“Is someone on her?”
“Chi-Chi is up there. Matty’s down here, on the door.”
Ben nodded. “I saw him. I heard a woman was hurt. But not Vanessa.”
Vanessa had dumped him via text the day before. At the time, he’d considered getting angry on the grounds of disrespect, but he’d decided it wasn’t worth the energy. Frankly, a text was the least dramatic breakup he could think of. She’d written, I don’t think we’re working out. I think it’s time to move on. With those thinks, he was sure she’d meant for him to react, had probably hoped to wrest some kind of desire to reconcile from him, but he’d only replied, Agreed, and let it go at that. It had barely caused a ripple in his day.
“No. Not Vanessa. My neighbor. They took her for X-rays.” Ben gave him a keen look but didn’t probe further. That was good, because Nick wasn’t ready to think about the sense of responsibility he felt toward Beverly. Yes, he was attracted to her. Yes, he was fascinated by her totally open and bright personality, which was the antithesis of his own. Yes, watching her dance at Neon, the lithe, confident way she’d moved her body, dancing for herself and no one else, for the simple enjoyment of it, had made him uncomfortably hard. And yes, he was responsible for her being hurt tonight. But none of that accounted for how difficult it had been to leave her side when the paramedics took over.
He would think about all that later. He’d have time, and he’d have cause, because now he was responsible for her. He had to keep her safe. They were connected now, at least as long as Church was a problem. There were probably hundreds of photographs of them together, lying on the sidewalk. Matty had already shown him that an image of him leaning over her, kissing her hand, accompanied the lead story of the bombing on the local newspaper website.
Uncle Ben let it drop. “Does this change our plans for next week? Your thoughts?”
Monday was the meeting of The Council. The heads of all the families were meeting to confer on the problem of Alvin Church, and so that the Paganos could seek permission and help from the Marconi family to deal in their neighborhood with Jackie Stone.
“No, Uncle. Our plans should proceed unchanged. It’s more important than ever, now.”
“Agreed.” The old man sighed. Nick was struck again by how used up he looked on this night, pulled from his sleep too early and without the time he needed to prepare for the world. He put his hand on his heart. “Jimmy was a good man.”
“He was.” Jimmy had been driving and guarding Nick for years. He’d had no aspirations beyond that job. Being made had been the highlight of his life, above even his marriage or the births of his children, but he had wanted nothing more than to protect a man he’d admired. He had killed in the service of his job. He had maimed. But he’d told Nick that his favorite part was driving Nick around, talking. They’d gotten to know each other well over the years.
“Who told Tina?”
“I sent Nose over. I called while he was there.” It wasn’t the first time he’d had to deliver that kind of news to a wife.
“All right.” Ben struggled to his feet, and Nick stood, too. “I’m going to sit with Brian’s mother. What is her name?”
“Pauline.”
“Pauline, yes. We’ll talk more about the girl. For now, keep her safe.”
“I will, Uncle.” They embraced, and Ben went off with Bobbo toward the elevators.
~oOo~
Nick knew most of the staff at St. Gabriel’s Hospital, in Quiet Cove, and they knew him. Here in this huge medical center in Providence, though, he was much more anonymous, and most of the staff, dealing with the bombing casualties, were unimpressed. But one nurse knew who he was and knew well what side she should keep him on. He’d identified her quickly and exploited her respect so that he had free access to Beverly.
Shit. He didn’t even know her last name. He figured one of their digital intel specialists had logged it somewhere; they kept basic track of the administration’s neighbors. He’d have to find it out soon.
Paige—the smart nurse—called him back when Beverly was out of X-ray and gave him an update on her condition. She was in a lot of pain, but not badly hurt. Bruised ribs, a mild concussion, and some pretty bad scrapes, especially her cheek and elbow. Nothing was broken, though, and nothing required stitches. He thanked her and went back to Beverly’s little room.
She was propped up on the gurney, a white bandage over her right cheek and another around her right elbow. Her hair was loose over her shoulders. Her eyes were closed, her breathing shallow.
“Bella.” Interesting how easily an endearment came to his lips. It wasn’t a habit of his, calling people by something other than their name or title, other than a casual ‘coz’ or ‘bro.’ When he’d called her bella, all unthinking, at Neon, her eyes had lit up beautifully and her smiling face had nearly glowed. He’d enjoyed having that effect on her.
And then she’d kissed him. It was rarely the case that a woman made the first sexual contact with him. And now, apparently, he was beginning to think of her by that endearment.
She opened her eyes, but there was no smile for him this time. “I don’t know where my purse is. I need my phone. I need to call Chris. I need a friend.” Her voice was weak, supported only by her panting breaths.
Nick had no idea where her purse was. He’d noticed it, a little turquoise beaded thing with a strap she’d worn on her wrist. It had matched her shoes and the turquoise earrings in her ears.
