No Turning Back (4 page)

"Why don't you tell me where you're from?"

I let out a sigh of relief. He wanted to know my life story? Well, this should be a short conversation. "I'm from Rushville, Indiana," I answered, "a small town east of here. I moved here six, seven months ago."

"And what did you do in Rushville?" he asked, looking my way again. His eyes did funny things to my insides when he was focused so intently on me like that. I thought he was just making idle conversation, but it seemed like he was actually interested in what I was going to say. I harshly reminded myself that he was very good at making people think that.

"Not much," I said vaguely. "Tended bar. Took care of my mom."

"Took care of your mom?" he repeated, questioning.

"She had cancer," I said. It didn't hurt as much now when I said it. I felt a twinge inside and a brief wave of grief that I was able to shake off.

"Did she...?" he left the rest of the sentence unsaid as I nodded.

"Two years ago now," I answered his unasked question.

A pause before, "I'm sorry," he said quietly.

I didn't say anything to that and resumed my study of the scenery passing by the window. I didn't want him being nice to me and changing the preconceived notions I had. It would be too easy to become infatuated with a man like him, and also decidedly unwise considering the female debris left in his wake.

“And the rest of your family?” he asked.

I turned back toward him, wondering why he was asking so many questions. Then I remembered; that was his job. Knowledge was power, or so School House Rock had always taught me.

“My dad was a cop,” I replied. “He was killed in the line of duty when I was fifteen.”

Blane didn’t say anything to that, and thankfully stopped with the questions.

A few minutes later, we pulled up to the front of a building in a seedy part of town. It was headquarters for the union the firm was representing. Blane parked and opened the door. Before he got out, he turned to me.

“I’d say you could wait inside the car, but it’s not the best area,” he said.

“It’s not a problem,” I replied, getting out of the car. I shoved my hands into the pockets of my coat to protect them from the cold. Blane headed for the building and I followed a step or two behind.

The lobby of the building was deserted and I followed Blane down the hallway. He seemed to know where he was going. Pausing outside of a door, he rapped sharply on it. A muffled voice said to come in and Blane pushed the door open.

We entered a nice office, nicer than I would have expected from the outside of the building, where two men were sitting on opposite sides of a desk smoking cigars. The man behind the desk stood when Blane came in, a wide smile creasing his face. He was older, I'd say in his late fifties, with a receding hairline and expanding waistline. He exuded "used car salesman" and I took an instant dislike to him.

"Blane!" he exclaimed in a voice that was roughened by years of cigars. I detected an underlying Italian accent by way of Brooklyn. "Fantastic that you could get here tonight." His eyes lit on me and I saw a gleam come into them. "Who is your lovely friend?" he asked.

Blane turned to me. "This is Kathleen," he said. "She works for me. Kathleen, this is Frank Santini."

I pasted a fake smile on my face and stepped forward to shake Frank's hand. His name was familiar but I couldn't place it. Frank removed his cigar briefly from his mouth, took my hand in his and pressed his wet lips to it. Eww. I tried to conceal my grimace of distaste.

"It's a pleasure, Kathleen," Frank said, still holding my hand. I nodded and kept smiling as I slid my hand out of his grip and sidled backward a bit so I was behind Blane. Frank gave me the creeps. I glanced at the other man, still sitting in the overstuffed leather chair, watching us. He took another drag of the cigar as his eyes met mine and he didn't smile.

"I brought the file with the affidavit summary you requested," Blane said, handing the file in his hand to Frank. "I'm not sure why it was so urgent that you had to have it this evening." His statement hung in the air, the question unasked but there nonetheless.

"I spoke with Bill about it," Frank said, shrugging off Blane's question as he rounded the desk, tossing the envelope onto its surface. I assumed he was referring to William Gage, the senior partner of the firm, though I'd never heard anyone refer to the older man as "Bill." He didn't seem to be the type of person who would go by that, it was always "William" or "Mr. Gage."

"We'd like a quick word with you," the man in the chair said. "Alone, if you wouldn't mind." He shot a pointed look in my direction. He was about the same age as Frank and could have been his brother, their physical similarities were so pronounced. But while Frank was friendly, perhaps overly so, this man was decidedly not.

