Dangerous Ladies (30 page)

“Little Brandi.” Again Roberto put his gloved finger to her lips. “Listen to me. I swear to you, I will do the right thing. Trust me.”

When he said that, she wanted to die from joy that he cared and anguish that she couldn’t—didn’t dare—believe him. “Roberto, I want to trust you. I really do. But—”

His computer beeped. He glanced at the message that popped up. “The FBI is at the hotel now. They’re guarding our suite. And the stalkers must have discovered that their plan didn’t work, because they’re loitering in the lobby.”

Newby brought the car to a halt outside the hotel.

Roberto nodded toward a man under the awning bundled up in a doorman’s outfit. “That’s our FBI protection.”

“How can you tell?” He looked like a doorman to Brandi.

“I recognize him.”

“Right.” Brandi memorized his face. “Why doesn’t he go in and arrest those guys?”

For a moment Roberto looked almost . . . guilty, and he sounded glib. “He can’t do that until we know for sure who these guys are working for.”

“What? Trying to kill us isn’t a good enough reason to put them in jail?” Newby opened the door, and she got out of the car. “Do you remember when you were talking to Judge Knight, Roberto?”

Roberto followed her toward the hotel. “Yes,” he said cautiously.

“I’ve decided you were right.” As they passed the fake doorman, she spoke right to him. “The FBI really are a bunch of idiots.”

B
randi knew Roberto had promised to steal the Romanov Blaze. She just didn’t know when.

Roberto knew.

Tonight was the night.

In a few short hours Roberto would be in the Art Institute of Chicago, in the innermost sanctum, lifting the giant sparkling stone from its display case. Afterward, accompanied by the Fossera men, he would go to the Stuffed Dog and deliver it to Mossimo, and then . . . ah, then the stain on the Contini family honor would be expunged, and Roberto would have the answers to the questions that had plagued him this past year.

But before he could steal the stone, he needed to discover the identity of the stalkers who wanted Brandi dead. He needed to know that when he left her alone, she would be safe.

At this hour, the hotel lobby teemed with guests. The concierge gave him a salute. The desk clerk greeted him by name. One of the female guests asked him for his autograph.

Brandi observed the parade of sycophants. “Everybody adores you.”

“But of course. I’m a celebrity. Don’t you find it amusing that
notoriety gives me the same respect as wealth and respectability?” When she frowned, he grinned. She was predictable, his Brandi, charmingly so. “Now excuse me; I have to speak to someone.”

Going to the bell captain, he leaned close and murmured, “Do you see the two boys hanging around by the potted plants?”

“Yes, Mr. Bartolini.”

“They don’t belong in here. Throw them out.”

“Yes, sir.” The bell captain touched his forehead in an informal salute and signaled security.

Roberto rejoined Brandi, satisfied he’d done his part to make sure the stalkers were miserable and cold. It was the least Roberto could do for them.

Brandi waited for him by the elevator, and if Roberto hadn’t been watching, he wouldn’t have seen the small hesitation as she stepped on board.

“We could walk up,” he suggested. “After a life-altering plunge, it’s all right to be afraid.”

“If you can take the elevator, I can take the elevator.” Yet as it rose, she leaned against the back wall with her head pressed against the paneling and braced herself as if waiting for the fall. “Besides,” she said as if he’d made a comment, “the suite’s only on the fourth floor.”

The elevator stopped.

She jumped.

The doors opened.

Roberto put his arm around her back. “Let’s go find out what’s in your coat.”

His touch seemed to galvanize her, and she hurried out and down the hall—away from him.

She didn’t trust him, and while he supposed she showed good sense, still he hated to see the misgivings in her eyes. His every action was that of an adventure-seeking opportunist, yet he wanted her to see beyond his exploits to the man he really was. He wanted her to
depend on him, confide in him, believe in him, and he had only two tools on which to rely—his touch and his words.

If she chose to doubt those, he could do nothing to change her mind.

