by Beth Ciotta
He refused to smile. “This is serious, Kylie.”
She furrowed her brow. “What’s the charge?”
“Criminal mischief.” There’d been no formal arrest, but he did want to deter further dumb-ass behavior. She’d been angling to get herself thrown in jail for days. Maybe a few hours behind bars would scratch that itch. That and making the headlines tomorrow.
“Jack,” she said when he turned to leave. “I’m sorry I scared you.”
Wanting to make her squirm, he said, “You’ll be sorrier when Spenser finds out.”
IT WAS WRONG. Carrying on in public. But thrilling. Some sort of kinky fantasy come to life. The prisoner being felt up by the warden.
No. Not warden. Police chief.
Jack had her handcuffed to the jail cot. He’d stripped her naked. He was taking advantage. Taking his time.
“Kylie.”
“Stop teasing, Jack. Touch me. Make me—”
“Wake up.”
Wake up? Her body tingled with pleasures she’d never known. His hands. His mouth. She moaned, flexed.
“You’re killing me, hon.”
A gentle shake broke the spell. Kylie fought her way through an erotic haze and reluctantly opened her eyes. Jack.
His blue gaze smoldered with something that only intensified the ache between her legs. “You were dreaming.”
Dreaming? Bleary-eyed, she pushed herself to her elbows and squinted at her surroundings. She was exactly where she’d been for the past several heart-pounding minutes. In a jail cell, on a bed, with Jack. Only now they were fully clothed. And he wasn’t sprawled on top of her. He was sitting beside her.
Her cheeks burned. “I…I must’ve fallen asleep.”
“Between the late hour and the water tower escapade, I’m not surprised. You must be exhausted.” He stroked her cheek…then abruptly stood.
“I manage the attraction better when I’m not touching you.”
Smiling to herself, Kylie groped for her glasses.
“Someone showed to speak in your defense.”
“Faye?”
“Max.”
“Grogan?”
“Is there another Max in Eden?”
Kylie swung her legs over the cot, feeling disoriented. “What time is it?”
“Two in the morning.”
Faye was no doubt asleep and oblivious to the tower episode. If she knew Kylie was in jail, she would’ve come.
Or maybe not.
Kylie was still reeling from her friend’s angry outburst.
“The old guy got home and had a guilt attack,” Jack said of Max. “He’s worried the HPS pushed you over the edge. He called the mayor. The mayor called me.”
Kylie blinked. “So they’re going to reverse their decision about McGraw’s?”
“No. But where the tower’s concerned, there’ll be no formal charges.”
She frowned. “Oh.”
“That’s a good thing, Tiger.” He guided her into the administrative office.
The smell of strong coffee permeated the air. Shaking off the last remnants of sleep, Kylie saw Bo Hooper answering the phone and Max standing nearby looking sheepish.
“Max insists on giving you a ride home.”
Kylie glanced up at Jack, his sexy promise and that erotic dream fresh in her mind. “Oh, but…”
“It’s for you, Chief,” said Hooper. “Your sister. Wants to make sure you’re okay.”
“Be right there.”
“Guess that means you two are on good terms,” said Kylie.
“Better terms. Jessie and Maddie are staying with me for a while.”
Which meant she wouldn’t be getting down and dirty with Jack at his place. “Heard that through the grapevine. But I don’t believe everything I hear.”
Jack regarded her with a strange smile. “Neither do I.”
Kylie fidgeted. Had he heard something about her? But of course he had. The question was, what? Hyperaware of Hooper and Max looking on, she wasn’t about to ask. “I guess I should go.”
Boy, this was awkward. They’d shared a passionate kiss on the tower, yet she felt timid about instigating a chaste kiss good-night. Well, she certainly wasn’t going to shake his hand. Instead, she nodded. “Thanks again for, you know, rescuing me.”
“My pleasure.”
She moved to leave, but Jack grasped her fingers.
“Would you have dinner with me tonight?”
She blinked.
“We’re well into Saturday morning,” he clarified.
“I know. I just…” Her heart fluttered. “You mean like a date?”
