Dan’s eyes widened, scaring Joan with the implications. She clutched his arm. “Who’s Mr. Giovanelli?” she asked.
Dan looked from the door to her. “He’s Groucho’s and Tony LoBianco’s boss.”
“Oh, my God,” Joan breathed. “What do you think he wants with me?”
Dan’s raised eyebrows wrinkled his forehead. “You have to ask? Get up, get your clothes and lock yourself in the bathroom. And don’t open it for anyone but me. You got that?”
Biting her bottom lip, Joan nodded, but a repeated raprap-rap against the door startled them into stillness and wide-eyed staring at each other. The same voice called out, “Mr. Giovanelli doesn’t like being kept waiting.”
Dan’s expression soured. Joan gripped his arm and shook her head vigorously in a silent plea, which Dan ignored to call out, “And I don’t like being bothered when I’m in bed. So he’ll just have to wait a damned minute.” Then he whispered to her, “You can’t show fear to these guys. And I’m the law here.”
“Well, just inscribe that on my headstone, Sheriff,” Joan whispered, her stomach already sinking like the Titanic.
It really thudded to the ocean floor when another voice out in the hall, one she recognized all too well—General Garrison’s—offered, “We could break down the door, if you like.”
“No, wait!” Joan called out, eliciting a hiss of protest from Dan. She dug her fingernails into his forearm to keep him silent “Just let us get dressed. Please.” And then they waited.
In the next second, they heard, “Two minutes.”
Dan narrowed his eyes at the door and pulled her off the bed with him. Together, like the least intelligent of rats negotiating a maze, they raced around the room, gathering up their clothes and colliding at every turn. Finally, Dan, now in his boxers and T-shirt, grabbed his denims, danced into them and buttoned the fly. Joan settled her littlechildren-of-the-world sweater over her head in time to see Dan grab his Beretta and work the safety and then the slide. He looked over at her as he tucked it—in plain sight—in his waistband. “You do know that I’m duty-bound to arrest this man?”
Joan fisted her hands at her waist. “Well, you’re not gonna.” She looked down at herself. Barefoot, jeans, sweater. Decent. She raked her fingers through her hair and scrunched her bangs. “I’m not hiding in the bathroom. Open the door.” Dan’s mouth turned down, but he gripped the doorknob. “Dan?”
He turned to her, a question in his frowning expression.
“I love you. There’ll be another day for you with this guy.”
Dan eyed her a moment and then winked as he quirked his mouth into a grin. “You’re right. I’m letting pride get in the way. The federal case against him is shot to hell with LoBianco dead. But watch this guy separate himself from the knucklehead in the utility closet.”
Joan all but wilted with relief that Dan would be reasonable—and, therefore, safe. She watched him unlock the dead bolt and call out to the people in the hall. “You can come in, nice and slow. Just Mr. Giovanelli. I’m armed, and I have you covered, so don’t try anything funny.”
“I’m comin’ in with him, son,” the general called out. “I’m armed, so there won’t be any trouble. Mr. Giovanelli just wants to thank Miss O’Leary in person, and then he’s gone.”
Dan arrowed her a questioning look—You want to do this? She shrugged—Do we have a choice? Dan gave her an answering shrug and opened the door, revealing two really big, handsome businessmen-looking guys in expensive black wool overcoats who shouldered in front of a short, balding, older man of slight build. And General Garrison.
This third man and the general elbowed their way between the two human pillars and stepped into the room. Mr. Giovanelli turned to his escorts. “Wait here,” he instructed them. They did, but they looked as though they didn’t like it. Then the man closed the door, turned to Dan, nodded and came toward Joan. The closer he got, the wider her eyes opened, the more she twisted her fingers together. In cartoonish quickness, Dan was at her side before the mob boss was.
Again he eyed Dan, sliding his gaze to the Beretta poking out of his pants, and then he offered a well-manicured hand and a smile to Joan. “Miss O’Leary, I’m Gino Giovanelli. I just wanted to tell you how grateful I am for everything you’ve done for me.”
Dan jostled her shoulder, prompting her to take the man’s hand—it was warm, his grip firm—and shake it. “You’re welcome, but I don’t know what you think I’ve done—”
“You saved me—” he eyed Dan “—a lot of money, Miss O’Leary. That’s important to a businessman such as myself.” He smiled, a very charming, sincere expression. “It was a good thing Tony did…dying for you like that. A very good thing. I hated finding out he was gone, done in by my own employee—” again he eyed Dan “—who was acting on his own. It hurts me, right here.” He thumped his fist over his heart. “But you? Look at you. A smart girl. And pretty. You ever need a job, you look me up.”
Résumé entry: Accountant to the Mob. Joan swallowed, tried to smile, didn’t feel she was succeeding. “I’ll remember that.”
He nodded. “Good. You do that.” Then he turned to Dan, addressing him directly. “This closes your case, eh, Deputy?”
Joan saw the muscle tic in Dan’s jaw. She held her breath, waited for his answer and heard him say, “It does. For now.”
