Taking Care of the Target

by Cindi Madsen

  Carlo took another puff of his cigar, letting the information settle. No matter how he spun it, it didn’t make sense.

  “I already called a few guys to take care of it, actually. They said they could watch the place and then do a drive-by. Make it look like an accident. That way it doesn’t come back on us. They’ve just got to wait for the right moment and—”

  “Call it off,” Carlo said. “I made a promise to Vince.”

  “What he don’t know won’t—”

  “I said call it off! I don’t want sloppy, and I trust him over any punks who’ll rat if they get caught. Not to mention the first place the cops will look after a stunt like that is at us.” Carlo stepped closer and grabbed the front of Sal’s shirt. After holding back for so long, it was oddly satisfying especially with the way Sal’s eyes bulged out of their sockets. “Capisce?”

  Sal nodded. “Sure thing, Boss.”

  “Good,” he said, flinging him away. “Go tell Vince I need to talk to him. I’ll be in my office.” He dropped his cigar and ground it out with his foot.

  He’d just settled into his chair when there was a knock. The door cracked open, and Vince stuck his head inside. “You wanted to see me?”

  “Sal found Cassie.”

  Vince stepped farther inside and closed the door behind him. “Where is she? What name’s she under?”

  “Still right here in Jersey. Same name.”

  The puzzlement he’d felt over the information showed on Vince’s features. “How’d he find her? Did she go back to her old place?”

  “Yeah. Sal said she saw him, too—damn fool let him see her. Probably thought he’d take her out right there in the middle of the sidewalk.” Carlo shook his head. He’d never expected him to be the one who found her. Otherwise he would’ve sent someone smarter. “He said she didn’t run, didn’t scream. Just looked right at him. Said it seemed like she didn’t even know him and added there was a sort of challenge to the way she stood her ground. What the hell do you make of that?”

  Vince sat on the arm of the chair across from him, his eyebrows drawing together. “No idea.”

  As a general rule, he never trusted anything too good to be true. “Seems too easy, doesn’t it? That she was there again and led him right to her apartment. He claimed he didn’t see a cop, but I don’t trust him to spot an undercover pig.”

  “You think maybe they’re baiting you? Setting a trap?”

  The idea slammed into Carlo like a punch to the gut. Did they want him to go after her so they could catch him red-handed? Did they really think he’d be stupid enough to go himself? Or were they planning on taking in his guys to see who’d talk? “Get the address from Sal and check it out. Watch your back. Don’t do anything stupid, and don’t draw too much attention.”

  Vince nodded and straightened. Carlo had watched the kid grow up, hoping for years he’d join him. He’d take one of him over a dozen Sals. But Vince had insisted on staying clean since high school, and Carlo had used Bobby’s mistakes to keep him close enough to the line, hoping his nephew would eventually cave. This was the perfect thing to push him over. Once he saw the money and the power, he’d be sucked in, just like his old man.

  “I’m trusting you to take care of it,” Carlo said.

  “I’ll take care of it,” Vince said in that sure tone he liked to hear. “You think Angelo can handle running the place by himself? He’ll actually have to come in.”

  Carlo swore under his breath. “I can’t believe my own son is such a fannullone.” The lazy kid didn’t care about family, honor, or working for what he got. He only showed up at the restaurant when Carlo threatened to cut him off, even though he was twenty-five years old now. He and Bobby were pretty much peas in a pod, which was why he’d never tried to pull either into the family business.

  “He’ll have to come in if he wants to keep driving that flashy sports car he loves so much,” Carlo said, sure it’d be the perfect motivation. “Angelo and I will run the restaurant while you’re gone. You just focus on taking care of Cassie.”

  “Tommaso keeps the kitchen running smoothly, and everyone respects him. He can help with the manager stuff if you need it.” With that, Vince turned to go.

  “As fast and painless as possible,” Carlo said, still hating it had to be done—he’d gotten more attached to the sweet girl with the bright smile than he’d like to admit. And he wouldn’t. Not to anyone. “But you make sure she’s dead.”

