by Bonnie Dee
Ames went to fill coffee cups and take orders from the morning rush of customers. The familiar work settled her some, so by the time she faced Ross again, the flutters in her stomach had turned to a dull ache.
“Where can I pick you up?” he asked.
“My apartment’s on Dodge Street.” The moment the words were out of her mouth, she realized how stupid it was to let him know where she lived. But the town was so small, if he wanted to find out, he would anyway.
“See you later, then.” Ross rose from his stool and faced her across the counter. His eyes locked with hers, and his lips parted as if he were going to add something…or maybe lean across the counter and kiss her. Then the moment passed. He nodded, turned and strode toward the door with that gliding grace.
Ames tore her gaze away from the back of his jeans and went to get Mary Bates’s order of pecan pancakes.
Sick, sick puppy, Ames. Even though the man with too many names and mysteries spelled big trouble, the way her heartbeat quickened in his presence wasn’t just about fear.
Nick had searched every nook of the house and dug up every damn place he could think of in the basement. He’d dug in the clearing in the woods, revealing nothing but tree roots, which, it turned out, were a bitch to chop through. The chances of Elliot having hidden something there receded by the minute. The documents and currency Nick expected to find might be ruined by moisture no matter how carefully Elliot packaged them before burying them. Stupid idea to come here. Everything was probably back in New York or maybe with Elliot himself—wherever he was. He’d followed a hunch that just wasn’t panning out. But he’d been so certain Elliot would flee to a place he considered “safe”, a place beyond the usual reach of the Espositos.
Nick jammed the shovel into the earth and rested his forearms against the handle. At this moment, he’d honestly like to kill Elliot himself. If it weren’t for that weasel, he’d be having a normal, unassuming day at the museum, probably writing fund-raising letters. Occasionally dull, that existence, but infinitely preferable to this mess. His friendship with Elliot had dragged him back into a world he’d carefully cut all ties with. Bloodlines kept the Rossis connected to the Espositos for life. A crime family was something Nick had been born into, never chosen. And now he was back on the Espositos’ radar, reliving the nightmare he’d seen play out with his father after he tried to leave.
He lifted his face from where it rested against his crossed arms and looked around the silent clearing. He still hadn’t grown used to the absence of humans and the presence of every other sort of other damn animal. Insects buzzed, birds called, leaves and sticks rustled as small creatures scampered through the woods. How easy it would be for someone to sneak up on him here as he blithely dug away and eliminate him. He’d even given wannabe murderers a nice head start on his own grave.
Sweat trickled down his spine. He cursed Elliot’s name and pulled the shovel from the earth. It was nearly time for his date with Ames. Time to go back to the house—her house, as he thought of it now—and stand under the weak stream of water in the shower, wash away the grime and sweat of his labors. He’d question her again, find out any details about Elliot that might open a new line of exploration. If he felt guilty about using Ames, he’d bury that guilt deep, maybe in one of the trenches he’d dug out in the woods or down in the basement.
Later, as he picked out a shirt to wear with his jeans, Nick was annoyed to realize he was taking his time choosing, considering his appearance and how he’d look to Ames. That was date thinking, and this didn’t count as a real date any more than last night had been. He sought out this woman for one reason only—to learn more about her brother.
That was what he kept telling himself right up to the moment when he rang the buzzer of her apartment and she appeared moments later in the doorway. Then the pretense collapsed.
He couldn’t suppress the goofy grin on his face even if he wanted to. He was that happy to see her again—as if he hadn’t just talked to her in the diner a handful of hours before. Her sunny presence made him feel more buoyant than he’d felt in a long time—including before this Esposito mess began.
“Hi. How was work?” he asked.
“Oh, you know, work-like.” She locked the door behind her and followed him down the steps on the side of the house, which had obviously once been a single-family dwelling, now converted into a duplex.
“I love the customers, really. But slinging hash is hard work.” She sounded almost unnaturally perky, and he wondered if she was still wearing her dealing-with-the-public front.
Nick glanced sideways at her. “So you’re starting up the web-design business you told me about?” He took a moment to appreciate her figure under the dark-blue skirt and flowered top with a neckline that he wished dipped a little deeper and showed more of that creamy skin.
“Yeah. It’s doing well but not quite well enough that I can quit the restaurant yet.”
“Starting a business isn’t easy.” They walked out to the crappy Volvo he’d bought for cash the morning after the shit hit the fan. He opened the passenger door for her and watched Ames climb inside. His gaze lingered on her legs when her skirt hiked higher.
“You mentioned being between jobs right now,” Ames said after he slid behind the steering wheel. “What business were you in before?”
“I’m a… I was a curator at a museum. I lost my job due to budget cuts.” That and your crazy brother incriminating me in his scheme so the Espositos are on my ass.
Ames’s head swiveled toward him so fast her curls bounced. Her already wide eyes turned into saucers. “Really? I never would have guessed that. You don’t seem…”
“What? Artsy enough? It was a history museum. My degree was in archeology, but I only went on one dig as a kid, going through a midden pile near the East River. Really cool to find traces of the everyday lives of average people. There’s a tenement museum in New York that’s great.”
