Remembering the drill from living with Angelo, as brief as that had been, April knew Daniel had already given up his weapon, but the bodyguard was playing it safe.
The guard patted Daniel down again, which—under the circumstances—was expected.
The bodyguard seemed nonplussed when his boss permitted Daniel to stay but the ex-pro was dismissed.
The shock of Daniel's appearance rocked April's world. Dammit! A mob boss I can handle. My ex-lover, I can't. She grabbed the arms of the chair for support. She glanced at Antonio, who seemed not the least bit perturbed.
"Mr. Wyndsor. How forgetful of me. Did we have an appointment?" Antonio settled comfortably.
"No, sir. I apologize for the intrusion. April . . . Miss Hall . . . is my responsibility.
It is my duty to protect her."
Daniel's posture didn't appear at all apologetic. He hadn't arrived humbly, with hat in hand.
At the my responsibility line, both April and her hackles began to rise.
Antonio gestured for her to remain seated.
"I see. Yet, you did not accompany Miss Hall when she requested this private meeting."
"An unfortunate delay. The situation is resolved, sir, and I am here to assume my
. . . position."
Martone sat deep in his chair, his fingers again steepled. "And you continue to protect her even now? Though Valentino Rugakoff is dead?"
"Your nephew lives."
A stern aspect overshadowed Antonio's features at the simple words. "You are very outspoken, Mr. Wyndsor."
Daniel didn't blink, didn't back down.
"Sir, forgive my directness. Angelo is out of control. You know it and I know it.
And since he is out of control, Miss April and her family continue to be in danger.
Valentino's body cools on a stainless steel slab in the morgue. Who will Angelo hire to take his shooter's place? Who is next in line after Angelo crosses Rugakoff off the list?
How long will April and her family get to live? Especially when he discovers she's been here."
The old man gave a single nod. "Reasonable questions. Your points are well taken."
Daniel must have stepped closer. April smelled his cologne. It turned her insides to mush, made a jumble of her emotions. Folks, I don't mean to blow the whistle and run, but I need to get gone.
Antonio turned his attention back to April. "And your man, he is a good man?"
Their eyes met, and April caught a hint of sparkle in the old man's black eyes.
My man? I told a bald-faced lie. I have no man. I may never again have another man. I don't have Glennon. Abigail has Glennon. I thought I had Daniel, but now Daniel hates me. Left me without a word, took off running with his holier-than-thou assumptions, gave me no chance to explain. Oh, yeah, he hates me. He's here because he has an incredibly annoying sense of responsibility. So, technically, I have no man.
Martone waited, clearly expected a response.
How do I explain this emotional clusterfuck? She knew instinctively that any explanation on her part would be seen as a sign of weakness, whether it was the truth or not. Stiffen up that limp backbone, sister. You've come this far.
"Sir, he is the very best of men."
"Do you love this man?"
April blinked at the question, sat back in the seat. Blinked again. Fuck. She considered the source. Tried to buy time. Damn it. What's Antonio doing, playing Siciliano matchmaker? She felt the fire from Daniel's eyes without even looking. Well, answer him, stupido.
"Yes, I do love him, from the very depth of my soul." For all the good it does me.
The minute this is over, he's gone. Out the door again. Ciao bello. Arrivederci. She stood, brushed the creases out of her skirt, expected the meeting to be at an end.
"Mr. Wyndsor, as you can see, your woman is in no danger. Would you excuse us? We have unfinished business to discuss." It wasn't a request.
Daniel glanced at April, but caught only her stony gaze. He nodded to Martone, then left the room with dignity, without haste.
The old man rose, poured a brandy from the sideboard. He offered her a libation—she declined. He faced her, took his time while he considered.
"I have faith that you will not share my confidences. With anyone." He waited for April's nod. "My brother and his beautiful wife died in an automobile accident. I received news from a trusted source that suggests the accident coincided with my nephew's need for money. Their deaths left him very wealthy."
