“I didn’t want to go with anyone else.”
I watched in the mirror as a flush appeared on my cheeks. We both knew it was because I was in love with Dante at the time and refused to believe that I couldn’t change his mind.
Dante, who read my mind as he always did, leaned over and kissed my cheek.
“It’s way better this way. We will be friends forever. We are famiglia, Gia. Nothing will ever change that. I love you.”
“I love you, too, Dante.”
Luckily a knock on the door broke through the sentimental moment. I took a deep breath, smoothed down my skirt, and opened the door. For a second, I froze, staring at Bobby. He wore a white shirt unbuttoned a little to reveal his smooth, tanned, hairless chest, faded jeans and flip flops. Totally beach boy in the big city. I took him in and smiled. To some people, he probably looked like an average attractive guy. But when he smiled at me—he flat out took my breath away.
He was smiling now.
“Can I come in?”
I was startled out of my lust-filled stupor. Even after several months of dating he still did that to me. When he kissed me, I was intoxicated by the smell of his skin and the taste of his mouth. I didn’t want it to end, but could feel Dante’s presence over my shoulder. I drew back and clapped my hands together.
“Bobby Kostas, I’d like you to meet my dearest friend, my brother, really, Dante Marino.” I gestured toward Dante. “Dante, this is ... Bobby.”
The two shook hands heartily and smiled and then Bobby grabbed Dante and brought him in for a hug. And no, there is no goddamn way those were tears. Must’ve been the onions.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
BOBBY SPEARED HIS FIRST bite and then closed his eyes as he chewed. I waited and watched, shooting an amused look at Dante, who held his finger to his lips.
When Bobby opened his eyes, he shook his head. “Hot damn.” His smile lit up his face.
“It’s orgasmic, isn’t it?”
“I have no words,” Bobby said.
“It defies description, right?”
“Exactly.”
“You two are too kind,” Dante said with false modesty. “But, really, thank you. I truly appreciate it.”
I couldn’t stop grinning. “I always love it when someone tries Dante’s cooking for the first time.”
“I can see why. It’s life changing,” Bobby said, taking a sip of his wine.
Over his shoulder, I could see my reflection in the mirrored dining room wall. The candle light was flattering. My eyes were sparkling and my cheeks pink. My dark hair was mussed a little bit from me running my hands through it.
That, I told myself, is the face of a happy woman.
But then Sasha’s face came back to me. How could I sit here enjoying myself when she could be hurt or dead somewhere? I remembered Darling grabbing my hand and making me promise to find her granddaughter. Shit.
If only I had got the name or number of that redheaded woman who had seen the kidnapping. She might have information that could help me track down the kidnappers. If only I knew what the words on Sasha’s calendar meant. I closed my eyes. I was a failure. I sat here drinking and laughing and Sasha could be dead somewhere.
But here I was.
Suddenly, my appetite was gone. Too many bad thoughts and feelings were surfacing. Things I kept pressed down deep inside. My own mother loved my brother more than me. I was unlovable. And a fuck up.
I reached over and poured more wine into my glass, downing it and then poured some more. Dante raised an eyebrow at me that I ignored.
Bobby pretended not to notice. His first mistake. “When are we going to take a weekend trip up to Calistoga?” he said.
A wave of unease passed through me. What the hell was wrong with me? Bobby’s affections suddenly felt suffocating and I didn’t know why. I didn’t want to spend a weekend with him. I didn’t even know if I wanted to spend the rest of this night with him.
A pall had fallen over the table.
“I’ll get more wine.” I stood. Behind me in the mirror, I saw Bobby shoot Dante a look. Dante shrugged.
I was a disaster. Cursed. The dysfunction was rearing its ugly head. I’d thought I could keep it at bay. Boy, was I wrong. In an instant, I’d changed the whole tenor of our lovely dinner party. I was an asshole. I sucked.
