Reckless Angel

by Maggie Shayne

  I love you, honey.

  Her mother. It had to have been her mother.

  I love you.

  Nick braced himself against the rush of scalding pain that threatened to crush his chest. It didn’t matter. He was a grown man, not a little boy craving three meaningless words from an ice-hearted parent. It didn’t matter.

  He’d forgotten about the locked room and hurried to get out of the apartment. He refused to think of the message on the machine, except for the part about Katrina. Who was she?

  But he couldn’t spend any more time dwelling on this. He twisted the knobs, stopping the water flow, and stepped out. After toweling down, he dressed in one of the detestable three-piece suits and combed his hair back while it was still wet. Personally he thought it made him look as though he were stuck in a time warp, but he did it anyway. It was part of the image.

  Toni paced the small living room and wondered if he was deliberately trying to confuse her. He’d been about to deliver another rapacious kiss, bruising her lips and devastating her mind. She’d seen it in his face—but then it had changed. He’d softened visibly. His painful hold on her had eased until it was an embrace. The anger in his eyes vanished, and the emotion that had taken its place, for the tiniest space in time, had looked like desire.

  How would she have responded, she wondered, if his kiss had been tender, given in a passion based on desire rather than one based on anger?

  Insane! Even the idea was insane. She wouldn’t let herself think about it again. It was obvious that he was playing some kind of mind game with her—trying to convince her that, though he worked for the most powerful criminal in the state, maybe the country, he was really just a nice guy. Why else would he have taken the couch and let her have the bed, or hand-fed her just so she wouldn’t go hungry? It was a ploy to confuse her—and it was working, she realized.

  She forced the overdeveloped jerk out of her thoughts. Let him be as nice or as mean as he wanted. It wouldn’t matter to her one way or the other. She occupied her mind fully with unpacking her clothes and finding places to stow them in the bedroom. She squashed his things to one side of the dresser drawers, trying but failing to picture him in the brilliant-colored tank tops she found there. She shoved his three-piece suits to the back corner of the closet and hung some of her blouses and sweaters in front of them. She glimpsed a pair of high-topped basketball shoes with neon laces in them and shook her head. They clashed with her image of him. She shouldn’t be surprised, though. Anyone built the way he was obviously worked out to get that way. She hadn’t thought about it before. There was a whole other side to Nick Manelli, associate to the mob. Toni’s curiosity was thoroughly aroused. She chided herself for wasting time unpacking clothes when she should have been giving this place a complete checking out. Who knew what kinds of things the guy was hiding?

  Dragging a chair nearer the closet, she stood on it to see what was on the top shelf. At first she noticed only a couple of spare blankets and a well-worn basketball. Then she poked around a bit, moving things, and her fingers met something hard. A photograph in a frame, she realized as she pulled it down.

  She sat on the chair and studied the faded black-and-white snapshot. A man, a woman and two small boys smiled back at her. The woman seemed young and happy, and the boy on her lap resembled her more than a little. But it was the man who caught her attention. He was the image of her captor, in every way except one. He didn’t have muscle bulging from every possible locale. She let her gaze move down to the little boy in the man’s lap, and she knew she was looking at Nick. He couldn’t have been more than six years old, with a wide grin and a tooth missing. His hair was a riot of dark curls beneath his father’s hand.

  She felt a lump form in her throat. How did an adorable child like that grow into a common criminal?

  She was allowing herself to become distracted again. She stood and quickly replaced the photo, then completed her examination of the bedroom, noting little of interest except the twelve-inch portable TV. Why have two televisions in an apartment this small?

  In the living room, the first thing she looked over carefully were the rows of books. It hadn’t occurred to her to wonder if any of hers were among them, but it did now. Her heart was in her throat as she scanned the spines on the two shelves along the wall. Not that he could recognize her just because he’d read her book. It just made her uncomfortable to think he might have one here. As it turned out, he didn’t. She sighed her relief and frowned. There was one small area where the books were not pushed back to the wall. A space had been left behind them. She had to stand on a chair once again, and in seconds she pulled a slender remote control from behind the books.

