Skin (19 page)

Made sense.

“But just in case, I’m going to call Ricco and Jase when we find a safe place and see if they’ll swap with me.”

“Safe place? I want to get down to Carmel, now.”

He grinned and shook his head, the cool air blowing his hair. “My rules, Frankie.”

“We don’t have time to stop, I need to start shooting in the morning!”

“I need to make arrangements. That takes time, and in that time you can eat and get some rest. You look beat. We’ll be in Carmel in the morning.”

Frankie sat back in the seat and crossed her arms over her chest. She did not like being told what to do.

Instead of driving south to Carmel, Reese went through San Francisco, across the Bay Bridge, and down into the bowels of Oakland. Great.

He finally surfaced at the airport Hilton. When he offered her a helping hand out of the SUV, she brushed past him and stalked toward the hotel entrance. Just because she agreed to his terms didn’t mean she had to like them. She half listened to his phone conversation with his “buddy” Jase. Once settled in the two-bedroom suite, Frankie ordered room service, then turned on Reese and let him have it. “I don’t like your ‘buddies’ knowing where we are. While you may have reason to trust them, I don’t. I want your word you won’t tell them we’re headed to Carmel. If for some reason whoever is after me finds them, they have ways of making men sing. It’s for their protection as well as ours.”

Reese’s eyes twinkled.

“You think this is funny?”

“No, it’s just nice to see you finally take this seriously.”

She paced the main bedroom living room area. “Of course I take this seriously. I have from the beginning, I was just under the impression the bad guys wanted someone else dead.”

A knock on the door startled her. Reese waved her toward the other bedroom. Drawing his gun, he moved to the side of the door. Frankie’s heart pounded.

“Room service.”

That was quick.

“Leave it in the hall,” Reese called out.

“I need you to sign for this, sir.”

“Slip it under the door.”

A piece of paper slipped under the door. From an angle Reese bent down and snatched it up. He moved to the side out of direct alignment with the door, grabbed a pen off the desk, and scribbled on the paper. Then slid it back.

A muffled “Thank you.” And the sound of the tray being pushed up against the door answered.

After several tense minutes, Reese, with gun still drawn, looked out the peephole. Satisfied, he quickly opened the door and pulled the tray in, then shut the door and double-locked it.

Frankie stood at the doorway to the separate bedroom with her arms crossed over her chest, eyeing this “model” with the Sonny Crockett moves. “I guess they taught you that at modeling school?”

He turned, sliding the gun between his belt and lower back. “No, MP school.”

Unwinding herself, Frankie walked slowly into the room. Her mouth watered as the aroma wafting from the covered plates hit her nostrils. Despite her day, she was famished.

Reese opened the bottle of cab she’d ordered, poured her a glass, then dug into a rare steak. She noticed he drank water. “No wine?”

He shook his head, chewing the beef. “Nope, I need a clear head. You should go easy on it yourself in case we need to get out of here quick.”

She narrowed her eyes again and stabbed at her chicken Caesar salad. Her mood had not soothed, and her suspicious nature ran rampant with thoughts.

Another knock on the door startled her again. She choked on a piece of chicken. Reese pounded her on the back and she held up her hand, signaling him to stop.

“It’s Jase,” a deep voice called from the hallway. Reese hurried to the door, looked out the peephole, then unlocked the door, swinging it open. Jase walked in, followed by Ricco.

Both men were dressed stylishly, and looked every part a
GQ
cover. They nodded in her direction; she ignored them and worked on her salad. She’d put her life in the hands of strangers and she didn’t have a warm, fuzzy feeling about it.

The three men conferred quietly for a moment.

“I’m going down with Ricco to check out our ride,” Reese said. “Jase will keep you company.”

“Lucky me,” Frankie muttered.

Jase cocked his head and gave her a sharp glare.

As the door closed behind Ricco and Reese, Frankie sat back, sipped her wine, and asked, “Who the hell are you guys?”

Jase shrugged and helped himself to a glass of wine. “Just your average hardworking Joes.”

Frankie caught the same undercurrent of danger in this man as she did in Reese. It was evident in Ricco as well. But something different lurked behind Jase’s guarded gaze. Was it scorn? “You three smell like cops.”

