by Gina LaManna
“Exactly.”
“Not fair,” I grunted. However, both literally and figuratively, I was in no position to argue at the moment. “I called to talk about the fireworks.”
“That wasn’t so hard,” Anthony growled. “I’ll be outside in three minutes.”
“I thought you said five,” I said. “And the door is locked. Maybe call Clay for a key—”
A dial tone met my ear.
“Right,” I muttered. “Keys not necessary.”
Chapter 3
MY HEAD FELT AS IF it were about to pop off my neck by the time I heard the wiggle of my door knob.
“Anthony?” I called loudly. “Help! I’m in here.”
Footsteps made their way in my direction, though my balance and perception was a bit off due to the large amount of blood pounding in my ears from having my feet so high above my head for three minutes.
A short burst of laughter badly disguised as a cough was the first sign that Anthony was in the room. I forced my eyeballs to roll towards the door, taking in the delicious sight of my rescuer. And what a good looking rescuer he was. Even upside down, I could tell that he had a figure most men would kill for and most girls would love to drool on. Dark hair covered a really good looking head up above; Anthony’s eyes were a chocolaty brown that leaned towards mocha when he was excited, and a bit more like espresso when he was focused or upset. Now, however his eyes sparkled, Caramello-colored, with amusement.
“Hey, can I get a little help here?” I asked, my voice coming out in an embarrassing, squeaky grunt.
I was almost distracted from Anthony’s rude non-response by the way he raised his muscled arm to cover up a cute little smirk, and the way his black spandex shirt pulled tight across his taut abs. Yes, I could count his six-pack upside down. Honestly, I was impressed that even his nose didn‘t look terrible upside down. I mean, my nose struggled to look normal when it was right side up.
“One second,” Anthony paused.
I forced in a long deep breath. “Are you taking a picture?”
“Why would I take a picture?” There was a click and a flash.
I harrumphed. “Great. Have your fun. Now, can you please unhook me? I’m worried about my brain.”
“Are you sure you’re not more worried about that strange looking sandwich that’s just out of your reach?” Anthony asked, nodding towards my food experiment.
“I am a little worried about it, actually. The bread will get soggy from the ketchup if I don’t get down soon.”
“Who puts bread on their ketchup?”
“I put ketchup on my bread – oh, a joke. You’re funny. I like ketchup on my ketchup. Now seriously, help a girl out.”
Anthony walked like a lithe jaguar across the living room floor, which looked more dangerous than a minefield. Where I was rather clumsy in my movements, he strolled through the intricate path with ease.
“How does this work? Which button is it?” he asked, examining the machine.
“Oh, gee,” I said sarcastically. “You know, if I knew which button to press, I probably could have gotten myself out of this mess without needing your help.”
“I can slide you out, but I might have to touch your butt,” he said, a stern look on his face.
“Permission granted, just get me out,” I agreed.
Anthony didn’t hesitate for a moment longer, slipping one arm behind my neck and cradling my head, his other sliding over my waist. Jiggling a few levers, he managed to get the side of the contraption open just wide enough to slip me through the machine’s death grip. Before he set me down, he gave my rear end a pinch.
At my glare, he shrugged.
“My fee,” he said as an explanation.
“Thank you so much,” I said, gasping as I leaned over, my hands resting on my knees. I was too relieved to stay mad. “I couldn’t have lasted much longer in there.”
“Anytime.” One of Anthony’s hands still held my hips, while the other rested on my shoulder, steadying me until I straightened up.
“I’m good now,” I said. “You can let go. And for the record, you didn’t need to touch my butt to get me out of there, mister.”
“Like I said, just collecting payment.” Anthony gave my left cheek one last squeeze before stepping back and watching me closely, probably making sure I could hold myself up. Either that or he was checking me out.
I pushed the thought away.
“Are you going to eat that?” Anthony wrinkled his nose as I picked up my sandwich.
“Yes,” I said. “And you can watch. Let’s go into the kitchen. I have to talk to you.”
