It Should Happen to You

by Kathleen O'Reilly

He abandoned attempts at a rational argument. "So let me take you home."

  "No!"

  Rational arguments weren't working, either. "Okay, maybe not home, but at least let me drive you back to the train station."

  "I'm not stupid," she said, her fingers tapping on the purse in her lap.

  Dom was content to wait her out. "Nobody said you were."

  "You should have helped her. You should have done something ."

  And how could he explain his life to her? It was the life he wanted when he was a kid. It was the life his brother wanted, too.

  He grabbed at the medal around his neck, praying for wisdom. Not surprisingly, wisdom stayed absent. So Dominic did what he did best. He lied. "Michelle, I'm a practical man of business. If I'm going to get my ass kicked and she's still going to go back with him in the morning, tell me what I've accomplished other than getting my ass kicked?"

  "You can look yourself in the mirror."

  That was below the belt. He didn't look in the mirror anymore. He didn't have to feign the ice in his voice. "Oh, yeah, and then I'd consider myself a moron. They have these fights every time the moon is full, and she still loves him, and she still goes back to him, no matter what the hell I say."

  "How can you live with yourself? She's going to get killed."

  Dom closed his eyes, trying to shut out the words. He couldn't really live with himself. Survived was the better word. He touched the medal at his neck and closed his eyes, needing the strength. Nobody was ever going to die again.

  Unfortunately, the Outfit had a way of being hazardous to one's health. Which was one of the primary reasons that she shouldn't be here, near him. She shouldn't be here at all.

  So why was she here? Because, God forgive him, he couldn't resist.

  "What are you going to do, Dominic?" she asked, and honestly, he didn't know. But he could answer her question about Amberthat one was easy.

  "I swear, Michelle, I'll do everything I can to protect her."

  She studied him, and he held firm. This was a promise he could keep. And it felt good to do something noble for once. Maybe a man really could change.

  If he were truly honorable, he'd climb out of the cab and tell her to get away from him. Go back to wherever the hell she came from. She was just some woman that needed his help. That was a laugh. What could he do?

  Go away, Michelle , he thought to himself. But the words never made it to his tongue, and his body didn't move.

  Eventually her fingers stopped drumming on the bag, and she sighed. "Take me to the corner of Kline and Oakmont. My car's parked at the bakery."

  Dom grabbed her hand and pulled her out of the cab before she changed her mind, then he passed a twenty to the cabbie for his time and support.

  Relief was the only emotion smacking his brain. The guilt had disappeared. Out of the corner of his eye, he watched her. The hair was slightly askew, the arms were crossed tight across her stomach. Unapproachable.

  While he drove her back to her car, he contemplated the various conversations he could start. Politics, sports, the latest Hollywood blockbuster.

  Whether she considered criminal involvement a fatal character flaw and a detriment to a relationship.

  Or sex.

  He steadied himself and tried to concentrate on the driving.

  There was road repaving just south of I-57, and he sneaked a couple of more glances her way. Now she was curled down into the passenger seat, looking more little girl lost than anything else. He wished he were a photographer and he had some way to capture the line of her jaw, the angle of her cheek forever.

  It was her contrast that got to him. She was all hard and punchy, with a skirt that was more not-there than there. But inside her, there was this vulnerability, some sort of insecurity, and that was what boggled his mind.

  So what did she have to be insecure about? If he had her smarts, he would be on top of the world. But when he saw her eyebrows draw together, when the glasses slid down, he wanted to draw her close, cup the curve of her cheek and taste her again.

  Wanted to make everything all right for her.

  The car inched forwardthe red trail of taillights beaming ahead, and Dominic was secretly thrilled that a simple lane closure could give him a few more minutes with Michelle.

  "Thank you for coining tonight," he said. It wasn't a goodbye, wasn't even close.

  "You're welcome," she answered softly.

  He pulled off into the shopping center, and she directed him to the Mazda convertible with SKY SPY on her plates. Oh, Michelle, you're making this too easy, he thought to himself.

