by Lena Gregory
“Hunt? Could you come here?” Officer Dumont’s call saved her from having to answer any further questions. At least, for the moment. Unfortunately, she had a sneaking suspicion he wasn’t going to let go so easily.
Gia followed Hunt toward the back of the house. Water soaked the hallway. And the bedroom. And the bathroom. At least, one of the officers had turned off the faucet. The scent of eucalyptus wafted to her. It did nothing to relieve her stress.
Leo had the decency to turn his back and cover the laughter dancing in his eyes with a coughing fit before he left the room.
Hunt simply laughed out loud, a deep, sexy laugh that grated on Gia’s last frazzled nerve.
“I’m so glad you’re enjoying yourself.”
He shook his head, still chuckling. “Where are your towels?”
She pointed to the two waterlogged boxes sitting in the flood where she’d left them after getting her bath stuff ready.
He looked at her and grinned. Grinned! “Girl, you are having one heck-uv-a bad day.”
Gia’s mouth dropped open. How dare he—
“Now, come on. Let’s get this mess cleaned up.” He sloshed into the bathroom without looking back, though his shoulders still shook suspiciously. He picked up the first box, careful to keep the bottom intact, and plopped it on the counter with a wet thud. Then, with the front of his shirt and pants soaked, he bent to retrieve the second box. When he straightened, shampoos, conditioners, and an assortment of lotions, poured out the bottom and crashed to the floor with a splash, despite his best efforts to hold everything in.
Tears pricked the backs of Gia’s eyes. How could this day possibly have gone any worse?
“Oops.” Hunt shot her an apologetic look, but humor still lit his eyes. After a quick survey of the mess, he said, “Look at the bright side. At least, there was nothing breakable in the box.”
A laugh bubbled out. She couldn’t help it. Tears streamed down her cheeks. More laughter poured from her, hysterical laughter she couldn’t control. Laughing? Crying? Who knew? A little of both. A stitch cramped her side, and she pressed a hand against it, and still the laughter came.
Leo poked his head in the doorway. “Y’all okay in here?”
Hunt studied her. “I think she might have lost it.”
Wiping the tears from her face, Gia tried to regain some semblance of control.
Leo stared at her, and said, “Can’t say I blame her.”
Chapter 6
Gia rolled over and pulled the covers over her head. Every muscle in her body screamed in protest. By the time she’d gotten the bathroom cleaned up, the sun had already started to peek through the ridiculously tall pine trees in her backyard. But she hadn’t stopped there. Instead, she’d moved on to the kitchen, emptying box after box until she couldn’t stand up any longer. Then, finally, she’d stumbled to bed and passed out.
With a groan, she pulled the covers back, swung her legs over the side of the bed, and sat up. No sense lying there thinking about the mess she’d left scattered across the kitchen, or the mess her life had become. Not like either of those messes was going to clean itself up.
She disconnected the phone from the charger and scrolled through her contacts. The mess in the kitchen would wait, the rest of the mess, not so much. But who to call. Who would Bradley have told he was going to skip bail and go to Florida? And of the people he might have shared his intentions with, who would even give her the time of day?
She stopped at Jim Harte’s number. Bradley’s best friend. The last time she’d seen him, he’d stalked right past her without even so much as a “drop dead.” But he would probably know something. She hit the number and pressed the phone against her ear before she could lose her nerve. Her hand shook while she counted the rings.
It took three before Jim’s voice finally came over the line. “Yeah?”
She yanked the phone away from her ear. Her finger hovered over the disconnect button.
“Hello? Gia? Is that you?”
She clenched her teeth and put the phone back to her ear. Dang caller ID. “Yes, Jim. It’s me.”
“What do you want?”
Okay, so much for pleasantries. “I need to know what Bradley was doing in Florida.”
Static hummed on the line.
“Jim?”
He heaved in a deep breath but remained silent. She was about ready to hang up when he finally spoke. “Did he find you?”
Technically he had, she supposed, since he did go into the café for breakfast. “Yes.”
“Did you give him what he needed?”
If he knew she had no idea what he was talking about, he’d probably hang up and she’d lose her opportunity to find out what was going on. “He didn’t get a chance to tell me what he needed.” True enough.
“Look, Gia, is there something I can do for you? I’m a busy man.”
Yeah right. The guy spent his days in the gym and his nights blowing his trust fund making the nightclub rounds. “I need to know what Bradley was doing in Florida.”
“What do you mean was? He left?”
Not exactly. “I’m sorry, Jim. Bradley was killed.”
His breathing turned ragged and harsh. “What?”
“He was murdered and left in the dumpster behind my café. Please, Jim, is there anything you can tell me about what he was doing here?”
“Ah, man…”
He seemed more resigned than surprised, almost as if he’d expected the news. Obviously, Jim knew more than she did. No surprise there.
She waited, giving him a moment to collect himself. She’d never cared much for Jim, but he and Bradley were as close as brothers. Gia had no doubt Jim had been involved in whatever schemes Bradley had cooked up, but Bradley had never ratted him out. Even though he’d allowed her to be dragged through the mud with him, he’d kept Jim out of everything.
