Reckless (2 page)

“You get her?”

Lights came on in apartment windows. Nick had
no doubt that someone was dialing 911. “You got eyes?”

Viper looked toward the girl and started
forward. “Damn, that broad looked familiar.”

“What did you do with Vinnie?” Nick's barked
question stopped the other man in his tracks.

“In my trunk.”

“Get him the hell outta here. Place’ll be
crawling with cops any minute.”

Viper looked toward her again, and Nick saw
the doubt in his eyes. He needed more convincing. Nick dug into his
pocket for his keys and tossed them to the smaller man. “My car's
around the corner. Get it over here before you take off.”

“What do I look like, a damn parking
attendant?”

A head poked out of a second story window,
then ducked back inside. The window closed with a bang. Viper
muttered a curse and dashed back around the corner, moving unevenly
but quickly. Nick went to the fallen woman, leaning close,
whispering near her ear, he said, “Good job. Now play along. He’s
got to believe this is real. Our lives are on the line.”

She didn’t respond.

Nick's car came to a screeching halt at the
curb. He rolled her onto her back, and she went like a wet rag.
Perfectly limp. She was putting on one hell of a show. He grabbed
her under the arms and pulled her up and over his shoulder, and
wrapping one arm firmly around her thighs to hold her there, took
three steps to the car.

Her hands dangled loosely against his back.
Her legs felt cold beneath his hand. Stupid woman, he thought,
walking around in a skirt on a night like this. “Pop the trunk,
Viper.” His thumb inadvertently rubbed her bare thigh and his mouth
went dry.

He dumped her unceremoniously inside, hard
enough so Viper could feel the car sink with her weight, then
slammed the trunk hard and went to the driver’s door. Viper got out
of the car, and Nick slid behind the wheel. “Where you dumpin'
Vinnie?” he asked.

“East River,” Viper answered quickly. He was
nervous now, looking around. A faint siren came wailing from
somewhere, and his eyes danced in their sockets.

“I'll take her somewhere else then. We don't
want any connections,” Nick said. “Let's go.”

Viper nodded and hurried into the darkness
like a cockroach when the lights come on. A second later, Nick spun
his black Lincoln around and took off.

He managed to avoid the police, taking side
streets until he was sure he hadn't been followed. He managed to
take the battery out of the phone and toss it out the window as he
drove. Then he pulled to the curb on an empty street, between a
crumbling, condemned heap and a weedy vacant lot. Most of the
streetlights had been shot out or demolished with stones. Getting
out, hunching against the rain, he went to the back of the car and
thumbed the trunk release on his keyring.

The rain fell harder. He tightened the belt
of his raincoat and leaned inside. The only light was the tiny bulb
that came on whenever the trunk was opened. “Come on out,” he said
softly, glancing around once more to be sure he wasn't being
watched. She didn't move. He leaned lower, frowning. “Lady, you can
cut the act now.” He pushed at her shoulder with one hand, but she
remained as she was, a small, wet, unmoving bundle. Nick's blood
slowed to a stop in his veins. Could he possibly have—

“Oh,
hell
, no.” He gripped her
shoulders and shook her a little. When she still didn't respond, he
pushed the damp, tangled masses of hair away from her face in
search of an exit wound or a trace of blood. He’d aimed high. If
he’d hit her it would be a headshot. Hell. He bent close to her, so
close he could smell her perfume. It wrapped around his mind and
tugged. He saw the tiny beads of rain clinging to her face.

When her feet suddenly slammed into his solar
plexus it was like an explosion. He stumbled backward, pain
shooting in every direction, and doubled over, struggling to draw a
breath and failing. When he finally blinked enough moisture from
his eyes to see straight and managed to unbend himself and actually
inhale, he glimpsed her running like hell in the direction they'd
come from. Swearing under his breath, he dove back into the car,
pulled it around in a noisy doughnut and slammed the accelerator to
the floor, leaving rubber on the pavement before the tires caught
and the car lurched ahead. He overtook her in seconds, but she
veered into the vacant lot. Nick hit the brakes, skidding to a
cockeyed stop, dove out of the car and sprinted after her.

His legs were longer, more powerful, but God,
she could run. Her feet flew and her hair billowed behind her.
She'd kicked off her shoes along the way. He saw them fly from her
feet, but didn’t stop to get them. The lot was thick with tall
grasses and weeds, and Nick's legs were getting soaked to the skin.
His shoes were so wet it was hard to keep from slipping. Still, he
gained on her.

With one final burst, he jumped on her,
taking her to the ground in a tackle that was way more brutal than
was decent, landing on top of her. Then he rose a little, rolled
her over, clasped her wrists in one hand and held them to the
ground over her head. She struggled, and he dropped his body weight
down on top of hers, stilling her instantly. “Try that again an’
I'll tie you up so tight you'll be lucky if you can breathe. You
reading me?”

Her eyes flashed anger at him and her breath
came in shuddering gasps. “I'm supposed to come along peacefully,
is that it? You want me to load the gun for you, too, before you
blow my head off?”

It was the most she'd spoken more than a few
words to him, and Nick was surprised that her voice was deep and
sultry, not soft and high-pitched as he would have expected from
someone her size. She had a voice like Hepburn or Bacall. A voice
that—a voice that distracted him from the matter at hand, dammit.
“If I wanted you dead, you'd be playing a harp by now.” His grip on
her wrists tightened when she tried to pull them free. Her breath
was warm on his face in contrast to the chill breeze.

She twisted beneath him, trying to wriggle
out from under him—a futile attempt. He pressed himself harder
against her, his chest jammed so firmly into hers that each shaky
breath she drew lifted him. He knew he must be hurting her. He
didn’t want to hurt her. He didn’t want to do a lot of the shit he
was required to do at the moment.

