Deadly Fall (31 page)

Augusta tossed him a bemused sidelong glance, not sure if he was serious. Then she went back to looking anxiously out the window and said, “Because I trust you.”

Nick reached over and clasped her cool hand in his. Without thinking, Augusta twined their fingers.

Augusta couldn’t explain away the unease stirring inside her. Daniele Castelletti’s words haunted her—
protect those who are weak, even from themselves.
She’d immediately thought of Adam. Adam worshipped Drew because Drew had been his older brother, his role model, his protector. When they’d first met, Adam had recounted story after story of how Drew had come to his rescue time and time again. She had a feeling Drew had come to his brother’s rescue one last time.

She drew in a slow, deep breath. “You might have to get a forensic accountant to look at Adam’s finances.” Her voice lowered to a whisper. “But I hope to God you don’t have to.”

Nick shot her a startled glance. “Did Castelletti suggest that?”

“No,” she said, sounding distracted as she turned back to scanning the world outside the passenger-side window. “I’ll explain when we get to Adam’s place.”

As they drew closer to Adam’s brownstone, her heart beat faster and faster. The churning in her stomach made her thankful she hadn’t eaten lunch with Daniele Castelletti. At last, the brownstone came into view. Augusta’s eyes darted around the surroundings, almost expecting to see menacing figures lurking in the shadows of the nearby houses and trees.

Nick released her hand to shift the vehicle down the gears and into park, stopping in front of the brownstone.

“Wait.” His hand shot out to pull Augusta back before she could open the passenger door. “What did Castelletti say to you about Langan?”

“He said—”

The rest of her words were drowned out by the thunderous boom that rocked the sedan. Lightning quick reflexes had both Nick and Augusta bending down and covering their heads with their arms as curls of flames surrounded the car just before wood and brick and glass pelted the vehicle, cracking the front and back passenger windows and embedding in the body.

“The body found in the wreckage is believed to be Adam Langan, brother of recently deceased Andrew Lang—”

Augusta pressed the POWER button and, reaching over, put the television remote control back on the tufted ottoman that served double duty as her coffee table. She didn’t need a rehash of what had happened hours earlier. As much as she hated to admit it, she was still quivering inside. She drew her legs onto the sofa and folded them under her butt, careful to arrange the short hem of her nightie so that it covered her matching bikini panties. When she’d finally been allowed to go home, the first thing she’d done was hit the shower until the water turned cool. Then, needing to be free and comfortable, she had put on the simple nightie made of black stretchy, silky material that skimmed her body and earned Nick’s appreciative leer.

“Tell me again exactly what Castelletti said about Stefano and Tommy Salvo,” Nick ordered as he set the mug of hot chocolate in her waiting hands, warming them.

Augusta allowed the fragrant curls of chocolate-scented steam to tease her nostrils and took a sip before answering. “His exact words were ‘Please be assured Stefano and his cousin will not trouble you anymore,’” she said, shifting to make room for Nick.

She’d recounted her conversation with Daniele Castelletti enough times to know it by heart.

“You think he had them killed,” she said, setting her mug on the tray on the ottoman.

“They were stupid enough to be caught on videotape. Castelletti is not a man to suffer fools. The man is the head predator in a group of alpha predators for a damned good reason.”

“He hides it well.”

Nick grunted.

“What about Adam?” she asked quietly, almost emotionless. It was hard to reconcile the man who had been her best friend with the stranger his death had unveiled.

“The Crime Scene Unit is still going through the site. It could be a few days before I hear anything.”

Augusta didn’t need to ask that all important question. Why Adam? Nick had received the package she had couriered over to him at the Nineteenth Precinct and had gone through it with a fine-tooth comb. It had all started with Adam and a gambling addiction he’d assured Augusta years ago he’d kicked. He never kicked the addiction. He’d just learned to hide it better. Adam, however, had been a victim of not just his weakness but of men who played him until he’d signed over part ownership of LSI, men who sought to use Adam’s weakness for their own gains. And like the protective older brother he’d been born to be, Drew had stepped in, his duty clear to him.

Augusta closed her eyes, remembering the man who had saved her from herself. He’d deserved so much more than she’d ever given him.

“Do you think Adam was ready to come forward? He nearly broke down after the attack on Jana.”

“I can’t make any assumptions,” Nick answered gently.

She drew in a deep breath. “What happens now?”

“We have arrest warrants and APBs out for both Salvos, but the NYPD can’t find them.”

“What about Daniele Castelletti?”

“Langan’s package is not enough for a conviction, not with the sharks Castelletti can hire to defend him. And attempted blackmail and extortion won’t be enough to interest the DA. Unless he can put Castelletti away for life without parole, the DA’s office is not going to touch it.”

She nodded, part of her almost relieved. If anyone ever questioned her, she would deny it to her last breath, but she had genuinely liked Daniele Castelletti. Of course, her judgment sucked, seeing as how she had been blind to her best friend’s problems.

“We can pass this information on, but I’d rather not.”

“Drew wanted me to mail it to a John Archer of the FBI.”

“Why didn’t you?”

“I trust you.”

Nick shifted closer, wrapping his arms about her, and pressed a kiss on her head, inhaling the clean scent of her hair. She settled back against him, her head finding the niche in his shoulder made just for her head.

“I have a press conference in a couple of days,” Augusta said, a grimace in her voice.

“The department will make a statement clearing you of all suspicion.”

“Still.”

“The media and the public will go back to leaving you alone in a week.”

“That can’t happen soon enough.”

“We can disappear until this blows completely over.”

A slow smile spread across her face. “What were you thinking?”