“I can’t tell you anything.”
“Can’t? Or won’t?”
“Same difference. But whatever he was doing there, it obviously got him killed. If Bradley is dead, someone will probably contact you and ask you to hand over the information he left with you. Do yourself a favor, Gia; hand everything over and then stay out of it, before you end up in a dumpster somewhere too.”
“But I—”
He disconnected before she could finish her protest.
“Don’t know what he left me,” she finished over the dead line. She replayed his words. An innocent warning from a paranoid man? Or something more sinister? Because the more his words played over and over in her mind, the more they sounded like a threat.
She resisted the urge to hurl the phone across the room and searched through her contacts again. She hit Rabinowitz’s number, asked his receptionist to patch her through, and waited. His voice mail picked up and she left a message: “This is Gia Morelli. It’s urgent that I get in touch with you. Please, call me back.” She rattled off her number and disconnected. Fat chance she’d ever hear from him.
She sighed and returned to her contact list. Bree Mathers. Gia had been friends with Bree at one time, and Bree and Bradley had always been close. Too close, though he’d sworn up and down they were only friends. Until it came out at the trial that they’d been involved for years.
Her finger lingered over her name, but she couldn’t bring herself to press the button. Whatever Bradley was involved in, she wasn’t desperate enough to call Bree to find out. Soon, maybe, but not just yet. There had to be a better way.
She padded to the bathroom, grateful she’d put everything away the night before. At least one small segment of her life held some sort of order. As she leaned over and turned on the shower, she rubbed a knot in her lower back. With any luck at all, which seemed highly unlikely lately, the hot water should ease the worst of the aches and pains. A couple of Ibuprofen should take care of the rest.
&n
bsp; Leaving the water running, she started to open the medicine cabinet, but stopped when she caught her reflection in the mirror. Dark circles ringed her eyes, dulling the usually bright blue irises. She ran her fingers over her cheek bones. She’d always been thin, but her cheeks had taken on a hollow look she’d never noticed before. Even her dark brown hair, usually full of body thanks to its natural curls, hung in limp strands. With a sigh, she turned away, then quickly stripped off her pajamas and stepped under the hot spray.
Bradley had taken so much from her. She’d been forced to give up a job she’d enjoyed, customers she’d known for years. One by one her friends had abandoned her, some believing she’d known what Bradley was involved in, others unable to deal with the fallout. Not that she blamed them. The constant barrage of questions from reporters, the irate victims, the death threats…
She wet her hair, then shifted it over her shoulder and moaned when the hot spray pulsed against the tension in her neck. She had to stop thinking about the past. This was her opportunity to move beyond all of that. Thanks to Savannah, the one friend who’d stuck by her side through everything.
Maybe she should ignore her initial urge to run back home. What was left for her there anyway? Even with Bradley gone, perhaps she should stay in Florida and start a new life, somewhere people didn’t stare at her with anger blazing in their eyes…or pity.
Giving up on any hope of relaxation, she hurried through her shower, then dried off, wrapped a towel around her hair, and slid into her silk robe. She’d make coffee, then get dressed and start sorting through boxes. At least then the day wouldn’t be a total waste. Leaving the bathroom door open to get rid of the steam, she headed toward the kitchen.
Suddenly, a man’s voice drifted down the hallway.
She stopped dead in her tracks. She couldn’t make out what he was saying, just the deep timbre of his voice, followed by…a woman’s laughter? Had she left something on? Impossible. She hadn’t unpacked anything yet, and as far as she knew, the cable hadn’t even been turned on.
She cinched the belt on her robe tighter and crept down the hallway. She had no idea what she’d do when she got to the kitchen, where the voices seemed to be coming from, but no way was she dialing 911 again unless she knew she was in danger. The last thing she needed was Detective Tall, Dark, and Dangerous banging on her door.
“Well, you still should have called me.” There was no mistaking Savannah’s voice, or the not-so-veiled reprimand it held.
Gia smiled. Someone was on Savannah’s bad side. She almost felt sorry for whoever it was; then she walked through the kitchen doorway and stopped short.
“I did call you.” Detective Quinn leaned against her kitchen counter, arms folded across his chest, smug expression firmly in place.
Savannah propped her hands on her hips and snorted.
Gia tamped down the small spark of pity that started to flare. He’d obviously done something to earn Savannah’s wrath. Let him deal with the consequences. He probably deserved them.
“Well, you should have called me last—” Her eyes widened when she spotted Gia, and she cut her rant short.
Too bad. She would have enjoyed watching Savannah take him down a peg.
“Are you all right?” Savannah hurried toward Gia. “Hunt told me what happened. This morning, of course, since no one bothered to call me last night.”
Uh oh. It wasn’t quite as much fun being on the receiving end of Savannah’s tirade, so she cut her off before she could even get started. “I’m sorry, Savannah. I didn’t want to bother you, and I was fine. Really. I was so exhausted, and I just wanted to get some rest.”
“I know, honey. I’m sorry things didn’t start out so well, but I think you’ll love Florida once things settle down.” She caught her bottom lip between her teeth, a sure sign she was worried about something.
