The old man’s shrill, accusing tone put John’s teeth violently on edge. “Why?” he demanded. “It’ll tell them nothing. I need to take a piss. The stupid bitch hasn’t moved in four hours. Watching her is about as relevant as watching water evaporate.”
“I’m not paying you to be entertained,” Haupt shot back. “Keep your eyes on this one. Since you lost the other two.”
“I did not ‘lose’ the others!” John said, stung. “I know exactly where they are at all times. The youngest one is in Pennsylvania, working at a crafts fair, and the older one is with her fiancé in Denver. If you want me to take the young one, I could drive down to—”
“No. Stay here, where I can direct you, blow by blow. I do not like the results when you are left to your own devices, John.”
John bit back what he wanted to say. He loathed having someone look over his shoulder. By the end of this gig, he might just cut the whiny old bastard’s throat and punish the D’Onofrio sisters for no recompense at all. Just for having been such pains in the ass.
He stared at Antonella as she tossed the essay in a pile and grabbed another. He was staring almost at the top of her head, the camera being hidden in her smoke detector. A great angle for cleavage, of which she had a goodly amount. She was chubbier than her sisters, with tits and ass to match. He liked that. Something to grab and shake.
The pendant he was supposed to take from her sparkled from that beautiful plump cleft of pale flesh that bulged from the neckline of her gray tank. She had peeled down to loungewear. Gray cotton stretch shorts over her hips. Taut, pinchable nipples poking through her tank.
He thought of her older sister, the one who had eluded him twice. Rage grabbed him deep, and twisted. He glared up into Haupt’s eyes. “I’ll go get the dumb bitch right now, if you like,” he offered. “She’s alone in her apartment. I have the code to disarm her alarm. And then she won’t make that call to Italy.” Anything to get this goatfuck moving.
“No,” Haupt said coldly. “You will wait. They will identify Barbieri anyway, now. It’s only a matter of time. Discipline, John. She’s finally getting back to her normal schedule and back in her own apartment again. And once you take her, you will have to move fast for the other sister.”
“I have backup for that. And for following Antonella tomorrow.”
“I hope they will prove more competent than that idiot you hired before. I want this done without mistakes that end up on the evening news,” the old man lectured. “We lost weeks waiting for the noise to die down. Keep watching.” He hobbled out of the room.
John looked back at the screen. Antonella was stretching, tossing her head back. That strong, curvy, flexible body, mmm. He could feel it in his grasp, writhing desperately. He licked his lips. She massaged her temples, a tiny frown between her brows. A headache. Aw. Poor baby. Working so hard. She needed Big John to give her a neck rub.
After which, he would rip those cock-teasing panties off her, stuff them into her mouth, and make her forget all about her poor head.
It was the least he deserved, after all this fucking aggravation.
Chapter
2
“Grazie for the telephone call, Signorina D’Onofrio,” said the inspettore, Osvaldo Tucci, the person at the comissariato who had finally fielded her call. “I do not believe that we have any pending missing-persons reports from Castiglione Sant’Angelo, and to be sincere, without a surname for reference, it will take a long time to—”
“But that’s just my point,” Nell argued stubbornly. “If he got on a plane for New York weeks ago, why would it have ever occurred to anyone to declare him missing? Perhaps you can cross-reference. I know he was a resident of the Palazzo de Luca. And I know that he was married to Lucia de Luca, sometime between 1957 and 1964, I think. Doesn’t that help?”
“I am not familiar with all the palazzi of the noble families in Castiglione Sant’Angelo,” Inspettore Tucci said, his voice heavy with professional patience. “There are many of them, and I did not grow up here myself. I was transferred here from Calabria. But I assure you, we will look into this, and get in touch with the Detective Lanaghan as soon as possible.”
They closed the call with a polite round of pleasantries, and Nell hung up, frustrated and unsatisfied. Not that she’d expected anything to be easy, or obvious. But it would have been nice.
Lunch prep at the Sunset was as busy as ever, and she was glad. It kept her too frazzled to dwell on poor old Marco’s sad fate. Or wonder, uneasily, if Lucia had been forced to witness her husband’s murder.
The thought chilled her to the bone.
At three-fifteen, Nell felt a familiar tingle in the nape of her neck. She looked up from the banana kiwi smoothie she was blending. It was him.
Thank God. She welcomed the little thrill gratefully. Her drug of choice. A scary analogy, but damn it, she didn’t have much to thrill about these days. She’d take what she could get.
He was frowning at his favorite table, which was occupied. He chose another, pulling out his laptop. Monica jerked her chin in the direction of his table, even though the man had seated himself in her section, not Nell’s. Oh, God. Even Monica knew.
Norma tapped her shoulder. “Get that strip steak ready pronto, Nelly. That guy looks hungry.”
“I don’t want to give him the strip steak,” Nell said rebelliously. “Always the same damn thing, every day. It can’t be good for him. To say nothing of the nutritional implications and saturated fats, a person needs stimulation, variety, change! Or else they’re as good as dead!”
“You’re a fine one to talk, sweet cheeks. I have a suggestion for you. Go tap him on the shoulder and tell him he needs a change. Like the tofu cashew stir-fry. Or the curried chickpeas. Or dinner with you.”
“You’re crazy,” Nell said, aghast. “He doesn’t know I exist!”
“Whose fault is that? You’d be take-your-breath-away gorgeous if you played yourself up a little bit! Go get the man some coffee!”
Nell stomped out onto the restaurant floor, tired of being lectured, hounded. She set the coffee on the table beside the black-haired man with more force than necessary, slapped a menu down, and whipped out her order pad.
“What would you like? The usual?” she demanded. Monica passed with a tray of sundaes and made audible smooching sounds. Nell glared at her.
The black-haired man frowned into his screen. “Why do you even ask? You know exactly what I want.” He sounded irritated.
Nell braced herself. “Good question. One to which I have perhaps given more thought than it deserves. I’m prepared to answer, however.”
His fingers slowed their tapping on the keyboard, and then stopped. He reached slowly for his coffee. “Go on.”
Nell’s heart thumped. “Although I know you want the strip steak, the one day I don’t ask will be the day that, out of sheer perversity, you decide you want the bulgur pilaf.” She tried to sound breezy.
“Not likely.” He looked up. For the first time, she had his full attention. It was dizzying. He looked into her face, eyes narrowed. They were dark, penetrating. Gorgeous. He had unbelievably long lashes.
“Therefore,” she continued, “by saying, ‘the usual,’ I’m killing two birds with one stone. I’m acknowledging that you have a relationship with us, and that we will gladly cater to your preferences. But the fact that I ask at all pays homage to the fact that life is full of surprises—and people do change.” She poised her pen over the pad. “Your order?”
He stared at her for a long moment. Blinked. She waited, belly fluttering. “The usual,” he said.