Dangerous Ladies (17 page)

He smiled at her. Smiled at her the way he had that night, that weekend, as if she were the most wonderful woman in the world.

Self-conscious, she reached for a napkin and met his fingers as he handed one to her.

Why would eating a hot dog make her think of sex with him?

She rushed into speech. “Who do you
think
could be following you?”

“Just about anybody.” He bit into his dog, too, and chewed reflectively. “The FBI, the police, reporters. I thought it was the Fosseras, but Mossimo says no. Of course, he lies like a rug.”

So those guys could have guns. She knew she wasn’t going to like the answer, but she asked anyway. “Why would the Fosseras follow you?”

“Professional curiosity.”

Like a shock of electricity, she realized what he meant. “They’re jewel thieves?”

“Mossimo runs the largest operation in the world right from his house.”

“I could get in trouble for letting you anywhere near a criminal. Near a firearm!” The idea made her almost faint.

“I doubt Judge Knight would be angry if I got shot.” Roberto grinned unrepentantly. “After this morning he’s rooting for it.”

“No, really. You were breaking that man’s wrist.” He had looked like he knew what he was doing, too. “They pulled a gun on you. That was not your everyday, run-of-the-mill lunch date.”

“Perhaps not for you. Don’t worry,
cara
; I won’t let the ugliness touch you.” He popped the top on a Coke and handed it to her.

“Why does there have to be ugliness?” She drank, and the sugar hit her system in a welcome rush.

“With the Fosseras, there is always ugliness.” He took another bite. “I should have asked for deli mustard.”

He was not taking her cross-examination seriously. “You have been remanded into my custody. If you’ll recall, Judge Knight told you the penalties for screwing up, and he told me the penalties if you screw up, and I wish—”

“If I answer your questions, will you answer mine?” Roberto passed her the bag with the fries.

Instantly she was on her guard. “What questions?” The fries were those floppy, yellow, undercooked things, and she passed them back.

“Your fiancé has a wife?”

How badly did she want to know Roberto’s secrets? “Only one.”

He didn’t laugh.

And really, what did it matter if he found out now or later?
Everybody
was going to find out sooner or later. That bastard Sanjin was going to find out—had probably heard from sleazeball Glenn. Yup,
if
she didn’t have a year’s lease on her poor trashed apartment, and
if
she didn’t fully realize that quitting her first full-time position would screw up her résumé big-time, and
if
she hadn’t had Roberto remanded into her custody, she’d leave McGrath and Lindoberth and go home to Nashville. Right now, the thought of having Tiffany hug her, stroke her hair, and call her “poor baby” sounded like heaven.

Brandi’s hand crept toward her purse, toward her cell phone.

But no. She couldn’t talk to her mother. Not here. Not now. Not with Roberto watching her and waiting for his answer.

“Alan got his girlfriend pregnant and had to marry her.” She wiped her hands on the paper napkin.

“Ah.” Roberto didn’t act surprised, as though men did that all the time.

He looked her over, reflecting on some piece of information to which she wasn’t privy. At last he passed judgment. “At least you didn’t love him.”

“I did, too!” She did, too!

“No, you didn’t. You’re not devastated; you’re irritated.”

“Because
you’re
irritating!” And obnoxious.

“You haven’t thought about your ex-fiancé all day. A woman whose heart is broken thinks of nothing else.”

“Who died and made you the love expert?” Just because she’d jumped Roberto’s bones without a thought of tomorrow, he acted like he knew stuff about her. Stuff she didn’t know.

“Do you have questions you want to ask me,” Roberto said, “or do you want to fight?”

“I don’t fight.”

He had the nerve to smile enigmatically.

She
didn’t
fight. She was sensible and rational. So she grabbed at her fraying self-discipline and
focused.
“Yes. Yes, I’ve got questions. About the Fosseras—why did you go there?”

“They asked me to meet them.” He didn’t seem to care that the fries were underdone. He ate them with good appetite.

“Why? Why would you be so foolish as to go and meet people like that when you’re awaiting trial?”

“No one says no to Mossimo.”

Roberto’s flat tone sent a chill down her spine. “Is he dangerous?”

“Very dangerous.”

“Then why don’t you turn him in to the police?”

“There are several reasons. First, the police aren’t likely to take anything
I
say seriously. If you’ll recall, I’m up for trial for stealing, and the police will believe it’s a rivalry or a setup, or figure if he kills me, it’s good riddance. Second, he hasn’t done anything wrong that anyone has caught him at. He would take an investigation amiss and kill the person who started it.” Roberto leaned close and looked into her eyes, and his were dark and stern. “Do you understand? You are not to speak to the police about Mossimo or the Fosseras. They don’t care that you’re young and pretty and a woman. They will kill you.”

She didn’t know what to say. She didn’t know what to think. The stuff he was talking about . . . who was he? The passionate lover? The charming jewel thief? The imperious aristocrat? Or this grim-faced, intimidating man who . . . who perhaps was far too familiar with killing?

She hated being at such a disadvantage. Somehow she had to investigate him. If only she had her laptop. She glanced around the car. “Where’s the computer?”

“What computer?”

“The computer Newby said was in the car.”

“You wish to send an e-mail to the police?” Roberto sounded polite and unyielding.

“No . . .” But she couldn’t tell him why she wanted a computer,
that she wanted to know all the details about him, his life, his occupation, his famous love affairs, and his infamous larceny.

“Sending an e-mail wouldn’t get the information to the proper authorities,” he said.

He was right.

