by Sandra Cox
“Come in the kitchen and I’ll get you a cup of coffee,” she said to Hank. She strolled into the kitchen, the men behind her.
Pouring another cup of steaming dark coffee, she handed it to Hank. “So why are you here, Jeffrey?”
“To make sure you’re all right. I just heard about what happened last night. I thought you’d call, Bella.”
“As you can see, I’m fine.” She sipped her coffee, watching him over the rim of her cup.
Jeffrey’s expression narrowed to a thoughtful frown. His gaze swung back to Hank. “Your being here was quite fortuitous.”
“You could say that,” Hank said, his colorful face expressionless.
Jeffrey ran his hand down his perfectly creased gray trousers. “Bella’s never mentioned you before.”
Hank looked at him from hooded eyes. “Is there any reason she should have?”
It was a loaded question and everyone in the room knew it.
“I like to think so.”
Hank took a sip of coffee, sat it on the counter and rocked back on his heels. “Like don’t always make it so.”
“How long are you staying, McHenry?” Jeffrey’s voice had an edge to it and a tic jumped at the corner of his mouth.
“I haven’t decided yet. You got a problem with me being here?” He tucked his thumbs into the front pockets of his jeans, his poise casual, his eyes alert. He rested lightly on the balls of his feet.
Jeffrey sat down his cup. “I may have.”
Bella straightened. “I appreciate your thoughtfulness in checking on me, Jeffrey, but I think you’d better go.”
He jerked his head back as if he’d been struck. “Do you know what you’re saying, Bella?”
“We weren’t an item, sugar.”
“Do you always go down on men you aren’t an item with?” he sneered, his face white.
She saw Hank’s fist clench and stepped hastily between them. “He’s a lawyer,” she said conversationally to Hank. “No matter how great the provocation, never ever hit an attorney.”
Hank’s jaw was set so tight she didn’t think he’d ever pry it open. He moved her aside.
Jeffrey took one look at the fire in Hank’s eyes and opted for flight instead of a fight.
Puss–Puss, not caring for the tension in the air, swung out with his paw and hooked his claws in Jeffrey’s high-dollar gray suit, ripping it as the attorney rushed past.
Hank shook off Bella and caught up with the younger man in several long-legged strides. He spun Jeffrey around, grabbed him by his shirtfront, lifted him off his feet and planted him against the door. “Now you aren’t ever going to talk to a lady like that again, are you?” he asked in a voice soft with deadly intent.
When Jeffrey didn’t answer right away Hank thumped him against the wall. “Are you?”
Jeffrey shook his head.
Hank’s grip tightened. “I believe you owe Ms. Tremaine an apology.” For good measure he thumped him against the wall again, causing a nearby picture to rattle against the drywall.
“I’m sorry, Bella,” Jeffrey gasped out. “That was a filthy thing to say.”
“That’s better.” With obvious reluctance, Hank released the attorney and opened the door.
Jeffrey opened his mouth to say something. He looked at Hank’s set jaw, snapped it shut and hurried out.
Hank took a deep breath and flexed his fingers.
She walked up to him and touched his cheek. “My hero. Thank you for defending my honor.”
He grabbed her hand and held it. “What did you see in that man milliner?”
She laughed. “Now, Hank, you’ve got to admit he’s pretty to look at.”
He rolled his eyes then glanced down at their clasped hands. He stared at them for a long moment then raised his head and looked into her eyes. Something elemental and as raw as lightning flashed between them.
Her muscles loosened and her lips parted. She raised her face to his. He was going to kiss her and she was going to let him.
His heated gaze swept over her features then he dropped her hands and took a step back. “Are you into casual relationships?”
Her head jerked up. After Jeffrey’s comment it felt like Hank had just slapped her. “Are you, cowboy?”
“Not with you.”
“What does that mean?” she fired back, fisting her hands on her hips.
“Figure it out.”
She raised an eyebrow. “I wasn’t going to jump your bones, just kiss you.”
“One of us would have been jumping bones and the other would have been responding.”
Heat shot through her, flushing her face. “That sounds rather arrogant.”
