His face fell. “You just got here.”
“I know. Had to pay my respects to the newlyweds, but I do have another appointment.” I faked a glance at my watch. “I’m late.”
“A date?” From his tone, I could tell he was hoping I’d say no.
“Yes,” I lied. Let him think so and forget about me.
He nodded. “I understand.” Ever gallant, ever the soul of courtesy and civility, well dressed at all times—not just once or twice a year—why on earth couldn’t I warm up to him? To top everything else off, he was brilliantly educated, rich and handsome. What the hell was the matter with me? I silently stormed as I wove my way toward the door between groups of noisy, laughing people. I’d make my excuses tomorrow to Chip and the bride. Tell them I was sick or something and simply had to leave early.
Truth be told, I was sick. Heartsick. To deny it would be lying to myself as I had just lied to Simon.
I had no sooner turned the key in my condo lock when Rossi murmured, “Deva.”
My heart leaped into my throat. “Go away,” I said without turning around. In that moment, I couldn’t bear to look at him.
“No.” He stepped closer. Lingering hints of his aftershave hung in the air. I definitely caught a trace of musk but no pricey sandalwood. His warm breath feathering my nape, he put a hand on my arm. A flash of red hot longing tore through me, and I gasped.
Infuriated at my own weakness, I yanked my arm free and whirled around.
“That’s quite a dress,” he said with a smile that I felt like slapping off his face.
“Simon liked it.”
“Every man on your radar screen liked it. Wasn’t that your intent?”
Some things never changed. Rossi always understood my motives.
I upped my chin. “What are you doing out here anyway? Your date must be looking for you.”
A wall-to-wall grin split his face wide open. I wanted to kill him.
“What date?”
“The blonde you were having a tête-à-tête with. That date.”
“Ah.” He raised a hand, examining his fingertips as if he were admiring a fancy manicure. “You must mean Mrs. Michael Bennett. She’s with her husband at the moment.” He glanced up from his hand, piercing me with those dark, diabolical eyes. “Jealous?”
He was toying with me. I’d be damned if I’d put up with that. “Go away, Rossi. Nothing’s changed.”
I opened the condo door and stepped inside. Before I could push it closed, he strode in behind me and slammed it shut.
“You’re right, nothing has changed. When I touched you, you gasped. I remember those gasps. Every one.”
I remembered them too but would die before admitting it. “You weren’t invited in. I don’t want you here.”
“You’re a liar. You’re hoping I’ll rip your clothes off and take you on the floor.”
“How dare you?” Hands on hips, legs apart, I squared off ready to...what? Fight?
“And don’t wear that dress again.” He pointed a finger at my chest. “Look at you. You’re hanging out of it.”
“Oooh!” I rushed for him, ready to scratch out his eyes. He caught me to him, pinning my arms to my sides, and kissed me, his mouth a hard, unrelenting line.
Imprisoned in his embrace, his body pressed to mine, I refused to give in. I would not open to him. But then...but then...with a will of their own, my lips betrayed me. Yielding to his demand, they parted. Seizing that nanosecond of weakness, his mouth eased its pressure. His lips softened, and his kiss created the magic I had longed for all the nights I’d lain awake listening to the hoot of the owls.
A groan floated up between us. Whether from Rossi or from me, there was no telling.
His lips left mine to brush my cheek. “You think you can do without this?” he asked. Not giving me time to answer, he found my mouth again, and teased it until I was ready to give him anything. Everything.
Weak kneed, I leaned against the foyer wall, my resolve to cut him loose, to be noble, to be self-sacrificing, exposed for the sham it had been all along.
Would he forgive me? As if in answer, his hands moved on my body, caressing me gently. His lips left my mouth to nuzzle my cleavage.
A moment later, he glanced up, a wicked gleam in his eyes. “That is the reason for the neckline, right?”
I laughed. Reaching down, he raised my skirt and pulled my panties over my hips. “Kick them off,” he ordered, his voice hoarse.
He fumbled with his own clothes, then, yanking the dress back up, he lifted me off my feet. I wrapped my legs around him, and with no restraint, no pause, savage and quick, we came together, in our eagerness stripping away every shred of pretense. All that remained was the depth of our need for each other.
