didn’t dally with the nice, or not-so-nice, Italian girls. The farther away from the Bronx he got, the better.
He changed the subject by setting the box of food aside and turning to examine the area around the steel door. There wasn’t much room to maneuver. Not a nook to hide in, not a closet. If he tried to jump them, the second the door opened, Sal would see him. His gaze moved to Bella, even though there was something happening in the back of his mind. “What do you do?”
“Act,” she said. “Oh, you mean at my day job. I’m a research assistant.”
“What kind of research?”
She took in a deep breath, then let it out slowly, and that poked a hole in his determination and his train of thought. It was that dress. She had a gorgeous body, including beautiful breasts. Not too big, not too small, and more than tempting given that he was able to make out the small bumps of her nipples under the silky material.
“I’m a fact-checker for newspapers, magazines, and I do research on whatever for writers of all kinds. It’s interesting, for the most part, and my hours are flexible.”
“Uh-huh.”
“Detective?”
His gaze jerked up to her face. “Yeah?”
She nodded down, and he followed her look to see that if he took so much as half a step he would’ve tripped over the box and ended up on his ass. Well, humiliation was also a good way to keep his mind on business.
She took another drink, then saluted him with her almost empty glass. “Let’s hear it for the theater of the absurd. I’m actually thinking that despite your calm demeanor and reasonable arguments, that if this is my last night on Earth, I’ve sure picked a lousy place for it. A hotel room would have been better. Somewhere with great sheets, a flat-screen TV and room service. I’m not talking about a box of inedible cookies, either. While I don’t mind Chianti, there should be champagne, don’t you think? Something more dramatic and appropriate for the final curtain?”
“I agree, a hotel would have been much better. Say, at the Pierre?”
She grinned. “So what’s the deal with the accent? When the goombas are around, you talk like someone out of The Godfather. With me, you sound like a high school English teacher.”
He shook his head. “That’s low. You could have at least said college professor.”
Her laughter was low and sexy, just like her dress. “If I tell you something, Professor, will you promise not to make a big deal out of it?”
“I can try.”
She took another sip of her drink. “I had plans for tonight. Good ones. Celebratory. With a very good-looking bartender. He’s going to think I stood him up on purpose, and I’m…I’m going to be here.”
“What kind of celebration?”
She opened her eyes in a dare. “The horizontal kind.” Shit. Too much information of the wrong kind.
“You can make it up to him. If you need to, I’ll back up your story. My badge will help.”
Bella shrugged. “He’ll be fine. I’m sure he won’t go lacking. He never does.”
“So, he’s not—”
“He’s a friend. One who doesn’t expect too much.”
“Funny thing. I was hoping for the same kind of evening.”
The look she gave him could have been an invitation. She let her gaze move down his body before bringing it back up the same path. But more likely, it was that heady combination of booze and terror.
“I don’t know,” he said. “There’s not much here, but we could make a party of it. See who can eat more of Nonna’s cookies before they cry uncle.”
She sank back down on the couch. “I have a feeling if I continue to imbibe I’m going to sleep right through the night. You can wake me when the big door opens.” She picked up the Chianti bottle and stared at it a long moment before she poured herself another half glass.
The steel door made a noise. A scrape and a thunk, and then it was open, and Sal was inside. John reached for his gun that wasn’t there, then rushed to block Sal from Bella. Sal had traded his shotgun for his Sig Sauer, but the damn thing was pointed at her, and that was going to stop right now.
He got straight up in Sal’s face, the gun in his chest the only thing stopping him from taking Sal down hard.
“Back off, Johnny. I just want to talk.”
“I don’t talk to people who point a weapon at a hostage.”
“All right, all right. Go sit down, huh? I won’t point it at her, and we’ll have a conversation, okay? Okay?”
John nodded and he backed up a step, then another. Watching. Waiting. Sal started to lower the gun as John took his third small step. As soon as it was no danger to Bella, he flew at Sal, knocking the other man back into the door, one hand gripping Sal’s wrist, the other at his neck.
The bastard kicked him in the shin, hard, then got him in the gonads, not hard, but it didn’t take much to hurt like a bitch. He took Sal by the neck and twisted him around, pushed him toward the couch. “You son of a bitch. I ought to shoot you right now and be done with it. All I’ve ever done is try and help you, and what do I get in return, huh?” His hand squeezed down and Sal squealed. Then Sal kicked his heel into John’s kneecap.
Pain blossomed in his gut, which hadn’t recovered. He cursed as Sal slipped out of his grasp, but John didn’t let go of the prick’s wrist.
They spun around, and John caught a look at Bella at the door, banging on it with her fist. Then there was another fist right to the stomach, and he’d goddamn had it.
He slammed a right into Sal’s face. Blood spurted out of his nose and his howl could have woken the dead. John gripped the gun with his other hand, but so did Sal.
“Stop it! Both of you!”
Together, he and Sal froze where they were, Bella’s voice close and desperate. John kept his hands where they were and turned to find her just a couple of feet away. She looked fierce with the flush of anger on her face, and she held a weapon of her own. A fork.
Sal laughed. “You gonna fork me?” Sal asked, and then he laughed harder.
John stared wordlessly. She didn’t look tipsy at all, just serious and brave. She wouldn’t get anywhere, but still.
“You think I can’t hurt you with this?” Bella moved even closer. “You like having two eyes, do you, Sal? Drop the gun and open the door, or I swear I’m gonna—”
Sal laughed again. “I think you’d better go sit down before you get hurt.”
He kicked out at John again, but this time, John was ready for him. He twisted, then pushed hard at Sal to get him off balance. The two of them almost went down, but John had the upper hand, which he used to finally get the gun. He brought it up and aimed at Sal’s bloody face. “Thank you,