But since the moment she’d left him less than twenty-four hours ago, her life had been chaos, and now she was danger? Yes, she believed that, but who was she most in danger from? From the Fosseras, or from him? “I have to do what I think is best.”

“Please remember, Brandi Michaels, that you are my lawyer, and any information about my movements or our conversations is off the record.”

“I doubt if Judge Knight would look at it that way.” Although he probably would; judges and lawyers usually took a firm stance on lawyer-client confidentiality.

“Then it’s a good thing I’ve been remanded into your custody so I can keep an eye on you.” Roberto sounded quite pleasant.

Yet a chill slid down her spine. He wasn’t threatening her with violence; rather it seemed he relished far too much their unremitting closeness. “What did the Fosseras
want
?”

“My head on a platter.”

“What would that profit them?”

“You catch on very quickly.” Then the exasperating man ate some limp fries.

“They want you to work for them, don’t they?” She
did
catch on quickly. Putting her hand on his shoulder, she squeezed it and said, “Roberto, they want you to steal something, and if you get caught again you’ll be in prison for the rest of your life, and the most talented law team won’t be able to stop that.” And she couldn’t bear the idea.

“I swear to you, I am not going to do anything to put your job in jeopardy, and I am not going to do a job for the Fosseras.” His deep voice vibrated with sincerity, and his dark eyes pledged much, much more.

“I depend on your word because . . . Wait!” The limo slowly
cruised through the narrow streets of an old-fashioned neighborhood. “Where are you taking me?” And why did her heart leap at the thought that Roberto was dragging her to his lair to have his way with her one more time?

“I thought you’d enjoy meeting my grandfather.”

“Oh.” How deflating. He wasn’t dragging her to his lair.

How flattering. He wanted her to meet his family.

How stupid. This wasn’t about her meeting his family. It wasn’t even about his being remanded to her custody and having to stay close. This was about his convenience and his convenience only. He couldn’t be bothered to take her back where she belonged. She was so insignificant he just dragged her along like extra weight.

Her teeth snapping, she ate the rest of the kielbasa. And enjoyed it, too, damn it.

“You’ll like my grandfather. Nonno’s a good man, a little eccentric, but if you can’t be eccentric at his age, what’s the point of living?” Roberto finished his dog, too, and the whole double batch of fries.

“And?” She waited for the other shoe to drop.

“He’s a jewel thief.”

Ah.
The other shoe. Heck, a boot. “Why would you think I’d like him, then? I like honest people. People with some moral responsibility, who don’t steal things for fun.” She was deliberately offensive.

But Roberto only grinned. “He didn’t do it for fun. It was the family business. The Continis—”

“Continis?”

“My mother’s family are the Continis. They’ve been stealing from the rich for generations. We’re from Northern Italy, up by the mountain passes. We used to rob travelers when they were weak from making the descent.”

“How heroic,” she said sarcastically.

“Poverty teaches you to take what you can.”

She could hardly argue that. She knew very well what poverty did to a person. It helped you develop galloping ambition and made success not an option, but an imperative.

“Nonno’s a legend. He’s got the fastest hands you can imagine. He’ll warn you he’s going to do it, then take your wallet, your watch, your earrings, your handkerchief, your keys. I’ve seen him take the driver’s license out of a woman’s wallet inside her zippered purse and close the zipper on the way out.”

“So he’s a pickpocket.”

“No, that’s too easy for him. No challenge at all.” Roberto grinned proudly. “He’s an international jewel thief. When he was younger he was the inside man, the guy who went in and actually picked up the jewels. He was the man who disarmed the alarm before the alarm knew anyone was there. He could walk across a wired floor and never trip it. He was a ghost, the man hired for the big heists, and eventually the man who planned the big heists.”

She hated herself for asking, but she had to know. “Is that what
you
do?”

“I hate to buck tradition,” he said mildly.

She glanced at his hands—long, broad, capable of bringing a woman to ecstasy. . . . “You’re good at stealing things.”

“Yes, I am. But, Brandi . . .” His severe tone made her look up into his eyes.

Then she was sorry she did. For the first time since those nights in his hotel room, he focused on her with real sensual intent. “I never took anything from you that you weren’t willing to give.”

“If you’ll recall, I’m the one who made the offer.” She sounded sensible, but she blushed bright red.

Not that she thought he’d forgotten their weekend, but he’d made no moves on her. Until now, he hadn’t made a single intimate comment. It seemed he was willing to pretend their relationship was and always had been totally professional. She’d been a little annoyed that he could so easily ignore what had passed between them, but she was grateful, too. Fending him off would have been awkward—especially since she thought she might succumb.

Of course, it wasn’t as if they’d been together for a long time. She’d only officially met him this morning. It just
seemed
longer.

But she had to clear the air. “Look, you’ve got it figured out. I was angry at Alan. I wanted revenge, and I took it with you. You’re probably feeling used and abused, and I’m sorry. I know I shouldn’t have done it, but I made sacrifices for him and he . . . he just blamed me because I hadn’t done enough. I was pissed. Do you understand? Asking you for sex was revenge, pure and simple.”

Taking her hand between both of his, Roberto raised it to his lips and kissed it as if the smell of sauerkraut, onions, and garlic sausage couldn’t offend him . . . as long as the aroma was on
her
skin. “You gorgeous creature, you can use me as often as you wish.”

W
hen Roberto called her a
gorgeous creature
in that Italian accent, Brandi was ready to attack him with scented candles and fresh flowers and . . . Oh, man, what did men like? With a ’56 Chevy Nomad which had, so she’d heard, a really big backseat that folded down.

He kissed her hand again, then said briskly, “Here we are.”