  “Don’t worry. I’ll make her disappear.”

  Chapter Nine

  How fast could one’s heart beat before it short-circuited and gave out?

  Cassie needed to know, because her heart was seriously testing the limits. Every turn that brought her closer to where she used to work—or maybe still did—made her palms sweat and her heart accelerate. Every nerve in her body screamed to stop until she’d slowed the car to a near crawl. Any second someone would pull behind her and start honking. If they called the cops, she’d also be screwed because she still didn’t have a license, although the DMV—er, the MVC, since here in New Jersey they went by the motor vehicle commission—was next on her to-do list.

  A faded sign on the brick exterior declared she was at the right place, but even though Rossi’s looked like a perfectly nice restaurant, being in the near vicinity of it gave her a panicky feeling she couldn’t shake.

  She pulled into an empty spot a block down, her breath sawing in and out of her mouth. After a few minutes of debating whether or not she should bother Tom at work, she gave in and called him up.

  “Officer Duffy,” he said after she’d been transferred to his line.

  “It’s Cassie. Was I hit in front of an Italian restaurant?” If this was where the accident happened, that’d explain why her body rejected the idea of going back to the scene.

  “I know there’s a donut shop real close,” he said, and she looked around, spotting one across the street, kitty-corner from the restaurant. “Hold on and I’ll check the exact location.”

  A moment later he rattled off the address, and sure enough, she was there. She wondered if there was blood still on the street. Thanks for going to that disturbing place, brain. Like I wasn’t already freaking out.

  She should get out of her car, go into the restaurant, and see what they could tell her. She curled her fingers around the door handle, and her heart beat even faster. Sweat pricked her neck and forehead. Her chest tightened to the point that getting air became difficult.

  “You okay?” Tom asked, and she nearly dropped the phone because she’d forgotten she was even on it. Great, now she was forgetting current events, too.

  “Fine,” she rasped out. “Thanks for the information. I’ll, uh, talk to you later.” She hung up after his goodbye and stared at the storefront. If her deposits and cash pile were any indication, it’d been a good place to work.

  But why hadn’t anyone shown up to see her, and why had she been identified as a Jane Doe? A prickling sense of wrongness crawled over her skin, everything in her shouting to get out of there, and to do it now.

  The door to the restaurant swung open, and for reasons she couldn’t explain, she slammed on the gas, accelerating away as quickly as possible. It was a good thing no cars had been passing by, or she would’ve had her second accident in the same exact spot as the first.

  ***

  The past few days had been a blur of trying to find her way around the city, so Cassie wasn’t forever relying on her new phone for directions—although it certainly came in handy—and learning the ropes of her new job.

  Sheer force of will had landed her a waitressing spot at McCarthy’s Steak and Seafood Restaurant, an upscale place within walking distance of her apartment. With her new bold motto in mind, she’d gone in, asked to speak to a manager…

  And then stumbled over her words as her face heated up, sending her down to a sixth of a badass yet again. She was much better at the showing than telling, but she’d managed to convey her experience and flexible ho
urs, and Mr. Brown, who was as lively as his name, had hired her on the spot.

  Since she doubted her new boss would be impressed if she was on her phone while she should be working, she fought the urge to check her email again—digging through her inbox this morning had unearthed an old email from Annie, her next-door neighbor in Parker. She was a nurse, so whenever Dad got sick and Cassie wasn’t sure if she should take him in—he always said no, because ER visits were too expensive—Annie would come over and check his vitals and offer advice. After Dad passed away, she’d occasionally stopped by to check on Cassie, often bringing dinner and giving her much-needed company.

  To distract herself, Cassie checked on her customers and closed out orders. Her tipsy group ordered another bottle of wine, looking like they were in no hurry to leave. Unable to take it anymore, Cassie checked her phone, but Annie hadn’t responded yet.

