01 Untouchable - Untouchable (30 page)

I felt like Dorothy in the Wizard of
Oz, trapped in the castle, watching the sand pour through the
hourglass. I didn’t have a brave trio out there trying to rescue
me. I was here with the soldier that had vowed to take my life; the
true villain was Robert and his mystery woman. Yet, kind as Evan
had been to me, I was still his captive and he was still the
executioner.

I tugged at his file drawers, wondering
how many other lives I would view that he had taken, but the
drawers were securely locked. I booted up his computer, expecting
to meet a password roadblock, but to my surprise the guest account
had not been removed. I couldn’t get to his documents and records,
but I could get to the programs and… I caught my breath, something
I hadn’t thought of doing that was now one simple click away; the
internet.

My mind began to race. I couldn’t call
Mom, but most email accounts were untraceable. I could go to my
email and send her a message. Robert had his own computer and they
each had separate accounts so he would never see my message. I
could tell her I was safe. I could tell her to be careful and not
mention anything about me to him. I could tell her I was close to
solving the mystery of who was torturing our family.

I was certain of one thing, he would be
so angry if he knew what I was doing. I wasn’t actually doing
anything against his wishes. He never specified that I couldn’t
send email. I must have debated with myself for a solid ten minutes
before I opened my email account and hit the word compose. When I
was finished and had hit the send button, I was overcome with
guilt. I turned off his computer and went downstairs to wait for
him to come home. I would debate with myself if I would tell him
what I’d done.

I must have dozed off on the couch,
because when I woke he was seated beside me, gently shaking me.
“Hey, sleepy head, time to get up and get ready.”

“
It’s still early, isn’t
it?” I asked rubbing the tiredness from my eyes.

“
It’s a little after three.
I bought you some things, I hope they fit. I need you to try them
on.”

Boy, now I really felt guilty about
what I’d done. He comes home with presents and I was doing things
behind his back. I looked at the bags scattered by the base of the
couch. “Wow, if you were going shopping for me, you should have
brought me along.”

“
There were a few places I
was going that you couldn’t go,” he said sheepishly, glancing
toward a bag that was off from the others.

My curiosity peaked but I went into the
bag closest to me. “Stitch’s jeans! Awesome,” I exclaimed pulling
out the item.

“
It’s a jean skirt,” he
corrected.

“
How did you know my sizes?”
I said, looking at the tag and seeing it was a zero.

“
I was with you when you
bought your items at Wal-Mart, remember?”

“
Well, I love it. It’s
gorgeous! Nice hoodie, and, ooh, heels, too. I dug into the next
bag and pulled out about a half dozen, assorted colors of spaghetti
tanks, which I dearly loved wearing. There was a Victoria Secret’s
bag—I was excited, but quickly becoming concerned about this father
of his I was supposed to meet. Why would my undergarments
matter?

He must have seen the confusion on my
face, “You needed one of their clear-strap bras to go with the tank
tops, so…”

“
You went into a ladies
lingerie shop,” I laughed. “I bet the sales girls were fighting
over who was gonna get to wait on you!”

I could tell he was trying to keep a
straight face, but the smile had already gripped the corners of his
lips.

“
Panties, too,” I said,
trying not to sound overly shocked. That was going above and beyond
the call of duty for any man.

“
The sales girl said you
have to have something to match the bra. Who was I to argue over
what a woman needs under her clothes?”

A smaller bag was from a jewelry store
but I couldn’t go further, I had to ask. “Why do I need to have all
this stuff to meet your dad? He’s not—he’s not strange or
something, is he?”

“
My dad is a bit unusual,
but not like you’re thinking. He appreciates the finer things in
life and he expects those around him to dress the part, but I got
carried away. I started out just looking for the hoodie and before
I knew it, I had filled the car.”

It was true that I didn’t have a
jacket, and the last time we went out, I was cold, but it still
didn’t make much sense. “Why do I need a jacket?” This time I was
really suspicious as to his motives.

He reached over for the large plain bag
and pulled out a daintier single holster version of the shoulder
harness he normally wore when we went shooting. “To cover this,” he
confessed.

“
You’re not gonna—I’m not
carrying a gun to dinner!”

“
It’s just a precaution,
Leese…”

“
NO! I can’t! I’ll be a
nervous wreck all night! Don’t make me do this, please.”

“
Baby, David is gonna be
there and even though I plan on staying between you and him all
night, if he gets a couple drinks in him, he’ll be worse than he
was here.”

“
I can’t shoot your
brother!”

“
I don’t want you to, but I
also don’t want you to be defenseless.” He was pleading with me
now, but I just couldn’t see me doing this.

“
The gun is too—it’s so big,
someone will see it under my jacket. I’m not defenseless!” I
exhorted, “I’m a black belt for crying-out-loud.”

“
Black belts don’t stop
bullets. The new gun I just bought for you is really small.” He
reached down into the same bag and brought out a gray container.
“It’s a Glock-26—a baby Glock—it holds ten rounds,” he said opening
the box.

Ten rounds! I had a feeling I was going
to a gangster massacre instead of dinner. I looked at it and it was
smaller than the Glock-17 he had taught me to shoot, but I knew it
was still going to feel like a cannon strapped to my side. I wanted
to cry. With all the shooting lessons I had begged for, I never
dreamed he would expect me to carry a gun at some point.

“
Let’s at least get you
dressed and have you try it on.” He was giving me the most pathetic
puppy-dog face, begging me to do what he wanted.

I grabbed the bags, leaving the gun and
holster right where they were, and stomped off to the bedroom. I
suddenly didn’t feel so guilty about my one little
email.

