Take Me Tonight (19 page)

“Nothin’,” he said quickly. “She didn’t return my calls and I figured she’d moved on.”

“Are you sure?”

“A fine woman like that? Who wouldn’t want her?” He shoved his hands into his pockets. “But you know, I was wondering…I was hoping—I just didn’t want to be the reason she killed herself.”

As he jingled his keys, the top of a cell phone peeked out of his pocket. His cell phone, and the tip of a pen.

“Does anyone else know about your relationship with her?”

His eyes sparked like black diamonds. “No. And you ain’t about to tell anybody ’cause I will deny it.”

“Because it would ruin your reputation?”

“Because it would ruin hers.”

Sage reached for her notebook. She just had to see one more thing. “Thanks for your time, LeTroy. Would you be kind enough to give me your autograph or do you just sell those for profit?”

“You want my autograph?”

“Please.” She reached out, offering him an empty page. But no pen.

Automatically, he dipped into his pocket and brought out something he probably kept on him at all times. A signing pen. A thick, black marker.

Whores must die.

He signed it, then handed her the notebook. “She liked you a lot,” he said quietly.

“Yeah,” Sage said. “I liked her a lot, too.”

With a quick nod, he was gone.

As his footsteps disappeared down the hall, another set came closer, running fast. One of the guards popped his head in the open doorway.

“Are you Sage Valentine?” he asked, a little out of breath.

“Yes.”

“You better get outside. Your boyfriend Rambo has a gun, and he’s seriously not afraid to use it.”

Julian Hewitt read every name and number in Sage’s cell phone address book. Then he read her text messages. Then he examined her call history.

And still he knew very little about her.

What he did know, he didn’t like. She was nosy. She was relentless. And she was getting too close for comfort. Glenda didn’t seem at all worried about her, but Glenda wasn’t doing anything wrong, just getting the girls to have some fun. There was nothing illegal about working out a cut with the guy who owned the website. Still, she was smart to keep Sage occupied with LeTroy Burgess while Susannah headed off for her fun and games.

White-hot anger shot through him. If only Glenda had come up with some other way to make the money. The girls were whores, and if it weren’t for a drunken, drugged-up whore who plowed her truck into his little girl seven years ago, they wouldn’t be in this situation—desperate for money to keep Emily alive.

The phone in his hand rang and he jerked out of his thoughts. The caller ID showed the same number that had called four times in the last half hour; probably her boyfriend. He let it ring. He’d give her five more minutes; enough time to make sure that Susannah’s fantasy was fulfilled. Then he’d go pick up the van and…maybe stop at Susannah’s house to leave her a message. It wouldn’t hurt to make sure she didn’t do it again. And just the act of scrawling his message over their faces, of reminding them what had happened to Keisha, made him feel better. It made him feel like he was doing something other than sending them off for…money.

Glenda would never believe that the whole thing made him sick with guilt. After all, he’d hacked the firewall and made it possible for her to get into the system, for her to work her deals and build their bank account. And she’d done that amazingly well for the past eight months. For the first time in years, they could relax. Emily could stay at the facility that kept her alive. And that was all that mattered to him.

Until Keisha. Then, the way they were making money made him sick, because she reminded him of Emily. Certainly not because of her ebony skin and sleek black hair. His daughter was pale, curly haired, and gentle. But before the accident, Emily had that same something that Keisha Kingston had. Confidence. Vitality. Life.

And now she was gone.

Just like Emily soon would be. But until she was, there was hope. After seven sad years, he still harbored hope. And that was why he let Glenda do what she did best: control things. Except she couldn’t control Emily’s life. Any day, any minute, the call from the facility would come. Then he’d have no more hope.

As though on cue, the phone clipped to his belt rang, and he answered it immediately.

“Mr. Hewitt, this is the security guard at the West End.”

Not the one they’d paid to help with the abduction, he thought quickly. Still, it wasn’t good that one of the guards would call him. “What’s the problem?”

“Some guy out here is looking for a reporter, and he says you took her in. We think she’s with LeTroy in Media one.”

“And?”

“And he’s pointing a gun at me and says he wants to see you. Now.”

A bead of sweat trickled down Julian’s back. He knew that girl was trouble, but Glenda was so sure she could handle anything. “I’ll be out in a minute.”

But first, he had to be sure the van was gone with Susannah in it. Still holding both cell phones, he slipped into the hall and headed for the east exit through the passageway only the players used, bypassing the interview rooms. He shoved the door hard and peered across the dark parking lot.

The van was still there. Swearing softly, he looked around. Where was the guard who was supposed to take her? Where was Susannah? Were they in the van? What were they
doing
?

