To Catch a Thief

by Sherryl Woods

  Gina Petrillo was tall and slender with black eyes and dark hair that curled to her shoulders in sexy disarray. There was an earthy quality to her that reminded him of some of the most legendary Italian beauties. He could instantly envision her standing over a steaming pot of tomato sauce and just as easily imagine her in his bed, in a steamy tangle of arms and legs. He couldn’t think of the last time he’d reacted on such a purely male level to a woman.

  Of course, the fact that she was a thief—okay, an alleged thief, he conceded, thinking of Lydia’s admonition—took a little of the fun away from the discovery that he was attracted to her. He had a feeling he was going to spend a lot of time reminding himself that Gina Petrillo was trouble. He would probably spend even more time in cold showers.

  Holding her for that dance, watching the sway of her hips as she’d walked away from him, he’d found himself regretting the fact that she was so thoroughly forbidden. Then, again, maybe that was the real allure.

  And not only was she forbidden, she didn’t seem to trust him any more than he did her. That offended him. Most people considered him solid and reliable. In fact, he was one of the most respected attorneys at a firm that prided itself on its respectability. In some circles he was even considered a prize catch.

  Not that he was any sort of playboy, but he was used to women being eager to see him. He seldom had time for even half the women who called asking him to accompany them to social functions. He had a hunch it would be a cold day in hell before Gina asked him to dance again, much less to join her for dinner. That made her a challenge, and as she had already guessed, he loved a challenge.

  The smart thing would be to speak to a local judge, arrange a quick deposition—first thing tomorrow morning, if possible—and then hightail it out of town before he lost sight of his professional ethics.

  The only problem with that was that it would leave Gina Petrillo on her own in Wyoming. She’d be able to sneak off to who-knew-where the minute his back was turned. And she was his best link to Roberto Rinaldi. The deposition was only half of what he wanted from her. He also wanted her to lead him to that sleazebag partner of hers. Sooner or later she was going to make contact with the man, if only to strangle him herself…or to get her share of the cash he’d stolen.

  No, he concluded, he was here to stay. At least until Gina went back to New York, which she’d insisted would be in two weeks.

  Two endless weeks, he thought despondently. Lydia would be elated.

  He listened to the annoying whine of a fiddle as the band tuned up for yet another round of country songs, and shuddered. Why couldn’t the woman have run off to Italy? Or Paris? Or anyplace civilized where the music tended to be classical?

  “Care to dance, Mr. O’Donnell?”

  He gazed down into Lauren’s crystal-blue eyes and wondered why he wasn’t the least bit tempted by the superstar. Because the only eyes on his mind were black as onyx and belonged to a woman who was off-limits, he made himself nod.

  “I’d be honored,” he told her. If nothing else, it would be a story to tell when he got back home. Maybe even to repeat to his children, if he ever got around to marrying.

  They had taken only a few awkward steps to the unfamiliar rhythm when Lauren came to a stop and dropped any pretense of friendliness. “You don’t know much about the Texas two-step, do you, Mr. O’Donnell?”

  “Can’t say that I do,” he admitted. “Tonight is the first time I’ve tried it.”

  “Do you consider yourself a quick learner?” she asked.

  He regarded her warily. “Under most circumstances.”

  “Okay, then, here’s another lesson,” she said. “You don’t know any more about Gina than you do about the two-step. She won’t tell me why you’re here, but your presence is clearly upsetting her, and I don’t like that. She’s a terrific person and she’s among friends, Mr. O’Donnell. You tangle with her, you tangle with all of us.”

  He grinned at the feisty defense and the warning. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

  “I’m not saying that for your amusement,” she snapped. “I mean it. People who underestimate me live to regret it.”

  He managed a more somber expression. “I’m aware of that, Ms. Winters. You’ve made your point.”

  She studied him intently, then nodded, evidently satisfied. “See that you don’t forget it.”

  He watched as she went back to a cluster of three women, Gina among them. Lauren gave her friend a fierce hug, a public demonstration of support meant for his benefit, no doubt. He admired the show of loyalty, but it didn’t change his mind about Gina.

  Whether Gina was a thief or not remained to be seen, but her partner was, and that made her guilty of very bad judgment if nothing else. Nothing she’d said or done tonight had persuaded him of her innocence. In fact, quite the opposite.

  The way he saw it, Gina was even more dangerous than he’d anticipated. She was savvy and unpredictable. She had a smart mouth. With her restaurant under siege, she just might get it into her head that she had nothing to lose. She could decide to run. And she was surrounded by people who evidently would do just about anything to protect her no matter how guilty she might be.

  He was going to have to keep a clear head, which was doubly difficult given the effect she had on him. Obviously, what he needed was a good night’s sleep, though he doubted he’d get it with Gina’s sexy image plaguing him. He glanced around until he found her in the crowd.

  She was dancing again, head thrown back, her gaze locked with some cowboy’s. Rafe felt his blood boil. He wanted to stride across the field and yank her out of the man’s embrace. The depth of that unexpected and unfamiliar streak of jealousy startled him. He hadn’t cared enough about any woman to be jealous, not ever. This was not good, not good at all.