“Unless you have other plans.”
Sheer willpower kept her from hopping with joy. “Are you kidding? I mean…” A date was more special than just a lusty boink. And would probably lead to the lusty boink. Had she croaked after all and gone to heaven?
Hooper cleared his throat, waggled the receiver.
Max grunted. “She’d love to have dinner with you. Damn, Kylie. No wonder your social life stinks.” He gestured to the door. “Can we go now?”
Flustered, she smiled at Jack, said good-night to Bo, then hurried out into the still night with her crotchety, but good-hearted neighbor.
Max chuckled under his breath as he helped her into his Ford pickup. “Bet you’re not sorry you’re stuck in Eden now.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
Philadelphia, Pennsylvania
“WHAT’S ON YOUR MIND, Mr. Mancini?”
Carmine resented Dr. Bennett’s calm tone. She knew he’d had another attack this morning. He’d been this close to shaking hands with St. Peter. He didn’t care what the resident at the emergency room had said. He’d had a fuckin’ heart attack, brought on by his nephew’s shocking news and another one of those prophetic nightmares. But, because he was a stubborn motherfucker, he did not succumb. Yet.
“I’m dying, Doc.”
“You’re not dying, Mr. Mancini.”
“Not at this particular moment. But it is in my future.”
She remained expressionless. “Death is in everyone’s future.”
“You’re a cold bitch.”
“Not cold, Mr. Mancini. Realistic.”
He grunted at that.
“Are you comfortable?”
He’d surrendered to the couch. The piece of psychobabble furniture he’d sworn he’d never touch. Only this morning, he’d been so desperate, he’d reclined and clung to the tapestry-covered sofa like it was his anchor to earth. “Everything said here is confidential, right?”
“That’s right.”
“Not that this is about me. I have this friend. Joe.”
“Is Joe troubled by something?”
“He is. You see, there was this man, this family member, a brother, actually.”
“Go on.”
“This brother, uh, Art, he was weak, but kind and smart. So Joe took him under his wing, gave him a place in the…world. Things were good for a while. Great, even. Until he learned something about Art. Something unholy. Something that could not be tolerated. So Joe, in his disgust and anger, disowned his little brother.”
“That must have been difficult,” said Dr. Bennett.
“Yeah.” He shrugged. “So Joe told me.”
“Go on.”
“I don’t want to get into specifics, but word got out to some…business partners. Men who’d worked closely with Art.”
“About Art’s unholy behavior,” she guessed.
“That’s right. Things got ugly. Real ugly. In retaliation, Art broke a promise. A sacred promise, Doc.”
“He betrayed someone.”
“He betrayed family.” Carmine ignored the pain in his chest. He had to get through this. Time was of the essence. “Breaking this particular oath is unforgivable.”
“Perhaps circumstances—”
“Right is right and wrong is wrong.”
She lifted a brow. “No gray areas?”
He twisted his pinkie ring. “Typical
ly no. Thing is, these partners acted without permission.”
“I’m not sure I follow.”
“You don’t need to. Let’s just say that their wrong was as bad as Art’s wrong. They were…reprimanded.”
“What happened to Art?”
“He went on the lam, uh, into hiding.”
“How did Joe feel about that?”
“Relieved. It meant he didn’t have to…deal with his brother’s betrayal.” Joe wasn’t pissed about the shitload of money Art had stolen from him—well, at least not anymore. Considering the fallout, Art sort of deserved the dough. But the other thing… The stupid bastard had ratted to the feds about the Gambelli family. Past rivals Joe had worked hard to make peace with in order to conduct joint business. Art had broken omertà, a transgression punishable by death.
“Sounds like Joe loved his brother, even though he disowned him.”
“He realized the bond was still there when he heard those fucks had beaten Art within a fraction of his life. If it weren’t for Art’s wife…” Carmine sighed and rubbed a hand over his face. “In hindsight, Joe wishes he would’ve handled things differently. Wishes he would have been more…”
“Tolerant?”
