by Julia Harper
Opening the door, he ducked in. There was a basic office setup here: a battered wooden desk, a chair, and a gray metal filing cabinet, but no computer. Dante sat in the chair behind the desk and started pulling open drawers. On the third one he hit pay dirt. There was a folder with several bills inside, orders for various supplies for the restaurant. Across one was written the name Savita Gupta, with an address and phone number. Both the address and phone number were different than the ones Kevin had given him from the car license plate.
Dante smiled and reached into his inside suit jacket pocket, taking out the ballpoint pen and a small leather notebook he always carried. He copied the information from the bill before searching the rest of the office. There wasn’t much else to find—a few more bills, a newspaper clipping announcing the opening of an Indian market, and a few papers handwritten in a looping language. Dante pocketed these last.
Back in the kitchen, the old guy was still talking up a storm and Zoey’s packet of Twizzlers was almost empty, but she had her head cocked toward the man, nodding every once in a while, as if she found every word he said terribly important. Dante paused for a second in the doorway, just watching her. She’d been a pain in the ass earlier, jumping on his car like a lunatic and telling him how to do his job. Yet now she was taking the time to listen to a stranger babble at her in a language she probably didn’t even understand. Her head was tilted, a little line between her brows, the multicolored ties from her reindeer hat hanging down on either side of her face. Her full cheeks were flushed from the cold outside, and she looked kinda sexy.
She caught his eye and smiled, her eyes crinkling at the corners, her lush mouth curving, a dimple appearing in one cheek. Dante found himself staring, remembering what that mouth had looked like sucking on candy. This was just bizarre. She was so totally not his type. The last few hours had been full of tension and adrenaline. That must be the reason for his fascination. Adrenaline. Everyone knew it was an aphrodisiac.
Dante mentally shook himself and crossed to where she stood with the old man. “Let’s go.”
She looked dubiously at the old guy, who was still talking. “Shouldn’t we offer him a ride home?”
Dante raised his eyebrows. “You’re kidding, right?”
She frowned at him. “No. It’s dark outside and the neighborhood isn’t safe. What if the kidnapper comes back? What if—”
“Okay, okay.” Dante held up his hands in surrender. “I’ll give him a lift if you can figure out how to tell him that.”
She shook her head like he was brain-dead, then turned to the old man. And somehow, without speaking the same language, she conveyed the offer of a lift to the guy. Either that or the man figured they were taking him out to dinner. In any case, he followed them outside the restaurant. He paused to lock the back door, and a few minutes later they were all piling into the BMW.
“Nice,” Dante said as he pulled his seat belt out. “That was very nice. But I don’t know how he’s going to tell us how to—”
From his position smack in the middle of the back seat, the guy pointed, straight-armed, dead ahead.
Dante twitched a smile at the old guy and turned the ignition key. “Right.”
“Did you find anything in the office?” Zoey asked.
“Yeah, I—” Flashing blue and red lights suddenly reflected in his rearview mirror, and Dante felt his pulse kick into heart-attack territory.
“Oh, my God!” Zoey was twisting in her seat to look behind them.
There was nowhere to go, nowhere to turn. The police car was coming up fast on his rear. Dante started to press down the accelerator.
And the flashing cop car sped by them on the left, drove another couple of blocks, and took a right farther down. The cops hadn’t been interested in them at all.
“Jesus.” He eased off the accelerator, wishing his heart rate could calm down as easily.
“Good thing I used that restroom,” Zoey muttered.
Dante shot her a look. Her words were cocky, but her cheeks were pale, and the sight bothered him. She shouldn’t be frightened. She was the type of girl who took the world head-on. Much as her sarcasm and orders irritated him, he preferred them to the white face. He needed to get her away from this craziness as soon as possible. Before she was hurt.
A squawk from the back seat interrupted his thoughts, and an arm appeared over Dante’s right shoulder, pointing left.
“All right, all right,” he muttered as he maneuvered around the truck in front of them. “Just give me a second so I don’t rear-end this guy.”