"Jimmy can take her outside," he said, motioning to the door. I turned my head and saw a third man in the room who had escaped my notice. He was standing in the shadows and now stepped forward into the dim light cast by the lamp on the desk. I felt my eyes widen and I instinctively stepped closer to Blane.

Jimmy was tall and thin, gaunt even. The hollowness under his pronounced cheekbones emphasized the darkness of his eyes and brows. His lips were thin and I could see a faint scar that ranged from the tip of his eyebrow down the side of his face. His appearance wasn't the worst of it. Jimmy reeked of menace and his eyes were cold, hard chips of granite.

He stepped toward me and I looked at Blane, my eyes wide. Blane's face was grim but he gave me a curt nod. I took that as a signal that I didn't have a choice in the matter. Swallowing heavily and despite my trepidation, I preceded Jimmy out the door and into the hallway. I heard the door shut firmly behind me.

There was nowhere to go but forward so I walked, feeling Jimmy close behind me. The hairs on the back of my neck stood up as he silently followed me out to the lobby. There were a few chairs and a couch scattered around so I sank into a chair. Jimmy eyed me for a moment, then sat in the chair next to me.

He stared at me and I could feel my hands get sweaty and my heart rate increase. Jimmy was making me extremely uncomfortable. I glanced at him a couple of times out of the corner of my eye as I fidgeted. My nervousness made me want to babble. Maybe if I got him to talk, he wouldn't seem so intimidating.

"So," I said a little too brightly, "what do you do here?"

He stared at me, unblinking. "I take care of problems," he finally said, his accent much thicker than Frank's.

Okay, well that wasn't much to go on. "What kind of problems?" I asked.

He smiled and it sent a chill down my spine. "People problems," he answered. I decided I didn't need to know any more about Jimmy. I smiled weakly at him and looked around nervously for a magazine or something.

"You're not going to be a problem, are you?" he asked and I jerked my head around to face him. The way he was looking at me made my stomach turn to knots. I shook my head, unable to say anything.

"Good," he said, "because I'd hate to have to mess up that pretty face."

Okay, now I was getting seriously freaked out. I could think of nothing to say to this and I prayed Blane would come out so we could leave.

"Knock it off, Jimmy," I heard and turned to see Blane standing a few feet away. I heaved a sigh of relief. It was the first time I had ever been glad to see him. Compared to Jimmy, my fear of Blane seemed ridiculous. I jumped to my feet as Blane strode toward us. Jimmy stood as well and didn't move as Blane approached. Jimmy was several inches shorter than Blane.

"You got a problem, Kirk?" Jimmy asked snidely. I noticed he was now playing with a switchblade that he must've pulled out of pocket, but he'd done it so fast I hadn't seen him.

Blane's fingers wrapped around my upper arm as he tugged me behind him. "Stay away from her, Jimmy," he gritted out, low and threatening.

They stared each other down for a minute. I watched, barely breathing. Finally, Jimmy smirked. "Watch your back, Kirk," he said. He flipped the knife open and shut and then it disappeared. Whether it had gone in a pocket or up his sleeve, I couldn't tell. Jimmy backed off, heading back the way we'd come.

Blane hustled me toward the door, passing several offices along the way which were all darkened. We were halfway to his car, me struggling to keep up with his long strides, when his tight grip on my arm became too much. Wincing, I said "You're hurting me." His hold immediately loosened and he slowed his steps.

"Sorry," he said tersely, glancing behind us at the now ominous building. We reached his car and he had me inside and was behind the steering wheel in seconds.

I was still frightened, not only from the encounter with Jimmy, but Blane's reaction as well. "Who was that guy?" I managed to ask as Blane drove us out of the lot.

His jaw tightened before he answered. "He's called Jimmy Quicksilver. His real name is James Lafaso."

I was afraid to ask but couldn't help myself. "Why is he called Jimmy Quicksilver?"

"Because he's good with knives," Blane answered, his eyes on the road.

