Untraceable (14 page)

“It didn’t make it
in there until yesterday,” I laughed. “It is hard to stay one step
ahead of you.” I was going to play this charade to the last
second.

“Clever girl—that
must be one of the reasons I married you.”

I handed him the
first box. It was the magazine, but I had boxed it so that he
couldn’t immediately tell what it was, although I could see he was
going to try to guess as he shook, rattled, and sniffed at the
package.

“Just open it!”
Kimmy burst out impatiently.

“All right, all
right,” he chuckled as he tore off the paper and lifted the
lid.

He had a puzzled,
surprised look as he stared at the plan book.

“A magazine?”
Kimmy replied with clear disappointment.

“Well, we want to
eventually build a house
somewhere,
so we
need some ideas. Here’s the last one,” I stated handing him the
wrapped picture frame.

He immediately
guessed that that’s what it would be—a picture. He removed the
wrapping and stared at the framed document. “You bought—” Then it
hit him what the deed went to.

“And it didn’t
cost you forty million dollars either,” I said with an enormous
smile; totally pleased that I could tell he honestly had no idea
that I was the person he kept offering to buy the property
from.

Mom must have
decided that it was a good idea to leave us alone as she told Kimmy
it was bedtime and walked with her upstairs.

I wanted to get up
and seat myself on his lap, but to be totally honest, I had eaten
so much dinner and dessert that I was starting to feel glued to the
lounger. “Lyle tried to talk me into letting you buy the property
from me and pocket a 400% return on my investment, but I just
couldn’t do that to you, although you were getting pretty moody
toward the end,” I smiled softly. “Do you want to sit over here by
me and we’ll go through that plan book and see if we like anything?
I met an architect who, I’m sure, could help us customize anything
we want.”

He laid down the
frame and joined me on the lounger. “You have one more
present.”

“Hmm—would it
happen to be waiting in our bedroom?” I asked, anticipating where
he was going with this. But, to my surprise, he said
no.

“Come on,” he
said, pulling at my hand.

I sighed, “I’m so
full I don’t know if I can move.”

I could see the
cocky response getting ready to pop out of his mouth when I
reminded him that it was still my birthday and that he wasn’t
allowed to make any comments about what I had
eaten.

“I was going to
offer to carry your chair,” he smugly replied.

“Oh.”

I rose up and he
picked up the lounger and headed for the music
studio.

“The song?” I had
almost forgotten that he said he wanted to sing for me weeks
ago.

He placed the
lounger in the center of the floor and then slipped into the
control room, grabbed the remote, and a stool, and came back out to
where I was waiting. When he didn’t sit next to me I understood
that he was really going to sing; none of this business of
whispered words in my ear. His face was blushing slightly as he hit
the button and the music began to play. I had heard this before,
but I couldn’t remember the song until he began to sing. He was
timid as the first words came out of his mouth, but then his
confidence grew as he continued, his voice becoming stronger. My
husband could sing—and sing beautifully as the words
to
“Amazed,”
flowed
from his lips—and the tears flowed down my
cheeks.

“Every time our
eyes meet, this feeling inside me is almost more than I can take.
Baby, when you touch me, I can feel how much you love me. And it
just blows me away… I don’t know how you do what you do. I’m so in
love with you. It just keeps getting better… Every little thing
that you do, baby, I’m amazed by you…”

When he finished
the final chorus, he was singing as loudly as if he was on stage
and I was an entire audience. “Happy birthday,” he said, lowering
his voice as the music faded away.

And it was exactly
that; the happiest birthday I’d ever had.

CHAPTER eight

For the next
several weeks it felt like we had literally become bums. All we did
was lounge around together and soak in the happiness of wedded
bliss and baby expansion. And our little guy was really expanding.
I was almost eight months pregnant and the doctor estimated that
our little boy was approximately five pounds and nineteen inches
long. I was up to a hundred and twenty-eight pounds, so I had only
gained twenty three pounds over the course of time, but Dr. Kannova
said the greatest weight gain would be over the next several weeks.
She was estimating our little guy would come in right around eight
and a half pounds when he finally said hello to the
world.

We found something
that we liked in the home plan magazine, but it would need to be
extensively reworked simply because we wanted room for at least two
more children after baby number one and several bedrooms for
guests. We hired a fencing contractor who went out and was in the
process of putting up six foot chain-link fencing all the way
around the property so that it would be secure when a contractor
broke ground. Our last decision was where on the property we wanted
to build our new home. And finally, we were planning a big family
picnic. We wanted to get everyone together and show them what Micah
had fallen in love with when he took an unexpected turn down a
country dirt road.

“How about having
the picnic on our anniversary?” I suggested as I stretched on the
comfortable sheets after enjoying a little afternoon relaxation.
August fifteenth was still, as far as I was concerned, our
anniversary date. There may have been an annulment and a remarriage
after that, but that date would always be the place in time when we
made our true commitment to be together
forever.