“Yeah. Tolerant. He’s thinking maybe he should make peace with his brother before, well, before one of them bites the big one. If you know what I’m saying.”
“Hmm.”
“Joe’s ma blames him for putting the younger brother in harm’s way. She keeps telling him to make it right. Otherwise, he’ll burn in hell.”
“Does Joe believe that?”
He cut her a look. “How would I know?”
She didn’t answer.
Carmine sniffed. “Anyway, last night Joe received information that could ultimately pinpoint his brother’s location. This presents a dilemma.”
“Why is that?”
Was she really so dense? She knew the world he circulated in. “Use your imagination, Doc.”
“That’s not helpful, Mr. Mancini.”
Damn. Just thinking about this gave him agita. “Joe is honor-bound to…address his brother’s betrayal. Failing to do so would mean disgrace.”
“Couldn’t he address the betrayal by forgiving him?”
“Not an acceptable solution.”
“What if Joe ignored this information and didn’t seek out his brother?”
“Others would.”
“Thereby taking the pressure, the responsibility, the moral repercussions off of Joe.”
This time Carmine held silent.
She tapped her pencil on her pad. “What is Joe going to do?”
“He doesn’t know.”
“What is he waiting for? Looking for?”
He didn’t know. Carmine rubbed his tight chest, considered. “A sign.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
KYLIE WOKE WITH A START, squinted at her bedside clock. “Crap!” She never slept this late! Not even on her days off. Although the store was closed for renovations and she hadn’t told Travis she’d be in at any particular time, she felt guilty because she just knew he was hard at work. The man was abnormally driven. At the rate he was going, she’d be able to reopen ahead of schedule. All she was waiting for were the new shoes she’d ordered.
Somewhat recovered from yesterday, she sprang out of bed…and winced. “Ow.”
Every muscle in her body screamed. Partly from her tower escapade. Partly from her motorcycle mishap. She glanced down at her throbbing, discolored thigh. If she got naked with Jack tonight, he’d ask about that bruise, because, man, it was huge and ugly, impossible to miss. “Dang.” She wanted a mind-blowing seduction, not a lecture on safety.
Kylie swiped her tangled hair out of her face and shoved on her glasses. She limped into the living room and checked her phone messages. There were none. No call from Grandma, saying Mom had a feeling something bad had happened. That was good. No call from Spenser, asking what the frig was wrong with her? Which meant Jack hadn’t contacted him about the tower. Also good. No call from Faye, saying, I’m sorry I freaked out or can we talk about this?
Not so good.
Kylie felt bad about slipping and causing friction between Faye and Stan, but she was also stinging from a few of her friend’s harsh observations. This time Kylie was the one who needed a little time and space. When she next spoke with Faye, she wanted to have a better grip on what she wanted out of life.
Meanwhile, she refused to pout. She had a business to renovate. She had a date. With Jack. Tonight!
She kicked up her heels…and winced.
Forty minutes later, Kylie was half way to town on her bike. Okay. She was speeding, but if she got pulled over, at least she had her license. Her mood was high…until she spotted the water tower.
She slowed to get a better look. Then jumped the road and took off across an open field to get a closer look. “It can’t be.”
But it was.
All of the apples were red.
She didn’t know whether to scream or cry. Of course, she’d known someone would cover up her statement, eventually. That water tower was the pride and joy of Eden. But even Spenser’s graffiti love note to Nancy had lasted twenty-four hours before Public Works had painted over it. Had her yellow apple even made it to dawn? Had anyone, aside from the person who painted it red, seen it? Had she risked her neck in vain?
Frustrated and angry, Kylie turned her bike back around and sped toward town. Someone was going to get an earful.
AT 12:20 P.M. TRAVIS was operating on sheer will, a pot of coffee, Kerri’s cheese Danish and two cans of Coke. He’d been at it since 5:00 a.m. He’d knocked off late last night, thinking he’d sleep like the dead. Only he’d dreamed about sleeping with the fishes. Mona kept shouting, “Run!” He’d woken up in a cold sweat twice. It wasn’t that he was a coward, but he didn’t want to die. Not before he sampled what Paris had to offer.