In the suite she went right to the coat closet. Pulling out her London Fog, she dug her hand into the pocket and unerringly pulled out the white velvet jewel case.

He remembered it. It had fallen out of her pocket at the courthouse. He’d picked it up, handed it over, and she’d thrust the case into her pocket once more. Thank God it had remained there until they could get to it now.

She flipped open the lid, lifted the insert that displayed the jewels—and a black-and-gold video chip tumbled out onto her foot.

“My God.” Scooping up the chip, she gazed helplessly at Roberto. “It’s really here.”

Taking it from her, he walked to the desk. He ran his fingers across the lock on his laptop, pushing the right combination, and the lid slowly lifted.

“You have the best gadgets,” she said.

She sounded so awed that when this was over, he resolved to get her a laptop with as many bells and whistles as money could buy.

“Let’s see what we have.” He inserted the chip.

At once the screen came to life and played a typical day in a small neighborhood pawnshop.

First they saw the counter and the cash register. They heard the door open and someone punch in the alarm code.

“There’s probably another camera pointed at the door,” Roberto said.

“Probably.”

“When he first got the threats, he must have upgraded to a security system with sound.”

“Probably,” she said again.

They saw Mr. Nguyen come into the picture, go to the cash register with a bank bag, and fill the open till.

At the sight of him, Brandi took a pained breath.

Roberto understood. “It’s a shock when you see someone who you know is gone.”

“But I barely met him.” She sounded bewildered.

“Death is always a surprise. About what time did you go in the shop?”

“Early. Probably ten thirty.”

“Okay.” Roberto fast-forwarded through Mr. Nguyen seating himself behind the counter and flipping through a magazine, and slowed when the door clanged. The shopowner looked up and flinched. Obviously he dreaded his visitors, but he called out, “Joseph and Tyler Fossera. What are you doing here? I told you to stay out.”

Two young men swaggered up to the counter, and the oldest said, “Hey, you’re nothing but an old gook. We don’t have to listen to you.”

“Yeah, man, he’s a gook.” The other boy laughed—and coughed.

“That’s him; that’s the kid I caught following me,” Roberto said.

At the same time Brandi said, “That’s them.”

On the video, the oldest asked, “Are you going to take our offer?”

“I’ve checked around the neighborhood,” Mr. Nguyen said. “You have no power here. It’s your uncle who is the head of your family and if he knew that you were trying to set up your own protection racket in his territory—”

In a flash, the oldest punched Mr. Nguyen in the face.

Mr. Nguyen’s head jerked sideways. He fell back, hitting the wall. Pictures clattered to the floor.

The younger guy said, “Joseph!” He sounded shocked.

“Shut up, Tyler.” Joseph waited while Mr. Nguyen staggered up.

“Yeah, well, gook, we can protect you from
us.
” Joseph thrust
his head forward, a pugnacious little shit who needed to be taken out.

Mr. Nguyen put his hand to his jaw and gingerly moved it from side to side.

“I saw that bruise on his face,” Brandi whispered. She couldn’t take her gaze off the screen.

Roberto pushed the desk chair under her, and she sank down as if her knees could no longer support her.

“We’re going to kill you if you don’t pay us,” Joseph said.

Mr. Nguyen shook his head as if clearing it, then rounded on Tyler. “And you! What are doing with this thug? You’re smart. You program computers. You don’t need crime!”

“He’s with me!” Joseph grabbed Tyler around the neck. “Aren’t you, man?”

“Yes, I’m with him.” But Tyler didn’t look happy. “You
have
to pay us. We’re starting our own business. We’re going to be rich, and everyone’s going to pay!”

“Ask your uncle what he thinks of that, young Tyler!” Mr. Nguyen said.

Joseph pushed Tyler behind him and focused on Mr. Nguyen. “My uncle’s old. He’s lost his touch. Everyone says so. Someone new needs to step in. That’s me.”