The mob boss nodded. “For now.” Then he turned to Joan again, adding, “You’re one of ours now. Anyone gives you any trouble, don’t worry about it. We’ll keep an eye on you—”
“That’s…really not necessary.” She clutched Dan’s arm. “I’ll be fine.”
Gino Giovanelli took it all in and grinned, pointing from her to Dan and back to her. “So you two got a thing going, yeah? That’s good. That’s real good. I like that. I’m a sucker for a good romance, a happy ending and all. Two kids in love, making a life together. When you have your babies, you name the first boy Gino, eh? I’ll see he has everything he needs—all his life.”
Joan’s eyes widened to the point of pain. She shook her head no, got bumped by Dan and blurted, “Oh, um, that’s…that’s very kind of you.”
“Yeah, it is kind, isn’t it? I like that.” Then he roused himself, turned a steely game-of-nerves look on Dan, but offered his hand, which Dan finally shook. Then the mob kingpin said, “You got a good girl here. Anything bad happens to her, you’ll answer to me.” Giving Dan no chance for a response, he turned to Joan, gripped her shoulders and pulled her to him for a quick kiss on her cheek. “You, I like. Have a good life, Joan O’Leary.”
And then he turned, strode confidently across the room, opened the door, never looking back, and was gone. Leaving General Garrison to join Dan and Joan in staring at the closed door. For long, quiet moments. Then, Joan turned to Dan, saying, “Wow. I thought we were dead. I can’t believe we pulled that one off.”
Dan cut his gaze over to her. “Yeah, talk about escaping with your life. Imagine—Gino Giovanelli. Right here in this room.”
Joan grinned. “Yeah. And he likes me. He wants me to have a good life, too. You better make sure I get it, Sheriff.”
“Which is where I and this shotgun come in.”
Joan turned with Dan to stare at the older man. “Okay, I’ll bite,” Dan said.
“This afternoon, two o’clock, down in the lobby, there’s going to be a wedding. Yours. Can’t have you children living in sin another day. I’m officiating. Licenses and all can come later. So don’t be late.”
“A wedding? Ours?” Joan looked up at Dan. “A wedding?”
Dan turned to her, his frown knitting vertical lines between his eyes. He crossed his arms over his chest. “You heard the man. And he has a gun. So, what do you say?”
“You asking?” Joan breathed, afraid to believe.
“Yep. And you better say yes. Because I have enough problems, as it is. Our federal case was just blown out of the water. We still have the election to think about. My grandfather’s got some lady with child a
nd has invited all of Taos to his wedding. On Halloween. Shep’s got some collie with puppies. And—”
“Yes. And I want you to give me your baby.”
“And you want me to—” Dan stopped, lowered his arms to his side, his face lighting with a happy emotion. “Yes? You will?” Then he frowned. “We’re not naming it Gino. Gino Hendricks? I don’t think so.”
Giddy with happiness but playing along with Dan’s mock seriousness, Joan agreed, “Of course not. Gino O’Leary-Hendricks. Hyphenated.”
Dan looked from her, to the grinning general, and back to her. “A hyphenated name? That ought to get his little butt kicked every day on the playground.”
“Not if the mob is guarding him. Aren’t I right, General Garrison?”
“Ah-yep,” he responded. “I’ll just leave you two kids alone for now. See you at two. Dress in your best. Everyone will be there.” With that, he executed a sharp about-face, marched to the door and left.
Joan looked back to Dan in time to see him skirt her and go to the bed. Once there, he jerked up the wilted bedspread from the floor and revealed his boots, which he picked up.
“What are you doing? Where are you going?”
Dan sat on the end of the bed and began tugging his boots on. He flicked his hazel-eyed gaze to her and then concentrated on his task. “Since I’m apparently not going to be needing all those condoms, I’m going to get a refund on the unused ones. We’ve got about eight thousand of ‘em in this room.”
Joan shrieked and launched herself at him, shoving him backward onto the bed and holding him there. “We do not. And you are not, Dan Hendricks! I would be so embarrassed—”
“Right…Barbie.” His arms went around her. “Now cuddle up to your Ken and let’s see about making a baby doll.” And he kissed her deeply.
eISBN: 978-14592-7451-8
THE GREAT ESCAPE
Copyright © 1998 by Cheryl Anne Porter
All rights reserved. Except for use in any review, the reproduction or utilization of this work in whole or in part in any form by any electronic, mechanical or other means, now known or hereafter invented, including xerography, photocopying and recording, or in any information storage or retrieval system, is forbidden without the written permission of the publisher, Harlequin Enterprises Limited, 225 Duncan Mill Road, Don Mills, Ontario, Canada M3B 3K9.
All characters in this book have no existence outside the imagination of the author and have no relation whatsoever to anyone bearing the same name or names. They are not even distantly inspired by any individual known or unknown to the author, and all incidents are pure invention.
This edition published by arrangement with Harlequin Books SA
® and TM are trademarks of the publisher. Trademarks indicated with ® are registered in the United States Patent and Trademark Office, the Canadian Trade Marks Office and in other countries.
Printed in U.S.A.
The Great Escape Page 17