“White sandy beaches, warm water, making love in a hammock.”

Her center heated and softened, but all she said was, “Hmm…sounds nice.”

“Just nice?” he demanded, mock outrage in his voice. “Making love with me is just
nice
?”

She laughed and sat up. Within the circle of his arms, she shifted until she straddled him, face to face, her hands braced on his shoulders. The teasing words died on her lips as his gaze caught hers. And she didn’t look away, couldn’t look away as the instinct she had determinedly locked away all these years slipped past her lowered defenses and blossomed warmly inside her.

A callused palm cupped her cheek. “What is it?”

Instead of replying, she leaned forward and fitted her mouth to his. His response was immediate and gratifyingly passionate. His fingers tangled in her hair and his other hand curved around a hip, fingers digging in, pressing her down on the impressive bulge straining the zipper of his jeans.

Augusta moaned as heat shot through her. She rubbed against him, almost grinding against him. The hand at her hip moved down, crumpled the hem of her nightie and rucked it up to her waist. He only had enough patience to pull her panties down to her thighs before his fingers unerringly found her center, hot, wet and desperately ready for him. Augusta broke off the kiss and let her head fall back when he slid two thick fingers inside her channel, flexed them, rotated them. His thumb flicked repeatedly at the full, tight bud of her sex as she arched above him, her eyes closed, her lips parted, her body taut as a guitar string.

Nick watched her, his eyes dark and glittering. She was a magnificent sight as she sought her pleasure. He withdrew his fingers and thrust them harder into her. She made a breathy, strangled sound as her slim, pale body quivered. Then she slowly, sensuously rose, then ground back down against his hand. She did it again and again and again, her fingers lost in the material of his shirt. Nick bent and tasted the sweat that gleamed on her shoulder. It was salty and erotic and wasn’t enough. He released her hair, found the spaghetti strap of her nightie, yanked it down until he exposed her right breast and dragged his rough, wet tongue over the tight, dark bud that capped the small breast.

She cried out his name as her body went rigid and wet heat exploded in his hand. But he didn’t stop. Nick drew as much of her soft, quivering breast into his mouth as he could and suckled strongly as she trembled, the waves of her release washing through her. He continued working on her breast until arousal snaked through her system again, making her pant and circle her hips. She lowered her body, teased him and drew back. Her breast popped free of his mouth, wet with his saliva.

“No,” she panted, grasping his wrist and pulling him away from her sex. Her fingers went to work on his jeans. “I want you inside me.” It took precious seconds for her clumsy, trembling fingers to free him. Then he was hot and hard in her hands. She positioned the wide head at the entrance of her body.

And stopped.

“Wait,” she whispered breathlessly, and winced when he clutched at her hips too tightly. She swallowed.

Her lashes lifted and she looked into his eyes, her own glittering with more than lust. “I stopped taking the Pill.”

His hands tightened until he knew she would have new bruises on her hips. “I don’t have a condom with me.”

“I know.”

Those two softly-spoken words had the impact of a fist to his gut. His expression was as fierce as his voice. “Are you sure?”

She nodded and cupped his face, the pads of her thumbs tracing the sharp, bristly edge of his jaw. “I’m sure.”

She barely finished speaking before he slammed up into her, making her cry out again.

It was a typical Monday on the NYU campus. Students moved about a little slower than normal as they continued their recovery from the weekend. Cold air blew through the trees that were slowly but surely shedding their bright, colorful leaves. The frosted grass crunched beneath Augusta’s ankle boots.

She took it all in as she carried the heavy box containing the meager personal possessions that had once occupied the tiny office that now belonged to someone else. Her interview with Frank Hayes an hour earlier had been short and satisfying. The faculty dean had reassured her the school would welcome her back with open arms. The NYPD’s statement of her innocence and the fact that she was Drew Langan’s sole, undisputed heir had most likely played a large part in the dean’s about-face. That she planned on deeding all her LSI shares back to the remaining members of the Langan clan was not public knowledge. Thus, the thought of a professor on staff with her supposed bank account had Hayes salivating. He’d probably been imagining a new building. When she told him in short, simple words she would never return to the university and the overly political world of academia, he’d nearly panicked. Augusta had quietly risen and left Hayes’ office before he could start groveling.

Now, as she walked to her brand new S4, courtesy of Peter Donovan’s persuasiveness with her insurance company, Augusta inhaled deeply, letting the chilly air cleanse her lungs. She would miss all this, but she simply could not go back to it.

She was starting a new life, free from the shadows of her past. True, some of those shadows would linger and never leave her completely, but she was going to make every effort to move beyond them, starting with her doubts and fears about her art. No, that wasn’t completely true. She’d started with Nick Markov. She’d taken the first step with him, and each subsequent step had been easier and easier.

Daniele Castelletti had been true to his word. Or at least half of his word. Stefano Salvo would never again bother her. Or anyone else, for that matter. His grotesquely bloated body had washed up on the west bank of the East River the day after Adam’s death. There were suspects, but no evidence and no one was straining themselves over the case. Not too much effort was being put into the investigation of the killing of a murder suspect with mafia ties, especially since taxpayers’ money now would not be wasted on a trial for the murder of Andrew Langan. The NYPD were speculating Tommy Salvo’s body would soon follow the same path. Once that happened, Drew’s murder case would be closed.

Augusta beeped her trunk open as she neared her car. She balanced the box on top of her back bumper and her right knee as she nudged the trunk wide open. She bent down and shifted her hold on the box—and froze at the feel of a body brushing her back. An instant later, something small and hard jabbed in the small of her back.