Fugitive Heart (7 page)

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
.

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.