Reckless (7 page)

“Chemistry,” he muttered. “Major
chemistry.”

Turning from the bookcase door he went down
to the second floor and the master bedroom. Since she'd cycloned
into his life, he figured he would have to use this bedroom often.
Before, he'd only done so frequently enough to make it appear
lived-in. He'd have to force himself to keep her out of his
thoughts for the rest of the morning. Lou Taranto and Viper would
be here to see him soon, and he'd damn well better be on his
toes.

If sending him to witness the hit had been a
test of Viper’s loyalty, then Viper had passed with flying colors.
If it had been a test of Nick's loyalty, on the other hand.... he
figured he would soon find out his grade. If he'd been sent because
Lou trusted him, he'd learn that, too. Those were the probable
reasons for this sudden visit from the boss.

Nick grimaced as the third possibility
entered his mind. If Viper or Lou had any idea that Antonia was
still breathing, Nick would be a dead man in the next few
minutes.

Carl knows she's in the apartment upstairs,
he thought grimly. If anything happens to me, he'll come for
her.

Still, his own particular preference was that
he get to keep on living.

He peeled his shirt over his head and tossed
it carelessly as he moved into the adjoining bathroom for a shower.
Despite his decision to keep Antonia out of his thoughts, he
recalled his late-night visit to her apartment as he stood beneath
the pounding spray. He hadn't learned a lot. He'd had to get in and
get out as quickly as possible and do it without being seen. His
reasons for taking her things had been twofold. He wanted her to
have everything she needed and he couldn't afford to be seen buying
women's clothing and toiletries in a store. That was the first
reason. The second was her sister. While it was necessary that the
woman, whoever she was, act worried about Antonia’s disappearance,
Nick had to give the sister something to cling to. With enough of
Antonia's belongings missing, maybe she could believe Antonia had
just taken off for a few days. The sickening worry could be put off
for a little longer. It wasn't much, but it was the best he could
do.

The apartment was nice, but not exactly spic
and span. There had been a day-old newspaper spread on the counter
that separated living room and kitchen. A stained coffee cup sat
there, as well as a cereal bowl with the spoon still inside. A
couple of blouses were slung over the back of the brocade sofa.
Antonia wouldn't win any housekeeping awards.

Nick had moved quickly to the bedroom to get
the clothes she'd need. He found the bed made, but haphazardly. The
comforter was neat, but the sheets underneath showed bumps and
bulges. He took an empty suitcase from her closet but didn't bother
packing it. It was faster to drop the clothes into the trash bag
he'd brought along. Taking the suitcase was just to make her
impromptu vacation a little more believable. He took the book she'd
been reading from her nightstand, too.

He moved into the bathroom, where she'd left
a towel slung crookedly over the shower curtain rod. He took her
toothbrush and everything else she might conceivably need. Before
he left, he’d checked the one remaining room, probably another
bedroom, behind a closed door but when he tried the door, he found
it locked. He frowned. Why keep a spare bedroom locked?

He would have pursued the matter, but the
sound of the telephone—a landline—split the silence like an ax
splitting a melon. It rang again, and Antonia's voice filled the
apartment, so low and sexy it was as if she was in the room.

“...can't come to the phone right now. Leave
a message and I'll get back to you.”

Nick listened. Maybe he'd learn something
about Antonia after all. A woman's voice came clearly.

“Hey, Toni. I loved reading about Katrina's
latest. Can't wait to see what that vixen will be up to next.”
There was a long pause, then, “Look, sis, I’ve got a bad feeling.
And you know that’s a big deal, for me, so if you don’t call me
back, I’m gonna have to come looking.” The woman sighed. “I wish
you’d move upstate, closer to me. Call me, okay? I love you.” The
line went silent, and Nick continued to stare at the machine.

Sis.

Her sister. It had to have been her
sister.

I love you.

Nick sighed as he noticed the framed photo
near the phone. Antonia–Toni–arm in arm with a blonde who looked
nothing like her. Or maybe...yeah, a little bit around the eyes.
They both wore “I’m the evil sister” T-shirts and were smiling.
Their eyes held real love for each other.

A rush of scalding pain filled his chest.
He’d been that close to his own kid brother. He hated worrying
Toni’s sister like this. But dammit, it couldn’t be avoided.

It returned to him all over again, that pain,
as he stood in the shower of his phony home preparing for a meeting
with his phony boss, the man he held responsible for his brother’s
death. He had to focus on Lou Taranto and Viper, on playing the
part he’d spent months creating.

He'd never had the chance to see what was
behind that locked door in Toni’s apartment. People had been coming
and going in the hallways and he’d decided to get out before he was
discovered and questions were asked. He couldn’t stop thinking
about the message on the machine. And he was curious as hell about
that other name Toni’s sister had mentioned. Katrina. Who was
she?

But he couldn't spend any more time dwelling
on any of that. Lou was on his way, would be there any minute. He
twisted the knobs, stopping the water flow, and stepped out. After
toweling down, he dressed in one of the expensive suits he kept in
the closet, and combed his hair back while it was still wet.
Personally, he thought it made him look as though he was stuck in a
time warp, but he did it anyway. It was part of the image, he
supposed. Helped him to look like the gangsters had looked in all
the movies he and Danny had watched as kids. Kept his head in the
game, kept him from breaking character. And that was important.
Breaking character, in this case, would get him killed.

