Twin Peril (12 page)

Thank You, Lord. Thank You for keeping us safe!

“I’ll call a cab,” Mallory said as she opened up her phone.

He put his hand over it, stopping her. “Not yet. Let’s walk for a while first. I want to get away from here. The last thing we need is to answer a bunch of questions when the ambulance arrives. And besides, there’s a good chance the police will be sent, as well.”

“What about the motorcycle? Are you just going to leave it here?”

“I don’t have a choice. Help me pull it off the road.” He hated discovering he was more shaken up than he thought—it took both of them working together to drag the bike up over the curb. As they started down the road, he heard the wail of sirens growing louder and louder. A sense of urgency hit hard, there wasn’t a moment to waste. “Come on, Mallory, we need to step on it.”

“Maybe you should go to the hospital without me,” she protested, even though she picked up her pace.

If he remembered correctly, there was a small strip mall just around the next corner. He tried to ignore the pain in order to walk faster. “Salvatore seems to have a far reach, and I’m convinced he could find me at the hospital, if he really wanted to.” As they reached the corner, he gave Mallory a nudge. “Take a left—we’re going to head back to the main road.”

She didn’t argue, for which he was extremely grateful. Every breath he took caused a stabbing pain in the right side of his chest. He tried to keep his breathing shallow, but that only made him light-headed.

Finally they reached the strip mall. And just in time. The lights from the ambulance raced toward them, and he quickly pulled Mallory into a doorway for a used bookstore. He wrapped his arms around her and buried his face in her hair. Her scent instantly filled his head.

She clung to him tightly as the ambulance rushed past. Even after it was long gone, he didn’t move. Holding Mallory like this felt good. Felt right. And for a brief moment he wished things could be different and that she wasn’t a potential witness he had to keep safe but that the two of them were just a couple on a date rather than on the run.

Mallory shifted in his arms, and he forced himself to loosen his grip. She lifted her head to look up at him but he couldn’t tear his gaze away from her mouth. Before he could talk himself out of it, he lowered his head to capture her lips in a tender kiss.

Instantly she melted against him and his brain ceased all rational thought. He lost himself in the sweetness of her kiss until the shrill sound of sirens once again filled the air.

Reluctantly, he broke it off, breathing hard and looking over Mallory’s shoulder as a cop car went whizzing past. It slowed in order to turn the corner, following the path the ambulance had taken to the scene of the crash.

Just as he’d suspected. “Let’s go,” he murmured, disentangling himself from the embrace. As much as he’d enjoyed the kiss, he knew full well he shouldn’t have done it. Cops didn’t do well with relationships. And getting emotionally involved with Mallory wasn’t smart. He couldn’t tolerate the thought of anything happening to her. If he wasn’t careful, dividing his attention between her and finding the proof they needed just might get her killed.

They’d already had far too many close calls.

She stared at him for a second, as if she wanted to say something, but she simply turned away. Was she looking for an apology? He couldn’t blame her if she was.

“Hey, there’s a taxi,” he said, catching sight of one slowing to a stop at the red light. “Come on, let’s snag it.”

Mallory surprised him when she put two fingers in her mouth and whistled loudly. He couldn’t help grinning as she hurried ahead to catch the driver before he took off, leaving him to follow more slowly, holding his arm tight against his chest to minimize the pain.

It wasn’t until they were both in the backseat that he allowed himself to relax.

They were safe for now. But they still didn’t have any proof that Caruso was involved with anything illegal. And while it seemed Bernardo Salvatore was probably involved as well, chances were slim anyone would come forward to help them.

At this point, it was looking as if that proof they needed to clear Mallory might not exist.

* * *

Mallory huddled next to Jonah’s warmth, trying to keep her teeth from chattering. Shock was beginning to sink in.

She wanted to go back to the brief moment when Jonah had held her in his arms and kissed her. She hadn’t wanted to let him go.

But of course they couldn’t just stand in the doorway of a used bookstore forever.

His kiss had surprised her but she told herself not to read too much into it. No doubt it had been a delayed reaction from surviving the motorcycle crash or just a tactic to divert attention. Besides, if Jonah knew the truth about her past, he’d likely run as fast as he could in the opposite direction.

