know there was a cop living in the building?

  He had to get away. Panicking, he started to slam the closet door shut, only to remember just in time that the noise might carry down to the restaurant below. Muttering another oath, he managed to shut it quietly, but he was shaking with rage as he quickly made his way to the apartment’s front door.

  He had to regroup, rethink his strategy. As much as he wanted to find that bitch and eliminate her before she could destroy him, he couldn’t do it when there was a damn cop in the building. Sly liked to think he was gutsy enough to take a chance when someone else might cut and run, but he wasn’t a complete fool. He wanted nothing to do with a cop.

  Downstairs, the music continued to play—obviously it would be a while before the restaurant closed for the evening. Sly didn’t care. His only thought was to get away, he rushed out of the apartment, and in his haste to leave, never noticed that he didn’t quite pull the door completely shut
.

  By the time the last customer left, the band cleared out and the kitchen and dining area were clean, it was going on midnight, and Tony was beat. He’d sent Angelo upstairs an hour ago and closed up for him. With Stephen out sick and all the other problems that had cropped up, there hadn’t been time to draw a deep breath, let alone take a break, all evening long. By eleven, it was clear Angelo was worn-out—otherwise, he never would have allowed Tony to talk him into leaving the cleanup to him. That just wasn’t his way. For as long as Tony could remember, his uncle had always been the first one in in the morning and the last one to leave.

  Time was catching up with him, Tony thought as he headed upstairs. And he hated that. Angelo was like a father to him. After his parents had died in a car accident when he was sixteen, Angelo was the one who’d stepped forward and taken him in. He’d always been there for him whenever he needed him, and he didn’t like to think of his uncle getting older and slowing down. If the time ever came when he couldn’t cook for people and make them comfortable the way he loved, Tony intended to make sure he was able to spend time at the restaurant whenever he wanted, even if he had to wheel him in in a wheelchair. After everything Angelo had done for him, it was the least he could do.

  Lost in his thoughts as he locked up, then climbed the stairs to his apartment, he didn’t notice anything was amiss until he started to insert the key to his front door in the lock. The second he touched it, the door silently swung open.

  “What the—”

  Frowning, he studied the open door through narrowed eyes. Hadn’t he locked the apartment earlier? He would have sworn he had. In fact, he couldn’t ever remember not locking his front door. He just wasn’t that careless.