“And me,” Tyler said.

“No wonder they want the video,” Brandi said. “This would convict them.”

Roberto nodded. “If Mossimo didn’t get to them first.”

“Would he kill those boys?”

“The ones who challenged his power? You bet.”

On the tape, Joseph said, “Yeah, Gook, Tyler is my second in command. So pay us”—he pulled a pistol and pointed it at Mr. Nguyen—“because I’m not kidding. We’re going to kill you.” His hand was absolutely steady, and he smiled as if anticipating the money or the kill.

Slowly Mr. Nguyen stepped back, his hands rising in the air.

Tyler was wiggling like a kid who needed to go to the restroom. “No, man, don’t kill him; we’ll get in trouble!”

“The weak link,” Roberto said.

“Jesus, Tyler, you’re such a chickenshit!” Joseph said in disgust.

“I’m not, either!” Without drawing breath, Tyler said, “Someone’s coming. Shit, it’s a girl.”

All three heads swiveled toward the door.

“Didn’t you lock it? You moron, what’s wrong with you?” Joseph put his pistol in his coat pocket. He pulled his cap down and his scarf up. To Mr. Nguyen he said, “It’s up to you. If you say one word, we’ll kill her and you. Remember that before you say anything.”

Mr. Nguyen nodded.

The boys moved down the counter.

The door opened, and Brandi heard her own voice saying, “It’s cold outside. It’s warm in here.” She was talking to Kim, and in a second she appeared in camera range.

Roberto and Brandi watched as she pawned her ring and bought her earrings. They saw Mr. Nguyen take the white velvet case apart, then turn toward the camera. He looked into the lens and the expression on his face said it all. He faced death, but he took no one with him, and at the same time he hoped he brought the boys down.

He reached toward the camera. The chip went blank.

As the video ended, neither Roberto nor Brandi stirred.

She stood. “The little bastards!” she burst out.

He flinched at her vehemence. She called them bastards; if she knew the truth about Roberto, would she use that word so freely?

“They’re not bastards,” he told her. “They’re Fosseras. Treachery is born and bred into their bones. Now let me copy this onto my computer and send it to the police.” Pulling up the chair, he went to work, sending the video as an e-mail attachment to his contact at the FBI. Aiden would know what to do.

Walking to the window, she looked down. “I can see them from here. They look like a couple of innocent young boys shivering in
the cold. But they killed Mr. Nguyen.” She stared down at them, shaking her head as if she couldn’t comprehend such violence. “I hope they get frostbite.”

“They’re going to get more than that.” He finished the operation, then turned his attention to her. “But until they’re in custody, they’re dangerous men. Do you know how to shoot a gun?”

She faced him, exasperation clear on her face. “No, but I know how to do a flip on the balance beam.”

“That’s good, too.” Going to the closet safe, he punched in the code and opened it. He pulled out his pistol, the small piece he kept handy for small jobs, and checked to make sure it was loaded.

Bringing it to her, he said, “Here’s the safety. When you want to shoot someone, take the safety off. After that, point this end”—he showed her the end of the barrel—“at the largest part of the person you want to kill, and pull the trigger. It’s not art. It’s not science. It’s security. Your own. Don’t take any chances. Until the FBI has those guys under arrest, take this pistol with you every time you go out.”

She didn’t argue with him. Taking the gun in her hand, she got familiar with the weight, clicked the safety on and off, and nodded. “Okay. I might not do a good job shooting one of those guys, but it won’t be for lack of trying. Where do you want me to keep it?”

“Someplace easy to get to.” He opened the top drawer of the desk.

She placed the pistol there and smiled uncertainly at him. “What happens next?”

That Roberto couldn’t tell her—even he didn’t know for certain what would happen next. For all the work he and his grandfather had put into the plans to steal the Romanov Blaze, there was still an element of uncertainty. Any robbery could go sour; this one, with enemies around every corner, could prove lethal.