Toni paced the small living room and wondered
if he was deliberately trying to confuse her. He'd been about to
deliver another rapacious kiss, crushing her lips and devastating
her mind. She'd seen it in his face—but then it had changed. He'd
softened visibly. His hold on her had eased until it was more like
an embrace. The anger in his eyes had vanished, and the emotion
that had taken its place, for the tiniest space in time, had looked
like raw desire.

How would she have responded, she wondered,
if his kiss had been tender, driven by attraction rather than
anger?

Insane! Even the idea was insane. She
wouldn't let herself think about it again. It was obvious that he
was playing some kind of mind game with her—trying to convince her
that, though he worked for the most powerful criminal in the state,
maybe the country, he was really just a nice guy. Why else would he
have taken the couch and let her have the bed, or shared her food
so she wouldn't go hungry? It was all part of his ploy to confuse
her—and it was working, she realized.

She forced the overdeveloped jerk out of her
thoughts. Let him be as nice or as mean as he wanted. It wouldn't
matter to her one way or the other. She occupied her mind fully
with unpacking her clothes and finding places to stow them in the
bedroom. She squashed his things to one side of the dresser
drawers, trying but failing to picture him in the brilliant-colored
basketball jerseys she found there. She shoved his things to the
back corner of the closet and hung some of her blouses and sweaters
in front of them. She glimpsed a pair of basketball shoes with neon
laces in them and shook her head. They clashed with her image of
him. She shouldn't be surprised, though. Anyone built the way he
was obviously worked out to get that way.

She hadn't thought about it before. There
must be a whole other side to Nick Manelli, associate to the mob.
Toni's insatiable curiosity was thoroughly aroused. Why the hell
was she wasting time unpacking clothes when she should be giving
this place a complete once over. Who knew what kinds of things the
guy was hiding?

Dragging a chair nearer the bedroom closet,
she stood on it to see what was on the top shelf. At first she
noticed only a couple of spare blankets and a well-worn basketball.
Then she poked around some more, moving things aside to search
behind them, and her fingers met something hard. A photograph in a
frame, she realized as she pulled it down.

She sat on the chair and studied the faded
black-and-white snapshot. A man, a woman and two little boys smiled
back at her. The woman seemed young and happy, and the boy on her
lap bore a striking resemblance to her. But it was the man who
caught her attention. He was the image of Nick Manelli, in every
way except one. He didn't have muscle bulging from every possible
locale. He was lean, lanky. She let her gaze move down to the
little boy standing in front of the man, and she knew she was
looking at Nick. He couldn't have been more than six years old,
with a wide grin and a tooth missing. His hair was a riot of dark
curls beneath his father's hand. A lump formed in her throat. How
did an adorable child like that, from a beautiful family like that,
grow up to be a common criminal?

She was getting distracted again. She stood
and put the photo back where she’d found it, then completed her
examination of the bedroom, noting little of interest except the
far smaller TV. Of course she’d seen it there before, but she
hadn’t given it any thought. Now she did, though. Why have two
televisions in an apartment this small?

In the living room, the first thing she
looked over carefully were the rows of books. It hadn't occurred to
her to wonder if any of hers were among them, but it did now. Her
heart was in her throat as she scanned the spines on the two
shelves along the wall. Not that he could recognize her just
because he'd read her book. It just made her uncomfortable to think
he might have one here. As it turned out, he didn't. She sighed her
relief and frowned. There was one small area where the books were
not pushed back to the wall. A space had been left behind them. She
had to stand on a chair again, and in seconds she pulled a slender
remote control from behind the books.

Why would anyone hide their remote?

She got down, knowing she was onto something.
She had that tingling certainty she got from time to time. Maybe a
shared gene with her half-sister Joey. Like a bloodhound, Toni
always knew when she was on the right trail.

She pointed the remote at the big TV and
pressed the power button. The image that lit the screen was even
more confusing: a tall iron gate, standing motionless on a twisting
drive. She stared, blinked slowly, and then the truth hit her. This
TV was serving as a closed-circuit monitor—probably hooked up to
the camera she'd noticed in the bear's head, as well as several
others. She tested her theory by hitting the channel button. Just
as she'd suspected, each click gave her a view of another part the
mansion.

“He must have a camera hidden in every room,”
she whispered, still flicking through channels. She stopped when
she saw the living room with the black leather furniture and
marble-topped bar. Nick stood at the bar, pouring whiskey into
heavy crystal glasses. He was, once again, the gangster she'd seen
in the alley. He wore a dark suit, minus the jacket. His hair was
slicked down. His stance, his very expression, were different than
when he'd been in the apartment with her.

Beyond him she saw Viper, his beady eyes
darting constantly in his puckered little face. He stood near a fat
man with white hair and flabby jowls. Toni knew him. She would have
known him anywhere. Lou Taranto. She thumbed up the volume button,
and it worked. She could listen to them, as well.