Jase spewed his wine into his glass. Quickly he wiped the few drops on his pants with a napkin. “Lady, if I’m a cop, then you’re Princess Diana.”

“She’s dead.”

“I hear you might be soon.”

Setting her glass down on the table, Frankie stood and began pacing the floor. Occasionally she threw a glare Jase’s way. His body language spoke volumes. “What the hell did I ever do to you?” she said.

“I beg your pardon?”

“Contempt. I see it in your eyes.”

He nodded and stood, then strode to the heavy curtain and pulled it slightly away from the window. “I don’t like your type.”

Feeling like a caged cat, and brewing for a fight, Frankie strode over to the arrogant man, more than willing to use him as her whipping boy. He was just what she needed to blow off some of the steam building inside of her. “And what type am I?”

“Coldhearted.”

Shocked at the venomous tone, Frankie lashed out. She slapped him. Jase caught her hand and jerked her hard against him. He moved his face to within inches of hers. “And temperamental to boot.”

“Nice to see I still rate, my friend,” Reese said from the doorway, his voice ominously dark.

F
rankie gasped. Jase released her and threw Reese a tomcat grin. “It’s not what you think,” Frankie sputtered, pulling away.

Ricco stood gawking behind Reese in the doorway.

“And what do I think it was?” Reese drawled. His eyes burned with anger and Frankie felt fear spike along her spine. The man before her was not one to toy with. He exuded a carefully controlled danger.

She shivered. “I, we — Jase — he was rude and I slapped him.”

Reese turned his gaze to his friend and cocked a brow. Jase raised his brow and continued to grin, in no hurry to explain.

On the verge of slapping him again, Frankie fisted her hands. Her gaze swept from Jase, who stood like a bratty child who knew he was guilty, to Reese, who looked like he wanted to throttle
her,
and Ricco, who stood grinning like the village idiot who thought he had a clue.

“Screw all of you!” she shot, and headed for the bedroom.

“Just say when,” Jase challenged.

“Fuck you,” Reese said to his friend.

Frankie slammed the door behind her, and even though they couldn’t see her, she flipped them off. She flopped onto the bed and fumed. What the hell was going on and why the hell was she stuck in this hotel room with three men she barely knew? Popping up from the bed, she began pacing the small room and considered her position in this crazy scenario.

Someone wanted her dead. It had to be an outside family. How far would they go? Shit, that answer was easy enough. Three times they showed how far they would go. And she had no doubt they would keep trying until they got it right.

But how to fight back? Was she supposed to be constantly looking over her shoulder, surrounded by bodyguards? No way. That would drive her to suicide. She should have paid closer attention as a child. She’d always steered clear of those conversations as an adult, but as a child playing in the large Carmel house, she had on several occasions overheard her father and uncle’s conversations when they didn’t know she was hiding in a nook in the room. By eight, she knew which capos did the dirty deeds and who called the shots. It was apparent to her very early on that her father was the quick draw, while Unk was the slow hand.

The muffled voices coming from the other room rose in anger. Good. Served them all right.

She flopped onto the bed again and didn’t bother trying to decipher the muffled voices. Rolling onto her back, she rubbed the heels of her hands against her throbbing eyes. She had a massive headache all of a sudden.

The shock of what she’d been through hit her. Someone had trashed her home. Two men were shot and killed by two other men who, had they found her, would have sent her to meet her father. One of the dead guys was her brother’s cousin.
Two plus two equals four.
Reese’s words taunted her. She moaned and rolled over onto her stomach.

Think like Papa, Frankie, remove your emotions and look at the situation with a critical, objective eye.

Taking a deep breath, she exhaled slowly.

Okay, was Reese right? If Tommy was working for Anthony, did her brother really want her dead? Why? Did the will give her what he wanted and he knew it? But if that was true, who killed Tommy and his cohort? Were two sides playing the middle?

Anthony wouldn’t be so bold. But was he hiding in plain sight? Or was there someone else who would benefit by his rise to the top?

