gave Mac his knee, then glanced back to Sunni’s apartment to find that she’d crossed her arms over her amazing breasts, her gaze searching the alley to see where the sudden noise had originated and why. When her gaze locked with his, she opened her mouth and two words came out. The first word was Oh. The second word was…
“Shame on you, Sis,” Jackson mumbled, “that’s not a nice word.”
The same two words flew out again, then Sunni was gone from sight. But not forgotten—Jackson’s growing problem was now full blown and painfully obvious.
There was, however, a remedy for what ailed him. He could hobble to the bathroom and take an ice-cold shower—that is, if there had been running water on the fourth floor of the Wilchard.
Chapter 2
“You lied to the police.” Sunni met Joey Masado’s self-assured gaze and held it. It was just before closing and she was assembling the scattered notes on her desk that she’d made for Mary, her store manager for Silks. “You know we’ve never dated. Much less—”
“Spent the night together? I never told the police we spent the night together.”
“You implied as much.”
“Then maybe this is blackmail. Maybe that’s what motivated my alibi story, you think?”
“I don’t know what to think, Mr. Masado.” But Sunni had a feeling she was about to find out why a man she hardly knew had waltzed into the police station four nights ago and lied through his teeth to keep her out of jail.
“Call me Joey, and I’ll call you Sunni. We’re dating, remember?” The reckless grin that slashed across Joey Masado’s Sicilian good looks as he sauntered through the door was as unsettling as the one-inch scar high on his cheekbone. As he sat on the plush red visitor’s chair in front of her desk, he snagged her small at-a-glance calendar off her desk. After studying it, his intelligent brown eyes pinned her where she sat stiff and wary. “Looks like I’m in luck… Sunni. You’re free for dinner tonight.”
With her black hair swept into a twist at her nape, and her curves tastefully disguised in her designer black silk suit, Sunni looked every bit the flawless, confident businesswoman—an image she had worked hard to perfect—at least on the surface. Careful to maintain that image, she tried to relax. “If we need to discuss something, now would be a better time, Mr. Masado.”
“We should be seen together. It’s just that simple, Sunni.”
He leaned forward, replaced the calendar, then reached out and tugged on the white silk scarf tucked into the deep vee of her suit jacket. When he sat back, the scarf came loose, baring Sunni’s throat and a whole lot more. Self-conscious, she squared her petite shoulders to minimize just how amazing her God-given-gift really was.
As he threaded the silk between his long fingers, Joey said, “Four of these were found at the crime scene. Your fingerprints on each one.”
“My prints would be on my scarves, don’t you think? The mystery isn’t whose scarves were used in the murder, but how they got into that apartment when I was never there.”
“It’s no mystery to the police. Detective Williams believes you were there.”
“But that’s not true.”
“He’s calling it premeditated murder. In this state, that buys life.”
Sunni knew exactly what it bought. And, yes, she was in serious trouble. But at least Joey’s alibi story had given her some breathing room until the police turned over more evidence, evidence that would prove she was innocent.
“I didn’t kill Milo Tandi.”
“I believe you. But then I’m not the one you need to convince. Williams is sure that, like the scarves, the silk lingerie found in Milo’s apartment is yours.”
“Milo Tandi ran an escort service out of that apartment. His name is on several other apartments at the Crown Plaza for that same purpose. That lingerie isn’t mine.”
“Before I arrived at police headquarters did you tell Williams anything I should know about?”
“No. Only that I didn’t kill Milo, and I wanted my lawyer if they had plans to formally charge me. That’s when you showed up.”
Smiling, he asked, “How does Caponelli’s sound?”
Sunni had never been to the quaint Italian restaurant in Little Italy. She’d heard it was one of the best in the city, but she had no wish to dine out with Joey Masado.
“Did I mention I saw Williams outside on my way in? It looks like he’s giving this case top priority. He’s waiting for one of us to make a wrong move. I don’t make wrong moves, Sunni, and you can’t afford to. Can you?”
No, she couldn’t. Detective Williams wasn’t the only one keeping a close eye on her. Three days ago Rambo had moved into the neighborhood with an oversize German shepherd. The tall muscle-machine and his sidekick had been dogging her every move. She would easily admit that Joey Masado was both intimidating and dangerous, but Rambo looked like he ate nails for breakfast and used his dog for target practice.
She had the best reason in the world to pick up the phone and call her father for help, only she couldn’t. Joey Masado thought her father was dead. And she needed him to keep believing it, because if he found out her father was alive and living in New Orleans as the city’s police chief she would lose everything.
Yes, she’d lied about who she was when she’d applied for the lease to open Silks. Frank Masado and his two sons were rumored to be linked with the mob. If that was true, they would never have given her permission to open her shop at Masado Towers—not a police chief’s daughter.
Joey brushed the silk past his nose, then stood and dropped the scarf on the desk. “I’ll pick you up at seven.” He turned to leave, then hesitated. “Show a little skin tonight, Sunni. It’ll help sell us to Williams.”
Rambo joined them for dinner. No, he wasn’t sharing their table, but he was at Caponelli’s not twenty feet away from where Sunni sat at a cozy table for two with Joey Masado.
“How’s the veal?”
Caught with her eyes wandering for the third, or possibly the sixteenth time, Sunni scooped up her wineglass and pressed it to her red-painted lips, her attention back to Joey. Everything she’d heard about the restaurant was true—the food was great, the atmosphere intimate, the lighting soft, the music softer.
“Sunni—” Joey motioned to her plate “—how is it?”
She’d eaten only half of what she’d ordered. She was always careful about the kind of food she ate and the amount. Only food wasn’t what was on her mind at the moment. She’d lost her appetite the minute she’d spied Rambo. “The veal is excellent, but I’m afraid my appetite is a little off tonight.”
Sunni studied Joey Masado. At the Towers he was called the money man. He wore European suits and shoes so shiny they could double as traveling mirrors. She didn’t know much about the Masado men, but Frank looked as intimidating as he was handsome. Joey must have taken after his mother. He was softer in appearance, kinder and
