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“Just go straight till I tell you to turn.”
John put the car in gear and took off, slowly, down the street, trying to think of a way to get Blue Eyes out of this. “You wanna be in the cell next to Sal’s, is that it? So he won’t be lonely?”
“He’s not goin’ to jail, Johnny, and neither am I. Turn right.”
“Sal’s crazy if he thinks I’m gonna let this go.” John’s mind raced. The guy hadn’t denied knowing Sal. But how? What had that idiot gotten himself into?
“Yeah, well, we’ll see who’s crazy. Take the second left.”
John’s gaze darted between the road and the rearview mirror. Maybe there was something familiar about the guy’s thick black brows and the droop to the left side of his mouth. But John still couldn’t place him. Shit, he’d probably seen him in a mug shot.
“Another left at the light.”
John’s hands tightened on the wheel as he realized where he was heading. “What is this? Some kinda joke? You takin’ me to the neighborhood?”
“You’re really a very attractive girl,” the man said. “So what are you, an actress?”
Bella, who’d held her breath at every bump and turn, terrified the gun would go off, looked up in surprise. She’d hoped the detective and the maniac would get so caught up in the conversation that she’d have an opportunity to get out of this stupid car. “I do my best,” she said, channeling the ballsy babe she’d played in her last stint off Broadway. “But you gentlemen seem determined to keep me away from the biggest audition of the year.”
“Given this is the last day of the year, that can’t be too bad, right?”
“It was an expression, somewhat hyperbolic, but close enough.”
“Hyper what?”
“Never mind. What is this neighborhood you’re dragging me to?”
The man gave her an oily smile instead of an answer, and met John’s eyes in the mirror.
“Is this neighborhood in the city?”
“It’s not far.”
“Then you’ll let me go?”
He shrugged. “It’s not up to me. What’s your name, sweetheart?”
“My name is inconsequential. Just think of me as the innocent bystander. The one who’s done nothing whatsoever that would cause anyone to shoot me.”
He laughed. At least she thought it was a laugh. It could have been a cough. The man had a very thick neck, topped by a couple of chins. His face had that ruddy, unhealthy look, as if one more plate of spaghetti would send him to the hospital. Counseling him on his eating habits probably wasn’t a good idea. She just hoped he didn’t have a stroke before he stopped pointing that gun at her.
“You can call me Vince,” he said, his gaze going to her chest.
She pulled her coat closed.
“Where you takin’ us?” The detective glanced back at the big man. “A warehouse? That field by Tony’s? You don’t want to kill a cop. That’s life, buddy. Hard time.”
“Shut up. I’m talkin’ back here.”
“No, no,” Bella said. “Feel free to discuss whatever you want. I’m not even listening. I’m humming quietly to myself.” She bit her lip. Why did she have to babble when she was nervous? If she’d just stay quiet, do what he asked… Oh, God, if she could just not throw up.
“You’re damn cute.” He lifted the gun a bit. “Where are your people from, huh? France, maybe?”
“My people are from Arizona. Tempe, to be exact.”
“Naw, I’m talkin’ about your famiglia, your ancestors.”
She wasn’t going to tell this cretin a thing. Not a true thing, at least. But she didn’t want to piss him off, either. “Yes, France and England. That’s where my ancestors are from. Are we almost there?”
He looked front, and she stole a glance at the door handle.
“Turn right, next block.”
The detective started swearing a blue streak. “You’re takin’ me to Sal’s house? Where his mother and his grandmother live? Right under his roof?”
“Pull into the garage. It’s empty. Oh, and Johnny, you better hand me your cell phone, ‘cause this ain’t no joke.”
“No, shit. I kind of figured that out when Sal shot me.”
Bella tensed again, and was pretty certain she was going to be sick all over her best dress. They were taking her to a man who’d already shot a cop, who had no qualms about letting his family know. Maybe if she fainted, they’d take pity. She was good at fainting. Best in her class.
With the gun pointed at her like that, she couldn’t act anything but terrified.
2
BEFORE HE’D EVEN PUT the cab in Park, the garage door closed. In the dim light, John thought about how he was going to get the actress clear so he could shoot Vince with the gun he had stashed in his ankle holster.
The door that connected the garage to the old two-story brick house opened, and there was Sal himself, pointing not his beloved Sig Sauer but a friggin’ doublebarreled shotgun.