He went to the gurney and put his hand on her arm. She flinched, and he didn’t like that at all. “You have a friend. I’m here. I’m going to take care of you.”
“Why? How are you a friend? Because you were going to fuck me?”
Paige had told him that her pain was high, and they were being conservative with meds, giving her only Tylenol with codeine, because they wanted to keep her alert and ambulatory so they could send her home. Nick had experience with bruised and broken ribs, so he knew how bad the pain could be. Still, he hated the deflated, defensive, almost whining tone in her voice. What had him caught was her spark, and the events of the night had dimmed that.
He smiled, hoping to ignite her a little. “I think future tense is more appropriate than past. I’m still going to fuck you. I’ll give you a minute to feel better, though.”
She only blinked. “Are you a friend?”
“I am. And I’m going to get you out of here and take care of you. You’ll get better drugs for home.”
“I want to go home. I’d like a ride, since I can’t find my phone and I don’t know anybody’s numbers. But you don’t have to take care of me. I’m okay.”
“I do, bella. I will.”
“Don’t call me that. I’m Bev. And I don’t want you to take care of me.”
He didn’t like ‘Bev.’ It sounded like some kind of mechanical noise. But he really liked ‘Beverly,’ the old-fashioned lilt, the way his tongue furled and unfurled over the syllables. And he’d been growing quickly fond of calling her bella—and was surprised to find his feelings hurt by her rejection of it.
“I’m afraid, Beverly, that we don’t have a choice. People took photos outside the club. You and I are already on the internet, probably going viral as we speak. You are connected to me now. Until we figure out who did this and resolve the situation, you need to stay close to me to be safe.”
“Being close to you is what made me unsafe.”
It was a different kind of light, but he was glad to see anger in her eyes. So much better than that defeated, wet puppy look she’d had. “I think you knew who I was before you sat at my side, Beverly.”
She took a deeper breath, and winced hard, groaning. He squeezed her hand, and she glared down at his hand on hers. “So…what? I’m a hostage or something? I can’t even go to my own apartment, which is thirty feet from yours?”
“You’re not a hostage. But I’m not asking, either. You’ll stay with me. I have a spare bedroom. It’s very nice. And anything you need from your place will be right
down the hall. There will be people you can send to fetch anything. Think of it as being pampered.”
“By big galoots with guns.”
Privacy regulations prevented medical rooms in public hospitals from being bugged, but Nick still had no intention of exchanging any kind of incriminating words anywhere on the planet but a guaranteed secure location. Knowing he needed to end this conversation before she said something more, he simply nodded. “I’ll keep you safe. I’m going find the nurse, get you sprung. I want to go check on Brian before we go. I’ll be back soon.” He went to the door, pulling his phone from his pocket as he did so. “And Beverly, be careful what you say and who you say it to. Understood?”
When she nodded, he returned it with a smile and then left.
~oOo~
He reached in and flipped the switch, turning on the lamp on the nearest nightstand. His guestroom was hardly ever used as such, but his cleaning service kept it always ready. Matty’s sister, Donna, ran that service.
The ride had been difficult for Beverly, and she was tired and quiet now, moving on her own power, but only just. With his arm around her shoulders, Nick led her into the room and turned the covers down, then helped her sit on the bed. She was still wearing that black dress, dirty and tattered now, but she hadn’t bothered putting her shoes back on. Nick pulled off the papery slippers Paige had given her in the E.R.
“I can give you a t-shirt and some sweats or something to wear. Can you manage that?”
She glared at him but nodded, and he went to his room and collected a white t-shirt and a pair of black sweats. He set them on the bed next to her.
“Thank you.” She began to lift her arms, headed to the zipper at the nape of her neck, but drew back with a sharp, shallow hiss. There was no way she was going to be able to undress herself.
“Let me.”
Her blue eyes were wide with anxiety. “No—I…I can manage.”
“You can’t. Don’t be stupid. I’m not going to fuck you when you can barely move. I’m just going to help you change your clothes. Unless you want to sleep in the dress you were wearing when we got bombed.”
“And not in the good way,” she muttered.
He barked a laugh, surprised and pleased. That was better. More backbone. “Right. Not in the good way. So, come on.” He held his hands out over her lap, and she put hers in them and let him help her back to her feet.
Nick undid the zipper slowly, trying to be gentle. Under the dress, she wore a black bra with straps crossed over her back. When he pushed the dress down, off her body, he saw that the bra had a print of tiny, white roses. Her underwear, a thong, matched. His hands desperately wanted to sweep over the firm globes of her bare ass, an ass that practically demanded it be grabbed hard, but he forbore and turned her around. Her bra clasped in front, and she took hold of the hook before he did, unfastening it and letting her ample breasts spring free. Exposed to the cool air of his room and the heat of his regard, her nipples pebbled. Nick’s mouth watered.
She was lovely. Unlike other women he’d bedded, she had soft curves instead of sharp angles, but she was firm and toned. He badly wanted to feel that tone in his hands, in his mouth, under his body, around his cock.