  If this hazy fog hovering over my brain would just freaking go away, that’d be great. She’d even toyed with the idea of a hypnotherapist. She was sure her memories were two years of boring day-to-day activities, but they were her mundane memories, and she wanted them—along with her college education—back. No doubt hypnotherapy would cost big bucks, and saving for college will probably be more productive.

  “Waitress?”

  Cassie turned toward the voice and noticed the manicured finger in the air. With a tug on the hem of her black skirt, she headed toward the table. Apparently the dressy white button down negated the fact that so much of her legs were on display. She’d convinced herself the uniform was bold, because it helped her feel less awkward about how short the skirt was. In theory, anyway.

  She flashed the lady a smile. “Yes?”

  “We’re ready for our check now.”

  “I brought it to you with the last bottle.”

  “Oh.” The girl giggled and scanned the table. “Here it is. Come on, everybody. Cough it up. It came to just shy of two-hundred, so forty plus tip each.”

  “I’ll let you get it all settled and be right back. Does anyone need a to-go box?”

  No one piped up, so Cassie walked across the restaurant, figuring she’d check on her one other table. The couple had already left, so she leaned over to get the bill. Her gaze drifted to the large window facing the street, and the hairs on the back of her neck pricked up.

  The only thing she could make out was the faint glow of streetlights, combined with the reflected lights of the restaurant. She knew it made no sense, but the past few days she’d had the distinct feeling of being watched.

  The doctor said there might be times of confusion. She shook her head, chalking the eerie sensation up to a combination of that and exhaustion, and turned away. Although now she wished she’d driven so she wouldn’t have to walk home alone in the dark—the walk there in the crisp afternoon was always so nice. And it was only five blocks.

  Five blocks in the dark with my neck constantly prickling, suddenly sure every person who walks or drives by is out to get me. She shuddered and attempted to stifle those thoughts so she wouldn’t completely freak herself out. Then she remembered the brand new canister of pepper spray in her purse and took comfort in that.

  Her lively customers were heading toward the exit, so she waved and told them to have a good night. She looked around at the mostly empty restaurant. Now what?

  Suddenly she was wishing for it to be busy again—funny how even though she didn’t know the customers, simply having them there helped combat the lonely feeling that kept rising up and lodging in her chest. The other two waitresses were already friends, and when she’d attempted to make small talk, it’d been a stilted, clunky conversation that made it clear they were just waiting for her to leave so they could go back to their previous conversation. Clearly she’d have to look for friends elsewhere.

  Where does a slightly paranoid, trying-to-get-over-her-shyness—and oh, yeah, amnesia—waitress go to make friends?

  The door opened, and she glanced toward it… then did a double take. The guy had a ball cap pulled low, making it hard to see his eyes, but the dark stubble on his jaw, the nearly black hair peeking out from the hat, and the large biceps displayed by his form-fitting T-shirt made her very bare legs go wobbly on her.

  Holy hotness, Batman.

  Usually there was a hostess up front, but she must’ve snuck to the restroom or to the back with the other staff since it was slow, so Cassie figured she’d take the initiative and seat him. That way he could be in her area, too, so bonus points.

  She approached and grabbed a menu from the stand. “Hi. Just one?”

  His gaze caught hers. Brown. His eyes were definitely brown—a really cool mix of shades that made her want to take back calling Mr. Brown’s name boring, because evidentially brown could be very, very not-boring.

  Peering into those eyes made her heart go completely fluttery. She licked her lips, fighting to maintain her composure instead of simply batting her lashes and drooling.

  “What are you doing here?” he asked in a low voice that sent an electric zip through her core.

  Wow. She didn’t usually feel so… inexplicably drawn to guys she didn’t know. Well, I suppose it is explicable, actually. He’s pretty much the hottest guy I’ve ever laid eyes on.

  His eyebrows arched, reminding her he’d asked a question—a kind of weird one. “I work here,” she said, pushing her glasses up her nose. “Would you like me to show you to a table?”

