Fantasy Man (3 page)

“You can’t be serious. The local press would cover up something like that?”

“Most of the paper is comprised of advertisement. Who do you think advertises in the Banner? Real estate companies. Hotels. Restaurants. Marinas. No one’s going to invest in a waterfront condo or take a vacation where they’re likely to stumble across dead bodies due to mob hits.” Quinn buttered a croissant. “Besides, I’m sure the cops were less than forthcoming with the details. It’s not like anyone wants to believe what’s happening there. It started slowly and spread before they could get a handle on it. Kind of like cancer.”

Reif seemed to think about what she said for a moment. “But you need to keep a low profile while you’re here.”

Quinn’s brow wrinkled. “I think it’s highly unlikely anyone will connect me with you. Not anyone in the mob anyway.”

“You might be surprised. They could have a network you and I wouldn’t even be able to imagine. Plus they have money. Lots of it. Which can be quite useful when you’re looking for information. All they have to do is investigate Tony’s background, find out who he’s close to. Who would help him. They’re probably doing the same with your dad even though he’s retired. I’m guessing neither of them will be in touch with me for a while.”

“I won’t be kept under lock and key while I’m here,” Quinn informed him. “So you can forget that.”

“If they wanted you in protective custody your testimony must be more valuable than you realize. So just be careful, would you? Especially when I’m not around.”

She grinned. “So I don’t have to be careful when you are?”

“No. You better be even
more
careful then. I think this morning proved to both of us that I’m not very good at protecting anyone.”

“And yet you work in security,” Quinn quipped. “Besides, now that I know what you’re capable of hasn’t it occurred to you I don’t
want
to be protected from you?”

Reif blushed again. What had Tony and her dad been so worried about? Flirting was fun. Sex could be great. Well, at least sex with Reif had been great. She’d been deprived and later disappointed in that area for far too long. She had a lot of time to make up for. She was going to live her life on her terms and Reif was going to help her. Whether he wanted to or not.

Chapter Four

Vinnie “The Nose” Pellegrino closed the office door quietly and stood silent in the dim corridor, his narrowed dark eyes darting back and forth, before he turned right and hustled out of the building.

Blessed with a suspicious nature and an almost uncanny ability to spot a phony, Vinnie had slowly, carefully worked his way into a position of favor in the Carboni family. The elder, Paul “Pops” Carboni, had come to rely on Vinnie more and more as “The Nose” continued to build an extensive information network both inside and outside the family.

Once on the street, Vinnie returned to his black STS. Puccini poured forth from the sound system, soothing the frown lines from Vinnie’s olive complexion, allowing him to relax. He’d stop at Petsmart on the way home and pick up some treats for his babies. He’d grab dinner to go at Olive Garden, have a nice glass of red wine and contemplate his most pressing problem.

Make that
problems.

Snitch and Snatch barreled into him the moment he opened the door to their room. He greeted them, chuckling at their squirming bodies and inquisitive noses. They sniffed for the treats he’d hidden in his pockets.

He’d outfitted their room with a variety of playthings and carpeted towers designed for cats, as well as special beds and places for them to hide. It wasn’t like he ever had guests and after Snatch had chewed nearly all the way through one of the cords in the computer room, Vinnie realized he didn’t want to come home one day to fried ferret.

He dropped into the easy chair he kept there and they were immediately all over him, scurrying across the back of the chair, putting their noses in his ears and his pockets before he handed them each a Bandit.

The ferrets entertained him in a way little else in his life did. They were relatively low maintenance as pets went. He’d grown rather fond of these two. He fed them, refilled their water and cleaned their litter boxes. “Time for Daddy’s dinner now,” he told them. They were probably ready for a nap anyway.

While he ate his pasta and sipped his wine, Vinnie thought about how bad Tony Fontana smelled. He reeked, in fact. Vinnie’s nose had picked up on it almost immediately, but Pops had waved away Vinnie’s warnings about “The Kid,” as he now affectionately referred to Fontana.