Antonio replaced the snifter on the sideboard, strolled the room in soft slippers, hands folded behind his back. "I miss my brother." He faced her. "There is no cause for worry. My people will fix any legal issues with Angelo's business ventures that he signed over to you.
"I wish to offer, what do you call it, compensazione, eh, compensation, shall we say, for what you have endured at my nephew's hands. And for your generous offer of silence in matters best left to family. I wish for you to take over the business at which you were employed—in your name only, without interference. You may keep it, sell it, do with it as you wish." He took up the snifter again, downed a healthy swallow. "This seems right to me."
April plunked down into the chair, wide-eyed and open-mouthed, her tough gal manner forgotten. "Mr. Martone, sir, I cannot . . . that is too generous . . . ."
He waved his hand."It is a fair exchange, considering the importance of the gift you have given me. It is done. My nephew will be—retiring, and I have no interest in such things. It is a sad day when family cannot be trusted."
Antonio took the flash drive, slid it into the pocket of his well-worn cardigan. He patted it. "This will be dealt with. Where should my attorneys send the legal documents?"
Now, there's a good question. April hadn't considered anything past surviving this meeting, and she had serious doubts about that.
"Sir, I'm not sure. Angelo took my possessions and sub-let my apartment. In all honesty, I seem to be homeless at the moment." She shrugged. "I guess GMG Security and Surveillance, in Jersey. At least for now. I'm sure your people can look up the address. I don't have a card or anything with me."
He cocked his head. "Investigator Garrett. You know this man?"
Wide-eyed once more, she could only nod.
"He has caused me some difficulties in the past, your friend."
She stared pointedly at him. "Both my men, Mr. Wyndsor and Mr. Garrett, are family to me, sir."
"Your men. Interesting." He returned her stare with a measure of respect. "I understand." Antonio waved a hand in dismissal. "It is of no concern. Such is the price of doing business. The games continue, life goes on."
"Oh, wait, Mr. Martone. There is one more thing."
His expression darkened, was not as pleasant as it had been a moment before.
April reached into the pocket hidden in the side seam of her skirt.
"I nearly forgot. This belongs to your family, sir." She handed him the gold heirloom ring. "I left Angelo's house, so I guess I technically broke our engagement. I have no right to keep it."
He gazed at her with renewed awareness. "Our family will be the poorer for not knowing you."
As he turned the ring over in his fingers, the gems glistened in a ray of fading sunlight as it beamed through the window. "I regret that our direct family line ends with Angelo. Maybe is it nature's way of dealing with bad blood like his."
Antonio looked away for a moment. When he turned back, April thought there might have been a slight glisten to his eyes.
He cleared his throat. "I would like you to keep this ring, a personal token from me.
"But, sir—"
He held up his hand, palm outward, to stop her.
"Rather than a reminder of pain inflicted, I hope its ageless beauty may remind you of your triumph over great adversity."
He placed the ring in her hand, closed her fingers around it."When you are ready, wear it in good health."
April felt her own tears threaten to spill at the simple
sentiment.
Remember, he's a mob boss, the boss of the crime families on the East Coast. The man is a cold-blooded killer. He could have just as easily ordered the hit on you, if it served his purpose.
"Thank you, sir."
Martone the elder escorted April to the foyer. Daniel stood immediately and watched, eyebrow raised, as Antonio held and kissed both of her hands.
Omigod, Daniel's still here. What's he doing here, anyway? Really, my bodyguard—
Not! Maybe he's interviewing for a new job. Her breath came in stilted bursts, and her heart was beating so rapidly that she thought she would faint. She realized Antonio was speaking to her.
"It is unfortunate that we meet under such regrettable circumstances. You would have been treasured as a daughter." He turned a sharp eye to Daniel. "And you, Mr.
Wyndsor, I have no doubt you will treasure her."
Daniel silently acknowledged the capo.
"My dear child, if the need should arise, or if you simply desire to spend a quiet afternoon on the patio with an old man, enjoying tea and the finest pastries, maybe listen to a little music . . . perhaps share the story of your extraordinary meeting with the late Valentino Rugakoff . . . ."