A screw-up could cost a lot of money. Thousands and thousands. Months of care for Emily, months of hope.

Drawing in a breath, he stepped into the parking lot and started toward the van. There was no movement anywhere, no sound except his loafers against the pavement, picking up speed to match his pulse.

When he reached the van, he saw the flat tire. He pivoted, looking for the Honda Susannah usually parked in the first row by the door. It was gone. Could she have aided in her own kidnapping?

Then his cell phone rang. He almost ignored it, but then he pulled it out and checked the blue digital readout.

And felt his heart literally stop.

LAND
’
S END CRITICAL CARE
.

There was no reason for them to call at this hour, except the inevitable.

Anger, regret, and the blackest of furies swamped his brain and he flung the phone as hard and far as he could. He heard it clunk against a windshield as he doubled over in pain.

Bright white lights bathed him, brakes screamed to a stop, and the sight of a cold, hard gun in his face was something of a relief.

“Get up, Hewitt.” The man was gruff, impatient.

Julian blinkied at the gun, seeing the reporter’s boyfriend on the other end of it. “What do you want?”

“Just get up.”

Julian shifted his focus to the woman next to the gunman. She reminded him of Emily, too. Same bright look in her eyes. But Emily’s eyes were closed forever now.

He sat down on the cold cement to weep, and finally confess what he’d done.

Chapter
Nineteen

A
s the door of the police station closed behind them, Sage let out a sigh of frustration. “So, now we know that Julian has a hang-up about bad girls and decided to vandalize some homes to let them know they shouldn’t do nasty things. Big deal.”

Johnny didn’t respond, so she tugged his arm as they turned the corner to the side street where he’d parked the Toyota so many hours ago.

“Doesn’t it bother you?” she asked.

What bothered him was that he’d lied to Lucy. What bothered him was that he’d lost his mind when he thought Sage was in danger, and that moment of insanity had nothing to do with who she was—a principal or his boss’s niece. He was crazed because he cared, and that was all kinds of dangerous.

“No, Sage,” he answered. “It doesn’t bother me, because the only crime committed was vandalism and he confessed to it.”

She yanked his arm again. “Hello? Keisha is dead. Did you forget the elevator at the library? The note? What if she was murdered?”

“Julian has an airtight alibi. Plus, the guy’s not a killer. You could see that. He may not be the right guy to manage a bunch of good-looking dancers, but it seems like his wife is really in charge of that end of the business. I’m not ready to dismiss her, though. Something’s not right there.”

“I know.” Her fingers threaded through his, trusting and tight, made his chest hurt.

“I’m sorry you still don’t have your original question answered,” he said, opening the car door. “But it’s three in the morning, so let’s go home.”

She raised her hand to his cheek. “And where exactly is that for you?” she asked softly, rubbing the whiskers that had grown since he’d last shaved. “You don’t live in that hotel.” Her eyes were full of honesty and desire. “I want you to take me home. To your real home. I want to see where you live, how you live. I want to know who you are.”

“No, you don’t,” he said gruffly, stepping out of her touch. “And I do live at that hotel. And we can go there if you want, or to your house. Wherever we can—”

All that honesty and desire evaporated.

“Sleep,” he finished.

“Just take me to my apartment.” She dropped into the seat and slammed the door.

Nice work, JC.
Now she was pissed, so he’d have to come up with some new and
creative
way to stay at her apartment, or spend a damned uncomfortable night of surveillance in his car.

They drove to her place in silence and she said, “Just drop me off at the door.”

“I’m going up with you.”

“Johnny—”

“I’m going to make sure you’re safe.”

The moment he pulled into the spot, she flung open the door and was out in one move.

Son of a bitch. He’d forgotten how fast she was. He took off after her, but she got to her door twenty seconds before he did. Then she realized he had her keys.

“What are you doing?” he asked, climbing the three stairs to reach her. “I’m not going to stay. I just want to check the place out.”

She turned, hands on hips, that determined fire burning in her eyes. “Who
are
you?”

Oh, man. “It’s late, Sage.” He moved around her, put the key in the door, and turned it. “I don’t want to talk.”

“You never want to talk. You want to eat or sleep or screw or…
protect
me, but you never want to talk.”

“Which pretty much makes me a guy.”

“But what kind of guy?”

“Tired. Uncomplicated. Italian. Pick one.” He brushed by her, did a complete security check, and found her back in the living room waiting at the door, a blank, hard expression on her face.

“Give me back my keys,” she said, palm outstretched.

