She drew away and wiped wetness from her cheeks. “Good to hear you laugh, hon. We’ll need plenty of that to carry us through all the days of our lives.” Her attempt at a smile wavered.
“What aren’t we talking about, babe?” A yawn sneaked past Tony’s guard. Blasted anesthesia hadn’t quite worn off. “And don’t say we’ll save it for later.”
Desi stared into his face as if searching for something. The green and gold flecks that made her eyes so unique glinted down at him. “I love you, Tony, no matter what. You know that. It won’t matter to me what you choose to do in life, I’ll be there supporting you.”
So that was the problem. She was worried about his career with the bureau. “Yeah, as I was waking up, I overheard yakking between the medical staff about possible heart issues, but Im not buying it. Just watch me come back better than ever.”
A grin snuck over her features. “You’re the kind of man who’ll make good on that promise, and I’ll cheer you on. But first—” she tapped the tip of his nose—“you need a good nights sleep, and so do I. I’ll see you in the morning, and we’ll start making it happen.”
She leaned down, and he made sure to collect more than a mere peck on the lips. After she left, Tony closed his eyes, but they wouldn’t stay that way. He watched shadows creep along the wall and listened to hospital rustles and squeaks and beeps.
In a little while, a nurse he’d never met before came in and checked his vital signs and the postsurgical IV. “Do you need me to increase the drip on the pain medication, Mr. Lucano?”
“It’s Tony, and no, thanks. You wouldn’t happen to have any instant healing pills, would you? I need to be up and doing. I haven’t loitered in bed this much since I was a newborn.”
The nurse chuckled. “Rest and time are the best healing pills for you right now, Tony. Don’t get ahead of yourself.”
Ahead of himself? He’d been sent back to preschool. He talked big, and Desi had faith in him, but what would he do if he couldn’t meet the physical standards for his job? Become an insurance investigator? Or better yet, he could hang out a shingle and turn gumshoe.
What was that 1940s flick Desi and he watched the last time they were together? The Maltese Falcon? Sure, he’d make a perfect Sam Spade if he could learn to talk out of one side of his mouth like Humphrey Bogart.
Not going to happen! He was an FBI agent first, last, and always. Could he do something else if he had to? Of course. But he wasn’t going to change jobs without an epic battle. And a man who meant to take a wife and start a family needed to have his career nailed down. Desi would pitch a fit, but the wedding would have to wait until he had his life back.
Fifteen
Tony looked out the window of Hiram Jacobs’s bedroom toward Desi’s white-capped garage. The crystals on the surface of the snow-banks glistened in the sunlight. Tony shivered—subzero out there yet. He turned away, enticed by breakfast smells from the kitchen. Various body aches set up a minor objection to the movement, but better than yesterday.
Ten days since his tumble into the harbor and five blessed days out of the hospital. So far, so good on his cardiac tests, but there were more to come. For now he stood on his own two feet, even if they were encased in slippers because it hurt to bend and put on socks. Best of all, he had his feminine wardens’ permission to move around the apartment without someone trailing on his heels. Of course, he’d better not abuse his privileges, or Mom and Desi’d be on him like a pair of security guards on a shoplifter.
Tony stopped beside Hiram’s dresser and picked up a photograph in a gilded frame. The woman smiling back at him had Desi’s sable hair, strong features, and full mouth, but her eyes were blue. Des got her hazel eyes from her dad, but this must be the mother Desi never knew—the one killed in a car accident when she was a baby. Hiram never remarried, and that spoke volumes of devotion. Of course, if mother was anything like daughter, a man could search the world over and not find a pale imitation.
So why was he thinking about putting off his wedding to this matchless treasure? Had his accident addled his good sense? No. Tony squared his shoulders, and his collarbone brace pulled. Desiree deserved his best, and that’s what she was going to get.
He headed for the kitchen. Oops! He halted and put a hand on the wall. A little too brisk. The wobbly feeling faded, and he started again at a slower pace, that bacon smell drawing him by the taste buds. Good old protein—one of the joys of working kidneys.