  Why on earth would anyone hide their remote? She got down, pointed the thing at the television, noting for the first time the absence of any buttons or switches on the set itself. The image that lit the screen was even more confusing: a tall iron gate, standing motionless on a twisting drive. She stared, blinked slowly, and then the truth hit her. It was no TV; it was a closed-circuit monitor—probably hooked up to the camera she’d noticed in the bear’s head, as well as several others. She tested her theory by hitting various buttons. Just as she’d suspected, each button gave her a view of another room within the mansion.

  “He must have a camera hidden in every room,” she whispered, still flicking one button after another. She stopped short when she saw the living room, with the black leather furniture and marble-topped bar. Nick stood at the bar, pouring whiskey into crystal glasses. He was, once again, the gangster she’d seen in the alley last night. He wore a dark suit, minus the jacket. His hair was tamed down. His stance, his very expression, were different than when he’d been here in the apartment.

  Beyond him she saw Viper, his beady eyes darting constantly in his puckered little face. He stood near a fat man with white hair and flabby jowls. Toni knew him. She would have known him anywhere. Lou Taranto. She glanced at the remote in her hand, located the volume button and pressed it. She could listen to them, as well.

  Nick forced a smile for his guests, but it felt stiff. All he seemed able to think about was that Antonia was upstairs at this very moment. Having Viper this close to her sent a chill through him, right to the marrow. He splashed Jack Daniel’s into three glasses, despite the early hour, and handed them each one. Lou took his and held it up.

  “To new associates.”

  Nick clinked his glass to Lou’s. Viper didn’t, he noted. Viper wasn’t thrilled with new associates in the least. He was cautious. More so than Lou. Nick looked at him and felt the same bristle of aversion he’d felt from their first encounter. Trying to avoid becoming this man’s enemy was essential if he were going to get the evidence he needed to put Lou away. It was also the toughest thing he’d ever done.

  “You get Vinnie dumped okay?” Nick slipped back into his street-tough pattern of speech.

  “No problem.” Viper took a slug of the whiskey and smacked his lips.

  Lou shifted from one foot to the other.

  “Somethin’ wrong, Lou?”

  “The girl,” Lou answered, his words clipped. “Where’d you dump her?”

  “She’s in the bay.” Nick tried not to show his reaction to the question. Did they know something? “I weighted her. She won’t turn up for months. Maybe never.”

  Lou nodded, looking fractionally easier. “Who was she?”

  Nick shrugged as if it didn’t matter.

  “Dammit, Nicky, didn’t she have any ID on her? Didn’t you check?”

  Nick took a long pull from his glass. The less Lou knew about Antonia, the better. “Didn’t think it was important. She saw us, she had to go. There was no time to check her out before I hit her, and after it didn’t seem to matter. Dead’s dead, Lou.”

  Lou grunted and didn’t say anything. Nick felt a cold finger of unease trace the curve of his spine. Finally Lou sipped his whiskey and sat down, his substantial weight noisily crushing the leather cushions. “Viper tells me Vinnie w
ent down easy. You agree?”

  “Viper didn’t wait for me. It was a done deal by the time I got there.”

  “But you’re sure it was Vinnie? You took a look at his face before it was…altered?”

  “Sure did, Lou. No mistake. Vinnie the songbird in the flesh.”

  “He won’t be singing anymore,” Viper put in. He laughed aloud, and Lou did, as well. Nick forced himself to join in.

  “What about the body?” Lou drained his glass, got up with an effort and refilled it without asking. He was speaking to Nick.

  “Lou, I couldn’t watch the dumping. I had to get the girl the hell outta there. Someone had already called the cops.”

  “You don’t need to send witnesses on my jobs, Lou,” Viper snapped. “You know I always come through. Vinnie’s feedin’ fish.”

  Lou nodded, still standing. “Let’s hope he’s a lesson to the next rat who thinks of squeaking to the D.A.” Nick raised his glass and nodded heartily. He downed the rest of the whiskey in a slug that burned a path down the center of his chest.