“Only if it’s not true.”
“Well,” was all she could think to say.
She touched her amulet.
“Don’t do that, Bella.” His eyes darkened, color rode high on his lean weathered cheeks.
“Do what?” she stalled.
“And don’t play games. I’m sure you are good at it but I admire the way you can call a spade a spade even if it is dressed up with sugar and goo.”
She heaved a sigh. “Actually I was trying for some inspiration when I touched the amulet. I don’t quite know what to make of you, Hank McHenry.”
“Oh, you know what to make of me, all right.” his crispy Yankee vowels softened and went as smooth as malt whiskey. “It’s us you don’t know what to make of.” He shrugged, his thumbs still hooked in his pockets. “Neither do I. I’m pushing fifty, Bella, and I feel like an awkward teenager with his first crush on a girl. You are way out of my league. And this is way more talkin’ than I’m used to doing.” He ran his fingers through his hair in a restless gesture. “Listen to me, I sound like a babbling fool.”
“That’s one thing it would be impossible for you to sound like, Hank McHenry.” For a moment her guard was down. The sugared Southern belle persona set firmly aside. Staring up at him, she jumped when the call box sounded.
He looked at her in disbelief, “Is it always this busy around here?”
Still off-center she just stood looking at him.
“Bella?”
She blinked and reached automatically for her amulet but he caught her hand and held it in a gentle clasp.
“Don’t. If you ratchet up your beauty one more notch I won’t be responsible. You don’t need this for a creative response. You’ve got a good mind, woman, use it.”
“Damn but you’re right.” She could feel her eyes sparkling as she gave him a sensual smile, studying him beneath hooded lids. Her lips stretched in satisfaction. His reaction was all she could hope for. His Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed hard. He dropped her hand and took a step back.
The call box sounded again. She flipped her hair off her neck with her fingers and raised an eyebrow then turned and sashayed into the foyer. For a moment back there she’d let the cowboy get to her but she was back in control and that’s just the way she liked it.
“Ms. Bella.” Bobby’s voice echoed through the foyer.
She pressed the button. “Yes, Bobby?”
“You have a visitor.”
Who, Bobby? She rolled her eyes but said in a calm voice, “Who is it?”
There was a long pause. For a moment, Bella was afraid he’d forgotten the question.
“Mr. Johnny Morelly.”
Bella reeled, finding her newly won control slipping. Too bad there wasn’t a back way out of this place.
She cleared her throat. “Is there anyone with him?”
“There are two goon…er, men standing in front of his car.”
“Miz Tremaine?” Johnny’s slick-as-oil voice came over the speaker.
She leaned forward, toward the box. “Yes?”
“I’m alone, may I come up?”
“Why?” she asked bluntly.
“I need to speak to a Hank McHenry and I believe he’s staying with you. Would you like your doorman to pat me down?”
She bit back several pithy remark
s, none of them complimentary to the mob boss or her doorman.
As she turned her head, she saw Hank standing at the edge of the foyer, his legs splayed, his muscles taut. He gave a curt nod.
“Are you crazy?” she mouthed.
For a moment she could have sworn his eyes twinkled but she must have imagined it. The next instant his features were as taciturn as ever. “Do it, Bella.”
She heaved a sigh from deep in her belly, causing her breasts to rise and fall beneath her paint-stained white tee shirt. Hank glanced away. “Send him up,” she said.
Taking her finger off the intercom, she whirled on Hank and hissed, “Do you know what you’re doing?”
“No point in putting this off. Where’s your little derringer?”
“Where’s your pistol?” she countered.
“Under the seat of my truck. Damn stupid of me.”
“You’re slipping, sugar,” she drawled then turned and headed upstairs. She walked into her bedroom, slid open her bedstand drawer and pulled out her little pearl-handled derringer. Checking to see if the safety was on, she slipped it in the waistband of her jeans and walked back downstairs just as someone knocked on the door.
Hank looked a question.
She nodded. He motioned her back toward the stairs. She stepped backward onto the first step where she could keep a discreet eye on the situation then slid the gun out of her pants. Hank opened the door.
