Deep (The Pagano Family Book 4)

by Fanetti, Susan

  Well, she’d spent the night at Nick’s place, but not the way she’d been hoping.

  She tried to tell herself that Chris had been right, that Nick was someone to be avoided at all costs, because quite clearly he was dangerous. She’d gotten an early warning this time, and it had come with blood and fire. But those thoughts were stifled by others—his smile that always seemed a private thing between them, the way he called her bella, his hand on her leg, his lips on her mouth, on her hand. The way he’d sat with her last night as she’d fallen asleep. The way he’d helped her change out of her dress and had been a gentleman.

  She was wearing his t-shirt right now. Feeling like a besotted schoolgirl, she brushed her hand over the smooth cotton. Another bad boy. She was up to her neck with another bad boy, lost this time before they’d done anything but kiss. She knew Chris hadn’t meant what he’d said last night. He’d be there for her, no matter how big a mistake she had made, or was still making, here. They’d been there for each other as long as they’d known each other.

  Oh, no—Chris. The bombing must have been all over the news. Nick had said something about their photo going viral. And she didn’t have her phone. Chris and Sky would be going crazy. She needed to get to her apartment and get their numbers.

  Getting carefully and unsteadily to her feet, she saw the sweatpants he’d brought her last night still folded at the foot of the bed. She worked her way into them and then went out of the room.

  When she opened the door, she almost shut it again and stayed behind it. The apartment seemed to be full of people. Somebody was cooking with garlic. And there was the kind of conversational hum that suggested several people were talking together.

  Bev tried to take a deep breath for strength, but even a normal breath was too deep right now. She resisted the impulse to hide, though, and walked out into the apartment.

  An older woman, mid-sixties or so, stood in the kitchen, stirring something in a pot on the range. She was sturdily built, heavier than Bev but not fat, dressed like a lady who lunched—in dress slacks, low-heeled pumps, a patterned silk blouse, and rather a lot of gold jewelry. Her hair was tastefully styled and colored a coppery auburn. When she turned, Bev saw she had a tea towel stuck in her waistband like a makeshift apron.

  She smiled and set a wooden spoon across the top of the pot. “Oh, honey. You’re awake. I’m so glad. Such a terrible night you had.” She came right up to Bev with her arms out—she wanted a hug.

  Bev didn’t mind hugs at all, and in fact she could have used one, but at that moment, with her body feeling like it did, the mere thought made her stomach roll over. She backed up a couple of defensive steps.

  The woman stopped short, her eyes widening as she realized. “Oh, right. I’m sorry.” She reached out instead and took Bev’s not-hurt arm and led her to a chair at the breakfast bar, which was the only dining setup in Nick’s apartment. His place was larger and nicer than hers, but in this, at least, their units were similar.

  “Come sit down. I’m making a ziti for the boys, but that’s too heavy for you so soon after you’re up. Would you like an omelet? Ham and cheese?”

  Bev might have laughed if her ribs would have allowed it. She would not have listed ‘ham and cheese omelet’ under ‘light breakfasts.’

  “No, thanks—” Her voice failed her and she cleared her throat and then grunted with the pain of it.

  “First things first. Let’s get you something for your pain. Nicky said only Tylenol this morning. Would you like it with coffee or juice? There’s grapefruit and tomato.”

  “Coffee, please…”

  The woman got the question implied in Bev’s tone. “Right! Betty! I’m Betty, Nicky’s—Nick’s—mother. He sent for me to come take care of you. And you’re Beverly.”

  “Bev. Yes.” She was meeting his mother? What the hell?

  “Bev? Okay, Bev. Coffee it is. And some Tylenol. And to eat?”

  “I just have fruit and yogurt for breakfast.”

  Betty scoffed. “Honey, that’s not breakfast. You need a good meal to start every day. I’ll make you some poached eggs on toast, how about that?” Without waiting for an answer, she went around the counter and fixed her a cup of coffee. “Cream? Sugar?”

  “Both.”

  Betty nodded and pushed a heavy mug of dark, strong-smelling coffee across the counter to her. Then she handed over a bottle of Tylenol, a sugar bowl, and a small glass of milk. “Sorry about the milk and the glass. He doesn’t have a creamer—or cream.”

  “It’s okay. Thanks.” Milk was not her main concern. Her main concern was why she was only getting Tylenol when she knew damn well she had a prescription for Percocet, to be taken as needed, and she needed it. She also needed to talk to Nick, because people who actually cared about her were probably going nuts. But he wasn’t in the living room with the three men she didn’t recognize, none of whom were paying her any attention.

  “Let me just get this ziti together and into the oven, and I’ll get your breakfast going.”

  “Where’s Nick? I need to talk to him.”

  Betty turned and pointed with her wooden spoon. “He’s in his office. I’m sure he’ll be out as soon as he can.”

  Bev followed the direction indicated by the spoon, almost screaming when she tried to twist her body to look over her shoulder. The chair she was sitting on swiveled, thankfully, and she moved her whole body around instead.

