Fugitive Heart

chapter Five


Ames wasn’t sure why she didn’t try harder to lure Sam home. They could have a conversation. Maybe drink wine. Perhaps get naked. She laughed out loud at that. A woman taking a man home wouldn’t exactly be labeled a skank—this wasn’t the 1950s, even if that decade took its time abandoning Arnesdale. But she’d have to field an awful lot of questions in town—especially when it was the mysterious New Yorker she dragged back to her lair.

But that wasn’t the reason she’d left him at the park. Except during the few moments he’d relaxed enough to laugh or talk or kiss her with amazing intensity, Sam wore an air of impatient danger. She wasn’t the world’s most observant woman, but she could tell he was trying to keep his face hidden when people came around. And he’d asked so many questions of his own every time someone came to the blanket. He seemed particularly interested in anything to do with Elliot. And he was from New York. Sure, it was a big city, as he kept telling people. But how often did people from New York show up in Arnesdale? And move into that house? And ask all about her brother?

Too bad he kissed like nothing she’d ever experienced before—an amazing, skillful, gentle exploration that flowed into passionate hunger. And when she moved against him, oh yeah, she could tell his interest in her wasn’t feigned.

And his breathy moan. Her insides clutched at the memory of that single, involuntary sound he’d made.

But until she understood who Sam Allen was and what he wanted here, she was going to stay as safe as possible. Her sudden unreasonable, ravenous hunger for a man she didn’t know was frightening. She didn’t like the uncontrolled roller-coaster-drop feeling his kisses had given her. She had no intention of falling for a tall, dark stranger.

She walked back to her apartment and wandered the rooms listlessly. No, she didn’t want to clean. No, she most definitely didn’t want to think about damned Sam Allen.

After an attempt to watch some reality show about brides, Ames decided the best thing to do was to put down the remote and do something that would really engage her mind. She tried to work on a couple of web pages. But her brain wouldn’t stop harping on Sam and then on her brother.

With a few clicks, she went back to the endless search for Elliot. He never talked about his social life, and her brother hadn’t mentioned a lot of names about his job as an accountant, but she recalled he’d talked about someone who’d gotten in trouble at work years earlier. Rossi.

That last name was similar to Nick Ross, the name the detective had found for her. During her last search for that name she’d uncovered hundreds of possibilities in New York alone, and none lived near her brother’s apartment.

With a sense of foreboding, she did another search on Nick Ross, this time adding an “i” to the name.

When she did a search for images, she hit pay dirt. A series of grainy, out-of-focus photos popped up. Nick Rossi stood in the background of a group at the opening of a dance club in Manhattan. He wore a jacket, and his hair was short, well-groomed.

Her heart beat painfully as she leaned close. He looked younger, but she could recognize those dark eyes, the lazy half-smile on the very attractive, familiar mouth—the one she’d recently licked and kissed. Sam Allen was Nick Rossi. No wonder why he was trying to hide. But why was he hiding here of all places? Hiding or seeking?

He’d avoided everyone in town, everyone but her, and now she knew why. He had to be looking for Elliot and decided to use Elliot’s naïve sex-starved sister to find him.

“No.” She said the word out loud. “Please. No.”

With trembling fingers, she clicked on the source of the photo, a party from a long time ago. She traced the photo back, through a gossip column about fresh young faces at a nightclub, back to a Facebook page belonging to a woman named Sandy Marvin from Brooklyn, New York. Sandy claimed to love partying and clubbing, and, judging from the photos Ames found, she had big hair and legs to kill for.

Sam Allen–no, Nick Rossi–wasn’t the only one who could go hunting.

Ames decided to try to add Sandy as a friend and wrote a quick message to her via Facebook. “I noticed we have a friend in common in your pix. Nick Rossi. Could he currently be in Arnesdale, Wisconsin?”

She hit send. Then immediately started another message. “Sorry to bother you again, but I wonder if maybe you have heard of my brother, Elliot Jensen? He’s been missing for a few months.” She deleted the second sentence. No need to spook the woman, after all. She substituted, “I’m currently trying to track him down. Thanks!”

She grimly set to work discovering everything she could about Nick Rossi and then Sam Allen and she had almost no luck. Neither identity had a presence on the Internet. He’d never been convicted of a crime. Then again, who knew what names he used and how often? Ames gave up and went back to work.

At about one a.m., when she should have been asleep, she still sat at her computer. As she updated the Shear Madness Hair Salon’s page, an e-mail pinged in her inbox.

Sandy had accepted her friendship with a note. “OMG. You know Nick? And he’s in Wisconsin? OMG! I bet some of our homies will be psyched to hear that.” She had added a smiley face. “Don’t tell him I said hello tho. It’ll be a surprise.”

She didn’t mention Elliot.