“Sounds good to
me, baby. I talked to a contractor who is willing to work from
whatever plans we bring him, and he has great references. If we
order those plans, then get someone to redo
them.”

“I know just the
guy to call. You’ll like him; he is an architect from Italy
and—”

“Italy? How did
you manage to meet someone from there?”

“At the bookstore
when I was buying the home plan magazine. And then we literally ran
into each other in the parking lot,” I laughed.

“So that’s where
the streak of gray paint came from?

“Yeah—I was
wondering why you didn’t ask me about it.”

“I was actually
worried that you had a tiny fender-bender, and I knew you’d be
mortified over having me know that happened—especially with your
ability behind the wheel.”

“I felt like it
was my fault,” I admitted, “but he assured me it was his, and, in
all honesty, I’d forgotten about it.”

“So call him and
we’ll go to his office and—”

“He doesn’t have
an office here—well, at least he didn’t back in June. I guess he
hasn’t been in our country too long. Your few words of Italian came
in handy, by the way.”

Micah was getting
that concerned look on his face, “How old is
he?”

“I don’t know.
He’s young, maybe twenty-seven, twenty-eight, somewhere in there.
Why?”

“I don’t like the
sound of this guy that you just
happened
to bump into—he sounds like
mafia.”

“That was my first
impression, too, until he started spouting of stuff about types of
homes and Tuscan architecture. I think I had a little racial
profiling going through my head when I first saw him, but I can’t
go through life thinking every Italian is a hitman in disguise,” I
laughed as I laid my cheek against the inside of his arm and
allowed my hand to slip across his bare chest, pausing for a moment
on the scar at the edge of his tattoo.

“That isn’t funny.
You can call him, but we’ll meet him together some place
neutral.”

I was about to
open my mouth when the baby decided to start a soccer game in my
stomach. We started laughing as we cuddled firmly against each
other so that Micah could feel the strokes against his skin. He
liked placing his hand on my tummy, but he really enjoyed it when
we were stomach to stomach.

I didn’t think
about calling Jonathan until early in the evening after Micah left
to pick-up Kimmy from a friend’s house. I still had the hundred
dollar bill in my wallet as I pulled it out and dialed the
number.

It was on the
fourth ring and I prepared to hang up when a man with an Italian
accent answered.

“Ciao.”

“Jonathan?”

There was a brief
pause. “Who is this?”

“Hi. I don’t know
if you remember me. It’s Leese. We met at the
book—”

“Oh, Leese!” he
responded enthusiastically. “Of course—did you get the paint
removed?”

“Actually no, but
that isn’t why I’m calling. I was wondering if you might be able to
help my husband and me make some changes to some building
plans?”

“Ah, so you are
finally ready to start building.”

“Yup. We have a
contractor and we chose some stock plans, but we want to do some
expansion.”

“I would be
delighted to assist you. Would you like me to come
over?”

“I don’t have the
plans, yet. I ordered them today and put a rush delivery on them,
but my husband would like to meet you and ask a few questions. Do
you have an office yet?”

“I am just moving
into one this week. If you do not mind some place incomplete, we
could meet there tomorrow, say nine a.m.?”

“Perfect. We’ll be
there and we’ll bring the plan book so you can start getting some
ideas.”

I wrote down the
address and waited for Micah to come home so I could tell him about
our appointment.

The next morning,
he surprised me by coming out of the bedroom with a suit on. Then
it clicked. “You’re not…” I stated and then went to put my arms
around him to confirm my suspicions, but he backed away. “Micah
Gavarreen! There better not be a pair of guns under that
jacket.”

“Shhh!” he
scolded, hoping that neither Mom nor Kimmy heard my
statement.

“You promised,” I
said in hushed tones.

“Baby, it’s only a
precaution. You might be right. This guy might only be an
architect, but I’m not going to take any chances until I am certain
he’s not mafia.”

I think I growled
all the way to the downtown address.

He wasn’t kidding
about his office not being finished. It was a ground floor unit in
a six story office building just a block off Main Street. There
were plastic sheets hanging like curtains, drop clothes, ladders,
and gallons of paint sitting ready to be
applied.

“Ciao! Leese.
Please come in to my temporary nightmare,” he said leading us back
to his make-shift desk. “My name is Jonathan Rossi,” he said,
offering his hand to Micah. “You must be Leese’s
husband.”

And the Italian
conversation began.

I could see the
complete surprise on Jonathan’s face as Micah spoke to him strictly
in his native tongue. I hated it because I didn’t have a clue what
they were saying. But I did notice that Micah never smiled and
Jonathan’s smile slowly faded the longer they talked. I heard Micah
say the word mafia and I could tell Jonathan was denying it. I was
starting to feel bad as Micah grilled the guy.

I couldn’t stand
it any longer. “This is rude!” I snapped, silencing them both,
“Speak English or I’m leaving.”

“My apology,”
Jonathan began, though it clearly wasn’t his choice to hold an
Italian conversation. “Is there any reason we cannot speak in
English in front of your wife?”

“Take off your
jacket,” Micah commanded.