  Lou cleared his throat. “Things’ll be hot in the city for a while—as soon as they miss Vinnie.”

  “It isn’t like they didn’t know what they were doing when they sprung him, Lou. Every official in office knew you’d order Vinnie snuffed. They didn’t care. He wouldn’t give the testimony he promised, so they just didn’t care. And they call us the criminals.” It was the longest speech Viper had ever made in Nick’s presence. The worst part was, he was right.

  “Sure, but no one’s gonna admit that. It would be political suicide. Besides, it gives ‘em a great excuse to hassle me. When did you know ‘em to pass one up?” Lou shook his head, frowning. “At least it’s what I expected. I don’t like surprises. That’s why I’m worried about that girl. She was a surprise.”

  “Too bad Nick was in such a hurry to off the bitch,” Viper said slowly. “I could’a made her tell me her life story.” He licked his lips. “She was a looker, Lou. We could’a kep’ her awhile. Partied with ‘er for days before we killed her off—the way we did with that uppity hooker that tried to put the squeeze on you. Remember her? But Nick, he has a hair trigger, this guy.”

  Nick’s jaw clenched tight, and he felt a muscle work near the corner of his mouth. He turned slowly and glared at the slime standing across from him.

  Viper met the scorching gaze with one of his own. Lou was quick to step between them. “I don’t think Nicky likes you findin’ fault with his work.” His tone made the simple statement a reprimand. He glanced at Nick. “It’s okay, Nicky. I think you done good. Hell, Viper said she was off and running when you popped her. If she’d have got away, all hell would’a broke loose.”

  “Funny, though,” Viper said, slow and confident, his snake’s eyes never leaving Nick’s face. “I drove by there this morning and I didn’t see no blood.”

  “You saying she didn’t bleed, Viper? Or are you saying something else?” Nick took a step closer to the little weasel, his temper approaching the boiling point.

  “I’m saying I’d feel better if I had a look at her before you took off with her. How do I know she’s dead? She saw my face!” Viper stepped closer, as well, and Lou’s pudgy body was wedged between them.

  “Maybe you’d like a trip to the bottom of the bay, pal. Maybe you’d feel better if you saw her up close and personal.” Nick leaned over Lou, his voice level but tight with barely controlled rage.

  “Enough, already.” Lou’s command cut the tension between them, and Nick backed off. “I have enough trouble without you two going at it like a couple of punk kids.” He nailed Viper to the spot with his gaze. “Nicky says he killed her. That’s good enough for me. I don’t want to hear you talk him down again.”

  “You’re crazy, Lou. He’s not even one of us—”

  “But he will be.” That statement earned stares of disbelief from Viper and Nick. Lou turned and encircled Nick’s shoulders with one beefy arm. “Next commission meeting is this weekend, Nicky. When it’s over, you’ll be a made man—officially.”

  Viper rolled his eyes toward the ceiling and swore. He downed his whiskey and slammed his glass on the bar. “You really think the others will go for this, Lou? No way. Nick isn’t proven.”

  “He took the broad out.” Lou slapped Nick’s shoulder repeatedly. “For me, he did this. He acted from loyalty, and loyalty to Lou Taranto doesn’t go unrewarded. You should know that.” His arm tightened, and he grinned until his fat face puckered. “What do you say, Nicky?”

  “I’m honored, Lou. I—I wasn’t expecting this.”

  Lou reached into a pocket and extracted an envelope that appeared stuffed to the bursting point. He pressed it into Nick’s hand. “For the girl, Nicky. You done good.”

  Nick accepted the money, thanked Lou, but his thanks were waved away. “I need a favor,” Lou told him. “As I already said, things’ll be hot in the city. The Century won’t be practical, and we need this meeting. This place—” he waved an expressive arm to indicate the entire room “—this place would be perfect.”

  Nick swallowed and tried to appear bowled over with joy that the leaders of several organized crime families would be meeting here. The idea shook him. These guys were sharp. But he had no choice. You didn’t thumb your nose at an offer like this. It was an honor. To refuse would be taken as a personal insult, and Viper was already suspicious of him.