Johnny Morelly stepped in. It had been a while since Bella had seen him. She studied him from her perch on the stairs. He hadn’t changed a bit except maybe a few more lines creased his forehead.
He kept in shape. She’d give him that. Of medium height, his body looked hard enough to bounce balls off. He wore a flashy pinstriped suit and a three-carat diamond stickpin centered in a silver tie. Black patent leather wingtips graced his large feet. He had a swarthy-olive complexion and curly black hair that he slicked back from his forehead. A good-looking man if you were into criminal types.
Johnny’s gaze swept Hank, a hard, encompassing look that Hank returned and then some. “I’m Johnny Morelly.”
Hank gave a clipped nod. “Hank McHenry.”
Neither man extended hands.
Johnny glanced up the stairs. “Ah, Bellissima, you are as lovely as ever.”
“Johnny.” She dipped her chin.
He stared pointedly at the gun and his face filled with sadness. He put his hands out, palms upward, “You don’t need that. I come in peace, a truce if you will. To see if we can’t find a common meeting ground and come to terms.”
With each word out of Johnny’s handsome full-lipped mouth, Hank’s jaw tightened, his fists clenching and unclenching. He bared his teeth in a snarl. “You bastard, you tried to kill her.”
Johnny shrugged. “Business.”
Hank’s eyes sparked with loathing. “You kill women and call it business.”
“Life is not for the weak stomached.”
“Why you…” Hank lunged.
The two men grappled.
Bella came pelting off the landing. “Stop it. Stop it, you two.”
They ignored her, each determined to pound some respect into the other.
She ran to the kitchen, threw her gun on the counter, grabbed a pan and filled it with water. Cold liquid sloshed from the saucepan as she raced to the foyer. She drew back her arms and heaved. The water lifted in a magnificent arc and fell like a waterfall over both antagonists. They came apart, sputtering.
Her head tipped to the side, she looked at Hank critically. “You need to watch your temper.”
Johnny pulled a Glock from his shoulder holster and aimed it at Hank. Hank’s eyes cut to Bella and this time it was he who looked critical. “Where’s your gun?”
She gave him a weak smile. “In the kitchen.” She lifted her pan. “I could always try bashing it over his head.”
Johnny shook his head and sighed heavily. “You have turned a serious occasion into a farce.”
Hank’s eyes remained fixed on the gun, his eyes narrowed, his expression intent.
The cat stalked into the room, back arched, fur standing on end.
Johnny moved the gun with practiced ease between Hank and the cat.
Bella’s heart gave a hard leap. If two men old enough to know better wanted to kill each other so be it, but no one messed with her cat. She gripped her pan. Looking at Johnny, she spoke with deadly intent, a promise ripe in her voice, “You hurt my cat, sugar, and I’ll kill you myself.”
Johnny slipped the gun back into his shoulder holster. “As a gesture of good faith. Now will you invite me in? We need to talk.”
Bella gestured toward the living room.
Johnny looked pointedly at the cat.
Bella bent and sat her pan on the floor. “Puss–Puss.” She patted her chest then held out her arms. With a graceful leap, the cat landed in them. “Gentlemen, shall we?” She led the way into the living room.
Johnny followed her in while Hank strode to the kitchen. He came back with the derringer tucked into the waistband of his jeans.
Johnny looked at the gun and sneered.
Correctly interpreting Johnny’s expression, Hank said, “From this range you’ll be just as dead as if I’d used your Glock.”
“That’s going on the assumption you get to it faster than I get to my Glock.”
Bella rolled her eyes. “Y’all, does this look like the OK Corral?”
Johnny gave Hank one last hard stare then sat down in one of the overstuffed apricot and latte tweed chairs. “Very nice. Very classy.”
He looked around and studied a large painting over the marble mantel of the fireplace. A garden scene set at the height of summer. Crimson poppies vied with blue larkspur. Tall stalks of hollyhock bloomed vigorously in the back and creamy-tinted foxglove was interspersed throughout. A Monarch butterfly flitted by a large white cat. Johnny frowned in concentration. “It’s similar but it’s not your work.”