“I’m sure I will.” Gia smiled. No sense bringing up the notion of moving back to New York just then. Savannah had worked too hard to help her get where she was for her to bail as soon as things got a little rough. She’d made it through worse. Besides, moving to Florida hadn’t caused her problems. Truth be told, her problems had followed her from New York. Well…problem, anyway. Bradley Remington had been nothing but one big problem for the past year.
“I thought you might need this.” Savannah held up a large coffee cup, then looked around the kitchen and frowned. “I didn’t expect you to have so much unpacked.”
“I know. After the police left, I couldn’t sleep. I thought maybe if I could get the house organized, I’d feel better. More in control.” She looked around the cluttered kitchen. Instead of organization, she’d ended up with a mish mash of kitchen stuff all over the place.
“Oh, sweetie.” Savannah handed her the coffee and rubbed a hand up and down Gia’s arm. “Things’ll work out. They always do.”
As much as she wanted to believe that, it just didn’t ring true. Hoping Savannah would drop the subject, Gia took a sip of the lukewarm coffee to avoid answering. She peered over the rim at Detective Quinn.
His good-natured smirk had been replaced by a frown. His shoulders rounded slightly.
Okay, something was going on. First Savannah acting all motherly, and then Hunt seemed to be shouldering some heavy burden. “Is something wrong?”
Savannah’s gaze darted to her cousin.
Gia’s patience had worn thin. “Okay, whatever it is, spill it.”
“Uh…” Savannah never had been good at dealing with bad news. Her sunny disposition and upbeat personality weren’t compatible with stress, so she chose to ignore sadness more often than not. “Well…” She winced.
“Why don’t you sit down?” Hunt lifted a blender from the table, then looked around for somewhere to put it before finally wedging it between a stack of plates and a half-filled box on the counter. He pulled out a chair and gestured for her to sit.
“What happened?”
Ignoring Gia’s question, Hunt pulled out a chair for Savannah.
She sat next to Gia and took her hand. “It’ll be all right.”
“What will?” Gia barely resisted the urge to pull her hand away, knowing it would hurt Savannah but desperately needing to distance herself to deal with any more bad news.
“We found this in your mailbox.” Hunt picked up a clear plastic bag from the counter and handed it to her.
The sheet of white printer paper and the blocky black lettering brought an immediate wave of panic, but she tamped it down. She didn’t need to read the all-too-familiar words to know what they said. Hand it over or you and everyone close to you will die. She’d been dealing with the same death threats for months. She handed the bag back to him.
“You don’t seem surprised,” Hunt said.
What could she say? She didn’t trust Detective Quinn, but she did trust Savannah, and she seemed to trust him. Still, there was no way she was sharing the intimate and nasty details of her divorce with a stranger, no matter who he was. Or how much Savannah trusted him.
“I take it this isn’t the first threat you’ve received.”
She couldn’t think with him hovering over her. “No.”
Savannah squeezed her hand. “Why didn’t you say anything to me?”
“I’m sorry, Savannah. I didn’t want to burden you with all of this. Besides, I reported it to the police in New York, and they didn’t seem too concerned.”
Hunt inserted himself between Savannah and Gia, then leaned over, propping one hand on the table and one on the back of Gia’s chair. “Did anyone break into your apartment in New York?”
“Not exactly…” Well, sort of. “But there were other incidents.”
“Like?” Damp tendrils of thick, dark hair curled over his collar. The woodsy scent of his aftershave enveloped her, fogging her brain. Boy, this guy was not going to let this go, and he needed to back up.
; She launched herself from the chair, and he jerked back. When the chair crashed to the floor, Gia jumped, then pressed a hand against her chest.
Hunt righted the chair without ever taking his gaze from hers.
She backed up until she hit the counter, then stopped and folded her arms. Maybe if she just answered him, he’d leave her alone. Then again, if he knew the truth, he might not let Savannah anywhere near her. That would probably be safest for Savannah anyway. Defeated, she sighed. “People showing up at my apartment at all hours, pounding on the door, screaming obscenities. I had to change my home phone number three times before I finally gave up and just had it disconnected. Some of them even showed up at my job.” She lowered her gaze. If his powers of observation matched his tenacity, there’s no way he’d miss the hurt in her eyes. “And then came the letters.”
“Like this one?”
She nodded, careful to keep her gaze averted. “Exactly like that one. My boss let me go when one of them showed up in my locker at work, said he couldn’t compromise the safety of his workers by keeping me.” No matter how much he liked me or how long I’d been there.
Hunt took his notepad from his pocket and sat at the table, then started frantically scribbling notes.
Without him right in her face, the dark intensity of his gaze boring through her, some of the tension seeped from her rigid muscles.
“Was that the last letter you received?”
“Huh?”
“The letter left in your locker, was that the last one you received?”
“Um…no. I wasn’t supposed to leave New York until late Saturday night. I had a million errands to run on Friday, so I was out all day. When I went to get ready for bed that night”—at least, ready to slip into the sleeping bag that had served as her bed once she’d shipped all of the furniture to Florida—“there was a note just like that one taped to my bathroom mirror.”
