Fugitive Heart

chapter Six


“Where?” Sam, or rather Nick, demanded.

Ames had expected him to prevaricate, try to pretend he had no idea what she was talking about.

“Where what?” she asked.

He shoved his fingers through his hair and she wondered if he’d raised his hand to grab at her and changed his mind because they were out in public. In a low, harsh voice he asked, “Where did you find this stuff online?”

“Why should I tell you?”

He shook his head. She turned to see the waitress behind her walk away. His head shake had been directed at the waitress.

He took a deep breath, then let it go. “I guess there’s no reason you should tell me. Trouble is, it’s important to know if I’m on the radar as someone other than Sam Allen. See?”

Hearing him say those words made her stomach knot tight with fear. Ames had actually discovered Nick Rossi. He’d just about confessed that he really was Nick Rossi, and he wouldn’t even pretend to be Sam anymore.

“Why?” She couldn’t manage more.

He stretched out his legs and folded his hands on his belly. “Let’s just say I grew up in what you Arnesdale types would call an unsavory atmosphere.”

“Oh.”

He shrugged. “My dad was in the…business.”

That little hesitation said it all. The family business wasn’t insurance or real estate.

His attractive, mild face had transformed into something dangerous. His voice had changed into something quick and rough. Had he made up that stuff about working in a museum? This guy was a thug, and he’d been searching for some kind of information about her brother by trying to seduce her. How many lonely women had he screwed in his cold-blooded career?

She muttered, “The good news is, the FBI can find you.”

He flashed something resembling a smile, white teeth but no warmth. “As far as I know, they have no interest in me.”

“As far as you know? Oh really? You talk to them every day?”

“Not for a few years now. They’re not my favorite people.”

“Big surprise that people who live outside the law don’t send change-of-address forms to the FBI.” She bit her lip, wondering why she felt the urge to be snarky to a potentially dangerous guy.

But he didn’t seem to take offense at her tone. The worst of his shock seemed to have faded away, and his body seemed less tense.

“Yeah? You think they’re so wonderful? A guy from the FBI took some kind of bribe to beat the shit out of my father, who wanted out of the business. That crooked agent broke both his legs, his arm, a couple of ribs, his jaw. I don’t think the system is full of corrupt guys like Agent Kennedy, but…” He shrugged.

She picked up her water glass, hoping he’d made up the story. At least he was talking to her. She should encourage this. Maybe she should have tried to record this conversation. She fiddled with the phone in her pocket and wished she’d read the guide. He paid too close attention to her now. She couldn’t fish it out and push random buttons to record the conversation.

“Mr. Ross, or Rossi, you think the FBI isn’t looking for you? I have news for you, they’re the ones who mentioned your name when I asked about my brother’s disappearance.” The investigator she’d hired had some kind of license, after all, so it wasn’t entirely a lie.

He fell silent for almost a full minute and scowled at nothing in particular. “Wow. Shit. Then the feds must have an insider with the Espositos. I’ve seen it go the other way around—the Espositos usually know what any organized crime task force is up to. But this? Their security must be off. They’re usually better than this.”

He wasn’t denying a single word.

Except he didn’t seem upset by the thought of the FBI winning. It might have been an act, but that fact helped ease the heart-racing nausea she’d felt since telling him she knew who he was.

She even felt brave enough to push. “Who’re the Espositos and what have they done to my brother?”

“My father’s boss was Cesar Esposito. The guy is also my dad’s second cousin, which is why our family’s even involved. His son is Bert. One or both are after me. After Elliot. That’s all I’m gonna tell you.” He leaned forward, studying her as if trying to read her mind. “But I have to know. Did you tell anyone you found me? Speaking of which, how did you find me?”

“I told you, an Internet search. It wasn’t that hard. Your photo, taken at the opening of a nightclub, popped up, and then I knew for sure who you were.”

The furrow between his brows deepened. “Did you leave any kind of path back to you when you did this search?”