Then with a final shuddering breath, he withdrew and a moment later lowered me to the floor, his pulse beating as hard as if he’d climbed a mountain. I stood before him, clutched to his chest, my heart pounding in unison with his. When our pulses returned to something like normal, he tugged my dress down and took a step back.
“Thank you,” he said, his voice soft, another caress.
All I could do was nod.
He took my hand, and together we went into the dimly lit living room. The sofa lamps on the floor beside the couch sent narrow arcs of light beaming up toward the ceiling. Two steps into the room, Rossi came to an abrupt stop and glanced around.
His eyes wide, he turned to me. “What happened in here? Where’s your furniture?”
“I sold it.”
“Why? You loved those things.” He was clearly astonished at the sight of the half empty room, and no wonder. How many times had I told him how much I loved Jack’s furniture, that they were beautiful old pieces? And though I never said it, Rossi knew they were also silent reminders of a life I had lost.
Still wobbly kneed, I sank onto the couch. Rossi settled beside me and took my hand again. “So? Why did you get rid of Jack’s things?” A superb investigator, he would wait patiently for my explanation no matter how long it took.
“Well,” I began, folding pleats into the purple fabric with my free hand. “I had mixed motives.”
He nodded, his eyes full of questions.
“I was so damned mad at Jack, I wanted to get rid of everything that reminded me of him.”
Rossi pointed to the light-colored rectangle on the living room wall. “His photograph too?”
“It’s in the back of my clothes closet.”
“I see.” He rubbed his thumb over my fingers. “Did getting rid of Jack’s things make you feel better?”
“No. I acted out of spite. That’s never a good thing.”
“Are you okay with it now?”
“Yes. The truth is I was clinging to the past. Maybe subconsciously I was searching for a reason to free myself, to move on with my life—” the shock of a sudden insight hit home, “—and Jack gave me that reason.” I half turned to face Rossi. “Do you think that’s possible? Jack wanted me to do what I did?”
“All things are possible if we believe they are.”
I nodded. Though he was really telling me I was fantasizing, that was okay. The thought of Jack’s benediction was healing, and an ease I hadn’t felt in days flooded through me.
“There’s more you should know,” I said. “At first, before I saw Dr. Endicott, I had another reason for selling Jack’s things. A more positive one.”
“Oh?”
“You gave Lee and Paulo your Hawaii money. I know how you’ve been wanting to go there. So I thought—”
“I’d vacation on the proceeds of your furniture.” His eyes mysteriously dark, he kissed me. “A well-intentioned thought, sweetheart, but do you really think I’d take your husband’s money?”
“But it wouldn’t be like that.”
“It would be exactly like that. No dice. Besides, you’re underestimating me.”
“Never!”
He waggled a finger. “I have the money for Hawaii.”
&nbs
p; “But how—?”
“Remember my mentioning an Uncle Beppe?”
My jaw dropped. “You’re taking a trip on mob money?”
Rossi laughed. “What did I just say? Don’t underestimate me. Uncle Beppe left me his father’s gold pocket watch. Eighteen carat. Weighs a ton. Worth a small fortune. It came from Sicily, long before Beppe’s...ah, career...blossomed. How a hundred years ago, El Pappa got his hands on a watch worth a whole Sicilian village is shrouded in mystery. But I’m giving the old boy the benefit of the doubt and—to make a long story short—the money for Honolulu is in my checking account. So...want to join me?”
From his big white smile, I could tell he already knew my answer, but I said yes anyway. “If you’re sure,” I added, staring at his face for telltale signs of regret. There were none that I could see. Still, I had to be certain. “Nothing about me has changed.”
He groaned. “Good. I don’t like change. You’re perfect as you are. Stay that way.” His arms snugged around me, holding me close. “Not only are you perfect, you—”
His cell phone rang, as always at the worst possible time. And as always, he answered it on the first ring, instantly morphing from lover into detective.
