Relatively Risky (10 page)

L
eft alone in the kitchen
, Alex looked at Zach, not sure what to ask.

“I did knock,” Zach said. “Guess you didn't hear it.”

Color scored Alex's cheeks as Curly grabbed a chair, sank into it like he needed it. Without consultation, he and Ben chose the opposite side of the table, where they could keep an eye on the door, even though it was too little and way too late.

Zach picked the head of the table, his chair squeaking when he pulled it out.

Alex had questions, but Curly Gastonieau looked like he'd aged twenty years in two minutes. Lines cut deep into his gray face and sweat glistened on his bald head. His mouth was set in grim lines. He didn't look at anyone. Stared ahead like the zombies were coming for him. He rubbed his upper lip, his hand showing a tremor when he lowered it back to the table. Without speaking, Alex rose, found a glass and filled it with water. Carried it back and set it down in front of Curly. He looked old and tired and scared and his hand shook when he lifted the glass to his mouth, but it seemed to help.

Just when Alex had decided that Nell did not intend to come back, he heard footsteps out in the hall. Sounded like two sets, but his insides didn't ease until he saw her with Sarah. They all scrambled to their feet, his dad and Curly moving a little slower.

Nell's gaze met his as she paused in the doorway, a slight flickering of something across her face before this who-yelled-in-the-library look replaced it. He ignored the shiver of remembered trouble snaking down his spine, reminded himself it wasn't for him, and pulled out a chair for her. Ben pulled out one for Sarah, putting them all on the opposite side of the table from Curly. It felt a bit unfair, but Alex got a murmured “thanks” from Nell when she'd made her way past Curly to the chair. Silence settled over the room once more. Nell appeared to gather herself in, and only then did she look at Curly, who had watched her with a weird mix of horror and fascination.

“Maybe you could do some introductions, Alex,” Zach prompted.

“Nell Whitby. Sarah Burland.” Alex knew he sounded terse. “Nell, Sarah. My dad, Zach Baker. And Curly—William Gastonieau. They were partners when my dad was NOPD. They're retired now,” he finished, not sure why.

Zach looked annoyed, and maybe worried. Curly just looked shell-shocked.

No one said hi or how do you do. Nell did take her gaze off Curly long enough to nod at Alex's dad.

Maybe two, old cops couldn't help putting on their interrogation faces, though Alex wasn't sure who was supposed to talk or what they planned to ask.

Curly lifted the glass again, with one hand this time. His color went from dark to light gray. “Damn, you look like—”

“So you said.” Nell's voice cut him off. Her tone encouraged him to move on. “They say everyone has a twin.”

Something like respect filtered into Curly's eyes. “Some of your daddy in you, too.”

Alex watched her pulse give a kick just under her chin. He realized that he'd stereotyped her again, equating librarian with gentle and a bit frail. Not sure why he'd done it—at their first meeting she'd tried to ram a carjacker with her bike. She kept surprising him. In a good way, but he didn't like surprises, even good ones, that much. Liked to see ‘em coming.

Curly looked down, his hand turning the glass with his thumb. He licked his lips before asking, “What did she tell you—” He stopped, rubbed a forehead gleaming with sweat.

Alex shot Zach a look, wondering if they should call an ambulance. Zach stared at Curly, his gaze on his “bore to the core” setting. Curly didn't seem to notice. Or didn't seem able to take his gaze off Nell.

Nell took a long, slow breath. She must be bursting with questions, but she didn't speak. Just looked. Then arched her brows a little, like she didn't know how it was his business. She would have made a good cop. Have perps spilling their guts in record time. Curly cracked first. He rubbed his face. Could almost hear the gears turning inside his head. He hesitated, then pulled out his wallet. He thumbed through the contents and extracted what appeared to be a small photograph, which he flipped it at Nell. She didn't reach for it. Didn't look at it at first. Not until Alex slid it close enough for study.

Sarah leaned in to look, too. It was small, aged, and creased. Color had faded a lot. The girl in it looked like Nell, though younger and like it had been one of those pretend vintage photographs. Except it wasn't pretend and the shot was candid, the girl's head half turned as if in answer to a hail, but not from the photographer. Wrong direction.

“She looks like you,” Sarah offered to the silence gods, her tone mild.

Nell's lips tightened, but she didn't pick it up.

Alex did that. Background didn't look like Wyoming. Wrought iron gate, lots of flowers, big house almost hidden by trees and crap.

Ben reached out. “May I?”

At Nell's slight nod, he handed it to Ben, who studied it. “Could be wrong, but that looks like Calvino's place in the background.”

Nell inhaled, to speak or protest, he wasn't sure, but her lips clamped shut. Zach took the photograph from Ben. He didn't look happy. He also didn't look surprised. What did he know that he wasn't sharing?

“Antonia Calvino.” Curly twitched as Zach added, “I remember—that case.”

Curly's chin lifted, though his color had gone bad again, apology and defiance in his eyes. Then he seemed to deflate, his gaze settling on the glass he had both hands wrapped around.

“What case?” Alex managed to bite back the swear words that tried to crowd out after the question. Ladies were present and he wasn't sure his dad wouldn't put his head down in the sink with some soap. He'd have to let him. It looked like the old man had a head of steam with no where to go.

Zach's voice was grim as he set the photo down and pushed it toward Alex. “According to the newspapers, public records and the police file, Antonia—Toni—Calvino died in a car bomb. Along with her lover, Phillip St. Cyr. Both of them are tucked away in a couple of crypts last I knew.”

There was a long silence as their side of the table processed this.

“
Romeo and Juliet
?” Sarah looked from Zach to Curly.

When Zach didn't speak, Curly shook his head. “It wasn't the love affair that bothered St. Cyr or Calvino.”

