On Thin Ice (4 page)

Shrugging her statement aside, Sabatino spoke to Devlin. “About time you got your asses over here.” He took one of the rickety chairs and pulled it out to sit. “I’ve been in this stinking hole twelve hours already. When the hell are you getting me out?”

Some things never change, Devlin thought. Exactly the attitude he’d expected.
“If
we get you out,” he said calmly. If Sabatino thought to intimidate him, he could think again. “The judge might not be inclined to grant you bail. Even if he does, it’s going to be high, given the charges against you. Racketeering isn’t a penny-ante crime, not on the scale you’re into.”

“Your job is to get my butt out, not to lecture me, pretty boy.”

Devlin quelled an urge to wipe the sneer off Sabatino’s mouth with his fist. “Call it what you want. Those are the facts.”

“What about you,
cara?”
he said, turning to Gabrielle. “Are you going to lecture me?”

“I’m your lawyer, Sabatino,” Gabrielle said flatly. “You can call me Ms. Rousseau or Gabrielle, but that’s as close as we get. You’ll be out in forty-eight hours, with a little luck.”

“I thought CG and S was supposed to be good.” His eyes narrowed, darkened. “That’s too long. I want out today.”

“Good is one thing. Miracles are another.” Devlin added a rider to pacify him a bit. “But we’ll try to expedite your bail hearing. Have you considered cooperating with the FBI?”

Sabatino made a crude gesture expressing his opinion of that idea.
“Omertà,”
he said simply.

“A code of silence won’t get your butt out of a sling, Sabatino,” Devlin said. “You should think about it.”

“It won’t get me killed, either. Besides, I’m innocent. The cops set me up. Entrapment.”

“You want to plead not guilty?” Gabrielle asked, her tone implying she didn’t believe his innocence for a minute.

“Sì, signorina.
And you will defend me?” he asked with a suave smile.

“We haven’t decided yet which one of us will present your case,” Gabrielle snapped.

What was going on between these two? Devlin wondered. Sabatino was obviously jerking her chain, but still . . . A little too much tension for them to be the strangers they portrayed themselves to be.

He could see Gabrielle’s fingers gripped tightly around her pen. Her control wasn’t come by easily. Maybe it was the simple fact that she didn’t like the Mafia. Or it might be she just didn’t like Sabatino’s oily style. Devlin couldn’t blame her for that. Come to think of it, he’d had about as much of Sabatino as he could tolerate in one sitting. They had all the information they needed for now.

“We’ll notify you as soon as the bail hearing is set,” he said, rising and going to the door to signal Sabatino’s escort to come for him.

“Send the
signorina
instead of you next time,” Sabatino suggested with a final significant glance at Gabrielle. Neither of them answered as the jailer led him away.

“Not a chance, turkey,” Devlin muttered. He turned to Gabrielle. “Looks like you’ve got an admirer.”

She lifted a shoulder. “He’ll get over it.”

Yeah, but would she? She was upset, Devlin mused, though doing a good job of hiding it. “Are you ready to leave?”

“No, you go ahead.” She hesitated. “There’s another matter I should check on while I’m here.”

“All right. I’ll see you later, then. Looks like it’s going to be a working dinner for us tonight. You want me to bring takeout?”

“Dinner?” she repeated blankly.

“Yeah, I figure we might as well eat. We need to discuss the bail hearing, talk about preliminary strategy. The client’s a little antsy, not much interested in giving us breathing time. So? Your place or mine?” he asked on a lighter note.

“Oh.” She rubbed a hand over her forehead, clearly distracted. “My place, I guess. 4123 Greenbriar. It’s the pale yellow brick.”

“Got it. I’ll be there around seven.”

“Fine.” She waved at him absently and walked off in the opposite direction from the exit.

Now that, Devlin thought, watching her, had been a very strange meeting. Lots of hidden undercurrents and he wanted to know why. He was a patient man, though. If there was something between Gabrielle and Sabatino, he’d find out what it was. Eventually.

Gabrielle waited until she was certain Sinclair had left, even going to the extent of checking the parking lot for his car, before she asked to see Sabatino again. If Sinclair found out . . . but she’d take that risk. She had to see Franco.

Though surprised, the jailer gave her no trouble about bringing Sabatino back to the conference room. A few minutes later, she and Franco sat on opposite sides of the table, measuring each other silently.

Go for the jugular, Gabrielle thought. “So, Franco, what rock have you slithered out from under this time?”