A digital song started playing in the car.
“Darn.” Zoey fumbled for her phone. Her frown smoothed to an expression of worry when she looked at the caller ID. “It’s Nikki.”
She flipped open the phone. “Hi, sweetie . . . no, I’m okay . . . yeah, I know.”
Dante stopped at a light. “Don’t tell her where we are.”
She glanced at him. “I’m with a friend. No, it’s . . . No, it’s okay. No, really . . .” She sighed as Nikki talked for a long bit, then said, “I’ll call you later . . . Promise . . . Yes . . . love you, too. Bye.”
Zoey shook her head as she hung up. “She’s almost insane with worry.”
Guilt tightened his chest. “I’m sorry.”
“Thank you.” Her face was hidden as she put away the cell.
He accelerated as the light changed.
“Shouldn’t we switch cars or something?” Zoey asked. “Won’t the guys who’re chasing you know what car you drive?”
“One thing at a time.” He needed to get her to a safe place. The problem was that she was his only witness that he hadn’t kidnapped a baby and shot three of his colleagues. Sooner or later the fact that she was a witness to the truth was bound to occur to whoever had set him up. The case against him was a whole lot stronger if Zoey were missing. Or dead. Which left a question: Was Zoey safer with him, or by herself?
“Hey, maybe we can break into the city’s impounded-cars lot and liberate my Prius,” Zoey said.
He widened his eyes in mock admiration. “That is a good idea. A Prius is just what I’d like to be driving if we’re chased again.”
“No need for the macho sarcasm,” Zoey huffed. “Besides, who says you’d be driving the car?”
Dante didn’t bother answering. They were in a neighborhood composed of brownstone duplexes and more modern square apartment buildings. The old guy tapped Dante on the shoulder, and he took that as a signal to slow down.
“Or I know someone we could ask to borrow her car,” Zoey continued. “’Course she drives a Beetle. And it’s purple.”
The old guy gave a yell from the back, and Dante stomped on the brake in reflex. “Jesus! What?”
He turned to find the old guy scrambling out of the back seat.
“Bye!” Zoey called, and they both watched him skitter across the street and into one of the duplexes. She turned to him with a bright face. “Want to try for the Beetle? Or do you have a better idea?”
Dante put the BMW in gear. “I’ve got a better idea.”
Chapter Ten
Thursday, 8:05 p.m.
Where are we going?” Zoey asked. It was dark now, the streetlights reflecting off the slush piled against the curbs.
“I need to drop you off,” Lips said. The car was shadowed, but she could make out the grim set of his jaw. “Do you have a friend or relative you can stay with?”
“No.” Her heart had sped up at his words. The last thing she wanted was to have him dump her somewhere. It was important that she stay with him. Important that she find Pete.
“No one at all? What about the friend who owns the Beetle?”
“She just had a baby. My mother lives in Indiana. I’ve got one friend who’s just left for two weeks in Cancún, and another who lives in a dorm at the University of Chicago.”
“A dorm?”
Zoey shrugged, glad that he couldn’t see her face. She was skating the truth on all of this, an
d she wasn’t the best liar in the world. “She’s getting a law degree.”
“You don’t have any brothers or sisters?”
“Not besides Nikki.” She swallowed. “Well, I’ve got some foster brothers and sisters from way back, but we’re not in touch. I don’t even have current phone numbers.”
Lips sighed. “Okay. Give me your cell phone.”
She dug in her coat pocket and handed it over, mute.
He tapped in a number one-handed and held it to his ear. “Kevin? Yeah, it’s me. What’s happening?”
He drove silently as Kevin must’ve said something at length.
“Christ, Kev.”
His tone was sharp, and Zoey watched him curiously.
“Look, I need you to trace the money for me. . . . Yeah, I know it won’t be easy, but . . . Just do your best . . . Yeah . . . The usual place . . . What about Headington? Christ. . . . Okay.”
Lips flipped the phone shut. He had a thoughtful expression on his face.