  “My place is yours, Lou.”

  “Good, then. Saturday night. And don’t worry about the vote. I’ll speak to the others.” He gave Nick one last slap on the back, put his glass down on the bar and turned for the door without another word.

  Viper glared at Nick. “Don’t get too cocky, Manelli. The vote isn’t over yet, and if I have anything to say about it, you’ll come out on the short end.”

  “Lucky for me you don’t have anything to say about it, then, isn’t it, Viper?”

  Toni fought a surge of nausea when she heard Viper talking about how he could’ve “made her talk.” Thank God Nick had been there. She brought that thought to a grinding halt. Nick was no hero. He was only the lesser of two evils. He’d taken part in a murder. No, she corrected herself. He’d arrived in the alley after the fact, if she could believe what she’d just heard. Still, he was about to be inducted into the mob.

  She watched him after the others had gone. He spun around, pushing one hand through his hair and rumpling its slick perfection. He looked stunned and more than a little bit worried. He ought to be, she thought. If those two found out what he’d done—that he’d lied to them and hadn’t killed her at all—he’d be a dead man. He really had taken a risk in not letting Viper shoot her that night—or letting him take her alive and do far worse. There was no way she could deny it. Nick had saved her life. According to the slimy Viper, he’d saved her from more than just death—a lot more.

  But why?

  He moved as if deep in thought, picking up glasses, replacing the whiskey bottle, wiping the bar with a soft cloth. Toni was certain of only one thing. She wouldn’t leave here now—not even if he left the doors wide open and offered her a ride to the bus station. The bosses of at least three major crime families would be meeting under this very roof. She had this wonderful setup to watch them and listen in. To turn her back on a research opportunity like this would be nothing short of pure cowardice. She turned in a slow circle. She couldn’t let her lack of backbone scare her away from this. She’d leave here somehow, but after that meeting. She ought to be able to survive four more days here. Nick obviously wasn’t planning to kill her. He wouldn’t have risked his life to keep her alive, only to kill her later. She’d be fine as long as he never guessed who she really was.

  She glanced at the screen, stiffening when she saw only an empty room. She hurriedly shut the monitor off, leapt onto the chair and replaced the remote in its unoriginal hiding place. She placed the chair exactly as it had been before and rushed into the bedroom to finish unpacking so she’d appear busy when he retur
ned.

  She pulled the last armful of things from the bag and stuffed them into an already crowded drawer. That done, she bent to pick up the bag, surprised to find there was still weight in the bottom. She bent and pulled out the last items in the bag: two brand-new spiral notebooks and her own copy of On Being a Writer. She’d left the book on her nightstand beside her bed.

  Did he know? My God, had he been inside her office? The door was locked, but there were copies of every book she’d ever written in there—and in the safe behind the framed painting of her first cover, there was enough evidence to put Lou Taranto behind bars for the rest of his life. If he’d found it, he would kill her. There was no chance he’d do otherwise. She should have turned it over to federal authorities, she moaned inwardly. She’d known that was the thing to do, and she’d come perilously close to handing it to one man who she later learned was on Taranto’s payroll. She’d been terrified to make the same mistake again.

  Did Nick know now that she was Toni Rio? He must. Bringing the book and the notebooks were his way of telling her the game was over. She held the books in hands clenched tight and white knuckled.

  “I found it in your bedroom.” She jumped as if jolted and spun to face him.

  Chapter 4

  Toni stood motionless, unable to utter a word, waiting.

  “Look, the truth is, you might be here for more than a few days,” he went on. “I figured if you could get something out of this forced vacation—spend some time writing, if that’s what you want to do—it might be easier.”

  She opened her mouth and closed it again, still unsure.

  He shrugged. “You’ve got to start sometime, Antonia, or you’ll never know whether you’re any good.”

  She thought he must have felt the air currents stirring when she sighed in relief. He’d bought the notebooks so she could try her hand at writing.