“Very perceptive of you,” Bella said.
“Me, I can be perceptive.” He grimaced in what Bella was sure he felt passed for a smile.
“And the cat?”
Bella shook her head, “Not mine. The artist is Sarah Miles. The cat is named Monet and he belongs to Sarah.”
His gaze slid to Puss–Puss, who stared at him unblinkingly from his mistress’s lap.
“Artists and their cats.” Once again Johnny’s gaze drifted around the room. This time stopping on a small, ten-by-fourteen head portrait of Bella, her expression pensive as she gazed into the distance. It was framed in a wide muted gold frame. “Breathtaking,” Johnny breathed. “Who is the artist?”
Bella’s gaze softened as she looked at the portrait, her lips tipped up at the ends. “Sarah’s niece Meghan. She is an up-and-coming portrait painter. Mark my words, in the future you will hear her name mentioned often.”
Apparently tired of the chitchat Hank cut in. “Why are you here, Morelly?”
Johnny turned to Hank, his features hardened. “You put four of my best men in the hospital. I owe you for that.”
Hank’s stony gray eyes narrowed.
They were like gazing into a stormy sea, Bella thought then brought her mind back to the matter at hand.
“Any time, any place.” Hank’s voice was dangerously quiet.
Bella’d had enough. “Stop it. Just stop it.” She could feel fire shooting behind her eyes. Taking a deep, calming breath, she straightened and looked directly at Johnny Morelly. “Mr. Morelly, I must admit, what little respect I had for you disintegrated when you tried to kill me.”
Hank made a low growling sound in his throat and leaned forward.
Sensing the tension, Puss–Puss growled too.
Bella turned and looked at Hank. “Sugar, shut up.” She looked at Morelly. “What did you want to talk to us about?”
He nodded, his expression respectful. “We are at a stalemate. I have no desire to kill you but a favor was called in.” He shrugged. “I could not ref
use.”
Hank leaned forward, his expression hard, his body rigid, “By whom?”
“An associate.”
“Is that associate’s name Victor Price?” Hank asked.
“No. But Price’s name was mentioned.” He swiveled toward Bella and looked at her amulet. “He wants a piece of your jewelry. Why, I wonder?”
Absently, Bella touched the amulet, making her beautiful complexion glow and Johnny’s eyes cross. Her breasts rose and fell as she shrugged. “I don’t pretend to know what goes on in the mind of a psychopath, sugar.”
Johnny blinked and shook his head as if trying to clear it. “I have a proposition.”
“Let’s hear it.” Hank’s voice was hard, his gray eyes, like chips of ice, drilled into Morelly.
Johnny turned to Hank. “You’ve drawn too much attention to me and my men. If anything happens to Ms. Tremaine the cops are going to be all over me. On the other hand I have my reputation to uphold. Without it I lose respect. I lose face.”
Hank leaned forward and said softly, “I’m all for rearranging your face.”
“Sugar.” Bella’s voice held a world of warning.
Hank leaned back an inch, his expression dangerous.
“Let’s just hear what Mr. Morelly has to say.”
“You leave town.” Johnny leaned back in his chair and crossed his hands over his flat stomach.
Bella blinked. “Excuse me?”
“You leave town. No one can expect me to waste you and steal your baubles if you aren’t here. My turf is Atlanta. Go back with your Yankee cowboy. I don’t operate up north.”
“I can’t do that. I have a show in three days.”
Johnny deliberated then stood. “Three days. Leave after the show.” He studied her amulet for a moment as if weighing his odds.
Hank’s hand dropped to the gun at his waist and Puss–Puss began to growl.
With a shrug, Johnny turned. “I’ll see myself out.” The door shut with a soft thump behind him.
Bella and Hank looked at each other as tense silence built between them. It was Bella who broke it. “I’m not leaving town with my tail between my legs.”
“It certainly won’t be with your tail between your legs but you are leaving town as soon as the show is over. Don’t fight me on this, Bella.”
“And if I do?”