“Ah, Gabriela.
Bellisima, squisita!
My heart stopped when I walked in that door and saw you. It’s been too long,
cara mia.”

“It hasn’t been nearly long enough. Cut the crap and tell me why you called my firm.”
You lowdown piece of scum,
she added silently. Oh, he was the same Franco. But she wasn’t the same girl he’d known. She was older. And smarter and stronger.

He spread his hands. “I should think that is obvious. I needed a lawyer. A good one.”

“Naturally, you thought of me.” She skimmed a disgusted gaze up and down his solid form. Dark, she thought. Hair, eyes, and soul. Years later, he still looked good, if you forgot he was a monster. “Me. A woman you haven’t seen in fourteen years.”

“You have a reputation.” With a calculating smile, he relaxed in his chair.

“Yes, I do. And if you want me to get you out of here, you’ll level with me.”

“Gabriela.” He opened his eyes wide in what she knew was feigned distress. “Can you possibly think I would betray—?”

Gabrielle tamped down a surge of nausea. “We both know what you’re capable of. Save the hearts and violins for some other fool. Did you contact me on your own? Or was it Vito’s idea?”

“Vito misses you. He’s never been the same, never stopped grieving.”

Even after all this time, even despite the bitter memories, sadness swelled in her soul when she thought of him. “Did Vito set this up? Did he send you to me, to my firm?”

Franco hesitated, then shook his head. Gabrielle said nothing for a long moment, then she leaned forward and spoke very quietly, deliberately. “Then we won’t bring Vito into this. Do you understand? He’s not to be mentioned. I cut my ties with Vito fourteen years ago and you know why.”

“You must—”

Her voice was calm and deadly icy when she interrupted. “Don’t cross me, Franco. Or you’ll find out that Vito isn’t the only Donati you need fear.”

Seconds ticked by while their gazes locked. Finally, Franco glanced away. “You wrong me,
cara.
I won’t expose you.”

“Good.” Thank God, she sounded cool, because inside she shook with nerves. It would be a major mistake to let Franco know just how much he’d gotten to her. “Now that we understand each other, I’ll see what I can do to get you out of jail.”

“Ciao, mi bellisima Gabriela.”

“Gabrielle Rousseau. Remember it.” She repeated it silently as she left, as if saying her name would make the truth impotent. It only mocked her, though. She knew what would happen if the truth ever came out.

Ruin.

Stepping over a pair of tan pumps lying drunkenly beside the front door, he walked inside and glanced around. The dining room and living room were combined. Instead of a table in the dining area, a black baby grand piano filled the entire space. A book stood open on the music tray over the keyboard and a piece of sheet music lay on the bench with another on the floor beside it. Not for looks, he thought. Obviously, she played.

The rest of the room was an odd mixture of tastes, ranging from a gorgeous Oriental rug covering the hardwood floor, to a piece of modern metal sculpture standing in a corner, to a well-used sofa and easy chair that denied any claim to fashion.

On the coffee table a glass lay turned over beside an open bottle of wine. That could explain her spaciness, he thought, except it didn’t look like more than a glassful was missing from the bottle. A small horse stood beside the low glass-topped table, wagging its tail and lapping at the pale gold liquid dripping steadily onto the expensive rug.

No, not a horse. A large, ugly brown and black curly-haired dog.

“Rocky! Stop that!” Gabrielle tugged on the dog’s collar, but it ignored her and simply swiped at the wine until it was gone. With a plop, the dog sat, its pink tongue darting out to lick the last lingering drops from its snout. “You sot,” she accused.

Devlin laughed. “What is he? Besides a lush?”

“A pain in the rear. And he’s a she. Come on,” she said, picking up the wine bottle and glass and starting out of the room. “We’ll eat in the kitchen.”

Great legs, Devlin thought as he and the dog followed her. Long, shapely—but he shouldn’t be thinking about her legs, however fantastic they were. He needed to think about business. Law, not legs.

Trouble was, he kept getting distracted. From the moment she landed at his feet in the lingerie shop, Gabrielle had intrigued him. Satin and lace underneath an ultraconservative business suit. The more he learned about her, the more curious he grew. Normally, he didn’t allow a woman to distract him. Gabrielle did it without even trying. He thought about that for a moment. Maybe she
was
trying. It was a unique approach, if so.

The dog went out the back door along with Gabrielle’s admonition not to dig. “She ate my sprinkler system last week,” she said by way of explanation. “Puppies.”

“Puppy?” He took the wine bottle from her and set it on the kitchen table along with the food. “That’s a puppy? You mean she’ll get bigger?”