When she saw that her struggling was useless,
she stopped. He eased the pressure of his body on hers. “What are
you going to do with me?” she finally asked.

“Keep you quiet about what you saw in that
alley tonight. That's all.”

“That's all,” she mocked. “You might as well
shoot me and get it over with, then. You can't lie on top of me
forever.” The venom in her voice was real, and he was shocked she
could do more than cower in fear and swear she'd never utter a word
if he'd only let her go.

“You got a smart mouth on you, lady. I don't
need to keep you quiet forever. Just for a few days.” His common
sense whispered that it might be closer to a few weeks, but he
ignored it. What she didn't know wouldn't hurt her—or him.

She seemed to absorb what he'd said and turn
it over in her mind. A little more fear came into her eyes. “How do
you plan to do that?”

It hit him then that, tough as she came off,
she was probably more afraid of him than she'd ever been of anyone
in her life. He eased his grip on her wrists and moved off her to
let her sit up. He never let go of her hands, though, and he kept
her feet in sight at all times. Her question was one he'd been
trying to answer since he'd first seen her near the alley. No
matter how he figured it, there was only one solution. He stood and
pulled her to her feet. “Come on.” When he tugged on her, she
resisted. Her bare feet braced in the wet grass, she refused to
move a step. He turned to look at her.

She squared her shoulders and met his gaze.
“No.”

His brows shot up as she surprised him yet
again. “What do you mean, 'no'?”

“Do what you have to, mister, but don't ask
me to make it any easier.”

Nick shook his head, unable to understand her
train of thought. He pulled the automatic from beneath his coat,
intending to persuade her to be a little more cooperative. When he
looked at her again she stood straighter and closed her huge dark
eyes. Her lashes brushed her cheeks. She looked like a proud Mayan
princess about to be sacrificed for the good of her people or
something.

Her voice trembling, she said, “Not in the
face, okay?”

“
What?”

''It will be easier on my sister, when she
has to identify what’s left of me.” She opened her eyes again. They
shimmered, staring at a spot in the distance. “Just consider it
a...last request.” When he said nothing in response, she looked him
in the eyes. “Could we get this over with? I never thought I'd go
out bawling, but if you drag it out much longer, I—”

“Hell!” He thrust the gun back into the
shoulder holster and grabbed her again. “Will you get this through
your thick skull? I’m not gonna to kill you. You have trouble with
English or something?”

Eyes flashing wider, she exploded in a burst
of Spanish, none of which he understood. He supposed he could
probably guess at most of it, though. He hadn't meant his remark as
a racial slur.

Her stream of insults ended. She drew a
breath and whispered, “I speak English better than you do, you
overgrown thug. I was born ten miles from here. My father practiced
at—” She bit her lips as if to stop herself. That aroused his
curiosity.

“Go on?” He wondered what her old man
practiced and hoped it wasn’t law.

She averted her gaze. “What are you going to
do with me?”

So she wasn't talking. All right. He could
find out anything he wanted to know in less time than she would
believe possible. “Got no choice. I'm taking you home with me.” He
said it slowly, watching her face.

She looked up fast, her shock in her eyes.
“You're kidnapping me.”

He said nothing, just held her arm and
started tugging her back toward the big black car whose headlights
and wipers fought a losing battle against the pouring rain.

Toni shivered. She was soaked, she was
barefoot and she was mad as hell. How dare this bastard make a
remark like that when
he
was constantly sprinkling his
speech with “gonna” and “wanna”? Her father may have been Puerto
Rican, but he'd also been one of the finest surgeons at Saint
Mary's. Her mother had taught English literature at NYU. Toni had
grown up hearing both languages, and she spoke both fluently and
flawlessly. Her English had no trace of an accent, nor did her
Spanish. She was proud of her parents. Mostly. The past had taught
her that nothing was more dangerous than an ignorant bigot.

Unless it was being kidnapped in the middle
of the night by a hit man. She shook her head slowly as she walked
with him back toward the car, knowing there was not much point in
fighting him physically. She was going to have to think her way out
of this. Months of lurking around courtrooms and reputed mob
hangouts had given her a lot to work with. Nothing, though, had
prepared her for tonight. Tonight, she'd followed Vincent
Pascorelli from the jail. He’d been arrested for conspiracy and
had, briefly, agreed to testify against his boss, Lou Taranto in
exchange for his freedom. But then he’d suddenly recanted. The D.A.
had to let him go, as the charges against him wouldn’t hold water
anyway. It had all been a bluff. And it had backfired.

She'd expected to see Skinny-Vinnie meet with
one of Taranto's thugs, maybe even Fat Lou himself. She
hadn't
expected to get a front-row seat at a hit.

She glanced again at her captor. His long
raincoat hung open and his tailored three-piece suit was
soaked—ruined, she hoped. At least
he
still had his shoes
on. If he hadn't been so damn big, she might have managed to get
away from him. She supposed she'd have to make the best of it until
she had another opportunity. She was beginning to believe he wasn't
going to kill her. It made no sense, but he'd have done it by now
if he were going to.

Her foot came down on something sharp, and
she winced, lifted her foot, jerked her arm from his grip and ran
her fingers over the sore spot. No cut. She supposed she'd live. He
watched her, his dark brows drawn together over his narrowed eyes,
as she put her foot down again.

The next thing she knew, he scooped her up
into his arms and carried her, not over his shoulder this time, but
like a hero carries a damsel in distress to safety. Ha! When she
tried to fight him, his powerful arms tightened and she gave it up.
The guy was just too big. She sat still and clenched her teeth. His
jaw was set, she noticed as she watched his face in the rain. Maybe
he found this as distasteful as she did. He carried her as if she
weighed no more than that gun of his. She wished she was eighty
pounds overweight. She wished carrying her would give him a
hernia.