  He stared at her for another beat where she forgot to breathe, and then nodded. As soon as he was seated, she fought the bout of shyness trying to take over and make her say stupid things and asked what he’d like to drink.

  He continued to stare, his eyebrows knitting closer together by the second, like he didn’t understand what she’d said. If he hadn’t spoken a minute ago, she’d wonder if he spoke English. He looked Italian, but not foreign, if that made any sense. With her brain short-circuiting from being near him, making sense was a thing of the past.

  She cleared her throat and worked on keeping her voice steady. “We have Pepsi products, and our alcohol list is right there.” When he didn’t make a move for it, she reached over the table to where it was propped against the wall and placed it in front of him.

  His gaze had moved to her legs, and heat licked at her skin, following the trail his eyes followed. She swallowed past a dry throat and tugged at the skirt. He seemed to realize he was staring and looked up. “Pepsi’s fine.”

  “Okay. I’ll be right back with that. Our special is the yellowfin ahi tuna with wild rice and grilled asparagus.”

  The nose crinkle clashed with the bad boy look he had going on, and the delicious mix caused her heart to skip a beat. “Not a seafood fan?”

  He crossed his arms on the table, and she couldn’t help noticing the way it made his muscles stand out. “Seems like you know me pretty well.”

  Cassie laughed, and while it came out a little more nervous-sounding than she would’ve liked, it wasn’t completely embarrassing. “Lucky guess. Combined with the face you made.”

  An amused spark flickered through his eyes. “Actually, it was the rice and asparagus that had me the most worried.”

  “Don’t worry. They’re really good.” She lifted her ordering pad as if she were about to divulge a huge secret and didn’t want anyone else to know. “But if I were you, I’d go steak and potatoes. The steak here is the best I’ve ever had.” She lowered her eyebrows. “I think, anyway.” She shook her head. Why hadn’t she just stopped talking? “But that’s neither here nor there.”

  There she went, just adding more. Okay, seriously, zip it. She pressed her lips together, curved them into a smile, and said, “I’ll be right back with your drink.”

  ***

  Vince watched Cassie walk toward the back in that tiny skirt that showed off sexy legs he’d only dreamed about seeing so much of before. She had new glasses with slightly chunkier frames, and she still pushed them up in the way that drove him crazy.

  That
was the weird thing, though. She seemed a bit nervous, but not terrified. Not even a little freaked out. He’d watched the place, thinking he’d approach her after her shift, but when the hostess stepped away, he thought, screw it, and went inside. He’d expected to have to drag her out of the restaurant.

  Instead, she acted like she didn’t even know him. Just like Sal said she did with him. For all he knew, she was calling the cops or the FBI or whoever she was relying on for protection right now.

  Only he didn’t think that was the case anymore. For two days he’d watched her come and go. Another car had followed her—he was almost sure, because he’d seen it twice, both times trailing her. But she never acknowledged the guy or vehicle in any way, and it hadn’t been around tonight, which was why Vince had been stupid enough to barge in the restaurant…

  And make jokes with her about seafood and asparagus. Warmth spread through his chest. He’d been so focused on everything else that he’d forgotten how easily she could make him forget who he was, if only for a little bit.

  Here she came, soda cup in hand, and his gaze automatically went back to those legs. Damn. He should’ve enforced a short-skirt dress code when she’d worked at Rossi’s.

  The thought of the restaurant and what happened the last time she was there sobered him right up. Not enough to miss the familiar coconut scent when she set the soda in front of him, but enough to focus on the task at hand.

  She extended a straw, and he took it from her, purposely brushing her fingers. “Thanks,” he said.

  A sexy blush rose up her neck and settled in her cheeks—the woman was seriously killing him. “Did you decide what you wanted?”

  “The steak, of course. I hear it’s the best.”

  Satisfaction filled the curve of her smile, and his heart thudded in his chest. “Filet Mignon or New York Strip?”

  “Which is bigger?”

  “Oh, you’re one of those bigger is better guys?”

  “The question is, are you one of those girls?”