  In five minutes or less he could find out who she was, find out where she lived, find out what she had for dinner last night. If he could do it, so could anyone else, and with the crowd she was currently hanging withnamely himit was the "anyone else" that scared him.

  He worked over the words in his brain. An easy excuse to duck out of the deal. Sorry, but it's been fun. Don't call me, I'll call you. There were a million ways to make her forget him, but he was going to ignore them all.

  He walked her to her car, telling his conscience to shut up, and therefore proving his theory that perhaps Dominic Cordano wasn't the good guy he wanted to believe that he was.

  She stopped next to the door and searched the sky.

  "You see that?" she asked, pointing to a blinking spot of light. Every time she looked up there, she had such intensity in her face.

  Dom looked over her head and found the satellite. "That a plane or a satellite?"

  "It's a falling star."

  Now Dom hadn't been born yesterday, but tonight was all about pretend. And if she really bought the falling-star stories, then he would play along. "So is that good luck or bad luck?"

  "Your wish is supposed to come true," she said, in a voice that said she still believed such superstitious crap.

  "I don't think my wish is gonna come true tonight," he murmured, focusing on her mouth. And then he got momentarily lost in a fantasy that involved losing the fake hair and tangling the sheets, with long kisses that lasted the night.

  She met his eyes and he found his desire reflected there. "I don't think mine is, either."

  "You're asking for trouble," he said, giving her a last warning. "You should walk away from me."

  "When I have the tape," she answered easily. Too easily. Did she realize that he couldn't just leave her alone?

  He changed the subject to something safer. "Monihan's gone on Monday a.m.?"

  "Yeah."

  "I'll check it out."

  "I would appreciate that."

  The cool night air blew her hair back, exposing the dark locks just at her forehead. Why couldn't she trust him with the truth? He wanted to see what she really looked like, wanted to touch her again to see if it was like that every time.

  He was spinning dangerously out of control whenever she was within touching distance. Maybe it was nothing more than the night.

  Yeah, right.

  "Don't slap me," was all he said, and then he met her lips and took her. Hot and forceful, letting her know how much he wanted her. This was the Dom that everyone knew. The self-centered bastard who was always on the make. He wanted her clinging to him, needing him as much as he needed her. She didn't disappoint. Her mouth opened, her tongue mingling, matching him stroke for stroke.

  Didn't she know who he was?

  When he lifted his head, she was smiling. "You think you stole that kiss? Maybe I should ask for my money back, because you're not much of a thief."

  This time he put his all into it. His tongue swept deep inside her mouth, angry, taunting her, needing her to stay away. He found the small dot of frosting left on her upper lip. Tasted the last drops of wine that she had at the reception. Tasted the inherent innocence of her. It was a taste that raced through his blood, dulling his anger.

  Wanting more, he delved deeper, pulling her tight against him, her breasts crushed against his chest. Her legs parted, and he took advantage, pushing h
is thigh between hers, her skirt rising to death-defying levels.

  Someday those legs were going to wrap about him, he thought, and heard himself moan.

  His hands cupped her butt, keeping her locked firmly in place. His erection pressed hard against her softness, but still he needed her closer. Needed to be inside her, buried deep, deep inside her, where she couldn't run away.

  She wasn't helping the problem. He was dying here, and the way she was rubbing against him was more than he could take.

  He pressed her against the car door, his hands sliding beneath her skirt

  A car honked, teenagers yelling at them, and he broke free. Another couple of minutes, and he really wouldn't have cared who was watching. Good job, Dom.

  "What are you doing to me?" she asked, a blush covering her cheeks as she straightened her skirt.

  God only knew what was going on between them. Dominic had wanted women before, but never like this. He had always been in control. Always able to walk away. Once a year he allowed himself one night to ease his frustrations and that was the end of it.

  Now he plastered an easygoing smile on his face. "Payback, dollface. Someday soon, good night will not be an option."

