An Offer He Can't Refuse (31 page)

Rachele's father grunted. "Then maybe she went back to the office to do something there. I was worried when she didn't get home for dinner."

"I'm sure she'll be there any moment, Beppe."

He nodded, then looked from her, to Johnny, then back again.

Téa took the hint. "Johnny Magee, this is Guiseppe Cirigliano, Rachele's father. Beppe, this is one of my clients, Johnny Magee. Beppe recognized your blueprints, Johnny. He did the rockwork that created your lagoon before he retired."

The two men shook hands. Johnny cleared his throat. "I'm certain Cal will see your daughter home safely."

The older man nodded. "Then I shall return the favor and see Téa safely to her car, since her… measuring here appears to be done as well."

Hello, reality.

"Good-bye, Johnny," Téa said.

No sense in being silly, anyway. This wasn't going further between them. One dance, he'd said. Meaning her one night with him was over.

"Just One More Chance"

Dean Martin

Dean Martin Sings
(1953)

It took Johnny a few days to make it back to the tiki room
. He'd sent the cleaning crew to retrieve the barware, but he'd avoided the place himself.

He didn't know why he was here this afternoon, he thought, sliding onto one of the stools. But he'd been restless and distracted since the night Téa had left him.

She hadn't been back either.

Rachele had come by, ostensibly to take additional measurements and to show him some sample books, but more accurately to flirt with Cal. Their relationship had this curious clandestine vibe to it.

The night Rachele's father had startled the bejesus out of Johnny, he'd covered for the young couple without really thinking about it. Téa had too, he remembered now. Maybe he would have asked her about it if she'd come within shouting distance.

She hadn't.

And he didn't know what to do about it. He didn't know what he
wanted
to do about it.

There were all the same reasons not to get further involved with her. And the other night he'd achieved his goal of recouping a measure of his self-respect by making her come before he did, like any gentleman would. So he could leave things as they were in good conscience.

Not to mention she appeared to want nothing more to do with him.

It didn't rankle.

"Johnny?"

He swung around to find Cal lurking at the entrance, a sheaf of papers in his hand. He was wearing baggy flowered shorts, a plaid shirt, the ubiquitous black hi-tops, and…

"Is that a
tan
?" Johnny asked. He couldn't have been more surprised if the other man had shown up with an eyebrow piercing like his girlfriend's.

Cal lifted an arm and squinted at it through his glasses. "Maybe. We haven't been working as much as we usually do."

Guilt gave Johnny a little jab. For a few hours each morning, he'd been reading the sports pages and perusing the tech-heads' reports, but without his usual attention to detail or requests for additional data. Though he'd daily been calling in the bets his people were to play, the fact was he'd been sleepwalking through the decisions.

With a sigh, he looked at the papers in Cal's hand and gestured him inside. "Is that what you have there? Work?"

Cal stepped into the tiki room, blinking as his eyes adjusted to the dimmer light. "Holy Don-the-Beachcomber, Batman," he said, handing over the stack of reports. "So this is the hidden room you found."

His father's hidden room. Johnny spread the papers on top of the bar and pretended to be interested in them. His father had supposedly built this room for a woman he'd claimed to love. A woman unknown to Johnny, who might be able to tell him for sure if his father had become a hit man for the mob.

He still couldn't believe it was so. Though they'd only had those annual visits, Johnny was sure he'd known his father. He thought his father had loved him. Could a man love his kid and be a killer at the same time? Could a kid love a man who was a killer? Jesus. No wonder he couldn't sleep.

He didn't know anyone else plagued by such hellish questions, except…

"Téa," he thought, murmuring the name aloud. "Téa." Maybe that was the source of their chemistry. Maybe that was why he couldn't get the woman out of his head.

"About her."

Johnny jerked his gaze toward Cal. He'd forgotten the other man was in the room. "What? What about Téa?"

"I remembered what your half-brother said."

Half-brother
. More guilt poked at Johnny. He'd been an asshole to Michael that day at his bar. "My brother doesn't know anything about Téa."

"He told you to be careful of the Caruso connection. I asked Rachele about it."

Johnny slid a look at Cal. He was wearing a dogged expression, the one that said he'd swum up from his usual realm, fathoms-deep in nanodigits and quartiles. It meant he wasn't going to be put off easily. "Yeah? So?"

"The Carusos are the first family of the California Mafia," Cal said. "But I guess you know that."

Johnny shrugged.

"And maybe your brother was right to warn you off an involvement with Téa."

He had no "involvement" with Téa. She wasn't even speaking to him, damn it.

"Especially now that the leadership is in question."

"What?" Johnny stared at Cal. "What are you talking about?"

"Rachele told me Téa's grandfather is the head of the family, but he's announcing his retirement soon. Rachele also said that in the last few days Palm Springs has been crawling with mob goons jockeying for position in the coming new order."

Johnny rolled his shoulders. None of this mattered to him. It was the Mafia of the past that concerned him, not its future.

"They've been dropping by the design office."

"What?" Johnny frowned. "Who?"

"The goons. They come in and try kissing-up to Téa." He plucked his cell phone from his belt and peered at the screen. "Rachele sent me a text message a few minutes ago and told me another couple of them were hanging around even though Téa said she was busy."

Johnny half-rose from the stool, then forced himself back down. She was a big girl. And not
his
girl, so it was none of his concern. He shuffled the papers in front of him. "We've got work to do."

Cal came closer and slipped one sheet from the rest. "These are the games we have to decide on today."

"Right, right." He tried focusing on the list of Sunday matchups and their current odds while Cal wandered about the room. Which ones should the syndicate put their money on?

The Raiders vs. the Chargers, the Chargers favored by 13 1/2 points.

Johnny might have managed to find out about Cosimo Caruso retiring, but he'd been brooding for the last few days instead of doing anything to uncover the truth about his father. Not to mention that he'd let Téa slip through his fingers. Téa, his hunch, Téa his one and only real connection to the California Mafia.

From the corner of his eye he saw Cal come around behind the bar, and he bent his head over the papers and tried to concentrate again.

The Jets vs. the Dolphins. Would the home field advantage give the New York team at least a 10-point win over Miami?

"Hey, a boombox," Cal said.

Johnny glanced up to see him reaching out a skinny arm. "No—" But it was too late.

'The Girl from Ipanema." Guitar strings plucking out a samba beat. The silvery sound of a metal brush stroking a snare drum.

And then Téa. He was getting damned good at this flashback thing. Because suddenly she was in his mind, in his arms, her skin hot, her mouth molten, her sweet ass full and pushing into his hands. Thank God for that darkness. If he'd seen what he'd touched he would have been lost once again, too impatient to wait for her. He would have taken what he wanted.

What he wanted now. Again.

Johnny scooped the papers into a pile. "Cal."

The other man was frowning down at his cell phone. "More goons," he said.

Johnny stood, the legs of the stool screeching against the linoleum. Goons kissing-up to Téa. His hunch. His woman. "I'm going over there."

Cal's voice caught him halfway across the room. 'The matchups, Johnny. You have to decide on which matchups."

Sighing, he stalked back to pluck the handful of mechanical pencils out of the other man's pocket protector. "Now hold the list against the wall," he told Cal.

To give his friend credit, he didn't quibble or quiver as Johnny aimed for the makeshift dartboard with the pencils. All five found a place on the page, held fast by the bamboo lining the walls. "Now you have your matchups," he said, turning again to leave.

With the exception of one private matchup that he was going to play today.

Magee vs. Caruso.

He was betting on himself to win.