Connie. Was she behind this? Playing Anthony as the fool? She would want that will as much as the next person. To claim what she thought she had coming to her or destroy the fact Papa cut her out? Was Connie so desperate to keep the power she had gained through her son that she’d kill her stepdaughter? Frankie pulled the spread tight around her shoulders, warding off a sudden chill. Connie was as driven as a viper. She needed to alert Unk.

She started when the door flew open.

“Didn’t your mother teach you to knock?”

Reese’s eyes flashed. “Don’t talk to me about my mother.”

Frankie knew she hit a nerve, and she felt the need to hurt him to put some emotional distance between them. She flung off the spread and slid off the bed, standing straight to face him. “Does Reese have Mommy issues?”

His face clouded and she realized she’d crossed a line. She didn’t care.

His fists opened and closed at his sides.

“Did you piss your mommy off?”

“Shut up, Francesca.”

“Oh, now it’s Francesca?”

She looked past him to the empty living room. “Where’d your buddies go?” She moved to go by him but he grabbed her arm. “Didn’t your mommy tell you it was bad manners to grab ladies by the arm and act the Neanderthal?”

He yanked her hard against him. His eyes darkened in rage. “I said shut up.”

“No one tells me to shut up.”

“Maybe it’s time someone did.”

“And I suppose you’re making yourself that person?”

“Maybe I could call Jase back and he can tell you. You seem to get along so well with him.” He stared hard at her for a long moment, then set her away from him.

“Go to bed,” he said.

“No! I want to get the hell out of here.”

“We both need some sleep.”

Setting her jaw, she crossed her arms over her chest. “I don’t need sleep, what I need to do is start my shoot. To do that I can’t be holed up at the local Hilton.”

“We sit tight. Your family or whoever the hell wants you dead is out on the streets now, listening for a whisper, anything to give you away. We sit tight here for a few hours.”

The truth of Reese’s words hit home. For the first time in her entire life she actually felt afraid of her family. But even though what Reese said made sense, she had a different slant. “I have a business I’m responsible for — I refuse to hide.”

“You can’t run it dead.”

“No, I can’t, but if I don’t run it alive, there will be no business. No pictures equals no advertisers which equals no revenue which equals no
Skin.”
Realizing she was getting nowhere, Frankie changed her tactic. Lowering her voice to a more earnest tone, she said, “Look, Reese, no one knows what vehicle I’m in, no one knows I’m with you, I can’t believe whoever it is out there gunning for me will find out if we leave this room right now and head to Carmel. The beach house is armed tighter than the Pentagon. I’ll feel safer there. It’s only a two-hour drive.”

“You’re a fool, Francesca.”

Détente. “Are your friends coming back?”

He stepped up behind her.

“No.”

She turned and faced him. Reese towered over her. The devil inside her goaded him. “That’s too bad. Either one would make excellent backups.” She turned and walked away, throwing her hair over her shoulder.

Reese followed close behind her, stopping just a few feet from the bar, where she bent over and opened the fridge. His feelings confused him. He didn’t have a possessive bone in his body when it came to women — but something deep and dark reared its head when he walked in and saw her with Jase. His gaze slid down her round derriere, and his dick warmed. He could admit she turned him on like no other woman had. But what about her? Did he do it for her too? Would she heat up for him again or had her response to him earlier just been the excitement of the moment?

He decided to find out. He slid his hand over her rounded ass and she immediately straightened. “If it makes it easier, pretend I’m Jase.”

Frankie turned around, a bottle of wine in her hand. She used her foot to close the door. She leaned back against the bar and smiled.

“Does that do it for you, Frankie? Another fantasy.” He choked the words out. “You fuck one guy but think of another?”

She slapped him.

He grabbed her hand and squeezed until she cried out in pain. Her cry made him realize what he was doing. He let her go. Why did the thought of Jase, a man he considered a brother, buried to the hilt between Frankie’s lush thighs infuriate him?

She turned from him and set the bottle down on the counter.

“If it
were
my fantasy, you’re the last person I’d share it with.”

“Why? Did I do such a lousy job playing out your last one?”

He watched her cheeks flush and her body shiver. Then he heard the catch in her breath.