Reckless (11 page)

He'd kept working in that dive for two years
after he'd lost Danny, and the entire time he'd been in training.
He told himself it was because he had to be tough to keep the job.
Deep down, though, he knew he was bulking up so he'd be ready to
take on Lou Taranto and his thugs.

It was only later he’d realized the best way
to do that was to go into law enforcement.

Nick forced the mismatched memories from his
mind. Why had he thought about his past so much lately—about Danny?
Was it just having
her
here that brought the memories on?
Was it because he felt, even from his first glimpse of her standing
terrified at the edge of that alley, an irrational urge to protect
her? Just the way he'd wanted to protect Danny.

He'd known his brother was in trouble, and
he'd tried every way he knew to talk him back from the edge. Danny
ignored Nick's warnings and walked face first into the fire. He'd
left Nick alone, just as their worthless father and mother had.
Just as little Antonia would do if he gave her half a chance, he
thought, even if it was likely to get her killed.

He wouldn't let her do that.

He shook himself and plugged the telephone in
to call Carl. He was already late.

“Yeah, Carlito's Pizza, whaddya want?”

“Sausage and mushrooms to go,” Nick replied,
to let Carl know that he, too, was alone and free to talk.

“Where've you been, Nick? On vacation?”

“Couldn't be helped. You forget I have myself
a new roommate?” Nick glanced up at the bedroom door and wondered
if the little snoop was listening. “You have enough money for that
card game tonight?”

“Not unless I win the first few hands.”

“That's what I figured,” Nick said. “Go down
to the gym. I left a package in your locker.”

“Greenbacks? Thanks, Nick.”

“Thank Taranto. It's what he gave me for
handling that little problem the other night.”

Carl hesitated. “You—uh—think he might've
marked the bills, Nick? If he connects us—”

“I did some banking today. The money's
clean.”

“Perfect. How's your guest, by the way?”

“Just beautiful. What do you say I send her
to your place for a while?''

Carl laughed. “Uh-uh, pal. You caught her,
you keep her.”

“I was afraid you'd say that. Listen, I need
you to call Harry for me. I never know when she has her ear pressed
to the door.”

“Curious, huh?”

“A little too curious. She knows stuff she
shouldn't. She's got a sister, and I'm uncomfortable with her
security. I want you to have Harry assign a man to try to figure
out who she is and where she is, and make sure she’s all right. I
want to know if one of Taranto's guys gets within ten blocks of
her.”

“Got it. Anything else?”

“Yeah. A background check on the lady
herself. She's holding back.”

“I'll call Harry right now. Then I have to
head over to the Century. I'll see you after the game if there's
anything worth telling you.”

Nick hung up, unplugged the telephone and
took it with him when he left. The tension coiled tight inside him
hadn't eased any, and he needed to work it off. If he didn't, he
thought he was likely to wring Antonia's pretty neck for keeping so
much from him. A little voice whispered that wringing her neck
wasn't at all what he'd like to do to her.

He felt a pang of guilt on the way down. He
had promised her a crack at the basement gym...and he would give
her one. To have her with him now would defeat the purpose. She was
the source of the tension he needed to get rid of.

Toni hadn't heard his telephone conversation
because she'd locked herself in the bathroom to pace and try to
work through her new theory. It seemed so obvious all at once. Nick
didn't just switch personalities arbitrarily. It had to be
deliberate. He was like two men in one body, entirely different
with Viper and Taranto than he was with her. She'd been confused by
him before. How could he point a gun at her head one minute and buy
her notebooks the next? She wasn't confused anymore. She thought
she knew the answer.

He wasn't working for Lou Taranto at all. He
was undercover, just like she was. He was probably some kind of
cop. FBI. DEA. Something.

Joy at her newfound theory bubbled in her
chest, and she caught herself grinning. Wait a minute, she thought,
pulling a mental emergency brake. Just why does this idea make me
so damn happy?

Why shouldn't it? It certainly would improve
my odds of surviving this mess.

It would also ease the guilt she'd been
feeling for allowing herself to be physically attracted to a man
whose moral values were roughly equivalent to those of pond
slime.

Am I saying that it’s now okay to feel
slightly
attracted to him?

No way, she realized. She could easily be
adding two and two and coming up with eighty-nine. She might only
be seeing what she wanted to see and not what was truly there.
Still, she couldn't help but feel a hint of relief that he'd made
that promise about protecting her sister. If he was a cop, the
offer made perfect sense.

And what if he's just a great liar?

She had no idea how much time had passed, but
she finally realized she was too wound up to sleep and that her
stomach was too empty to relax anyway. When she emerged from the
bathroom, Nick was nowhere in sight. She located the Chinese food
in the fridge and helped herself to a little bit of it. She no
longer feared he'd try to poison her. Besides, he'd eaten from both
cartons. She took her plate to the coffee table and wondered if
he'd left the house or just the apartment. If she was going to find
out who Nick Manelli really was, she would have to keep a close eye
on him.

Retrieving the remote control and flicking
the TV on, she got comfortable on the sofa. She used the buttons to
move from room to room, but didn't see him in any of them. Then the
basement gym filled the screen. She choked on her peanut chicken
and dropped the remote when her fingers went limp.

She'd found him. He lay on a bench, knees
bent, feet flat to the floor on either side. He wore a pair of
baggy yellow shorts with an elastic waist and nothing else. His
chest was bare and magnificent. He pressed a bar with several disks
at each end. His face contorted as he pressed. Sweat made a sheen
over his nose and forehead. He clenched his teeth, his lips pulling
away from them each time he pushed the bar up, away from his
body.