Bobby and Dante struck up a conversation about the San Francisco Forty-Niners. Probably to cover up the awkwardness I’d created. Making sure they weren’t looking, I poured a good-sized slug of bourbon in my glass, downed it, poured another, downed it, and then grabbed a bottle of red from my counter.
The booze hit me like a Mac truck. I stumbled a little as I entered the small dining room’s space. Dante shot me a concerned look over Bobby’s head. I rolled my eyes at him. I could handle myself. I was fine. If anyone could handle their booze, it was this girl. I had drunk bigger men under the table more times than I could count. I poured another glass of wine and smiled, trying to ease the tension.
“To the two most handsome, talented men in San Francisco!” I lifted my glass. Sure, my words might have been a teeny tiny bit slurred. It was all good. I could get smashed in my own place to celebrate this momentous moment. I didn’t have to drive. I was already home. I was with two people I trusted with my life. It was all good.
How much trouble could I get in?
I WAS SLUMPED ON THE couch with my feet up on the coffee table swirling the ice in my glass.
Dante had just left. Bobby was beside me looking down. His forehead was furrowed. He reached for my glass.
“Maybe we should get you started on some water.”
I straightened up. “Yeah. I don’t want a hangover tomorrow.” I set my glass down and gratefully took the big glass of water Bobby handed me. “Thanks.”
I gulped most of it and then felt a little sick. The flicker of the dying candles made stationary objects appear to shift and undulate.
“I don’t think I should be here enjoying myself, right now.”
Bobby traced his fingertips on my bare arm, sending shivers and waves of desire through me. “Is that what’s been bothering you tonight?”
“Yeah,” I admitted. “I am selfish.”
“You are not selfish. You have the biggest heart out of anyone I’ve ever met.”
I gave him a doubtful look. He must be drunk, too.
“Is there anything you could be doing right now to find her?”
I thought about it. “I guess not.”
“Then, quit thinking about it. I’ll help you get your mind on other things.”
He leaned over and within seconds we were both naked, our clothes flung across the room and I was astride him on the couch, giving any neighborhood perverts the show of their life.
Later, after we had moved to the bedroom for round two and had taken a long shower together afterward, I heard Bobby clear his throat.
I felt a wave of apprehension trickle through me.
“Gia,” he propped himself up on one elbow and looked over at me in the candlelight.
“Yes?” I could hear the nervousness in my voice. Was he dumping me?
“I was thinking. We’ve been dating for six months now, right?”
I nodded, too nervous to speak.
“And I’m moving up here in January, right?”
“Uh huh.”
“What would you think,” he looked down and ran his fingers across my bare belly. “What would you think about making this something ...”
He broke off and I watched him swallow. He was nervous. It made my mouth go dry.
“What do you think about being exclusive?”
I closed my eyes.
“That bad, huh?” He said. He sat up and I could hear a flicker of both anger and hurt in his voice. His hand left my belly.
I opened my eyes and took a deep breath. “I’m not ... I’m just not sure.”
“Fine.” He crossed his arms and looked away.
“I told you when I get close to someon
e ...”
He waved his hand angrily. “Yes, you run away. I know that. Somehow I was stupid enough to think that I was different than all those other guys you ‘get close to and run away from.’”
I sat up now. “But you are!”
Now he stood. “And yet, you are lumping me in right with them and reacting the same way.”
“It’s different.” I love you.
He narrowed his eyes at me. “And how’s that?”
“I don’t know.” Because I suck.
“Great.” He stood and hunted around on the floor. He grabbed his T-shirt and yanked it on.
“Are you leaving?” My voice was nearly a shriek.
“Why should I stay?”
I took a deep breath. “It’s different because with you, I’m scared.”
“Oh, that makes me feel a lot better,” he said sarcastically and tugged on his jeans.
“I’m terrified.” Please don’t make me say it. Please.
“Even better.” He yanked his phone from my charger and headed for the doorway of my bedroom.
