“Goddamn it Brandy, you said you’d butt out of this.”
“No.” Suddenly I was royally pissed off. “You told me to butt out. Bobby, this is my job. I’ve been assigned to find out what really happened to Tamra. You can’t tell me not to do my job.”
“Everything alright in there, honey?” It was my dad. I guess he was wondering why I’d locked myself in the closet and was arguing with the coats.
“Fine, Dad. Be out in a minute. Look,” I whispered, “I’m glad this is all out in the open. I’m an adult and I get to make the decisions about my life.” Just then the door bell rang. “That must be Paul. Can we talk about this later?”
Bobby took a deep breath, but it did nothing to temper his mood. “Listen to me. I can’t keep chasing around after you, trying to keep you safe. You’re worse than my two year old.”
“Oh yeah? Well, bite me, DiCarlo!” I ripped open the door and ran smack into Nick. As promised, he’d brought the wine.
Startled, I jumped back and slammed into Bobby, sandwiching myself between the two of them like the proverbial rock and a hard place.
“Sorry I’m late,” Nick said smiling. “Hello, Angel.” He bent down and kissed me on the cheek. “How’s the pink eye?”
“What? Oh. All cleared up.”
Nick nodded towards Bobby, who looked about ready to pop an aneurism. “Detective DiCarlo.”
“Santiago,” Bobby replied, barely containing his hostility. “Excuse us a minute, will ya?” He took my arm and pulled me back into the closet.
“Why didn’t you tell me you invited him?”
“I didn’t invite him,” I spluttered. “And as a matter of fact, I didn’t invite you either.” I yanked open the door and stalked off into the living room.
I found Nick in the kitchen, introducing himself to my mother. She held tight to his hand, her mouth hanging open ever so slightly as her eyes roved over his exquisite features. What is with my mom tonight? First Bobby and now Nick. She must be going through some sort of hormonal resurgence. Eyeing me she dropped his hand, stammered something about it being hot in there and rushed off to turn down the furnace.
“So, Nick, what do you do for a living?”
There were eleven of us crammed around the dining room table, twelve if you counted Sophia, who had fallen asleep in her booster seat, her little cheek mashed against her plate of strained carrots. Once again I was jammed between Bobby and Nick. Carla sensed the tension and tried to diffuse it by telling “an amusing story about a dye job gone wrong at the beauty shop.” She ended with, “I guess you had to be there.”
My mother sat across from us, keeping up a steady monologue about the hideously embarrassing things I did as a baby. When she got to the part about how, when I was four I peeled off all my clothes and ran down our block belting out the theme song from Sesame Street, my dad took pity on me and tried to change the subject.
Vince looked up from the hunk of lasagna he was attempting to hide under his salad and waited for Nick’s response. Nick’s been flying just under the radar at the District Attorney’s Office for years. They couldn’t prove he was up to anything illegal, but they weren’t entirely convinced that he wasn’t. To tell the truth, I was sort’ve curious to see how he’d respond to my dad’s question myself.
“I own a martial arts studio on Spring Garden,” Nick said. He looked across the table at my mother, locking eyes with her. “Mrs. Alexander, do you mind if I have another helping of lasagna? It’s been a long time since I’ve had a home cooked meal.”
Wow. Nobody saw that one coming. Even Vince was impressed.
At around nine p.m. Bobby got a call from the station. Some kids had found a corpse in a dumpster and he had to go check it out. I walked him and Sophia to the door.
“Look, I’m sorry about before,” I told him.
“Yeah, me too.” He cast an eye back towards the dining room. “I’ll see ya later.”
Paul called at ten and said he just couldn’t get away so he suggested we move the party over to the club.
“Great idea,” Janine said. “I’m gonna call Tony and see if he can meet us there.”
Parking was at a premium so Frankie, John, Vince and Carla decided to car pool. I was bone tired but the idea of lying in bed, waiting for the nightmares to kick in didn’t seem all that appealing to me. “I’m in,” I told them.
“Good,” Nick said. I’ll drive you.”
“Oh—well—uh—okay. Coming Mom?” All evening I had successfully managed to avoid being alone with Nick and I wasn’t about to blow it now.