  She got into her car and started the engine, and he stood alone, watching to make sure that she got away safely. Just as she pulled out, she rolled down the window and looked at him. Even behind the thick glasses, he saw the need.

  His hands fisted; Ave Maria piena di grazia , he recited to himself, struggling for control. He could not do this. Not to her. Everything he touched, he ruined.

  He told himself that he could handle her. Just find the tape and get her safely out of your life, Corlucci. You've got a job.

  Slowly he got into his car, but he didn't turn on the motor. Instead he sat and looked up at the sky.

  The cold, hard fact was that he couldn't wait to see her again, and that was a problem.

  * * *

  Chapter Five

  On Sunday morning, Dom awoke after having a most amazingly realistic dream about one Michelle Jones.

  First thing on his list was to discover Miss Jones's true identity, and for that he needed to make a call. A call from a pay phone a few untraceable blocks away.

  In only fifteen minutes, through the computer hoodoo magic of the Chicago Police Department, he had his surprising answer. Considering what his gut had told him about her, maybe it wasn't surprising at all.

  SKY SPY, alias Michelle "Foxy" Jones, was none other than Michelle Cushing Coleman, who rented a two-bedroom apartment in Schaumburg. Her current employer was Astrophysical Sciences Research Center, she had three bank accounts at Chase and one speeding ticket from May 2001.

  Her education credentials actually scared him. There was an undergraduate degree in physics and a master's degree in astrophysics from U of C. Her father lived on the north side, where Michelle had been born. She had a mother, who had been reported missing in the fall of 77, and turned up in San Francisco living with a music composer in the fall of '79, after which Andrew Coleman, a prominent heart surgeon, had promptly filed for divorce. Not exactly a criminal history. Other than the speeding ticket and a mysterious tape, Michelle Coleman was a perfect law-abiding citizen.

  As he walked down the busy sidewalk, the El roared overhead and he smiled to himself. Michelle Coleman was not a Mafia mole, nor a prostitute, nor a corrupt person of any kind.

  She was normal. Everyday, average, normal. Well, okay, she did get blackmailed with sex tapes. But he didn't care because, quite simply, when he was with her, she reminded him of who he wanted to be. Then Dom turned around, walked back to the pay phone just outside the local convenience store and dialed.

  "Dad?"

  "Domenico! Figlio , it's good to hear your voice. Where are you this month?"

  "Oregon. Got a load of televisions to haul and then I'm heading back to Florida."

  "What? They don't have enough televisions in the world? You should come home to see the family. It's been too long."

  "I know, I know. How's Mom?"

  "She is good. She tells me I should be walking. Me! Walking! I tell her to go away and leave me in peace. But still she goes on, and goes on, and goes on."

  Dominic smiled. "And Christopher? He's not in trouble?"

  "Not today, but tomorrow? Ask me tomorrow. He stays out all nightlike a hoodlumand I tell him find some silly girl to move in with like his friends. Then we won't worry. He tells me I'm a crotchety old man and still he stays out. The bum. I worry that about him, Nico. I've lost one of my sons to this city. I will not lose another."

  Dominic leaned against the wall, the ache in his belly squeezing like a mother.

  "Dominic? Are you there?"

  "I'm here, Dad. Just tired, that's all." He wondered if he could tell his father the truth. Would his father forgive him? Probably not.

  "Get some sleep. They talk about the truck drivers on Channel Seven. They say truckers never sleep. You sleep?"

  "Yes, Dad," answered Dominic, relieved to hear the sadness disappear from his father's voice. "I miss you, Dad," he said, and he wondered if it was time to tell them the truth about his life. At eighteen, he'd left New York to go someplace new, walk new streets, see new faces. Escape. He'd never thought about being a cop before, but he figured that he had dodged the law too long. It was time to make amends.

  He didn't tell his family because they didn't approve of cops. After Tony's accident, the word police was never mentioned in the Cordano household. Besides, Dom was used to hiding things from his family. He told them he was a truck driver and the lie had stuck. Same as all the other lies.

