up in the conversation that she’d have an opportunity to get out of this stupid car. “I do my best,” she said, channeling the ballsy babe she’d played in her last stint off Broadway. “But you gentlemen seem determined to keep me away from the biggest audition of the year.”
“Given this is the last day of the year, that can’t be too bad, right?”
“It was an expression, somewhat hyperbolic, but close enough.”
“Hyper what?”
“Never mind. What is this neighborhood you’re dragging me to?”
The man gave her an oily smile instead of an answer, and met John’s eyes in the mirror.
“Is this neighborhood in the city?”
“It’s not far.”
“Then you’ll let me go?”
He shrugged. “It’s not up to me. What’s your name, sweetheart?”
“My name is inconsequential. Just think of me as the innocent bystander. The one who’s done nothing whatsoever that would cause anyone to shoot me.”
He laughed. At least she thought it was a laugh. It could have been a cough. The man had a very thick neck, topped by a couple of chins. His face had that ruddy, unhealthy look, as if one more plate of spaghetti would send him to the hospital. Counseling him on his eating habits probably wasn’t a good idea. She just hoped he didn’t have a stroke before he stopped pointing that gun at her.
“You can call me Vince,” he said, his gaze going to her chest.
She pulled her coat closed.
“Where you takin’ us?” The detective glanced back at the big man. “A warehouse? That field by Tony’s? You don’t want to kill a cop. That’s life, buddy. Hard time.”
“Shut up. I’m talkin’ back here.”
“No, no,” Bella said. “Feel free to discuss whatever you want. I’m not even listening. I’m humming quietly to myself.” She bit her lip. Why did she have to babble when she was nervous? If she’d just stay quiet, do what he asked… Oh, God, if she could just not throw up.
“You’re damn cute.” He lifted the gun a bit. “Where are your people from, huh? France, maybe?”
“My people are from Arizona. Tempe, to be exact.”
“Naw, I’m talkin’ about your famiglia, your ancestors.”
She wasn’t going to tell this cretin a thing. Not a true thing, at least. But she didn’t want to piss him off, either. “Yes, France and England. That’s where my ancestors are from. Are we almost there?”
He looked front, and she stole a glance at the door handle.
“Turn right, next block.”
The detective started swearing a blue streak. “You’re takin’ me to Sal’s house? Where his mother and his grandmother live? Right under his roof?”
“Pull into the garage. It’s empty. Oh, and Johnny, you better hand me your cell phone, ‘cause this ain’t no joke.”
“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.
2
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.