I glanced behind me as we walked together towards the kitchen, making sure his eyes didn’t rest too long on my rear end. Only partially satisfied with the results, I gestured at my new partner to sit down at the kitchen table. “Want something to drink?”
“Do you have anything for me to drink?” Anthony asked.
“No.” I crossed my arms.
“I’m fine, then,” Anthony said. “Are you feeling okay? You’re not dizzy?”
I was a bit dizzy from my close proximity to Anthony, and I had a bit of an emotional overload from the butt-squeeze a few moments ago, but I replied, “Nah, I’m fine.”
“Good. So, what did you want to talk about?” He leaned back, and I wondered if he could sense the pitter-patter of my racing heart.
“Oh, right. Work.” I took a huge, tasty bite of my now floppy sandwich. “What do you know about this firearms thing?”
“Firearms?” Anthony looked genuinely interested.
“Fireworks,” I said. “I mean fireworks. Carlos said he assigned you to be my new partner for this assignment, which is very awesomely due for completion on or before the Fourth of July barbecue. Or else.”
“We can figure it out,” Anthony said. His shoulders alone had more confidence than my entire body.
“Okay,” I said. “But I have no information on it whatsoever, except that there’s a truckload of illegal fireworks flowing through the Cities and Carlos has a source that’s telling him these fireworks are going to be broken down and used to build a bomb. I’m guessing he thinks that one of the fireworks displays – probably the one at the Capitol, if I had to guess – will be getting a display they didn’t plan on.”
“Why do you say that?” His previously relaxed gaze sharpened as he leaned towards me. “The part about the Capitol?”
“Why else would Carlos give us such a strict deadline?” I asked. “If it wasn’t imperative to saving people’s lives, why would he give it such a tight turnaround? On all my other cases, timing is one thing that has been fairly flexible.”
“Fair point,” Anthony said. “Though it’s possible he could have another reason for putting a deadline on it.”
“Look, do you have more information on this or not? I thought we were supposed to be working together,” I said. “You have to help me out.”
“I just did. I freed you from the laying desk, as a matter of fact.” Anthony reached out a hand and pushed back a strand of hair from my face.
I wanted to act upset at his comment, but the most I could muster was a halfhearted sigh.
“We are working together, doll,” Anthony said. “I’ll tell you what I’ve got.”
I chewed another decent-sized bite of my sandwich. “Go ahead,” I mumbled through the bread. I managed to keep my mouth mostly shut. My mother, God rest her soul, would have been proud.
“I don’t have much else,” Anthony said.
My shoulders slumped. “Great. Neither of us knows anything. We’re doing really well on this assignment.”
“Relax.” Anthony brushed what I hoped was a breadcrumb from my cheek. Or maybe he was just trying to comfort me. His actions were sometimes confusing.
“I have my men on it,” Anthony said. “I’m expecting a phone call anytime now with some preliminary information. I sent them to investigate a warehouse this morning, and if I’m correct, we may have found the location where
they’re stockpiling the fireworks.”
“Already? Wow, your men work fast.”
Anthony smiled. “They’re good at what they do.”
“Well, you’re their boss, so that makes you the best at what you do.” I gave him a genuine smile. The two of us sat in awkward silence, not quite sure where to go after an actual compliment. It was so much easier to carry on a conversation based on flirtatious banter than it was to talk about real things.
Luckily, Anthony’s phone pinged and we were both spared the necessity of coming up with a forced response.
I stood up from the table and pretended to wash my hands as Anthony took the call, speaking softly in Italian. The words rolled off his tongue. He sounded so fluid, so sing-song when he spoke his native language. It was the bitter opposite to his often short, often fragmented English sentences.
“They’ve found the warehouse,” Anthony said as I shut the water off.
“Really? The one stockpiled with the firearms?” I asked. “Dang it. Fireworks. Fire-works.”
“They believe so. From the looks on the outside and the information they’ve been able to pull from a few sources, including the guy who owns the warehouse, there’s some shady business happening.”
