Jo Leigh - Sexy Ms. Takes

“No, shit. I kind of figured that out when Sal shot me.”

Bella tensed again, and was pretty certain she was going to be sick all over her best dress. They were taking her to a man who’d already shot a cop, who had no qualms about letting his family know. Maybe if she fainted, they’d take pity. She was good at fainting. Best in her class.

With the gun pointed at her like that, she couldn’t act anything but terrified.

BEFORE HE’D EVEN PUT the cab in Park, the garage door closed. In the dim light, John thought about how he was going to get the actress clear so he could shoot Vince with the gun he had stashed in his ankle holster.

The door that connected the garage to the old two-story brick house opened, and there was Sal himself, pointing not his beloved Sig Sauer but a friggin’ doublebarreled shotgun.

“Put your hands out the window, Johnny. On top of the car.”

“You know what you can do with that shotgun, don’t you, Sal?” The idiot kid always had to have the biggest toys. John couldn’t believe he’d given Sal the time of day, let alone tried to help him get into community college. Sal took after his mother’s side. He was as thin as a rail and dressed like an extra on Miami Vice.

“Just do as I say.” Sal’s gaze went to the woman. So did the barrel of his shotgun. “Who the hell is she?”

“Put the fucking gun down before you shoot somebody.” Vince sounded exasperated, and to John’s surprise, Sal backed up a step and lowered the shotgun.

Which made John even more curious about Vince because the kid was too hotheaded to back down for anybody. Behind him, John heard the door opening, felt the cab rock heavily as Vince got out, then the door shut again. A moment later, his peripheral vision caught the hostage walking toward Sal. Handcuffs held her wrists behind her back and even in the puffy down coat, her arm was dwarfed by Vince’s burly grip.

“Johnny. I ain’t got all day.”

He should refuse. Dive down and get his other gun. Shoot and pray he didn’t hit the girl. But she hadn’t done anything except turn up in the wrong place at the wrong time. He really didn’t want to go to hell for killing her. Not that he wasn’t going anyway, but still. This was all his fault, not hers.

He put his hands on the cab’s roof and watched as Sal slyly inched the shotgun toward him. John stared him down, holding the kid’s hateful gaze. No way John would give him the satisfaction of showing that he gave a damn about the shotgun. But then Sal swung the barrel so it pointed at the woman. Not just pointed. Touched. John knew exactly what would happen to her if those two shells went off.

Vince came back to the cab and cuffed John’s wrists. John stood still as a statue as he was frisked, as his gun was pulled from his ankle holster. Vince snickered, and it took all John’s willpower not to knee the fat man in the groin.

Vince had everything now. John’s weapon, both cell phones, even the girl’s tote bag from the backseat. All neat and tidy. John had to wonder how this would have played out if she hadn’t been in the cab. Someone would have died, and it wouldn’t have been him.

“Let’s go,” Vince said, poking him in the back with his pistol.

“Va fungule sfacime.”

“Watch your mouth,” Sal said, snorting. “Remember your girlfriend here.”

“Let her go, Sal. She ain’t involved in this.”

“She is now, Johnny. Come on. We have things to discuss.”

“Like how you shot me?”

“Be careful,” Vince said, his voice lower, closer.

“What?”

Vince hissed at him. “Just shut up. It’ll be okay if you just shut your mouth for five minutes.”

The urge to mess up this gavone was so strong it made every muscle in John’s body tense. He kept his gaze on the shotgun, jerking forward when it met the woman’s coat.

Vince noticed and gave Sal a warning look. The whole thing made John nervous. Sal had been getting in trouble for a while, but mostly small stuff. Vince not only wasn’t from the neighborhood, but he sounded as if he was from the old country. If Sal had somehow gotten mixed up with the Mob, this wouldn’t end well.

And thanks to John, the woman was now in it up to her pretty little neck.

Sal pushed her inside, but not far. The door to the basement was open and he prodded her down. Vince did his own urging and soon they were in the basement of the Molinari family home, only things had changed since John had last been there.

For one, the new door at the base of the stairs. It looked weird. Not just because it was steel, but because it had a slot in the middle, as if it had been made for a psychiatric lock ward. It had to have cost a fortune, but Sal had probably gotten a deal from his uncle’s cousin Nick, who owned a place out in Jersey. Or maybe this was a new Family addition. “What’s with the door?”

Vince poked him on. “What did I say about keeping your mouth shut?”

“Be happy to help you with that there, Johnny,” Sal said, forcing all of them inside the room.

A brown velvet couch dominated the basement itself. The TV was gone, so was the table it used to sit on. No books. No radio. Only a dingy floor lamp. The place looked like a tomb.

“Sit down.”

Johnny stood his ground. “Take the cuffs off.”

“Yeah, right. Sit down.” Sal didn’t push at him, but he did push the girl. The fear on her face when she turned was enough to get John moving.

The couch was even bigger than he’d guessed. He sank into the lumpy cushion. “So, I’m sittin’.”

“You and me, Johnny, we have a deal to make.”

“The only deal I’m interested in is the one where you and your mook friend here end up doing five to ten.”

“Okay, so we won’t talk now. That’s cool. Sweat it out. I don’t give a shit.”

John heard movement upstairs, reminding him where he was. “Where’s Nonna?”

Sal shifted nervously. “Don’t worry about her.”

“Jesus, Mary and Joseph, Sal, you didn’t hurt her?”

Shock and then anger contorted Sal’s features. “Fuck you, Johnny. What do you think I am?”

“Good question. I don’t know anymore.”

Sal made a move toward him. Vince stopped him. “Enough already.”

“I want to talk to her.” John pushed himself forward on the couch. “Right now.”

Sal made a one-armed gesture. John hit him with curses that would make Nonna, who was ninety-two last San Gennero’s, light enough candles to torch the Bronx.

“Sal.” Vince motioned with his gun. “Get out.”

“The cuffs,” John said, preparing his posture to charge.

Sal didn’t answer. Instead, he walked backward, the shotgun still pointed at the woman, until he reached the door. The two men slipped outside and closed the door so hard the reinforced frame shook. A moment later, the slot opened, and Vince said, “The girl first.”

John stood, and so did she. He cocked his head toward the door. “It’ll be a lot more comfortable.”

“I’m not getting out of here anytime soon, am I?”

He winced at the fear in her eyes. “Not yet.”

She looked at him a few more seconds, then went to the door and turned to offer her wrists.

A minute later it was John’s turn. If he thought it would do a bit of good he’d grab Vince by his goddamn jacket and smash his face in the door. Instead, he decided to leave that option for later and concentrate on the woman.

BELLA STEPPED BACK AS John’s handcuffs were unlocked and the door slot closed. She still couldn’t believe this was happening. Of course she understood that the Mob existed, but even living in Manhattan she’d never dreamed she’d be in any way involved with them, especially not as a hostage. It should have been a good thing to have a detective with her, but he was the one who’d gotten her into this mess, so no points there.