I knew what Blane meant without him having to elaborate and remembered Jimmy saying how he'd hate to mess up my face. I felt queasy and this news did nothing to ease my mind. Shakily, I lifted a hand to rub my forehead, wondering how my relatively dull and mundane life had suddenly become like a James Bond movie in the space of a little over twelve hours.

"You all right?" Blane asked and his eyes were concerned as he glanced at me.

"Um, yeah," I said hesitantly. "I guess so." What was I supposed to say?

Blane stopped the car and I looked around. I had completely forgotten to tell him where I lived and hadn't been paying attention to where he'd been driving. We were parked near a restaurant downtown that I'd never been to, mainly because I couldn't afford it, but also because it was the kind of place you didn't go by yourself.

"Why are we here?" I asked as Blane turned off the car. He looked at me and I had to catch my breath again, he was so close. His green eyes studied my face, dropping briefly to my lips.

"I thought you might be hungry," he said finally, his eyes meeting mine again. "And I could use a drink." He stepped out of the car, leaving me with my jaw hanging open. Before I could recover from my surprise, he was at my door, holding it open for me.

As I stepped out of the car and he took my elbow to go inside the restaurant, I wondered if this day could get any stranger.

Chapter Two

The restaurant was quiet and dimly lit. There was a large, circular bar in the middle with a few tables scattered around. Blane steered me to a corner table with two bar stools. Pulling a stool out, he stood politely by, waiting for me to sit.

I grimaced. Stools hated me and I hated stools. My feet always dangled, which made me feel like a six-year-old at the kids' table. Refusing to look at Blane, I gamely hopped up on the seat and wondered how I was going to scoot it closer to the table since my feet didn't reach the floor. Blane must have read my mind because he gave me a push. I mumbled a thanks and thought I saw a hint of a smile before he turned to seat himself across from me.

A waiter materialized at our table. "Good evening, Mr. Kirk," he said to Blane. "What can I get you this evening?"

Apparently, Blane was a regular. "Hello, Greg," he said. "I'll have a Dewars and water on the rocks. And the lady would like..." He looked expectantly at me.

"I'd like a Manhattan, please," I said and I saw a flicker of surprise cross Blane's face. He'd no doubt assumed I'd order a fruity girly drink.

"Right away, sir," Greg said and vanished as quickly as he had arrived. We sat in silence for a few moments, Blane sitting back in his chair studying me while I studied the room.

Greg was back with our drinks within minutes, setting them carefully on cocktail napkins. "Would you care to order dinner, sir?" he asked Blane.

"Give us a few minutes," Blane replied.

"Of course, sir." Greg disappeared again.

I took a sip of my drink and sighed. The cool liquid warmed in my stomach and I felt my nerves ease ever so slightly. I could still feel the weight of Blane's stare and it irritated me. I cut my eyes to his.

"Why do you keep staring at me?" I asked tersely.

His lips curved slightly. "My apologies," he said. "I suppose I was just waiting for you to go into hysterics."

My brow furrowed. "Why would I go into hysterics?"

"It's been my experience that hysterics would be the typical female reaction," he answered with a shrug.

"Well, I'm not your typical female," I said sourly, thinking of all the tall blondes he had probably brought here.

His smile widened. "I can see that."

"Why would Jimmy feel it necessary to threaten me?" I asked and, as I'd hoped, his smug grin faded.

"It wasn't anything personal," Blane dismissed with a flick of his hand. "It was just Jimmy being Jimmy. He's not happy unless everyone in the room is terrified of him." I thought Jimmy probably didn't have to work real hard to accomplish that.

"Who were those men anyway?" They'd certainly creeped me out, Frank with his fake friendliness and the other guy who'd sat stiff and unsmiling.

"Frank and Richie Santini. They're brothers and they run that local union we're defending against election fraud."

That was why Frank's name had seemed familiar. I remembered now. The papers always hinted at dodgy business when he was involved, though he'd yet to actually be caught doing anything illegal. He was well known in the city and I’d recently seen an article of him out palling around with the current mayor.

Greg returned while I was mulling this over and I realized I hadn't even looked at the menu. He was waiting for me to order as I fumbled with the booklet, belatedly realizing with dismay that I didn't know what half the items were.