Charade (3 page)

Sleep, or even resting under the covers, was out of the question. She would stay up all night if
necessary,
monitoring the TV and the Web site until she was sure the students were safe.

Twisting her hair into a knot that barely fit inside a plastic cap, she took a quick shower and slipped into a long, silky blue robe. Then she curled up on the couch with a glass of Pinot Grigio, her laptop and the remote control, determined to hunker down indefinitely.

She had just taken the first sip of her drink when someone knocked on the door to her condominium. It was an odd occurrence for multiple reasons. She rarely had visitors. It was nearly eleven o’clock at night. And her building had excellent security, which meant she should have gotten a phone call from the front desk announcing any guest who sought admittance.

Sliding to her feet, Sasha considered her options carefully. There was the pistol in the bottom drawer of her nightstand.
Or a call to the front desk.
Or…

Forget those screwups at the desk. Just call 9-1-1!

But that seemed imprudent, given the nagging sensation in the back of her tired brain that her visitor was probably Carmine Martino, determined to collect on his bet.

Which led her to her final option—one she didn’t usually consider.
She could simply kick the crap out of any assailant. Wasn’t that the most practical part of her Athena Academy legacy?

Smiling at the thought, she walked over to the door and peeped through the peephole. Then she frowned in confused disbelief.

Jeff?

Without thinking, she threw open the door and demanded, “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing.
Can I come in?”

She was literally stunned. This guy never,
ever
came to her place. She always went to him, which made sense, since it wouldn’t have been prudent for an FBI agent to be spotted entering the residence of a Mafia boss’s daughter. Not prudent for Jeff, and certainly not for Sasha.

So why was he here?

Stepping aside, she allowed him to enter. Then she asked hesitantly, “Did you guys apprehend Vincenzo Martino?”

“We’re still working on it.” He gave a long, appreciative whistle as his gaze traveled around her sumptuously furnished living room. “Nice place.”

“My design work pays all the bills. And, yes, the down payment came from my mother’s trust fund, but every penny of that was completely legitimate. Not that it’s any of your business.” Sasha felt her temperature rise. “Even if every inch of this place was financed with mob money, I don’t have to explain it to
you.
”

Jeff turned and gave her a patient smile. “All I said was
,
it’s a nice place. You look good, too, by the way.”

Sasha sucked her breath in so quickly it made her chest ache. What the hell was he doing? Being
nice
to her?
Complimenting
her? Using his Summit voice on her in person, when he surely knew it was meant solely for electronic communications over safe distances?

But there he was, sounding strong and safe and sexy. Combined with his deep green eyes and admiring smile, the effect was lethal. Yet she knew it was false—this guy thought she was a crime waiting to happen!—so she steadied herself,
then
demanded, “Why are you here, Agent Crossman?”

“Sorry, I know it’s late. I just wanted to apologize for the way I acted earlier.”

Sasha moistened her lips.
“Pardon?”

“You did a great job today. And I gave you a rough time. I’m sorry.”

“You
always
give me a rough time,” she reminded him. “What’s so different about today?” Before he could respond, she insisted, “Don’t give it another thought. I’m used to it.”

“That’s my point. I’ve been wrong. I admit it.”

She would have been shaken by the sentiment had she not noticed his gaze slip, just for a moment, from her face to her body, which probably looked fairly good in this particular robe. “Oh. My.
God.
Don’t even
think
about it. Just go home and sleep it off.”

He flushed. “It’s not that, either. Although like I said, you look great. You’re amazing, actually. If we land Vincent the Butcher because of you—well—”

“So? You came here—at eleven o’clock at night—to apologize for calling me a spoiled Mafia princess?
Fine.
Apology accepted. Now go home.”

Jeff frowned. “I never called you that. At least…”

“Not to my face? Yeah, you’re a classy guy. No doubt about it.” Stepping close to him, she raised her chin defiantly. “You know what really bugs me? All these months, you’ve been railing about my divided loyalties and crappy motivation because of my so-called vendetta against my father. But you know what? I think
you’re
the one with a vendetta.
Against
me.
”

“That’s not true,” he assured her, using his Summit voice again.

