The Good Daughter (14 page)

Time was of the essence. She had to do her searching and be ready to leave when the guard made his next hourly rounds. Or else be stuck here until his midnight rounds and be late for her meeting with Sandro.

The front of the office had a big glass window, and although the mini-blinds were shut, and the guard only gave a cursory glance down each hallway, she didn’t want to accidentally attract his attention by turning on the overhead lights. She pulled out a flashlight from her purse and clicked the on button.

Something about the sudden LED light metaphorically illuminated all the challenges facing her. A sigh escaped, a temporary second of feeling overwhelmed, vulnerable. But only a momentary weakness before she pulled herself back together. Bringing her father to justice and getting away from this life was much too compelling to even consider defeat. She could no longer be chained to this life.

Years earlier, in Italy, she had planned a different path. To testify against her father and escape with Sandro’s cousin, Paolo, who had been willing to leave the
carabinieri
and to go into Italy’s version of the Witness Security Program with her.

Those dreams ended when Paolo died.

Now her aspiration of freedom would end yet again if they couldn’t change those bank accounts and rescue Nia.

Marisa went into her office, turned on her computer, and pulled up the files of her father’s real estate holdings on her computer. She scrolled through the list before her, looking for vacant ones, or ones which had no current rental payment history. She found eleven such properties, some in the area, some in upstate New York, and some in New Jersey. It would take time to check each of them, but she and Sandro could divide the list.

Elation lifted her spirits. It was the best chance they had so far.

She printed the information and slid them into her bag.

Checking her watch, she had time to find those passwords. She pulled the flash drive out of her purse. Inserting it into her computer, she started to search through the information she’d taken off Roberto’s hard drive. Marisa’s heard thudded as account after account flashed before her eyes. Finally she tracked down the sites for the bank accounts. She debated on accessing the accounts; from her experience many had time stamps from the last time an account holder last signed in to the bank’s site. Would Roberto notice? Would he think there’d just been a mistake? Or would he get suspicious and change the passwords? She looked at the information on her computer. There were several bank accounts, and she needed to know if these passwords worked. She’d try one to see how easy she could access the information and hope he didn’t notice; she couldn’t pass up this opportunity. With a deep breath, she started typing.

“
Si, si, molto buona,”
she murmured. Ten minutes later, thrilled that their plan seemed workable, she began the process of opening new accounts in her name.

Her watch now showed it was a few minutes before eleven. By the time she got back down the stairs, the guard should be ready to go on his hourly rounds again.

Shutting down her machine, she made certain nothing looked disturbed, reset the security system and locked the main office door behind her before heading for the stairway. At the bottom of the steps, breathing hard again, she waited, muscles tense, watching the guard through a small rectangular window in the stairwell door. When he moved out of sight, she pushed open the metal door. Then the security guard’s phone rang, and the guard reappeared. She quickly tugged the door shut, and squatted below the window while he laughed, purred and murmured on the phone. At last, he said, “See you at four, lover,” replaced the phone in the cradle, then whistling an odd tune, left again.

Cautiously, she pushed open the door once more. With no sign of him, she slipped past his desk and didn’t stop, not even to put her pumps back on, until she was outside on the sidewalk. Gathering her reserved, in-control facade around her like a cloak, she glanced at her watch and noted with satisfaction she had timed everything perfectly. She drew a deep breath to slow her pulse.

She still had time to go home and shower before she met Sandro. It had been a long, exhausting day and she was dirty and tired. With the thought of a refreshing shower looming enticingly before her, she hailed a taxi, already able to practically feel the hot water spraying against her skin.

When she opened the door to get in the cab, she was rudely shoved from behind. “Scoot over, Princess. I’m going with you.” Dave shut the cab door before she had even sat down.

She swung to face him, eyes narrowed, anger crawling up her spine. “This is my taxi. Get out,” she ordered.

“
Don’t think so. And I’ll take these, thank you.” He snatched the printout of the vacant properties out of her bag before she could react.

She reached for them. “Who do you think you are? Give those to me.”

“
Where you go?” the cabbie asked.

Holding the papers just out of reach, Dave looked at her. “I’m with you.”

Deciding to ignore him, she gave her address to the driver. Dave drew her unwilling attention again when he turned on a pocket flashlight to study the papers. The glow of the light reflected off his patrician nose, chiseled cheeks and strong jaw. He really was easy on the eyes she conceded, once again feeling that unwanted spark. And he was attracted to her, she knew. Even if he still loved Sandro’s wife, Dave found her attractive.

Too bad he was a damned control freak.

“
Stop reading those. Give them back,” she said, as much irritated at herself as she was with him.

She tried to grab the papers, but he easily held her off.

“
Hold on, Princess. I want to see what kept you up there for an hour.” He finished reading the list. “These places where your father might have Nia?”

She glared at him, summoning a shield of haughtiness to protect herself. “Fuck you.”

“
Now, now, princess, what language. Unless . . . you meant that as an invitation?”

The image of them naked, limbs entwined, slid into her mind, and as much as she hated to admit it, the thought made her mouth go dry while other parts of her swelled and moistened.

Oh, no, don’t go there.

Deliberately, she crossed her arms and stared out the window, knowing to reveal her weakness for him would be disastrous.

“
Thought not.” He looked back at the papers. “It wouldn’t have taken you more than a few minutes to get this information off your computer. What else were you doing?”

The man was frustrating beyond belief. And it was easier to focus on that than deal with her attraction.

She decided to answer him. “I had to wait on the security guard, you idiot. He goes on his rounds on the hour, and I didn’t want to sign in and leave a record. As if it’s any of your business.”