“Put your hands out the window, Johnny. On top of the car.”
“You know what you can do with that shotgun, don’t you, Sal?” The idiot kid always had to have the biggest toys. John couldn’t believe he’d given Sal the time of day, let alone tried to help him get into community college. Sal took after his mother’s side. He was as thin as a rail and dressed like an extra on Miami Vice.
“Just do as I say.” Sal’s gaze went to the woman. So did the barrel of his shotgun. “Who the hell is she?”
“Put the fucking gun down before you shoot somebody.” Vince sounded exasperated, and to John’s surprise, Sal backed up a step and lowered the shotgun.
Which made John even more curious about Vince because the kid was too hotheaded to back down for anybody. Behind him, John heard the door opening, felt the cab rock heavily as Vince got out, then the door shut again. A moment later, his peripheral vision caught the hostage walking toward Sal. Handcuffs held her wrists behind her back and even in the puffy down coat, her arm was dwarfed by Vince’s burly grip.
“Johnny. I ain’t got all day.”
He should refuse. Dive down and get his other gun. Shoot and pray he didn’t hit the girl. But she hadn’t done anything except turn up in the wrong place at the wrong time. He really didn’t want to go to hell for killing her. Not that he wasn’t going anyway, but still. This was all his fault, not hers.
He put his hands on the cab’s roof and watched as Sal slyly inched the shotgun toward him. John stared him down, holding the kid’s hateful gaze. No way John would give him the satisfaction of showing that he gave a damn about the shotgun. But then Sal swung the barrel so it pointed at the woman. Not just pointed. Touched. John knew exactly what would happen to her if those two shells went off.
Vince came back to the cab and cuffed John’s wrists. John stood still as a statue as he was frisked, as his gun was pulled from his ankle holster. Vince snickered, and it took all John’s willpower not to knee the fat man in the groin.
Vince had everything now. John’s weapon, both cell phones, even the girl’s tote bag from the backseat. All neat and tidy. John had to wonder how this would have played out if she hadn’t been in the cab. Someone would have died, and it wouldn’t have been him.
“Let’s go,” Vince said, poking him in the back with his pistol.
“Va fungule sfacime.”
“Watch your mouth,” Sal said, snorting. “Remember your girlfriend here.”
“Let her go, Sal. She ain’t involved in this.”
“She is now, Johnny. Come on. We have things to discuss.”
“Like how you shot me?”
“Be careful,” Vince said, his voice lower, closer.
“What?”
Vince hissed at him. “Just shut up. It’ll be okay if you just shut your mouth for five minutes.”
The urge to mess up this gavone was so strong it made every muscle in John’s body tense. He kept his gaze on the shotgun, jerking forward when it met the woman’s coat.
Vince noticed and gave Sal a warning look. The whole thing made John nervous. Sal had been getting in trouble for a while, but mostly small stuff. Vince not only wasn’t from the neighborhood, but he sounded as if he was from the old country. If Sal had somehow gotten mixed up with the Mob, this wouldn’t end well.
And thanks to John, the woman was now in it up to her pretty little neck.
Sal pushed her inside, but not far. The door to the basement was open and he prodded her down. Vince did his own urging and soon they were in the basement of the Molinari family home, only things had changed since John had last been there.
For one, the new door at the base of the stairs. It looked weird. Not just because it was steel, but because it had a slot in the middle, as if it had been made for a psychiatric lock ward. It had to have cost a fortune, but Sal had probably gotten a deal from his uncle’s cousin Nick, who owned a place out in Jersey. Or maybe this was a new Family addition. “What’s with the door?”
Vince poked him on. “What did I say about keeping your mouth shut?”
“Be happy to help you with that there, Johnny,” Sal said, forcing all of them inside the room.
A brown velvet couch dominated the basement itself. The TV was gone, so was the table it used to sit on. No books. No radio. Only a dingy floor lamp. The place looked like a tomb.
“Sit down.”
Johnny stood his ground. “Take the cuffs off.”
“Yeah, right. Sit down.” Sal didn’t push at him, but he did push the girl. The fear on her face when she turned was enough to get John moving.
The couch was even bigger than he’d guessed. He sank into the lumpy cushion. “So, I’m sittin’.”
“You and me, Johnny, we have a deal to make.”
“The only deal I’m interested in is the one where you and your mook friend here end up doing five to ten.”