  The room with the glass wall. She saw him now, sitting at his desk, three more men in there with him.

  Two of the men sitting in his living room were wearing jeans and hooded sweatshirts. The other wore a black and yellow tracksuit. The men sitting with Nick were dressed more formally, in khakis and button-down shirts, even on this Saturday.

  Screwing up her courage and toughening up against her pain, Bev slid off the tall chair and headed for his office. Behind her Betty called, “Bev, wait,” but she didn’t stop until she’d reached the glass door and knocked.

  All eyes in the room went to the door. Bev opened it, trying to ignore the way her hands shook and trying even harder to make sure her voice didn’t do the same. “Nick. Hi. Sorry to interrupt, but I need to talk to you.”

  All the men—two of them older than Nick, one obviously younger—stared at her without speaking, and the scene was frozen so long that Bev began to worry that she was going to pass out from the combination of pain and tension. She kept her eyes on Nick; he looked nothing like the nice guy who’d called her bella and taken care of her last night. His piercing green eyes were cold as crystal. He was dressed more casually than the others in the room, in jeans and a grey pullover.

  “We’ll finish later. Get your men on what we’ve talked about.” Nick’s voice was flat and low. His eyes hadn’t left hers.

  One of the older men, with thickly curly, greying hair, turned back to Nick. “Boss, we’re not done here.”

  “We are for now. Go.”

  The three men got up and left. Bev stepped back to make room, and then she entered and closed the door.

  Nick gestured at one of the chairs in front of his desk. “Sit.” She crossed the room and sat, easing herself into the chair.

  “I need to call Chris and Sky and let them know I’m okay. They’ve got to be worried sick.” She wondered then, for the first time, whether she should bother calling her mother but decided that she didn’t need that stress today. Even if she knew Bev had been involved in what had happened last night, there was no guarantee she would have been particularly concerned. “And I need to find my purse, if I can.”

  “Your boyfriend was already here. He knows you’re safe. He’s short on manners. And brains.”

  “What does that mean? And I keep telling you he’s not my boyfriend.” Why did he insist on calling Chris her boyfriend? And what was going on? Chris had been here? “Wait—he was here? Why didn’t you tell me?”

  “You were sleeping.” He closed his laptop. “As for your purse, it’s at the precinct in Providence.
You’ll have it later today. I have some questions for you. What’s your name? Your real name?”

  “What do you mean, ‘my real name’? It’s Bev. Beverly Maddox. Beverly Denise Maddox, if that makes you happy.”

  “How old are you?”

  “Thirty-one. Am I being interviewed for some kind of job? What is this?” Her ribs began to ache more sharply as her heart rate picked up. He was being aggressive with her, and she had no idea why.

  He seemed unaffected by her confusion and distress. The man who’d lain with her on the sidewalk was gone. “What do you do for money, Beverly Denise Maddox?”

  “What? Why all these questions? What difference does it make what I do?”

  “I’d like to know who’s in my house. Is there a reason you don’t want to tell me?”

  There wasn’t, except that she was feeling attacked and afraid. She answered his question. “I’m a waitress. I work at Sassy Sal’s. I need to call my boss, too. I’m supposed to work the breakfast shift tomorrow.”

  “How does a waitress afford a beachfront condo?”

  “I don’t have a beachfront condo. You do. I have a courtyard condo, and it’s half this size.”

  “Still. I know how much they go for. More than a diner waitress could afford.”

  Finally, her gumption kicked in, and she squared her shoulders, wincing only a little, she hoped, at the pulling pain. “My money is my business. Who are you to be nosing around in it? Look—I don’t know what happened between when I fell asleep and now, but you obviously don’t want me here. I don’t want to be here. I’ll go back to my own place, and we can pretend like last night never happened.”

  He shook his head slowly. “That’s not possible. As I told you last night, we’re connected now, and you’re my responsibility. And I already know the answers to the questions I’m asking. Your father died two years ago, and he left you an inheritance. You used most of it to buy the condo outright. With the rest of it, you paid off your credit cards. Responsible of you.”

  “What—how—why—what?” Appalled, she couldn’t form a clear thought. Then she got it. “You hacked me, or whatever it’s called.”

  “Or whatever it’s called. Yes.”

  “Then why even bother to ask?” Had she thought she liked this guy?

  “I wanted to know if you’d lie to me.”

  “You’re testing me? Go to hell. I’m going home.” Furious and feeling violated, she got up, willing herself not to flinched at the strain in her ribs, and stalked to the door with as much dignity as she could muster. Somehow, though, he got around his desk and to the door before she did, and he blocked her path. His eyes lased into hers. He was angry, and she still had no idea why.

  “You’re not going. I told you last night—you’re here, with me. Until I know it’s safe.”

  “Why do you care? And why are you angry at me?”

  “I’m not angry.”

  “That’s bullshit. You’re totally different from the way you were last night. What did I do?”