Zoey couldn’t stand the suspense anymore. “What? What’d he say?”
Lips glanced at her as if surprised by her outburst, then looked ahead again. “My boss is unavailable. And, apparently I’ve got a bank account in the Cayman Islands. Three million dollars was deposited into it an hour ago.”
“What?”
“Yeah.” His voice was awful and low. “Someone has also made it look like I’m deeply in debt from gambling—as if the mob has a hold on me. Kev’s going to try and trace the money trail, but whoever’s set me up is pretty good. Kevin’s not sure he can do it.”
“And if he doesn’t?”
“I’ll be going to prison.” Dante shook his head. “That doesn’t matter right now—”
Being set up to go to prison didn’t matter? “How can you—”
He rolled down his window.
Zoey’s mouth fell open as she realized what he was about to do. “Hey!”
Out the window went her hot pink cell phone.
“Awww!”
“As soon as they figure you’re with me, they’ll ping it,” Lips said ruthlessly.
“I know.” She couldn’t help her voice sounding resentful. “But it was practically new—”
He raised a hand, cutting her off. “I’ll buy you a new one. Now. Where can I take you? What about a different relative? Is your father nearby?”
She shook her head. “He lives in Naperville, but I’m not going to him for help.”
“Naperville is only a couple of hours away. Look, you might be in danger. If he’s even—”
“I’m not asking my father for help.”
Her tone was flat, and she could feel him glancing at her.
She sighed. “He left Mom and me the summer I turned fourteen and didn’t keep in touch. I’m not going to him now.”
“Fine.” He stared out the windshield for a minute. “I’ll take you to a motel—”
“I don’t have the cash on me.”
“I can get you some.”
“I’m not taking money from you!”
His jaw clenched. “Look, I’m just offering.”
“And if whoever’s setting you up finds me at the motel?”
“They aren’t going to find you.” He glanced into the rearview mirror.
“How do you know?”
He didn’t even bother replying.
They drove in silence for a bit, Lips thinking deep, federal thoughts, no doubt, and Zoey readying her argument.
Finally she twisted in her seat to face him. “Look, I know you don’t want me here. I know I’m in the way and I’m a pain in the ass, and I admit I’m scared at the thought of being shot at, but I need to do something to help find Pete. I can’t just sit somewhere and wait while she’s out there with strangers.”
“I don’t—”
“Please.”
He was silent a minute, watching the street. Somehow they’d ended up in a nicer area. Zoey didn’t recognize the neighborhood in the dark, but it featured shopping centers, restaurants, and all-night groceries.
Finally Lips muttered, “You’re not a pain in the ass.”
She felt her eyebrows shoot up. She wasn’t?
He didn’t look at her, keeping his gaze focused on the road instead. The oncoming headlights strobed across his face and made it look like some Greek statue, all hard planes and no color. “And you don’t have to be scared. I won’t let anyone hurt you.”
It was a line straight out of a movie—maybe one starring Bruce Willis—but Zoey wasn’t even tempted to laugh. This guy who didn’t even know her cared about her safety. The thought kind of made her shiver. ’Course protecting people is his job, a practical voice inside her head drawled.
Practical voices could be such downers.
Zoey replied totally without thinking. “Okay.”
Okay was a simple everyday word, but it felt like more in this case. Like she’d made a pact with him. He’d keep her safe; she’d trust him to do it. Which was weird, because it wasn’t like she did the whole male-protector thing, as a rule. Actually, it was usually the opposite—she hadn’t totally trusted a man since Dad had done his walkout when she was a teenager.
“Okay,” he replied, and now it was too late. Their pact—if it even was a pact—was sealed.
Dante signaled and turned off the main road, passing little shops lit by strings of white Christmas lights. He drove a couple of blocks and then turned into an upscale mall. Even though it was evening, the lot was crowded; one end of the mall was anchored by a twenty-four-hour health club. Dante slowed the BMW and started cruising up and down the parking lot.