She closed her eyes, wishing she could be the type of woman Jonah could love. But he deserved someone pure. Someone good. Someone like her sister, Alyssa. Not a fallen woman like her. Getting a tattoo under her collarbone wasn’t the worst she’d done.

When the taxi driver pulled up to their hotel, she rummaged in her purse for the cash to pay the fare. It was telling that Jonah barely noticed, and she tried to hide her growing concern as she helped him from the back of the vehicle. He leaned against her, as if his strength was waning.

She opened her room door and flipped on lights as she helped Jonah to his room. He sank onto the edge of the bed, holding the right side of his chest. “I wish you’d go to the E.R.,” she murmured. His right arm was still covered in blood and grit.

“I’m fine. Probably just a cracked rib. I’ll feel better after I rest a bit.”

A cracked rib? Her heart sank. She sighed, knowing there was no way to avoid the task at hand. She’d need to clean up his bloody arm. “I’ll be right back with some water. Stay put.”

“I think I can manage that.”

She took the plastic ice bucket into the bathroom and filled it with hot water. After tucking several washcloths and towels under her arm, she picked up the bucket and headed back to Jonah.

Hoping the spaghetti and meatballs she’d eaten for dinner stayed in her stomach where they belonged, she dunked the first washcloth in the warm water and glanced up at Jonah. “This is going to hurt,” she warned before gently placing the soft cloth over his bloody arm. Covering the blood helped minimize her nausea but when it came time to remove the cloth, her stomach lurched.

He held himself completely still as she worked on cleaning the blood and gravel from his wound. She imagined he was in pain and couldn’t bear to look into his eyes.

She doggedly kept at her task, emptying the ice bucket when the water became too red. As she worked, she grew relieved to discover the wound wasn’t as bad as it had originally seemed.

She lightly wrapped his arm with gauze, and once the open areas were covered, she began to relax. She risked a glance at Jonah, disconcerted to see he was staring at her. “Almost finished,” she murmured.

“Not bad for someone who claims she can’t stand the sight of blood.”

“Yeah, well, I think I’m starting to get used to it,” she responded drily. “But that doesn’t mean I want to keep bandaging you up like this. So let’s not make this a habit, hmm?”

“Mallory.” The sound of his husky voice saying her name made her shiver. Her hands stilled when he reached up to cup her face with his broad hand, his thumb lightly caressing her cheek. “I think you’ve been absolutely amazing through all of this.”

She wanted to laugh and cry at the same time. He thought she was amazing? That was only because he didn’t know the real Mallory Roth. She needed to tell him but the words strangled in her throat.

A smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. “Never thought I’d see the day when you were speechless.”

She wanted to protest when he let his hand drop to his side. Finally, she found her voice. “Trust me, Jonah. I’m nothing special. I’m only doing what I have to.”

His smile vanished and he looked almost angry. “Why do you keep doing that?” he demanded. When she stared at him blankly, he continued, “Every time I say something nice, you put yourself down. And there’s no reason for it. You’re a smart, beautiful, compassionate woman and whichever lowlife boyfriend told you otherwise needs his head examined.”

His pop-psychological assessment was too close to the truth for comfort. She tore her gaze from his to concentrate on wrapping his arm. “Did it ever occur to you, Jonah, that you really don’t know anything about me?”

“I know you, Mallory. I feel like I know the real you, not the person you’ve always pretended to be.”

Avoiding his gaze, she rose to her feet and went back to the bathroom to empty the bucket. She wasn’t used to people—men in particular—looking past the facade she presented to the world. Most men were satisfied with having her act as an arm decoration and nothing more. “I’ll get some ibuprofen. I think you’re going to need it.”

She wasn’t running away from him, she told herself as she rummaged through her things for the medication. She just wasn’t comfortable with him being nice to her, that’s all.

“Thanks,” he murmured, as he took the pills she held out for him. He tossed them back and swallowed them dry.

“Yell out if you need anything, okay?” she said as she turned and walked back to her room.

“Only if you promise to stop putting yourself down,” he said. “Otherwise I’ll suffer in silence.”