He unclipped her house key from the rental-car ring. “Here you go.”

They looked at each other for a second, and a little light of hope flickered in his chest. God, he wanted to stay. And not just because he didn’t want to spend the next few hours in the car. “Sure you don’t want me to stay, Sage?”

She closed her eyes. “Now he remembers my name. Just in time for the break-up.”

“I never forget your name. And we aren’t breaking up.” Not until Lucy called and told him to leave. Sometimes it was a bitch to be so freaking dedicated.

“Then help me out here, Johnny. You drop into my life out of nowhere, you care about me, you worry about me, you feed me and give me insane pleasure. But you won’t tell me anything about
you
—not where you live, what makes you tick. Why? Is it so hard to understand that I need to know this before you spend the night again? Before I lose myself with you again?”

He took her face in his hand. Her pulse hammered under his fingertips, her lips separated to let out a quick breath. She opened her mouth to say something, but he covered it with a hard, fast kiss.

“Honestly, sweetheart, you don’t want to know.”

She jerked out of his touch. “And you haven’t been paying attention, if you think I can’t find out what I want to know.”

She would never find out about Lucy. He’d sworn that to his boss, just like he’d sworn a lifetime of loyalty in exchange for the life Lucy had saved. “I’ve been paying attention. That’s just the problem. I’ve been paying too much attention.” He considered saying he would call her, but didn’t want to risk yet another lie. His phone could ring at any minute and he’d disappear in the same mysterious way he arrived. And now he knew that would hurt her.

And him.

She tapped his shoulder to push him out the door. “
Ciao
, Italian boy.”

That made him smile.
“Ciao, mia cara.”

Behind him, the door closed and the dead bolt snapped into place. He stood on the step for a minute, staring at a gaslight through the spring leaves, hoping she’d flip the latch with a change of heart.

But there was no flip, no change, and no hope tonight.

He jogged back to the Camry, where he had a clear shot of her front door and bedroom window. In five minutes he saw the light go out in that window, and he stared at the dark square, imagining her in bed. Remembering her sweet skin, her tender mouth, her warm woman’s body.

An hour later the bedroom light came on again, and ten minutes after that the front door opened and he saw the gleam of her blond ponytail just as a cab pulled up to her door. What the hell?

He sat up straight. Where the hell was she going at this hour? When the cabbie pulled out on Charles Street, he was three car lengths behind. The cab headed toward Back Bay, making every light on the yellow and forcing Johnny to slide in under the red.

In less than ten minutes the cab pulled under the awning of The Eliot Hotel and a warm rush of something close to joy and even closer to arousal blasted through him.

She was going to him.

He parked the car illegally and hung back as she paid the cabbie and entered the hotel. A minute later, he dashed up the stairs and saw her standing at his door.

He approached without making a sound. “Looking for someone special?” he whispered, unable to take the smile out of his voice or off his face.

She whipped around, eyes blazing and just a little too bright. “I know.”

She knew?

“I know who you are.”

He froze, biting back a curse. “I told you it wasn’t pretty.” But just how ugly it was, remained to be seen.

“And I told you I’m very handy at getting information.”

He nodded and took a cautious step forward. “And so you came here to, what? Confront me? Hear a denial? What do you want?”

She leaned her head against the doorjamb. “I want you to know that I don’t care who your uncle is, Johnny. I wish you had trusted me with this. You wouldn’t have had to be so secretive.”

Johnny just stood there, running through his options. Denial. Humor. Sex. Hell, he could make her happy and
talk
his way through this. At least she didn’t know about Lucy.

“How’d you find out?” he asked, pulling out the hotel key.

“I searched your nona’s last name. Cardinale. Achilles Cardinale is your mother’s brother, isn’t he?”

“Yep.” He led her inside.

“And I read about your sister, how she died.”

“Don’t believe everything you read online, sugar,” he said as he turned on a lamp in the living room and sat on the armrest of the sofa, crossing his arms against the questions he knew she was winding up to pitch.

She didn’t even take a second to warm up. “Is it true that your uncle…” Her voice faded. “Did he have your sister killed?”

He swallowed. Twice. If he told her even one word of the real story—one word—he would be breaking a promise to Lucy and putting Bella’s life on the line again. “Not exactly.”

“What happened?” Her voice was soft, but he saw the intensity in her eyes, the unstoppable will to discover the truth.

“Sage, honey, I can’t tell you that.”

“I’m not going to tell anyone.”

“It’s not because I don’t trust you. It’s because it’s too big a risk to take for you.”