“Let’s go check it out,” I said. “It would be fantastic if we could just march in there and capture the guy. Can you imagine bringing him back to Carlos in such a short time?”
“Not so fast,” Anthony said. “We need to be careful. I’ve instructed my men not to go inside yet. We don’t know how much firepower this man has – or whether he’s already started building bombs or not. For all we know, the whole place is wired to blow up at any sign of forced entry.”
“Or, maybe we’ve caught him so early that he hasn’t had time to unpack any of the fireworks yet. Just think, Anthony – we could catch him before he does anything bad. Wash our hands of this whole thing and go look for the sauce.”
“You’re not going into the warehouse right now.” Anthony leaned back in his chair, one eyebrow heading north.
“Why?” I sensed a bit of whininess in my voice. “I don’t see why not.”
“I told you, the place could be rigged to explode. I would like to watch fireworks with you, not watch you go up in fireworks.”
“Aww,” I leaned in. “You want to watch fireworks with me?”
Anthony pushed his chair back with a jerk and walked towards the front door of my apartment.
“Say, do they have fireworks at this barbecue?” I grinned. “I bet Carlos could put out a good spread of the whirly twirlies. You know, maybe we could steal one or two fireworks that haven’t been disassembled and light them for fun at the barbecue. Nora would love it.”
“No.” Anthony twisted the door handle, and I was reminded he hadn’t needed a key to get in. Though it was sometimes annoying to find him lurking around my place, knowing that no deadbolt would be enough to keep him out, today I was lucky he was a ninja. Otherwise, I’d still be stuck in that silly desk contraption.
“Oh, you’re no fun,” I said with a fake pout. “Where are you going now, then?”
“I’m going to supervise my men,” he said, turning with one foot out the door.
“Supervise what? I should probably come. We are working on this case together, after all,” I reminded him.
“Yes. We will be working on it once my bomb squad calls the all clear on the warehouse. Later this afternoon, maybe. Don’t you have something you can do in the meantime?”
“Yeah, actually. Follow you and help supervise the bomb squad. We’re a team,” I said. “There’s no I in team.”
“But there’s a ‘me’ in team,” Anthony said. “And not a you. So, no.”
“Ugh,” I crossed my arms. “You are one of the worst partners out there.”
“Sugar, even I’m not going to watch my squad check out the warehouse. That is how a team works. I hired professionals, and I trust them to do their job. A good leader knows when to delegate.” Anthony took a step forward, one of his hands creeping up to my shoulder and squeezing it tightly, then sliding it to the nape of my neck. I thought he just might kiss me.
“I’m sorry,” I said. “I take it back. You’re not such a bad partner, and I was wrong. I’m just antsy. Carlos kind of sprang this on me last minute, and I want to get it taken care of before the barbecue. Especially if peoples’ lives are going to be in danger.”
“Don’t worry, doll. You’re doing excellent work.” He placed his other hand on the side of my face, lightly brushing his thumb across my cheekbone. “In the meantime, keep yourself busy. What’s on your agenda this afternoon? If you need a distraction...”
I sighed so hard I whistled through my teeth as Anthony took a step closer to me, his hot breath tickling my neck. As usual, he smelled minty with a twist of lemon, his breath clean and his cologne crisp. It was an intoxicating combination.
“I, uh, you know what? I have a distraction already,” I mumbled.
My stud-in-crime grinned. “Is that right?”
“Sauce,” I gurgled. I wasn’t sure what was happening to my brain, but something wasn’t connecting the “appropriate thought” section of my mind to my mouth. The wiring was all messed up, and the words coming from my lips bypassed any filters I’d once had.
“Getting sauced?” Anthony asked, his eyes smiling despite his stern lips. “Like I said, I can help.”
I cleared my throat. “Carlos asked me to bring a special sauce to the barbecue. More specifically, Dave’s Special Sauce. Apparently, the guy is some hippie that lives an hour away in the boonies.” I threw my arms up. “Get this! His stand isn’t even on Google Maps.”