“Is that supposed to be a threat?” she asked, smiling in spite of herself. “Because if so, you could use more practice.”

“Good night, Mallory.”

“’Night, Jonah.”

After everything that had happened, she would have thought she’d fall asleep the moment her head hit the pillow. But she kept hearing Jonah’s words over and over in her head.

Did he really think she was smart, beautiful and compassionate?

Did he really know the true Mallory?

Why did that thought scare her more than anything else that had happened since she’d met Jonah Stewart?

* * *

Mallory spent a restless night, and she didn’t even have cracked ribs to blame for her lack of sleep. As soon as the sun was up, she dragged herself out of bed. After a quick shower, she felt a little more human.

There was no sound coming from Jonah’s room, so she decided to let him sleep while she went in search of some breakfast.

The motel lobby had a continental breakfast set out, so she helped herself to a bowl of Cheerios and half a bagel with cream cheese. A family of four left the room, leaving behind a newspaper, and she went over to their table, planning to read while she ate.

But the main headline splashed in big letters across the front page stopped her cold.

Woman’s Body Pulled from Lake Michigan.

Overwhelmed with dread, she quickly read the article, fully expecting that the victim was Claire Richmond. But she was wrong. She had to read the sentence twice before the words could sink in.

The victim was identified as Abigail Del Grato, a young waitress who worked at Salvatore’s. They were still waiting for the ME to determine cause of death, but there was bruising around her neck, indicating she may have been strangled.

Mallory let out a low sound, covering her face with her hands as she remembered the stark fear in Abby’s eyes when they’d spoken about Claire.

Her stomach heaved, and she had to take several deep breaths. That poor frightened girl was dead. Because of them. The young waitress had died only because she’d talked to her and Jonah about Claire. She hadn’t told them anything specific, but her killer hadn’t known that.

Mallory wasn’t sure just how much more of this she could take.

TEN

J
onah eased out of the bathroom, using the wall for support. His effort at showering was pretty useless as the physical exertion already had sweat beading on his brow. At least he’d managed to dress himself. Raising his arms up to pull a T-shirt over his head had almost made him pass out from pain. Too bad they were running low on cash or he’d ask Mallory to pick up some shirts that buttoned down the front.

He made his way across the room, feeling disgustingly weak. His open wound had started bleeding again. He kept forgetting to take the antibiotics and he was afraid infection may have already set in.

Gingerly, he lowered himself into a chair, holding his breath when pain shot through his chest. He couldn’t figure out which hurt worse, having surgery or having a cracked rib.

At the moment, he would have said they were dead even.

“Jonah?” He glanced up in surprise when Mallory came barging through their connecting doors.

The alarm on her face made him jump back to his feet, ignoring the stabbing pain. “What’s wrong? What happened?”

“She’s dead. Abby’s dead!” She thrust the newspaper at him. “We killed her, Jonah. She’s dead because she talked to us.”

Dread twisted low in his belly as he recognized the name of the waitress who’d spoken to them outside Salvatore’s. He took the newspaper, sank back into the chair and read through the article.

It didn’t take long to realize Mallory was right.

He knew in his gut Abby’d been murdered because she had talked to them.

Knowing they hadn’t forced her to talk to them didn’t make him feel any better. He’d gone to Salvatore’s restaurant on purpose. He’d poked the sleeping tiger with a stick, hoping for a reaction.

But he’d never anticipated something like this.

Dear Lord, forgive me. Please forgive me!

“What should we do, Jonah? Call the police?” Mallory’s voice was thick with suppressed tears.

This time, he couldn’t offer any comfort. Not when the acrid taste of bitterness coated his tongue. And especially not when the last time he’d held her in his arms, he’d been stupid enough to kiss her.

Feeling grim, he set the newspaper aside and scrubbed a hand over his jaw. “I’ll call Detective Butler, the guy I met with yesterday.”

“Maybe we should go back to Milwaukee.” A small tear escaped from the corner of her eye, rolling down the side of her face. He resisted the urge to wipe it away. “I don’t care if they arrest me for killing Wasserman. I can’t do this anymore, Jonah. I just can’t.”