The Kid had done a number on the old man, that was for sure. Paul Carboni, who’d been nicknamed “Pops” not because of his fatherly nature, but because he’d been so quick to pop anyone who got in his way when he was younger, had gotten soft and practically adopted Tony Fontana after the cop offered to trade information in exchange for wiping his gambling debts at the mob-controlled Indian casino. Of course, that was after Fontana had saved Pops’ life on a crowded Miami street.

Vinnie, the nephew of Pops’ second cousin on his mother’s side, had spent years trying to get close to the old man. Tony Fontana had just waltzed in, accidentally saved the old man’s life, worked a couple of deals with the local cops, gave Pops some information on an FBI investigation, and he was in like Flynn. Tony’s gambling debt, which Vinnie was convinced had been part of some double blind undercover gig, had been forgiven. Tony had set himself up as a dirty cop to worm his way into the organization. Pops had fallen for his act, but Vinnie wasn’t buying it.

It didn’t matter if Fontana flashed his badge or his night school law degree. With his fast-talking, quick-thinking style, he and Pops were like father and son.

It made Vinnie want to puke.

Paul Carboni, Jr., had been killed in a boating accident at the age of fifteen. Pops had mourned the loss of his only son far beyond the normal grieving period. Tony Fontana not only bore a slight resemblance to the younger Carboni, he also possessed the same rapid fire wit, tempered with what appeared to be sincere respect for the old man.

Mostly it seemed Pops found The Kid entertaining. He used him as a sounding board for personnel, tactical or legal problems. The Carboni organization had an entire fleet of expensive attorneys at various law firms on both Florida coasts on retainer, but Pops had begun second-guessing them, deferring to Tony’s suggestions at an alarming rate.

The other problem with Tony being so close to the old man was that he knew too much. Pops didn’t seem bothered by this at all. He didn’t seem bothered by the fact that Quinn Fontana was Tony’s sister. Vinnie thought maybe Pops was losing his marbles, and he wasn’t the only one.

Ever since Pops’ quadruple by-pass surgery last year, there had been rumors that Pops was being phased out. The big boss up in Jersey hadn’t been too keen on Pops’ expansion beyond Dade County to begin with. Pops had messed up before but now Tony’s sister had witnessed one of their guys taking out the hired gun the Gambiani’s had sent to take out Pops.

Pops hadn’t listened when Vinnie had said taking out Nick Rosetti in a public place was a bad idea. Pops had wanted to make a statement. He wanted the Gambianis to back away from Coral Bay. He was there first. He’d seen the opportunity for expansion. He’d muscled his way into the Indian casinos. Pops planned to own not only the town but the county and he wanted to send a message to George Gambiani—get out. Pops could do anything he damn well pleased, including taking out a rival family’s gun.

And so Nick Rosetti had been executed. Neatly. Cleanly. A double shot right between the eyes from a gun held by Benny Strollo. And Benny just happened to be the big boss’s Godson.

But Pops’ plan had not been nearly as clean as if they’d simply grabbed Rosetti, taken him out to one of the canals, shot him and left him for the alligators. Pops’ plan had also killed a bystander and left a witness, Quinn. Benny had been arrested for murder and denied bail. He’d been sitting in the county lock-up awaiting trial ever since.

With no help from Tony, Vinnie had tracked Quinn to the safe house and got Pops’ approval to send in a team which had failed to eliminate her.

Tony swore he had no idea where she was now. Vinnie didn’t believe him, but he’d convinced Pops. After Tony left, Pops had instructed Vinnie to find Quinn Fontana and to eliminate any possibility of her testifying.

Vinnie glowed remembering how Pops had clapped him on the back and called him “my boy.”

Vinnie wasn’t worried. He was used to cleaning up messes for Pops. And if Pops was on his way out, whoever took his place would understand Vinnie’s value to the organization. Maybe even the big boss in Jersey would take notice.

First Vinnie would find Quinn Fontana again. If at all possible, he’d use her to prove his nose was right about Tony. Then he’d get rid of them both. Slowly. Painfully.

Failure was not an option. One way or another Vinnie would earn his rightful place in the family.