“Goodness,” Ames exclaimed and sounded remarkably like Shirley Temple. “What in the world are you doing here, then? You’re not going to find a job like that around Arnesdale.”
“No. Like I said, I’m taking a break, regrouping, so to speak.”
“Must be nice to be able to take time off work. You have a trust fund or something?” She grimaced but didn’t seem actually embarrassed. “Sorry. That was rude.”
“It’s all right. Actually, my family was once pretty well-to-do; then circumstances changed. But since then, I’ve made some good investments.”
“Interesting.” Ames cocked her head and studied him. “You’re unexpected, Sam Allen.”
Nick felt his cheeks burn at the name. He didn’t like lying, especially to a sweet, uncomplicated woman like Ames Jensen. But it couldn’t be helped. Best to change the subject, since she was asking too many personal questions, and he didn’t want to slip up. He wasn’t a world-class prevaricator, and anyway, she disconcerted him.
“So where am I driving?”
“Shandy’s on the River. Just go out past the lumber yard. They have pretty good seafood. Although I bet you’re used to great, since you come from a state right on the ocean. Did you get to visit the beach a lot back home?”
All the way to the restaurant, Ames continued to pick at him with questions about his past, his family, his work and his life in New York. He answered truthfully when he could and skirted around the edges of stickier questions. But the longer they were on the road, the more he sensed tension and nervousness radiating from Ames. Her tone seemed increasingly short, and she fidgeted in her seat.
Nick glanced at her, noting the tight lines at the corners of her mouth, and finally he asked point-blank, “Is there something wrong?”
“Turn here.” Ames pointed out the sign for Shandy’s, which was indeed on a small river, more like a creek.
Nick obeyed, pulling the car to a stop in the parking lot before turning to her. “Have I said or done something to upset you?” He thought of the previous night, his hands
gripping her ass and his tongue plunging into her mouth. Yeah, that probably had something to do with her mood. She may have brushed it off as no big deal, but encounters like that had a way of coloring a “friendship”.
Ames frowned, her brows knitted together in a way that was ridiculously adorable. What the hell was the matter with him that he kept getting distracted by little details like that?
She looked as though she would answer but instead got out of the car and walked quickly toward the restaurant, across the gravel lot.
Yup. Pissed off. He’d met drama queens and entitled women, and he would have bet Ames wasn’t one of their ranks, but he’d been wrong about character before. Exhibit A, her goddamned brother.
Stifling a sigh, he followed her into the restaurant, a place cluttered with red-and-white-checked tablecloths and wide windows overlooking the river. There seemed to be some kind of fish and gristmill theme to it and the blackboard showed a list of standard food—upscale from a diner, but probably not as good as a place like the Back Porch.
“A quiet corner, please.” She managed a smile for the hostess, who smiled back and winked.
“Sure thing, Ames.”
Of course she knew the woman. Everyone knew everyone else in this little corner of the world, and he was a moron for going out in public. At least she didn’t introduce him. In fact, she didn’t seem to even acknowledge his presence as he followed her.
The hostess took Ames at her word about quiet. The front tables of the place were bustling, and she put them far across the dining room at a back corner, a sort of no-man’s-land. He grabbed the chair against the wall, facing the room. Old tricks he’d learned from Dad and bad movies.
Once the hostess left, he waited for Ames to pick up the vinyl-covered menu, but she didn’t. She leaned across the table.
“Look. I suck at playing games,” she said in a low voice.
“Okay.” So this was definitely about last night. She wanted to discuss what had happened. Nick braced for an at-length discussion of what those kisses had meant.
“I’m probably an idiot for telling you this, but I’m just going to lay it out there.”
Oh crap, this was worse than he’d thought. She’d developed some sort of “feelings” for him. Although probably that wasn’t true, because at the moment, she seemed annoyed with him. That should have been a relief.
It wasn’t.
He waited, drumming his fingers on the table.
“I know who you are and that you have some sort of connection to my brother.”
“Huh?” He was so shocked he couldn’t breathe for a moment. His fingers went still.
“Don’t deny it. I found you on the Internet. I may be small-town, but I ain’t dumb, Nick Rossi. I saw pictures of you.”
His first thought was, I’m in trouble. His second: and so is Ames Jensen.
Chapter Six
“Where?” Sam, or rather Nick, demanded.
Ames had expected him to prevaricate, try to pretend he had no idea what she was talking about.
“Where what?” she asked.
He shoved his fingers through his hair and she wondered if he’d raised his hand to grab at her and changed his mind because they were out in public. In a low, harsh voice he asked, “Where did you find this stuff online?”
“Why should I tell you?”
He shook his head. She turned to see the waitress behind her walk away. His head shake had been directed at the waitress.
He took a deep breath, then let it go. “I guess there’s no reason you should tell me. Trouble is, it’s important to know if I’m on the radar as someone other than Sam Allen. See?”
Hearing him say those words made her stomach knot tight with fear. Ames had actually discovered Nick Rossi. He’d just about confessed that he really was Nick Rossi, and he wouldn’t even pretend to be Sam anymore.
“Why?” She couldn’t manage more.