I took longer than usual to get
dressed. The skirt was an ankle-length denim with a high front slit
that fit like it had been made just for me. I picked out my top and
tried on my new bra. I could hardly believe that he paid attention
to my bra size as well as everything else. I’d have to remember
that he had a nearly photographic memory. The black strapped
stiletto heels made my legs look longer than they already were and
brought out their shapeliness. After makeup and brushing my hair, I
stood in front of the mirror surprised at how elegant I actually
looked.

I hadn’t opened the jewelry bag until I
finished dressing, knowing that it would be hard to stay mad at him
if there was something really beautiful inside. The first box
revealed a pair of dazzling one carat diamond stud earrings set in
white gold. The second box contained an inch long, white-gold cross
with five diamonds in the center. Having him remember that I wore a
silver cross when I was in Pensacola caused me to forgive him for
the whole ‘wear-a-gun-to-dinner’ thing. The only problem now: I was
back to feeling guilty again.

I walked down the hallway, stepping out
in the living room where he was dressed and patiently waiting for
me. I was surprised that he was wearing a suit. I thought it must
be very important to him to impress his father, but it wasn’t until
he walked up to me and wrapped me in those glorious arms that I
realized why he had on a suit. He was wearing his double holster
and the jacket was simply a covering.

“
You look amazing,” he
whispered.

With my heels on, I was as tall as him,
so I was able to look directly into those intense eyes. “Well, my
personal attendant did a marvelous job picking out my outfit,” I
teased. Then I took a long breath and pointed to my holster. “I
suppose you wouldn’t mind fitting that thing on me would
you?”

He gave me a smoldering look that could
melt steel.

At that moment he could have fitted me
for full body armor and I wouldn’t have cared.

He slipped the harness on me and
fastened the clips to the waist of my skirt and then adjusted the
buckles until it was as snug as second skin. He picked up the baby
Glock and, reminding me it had a full clip, he secured it into the
holster. I was right. It felt like I was wearing a
cannon.

He held out my new cotton hoodie for me
to put my arms through the sleeves. He lifted my hair carefully out
of the jacket and turned me toward a nearby mirror. “You see,” he
said, standing close behind me. “No one will even know it’s
there.”

“
Except for me,” I gave my
weak rebuttal.

He reached around in front of me and
carefully started the jacket’s zipper, pulling it halfway up.
“Don’t undo that. I don’t want you to lean forward and have someone
get an accidental view of your baby.”

“
Well, I’d always said that
someday I wanted a baby, but this isn’t what I had in mind.” We
both looked into the mirror at that point, our eyes focused on the
others. I hadn’t meant for that to come out that way. I had been
careful not to mention my hopes and dreams for my future in front
of him because I knew I’d never reach them. But one tiny slip and
his face was filled with anguish. It would be my life or his at the
end. He knew what his refusal to kill me would mean, and then
someone else would just finish the job he didn’t do. It seemed much
simpler to me now, the loss of one instead of two.

It was total silence the rest of the
way to the restaurant. I brought my iPod and once again was finding
comfort in my music. I needed comfort; my nerves were going wild.
The restaurant was on the western end of New Orleans in what
appeared to be an area filled with boutiques, shops, cafés and
other restaurants.

We pulled in front of Giorgio’s Italian
Bar and Grill, but before he opened his car door, he finally turned
to me to speak. “Don’t call me Evan tonight.” And that was all he
said.

The restaurant was fuller than I
expected and then I remembered it was Friday night.

The hostess looked up and smiled
broadly when she saw him, and then gave a quick surprised glance at
me. “Your father is in the back,” she said over the din of the
crowd.

He never smiled, nor slowed his pace,
as if she hadn’t been standing there at all. We worked our way past
the tables and the bar, heading back to an area marked as the
banquet room. It was immediately quieter as we entered the room.
There were only four people in there. Celeste was the person who
met us at the door. The other person I recognized was David; I gave
an unintentional shudder when I saw him. She took my arm and
brought me over to the table to where a handsome older, but
heavyset man was seated. The man stood and gave me a surprisingly
warm smile.

“
Well, you must be,
Annalisa, Micah’s million dollar target.”

The color drained immediately from my
face. He not only said it out loud but, he said it as if it was no
big deal. Even his sister showed no surprise at the remark. I
glanced at Evan and I could see the pulse rising in his
neck.

Celeste intervened, “Annalisa, this is
my husband, Giorgio Gavarreen.”

I offered my hand, but instead he
grabbed me and gave me a kiss on the cheek. “You certainly are
beautiful. I can see where this is going to be difficult for
him.”

I was trying to come up with some kind
of response, but I was shocked.

“
Have a seat,” he said,
pulling out a chair for me next to him. “I’ve already told my staff
what to bring out for dinner. I hope you enjoy spicy food. We do a
Creole/Italian blend.”

“
Yes,” I managed to force
out. “I—we were discussing that just this morning. I think I like
food hotter than—Micah.” I caught myself in the nick of time, I had
almost said, Evan.

“
Really?” He seemed
surprised. “You seem like a cultured young lady. I would have
thought the hottest thing you’ve ever handled might be a little
black pepper.”

“
No,” I said, finally
smiling and realizing that however uncomfortable this had been at
the start, he was simply being forthright because everyone in the
room knew what was going on. Why act like everything was fine and I
was just some date that his son had brought to meet the family?
“I’ve got a soft spot for deep-fried, stuffed
jalapenos.”

He chuckled deeply. “Next thing you’ll
tell me is that you drive stock cars and swill down
beer!”

Evan actually let a laugh slip on that
one. Giorgio looked from him back to me. he gave me a small nod to
let me know it was okay to be candid with his father. “No, not me.
I don’t drink, but I have driven the Daytona Speedway
before.”

“
She can also,” Evan
interrupted, “Spin a car three-sixty and slide sideways into a
parallel parking space at thirty-miles-an-hour.”