Chapter Five

Reif gazed at the sea of mattresses before him. How did anyone choose a mattress? They all looked virtually the same and the claims touted by their signs were meaningless to him. What difference did it make how many coils were inside or if the springs were created with state-of-the-art bowling ball bouncing technology? A mattress was a mattress was a mattress as far as he was concerned. But maybe Quinn felt differently.

How had he gotten himself into a situation where he was picking out bedroom furniture—and a
mattress
for chrissakes—with a woman he barely knew?

But you do know her,
his subconscious insisted.

Barely.

No. Intimately.

Reif clenched his jaw, wishing his conscience or subconscious would knock off feeding him these unwanted reminders of his less than stellar behavior. He also wished Quinn had been a less appealing companion than she was. Then he could stop thinking about what he’d like to do with her on every single one of these mattresses.

Instead, she’d expressed interest in looking at furniture, and apparently they had the same taste and sense of style. He’d committed to a bedroom set in a pale oak wash with clean lines. Simple, straightforward, functional and sturdy. They’d both rejected art deco, four posters and wrought iron.

Now all they needed was a mattress set and they could wrap this up, arrange for delivery and Quinn would have a room to call her own. When she left he’d have a fully furnished guest room. Win-win.

The salesman who’d been following them since they’d arrived was busy writing up the sale for the furniture and attempting to arrange same day delivery. Reif hadn’t been above bribing both him and the delivery driver to make it happen.

“How do you choose a mattress?” Quinn asked. “I’ve never done it before.”

Reif wondered if that comment was intended as some kind of double entendre, but he doubted it. She was pushing down on one of the mattresses when she said it, seeming as confounded by the array of choices as Reif was.

“This one feels hard,” she said. She pushed down on the mattress again. “Really hard.”

“How hard is it?”

“I wouldn’t mind sitting on it for a while, but I wouldn’t want to sleep on top of it all night.”

Reif chuckled, pretty sure they were still talking about the mattress.

He trailed her down the aisle as she tested each one with her hands. Every time she bent over he couldn’t help but notice the sweet curve of her backside, covered by the short skirt. He decided he might be falling in love by the time he reached the backs of her knees and the few inches of thigh just above.

“How about this one?” She stopped in front of a pillow top mattress, bent over and pressed down. “This feels good,” she decided. “Firm, but not too hard. Just the way it’s supposed to be. Let’s try it out.”

She sat on the edge, laid back, kicked off her shoes and swung her legs up. She brushed her arm up and down the fabric, as if she were making half a snow angel.

“Lay down. See what you think.”

“That’s okay. I trust your judgment.” Reif had sworn to himself that he’d never find himself in a bed with Quinn again. He wasn’t about to break that promise within a matter of hours, even if it was a purely innocent situation.

“Yeah, but you’re the one buying it. You’ll have to live with it even after I’m gone.”

“I don’t imagine I’ll be sleeping in the guest room often.”

“You should at least try it out.”

To placate her Reif leaned over and pressed down on the mattress once, then quickly backed away. “Feels good to me,” he said.

“Oh, come on. I’m not going to bite you. Besides, you can’t tell from that. What if you have two guests sharing it? You ought to see how it is with two people instead of just one. Maybe there’s no support and they’ll be rolling into each other all night.”

He supposed she had a point there. He sat and then lay back, letting his feet dangle over the edge. He wasn’t going to take his shoes off as she had.

The mattress was much smaller than his king. He was sure he was taking up more than half of it and Quinn was awfully close to him. Too close. She’d curled on her side facing him, arm tucked under her head. “What do you think?”

On the pretext of testing the mattress he turned on his side as well, which put them face to face just inches away from each other. What did he think? He thought he should never get horizontal with Quinn ever again. He could too easily imagine himself in this much smaller bed, on this much smaller mattress, with fewer clothes, lights and no other shoppers around them.

He could imagine, no, he could
remember
the silky texture of her skin, the taste of her, her response to him. She’d be looking at him with that mischievous glint in her eyes and he’d find her impossible to resist. Then he’d hate himself in the morning. He made a sound in his throat.