At 3:00 a.m., he’d given up on sleep. He’d showered and dressed, sorted through his closet and drawers. He wouldn’t be taking much with him, just a carry-on suitcase and a briefcase full of essentials, including a phony passport he had in the works. He’d lingered over some of Mona’s belongings, remembering how she’d hated her new persona. Drab hair. Drab wardrobe. Although, she’d once quipped, she’d take drab over dead. On her good days, she’d still been able to joke.
Before his indiscretion, before he’d torn their world apart, she’d been a vibrant personality with a dry sense of humor. After…he wasn’t sure what haunted her more. Seeing her husband savagely beaten and hearing what those gorillas planned to do with his balls or seeing Dutch Gambelli’s head explode when she popped him with the Beretta they kept for emergencies.
Travis swore to himself that, once overseas, he’d celebrate who she’d been born as and not who she’d become because of him. He’d always loved her, in spite of his urges, and in spite of his urges, she’d loved him.
Enough to kill.
The bloody episode remained somewhat fuzzy in Travis’s mind. Through his beaten haze, he faintly remembered Joey the Enforcer bobbling his knife after Mona shot Dutch. Joey went for his gun and Travis grabbed the knife, stabbed. Travis had been close to unconscious at that point, his face as raw as hamburger meat. Mona had been in shock. Soon after, the cops had arrived. Then the feds—the beginning of their end.
Bleary-eyed, Travis focused back on his work. Hands on hips, he turned in all directions, marveling at all he’d accomplished in so little time. For the most part, his work here was finished. All he needed was Kylie’s opinion on the sign. That sign would be her calling card. He didn’t feel right about hanging it until he knew she approved.
He glanced at his watch.
Twelve-forty-five.
Where was she?
KYLIE BLEW INTO Boone’s Bar and Grill, knowing Max and gang typically met there for lunch on Saturday afternoons. It had been their routine for the past ten years and sure enough there they were. Max, J.J., Keystone and Mayor Wilson, chowi
ng down on burgers and fries.
“Why?” That’s all she got out. Her throat was clogged with frustration and road dust.
Four of Eden’s most esteemed silver-haired citizens calmly abandoned their Wanda Wonder-Burgers.
“Told ya she’d be peeved,” said J.J.
“I was hoping she’d be thankful,” said Keystone.
Max wagged an arthritic finger. “We did you a favor, kiddo.”
She clenched her fists at her side. “I risked serious injury or—hello—death climbing that tower to make a statement. There are all kinds of apples, gentleman. Delicious. Granny. McIntosh. They don’t all look, smell or taste the same. And yet every apple on that tower is red.”
“That’s because the tower represents one tree,” said J.J. “When have you ever seen a yellow and red apple on the same tree?”
Kylie gawked. “That’s not the point.”
“Your point isn’t Eden’s point,” said Mayor Wilson.
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“It means don’t sabotage this town just because you’ve got a bug up your butt. That tower is part of Eden’s history. A conversation piece. Starting Monday,” the mayor went on, “people from all over will be driving in and out of Eden for a week’s worth of clean-cut hoopla. We want them talking about the church-sponsored Chicken Noodle Dinner and craft bizarre. The flea market, the Little Miss Eden Pageant, the tractor races and the parade.”
“Don’t forget about the firehouse hog roast,” said Max, “and the car and truck show.”
“The apple pie and cake baking contest, monster arm wrestling and live music in the Pavilion,” said J.J.
“The moonlight sock-hop, square-dancing and carnival rides,” said Keystone.
“Every business in Eden benefits from the Apple Festival,” said the mayor. “People return again and again and spend oodles of money. They return expecting to see the same quaint town and to experience the same old-fashioned fun.”
“Tradition,” said Max.
Mayor Wilson punctuated the air with a French fry. “The last thing we want is for folks to leave here lamenting the modernized look of one of the stores on the historical block and a vandalized water tower. We do not want folks worrying that Eden’s going to hell in an apple bushel and maybe choosing to go elsewhere next year.”