  He definitely needed to get back to his motel room, alone, and get his sex-starved emotions under control. He hadn’t mentioned to Gina that he’d brought the Café Tuscany books with him. Studying those cold, hard figures ought to put things back into perspective. And they were a whole lot more reliable and easier to understand than any woman. His mother had taught him that.

  Gina didn’t get a wink of sleep all night long. Despite her cool responses and bravado the night before, Rafe O’Donnell had gotten to her. She knew all about the fancy Park Avenue law firm he worked for. She’d recognized the name from its frequent mentions on the news, and some of the partners were among her best customers. They didn’t take cases they didn’t intend to win. She didn’t doubt that he was as driven and determined as the rest of them.

  Which meant he was going to make her life a living hell. Oh, in the end, she might be able to prove that Bobby had acted alone, but not without paying a high price. Her reputation would be tarnished. Between unpaid bills and legal fees, the restaurant would be forced to close. And she’d be right back where she started five years ago, working in somebody else’s kitchen to scrape up enough money to open her own restaurant.

  It would take longer this time, too, because she wouldn’t have Bobby to draw in investors. In fact, her link to Bobby would probably prevent anyone except the most foolhardy from lending her a dime.

  Sighing, she crawled out of bed, pulled on a pair of faded jeans, a short-sleeved blouse and the cowboy boots she hadn’t worn since she’d left Winding River ten years ago. They still fit perfectly. Maybe there was a message there, that Winding River was where she really belonged, where people still felt a shred of respect for her.

  Her parents had long since left the house. Her father worked Saturdays. Her mother spent the morning with the altar guild at church and her afternoon doing errands. Gina was used to late nights and sleeping in. She’d gotten to bed before midnight the night before, but add in a little jet lag and her schedule was completely upside down. It felt like noon, which it was in New York. The clock said otherwise.

  She poured herself a cup of coffee, made two slices of toast from her mother’s homemade sourdough bread, then went onto the porch.
It was already hot outside, better suited for iced tea than coffee, but she drank it anyway. Maybe a jolt of caffeine would help her think more clearly so she could decide what to do about Rafe O’Donnell.

  Unfortunately, the only ideas that came to mind had more to do with discovering what his mouth would feel like against her own than they did with getting him out of town.

  Too restless to sit still, she grabbed the keys to her mother’s car, which had been left for her, and headed for town. She parked in the middle of the block on Main Street and considered her options. She could go to Stella’s and probably find a half dozen people she knew who’d be glad to chat with her over another cup of coffee. Or she could go to the Italian restaurant down the block, where Tony would probably let her work off her frustrations over his stove.

  No contest, she thought, with a stirring of anticipation.

  Tony Falcone had been her mentor. He’d hired her as a waitress while she was still in high school, but it hadn’t been long before he’d discovered that her real talent was in the kitchen. He’d taught her to make lasagna and spaghetti sauce with meatballs. He’d let her experiment with new recipes when cooking the traditional dishes had grown boring. And then he had helped her to persuade her parents that she would be better off going to culinary schools around the world than to any traditional college. It had been a tough sell, especially to her father, who’d been convinced that a degree in accounting would be a lot more practical. Given her current circumstances, Gina had to admit her father might have had a point.

  A wave of nostalgia washed over her as she approached the back door at Tony’s and knocked, then opened it without waiting for a response from inside.

  “Anybody in here have a good recipe for meatballs?” she called out.

  “Cara mia,” Tony said, a smile spreading across his round face when he saw her. “Where have you been? I heard you were coming home, but then nothing. I am insulted that I was not at least the second stop on your list after your parents.”

  “I know, I know,” she said, giving him a kiss on the cheek. “Will you forgive me?”

  He studied her. “That depends.”

  “On?”

  “How long you intend to stay. It has been too long, Gina. My customers are grumbling about the same old food, week after week. Not a day goes by that someone doesn’t ask when you will be back to liven up the menu.”

  “What do you tell them?”

  “That you are now a famous chef in New York, and that if they want to eat your food, they will have to travel there.”

  Gina eyed with longing the huge old stove with its simmering pots. “I could fix something for tonight,” she offered. “Maybe a spicy penne arrabiata or a Greek-style pizza with black olives and feta cheese.”

  “But you are on vacation,” Tony protested. “I cannot ask you to cook.”

  “You didn’t ask. I offered. Besides, I have some thinking to do, and I always think more clearly as I cook.”

  He studied her intently. “Problems, cara mia? Do you want to talk about them? I may not be able to solve them, but I can listen. Sometimes that is all we need, yes? An objective listener while we sort through things?”

  Gina debated telling Tony everything. She knew he would keep it to himself. She also knew he would sympathize with her predicament because he, more than anyone, knew how important her restaurant was to her.

  “Are you sure you wouldn’t mind?” she asked.

  He regarded her with feigned indignation. “How many nights did I listen to you go on and on about this boyfriend or that?”

  She grinned ruefully. “More than I care to think about, but this is different.”

  “How?”

  “Because it really matters.”

  “When you were sixteen, those boys mattered, too.”