  "You come home. We'll see if you can still beat your old man. I don't think so. You grow soft. Your mother asks about her grandbabies. She's not getting any younger."

  Dom laughed. "Not yet. But I met a girl."

  "Ah! So that is what you're calling for. You're married and we weren't even invited."

  Dom cracked a smile. "No, I don't think so. You'll all get an invitation."

  "Good. That is what a good son should do. Can you tell me her name?"

  He stayed silent, thinking if he said it aloud, it would be ruined. But he wanted to share something with his family, something good, something that didn't involve lies or laws. "It's Michelle."

  "Michelle. It's nice. You should bring her east for Christmas."

  "It's too early to tell, Dad." Dominic would have to rescue her tape first.

  "You're my son. You're a Cordano. That's all you need."

  It was going to take more than the Cordano charm to win her over. Working for the mob was a big strike against him. As much as he wanted to pretend otherwise, for now, this was his life. Somebody had to clean up the bad guys in the world. "Maybe, Dad. Maybe."

  "You'll talk to your mother? She's out getting her hair done, but I could have her call you back."

  "No. Give her my love." In another half hour, Dom would be incommunicado, notably staking out one John Monihan. It wasn't tracking down terrorists, but a man had to atone for his sins one step at a time.

  "You should do that in person."

  "I'll be home soon, Dad. As soon as I can." Maybe he shouldn't have called, but he was starting to feel like there was another life that he had. It felt fresh and clean. The dirt he'd dragged around for so long was starting to disappear.

  Dom hung up the phone and then took the stairs to the red-line platform. Now he was going over to the South Side, to stake out the scene of the crime. Because tomorrow he had a tape to steal.

  First thing on Sunday morning, Mickey called her dad. Just to remind him about the presentation. Just to tell him about her latest article in the Journal .

  Dad wasn't home.

  She left a message and hung up, but then spent a good bit of time staring at the phone. Very odd. Sometimes he was caught in emergency surgery, but on Sundays he was usually lying in bed reading The Sun-Times .

  Not that it was a huge mystery. And she had more important things to ponder.


  Like Dominic.

  The man was trouble.

  She heaved herself out of bed, watered her plants, paying special attention to Lucretia, who was looking very, very droopy. African violets were so touchy.

  Then she called Beth because being alone was dangerous in her current state of mind. She needed a voice of reason to keep her from doing something stupid. Mickey wasn't exactly sure if Beth was the voice of reason, but when times were desperate, standards could be lowered.

  An hour later she was at Beth's apartment, playing computer geek. She showed Beth the ins and outs of IM and e-mail, the neat tricks you could do with word processing and how to make a pie chart with spreadsheets.

  "Oh, look! It's a genuine Spode." Seemed that Beth was a natural for eBay. Oh, the joy.

  "Which Spode?" asked Mickey, flipping channels until she found the Cubs game on WGN.

  "The blue Italian mini-oval teapot, and it includes a pasta bowl. You wouldn't believe how rare these things are! And it's only eighteen dollars and forty cents for both."

  Mickey murmured something appropriate and settled in to watch some baseball. Out of all the things to get excited about, a teapot?

  Beth let out a gasp. "Would you look at that? Come here!"

  "What is it?" murmured Mickey, having just gotten comfortable on the big, overstuffed couch, while Corey Patterson was up to bat.

  "Male strippers. Live."

  Strippers? Mickey tried to feign disinterest, but she did turn around to sneak a peek. "You're too repressed, Beth."

  "I know, but I found this link from someone's weight loss site." Bad porno music filled the room, enough to turn off anyone's libido. Mickey's interest returned to the game, where she just missed a double play. Once again, undone by wanton appetites. There was a message hereshe just needed to pay attention to it.

  "How did it go with the mysterious Mr. Corlucci?"

  "Good," Mickey answered, feeling another wanton urge pulse through her, just at the mere thought of him. She frowned.

  "Good? Is that all you're going to say?" Beth asked, sounding just like Jessica. And that was all it took.

  The dam burst.