Standing at the stove, Desi glanced over her shoulder and smiled. She wore jeans and a sweater and looked as delicious as anything on the menu. He slipped his arms around her waist and nuzzled her neck.
“Good morning to you too. Have a seat. Breakfast is served.” She went back to lining crispy strips on a paper towel-covered plate. The breakfast counter was set for two, complete with glasses full of orange juice and a thermal pot of coffee.
Tony eased onto a stool. “Where’s Mom?”
Desi set the plate of bacon on the counter. “She went out to pick up a few household items, but I ordered her not to come back until after her ladies’ Bible study this morning.”
“You ordered her?” Tony laughed.
Desi pulled a pan from the oven. “Cajoled is more like it.” She took the cover from the pan and revealed a stack of pancakes. “We need to return to doing normal things.”
“Amen to that.” Tony transferred three slices of bacon to his plate and speared a pair of cakes with his fork almost before she set the pan down.
“Yikes! Good thing I got my hand out of the way.” She kissed his cheek. “I see where your attention is this morning. You didn’t try to turn your head and catch me on the mouth.”
“Later, babe, and we’ll make it worth waiting for.”
Flushed but smiling, she joined him at the counter and filled her plate as full as his. No dainty eater here, the kind that made a guy edgy with her picking. They both dug in, talking between bites about the weather forecast, the basketball game on TV this afternoon—well, that was mostly his contribution—and a Charlie Chaplin retrospective showing downtown next month—her contribution.
She cleaned her plate and snagged another pancake. “Were really blessed, aren’t we?”
Her tone was matter-of-fact, but he caught a note of wistfulness, like she was trying to convince herself.
Tony canted his head. “I’m still living and breathing and ‘lookin at you, kid.’” His Bogart needed work, but she laughed anyway.
“Your survival isn’t a blessing. It’s a miracle that I’ll thank God for every day forever.”
“I’m with you on that one. So what’s got you weighing blessings versus trials?” He popped the last of his bacon into his mouth. No seconds. His appetite wasn’t all there yet.
She shook her head and buttered her pancake.
“Nothing doing, babe.” Tony tapped his fork on his empty plate. “I’ve been patient, but it’s time you filled me in on Mexico. And what about those tense phone calls between you and Max? The ones you think I don’t hear? No whitewashing. I want the straight story.”
She wrinkled her nose. Tony fought the urge to kiss the cute little beak, but now was serious talk time. Serious kissing could come later… if she wasn’t too mad at him if they ended up discussing wedding postponement, a chat he’d gladly put off. He reached for the coffeepot.
Desi’s hand closed around his on the handle. “Let’s take our coffee into the living room. You can sit in Dad’s recliner. I’ll let you carry your empty cup, but I get to carry this.” She hefted the carafe. “No lifting, remember?” With a saucy look, she left the kitchen.
Tony followed, frowning. She must be keeping some tough stuff under wraps if she forgot to eat her pancake and walked away from dirty dishes. He settled into his spot in the living room but didn’t raise the recliner foot. Hiram had picked out a quality chair that Tony didn’t mind adopting as his own, only he couldn’t let himself get too comfortable right now. He fell asleep at the droop of an eyelid
.
Desi poured their coffee, grace personified, but her lips were pencil slashes and her brows drawn together. At last she sat on the end of the sofa nearest him and folded her hands in her lap. I’ll start with the craziness in Mexico. We go downhill from there.” She sighed and gave him a blow-by-blow of events after her phone call to him from the taxi in Mexico City.
Insides seething, Tony let her talk, mentally marking down names like Esteban Corona, Albon Guerrera, and Preston Standish. The Greybecks—Randolph, Clayton, and Wilson—were already on his personal most-wanted list. Nothing they did surprised him. Not even Clayton showing up in Mérida. If dead fish stank, these guys were dirty. Maybe he’d do the private-eye thing after all and look into his hunch during his convalescence.
Then Desi got to the part about losing her engagement ring. “One minute, I’m walking along minding my own business, and the next I’m on my rear watching a kid not much bigger than Max’s Luke run off with my carry-on.” She said the words in a light tone and tried to smile, but her face crumpled as she stared at her empty ring finger.