He listened for a second then eased off the couch and stood, phone tight to his ear. “When?” he asked. “Where are they? Stay on it. I’ll be there in ten minutes. Whatever you do, don’t lose them.” He hung up and pocketed the cell. “Sorry sweetheart, I have to go. Call you later tonight.”
He kissed me quick and hard, hurrying away before I had a chance to tell him I wouldn’t be at home tonight. I had a final date with Rum Row.
Chapter Thirty
Once I was sure Rossi had left the Surfside parking lot, I stripped off the purple dress and slid into jeans and a T-shirt. I locked the condo and headed for Rum Row, my guilt growing stronger the closer I got to the mansion. No question Rossi would have a fit if he knew I’d been sleeping there alone all week. But a promise was a promise, and as uneasy as I felt about walking into the Grandese house in the dark, Francesco remained my most valued client. Besides, the security system was state of the art. I had nothing to fear. I’d complete my week in Donny’s bed, and that would be the end of it.
The neighborhood was quiet when I drove onto the driveway, a lush velvety quiet scented with night-blooming jasmine and warm salty breezes. Even the owls were silent as I punched in the alarm code.
As soon as I entered the foyer, I reset the security system and tamped down my unease. Without even the murmur of the Gulf in the distance or the brush of leaf upon leaf, the silence was deeper inside than out.
Two hideous lamps cast pools of light over the living room’s treasures. Colored beads hung from the shades and lumpy clay goddesses cavorted on the bases. Donny’s choice? As ugly as the lamps were, I was grateful not to walk into a totally dark house.
I blew a kiss at the Townsend on my way to the master suite. No lamps in there, so I clicked on the overheads. The first of the week Tom Kruse and his crew could start in here. When they were finished, I’d have the new Stark carpeting installed, relocate the bed onto the opposite wall, bring in the Federal highboy and bureaus from the garage. Maybe to enhance the yin and yang, a round skirted table on one side of the bed. A masculine block-front chest on the other...
What was that? I turned down the monologue in my head and listened.
Hoot. Hoot.
Oh, just the owls having a party outside the windows. My heartbeat eased out of its panic mode...a Greek key design in silvery blue would work well on a round table...
There it was again. Not owls, a creak. Nothing to be disturbed about. All houses creaked. I was imagining things. That’s what happens when you have a double scotch on an empty stomach.
An emergency energy bar lurked in the bottom of my handbag. I emptied the purse on the bed and there it was, peanut butter caramel with a slightly crumpled wrapper and a hundred and fifty calories’ worth of energy. I tore off the wrapping and finished the whole thing in three or four bites. So much for dinner. I placed the cell phone on the TV table by the bed, scooped everything else, including the gun, back into the purse and carried it into the master bathroom. Half finished with bare plastered walls and a rough concrete floor, it had the ghostlike appearance of a room in an abandoned building. I sniffed the air. Nothing but damp plaster. No fragrance of jasmine in here.
At least the shower, vanity sink and toilet had been plumbed, but the floor awaited a custom tile installation, and the full length wall mirrors were on special order. For days I’d put on my makeup and brushed my hair with only the aid of a compact. God knows what I’d looked like. Well last week had been a nightmare, and how I looked the least of my worries. This week—I checked my watch, Sunday, 1:00 a.m.—was unfolding like an American Beauty Rose.
Once I was out of here for good, I’d hire an assistant. Get a haircut. Have a pedicure. Buy a new outfit. At Victoria’s Secret. In purple. Forget white and beige. Call purple my new neutral. Change the sheets on the bed. Make love to Rossi. Live.
A creak. Louder this time. Closer. Wood floors did creak, but these hadn’t all week, not before tonight. Why now? And what was that? A voice? Somebody whispering?
Useless as broken rubber bands, my fingers fumbled in my bag for the Cobra.
A step, an unmistakable step on the hard, unfinished bedroom floor. Somebody out to kill me? My hand froze inside the purse. Not now, I wailed silently. Not now when all of life was beginning anew.
“Deva? Are you there?”
I choked back a scream and flung the door open. “Jewels! You nearly scared me to death. What are you doing here in the middle of the night?”
“We just got back. I saw the lights on, so I came to tell you we’re home.”