She ignored the question. She wanted information from him, not the other way around.

He still studied her face. How could anyone maintain such a level of intensity for more than a minute? “I take that as a no. Good thing.”

Uh-oh. Now he believed no one else in Arnesdale knew his true identity. When they left the restaurant he could knock her out, shove her into a trunk, and no one would suspect him.

She blurted, “Yes. People know what I’m doing. They know I’m here with you.”

“You mean people like whatshername, Marty, at the Back Porch? Did you tell her anything about Nick Rossi?” He braced his hands on the edge of the table as if he’d push away and jump up.

She stared at the checkered tablecloth and didn’t answer, but he must have seen the truth.

“Good,” he said. “That’s good you didn’t say anything. We most definitely don’t want this getting back to New York.”

Ames knew she was a rotten liar but, damn it, she hadn’t even opened her mouth. He just watched her closely—maybe more closely than anyone in her life ever had. Figured the first man who could melt her knees with his kisses and who really paid attention to her might be a dangerous criminal.

The waitress appeared again. Nick smiled at her as if he didn’t have a care in the world. “I’ll take the special. The one with, um, salmon.”

Ames was too upset to eat. She was on the cusp of solving the mystery of Elliot’s disappearance at last and she was terrified of what she would find out. “Just some iced tea.”

“How about a piece of pie or something? We could share if you want.” He sounded playful, as if they were out on a regular date.

“Sure. Okay. Peach, please.”

The waitress left.

She’d try some of that intense staring on him. “What’s happened to Elliot? Is he alive? Have you seen him? I want to know everything. Right. Now!”

He shifted in his chair, glanced around the room before focusing on her again. “I didn’t set up your brother. Didn’t you know he worked for the Espositos?”

Elliot didn’t tell her anything, and at least now she knew why. “Why are you involved then? Why are you looking for him?”

Nick gave the rueful grin she’d found charming yesterday. Today her fury rose at the sight. Nick said, “He dragged me into this, and as far as I know, he’s still out there somewhere, alive and on the run.”

She wanted to get up and slam out of there or maybe pour water over his head. But she needed more answers first.

“Go on,” she said, hoping she sounded inviting rather than outraged. “Tell me what he did and why these people are after him. He’s my brother. I have a right to know.”

“I don’t think I should go into the details. Maybe later. The important point is that because of what Elliot did, some very unpleasant people are angry with me. People with money and reach and power. People who can bribe officers of the law and who aren’t above using someone like a waitress in a small town to get what they want.”

“Are you threatening me?”

“No. Warning you.” That grim flicker of a smile again. “Don’t try to deal with the Espositos. If they find out about your connection with Elliot, they might use you as bait to lure him back. Get it?”

The food arrived. Ames waited until the waitress left again to speak.

“I don’t want to get involved with you people any more than I have to. I just want to find out where Elliot is. You know where he’s gone, don’t you?”

He shook his head. “I have no clue. I wish I did.”

“Why do you wish that? What do you want from him?”

“I’d rather not say. You don’t need to know, honey.”

Honey? He had the nerve to call her by an endearment?

“Yes, I do need to know, sweetie pie.”

Her effort to get him mad didn’t work. He only grinned.

“When you say you’d rather not tell me what you want from Elliot—does that mean you’re maybe, umm.” She had to stop, then tried again. “You’d kill him?”

“I’d be tempted, but no. I promise I’m no assassin, just a museum curator with really unfortunate relatives. I worked hard to escape their world but like Pacino said, just when you think you’re out, they pull you back in.” His easy smile vanished, and he looked…sad.

Maybe it was stupid to believe he wasn’t a killer, but for some reason—shared amusement maybe—as they talked, she relaxed a little. Not enough to get into a car with him. She’d been fluctuating between outrage and fear, and she’d gratefully take a break from the extreme emotions. She picked up the fork and poked at the pie.