“Isn’t it?” She smiled grimly. “You’ve seen all my advantages—fancy houses, elite prep schools, zillion-dollar weddings and colorful relatives. And then
there’s
you. So drenched in normalness you can’t possibly relate to all that. So you denigrate it.”

He arched a teasing eyebrow. “How am I drenched in normalness?
If that’s even a word, which I doubt.”

Sasha bit her lip, regretting the display of temper. Wasn’t she just feeding the stereotype?
The hot-blooded Italian female?
Plus, he was right about normalness. It wasn’t a word per se, but it fit him sooo well.

Except for his body,
which was anything but normal.
And his face was superior, too.
And his voice.
And to be fair, winning the Heisman Trophy in his junior year at Princeton was nothing to sneeze at, especially since her father—Big Frankie—had reportedly made a bundle on a related bet.

Jeff touched her shoulder lightly. “Come on, Sasha. Let me apologize. I’ve been tough on you.
For a lot of reasons.
I see now I was wrong. You’re invaluable to my operation. And the most amazing person I’ve ever worked with.”

“But…?” She licked her lips. “You still don’t trust me.
Right?”

“I’ve always trusted you. It was your motives I questioned.
Because of your relationship with your father.”
He exhaled sharply. “I’m sure I would have reacted the same way you did if I—well, if I suspected my father of—well, of doing what you think your father did.”

“You can’t even say it!” She backed away in
embarrassed
disgust. “That’s the real reason you didn’t trust me. You have so much contempt for the world I grew up in, you can’t believe—not even for one minute—that something or someone decent could come out of it.”

“Sasha—”

“Your father would never have anyone killed. Even if your mother had had sex with another man right in front of his eyes! They’d all just troop over to group counseling, right? But
scum like
my father and me—”

“Cut it out,” he instructed firmly. “I never said that. And I never thought it, either. Not once.”

She forced herself to settle down. Then she said with a sigh, “You figured I’d forgive Dad one day, right? And then my loyalty to you would shift back to him.”

“Loyalty to me, loyalty to him.”
Jeff exhaled again, this time in clear frustration. “That’s my point, Sasha. You’re setting yourself up for a huge disappointment—or worse, if you look at it that way. Real loyalty has to be grounded in something unshakable. It’s great that your culture respects family above all else, but that opens the door to factions, infighting, jealousy—”

“What’s
your
loyalty grounded in?”

“I guess, justice.
The rule of law.
Our legislatures and courts.
Not personal vengeance and passion.”

“Judges and politicians are just as corrupt as anyone else who wields power,” Sasha insisted. Then she turned away from him, folding her arms across her chest. “Maybe you should just go.”

“Hey.” He rested his hands on her waist and massaged it lightly. “Don’t be mad, okay?”

She turned back to him, completely disoriented. “What are you doing?”

“Tell me to stop,” he suggested hoarsely.

She wanted to say something—anything—but found herself moistening her lips instead.

Countless fantasies, some from earlier in Sasha’s life, some from the day she first met this frustrating, judgmental hunk, flooded her mind and body with heat and excitement. Not that she needed it. He was supplying more than enough juice with his hot, appreciative stare.

Then he pulled her against himself, and she gasped at the hard-body feel of him. In an instant his tongue was sparring with hers, his hand roving under her robe, his breathing growing ragged and needy—

And then—as if to rescue them from themselves—there was another unexpected knock on the front door.

“Damn.” Jeff realigned Sasha so that her cheek was nestled against his chest. “Are you expecting someone?”

She loved the erratic way his heart was pounding, mostly because it offered proof that he was as excited as she.
Not that other proof hadn’t been pressed against her,
but that was just physical.
Just a guy thing.
This breathless lack of control was something else.
Emotion.
Confusion.

All the things Sasha was experiencing.

“I wasn’t expecting anyone. Especially not you,” she told him.

“Yeah.
Me, either.”