He stretched out his legs and folded his hands on his belly. “Let’s just say I grew up in what you Arnesdale types would call an unsavory atmosphere.”
“Oh.”
He shrugged. “My dad was in the…business.”
That little hesitation said it all. The family business wasn’t insurance or real estate.
His attractive, mild face had transformed into something dangerous. His voice had changed into something quick and rough. Had he made up that stuff about working in a museum? This guy was a thug, and he’d been searching for some kind of information about her brother by trying to seduce her. How many lonely women had he screwed in his cold-blooded career?
She muttered, “The good news is, the FBI can find you.”
He flashed something resembling a smile, white teeth but no warmth. “As far as I know, they have no interest in me.”
“As far as you know? Oh really? You talk to them every day?”
“Not for a few years now. They’re not my favorite people.”
“Big surprise that people who live outside the law don’t send change-of-address forms to the FBI.” She bit her lip, wondering why she felt the urge to be snarky to a potentially dangerous guy.
But he didn’t seem to take offense at her tone. The worst of his shock seemed to have faded away, and his body seemed less tense.
“Yeah? You think they’re so wonderful? A guy from the FBI took some kind of bribe to beat the shit out of my father, who wanted out of the business. That crooked agent broke both his legs, his arm, a couple of ribs, his jaw. I don’t think the system is full of corrupt guys like Agent Kennedy, but…” He shrugged.
She picked up her water glass, hoping he’d made up the story. At least he was talking to her. She should encourage this. Maybe she should have tried to record this conversation. She fiddled with the phone in her pocket and wished she’d read the guide. He paid too close attention to her now. She couldn’t fish it out and push random buttons to record the conversation.
“Mr. Ross, or Rossi, you think the FBI isn’t looking for you? I have news for you, they’re the ones who mentioned your name when I asked about my brother’s disappearance.” The investigator she’d hired had some kind of license, after all, so it wasn’t entirely a lie.
He fell silent for almost a full minute and scowled at nothing in particular. “Wow. Shit. Then the feds must have an insider with the Espositos. I’ve seen it go the other way around—the Espositos usually know what any organized crime task force is up to. But this? Their security must be off. They’re usually better than this.”
He wasn’t denying a single word.
Except he didn’t seem upset by the thought of the FBI winning. It might have been an act, but that fact helped ease the heart-racing nausea she’d felt since telling him she knew who he was.
She even felt brave enough to push. “Who’re the Espositos and what have they done to my brother?”
“My father’s boss was Cesar Esposito. The guy is also my dad’s second cousin, which is why our family’s even involved. His son is Bert. One or both are after me. After Elliot. That’s all I’m gonna tell you.” He leaned forward, studying her as if trying to read her mind. “But I have to know. Did you tell anyone you found me? Speaking of which, how did you find me?”
“I told you, an Internet search. It wasn’t that hard. Your photo, taken at the opening of a nightclub, popped up, and then I knew for sure who you were.”
The furrow between his brows deepened. “Did you leave any kind of path back to you when you did this search?”
She ignored the question. She wanted information from him, not the other way around.
He still studied her face. How could anyone maintain such a level of intensity for more than a minute? “I take that as a no. Good thing.”
Uh-oh. Now he believed no one else in Arnesdale knew his true identity. When they left the restaurant he could knock her out, shove her into a trunk, and no one would suspect him.
She blurted, “Yes. People know what I’m doing. They know I’m here with you.”
&nb
sp; “You mean people like whatshername, Marty, at the Back Porch? Did you tell her anything about Nick Rossi?” He braced his hands on the edge of the table as if he’d push away and jump up.
She stared at the checkered tablecloth and didn’t answer, but he must have seen the truth.
“Good,” he said. “That’s good you didn’t say anything. We most definitely don’t want this getting back to New York.”
Ames knew she was a rotten liar but, damn it, she hadn’t even opened her mouth. He just watched her closely—maybe more closely than anyone in her life ever had. Figured the first man who could melt her knees with his kisses and who really paid attention to her might be a dangerous criminal.
The waitress appeared again. Nick smiled at her as if he didn’t have a care in the world. “I’ll take the special. The one with, um, salmon.”
Ames was too upset to eat. She was on the cusp of solving the mystery of Elliot’s disappearance at last and she was terrified of what she would find out. “Just some iced tea.”
“How about a piece of pie or something? We could share if you want.” He sounded playful, as if they were out on a regular date.
“Sure. Okay. Peach, please.”
The waitress left.
She’d try some of that intense staring on him. “What’s happened to Elliot? Is he alive? Have you seen him? I want to know everything. Right. Now!”
He shifted in his chair, glanced around the room before focusing on her again. “I didn’t set up your brother. Didn’t you know he worked for the Espositos?”
Elliot didn’t tell her anything, and at least now she knew why. “Why are you involved then? Why are you looking for him?”
Nick gave the rueful grin she’d found charming yesterday. Today her fury rose at the sight. Nick said, “He dragged me into this, and as far as I know, he’s still out there somewhere, alive and on the run.”
She wanted to get up and slam out of there or maybe pour water over his head. But she needed more answers first.