He didn’t have any qualms and dug into the fish and rice. Between mouthfuls, he said, “Like I said, I’m not telling you all the details. You’re safer being ignorant if the Espositos should find and question you.”

She wondered if she should push more or act as if she believed him. But nerves won out, again, and she got pushy when she got scared. “So I should believe that my brother, an accountant, is involved with criminals? And not you, a man who’s been connected to the mob his whole life?”

“Yeah.”

She waited in vain for him to explain. He calmly ate the salmon, going through the food rapidly but neatly. Good manners for an animal.

“Why are you poking around the house? What are you looking for?” She remembered the shovel Sam held when she’d first encountered him at the house. Not Sam, dammit. She had to remember he was Nick.

And now she thought of the dirt on his hands and jeans—and oh no. The dirt floor in the basement. For a horrible moment, she wondered if he was digging holes to find or, worse, plant Elliot’s corpse. She thought back on their conversations. No. She didn’t believe he’d killed Elliot but perhaps he believed someone else might have.

Ames abandoned any attempts to manipulate him and begged for the truth. “You kept asking about his habits and places Elliot liked. Please, tell me you’re not looking for his body.”

He raised his brows and stopped eating. “No. Not him. I’m looking for some things he took from the Espositos. Like I said, he worked for them. Didn’t he tell you about what he did for a living at all?”

She shook her head. ”Not really. He mentioned accounting for some firm, but he was vague about it.”

Sam/Nick withheld information, but she believed him when he said he didn’t know where Elliot was. Why in God’s name did she feel like she could trust him? She felt like a rubber ball, bouncing up—yes, she believed him, and down—no, he was just a lying scumbag. Maybe the strong attraction she’d felt for him made a neutral response impossible. Because even if it had been a lie, yesterday’s immediate sense of connection still existed inside her.

She heaved a sigh. “What did Elliot take?”

He hesitated, then said, “Evidence.”

“Maybe he was going to the police?”

“No, I’m sorry, I don’t think that was his intention.” He really did sound sorry. Boing, her emotions bounced back into trust again.

He put down his fork and rubbed his face briskly, as if trying to wake himself up. “It’s not just evidence about shady accounting that vanished. A hell of a lot of cash is gone too.”

He pushed away the food half eaten. Maybe he wasn’t so calm after all. “That’s part of the reason the Espositos are so determined. They don’t want the news to get out. Elliot makes them look bad. Anyone who knows anything will be in a lot of trouble.”

His voice turned gruff with anger—at Elliot or her? She flinched away.

“I’m not threatening you, just telling you how it is. Dammit, will you please believe I don’t mean you harm?”

She gave a nod, unwilling to trust her voice.

“You know pretty much everything now, so do me a favor and tell me the truth, after you did your search for my name did you talk to anyone about me?”

She didn’t owe him. She wanted him to tell her more of his secrets—any of his secrets. “Why’d you tell me you’re a museum curator?”

“I am. I’m not lying, Ames. I promise. I help run a small museum on the Upper East Side devoted to New York history.” He started to reach for his back pocket, then shook his head. “Past tense. I jettisoned that job and that part of my life. Ha. I was going to give you a business card, but they’re all gone. I had to leave behind even the damn business cards.” He sounded bitter.

“If you left that old life, then how’d you get involved with my brother? And what are curators doing going clubbing with people like Sandra Marvin?”

He’d been eyeing her uneaten pie but looked up sharply at her words. “Sandra’s an old friend from before I changed my life. How’d you know about her?”

“She was in the photo and I tracked it back to her Facebook page.”

“Christ,” he whispered. “What did you do? Did you contact her?”

She nodded.

“Oh, shit.”

He stood up, pulled out his wallet and threw a couple of twenties on the table. “Come on.”

“What’s wrong?”

“What’s wrong is that Sandra Marvin is Bert Esposito’s girlfriend. If she knows where I am, so does he.”

“Bert Esposito.” He’d said that name before.

“A really, really bad guy.” He grabbed her hand. “Let’s go. Now.”