His stare burned her. “I think you answered that much too easily.”

At least he was bugging her and not Sandro. And she could handle the sexual innuendos. She could. “Tough. You’re not getting any more information about it from me.”

“
I wouldn’t bet on that,” he said softly. “Where are we going now?”

“
We
aren’t going anywhere.
I’m
going home.”

“
Good. I’ve always wanted to see the inside of your apartment.”

“
You mean you haven’t already?”

“
No reason to before now.”

“
There’s no reason now either.” Oh, no, she didn’t want him in her apartment at all. “You’re not invited.”

“
That’s where you’re wrong. Where you go, I go.” He folded her papers and tucked them into the inside pocket on his jacket.

“
You can’t have those! Give them back,” she growled. His high-handedness infuriated her, made her want to scratch out his eyes.

“
No can do.” He patted his chest. “These papers are going to insure you stay right by me.”

“
I didn’t know you cared,” she said sarcastically.

“
Wrong again.” His voice was grim. His hand slid across his forehead. “I care a lot.”

His momentary show of weakness startled her. “Would you care as much if Sandro’s wife wasn’t missing?” Marisa deliberately brought up Dave’s obsession to keep herself from feeing any sympathy for the pain he was trying to hide.

Dave paused, looking momentarily taken aback. “He’s been talking, I see.”

“
I asked.” Let him make of that what he thought.

“
Now, why’s that?” He recovered his smart-ass attitude quickly enough, and leaned closer, definitely intruding on her space. His voice dropped to a husky level. “Could it be you’re attracted to me, Princess?”

Her heart beat so hard in her throat she had to swallow before she could answer. She covered it with a fake choking sound. “Don’t flatter yourself,” she said, ignoring the very rapid pulse that denied her words. “And stop calling me princess.”

“
I would have expected more honesty from you. Princess,” he added deliberately, running a finger along her jaw. “I saw how you were looking at me earlier.”

Of course he would notice. Her skin rippled along the path of his finger. Deliberately, she moved away from his hand.

FBI agents were trained to notice things. No way in hell she’d admit she was giving him the once--or twice--over. “You’re imagining--”

“
You said I didn’t remind you of a priest, I believe.”

“
A priest wouldn’t be so rumpled is all I meant.”

He smiled smugly, crossing his arms. “Sure it is.”

The cab pulled to a stop. Dave looked out the window. “Your apartment?”

“
I told you I was going home.”

“
So you did. But I didn’t believe you.”

“
I’m disappointed. I would have thought you recognized the address when I gave it to the driver.”

“
Guess I was too distracted to pay attention.”

His sexual innuendo was clear, it made no sense to deny it. But it made no sense to let on it affected her either. “Should I be flattered?”

She said the words casually as she was opening the car door. He still hadn’t answered by the time she paid the driver. Instead, he waited for her on the sidewalk.

“
You better tell the cab driver not to leave,” she warned. “This isn’t your stop. But hand me those papers before you go.” She held out her hand, proud that she managed to keep it from shaking.

“
Afraid I can’t do that.”

Blood rushed to her head. She curled her fingers into fists while she fought off the childish urge to stomp her foot or throw something at him. She took a deep breath instead. “Doing your job does not include pestering me.”

“
That’s where you’re wrong. Following you is my job. Will Sandro be at your apartment?”

“
No.” She spun away.

“
You’re meeting him somewhere else then?” he asked from much too close behind, obviously following her.

Resigned to him traipsing after her whether she answered or not, she entered her apartment building, the glass door already held open at her approach by the doorman, a man in his mid-fifties who always had a smile for the tenants. “Hello, Murray.”

As usual, Murray gave his trademark welcoming smile. “Good evening, Ms. Peruzzo.” His smile changed to a frown when Dave followed through the door. “He with you?”

She turned, looked at Dave, rolled her eyes. “Afraid so.”

“
Is he pestering you?” Murray let the door shut and took an aggressive wide-legged stance, which looked rather comical. Face lined with tiny threads of wrinkles, thinning salt-and-pepper hair, and spiffy doorman uniform, he was shorter than Dave by more than a head. Yet instead of provoking the urge to laugh, the image warmed her heart.

Marisa sighed. “Yes, but he’s a harmless pest. I’ll take care of him.”

Not looking convinced, Murray said, “I can get rid of him for you.”

To her alarm, Dave squared off with the doorman. “Back off, buddy. She said I’m with--”

Hadn’t her day been long enough already? She stepped between them and shoved at Dave. Feeling squashed between the two men like a pickle on a pastrami sandwich, she managed to offer Murray a reassuring smile. “Really. He’s fine.” She grabbed Dave’s arm and jerked him toward the small, elegant lobby.

“
Why me?” she asked, more rhetorically than anything, stopping beside a Victorian-style wing chair. “Why follow me and not Sandro?”

His gaze scanned over her, his look suggestive. “You have a nicer ass.”

His blatant sexual answer, when she hadn’t really been expecting an answer at all, made the blood shoot straight through her limbs. Her body tightened from the sudden rush.

Fighting off the long dormant, but rapidly-activating-against-her-will desire, she tried once more to gather anger as a defense. She considered slapping him, but rationalized that would get Murray involved again when the older man didn’t need that kind of worry. “You think you can be crude because of who I am?” she demanded.

“
Just being honest, Princess. And you’re lying if you deny it. Anyway,” Dave continued, cutting off another protest, “I’m with you because I know you’ll eventually lead me to Sandro. You two are up to something, and I plan to find out what it is.”