“Shame on Google,” Anthony said, his eyes still twinkling.
“Clay said you gave him the address,” I said. “Do you know anywhere else I can find this special sauce?”
“Unfortunately not,” Anthony said. “Consider this assignment a rite of passage. Everyone’s had to go out to Dave’s stand and pick up the sauce.”
“Wait. If you know where it is, why don’t you come with me?” I asked, my excitement seeping into the question. Maybe he’d come with me, and then we’d be able to go together to the warehouse. We could kill two birds with one stone.
“Sugar, I’m not everyone. I’ve never actually gone to get the sauce. I’ve just heard about it, and I know the address. I’m sorry, I can’t go anyway. I have to be close in case my men need me.”
“Okay, never mind,” I said, trying to hide my disappointment.
“Do you have directions?” he asked. “I’d like to know where you’re headed, before you go gallivanting off the map.”
“It’s here,” I said, taking out the map Clay’s friend had entrusted to my care. “Horatio gave us instructions on how to get there.”
Anthony looked skeptical as soon as I said Horatio.
“Believe me, I think it’s weird too,” I said. “His real name is Henry. It doesn’t make sense.”
“This looks to be in order,” Anthony said. “I know this area. According to Horatio’s markings on the map, Dave’s shack is impossible to miss. If you go now, you’ll be able to make it back before sundown. And if you make it back before sundown—”
“We can go check out the warehouse?” I clapped my hands. I’d been so hopeless moments before, but now, I was nearly giddy. We could have this thing cracked in no time. Which would then leave me plenty of time to consume many glasses of wine on my birthday, and have no bigger concern in the world than showing up to the Fourth of July barbecue with a bit of a hangover.
“If it checks out clear with my men,” Anthony said. “No promises.”
“Right. No promises.” I winked. “But I’m game for sneaking in and breaking rules.”
“No promises,” Anthony reiterated.
“I’m calling Meg,” I said. “I need backup, and you won’t come with me.”
“Are you picking her up?” Anthony asked.
“Nah, I wanna see if she’ll drive.
I’m running low on gas, and I don’t get paid ‘til this job is complete.”
“I’ll give you a ride to the bar.” Anthony nodded his head toward the front of my apartment.
I was incredibly tempted. There were two choices waiting for me outside: a beat up, sad Chevy Lumina that belonged in the boat family instead of the car family, and a fancy Lamborghini that came complete with a sexy driver.
“I’ll take the ride,” I said. Easy choice.
“WHY DO YOU HAVE A GUN in your cup holder?” I asked, sliding into the passenger’s seat.
Anthony slid into the driver’s side of his expensive car, glancing at the shiny black hunk of metal sitting in the small space normally reserved for 7-11 sugar bomb coffees. “No reason.”
I sensed he was lying, but I didn’t bother to press him on the subject. If he kept secrets about a mission we were supposed to be working on together, I didn’t hold much hope that he’d divulge aspects of jobs I wasn’t involved with.
Anthony revved the car, the engine throaty as it fired up. I might have been mistaken, but there was a chance flames shot from the exhaust.
“Why do you drive this thing?” I asked. “You don’t seem like a Lamborghini driver.”
Anthony pulled away from the curb, shifting back into his seat. I glanced over, noting he didn’t look entirely comfortable in the car. He looked good behind the wheel, don’t get me wrong. His dark hair glinted in the afternoon sunlight and a smirk toyed with his lips.
“I’m not a Lambo driver,” he said simply, making a left onto the freeway. He barely flicked his eyes towards me, instead focusing on the road.
“Well, what are you?” I asked.
He took his attentive gaze off the road for one second to glance my way. “What do you think?”
I shrugged, trying to pretend that his slight glance in my direction hadn’t warmed me to the core. “I’m not good with cars.”
“No guesses?” he asked.
“A black car,” I said with a smile. “A really, really shiny one with bulletproof glass and flames up the side and guns instead of headlights.”