Tony got up and eased beside her on the sofa. She came into his arms without a scold or a protest. “First off—” he stroked her hair—”none of this is your fault. Well, except the part about stopping to see that ex-con Guerrera.”
“I knew you’d hate that.” Her voice sounded muffled against his sweatshirt.
“Secondly, were going to get your ring back. I can’t stand not seeing it on your finger. We’ll call the insurance adjuster today and get the ball rolling.”
“Already did that.” She snuggled closer. So what if his shoulder twinged a bit.
“Then I’m going to have Haj dig into Preston Standish, Esquire. Haj is a bulldog about finding people who don’t want to be located—and on ferreting out who they really are.”
Desi lifted her head. “But the crime happened in Mexico.”
Tony kissed the tip of her nose. “The FBI has a bigger international presence than you know, darlin. Besides, you’re an American citizen. Depending on what we turn up, this case could turn out to be our bailiwick.”
“Go for it.” She stood. “But you’re likely to find out Standish is just a background shade in the bigger picture.” She ran stiff fingers through her hair. “There’s this drug lord who collects antique jewelry. He goes by this cheesy name, El Jaguar—”
“Say what?” Tony sat forward, ignoring the screech from his incision.
Her eyes widened. “You know about the guy?”
“You’ve just connected your series of unfortunate events to an ongoing interagency and international investigation, and that’s already more than I should spill.”
She glared down at him. “Don’t tell me the Jaguar had something to do with why you were down at that pier in the middle of a blizzard.”
“Okay, I won’t tell you, but I always say you’re sharper than Excalibur.”
Desi groaned. “You’d better let me finish the story. You are sooo not going to like it.”
She was right. By the time she got to her encounter with a gangster in Ramon Sanchez’s limo, he was up and pacing. “I need to wring a few necks,” he muttered.
“No, you need to sit down.” Desi took his arm and guided him to the reclinen
He scowled but lowered himself into the chair. If he weren’t so blasted weak, he’d… What? How could he throttle crooks he couldn’t identify or catch?
Identify and catch them, that’s how.
Gentle fingers touched his cheek. “Your glare could peel paint.” She smoothed the rebellious hair on his brow. “Let me dump out this cold coffee and pour us fresh.”
She made the trip to the kitchen while Tony stewed. Trails were growing colder than the sidewalk outside. How many times would he realize he hated being out of commission?
Desi breezed back into the room, refilled their cups from the carafe on the coffee table, handed him a steaming mug, and resumed her seat on the sofa.
Tony took a sip, then set the cup on the lamp table. “You’re going to see action on this, Des. I promise you.”
“I believe you, sweetheart.” She reached across the small space that separated them and took his hand. “The rest of my time in Mexico was fairly pleasant until I got word about the murder of Señor Coronas wife and then your accident.”
She outlined her experience in the Sanchez household, including speculations about Pilar Sanchez and the Greybecks.
“So now, I’ve sent a team down to Mérida to set up security for Ramon’s home, but I don’t know what to think about Señor Corona. He’s been arrested for the murder of his wife. It turns out her frequent illnesses were a cover-up for alcoholism, and the two of them fought constantly. Worse, they found his fingerprints in the blood on the murder weapon and spatter on his clothes. Supposedly, he bludgeoned her with a marble statuette.” She sat back and huffed. “I can’t see him doing such a thing. To me, he was the soul of honor in a very awkward situation.”
Tony shook his head. “In the heat of the moment, honor doesn’t always speak very loud. Besides, he may not be as upright as you think. You said he seemed disturbed about your medallion. Maybe he knew something he didn’t want to share.”
“I think a presidential aide knows many things he can’t share. Much like an FBI agent.”
Tony chuckled. “Low blow, Des.”
She smiled, but the gesture was feeble. “Not as low as those Greybecks. They’ve been spreading manure hot and heavy, and it’s germinating bad seed about HJ Securities.”
Tony sat at attention.