My mother glanced over at my father who had fallen asleep on the couch and was snoring to beat the band. “I’ve got all the excitement I need right here,” she said.
“Oh, then if you’re not going—”
“No, you go,” she insisted, “and take a doggie bag for your brother.”
Nick opened the passenger door and I slid into the seat, leaning over to unlock his side of the car. My stomach was doing back flips. It was dangerous to be alone with him. And yet my own mother had (albeit unintentionally) handed me over to him on a silver platter. All that separated us was a two pound bag of ground beef and noodles that I clutched firmly to my chest.
Nick eyed me and started the engine. “Your parents are nice,” he said.
“Yeah. They are.”
And then came the sucker punch. “So are you ready to tell me why you’ve been avoiding me?”
“I told you. I had eczema.”
“Pink eye,” Nick said. He cut the engine. “You told me you had pink eye.”
“What-e-ver! Listen, I hope you don’t mind, but I’m really not up for going out tonight. Do me a favor and drop this off for Paul, okay?” I tossed him the lasagna, ripped open the car door and jumped out never looking back.
“…and then I threw the bag of leftovers at him and ran out of the car.”
Janine shouted to be heard over the din of the club. I could hear Carla in the background singing along to the lyrics of “Starry Eyes Surprise,” and getting them mostly wrong. “Brandy, get over it. So he kissed another woman. Jeez. If I got mad every time my boyfriend kissed another woman—”
“First of all, Janine, Nick is not my boyfriend. Second, you don’t have a boyfriend, and third, if you did have a boyfriend and he kissed another woman, you would rip out his tongue and served it on a deli tray with kosher pickles and rye bread!”
Janine considered this for a minute. “True. But don’t you think you might be overreacting just a little?”
“Yes,” I said, miserably. “I do. It’s official. I’m a crazy person.”
“Honey, I’m not arguing with you. You’d better get some sleep before you have a complete psychotic breakdown. Listen, Tony wants to dance. I’ll check up on you tomorrow.”
I laid in bed until after midnight, but every time I closed my eyes my chest would get so tight I couldn’t breathe. I wouldn’t take anything to help me fall asleep because I’m not so good with medication. I tend to lapse into a coma with anything stronger than aspirin. So I tried counting backwards from a hundred, counting sheep and counting Hershey’s Kisses. Then I got up and ate some Hershey’s Kisses.
“I can’t go on like this,” I said to Rocky. She rubbed her little body against mine in agreement.
“You know what you have to do,” she seemed to say.
“You’re right, per usual,” I told her. I pulled on some jeans and a sweatshirt, grabbed my pocketbook and headed downstairs and out the door.
Maybe I should have called first, but I didn’t want to lose my nerve and frankly I couldn’t risk a rejection. I pulled the La Sabre into the loading zone in front of Nick’s building and turned off the engine.
Now what? I couldn’t get into his building without getting buzzed in, so I took out my phone and punched in his number. It rang three times before it went to voicemail. I disconnected and tried his cell. He didn’t pick up. Was he avoiding me? The knot in my chest tightened as I contemplated
the possibility that I had pushed him away for good. Hot tears that had threatened for so long finally erupted and spilled down my cheeks. I closed my eyes and leaned against the cold glass window.
Someone was chasing me. I tried to run but my legs were rooted to the spot. A hand reached out, grabbing me, choking me. I could feel my heart pounding, hear its erratic beating in my ears. The hand pressed harder on my throat and the beat of my heart grew louder. Just when I thought my heart would burst, I awoke with a violent shudder.
Nick stood just outside the car door, tapping lightly on the window. I was flooded with gratitude at the sight of him. He had changed into workout clothes, and despite the cold night air he was coatless, his t-shirt soaked with perspiration.
I rolled down the window. “Hey,” I said, shyness creeping up on me like an uninvited guest.
“Hey.” He gazed at me with dark, piercing eyes and any shred of pride I had dissolved in an instant. Driven by desperation, the words, naked and honest tumbled out of me.
“I haven’t slept in a month and you’re the only person I feel safe with. Can I stay with you tonight?”