Toni stood slowly, her gaze magnetized by the
image on the screen. His arms bulged with each rep. His chest
muscles expanded, his pectorals rippling with the effort. She
dropped to her knees and felt around for the remote, found it and
thumbed the volume control without looking. He grunted with every
rep. He didn't count, just emitted a guttural “ummf.” The sound
seemed forced from him.

She'd known he was big. She'd felt the
hardness of his body whenever she'd had physical contact with him.
She'd felt the bulge of those muscles under his clothes when he'd
held her close to him—but, dear God in heaven, she hadn't imagined
he looked like
that.
She could only imagine how he'd
feel....

Toni flicked the power button off and sat
there, blinking at the now-dark screen. Her stomach had a tiny lead
ball resting right in its center. God, her throat was dry. She
couldn't swallow.

She went to the kitchenette and opened a
cupboard for a glass. She needed to drink something. When she
glanced up, the rounded, amber-colored bottle caught her gaze. It
lay on its side, bottom facing out, on the top shelf. A plain old
bottle of Jack Daniel's, not that expensive stuff he’d been feeding
to Lou Taranto. Toni pulled a kitchen chair closer and told herself
it was only to help her sleep.

Nick stretched his hour-long workout into two
and then some. He hadn't realized just how much he needed it until
he got started. By the time he began to feel a little of the
tension slip away, he'd pretty much exhausted himself. He spent
another hour in the pool trying to cool down and relax.

When he finally showered and went back
upstairs, the apartment was silent. He opened the bedroom door and
peeked in. Antonia was curled on his bed, breathing deeply. There
was a glass with a bit of amber liquid in the bottom on the stand
beside the bed. Frowning, Nick moved quietly across the room,
picked the glass up and sniffed. Whiskey. She’d been snooping
again.

He looked down at her and wondered why she
felt in need of a shot. Was she that wrought up over her sister?
She stirred and sighed. The light from the living room spilled
through the slightly open bedroom door and landed on her hair, so
it gleamed like a raven's wing. For one wild second, he had the
insane urge to bend over her and kiss her lips—to taste the flavor
of the whiskey on them and the flavor of her behind them. He shook
himself and turned to leave the room. God knew what she'd think if
she woke and found him standing over her.

It was tough to leave, though. He wasn't sure
why it gave him such a rush to look at her as she slept. It
couldn't have been that glorious hair all over the place, or that
she hugged his pillow to her like a lover. It couldn't be because
in this light, her skin was the color of cinnamon or that he could
see the dampness and smell the soap from her recent shower.

He made himself take a step toward the door.
She moaned softly in her sleep, and he stopped.

“Mmm,'' she murmured again. And then, in a
whisper, “Nick.”

She could have hit him with a hammer and done
less damage. She'd whispered his name in her sleep—and she'd said
it as if...

He stepped closer and sat down gently on the
edge of the bed. He smoothed the hair away from her face and looked
at her. Her eyes opened slowly, and for an elastic moment she gazed
up at him, a lazy smile curving her lips. Her hand came up to cover
his, where it rested on her cheek. She blinked.

Her eyes flew wide. She yanked the covers to
her chin and moved as far from him as possible. “What do you
want?”

Nick shrugged innocently. “You called me,
Antonia. I thought something was wrong.” He watched her face,
making no move to get off the bed. “Was it a dream?”

Her eyes were huge and darker than midnight
as she searched her memory. “No!” She shook her head fast, so her
hair flew. “I mean, not a dream. A—a nightmare.”

He frowned. “That's funny. You were smiling
when I came in. Looked as if you were about to start purring.” He
tried to sound genuinely concerned. “What was this...
nightmare
about?''

She shook her head once more. “I don't know.
I really don't remember.” She said it quickly, not even bothering
to try.

“That's the thing about dreams. They're so
vivid and then they're gone.” He touched her chin with the tip of
his forefinger. “The real thing, Antonia, you'd never forget.”

He got up, chuckling, and strolled out of the
room. He could feel the daggers she was shooting at his back before
he closed the door. As soon as he finished grinning, he asked
himself why it gave him such an absurdly huge sense of satisfaction
to know that he wasn't the only one having impure thoughts. It
certainly wouldn't make things any easier. He couldn't just hop
into bed with her and go on about his business.

Why the hell not?

The question stopped him cold. Why not? He'd
done it before. What was so different about her?

Dumb question. Everything about Toni was
different. So damn small, she seemed fragile as crystal, and so
damn intrepid she was always on the brink of disaster. She was a
giant in a tiny body. She was a sorceress, dancing through his mind
but always just out of reach. Her eyes were black quicksand. A man
could get lost in those eyes and never find his way out.

He paced for a while, then reclined on the
couch knowing he'd never close his eyes. How could he, when he knew
she was just in the next room, as wide-awake and restless as he
was? He shook his head, trying not to think about a sure cure for
both of them.

It was a relief when Carl showed up later.
Nick reached for the remote, checked to be sure his friend was
alone and let him in. The smaller man was flushed right down to the
bald spot in the middle of his head, came in pacing, and talking
too fast and too loud. Nick had to keep reminding him to keep his
voice down.

“Okay, Nick, okay. But this is hot. It's
going down tomorrow night and I'm in. I can't let it go. Not this
time.”

Nick took his friend's arm and urged him into
the kitchen, as far from the bedroom as possible. “Slow down, Carl.
What
is happening tomorrow night?”

“Heroin. A big shipment of it, coming in from
I don’t fucking know where, but it’ll be arriving at Taranto's
warehouse sometime after nine p.m. Four guys have to be there to
unload and I'm one of 'em.”