“It bothered Afoniki. It threatened to upset the balance of power among the three families,” Zach said. “One third of the empire was all right as long as no one else had more.”

“Is that what set off the turf war?” Ben put in. “I remember hearing something—”

“It was short, but ugly,” Zach said. “There were rumors at the time that the families came to some sort of peace deal after Pavel Afoniki got taken out.”

Weird how the three names seemed to be linked, as if something more than crime kept drawing them together.

“Pavel was the heir apparent for Afoniki,” Zach added.

“Balance was restored. Each family lost an heir, though—” Ben stopped, earning a questioning look from Nell. “Pavel was a nephew, not—”

“Bone of his bone?” Nell finished for him.

Zach half shrugged. “Criminal accounting is always on the fuzzy side.”

Vague memories of hearing the story niggled at the edge of his tired brain. An heir for an heir. If that had been a flash point, then the families had gone to their corners and stayed there for over thirty years. Oh, the minor thug, here and there, had tried to dent the edges of their empires and fatally failed. Honor of a sort among thieves—until now? But if Nell was the pebble in the pond that Curly seemed to think, why did it take two years for any ripples to be felt?

There was more. Alex felt it. He saw it in Zach's gaze. And in the way Curly avoided Zach's gaze. Could a cold case ever really be cold in New Orleans? But even if something was trying to bubble up out of the ooze, what could it have to do with Nell? Unless she was the best actress ever, she hadn't known about her parents—if this was about her parents? He didn't blame her for not being convinced. People did sometimes have twins.

Nell leaned forward, cutting into the thick atmosphere to assert, “Whatever you think, you're wrong. That's not my mother. She worked at Wal-Mart. My dad fixed cars in a garage. They were high school sweethearts. None of this has anything to do with them. Or me.”

Curly leaned back. Half shrugged. “Might be a coincidence. Stranger things happen. Doesn't matter. It's what they think, it's who they think you are that matters.”

Curly had a point. It didn't matter what was, only what all the players thought it was, who they thought she might be. She might not know anything, but if she was the granddaughter, the lost heir to two very wealthy, very criminally minded families—all the sudden it didn't seem so crazy to think someone might be trying to kill her.

I
n a hazy way
, Nell knew that Alex and the others were discussing options. Arguing. Barking and puffing at each other. She wanted out, wanted to be alone more than anything. Except for getting that kiss. Kind of shallow to be thinking about kisses right now. Chances of it happening were beyond slim but it still seemed more likely she'd get kissed than turn out to be some kind of lost mafia kid.

It was too incredible, too improbable, too interesting to be true. She put a finger on the corner of the photo, as if touching it would make the unthinkable real, and pulled it to where she could see it again. Something about the shot bothered her, though she was too tired to figure out what. Was it remotely possible that her mother had given up the mansion for a cabin in Wyoming? For a job at the Wal-Mart? She looked up, caught hairless Curly staring at her.

Even if it were true—which it couldn't be—why did it freak him out so? Why would it matter now, so many years later? He didn't look worried. He looked scared to his toe nails. Why had he kept that photo? Had this…Toni mattered to him? That made it even harder for her to believe this was about her mom.

She could accept that a child could never truly know a parent, but there was nothing in memory that could connect the mafia with her mom and dad. This Toni looked so young, so hopeful, and happy. The photo blurred, not unlike the past, Nell's aching head an almost dead weight on her neck.

“I need to go to bed.” She pushed her chair back and realized everyone was now staring at her. “Sorry.”

“I'll walk you to your room.” Alex rose, holding out a hand.

She took it. She needed it. She hoped he wouldn't regret the offer. It was a long way up. They took the first flight without speaking. He looked around.

“Where's your room?”

She pointed up. His brows arched. “Three more flights.”

He might have sighed. Her vision was a bit wavy. “You really do like up.”

“Not so much tonight.” It was lovely when his arm slid around her waist. She leaned without shame. That she liked it didn't mean she didn't need the help. Her head drooped against his chest. She might have slept through a flight or two. She blinked when they stopped moving, a bit startled to find herself outside her door.

“Mind if I take a look around?”

Odd question, but she nodded. It had been a day filled with odd. Might as well end with it. He propped her against the wall, opened the door and reached in, flipping on the light. Stepped in, out of her sight. She gave in to the insistence of heavy lids, but jerked them up when he spoke.

“Nice. I can see why you like it up here.”

She blinked. He looked, she considered him a bit distantly, cop-ish again. Pity. Cop was even less likely to kiss her good night. He was rather dreamy as a cop, though. A real mafia princess would know how to get a cop to kiss her. A real mafia princess wouldn't mind the danger, might even like it.

She studied him through half-mast lashes. He'd worn jeans this morning, too, but also a jacket and shirt. Kind of remembered a tie. Now a tee-shirt hugged his chest. Alex's hands settled on the wall by her head, his dreamy self angled in a way that put his face closer to hers and everything melted away but him...

“Are you all right?” he asked, this cute frown between his brows.

“Would you kiss it better if I wasn't?” She jerked out of dreamy as the words kind of echoed in the hall. “I am so sorry. Did not mean to say that out loud—”

“Yes,” he said, cutting her off. His mouth curved up, but his lids did this sexy droop. “To both questions.”

It took Nell a minute to sort that out. She might have blushed a bit, as she considered a couple of responses. Thankfully did not share them with the hall or him. Instead, she smiled, hoped it was inviting. If he didn't make his move, she was liable to drift off to sleep again.

She felt the shift of his gaze from her eyes to her lips. They parted, but not to talk. She was unable to take her eyes off his face as she one hand settle on her waist, warm and firm. Then the other. Working together, they drew her away from the hall wall, toward the chest wall. Tiny bump as chest met chest. Nice bump. Her head tilted to the side, following an instinct as old as time.