Ames should have explored her new “friend’s” page at once, because when she took time to check few minutes later, Sandy had unfriended her. She must have done more than that, because now Ames couldn’t find any proof on Facebook that Sandy Marvin existed. The photos of Nick Rossi had vanished too, though a couple Sandy had posted were still in Ames’s computer memory. What was that about? A Facebook glitch? She doubted it. Her spine prickled with unease. Why would Sandy Marvin wipe away all evidence of herself?

She wrote down the name of the nightclub before she or her computer forgot it and wondered if she should call. After all, they must still be open.

Instead, she stretched out on her bed, thinking of how she could get Nick Rossi, aka Nick Ross, aka Sam Allen, to tell her everything. Maybe she could use her father’s shotgun to threaten him. That dangerous man would get it out of her hands before she’d manage to level it at him.

No, she’d keep playing his game of pretend. Maybe it was time to contact the authorities again. They were sick of her nagging them about Elliot, but now she had more to hand over. The FBI might even be interested.

Ross, Rossi. It had been dumb of her not to notice, but she wasn’t a trained professional. Why hadn’t that detective found this stuff out?

She punched the pillow and tried to force herself to relax. She couldn’t do anything about Rossi in the middle of the night. But knowing that a man who could potentially tell her about her brother was living only a few miles away made it impossible to sleep. She felt sick at having spent most of the day with him, laughing and talking, telling him stories about her and Elliot, letting him into her life. My God, she’d kissed him! More than kissed him, she’d writhed against his hard body acting like a cat in heat. This twisted bastard knew all sorts of things about her, and she knew nothing about him.

Ames threw back the covers and went to stare out the window. If she angled her body just right, she could… Well, she couldn’t really see her house, five miles away, but she could picture it there—with that New York snake coiled up and hissing inside it, probably with laughter at dumb hick Ames.

Damned if she would call the New York police, who’d probably write her off as a nut job. First she’d find out all she could about Nick Rossi. He didn’t suspect she knew the truth about him. She’d play dumb and this time she’d be the one drawing out his secrets.





It turned out Ames could abandon all her late-night plans to visit Rossi and get him to talk to her again, because he turned up at the Back Porch during her morning shift. It was her turn to open, so she’d been there since before sunrise. The sleepless hours of the previous night were starting to drag on her when Rossi walked through the door.

Her heart did a flip, then banged against her breastbone at the sight of the handsome, horrible stranger filling the doorway. Was he a physical danger to her? She didn’t really think so, because they’d been alone in the woods yesterday and he hadn’t done anything besides ply her with questions. But if he knew she’d discovered who he really was, that might change.

Ames pasted on a big, wide, good-ole-girl, waitress smile and met him at the counter as he slid onto a stool. “Mornin’. How’d ya sleep?” Good lord, she was affecting a Southern drawl as if she were a character in a movie. But Sam/Nick didn’t seem to notice.

“Okay. That old house has a lot of creaks and groans.”

“Oh, it’s haunted. I have no doubt of that. But not in a violent Amityville kind of way. I think the spirits that walk there are more the weepy, how do I get to the other side? kind.” She grinned. How easy it was to make small talk with him as if she didn’t know anything. For one fleeting moment, she wished she didn’t know, wished she could go back to yesterday’s innocence. That was the worst part. She’d really liked Sam, but now she had to remember he was Nick Ross—no Rossi—the biggest clue to Elliot’s disappearance she’d found so far—and who might be behind her brother’s vanishing act.

Ross smiled back, and she’d have to be dead not to notice the way his dark eyes shone with amusement, a shared moment of pleasure. “Well, I didn’t hear any moaning or ghostly whining, but I did hear plenty of claws scrabbling on the floors.” Some fellow vermin coming in for a visit? “You know the number of a good exterminator?”

“Jim over there can take care of it.” She nodded at the large man wedged into his usual corner booth along with his buddies, Al and Dave, two other very wide men.

Ross glanced at the booth, then back at her. “Listen, I’m sorry about last night. I wasn’t very sociable. Guess I was still tired from fixing the place up.” He lowered his voice. “And as for that…thing that happened under the tree…”

Ames waved it away. “Forget it. Slate’s wiped clean. It was a heat-of-the-moment kind of thing.” Heated moment, indeed. Her body started to stoke again at the mere memory of the previous night’s kissing and groping and rubbing, and she had a hard time keeping her gaze from settling on Rossi’s mouth.

How sick was it that she was still attracted to the dirty liar and possibly worse? She couldn’t let herself dwell on his real identity and what he might have done to her brother. She wasn’t enough of an actor to hide her response.

He didn’t seem to notice her discomfort yet. “I’d like to make it up to you. When does your shift end? Can I take you out for a meal or coffee or something?”