The patriarch of the Martone crime family returned to his study, closed the door.
The audience had ended.
* * * * *
The bodyguard returned April's gun, then escorted her to the wide sweeping front stairs. Great, now where do I go? Daniel brought up the rear, after he retrieved his firearm from one of the two giant potted bamboo plants that framed the sitting area.
She thought it interesting that the bodyguard didn't seem to treat Daniel as a threat. Maybe professional courtesy, one thug to another? Even in her pissed off state, she knew it wasn't true. Daniel hardly fit into the thug category. A second burly man joined the first, this one with a shaved head and tattoos visible up the back of his thick neck.
The bright red Pontiac muscle car parked next to the lodge's Explorer made the SUV look positively lowbrow and redneck. Guiding April by the elbow, Daniel escorted her to the passenger side of the GTO.
"Hold on, fella, what do you think is happening here?"
"April, get in the car."
"Look, buddy, in case you haven't noticed, I don't take orders these days." Her voice was loud, her tone argumentative, her posture belligerent—April wanted out, and she wanted out, now.
Daniel ran his hand through his hair, his frustration obvious. "Angel, please get in the bloody damn car."
When she acquiesced, he kept his cool and handed her into the bucket seat of the classic automobile.
April noticed two more beefy bodybuilders in sport coats had joined the first pair. The men glanced toward the escalating scene, but tried not to get caught looking.
She threw a squinty-eyed look their way. I swear to good God Almighty that if I see one smirk, the faintest hint of a macho grin, someone is going to die.
Daniel slid into the driver's seat. He hit the key, and the 389-cubic-inch motor rumbled smoothly to life. "Where were you going?"
She stared straight ahead."I need to get back to Maine. To return the truck. To grab my gear. To decide whether to stay in Catamount Lake or Manhattan. Or, head back home to Chino, to the farm with the veggies and the milk goats, into the safety of my mother's bosom. If you must know."
She turned to face him, as far as the lap belt would allow. "Why the hell are you here, anyway? Climbing on board with Tony M? Probably a better gig than Angelo. By the way, I like your fancy ride. New car for the new job? A bit too much, I think, if you want to keep a low profile."
She angled a thumb at the guards, smirked. "The guidos seem happy and well fed." Daniel's scent, so close, kicked up her pulse. Oh no, this is so not gonna happen. Not again. No way, no how. I'm so outta here.
"Daniel, here's a better idea. Just drop me off at the nearest bus terminal or taxi service, then I'll grab a ride to the GMG building in Jersey. I'm sure Glennon's friends won't mind stopping at Tony M's and grabbing the Explorer on their way back to the lodge from North Carolina." She thrust her chin toward the bodyguards. "That's a lot of beef on the hoof, keeping lookout. I'm sure nothing will happen to the SUV while it's parked here."
The Pontiac continued to idle; Daniel made no move to shift the transmission into gear. "It's still not safe for you out on the street."
April unbuckled her lap belt. "Well, alrighty then, I'm sure I can bum a ride from one of these nice men. That would be safe, don't ya think? I'll ask Mr. Martone. He seems to like me."
She reached for the door handle, but his hand on her arm prevented her from leaving. The glare she gave him could have frozen the Great Lakes.
"Angel, I came for you."
His soft, Scottish burr sped along her nervous system and caused a massive traffic jam of emotions.
"Look, you left me. I didn't leave you. So what could you possibly want?" She faced forward again so he couldn’t see the tears pooling.
"Yes, I left. I . . . well . . . . Bloody hell, I made a mistake." His breath blew out after his admission.
"I thought . . . . " He stalled again.
She punched his arm—hard.
"No, goddammit. you didn't think. You didn't think and you didn't give me a chance to explain. You played judge, jury, and finally, executioner. Without the benefit of a hearing. Without a fair trial. Without due process, and all that good shit."
"If you'd give me a chance—"
"Oh, wow, like the chance you gave me?" I will not cry, I will not cry, I will not . . . .
The tears finally spilled over.