“Gia, when you figure out whether or not you’re ready to have a relationship with me—on my terms, which means only dating me—give me a call.”
“Bobby!” I yelled it. “I swear I’m not sleeping with anyone else. That’s not what this is about.”
He looked at me for a long moment. “That’s what being exclusive means.” He waited, staring. I wanted, more than anything, to rush over and kiss him and tell him I’d commit to him and would be exclusive but something deep inside me stopped me from moving. I was frozen, paralyzed. I couldn’t speak a word.
After a few seconds, he sighed and left, slamming the front door behind him.
Deja vu. Flashbacks of James storming off came into focus. He didn’t say the same words, but it’s exactly why he walked away, as well. I was fucked up, totally incapable of having a relationship.
I lay in bed until the candles completely burned out.
Around four in the morning, I threw back the covers and got dressed. Pulling the collar of my leather jacket up, I laced up my motorcycle boots, tucked my gun in its holster, grabbed a fifth of Wild Turkey and headed toward the Tenderloin.
The night was dank and cold and anyone with half a brain was already tucked in bed or bundled up in blankets in an alley. Once I was at the plaza, I stood staring at the place where George had lain on the ground. Then, imagining a group in masks grabbing Sasha, I headed toward the spot where I’d seen them stuff Sasha in the SUV, hoping that somehow just by being there and retracing her abduction, I would have a clue where she was.
I stood and took a slug of the whiskey as I stared at the spot where I’d last seen Sasha.
After a few minutes I sat down, putting my back against a small wall. In the orange glow of the streetlights I spotted a shadowy bulk moving closer. If I squinted, instead of a man pushing an overflowing shopping cart, it looked like a hulking, lumbering Grizzly bear headed my way.
When the man was a few feet away, I recognized him.
“Why aren’t you sleeping, Sly?”
He shook his head. “Charlie coming to get me when I close my eyes. If I go to sleep, I’m dead man walking.”
“Oh honey, you’re safe now.” I patted his back. “The war’s been over a long time, my friend.”
“The V.C. never sleeps.” He sighed. “I gotta be on guard.”
I had nothing to say to that. The Viet Cong weren’t in San Francisco, but there was somebody out there making people disappear.
Standing up, I brushed off my jeans and handed him the whiskey. He took a gulp and handed the bottle back to me.
I shook my head. “All yours. Stay safe out there.”
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
THE NEXT MORNING, I woke up furious for sleeping so late. It was ten. I hadn’t gone to bed until six, but still. I had a shit ton to do. I was also angry with Bobby. He gave up on me so easily. It was his fault for bringing up getting exclusive and shit.
I didn’t understand what was wrong with the way our relationship had been going. Why had he tried to rush things? It didn’t even make sense. If he was already living in San Francisco, then I could understand him wanting to be exclusive, but hell, we were still in a long-distance relationship. There was no need to get excited and put labels on it.
If he was serious about me, he would wait and not push it.
He had ruined everything. I repeated this story to myself all morning as I drank my coffee, showered, and put on makeup. But deep down, I knew it was a story I was telling myself to feel better.
On top of it all I was exhausted and slightly hung over. My head throbbed with a headache. During the few hours I slept, I’d tossed and turned with nightmares. They all involved me searching for Sasha or trying to find that blond-haired woman or the masked men in the SUV. Each time I thought I was close, when I spotted Sasha or the vehicle, something would get between us: A train. A wall. A body of water.
THE RECEPTIONIST AT Channel 5 instantly shot me down.
“Without an appointment, I’m sorry I can’t let you back there.” She was a woman probably in her forties with a blond bob who looked twenty from behind and eighty from the front. She had circles of wrinkles around her mouth from smoking. Even from across the desk I could smell the stench of cigarette smoke emanating from her clothing.
Another good reason to kick the cancer sticks.
“Didn’t I talk to you yesterday?” I was confused.