And grill me with more questions about my missing brother? Sure, why not. Ames turned on her waitress smile again. “Sure. Why not? One good thing about the early morning shift, I’m off by one. Give me some time to go home and clean up, and I’ll be good to go.”

Ames went to fill coffee cups and take orders from the morning rush of customers. The familiar work settled her some, so by the time she faced Ross again, the flutters in her stomach had turned to a dull ache.

“Where can I pick you up?” he asked.

“My apartment’s on Dodge Street.” The moment the words were out of her mouth, she realized how stupid it was to let him know where she lived. But the town was so small, if he wanted to find out, he would anyway.

“See you later, then.” Ross rose from his stool and faced her across the counter. His eyes locked with hers, and his lips parted as if he were going to add something…or maybe lean across the counter and kiss her. Then the moment passed. He nodded, turned and strode toward the door with that gliding grace.

Ames tore her gaze away from the back of his jeans and went to get Mary Bates’s order of pecan pancakes.

Sick, sick puppy, Ames. Even though the man with too many names and mysteries spelled big trouble, the way her heartbeat quickened in his presence wasn’t just about fear.





Nick had searched every nook of the house and dug up every damn place he could think of in the basement. He’d dug in the clearing in the woods, revealing nothing but tree roots, which, it turned out, were a bitch to chop through. The chances of Elliot having hidden something there receded by the minute. The documents and currency Nick expected to find might be ruined by moisture no matter how carefully Elliot packaged them before burying them. Stupid idea to come here. Everything was probably back in New York or maybe with Elliot himself—wherever he was. He’d followed a hunch that just wasn’t panning out. But he’d been so certain Elliot would flee to a place he considered “safe”, a place beyond the usual reach of the Espositos.

Nick jammed the shovel into the earth and rested his forearms against the handle. At this moment, he’d honestly like to kill Elliot himself. If it weren’t for that weasel, he’d be having a normal, unassuming day at the museum, probably writing fund-raising letters. Occasionally dull, that existence, but infinitely preferable to this mess. His friendship with Elliot had dragged him back into a world he’d carefully cut all ties with. Bloodlines kept the Rossis connected to the Espositos for life. A crime family was something Nick had been born into, never chosen. And now he was back on the Espositos’ radar, reliving the nightmare he’d seen play out with his father after he tried to leave.

He lifted his face from where it rested against his crossed arms and looked around the silent clearing. He still hadn’t grown used to the absence of humans and the presence of every other sort of other damn animal. Insects buzzed, birds called, leaves and sticks rustled as small creatures scampered through the woods. How easy it would be for someone to sneak up on him here as he blithely dug away and eliminate him. He’d even given wannabe murderers a nice head start on his own grave.

Sweat trickled down his spine. He cursed Elliot’s name and pulled the shovel from the earth. It was nearly time for his date with Ames. Time to go back to the house—her house, as he thought of it now—and stand under the weak stream of water in the shower, wash away the grime and sweat of his labors. He’d question her again, find out any details about Elliot that might open a new line of exploration. If he felt guilty about using Ames, he’d bury that guilt deep, maybe in one of the trenches he’d dug out in the woods or down in the basement.

Later, as he picked out a shirt to wear with his jeans, Nick was annoyed to realize he was taking his time choosing, considering his appearance and how he’d look to Ames. That was date thinking, and this didn’t count as a real date any more than last night had been. He sought out this woman for one reason only—to learn more about her brother.

That was what he kept telling himself right up to the moment when he rang the buzzer of her apartment and she appeared moments later in the doorway. Then the pretense collapsed.

He couldn’t suppress the goofy grin on his face even if he wanted to. He was that happy to see her again—as if he hadn’t just talked to her in the diner a handful of hours before. Her sunny presence made him feel more buoyant than he’d felt in a long time—including before this Esposito mess began.

“Hi. How was work?” he asked.

“Oh, you know, work-like.” She locked the door behind her and followed him down the steps on the side of the house, which had obviously once been a single-family dwelling, now converted into a duplex.

“I love the customers, really. But slinging hash is hard work.” She sounded almost unnaturally perky, and he wondered if she was still wearing her dealing-with-the-public front.

Nick glanced sideways at her. “So you’re starting up the web-design business you told me about?” He took a moment to appreciate her figure under the dark-blue skirt and flowered top with a neckline that he wished dipped a little deeper and showed more of that creamy skin.

“Yeah. It’s doing well but not quite well enough that I can quit the restaurant yet.”

“Starting a business isn’t easy.” They walked out to the crappy Volvo he’d bought for cash the morning after the shit hit the fan. He opened the passenger door for her and watched Ames climb inside. His gaze lingered on her legs when her skirt hiked higher.

“You mentioned being between jobs right now,” Ames said after he slid behind the steering wheel. “What business were you in before?”