"And just like that, you decided I'd gone running to Glennon. Just like that, I'm a piece of trash who used you, right? The rebound guy? Isn't that what you thought?"
She saw the truth in his eyes, and yanked her arm out of his grasp.
"You thought I'd gone to Glennon, didn't you, maybe played a little game of musical beds? Maybe musical cocks? Didn't you see how over the moon Abigail was for Glennon? So, a double whammy. I cheat on you, then cut in on another woman's territory."
She grabbed the door handle again. "Yeah, that's me, I'm a real fuckin' prize."
"Angel—"
"Look, Danny Boy, don't fucking Angel me. Let's keep this real simple. You thought I cheated, you left. Okay, I get it. You're right, I'm scum. That should clear your conscience. Now, go away. All I want is to grab my gear . . . . "
She stopped. "Actually, no, that's not what I want."
She used the back of her hand to brush the tears from her cheek. "You know what? I don't need any stuff. All I need is a safe ride to the nearest airport. The legalities can be sorted out later."
Leaning back in the seat, she sighed, then closed her eyes. "I'm so tired. As Mom would say when the church ladies weren't around, I'm gut-deep-down-to-the-marrow-worn-the-fuck-out. Ya gotta love my mom. I want to go home."
* * * * *
In the end, Daniel threw the Explorer keys to one of the guards, then pointed the Pontiac toward Sanctuary. He called Glennon, Abigail, and Sheriff MacBride to report that April had survived her tête- à- tête with Tony M, unscathed. Then the once-lovers drove without speaking, stopping only to fuel the car.
April's eyes refused to stay opened, and she nodded off, fitfully.
Some four hours into the trip, Daniel throttled down, steered the purring GTO to the granny lane, then took the Woburn exit off the interstate in Massachusetts.
April finally looked at him. "What's up?"
"You refuse to speak to me. Won't listen to reason. I've had exactly one hour and twenty minutes of sleep in the last twenty-four. You must be working on about the same. I suggest a nice hotel, a good meal, then a full night's sleep. In the morning, if common sense continues to elude you, I'll deliver you to the nearest airport and you can catch a flight to Chino. I'll even pay for a first-class ticket. Is this acceptable as a compromise?"
For some reason, his plan unexpectedly lightened her h
eart. It was a decision she didn't need to make. "It seems reasonable to me. I have no reserves left and I admit it.
I'm done in."
The circa-1800's granite block hotel was lovely even under the lights, with tree-lined avenues, colonnades, ponds, and gardens.
They found their way to the last available room, the Eleanor Roosevelt double suite. April didn't even make a fuss.
"Oh, this is lovely!" Deep red walls capped with ivory-colored crown molding, vaulted ceilings, a huge cherry wood wardrobe, giant four-poster bed. The sitting area opened to a stone-lined balcony, set with a small glass-topped table in white wrought iron, and two matching chairs.
April went into the bathroom, and popped right back out again—momentarily forgetting she was majorly pissed off at her traveling companion. " Omigod, Daniel, you need to see this! The bathroom is a religious experience!"
A huge room, the walls and floors finished in colorful Tuscan-inspired ceramic tiles with a metallic sheen. The tub could seat four, comfortably, and the room had a separate shower.
A knock sounded at the door and April jumped.
A man's voice spoke through the door. "Sorry to bother you. Room service."
"Daniel, it's too late for room service. What if we were followed?"
Sig Sauer tucked behind his back, Daniel peeked through the peephole, then opened the door. A tired-looking young man wheeled in the food cart.
"With the chef's compliments, Mr. and Mrs. Wyndsor. Crispy grilled duck with candied mandarin oranges, a cucumber and tomato salad, and a light, white wine.
Chef's choice."
Daniel signed the chit, then handed the man an extra twenty-dollar tip.
* * * * *
After attacking the duck like she was starving, April licked the last of the sauce from her fingers, washed it down with the remainder of the wine. "All right, Wyndsor, I admit your stroke of brilliance. I can't believe you cajoled the chef to put out a late supper for us, but this is awesome!"
Hunting April Page 18