“What are you doing?” Zoey asked. Maybe he felt an overwhelming urge to do bench presses when he was under stress. Except he wasn’t parking the car.
“I’m looking.”
“For what?”
“Hush,” he said absently. “Can’t you be quiet for more than two minutes?”
“Hey! I’m a real quiet person. You just don’t—”
“Aha!”
“Aha?” Zoey looked at him incredulously. “Who says Aha?”
“Bitch, bitch, bitch,” he muttered, but he said it lightly, not really paying attention to her because he was parking the car. He set the emergency brake and jumped out without explanation.
“Hey!” Zoey scrambled out of the car, wrapping her arms around herself as the cold winter wind hit her. With the sun down, the temperature had dropped ten degrees or more. Dante was at the rear of the BMW, popping the trunk. She watched as he pulled out a soft-sided toolbox and started rummaging in it. “What—?”
“Really. Try to be quiet now.”
Zoey rolled her eyes. He was enjoying being mysterious, she could tell. This silence stuff was just to impress her.
He found a screwdriver and walked to the nearest car. Only now did she notice that it was a black convertible Beemer and . . . She squinted. It looked like the same model as Dante’s car.
“Hey.”
“Shhh.”
He squatted by the back of the car, the skirt of his black trench coat pooling at his feet, and started working on the license plate cover. He had it off in a few seconds and walked over to his Beemer, taking his plates off and switching them with the other black Beemer’s. In another few minutes he’d completed the job, stowed away the screwdriver, and slammed the trunk lid shut.
Zoey glanced at Dante as she got back into the car. He had a satisfied expression on his face—not quite a smile, but the kind of look that guys got when they thought they’d been very clever.
“Nice,” she said.
He shrugged modestly as he put the car in gear and drove out of the health club parking lot.
“’Course I’ve seen that in the movies,” Zoey continued carelessly.
His too-handsome face fell.
She took pity. “But it was pretty smart anyway.”
“Thanks.”
She grinned at him.
“I’m hungry.” He signaled to get back on the ma
in road. “Let’s get something to eat.”
“You’re taking me out?”
“Yup. To a drive-thru.”
“Be still my heart,” Zoey muttered.
“Then I’m going to find these old ladies.” He looked at her. “And get your niece back.”
Chapter Eleven
Thursday, 8:34 p.m.
That is not the correct way to fasten a diaper such as this one,” Savita-di said bossily to Pratima over the wailing of the blond baby she held on her hip.
They were in a tiny basement apartment belonging to Abdul. Abdul was the janitor at their restaurant—a kindly old man who did not seem to have a word of English. He worked extremely slowly, but he was prompt and never missed a day of work. One sometimes had to make compromises, Pratima had found, when one owned a restaurant.
And they must’ve made a good choice in hiring Abdul, for despite the late hour, he had greeted them with a toothless smile when they’d knocked on his door. At the moment he sat in a rather tattered stuffed green chair watching and nodding as the ladies attempted to diaper the babies. Fortunately, he’d turned off the blaring TV when they’d entered.
Pratima smiled kindly down at the dark-haired baby girl, who was presently trying her best to crawl away. “If you know so much about diapering babies, Savita-di, perhaps you should diaper the child yourself.”
“My hands are full, Pratima, as you can plainly see,” Savita-di gasped as the blond baby boy drew breath to blast both ladies again. “This boy is admirably strong.”
“But not as pretty as the girl,” Pratima retorted. Savita-di had always been partial to boy children, a deplorably old-fashioned prejudice that should have been lost long before the ladies had come to the US of A.
The baby girl suddenly stilled, her eyes caught by the necklace about Pratima’s neck. Pratima took advantage of her calm to fasten the sticky tapes of the disposable diaper around the little girl’s round tummy. The baby grinned and reached up to tangle her fingers in the delicate gold necklace.
“Ah, ah!” Pratima chided. “Mustn’t break auntie’s beautiful necklace.”
“Hurry, Pratima,” Savita-di said breathlessly. “This boy is very strong. And his bottom—pee-yew!”