Her chest pinked to a deep, rosy blush. He looked up to see that it had suffused her face, too.
“You’re staring.” She tried to shrug the straps from her shoulders but winced in pain again. He did it for her.
“You’re beautiful. Bellissima.”
“I thought that wasn’t what this is about.”
He reached down and picked up the t-shirt, and she let him help her get into it. “It’s not. I’m just enjoying the view.” He liked that she hadn’t told him he was wrong, though. He detected a little of her spark in that assuredness.
When she got her hands through the sleeves, he reached for the sweatpants, but she said, “No. I don’t need those right now. I just want to sleep. And have the good meds, finally.”
Feeling a sharp twinge of concern and sympathy with every wince, every moan she tried to hold back, he helped her into bed and pulled the comforter over her, then went for a glass of water and a dose of the good meds. Percocet.
“Okay. Get some rest. I’m very close, so just call out if you need anything.” He turned to the open door.
“Wait.”
“Yeah?”
“I feel stupid for saying this, but I’m…scared. I don’t want to be alone. Will you stay here until I fall asleep?”
It was near dawn, and he wouldn’t sleep in what was left of the night, anyway. There were too many things to do, too many problems to solve. The thought of sitting here, watching Beverly fall asleep, calmed him. Perhaps that would be enough rest to prepare him for the chaos the sun would bring.
He went to the empty side of the bed and sat up against the headboard. “The doctor told you it would be best to sleep on your sore side. Can you?”
She shifted slowly to her right and settled down so she was facing him. “It hurts.”
Bending down, he pressed his lips to her temple. “I know. The pills will kick in, and you’ll breathe easier this way.”
She nodded and closed her eyes. Nick watched her and let his mind tease out the problems snarled together. The bombing had to be Church. It seemed like everything they were involved in somehow, all of a sudden, led back to Church. Even that pathetic bagman J.J. had caught was probably tied up in the Paganos’ war with Church.
But how had the bomb happened? They had friends on the Providence bomb squad, so he knew they’d get their answers about the bomb itself. Controlled blast radius and timing—triggered, he thought, by the front passenger door opening—spoke to talent and opportunity. Talent made it Church. The only other entity who could afford that kind of talent would be another family, and there was no beef among the families now.
But opportunity—how the hell had the bomb been planted? Jimmy had opened that door to let Nick out when they arrived at Neon. And he’d obviously seen or heard something the second he’d opened it again, because he’d had time to yell them down before it blew. It must have been planted while they were in the club. Jimmy stayed with the SUV. The only time he left his post was if nature called, and then he called in to say so. So when? How?
Beverly moaned and then sighed, relaxing, and Nick knew she’d fallen asleep. He focused on her for a minute, marveling at the twists of the night that had landed her here, in his guestroom, for at least a few days. He needed to find out her last name. And where she worked. With that, it occurred to him to wonder what, exactly, he knew about her and whether she could have anything to do with the bomb. He didn’t know her full name, what she did, where she was from, anything except her first name and that of a few of her friends. And yet here she was, in his home.
It was highly unlikely that she was involved. He got no read from her that was ‘off’ in any way, and he had a keen sense for people. Still, he’d have her checked out at first light. He didn’t like ciphers in his midst.
Her right arm was stretched toward him, her fingers grazing his arm. He studied her tattoo, those two dainty feathers, each with a thick, dark quill and then fading out to seem light as air. The work was first-rate. Wrapping his fingers gently around her hand, he lifted it to look more closely.
The skin under the quills seemed raised, and, curious, he ran his thumb over her wrist. Scars. Two scars, both long, one longer than the other, vertical from her hand. He knew what those were.
He lifted her left arm, careful not to wake her, and checked the underside of her wrist—a single, much shorter, lighter scar there, not hidden with ink. He’d noticed that her right hand was her dominant hand. She’d cut into the right one first, probably thinking that her stronger hand would work better after its wrist had been cut and would be able to open the left wrist. Maybe she’d been wrong. Or maybe she’d changed her mind. Either way, at some point in her past, Beverly had tried to kill herself.
And that changed everything.
; He got up and left her alone.
~ 6 ~
Bev slept hard for several hours, waking slowly, her body stiff and heavy with pain. The ache was so bad that it distracted her from the unfamiliarity of her surroundings, and by the time she had the focus to wonder where she was, she knew. She remembered. She was in Nick’s apartment, in his guestroom, apparently unsafe to cross the hall and be in her own place.
Each breath felt as if it got caught in her ribs somehow, and when she sat up, she thought she’d cry—but crying would hurt too much, so she refused herself that release.
Everything hurt. Her face, her head, her ribs, her arm—those were the worst, but she hurt from the roots of her hair straight down to her toenails. And she hurt because someone had bombed the truck she’d been about to get into. Nick’s truck.
Deep (The Pagano Family Book 4) Page 7