  She thought back to the string of broken hearts she’d suffered. “Okay, you’re right. I guess it’s all a matter of perspective, isn’t it?”

  “I will fix us both an espresso and we will talk.” He gestured toward the front. “Go in there and sit.”

  “But you have things to do,” she protested. “We can talk here.”

  “Nothing that can’t wait. Now, go. I will be there in a minute.”

  Gina walked into the dining room with its familiar red-checked tablecloths, the dripping candles stuck in old Chianti bottles, the wide-planked oak floor and the big picture window overlooking Main Street. An inexpertly done mural of Naples had been painted on one wall by Tony’s homesick wife, Francesca.

  By comparison, Café Tuscany had five-star ambience, but Gina felt perfectly at home here with the rich scents drifting from the kitchen and the sunlight spilling in the window. An astonishing sense of peace crept over her. Right here, right now, she could believe everything would be all right.

  Tony joined her at a table in front. She smiled as she accepted the cup of dark espresso and took her first sip. “Still the best,” she told him. “I grind and blend my own beans, but it’s not the same.”

  “When I die, I will leave you the secret in my will,” he teased. “Now talk to me. What is this big trouble in your life?”

  Gina sighed and gazed into Tony’s dark-brown eyes. There was so much fatherly concern there. She realized suddenly just how much she had missed this man, missed sitting here and talking about her hopes and dreams until she was certain he must be bored silly, but he had never complained. Some of the time Francesca had been with them, clucking over Gina’s disappointments and offering encouragement.

  “Did I ever thank you for everything you did for me?” she asked.

  “You did, but there was no need. For Francesca and me, you are the daughter we never had.”

  “How is Francesca? I should have asked.”

  “Still the most beautiful woman in the world,” he said, a gleam in his eyes. “She will be here soon. It will make her very happy to see you again. You can tell her everything you saw in Italy. She still dreams of seeing it again one day.”

  “Then take her, Tony,” she said with a sudden sense of urgency. “Don’t let time slip away.”

  He regarded her worriedly. “You aren’t sick, are you?”

  “No, no, of course not.”

  “It’s just that you sounded so sad, as if there were things you wanted that you might never have.”

  She shook her head. “No, just things that mean the world to me that I could lose.” She told him the whole story then, leaving out none of the sordid details about Bobby’s betrayal of her and their investors.

  True to his word, Tony listened and said nothing until she wound down. “Now, to top it off, the attorney who’s filed charges against Bobby is right here in Winding River. He thinks I’m as guilty as Bobby or, at the very least, that I know something that will help his case,” she concluded.

  “But you don’t?”

  She shook her head. “I was as shocked as anyone. I’m embarrassed to say that the first clue I had of how bad things are came when I read that deposition. That’s when I looked at the books.”

  “Then tell him that, tell this man what you have told me. Hold nothing back. He will believe you.” He patted her hand. “If he does not, send him to me. I will tell him that Gina Petrillo does not lie.”

  If only it were that simple, Gina thought. She glanced outside and spotted Rafe standing on the sidewalk, leaning against the bumper of a very fancy car, staring right back at her.

  “Speak of the devil,” she muttered, resigned to the fact that the man was going to be true to his word and haunt her everywhere she went, even here in this place that had always been her sanctuary.

  Tony followed her gaze. “That is Rafe O’Donnell?”

  “In the flesh.”

  “He looks like a reasonable man.”

  “He’s not,” Gina said. “If he were, he would go away and leave me alone. I told him when I would return to New York. He doesn’t believe me. He’s determined to stick to me like glue until I go back.”

  Tony stood
up. “Then we should invite him in to join us, show him that you have nothing to hide, nothing to fear from him.”

  “I don’t know,” Gina protested, but Tony was already opening the door and beckoning Rafe inside.

  “Better you should sit here than loiter on the sidewalk outside,” Tony told him, ushering him to the table. “I will bring you an espresso, then I must get back to work in the kitchen so things will be ready for lunch.”

  Rafe sat down opposite Gina, his long legs stretched out in front of him. He looked totally at ease, not one bit like a man on a mission to make her life a living hell. And, to her very deep regret, he was still the sexiest male she’d stumbled across in a very long time. She had really, really hoped she’d been wrong about that.

  Rafe glanced around, surveying the restaurant with fascination.

  “Is this where you got your start?” he asked.

  “I worked at Stella’s for a while as a waitress, then came here. Tony taught me to cook.”

  Rafe gestured toward the mural. “Who’s the artist?”

  Gina turned to look at the familiar painting, tried to imagine how it must look through Rafe’s no-doubt jaded eyes.

  “Francesca, Tony’s wife, painted it from an old photograph,” she explained a bit defensively. “She was born in Naples. She says that painting keeps her from being homesick, so I suggest you not make fun of it.”

  “Why would I do that?”

  “Because it’s probably too hokey for a sophisticated man like you,” she said.

  “Are you sure you’re not projecting? I like it.”

  She studied him to see if he was mocking her, but his expression was serious. “You really like it?” she asked skeptically.

  “I said I did, didn’t I? I’m not an art snob, Gina.” He regarded her pointedly. “Are you?”