“It’s not too hard, is it?”

Hard?
“What?”

“The mattress.”

“Oh, yeah. Um…not too hard.” But if he didn’t get off this bed right now, the same wouldn’t be true of him. Frankly, he didn’t need anything else to be embarrassed about today.

He rolled away from her and stood just as the salesman reappeared. “We’ll take this one,” he informed the man, not looking at Quinn again.

The salesman promised them delivery and set-up by early evening. They made another stop to buy linens for Quinn’s new bed. Reif let her be completely in charge of the decision, but he liked what she chose—neutral colors, geometric designs, flattering accents.

Later, on the way to the grocery store Reif gave Quinn a guided tour of the area near his home. Tropicana Bay was just one of the numerous small communities which had been absorbed into the greater LA sprawl. But it was a neighborhood on its own merit, sporting a decent shopping area, well-kept homes and even a small marina.

Before they reached the supermarket Quinn asked if they could stop at a drugstore. “Sure,” Reif said. “What do you need?”

Quinn hesitated. “Just a few personal items.”

Reif wisely shut his mouth. At a CVS, Quinn headed to the back of the store near the pharmacy counter and Reif aimlessly strolled the aisles, examining the brands of shaving cream and men’s body wash. Scented body washes seemed to be all the rage now, although as far as he knew, a bar of soap still did the job.

When he saw Quinn get in line to pay he joined her. He glanced at the single item she’d chosen. Plan B. At least she wasn’t taking any chances, in spite of her earlier certainty that she couldn’t possibly be pregnant.

“Why don’t you let me pay for that?” he said in a hushed tone.

Quinn didn’t look at him. “It’s okay. I’ve got it.”

The line snaked forward and two more shoppers got in line behind them.

“I’d like to take responsibility for this,” Reif said, careful to keep his voice down. “Since I’m the one who’s to blame.”

“Again with the blame,” Quinn hissed. “You didn’t even know what you were doing, remember?”

Reif felt himself color again. He could almost see the ears of the woman behind them perk up.

“Even more of a reason to let me pay,” he insisted. Was the woman actually leaning forward so she could listen in on their conversation? Reif turned and glared at her. She gave him an amused smile, then turned to loudly whisper to the man next to her, “She said he doesn’t know what he’s doing in bed so she’s not going to let him pay.”

“That doesn’t seem right,” the man whispered back. “He probably enjoyed himself even if she didn’t.”

Since the floor showed no signs of opening up beneath him so he could escape, Reif decided to pretend he couldn’t hear them.

They moved up another few inches toward the cashier. “I don’t know why you have to be so difficult.”

“I’m not being difficult,” Quinn said in her normal tone of voice. “You’re being overbearing.”

“I am not! You’re the one who insisted you weren’t pregnant.”

“I’m not,” she said evenly, looking him in the eye.

“But you’re not
sure
.” Reif felt compelled to point that out.

“I’m about ninety-five percent sure, but I’m not an idiot, either. This is my body, my responsibility. My choice.” She pressed her lips into a thin line.

Reif sighed. “You could at least let me pay half.”

Quinn seemed to think about this as the cashier handed a bag to the customer in front of them. “Fine. You can pay half.”

“You go girl,” said the woman behind them. “She’s letting him pay half.”

“Equality. That’s what I like to see,” her companion said.

Reif wondered if it was too late to move to another city.

Quinn was obviously someone who was used to running a household. When they got back, she stowed the food in the refrigerator and pantry in an organized fashion and washed the sheets and pillowcases before making up the bed. In less than twenty-four hours since her arrival, she’d somehow managed to make his house feel like more of a home than he’d been able to in the two months he’d been there.

Maybe it had nothing to do with food in the refrigerator and clean linens on the bed. Maybe it had to do with a woman’s presence. No, not just any woman. Quinn. She seemed to fit, somehow. In his house and in his life.

In his bed. Bow-chicka-bow-wow!

No
, he warned himself for what seemed like the hundredth time that day.
Not in your bed. Never again. Not going to happen.