  Instead of answering, he grabbed her arm and yanked it forward. A razor-sharp pain sliced across her chest and she cried out, but it didn’t seem to affect him. With his other hand, he hit a wall switch, and the glass wall went dark. Whatever he did to her next, no one would see.

  “The only answer I haven’t found is this.” He turned the inside of her right wrist to her face. “What is this?”

  Her heart seemed to stop for a second, and the pressure in her chest became almost unbearable. Forcing her voice to be steady, she said, “It’s a tattoo. I know you’re not scandalized by ink—I’ve seen your back.”

  “Don’t be coy, Beverly. What’s under the ink?”

  Twisting her hand, trying to get free of his grip without wrenching her ribs even more, she gritted out, “None of your business. Who are you to think you can ask me personal questions? Before Thursday, you barely talked to me. Please—just let me go home.”

  “No. It’s not safe.”

  “I’m across the fucking hall! How am I less safe across the—” A thought occurred to her, and she stopped. “It’s not me you’re keeping safe. You think I had something to do with what happened.”

  He finally let go of her, but he didn’t move clear of the door. “The situation isn’t safe. I need to control all the variables I can until it is.”

  “That’s nuts. I didn’t have anything to do with blowing up a car. I wouldn’t know a bomb if I tripped over one. I’ve never even held a gun. Plus, I was about to get into that car myself—like a fool.” She stepped away from him, her head full of buzzing bees. If she’d only gone home with her friends last night, she’d be at the farmer’s market right now, picking out eggplants and kale. Now she was a hostage—thirty feet from her own home.

  “I believe you. But I don’t know you well enough to trust you. And you are in danger. The people who want to hurt my uncle and me have gone for people close to us before.”

  “I’m not close to you.” She rubbed her arm where he’d gripped her and knew she both sounded and looked petulant. Well, she felt petulant.

  “They think you are.”

  Bev was tired, and they were talking in circles. Her ribs hurt horribly, and her head did, too. Moreover, she’d realized that she hadn’t washed since she’d gotten ready for her fancy night out at Neon. She was just done with this stupid argument.

  “I need to tell my friends I’m okay. I don’t care if you told Chris for me. I need to talk to him. And Sky, too. I need to ask my boss for a few days off. I need a shower. I need my own clothes and things. And I need my Percocet.”

  “I’ll send Donnie over to your place with you, and you can pick up what you need and bring it back. You can call your friends and your boss on my landline, in the living room. My shower is your shower—help yourself. There’s a full first aid kit in the bathroom next to the guestroom so you can re-dress your wounds. And I’m keeping track of your Percocet. Let me know when you need it.”

  “Why? What right do you have?”

  He shifted his eyes to her tattooed wrist. Bastard. “I’m not a man who takes reckless chances.”

  “Who are you to judge me? You don’t know me at all.”

  “Which is my point.” He stepped toward her and put his hand on the doorknob. “I have to get going. My mother will take care of you. Men will be in and out most of the day, but Donnie will stay here to keep watch over you both.”

  He opened the door and indicated she should go through first. Exhausted, confused, and inexpressibly sad, Bev did.

  ~oOo~

  Nick left before his mother’s ziti was out of the oven, but throughout the rest of the day, there were usually at least three men in his apartment, and the ziti got hit repeatedly. It was gone long before there was any sign of Nick’s return. As it dwindled, Betty started a roast.

  Donnie took Bev to her apartment shortly after Nick left, and she packed a bag, feeling absurd, packing to go across the hall. She picked up her laptop, but Donnie took it from her with a shake of his head and a “Sorry, ma’am.”

  She really was a hostage. She dug her paper address book out of a drawer and brought that with her instead. Then Donnie took her back to Nick’s. He made her call her friends in the living room, where everybody could hear.

  Chris was terrified and furious, and she could only speak to him for a few minutes, because he wouldn’t stop yelling, and there were too many strangers around her to answer the questions he shouted at her. But when she said, “I love you, please don’t be mad,” at the end of the call, he replied, “I’m mad because I love you, Bev. I want you safe.”

  She thought they’d be okay, once she could get control of her life back.

  She called Bruce next, who had heard about the bombing but not that she had been hurt in it. He was sweet and concerned for her health, and he told her to take the time she needed. She told him she hoped to be back at work by Wednesday at the latest, which would be only two days missed, Sunday and Tuesday. She had alre
ady been scheduled off on Monday. She really hoped that by Wednesday this madness would be behind her.

  Then she called Skylar. She and Sky had been friends since the day Bev started at Sal’s. They’d hit it off immediately. Bev generally liked everybody until they gave her a reason not to, but it had been deeper than that with Skylar. They weren’t all that similar on the surface—Sky had a lot more edge than Bev, in both taste and personality. But they got each other’s jokes, and they saw the world in similar ways. And as early as that first day, they’d been able to communicate without speaking, with simply a gesture or a look.

  Chris was her best friend, the friend with history. They knew each other so well because they’d been together so long and had learned. Sky was her closest friend. They knew each other so well because they just got each other.