“No.”
“The woman I spoke to yesterday told me to come by today and ask for the producer. Can you at least call the producer?”
“I’m sorry, no.”
“Can you give me the name of the producer?”
“I’m sorry.”
“You can’t or you won’t?”
“I’m sorry. It’s Saturday. We have a skeleton staff. I’m sure they’re too busy to talk to you. You’re going to have to call and make an appointment.” She pushed a tiny rack of business cards toward me.
“How do I know who to ask for? Who to make the appointment with?”
“You can call and ask for the producer’s name.”
I stared at her, dumbfounded.
The ability to quickly overcome seemingly insurmountable roadblocks and obstacles that the enemy places in the way is the sign of a true warrior. If you can’t go over the mountain, go under it or around it.
I tilted my head. “Hold on. So, you’re telling me if I call I’ll get all the information I need?”
“You can call and learn who they are and then you can be connected to them and ask for an appointment. That is the way things are done here. Especially on the weekends.”
I grabbed a card and took out my cell phone. I punched in the number and then stared at her. The phone in front of her rang. I could see her swallow. Then it rang again. She studiously ignored it.
I held my phone away from my mouth. “Your phone is ringing.”
Acting like she’d been told to lick poop, the woman reached out and picked up the phone. “Channel 5.”
“Hi, how are you today?”
She rolled her eyes.
“I was wondering if you could tell me the name of a producer in the newsroom and connect me so I can make an appointment.”
“One moment please.”
She pressed hold and without looking at me, dialed another number.
“It’s Bridgette. I have someone on the line who wants a producer in breaking news. Is Al available?”
Al. At least I got a first name. I rolled my eyes as she waited, listening to the voice on the other end. I can play along with this fucking charade as long as you want, lady.
Bridgette got a smug look on her face and then hung up. I heard her voice on my line now. “I’m sorry,” she said, looking at me with triumph. “Nobody is available to take your call right now. You— “
I hung up and walked out. Time to go around the mountain.
I stood in front of the building, lookin
g up at the mirrored windows. The building was surrounded on three sides by a gated parking lot. There had to be a back door, someplace employees could take a smoke break or something. The woman on the phone yesterday said the same crew who filmed the protest was working today. I needed a plan to get through Bridgette the Guard Dog.
That’s when I saw a Channel 5 news van at the stoplight waiting to turn into a gate leading into the parking lot. I dashed over and flung myself in front of the van right before it got to the gate. The driver slammed on the brakes. I put my palm on the warm hood and smiled.
I came over to the driver’s side window. “Sorry about the dramatics.”
“What the hell is your problem?” The driver had 1970s sideburns and wore jeans that looked like they’d been worn nonstop since that same era.
“I need some help,” I said, leaning into his window. “The pit bull at reception told me to take a hike. All I want is to talk to someone who covered the protest. I heard the same crew was working today. Is that you?”
He scowled. “Bridgette is such a pain.”
“Understatement. Are you going to help me or not?” Was the dude hard of hearing?
“Hop in.”
I raised an eyebrow but didn’t waste any time rushing over to the passenger door and jumping in. The gate opened and we pulled into the employee lot. I didn’t say a word, afraid to jinx my luck. He backed up into a spot in the shade against the building and undid his seatbelt.
“I was up in the chopper. I got some footage.” He turned to me with a look. “Why you asking? What’s your angle?”
I stopped myself from rolling my eyes. “My angle is my friend was dragged out of the plaza by masked men—maybe Antifa—and hasn’t been seen since.”
“If I show you the footage, what’s in it for me?”
“The scoop of your life.”
He yawned, nonplussed.
“After the paper prints it, you can go live. I’ll make sure you’re the only station with the story for at least the first part of the day.”
“What’s the story, Lois Lane?”
Gia Santella Crime Thriller Boxed Set: Books 1-3 (Gia Santella Crime Thrillers) Page 24