He grilled salmon steaks for dinner and Quinn put together a salad. They sat outside and shared a bottle of wine, but sipped slowly, both wary of overdoing it.

Darkness fell, the air grew cool and still they sat talking long after they’d finished their meal. Quinn told him about growing up in Coral Bay, her mother’s death, her father and brother’s over protectiveness of her, which she resented but understood. She was close to finishing her Master’s in social work and had arranged to delay completing her classes until the trial was over. Meanwhile, she planned to finish work on her thesis.

Reif told her about his family, his three younger sisters, about establishing his business, the places he’d travelled to, his love of sailing.

Eventually, Quinn yawned. “It’s not you,” she assured him. “I think the time change is catching up with me. What is it, three hours?”

She scooted her chair back and stood. Leaning down, she kissed him lightly on the lips. “I had a wonderful time, today. Thank you.”

Reif watched her disappear into the house. Her footsteps faded as she went up the stairs to her room. Because of her, he’d had a wonderful day too. Sort of.

* * * * *

On Sunday he took Quinn sailing. She unwittingly endeared herself to him further by oohing and aahing over his sailboat,
Argosy
. Though more familiar with power boats, she had a rudimentary knowledge of sailing and seemed delighted to learn more.

If Quinn hadn’t been around he probably would have sailed alone or maybe called one of his buddies, but he liked having her with him. She stood next to him while he steered, wearing sunglasses and a Rays ball cap. She’d known how to dress for boating, in deck shoes and a jacket. Nothing bothered her; not the rudimentary sanitary facilities or the wind messing up her hair.

Reif had dated women in the past who’d feigned enthusiasm for his sailboat, but they had clearly seen it more as an accessory to a lifestyle, like a purse-bound Chihuahua. They hadn’t been able to hide their dismay at the reality of actually sailing, fussing over their makeup if the salt spray touched it, moaning over a broken nail after he’d requested help with the lines, anxious about their hair when they finally returned to shore.

Maybe it was Quinn’s Florida upbringing that made her different. She’d grown up near the beach, and was accustomed to the consequences of wind and salt water. She didn’t seem to mind any of it. In fact, she seemed to revel in it. Her handling of the lines under his direction was impressive. She was agile and surefooted as she moved around the boat. Her fingernails weren’t too long and all natural. No fake acrylic nails for Quinn, Reif thought fondly.

Fondly?

Okay, he could admit that much. In two short days he’d grown
fond
of Quinn. She was a pleasant, stimulating companion. They could talk or not talk, but he never felt pressured to make conversation. If they were quiet, it wasn’t in an awkward way. More like a natural pause. Quinn didn’t chatter as so many women he’d known, saying something without saying anything, just to fill in a silence. That kind of behavior got on a guy’s nerves after a while.

Quinn reminded him a lot of Tony. Both possessed the same sort of easygoing charm, and a natural reserve that never felt like shyness or aloofness. Rather it was that they were confident in their own identities. They knew who they were. Self-confidence, Reif supposed, was always appealing.

Back at the marina, he treated Quinn to a cheeseburger and fries from the club grill and chatted with a few acquaintances who eyed Quinn with curiosity, though he didn’t introduce her. He decided both she and her name were too memorable so he erred on the side of poor manners. He didn’t want to leave an easy trail for anyone trying to find her.

When they were seated in a corner booth waiting for their order to arrive, Reif asked, “Did Tony tell you just how low of a profile you’re supposed to keep?”

“Why?”

“I’m not sure exactly where the boundaries are. I don’t think it’s a good idea to tell people your name. I’m not even sure I should take you out in public.”

“Relax. I told you they thought it was unlikely anyone would connect me to you.”

“Unlikely doesn’t mean it can’t happen, or that it won’t.”

Quinn shrugged. “You want to talk to Tony about specifics, go ahead. But I’ve disrupted my life as much as I’m going to by coming here. It wasn’t my idea. It was Tony’s.”

“To keep you safe.”

Quinn grinned, her mood switching from annoyance to humor so quickly Reif had a hard time keeping up. “Yes, I’m sure that was his intention. Guess he should have been more specific about from what.”