In the harsh overheads, dark shadows ringed Jewels’s eyes, and her baby bump showed. Judging from her appearance, I guessed Donny’s funeral had been brutal.
Heart pounding, I sagged against the front of the vanity. “Well, welcome home. I think you’ll see quite a few changes since you left. Francesco should be pleased.”
She nodded, as indifferent as ever to what the house looked like. But she listened as I nattered on. “The contractor has made great progress in the kitchen. This bathroom is nearly finished. On Monday, the painters can start in your bedroom, so by Friday, you and Francesco could move in if you like. The finishing touches can be added after you’re settled.”
“That would be good. My brother Joey drove us down. We’ll be crowded over the garage.”
“Then why not stay here tonight? I’m still dressed. I can drive back home.”
She eyed the bed as if it were a chocolate cream puff and she was on a diet. “It’s after one in the morning, Deva.”
“Doesn’t matter. I can be at Surfside in fifteen minutes. If you help me strip the bed, we can change it in no time.”
“I don’t care about the sheets. I just want to put my head on a pillow. It was a long drive from Rhode Island with two men and a baby.” She patted her stomach. “Two babies. I was nauseous most of the way.”
We were so busy chatting, I didn’t hear them come in. Not a creak. Not a footstep. Neither did Jewels. But suddenly there they were—Pinstripes and Serge—blocking the door to the master suite, trapping us in the bathroom. I drew in a shocked breath. “Omigod, not you again.”
Jewels spun around, took one look and screamed. Pinstripes grabbed her and put a hand over her mouth, stifling her outcry.
“Nix on that. No yelling allowed.”
“Let her go, she’s pregnant,” I snapped.
“We know,” Serge replied, a snarky smirk on his face.
“You know? Who are you, anyway?”
“We ask the questions. But since I’m a nice guy, I’ll tell you. We’re friends of Donny.”
“Ain’t that right, Jewels?” Pinstripes said in her ear.
“You know her name?”
He gave me a sullen, high-shouldered shrug. “We know a lot
, lady. But there’s stuff we don’t know. Like who the hell are you?”
“Let her go, and I’ll tell you.”
“You’ll tell me anyway. But like I said, I’m a nice guy.” Again in Jewels’s ear, he said, “Don’t yell and you won’t get hurt. Understood?”
She nodded.
“We just want to talk to Frannie. He with you?”
Another nod.
He took his hand away from her mouth but held onto her arm.
“I’m going to be sick,” Jewels said.
“Let her go,” I said.
Jewels moaned.
“She’s going to throw up, asshole. You want it on your shoes?”
As if his hands were on fire, he released her. Jewels made a beeline for the toilet. I took a step toward her, but Pinstripes stuck out a foot, nearly tripping me. “Not so fast.”
“How about giving us some privacy? There’s no window in here. Where are we going to go?”
He glanced over at Jewels on her knees in front of the john noisily barfing up her bellybutton. “We’ll be outside.”
The two goons left, slamming the door behind them. Working fast, I dumped the contents of my purse in the vanity sink. No time for fumbling, just a few moments while Jewels did her thing. Once she stopped vomiting, they would be in after us.
Wrong. Not even that long. I’d no sooner tucked the Cobra into the front of my jeans and flipped the T-shirt over it when the door reopened and Pinstripes joined us in the middle of Jewels’s performance. In this tight space, I couldn’t do any more than hide the gun, never mind use it. He’d be all over me before I could release the safety and pull the trigger.
Intent on Jewels, he didn’t notice as I scooped the rest of my stuff into the bag.
Barely able to breathe in my now skin-tight jeans, I took a chance, reached under the shirt and unfastened the button at my waist. With a shaky hand, Jewels flushed the toilet. I took a deep breath of the foul air and regretted it.
The same gray as the plaster walls, Jewels pulled herself to her feet, clinging to the edge of the vanity for support.
I dampened a washcloth and gave it to her. She took it with a weak smile and wiped her face and hands. “Why don’t you let her sit down?” I said to Pinstripes.
Killer Kitchens (Murders by Design) Page 21