“Okay, so we won’t talk now. That’s cool. Sweat it out. I don’t give a shit.”
John heard movement upstairs, reminding him where he was. “Where’s Nonna?”
Sal shifted nervously. “Don’t worry about her.”
“Jesus, Mary and Joseph, Sal, you didn’t hurt her?”
Shock and then anger contorted Sal’s features. “Fuck you, Johnny. What do you think I am?”
“Good question. I don’t know anymore.”
Sal made a move toward him. Vince stopped him. “Enough already.”
“I want to talk to her.” John pushed himself forward on the couch. “Right now.”
Sal made a one-armed gesture. John hit him with curses that would make Nonna, who was ninety-two last San Gennero’s, light enough candles to torch the Bronx.
“Sal.” Vince motioned with his gun. “Get out.”
“The cuffs,” John said, preparing his posture to charge.
Sal didn’t answer. Instead, he walked backward, the shotgun still pointed at the woman, until he reached the door. The two men slipped outside and closed the door so hard the reinforced frame shook. A moment later, the slot opened, and Vince said, “The girl first.”
John stood, and so did she. He cocked his head toward the door. “It’ll be a lot more comfortable.”
“I’m not getting out of here anytime soon, am I?”
He winced at the fear in her eyes. “Not yet.”
She looked at him a few more seconds, then went to the door and turned to offer her wrists.
A minute later it was John’s turn. If he thought it would do a bit of good he’d grab Vince by his goddamn jacket and smash his face in the door. Instead, he decided to leave that option for later and concentrate on the woman.
BELLA STEPPED BACK AS John’s handcuffs were unlocked and the door slot closed. She still couldn’t believe this was happening. Of course she understood that the Mob existed, but even living in Manhattan she’d never dreamed she’d be in any way involved with them, especially not as a hostage. It should have been a good thing to have a detective with her, but he was the one who’d gotten her into this mess, so no points there.
No windows, a steel door, lunatics with guns, no phone. Her chance at stardom shot to hell. And she had to pee.
“Look, I don’t know what to say.” John met her eyes. “Sorry obviously doesn’t cover it.”
Bella blinked at him, not sure how to respond. Especially since his GoodFellas accent had suddenly disappeared. She headed for the other side of the room, hoping against hope it had a bathroom. Thank goodness it did. A stall shower, a pedestal sink and god-awful wallpaper, but infinitely better than a bucket.
She closed the door behind her, then locked it and promptly fell apart. Leaning against the door she tried to breathe, but only managed a few labored gasps. She shook so hard her teeth chattered and for a long moment she thought she was going to faint for real. Finally, her heartbeat calmed enough for her to take off her coat and put it on the hook on the door. One look in the mirror at her pasty face and she straightened up. She might be an innocent victim, but she wasn’t going to lie down and wait to die. She focused on pulling herself together, using all her sense memories to project strength and calm. Thoughts of the audition almost derailed her. Just remembering how long it had taken her to dress, to make up, to do her hair this morning made her eyes well with tears. She’d been so excited. So certain that this was going to be her best New Year ever.
She all but had the part. The director had told her he just needed to convince the bean counters, and she’d be the lead. Nothing this big had ever happened to her before and now it was all going down the tubes. She couldn’t even call to let him know why she wasn’t there.
All she could hope for was to live to see January 1. She’d rarely thought about her own death, not seriously. To never have another audition. Never see her parents again. Or her best friend. She didn’t want to die. Not today. Not like this. The whole situation was impossibly unfair. A regular Greek tragedy, only no gods were going to swoop in and save the day.
As she washed her trembling hands she tried to find something to hold on to. He was a cop. A detective, although she didn’t know what kind. Killing a cop was huge. They wouldn’t do that, right? Vince had said she’d be fine. Sal had said they needed to talk. If the plan was to leave no witnesses, they’d be dead already.
She did a relaxation exercise she’d learned from yoga class. No Greek gods were going to save her, and more than likely the cop wasn’t, either. Which meant she’d better get on with it. Save herself.
First, she looked in the vanity drawers. Surprisingly, next to several unopened toothbrushes was a half-full box of condoms. A shudder stole through her at the thought. No guns or knives or even razor blades. She did find a hair brush that looked reasonably clean, a box of bandages and some superglue, but none of that would do her any good.