She pulled free and tried not to smile too widely. “It’s probably Carmine Martino. Here to collect on his bet.”

Jeff’s amorous expression rearranged itself instantly. “He can collect on my fist, the asshole.”

“Earth to Jeff.
If he sees you here, my cover’s blown, remember?” She stroked his tightened jaw. “I can handle him, believe me. Go hide in the bedroom.”

Jeff shook his head. “I don’t want him alone with you. Not ever.”

“I won’t be alone with him. You’ll be in the next room. Plus,” she added playfully, “I can kick his ass.
And
yours.
Thanks to my fancy prep school.”

He hesitated,
then
grinned.
“Yeah.
I know all about that from your file.”

“Don’t forget it,” she said in mock warning. “Now shoo.”

Still smiling, Sasha forced herself to recover from the lip-lock with Jeff,
then
took a few moments to re-belt her robe, which had been forced open during the kiss. She knew she should change into something less sexy, but her clothes were in the bedroom with Jeff and the bed, and that combination seemed just as dangerous as whatever was waiting for her in the hall.

Moving to the peephole, she was surprised to see that her second visitor for the evening wasn’t Carmine, either. Instead, it was a bored-looking delivery boy with a long white box. And once again, security hadn’t alerted her, which was baffling. Not to mention, annoying.

Your Christmas bonus is in jeopardy, boys,
she warned the front-desk crew.

Then she took a moment to warn herself, as well.
Since when are flowers delivered in the middle of the night? Something screwy’s going on.

Her best guess was that Carmine had sent them. He would have ways of getting them past the guards, either covertly or otherwise. If that was the case, she needed to get this over with as quickly as possible,
then
get back to Jeff—hopefully for another round of X-rated kissing.

Wise up. You’re still Franco Bracciali’s daughter. This could be a completely different kind of package, so stop being such a sap.
Girls who let strangers into their homes in the middle of the night make headlines the next morning, and not in a good way.
So forget about sex and try to focus, will you?

Clearing her throat, she called out, “Who is it?”

“Flower delivery. Sorry for the late hour, but it’s a rush.”

Sasha scowled. “Just leave the box where I can see it through the peephole, then go. Sorry about your tip, but like you said, it’s late.”

“No problem, ma’am. Have a good night.”

Jeff was beside her before she could open the door.
“Flowers?
What’s that about?”

“I don’t know,” she admitted. “How did he get past security? In fact—” she arched an inquiring eyebrow “—how did
you
get past it?”

“The alarm system on the delivery door in the alley is prehistoric. Typical of these ritzy buildings—all the show is up front. But I reset it after I was inside, so…” His tone grew brisk. “Stand back. I’ll handle it.”

She laughed. “You’re kidding, right? It’s
my
condo, so you stand back. Never let it be said that a Bracciali allowed an honored guest to get blown up on our turf.”

“I knew you led an interesting life,” he drawled, “but this just about beats it.”

She liked the way his green eyes twinkled when he teased her, but reminded herself that he had mostly been an enemy—or at least a detractor—for the majority of their relationship, so she shouldn’t let her guard down so easily.

Turning away from him, she leveled her eye with the peephole again,
then
had to admit, “It looks legit. Let’s check it out.”

Opening the door, she edged into the hall and knelt beside the long white box. “No ticking,” she told Jeff, half jokingly.

“Allow me.” He grabbed her by the elbow, pulling her to her feet. Then he pushed her behind himself before nudging the lid with his foot. The box opened easily, revealing a bouquet of long-stemmed red roses.

“Ooh, nice.” Sasha knelt again, scooping the flowers into her arms. The she flashed Jeff a playful smile. “You didn’t send them, did you?”

“Given how things are going, I kinda wish I had.
But no.
You’ve obviously got another secret admirer.
Some sort of belated Valentine’s Day gift.”

Sasha could see a tiny envelope nestled between the dark red blossoms. Pulling the card free, she opened it and scanned the simple inscription.

Your cell and landlines both roll to voice mail. We need to talk. Check your e-mail.
AA.