“Johnny.” She reached out and touched his hand. “I’ll take that risk. That’s the connection that matters to me. That’s what makes this…” she indicated the two of them with a wave of her hand, “more than sex.”

He closed his eyes. “I’ve never told anyone. Ever.”

“Please.”

Part of it. He could tell her part of the story. “I was given the job to…” No, he’d have to go further back.

“I told you my mother married an Italian businessman. It was her escape from the family. She met my dad, saw an out, and took it, moving to Tuscany with him, living happily and having two children—me and Bella. When they were in the accident—”

“Was it an accident?”

He gave her a humorless smile. “We’ll never know, but Achilles never had a son and he wanted one. A nephew was the closest he could get, and when my parents died, he got me. My little sister was sent to live with distant Christiano relatives and I went to New York to be raised by my nona Cardinale and learn the ways of the family.”

“Did you?”

“Some of them. But there was a man, an FBI agent working undercover, although I didn’t know that, and he…he sort of took a liking to me.” He ran a hand through his hair, blowing out a breath. This was hard. Made even harder by the fact that even though he was breaking his personal code to tell her the truth about Bella, he couldn’t slip and reveal the true “orchestrater” of his fate: Lucy Sharpe.

“Anyway, about seven years ago, the word was out that my sister wanted to avenge my parents’ death and was going to turn evidence over to the FBI against Achilles. He ordered her to be killed.”

She closed her eyes in horror.

“And he wanted me to do it.”

They opened in more horror. “No.”

“Yes. But I didn’t, Sage. She’s my baby sister.” He tried to swallow. “The FBI agent had some incredible connections with some international power brokers. Bella was saved, given a new life and a new name. She lives in what we would call the witness protection program, in Italy.”

“So she’s not dead?”

He shook his head. “No. Though as far as anyone in the world except for a handful of people know, Bella Christiano was killed.” But Natalia Allesandro lived in a cozy house in Lake Como, alive and well. Thanks to Lucy and Dan Gallagher.

“And what happened to you?”

“My uncle thought I’d done the deed. Then I gave the FBI everything they needed to put him away for life.”

“But did he know you’d turned him in? How did you get out?” She narrowed her eyes. “You did get out, didn’t you?”

He nodded. “Those same powers negotiated with my uncle. He got life in exchange for a release of several family members who wanted out permanently.”

“I didn’t know you
could
get out.”

With Lucy pulling the strings, anything was possible. “I have some friends in high places.”

She studied him, no doubt reassessing her attraction. “Do you see her?”

For a moment he thought she meant Lucy, then he realized she meant Bella. “Every once in a while I sneak in under the radar and get a day or two with her.” He smiled, thinking of Bella’s infectious laugh, her long black hair, her black-olive eyes.

“I’d like to meet her,” she said softly.

He shook his head. “No.” That would be a level of trust he’d never feel for any woman, ever.

“And I guess I understand why you carry a gun.”

“Yeah.” Let her think it was habit and self-preservation.

He waited for the next barrage:
What did you do? How rough was it? How many people did you whack?

But she surprised him by stepping into his arms and sliding her hands up his neck. “Here’s the thing, Johnny.”

A smile pulled at his lips. “What’s the thing, Sage?”

“I understand, better than anyone else in the world, that you can’t pick your relatives. Believe me, I know firsthand the horrific impact an uncle—or in my case, an aunt—can make on your life.”

His stomach turned when he realized where she was going.

“You can’t choose these people; you are born to them. But you absolutely mustn’t let them control your life.”

“I don’t.”

“No? You live in fear that someone you care about will find this out.”

“Not exactly fear.” But, to some extent, she was right.

“Well, I found out and it doesn’t make me like you any less. On the contrary, it makes you pretty heroic, the way you saved your sister.”

He couldn’t let her think that, even if she despised the real hero. “I had help.”

“And you turned your back on your uncle. I respect that.”

“I had help,” he repeated, knowing that if he said the name of his help, all that sympathy and empathy would disappear in a heartbeat.

She threaded her fingers into his hair. “You’re too modest,” she said. “I like that in a guy.”

His lips curled up in a mirthless smile. “You do?”

“In fact,” she said, “I like everything about you.”

“I’m starting to get that impression.”

She laid her palm on his chest. “Especially the fact that your heart’s pounding like mad. It’s sweet.”

He hadn’t even noticed. But his heart was slamming against his ribs, and his blood was thrumming through his veins. He opened his mouth to say,
That’s what you do to me, sweetheart,
but closed it again. He was so sick of lies. His heart wasn’t beating because of her; it was beating because she’d just forgiven his worst sins, and still he had to hide more from her. He hated that.