“I’m a… I was a curator at a museum. I lost my job due to budget cuts.” That and your crazy brother incriminating me in his scheme so the Espositos are on my ass.

Ames’s head swiveled toward him so fast her curls bounced. Her already wide eyes turned into saucers. “Really? I never would have guessed that. You don’t seem…”

“What? Artsy enough? It was a history museum. My degree was in archeology, but I only went on one dig as a kid, going through a midden pile near the East River. Really cool to find traces of the everyday lives of average people. There’s a tenement museum in New York that’s great.”

“Goodness,” Ames exclaimed and sounded remarkably like Shirley Temple. “What in the world are you doing here, then? You’re not going to find a job like that around Arnesdale.”

“No. Like I said, I’m taking a break, regrouping, so to speak.”

“Must be nice to be able to take time off work. You have a trust fund or something?” She grimaced but didn’t seem actually embarrassed. “Sorry. That was rude.”

“It’s all right. Actually, my family was once pretty well-to-do; then circumstances changed. But since then, I’ve made some good investments.”

“Interesting.” Ames cocked her head and studied him. “You’re unexpected, Sam Allen.”

Nick felt his cheeks burn at the name. He didn’t like lying, especially to a sweet, uncomplicated woman like Ames Jensen. But it couldn’t be helped. Best to change the subject, since she was asking too many personal questions, and he didn’t want to slip up. He wasn’t a world-class prevaricator, and anyway, she disconcerted him.

“So where am I driving?”

“Shandy’s on the River. Just go out past the lumber yard. They have pretty good seafood. Although I bet you’re used to great, since you come from a state right on the ocean. Did you get to visit the beach a lot back home?”

All the way to the restaurant, Ames continued to pick at him with questions about his past, his family, his work and his life in New York. He answered truthfully when he could and skirted around the edges of stickier questions. But the longer they were on the road, the more he sensed tension and nervousness radiating from Ames. Her tone seemed increasingly short, and she fidgeted in her seat.

Nick glanced at her, noting the tight lines at the corners of her mouth, and finally he asked point-blank, “Is there something wrong?”

“Turn here.” Ames pointed out the sign for Shandy’s, which was indeed on a small river, more like a creek.

Nick obeyed, pulling the car to a stop in the parking lot before turning to her. “Have I said or done something to upset you?” He thought of the previous night, his hands gripping her ass and his tongue plunging into her mouth. Yeah, that probably had something to do with her mood. She may have brushed it off as no big deal, but encounters like that had a way of coloring a “friendship”.

Ames frowned, her brows knitted together in a way that was ridiculously adorable. What the hell was the matter with him that he kept getting distracted by little details like that?

She looked as though she would answer but instead got out of the car and walked quickly toward the restaurant, across the gravel lot.

Yup. Pissed off. He’d met drama queens and entitled women, and he would have bet Ames wasn’t one of their ranks, but he’d been wrong about character before. Exhibit A, her goddamned brother.

Stifling a sigh, he followed her into the restaurant, a place cluttered with red-and-white-checked tablecloths and wide windows overlooking the river. There seemed to be some kind of fish and gristmill theme to it and the blackboard showed a list of standard food—upscale from a diner, but probably not as good as a place like the Back Porch.

“A quiet corner, please.” She managed a smile for the hostess, who smiled back and winked.

“Sure thing, Ames.”

Of course she knew the woman. Everyone knew everyone else in this little corner of the world, and he was a moron for going out in public. At least she didn’t introduce him. In fact, she didn’t seem to even acknowledge his presence as he followed her.

The hostess took Ames at her word about quiet. The front tables of the place were bustling, and she put them far across the dining room at a back corner, a sort of no-man’s-land. He grabbed the chair against the wall, facing the room. Old tricks he’d learned from Dad and bad movies.

Once the hostess left, he waited for Ames to pick up the vinyl-covered menu, but she didn’t. She leaned across the table.

“Look. I suck at playing games,” she said in a low voice.

“Okay.” So this was definitely about last night. She wanted to discuss what had happened. Nick braced for an at-length discussion of what those kisses had meant.

“I’m probably an idiot for telling you this, but I’m just going to lay it out there.”

Oh crap, this was worse than he’d thought. She’d developed some sort of “feelings” for him. Although probably that wasn’t true, because at the moment, she seemed annoyed with him. That should have been a relief.

It wasn’t.

He waited, drumming his fingers on the table.

“I know who you are and that you have some sort of connection to my brother.”

“Huh?” He was so shocked he couldn’t breathe for a moment. His fingers went still.

“Don’t deny it. I found you on the Internet. I may be small-town, but I ain’t dumb, Nick Rossi. I saw pictures of you.”

His first thought was, I’m in trouble. His second: and so is Ames Jensen.