“That may be a mistake, darlin’,” he said, pulling me out of the car.
Chapter Eleven
We were silent in the elevator on the way up to his apartment. Nick leaned against the back wall, his arm draped loosely around my shoulder, his look inscrutable. Suddenly I began to get nervous. Maybe I should’ve thought this thing through a little more. I mean who in their right mind takes advice from their cat, anyway?
The elevator stopped on the fourth floor and he took my hand and led me down the hall. Something went all gooey inside of me as we held hands. When we got to the end of the corridor he stopped, pausing to unlock the door to his apartment. He opened it and stepped aside to let me in. It smelled like espresso and chocolate.
“Make yourself at home, Angel. I’ll be right back.” He stripped off his shirt and disappeared down the hall. A minute later I heard the shower running. The clock on the kitchen wall said one-thirty.
I didn’t know what to do with myself, so I wandered around and ended up in the spare room. The sleeper couch was open and the bed was unmade. I went back into the living room and sat down at the baby grand piano that stood in the corner of the room. I knew that Nick could play. I’d heard him once when he thought he was alone. It was dark and soulful and a little bit heartbreaking. I wondered who had taught him and it struck me how little I knew of his life—how little he shared.
In about ten minutes Nick reappeared, dressed only in pajama bottoms slung low on his hips. His hair was damp and hung in waves around his face. He walked over to the piano and sat down beside me and I felt the heat rise to my cheeks as he turned me towards him. Taking my face in his hands he ran his thumb softly along my bottom lip. “Now. What makes you think you’re safe with me?” he said. And then he kissed me.
I sank into his chest and kissed him back with no other thought in my brain than the simple need to be close to him. We kissed for a long time; passionate, heart-stopping kisses and then he scooped me up in his arms, (just like you’d see on the cover of a Harlequin Romance, only I was wearing jeans instead of a long flowing white dress and my boobs weren’t popping out of my top) and he carried me into his bedroom.
Nick laid me gently on the bed and stretched out beside me. “This is it,” I thought. “I want him. I need him. To hell with everything else.”
I yawned deeply and closed my eyes, waiting for him to take me. Then I waited a little bit more. When nothing happened, I opened my eyes. Nick was leaning on one elbow, watching me. I yawned again. “Um,” I said. “Did I read this wrong?”
“No, Angel. You didn’t. It’s just that when I make love to a woman I like her to be conscious. I’m funny that way.”
“Oh, but I—”
“Shh, querido,” he whispered, placing gentle kisses on my cheeks and eyelids. “Shh.”
I woke up seven hours later wrapped in Nick’s arms, my head resting on his bare chest. Some time in the night he had replaced my sweatshirt and jeans with one of his long sleeved cotton tees. I didn’t remember the exchange but felt none the less embarrassed. I did a surreptitious check. No bra, but I still had my panties on. Thank God.
As I lay curled up in the crook of Nick’s arm, I suddenly realized two things. One—I’d slept through the entire night without a single scary dream and two—Nick had a hard-on. The latter was pressing against my leg in a pleasant sort of way.
I raised my head off his chest and he opened his eyes. “Good morning,” he smiled, and before I could work up a self conscious protest on the state of my breath, he leaned over and kissed me on the mouth. I guess I had nothing to worry about because he pulled back to look at me and then he kissed me again—tongue this time. He tasted wonderful.
After a few minutes Nick sat up and adjusted his pillows so that they were propped against the headboard. His stomach was exposed and I could see the faint line of fuzz that led down from his belly button and disappeared into his pajama bottoms. To the right of it were the faded remains of a jagged, silvery blue scar, about three inches long. I traced it lightly with my finger. “Appendix operation?” I asked.
“Something like that.” There was a barely perceptible shift in his mood and I let the subject drop.
“So how are you doing this morning, Angel?”
I sat up too, pulling the blankets around me. “A lot better. Thank you for not throwing me out,” I added quietly.
He laughed, taking my hand and lacing his fingers through mine. “The thought never crossed my mind.”
“I guess I’ve been a little stressed.”
“You could hardly tell. So,” he said, after a moment, “now that the police have labeled your friend’s death a homicide, are you still working on your own investigation?”