“Those conversations you’ve overheard between Max and me, that’s us beating our heads against a wall to find a solution.” Her gaze darted away and came back shuttered. “We’ll come up with something. You know the dynamic duo. We don’t know how to quit.”
She got up and collected the coffee cups. Tony grabbed her wrist. She didn’t look at him.
“Tell me, Des. It’ll bother me more not to know than to have the cards on the table.”
She set the cups on the fireplace mantel and crossed her arms, as if holding herself together. “If we don’t come up with something soon, I could lose my business.”
The words came out in a whisper, but they hammered Tony like a club.
Desi lifted her head, and her wounded look pierced him. “But like I said—we’re blessed. We’ve got each other. Each morning I tell myself I’m one day closer to marrying you, and the thought keeps me going. Let’s do it, Tony.” She knelt in front of him and took his hands. “No more waiting. No more nightmare guest list. Forget pomp and circumstance. Just you, me, the minister, and the people we love. We could do it tomorrow. Next week. Soon!”
Tony’s mouth opened, but no words came out. Every molecule ached to sweep her into his arms and carry her to the altar that second, but his body said no, his good sense said no, and finally his voice said no.
Then he died as he watched the life fade from her eyes.
Desi pulled her hands from Tony’s, stood, and wiped them on her jeans. She tottered toward the foyer and access to her apartment. Go home. The most sensible thought she could muster.
Now, when she cast aside inconsequential like seating arrangements and demanding schedules and offered herself without reservation, he turned her down. What did that mean?
“Des!” His voice came from right behind her.
A hand gripped her shoulder, and she stopped but didn’t turn around. Her hands clenched. She couldn’t even slug him, hurt as he was.
“Sweetheart, listen to me.” His breath caressed her ear. “Becoming your husband is my top priority. You have no idea how much I think about it every day. But your desperation and my dependency are not good foundations for starting a marriage.”
The hand left her shoulder, and she felt him back away.
“Look at me, Des.”
She shook her head, and stupid tears fell hot on her cheeks. Seemed like every other minute her eyes sprang a leak. “I hate it, but you
’re right. I’m in no shape to be a wife.”
Tony gave a thready chuckle. “Hon, you’re great. It’s me who needs an overhaul.”
Desi forced her feet to turn her body around. Let him see her at her blotchy-faced, bawl-baby worst. If she couldn’t do that, they’d better cancel the whole thing…permanently. She stared into his eyes. They radiated love, and her tears became a fountain dripping onto her sweater. “You need to heal on the outside, and you’ll do that. I know you. Just like you said, you’ll come back better than ever.” She drew in a stuttering breath. “But I’m a mess on the inside. It’s getting worse, and not because of business problems or your accident. I don’t know what’s wrong with me-e.” A sob squeezed her rib cage.
Then Tony’s arms wrapped around her. He was still plenty strong, and she was too weak to pull away. She buried her face in his sweatshirt and inhaled his spicy masculine cologne. Different from her dad’s, but she loved it just as much—loved Tony just as much.
But, oh, she still missed Daddy!
Dumb, big baby thinking. She was a grown woman. She should be past this. She…
Tony drew her across the room. He sat in the recliner and patted his lap.
“I can’t.” Her words sounded like she was talking through water. “You’re not—”
“Shush and sit. My legs aren’t hurt, and this shoulder’s good.” He patted his left one.
Desi shook her head. She was not going to…but she melted into the comfort anyway. And the tears rolled on.
Tony had never been so glad to be uncomfortable in his life. Desi was a featherweight, but his gut was tender, and her head on one shoulder pulled the injured one. Yet he’d let her sit here all day and not utter a complaint. He’d known something was eating her. Something that drove her to bury herself in work these past months.
Maybe she didn’t even know what it was. Or maybe she did and couldn’t admit the problem. Probably the latter. Des had this habit of trying to be strong for everyone around her—to the point of refusing to lean on someone when she was hurting. Okay, so he had to plead guilty to the same. Just meant he understood her.
Reluctant Smuggler Page 16