“How did you hear about Tamra—never mind. Silly question.” Nick knew everything.
“Well?”
“I don’t know.” I told him. “I still think there’s a tie-in between the girl who was killed four years ago and Tamra and I want a chance to prove it.” I shrugged. “I know I should back off. At least that’s what everyone around me wants.” I cast my eyes downward, the words stuck in my throat.
Nick fixed me with a look. “And what do you want, Brandy Alexander?”
“What do I want? I want to believe that the system works for everyone—not just for the people who have the right skin color or can afford the best legal representation. Mistakes were made in Laura Stewart’s murder trial, Nick. Mistakes born of sheer laziness. And nobody questioned it because it’s easier to accept that a lowlife like Harmon was guilty than to offer him a decent defense. Where is the moral outrage?”
“I’m looking at it.” He cut me a wry smile.
I went beet red. “Sorry. I’ll climb down off my soapbox now.”
“Never apologize for caring, Angel. I admire you beyond words for it.”
I went all “gooey” inside again and quickly changed the subject. “Nick, remember when you said you were acquainted with some people who knew Anthony Mitchell?”
“What about it?”
“I want to talk to them. Can you arrange it?”
He nodded. “As long as I go with you. These people don’t always play nice.”
From a distance I heard the faint ringing of my cell phone. “Oh Jeez, it’s probably my mother. I forgot I told her I’d go to mass with her this morning.” I jumped out of bed and ran into the living room just as the phone stopped ringing and went to voicemail.
“Mom, I’m here,” I said, interrupting the message.
“Where’s here? Why aren’t you home getting ready for church?”
“Oh, church. Right. The thing is I had to come in to work.”
“Since when?” She sounded dubious.
“Mom, really. I’m a very important person here at the news—place. I’m needed at all hours of the day and night.”
My mother dropped her voice t
o a whisper so that God wouldn’t overhear. “Brandy, tell me you didn’t sneak out of the house in the middle of the night to be with Bobby DiCarlo.”
“What? No! Of course not. Listen, mom, my boss is on the warpath and—uh-oh here he comes now. Give my love to Father Vincenzio.” Give my love to Father Vincenzio? I hung up before she threatened to “ground” me.
Nick had business to attend to. I wasn’t bothered by the fact that he didn’t offer any details as to what kind of business. However, the fact that he added a Kevlar vest underneath his jacket in order to attend to this business bothered me plenty.
He walked me to the door, stopping to retrieve something off the table in the foyer. “You might want to consider hanging on to this for a while,” he said.
I looked down at the .22 caliber pistol he held in his outstretched hand and I shook my head, knowing I’d never use it. “I appreciate the offer, Nick, but I’d probably just end up shooting myself.”
“I could ask Alphonso to keep you company,” he suggested, sticking the gun into the waistband of his pants.
Alphonso babysat me once before. I think he’d rather have brain surgery.
Nick stood against the door post and tugged on the front of my jacket pulling me towards him. Then he leaned into me, slipping a thigh between my legs and covered my mouth with a long, lingering kiss. “I’ll call you as soon as I can arrange a meeting with Mitchell’s ex-pals,” he said. “In the meantime, watch your back.”
I nodded, barely able to breathe.
“And darlin’?”
“Yes?” I whispered, feeling the liquid heat in his eyes.
He shot me a wicked grin. “The next time you come by for a sleepover, take a nap first.”
It was raining as I climbed back into my car. Good thing. I needed to cool off. I hadn’t gone to Nick’s looking for sex. At least I don’t think I did. But walking away without it seemed anti-climatic… no pun intended.
I looked at my watch. Eleven-thirty. I’d have just enough time to sneak back into the house and take a shower before my mother got home from church. With any luck, I’d be gone again before Father V. got there. It’s not that I really have anything against the guy. It’s just that the last time I saw him I was rolling around face down on the pavement outside of Saint Dom’s Church with Bobby DiCarlo’s soon-to-be-ex-wife. It was not my most dignified moment. Plus, I think he was rooting for her.
No Such Thing as a Free Lunch (No Such Thing As...: A Brandy Alexander Mystery) Page 15
