Desperate Measures (6 page)

“I literally can’t afford to lose him.”

She was tempted to remind him that Mario
might lead them on a wild-goose chase if he noticed them, but she didn’t. She supposed she ought to keep her comments to herself. After all, this was Joe’s problem and her little bit to help him was almost over. One point of the finger was all that was left to be done. Then she’d be back to home and bed—and peace and quiet.

It sounded dull.

Ellen set her jaw. She wanted privacy, and if it meant being a little dull, then she could certainly live with that. And she would make sure Joe understood that too. When she had a moment to tell him.

They rounded the end of a long line of slot machines just in time to see Mario walk into the lounge. He held his head up and his shoulders square. Although Joe’s cousin wasn’t very tall, it would be hard to miss the curly, nearly black, hair cut precisely to the point where it just grazed his shirt collar.

“Do you suppose he’s been in here all the time?” Joe asked in a low voice.

“We must have checked here every fifteen minutes!” Ellen said in disbelief. “We couldn’t have missed him.”

“True.” Joe stopped on the threshold and stared into the dimly lit room. “I don’t see him. Do you?”

She peered inside. Except for the occupants of the first few tables, she could see only shadows and silhouettes. “No. The light’s bad.”

“We’ll have to go in.”

“But—”

That was as far as her protest got. He tightened his grip on her elbow and pulled her into the
lounge. When they were finally perched on stools at the bar, she was breathless as much from his touch as from his speed. Her eyes slowly adjusted to the low lighting. Fortunately, the lounge was between floor shows, so she wasn’t distracted by a bright stage. She glanced around again.

“There,” she said quietly, nodding toward a back booth. Sitting directly under the booth’s yellow light was Mario. He was talking intently to some-one else in the booth.

Joe turned casually, leaning his elbow on the bar. “I see him.”

The man Mario was talking with leaned forward into the light.…

“I don’t think it’s the same man,” Ellen said, peering intently. “His profile is too … defined. Unfortunately. It’s not the same person from the rink, Joe.”

“I know.”

“You do?” She turned to look at him and was even more surprised to see his features hard with anger. “You know him?”

He nodded. “All too well. It’s my uncle Thomas.”

Ellen glanced back at the two men. “Not his father, I take it.”

Joe smiled grimly at her. “You take it right. Uncle Thomas is the last person I’d expect Mario to be with. I doubt Mario has bothered to say more than hello to Thomas in years. But here they both are, and cozy too. I don’t understand this. I thought he was selling the recipe at the rink.”

“But what does your uncle have to do with any of that?” Ellen asked.

“Too much. Remember I told you Mario has, by right of his position, access to a quarter of the recipe?”

She nodded.

“Uncle Thomas has one quarter of the recipe. If what’s going on is what I think is going on. Mario is about to have access to
two
quarters of the recipe. Another cousin and my sister hold the other two. I wonder now if the rink meeting was to arrange things with a buyer before he stole the recipe. Maybe he doesn’t actually have it yet. Dammit! Don’t tell me I have to watch all of them!”

Ellen groaned. It was easy to guess whom he was going to ask to help him.

Four

Panic, Joe admitted, was probably in order. Thomas Carlini was gregarious and generous and completely without guile. While the older man would guard his part of the recipe from outsiders with his life, he was capable of giving it away to another family member—if Mario’s need was “innocent.” And Mario knew it.

Joe had been puzzling about how Mario could have acquired the recipe. The only people who had the entire thing were Joe himself, his father, the senior lawyer, whose honesty would have made Diogenes ecstatic, and the safe. Mario had to be assembling the four parts. The situation was not as far along as he had feared. His other cousin, Jamie, and his own sister, Carol, had the other two quarters of the recipe. Ten minutes ago, he had complete faith in them. Now he wasn’t quite so sure. But even if Mario acquired only Thomas’s quarter, that in itself could be disastrous. In the
same way an anthropologist could rebuild a man from an arm bone, someone could rebuild the recipe from just a part of it. They might not get it precisely right, but they could get a fair clone.

Joe’s head was spinning, and he felt as if he were playing a chess game with someone who was changing the rules every second move. He decided that he’d make a few rules of his own before it was over. He also decided this was not the time to be peering out from behind palm trees.

“Joe!” Ellen whispered fiercely as he took her hand and headed straight for the booth cradling his relatives. “Wait! What are you doing, and let me in on it!”

“Just follow my lead,” he said. Her hand was warm in his, and he smiled to himself, although he knew this was hardly the moment for one of Ellen’s distractions.

“It figures,” she muttered loud enough for him to hear. “In
I Spy
, Robinson was always the impulsive one.”

He grinned over his shoulder at her. She was right. He had no idea what he was going to do. He only knew he had to do something. “Just remember Scotty’s job was to rescue Robinson.”

They reached the booth before she could reply. The gods were with him, Joe thought, then tried to look startled and pleased as the two men glanced up.

“Thomas! And Mario!” he exclaimed cheerfully, watching his uncle smile back in innocent delight. Mario’s initial shock was instantly covered by a smile that didn’t reach the cold, narrowed eyes. Both men rose to their feet as Joe added,
“We came down to do a little gambling, but I didn’t know you two were going to be here tonight too. And together.”

“Joey!” Thomas said. Joe ignored the snort of feminine amusement at his uncle’s use of the boyhood nickname. Thomas shook his hand, saying, “This is a wonderful surprise. Are you here for Sinatra too?”

“Sinatra?”

Thomas nodded.

Joe smiled sourly. Thomas loved Frank Sinatra. Mario was pushing all the right buttons. “We’re here for the gambling.”

“You’re missing a great show then. Mario got some tickets from somewhere—I don’t ask—for this private late show Sinatra’s giving tonight, and he’s treating his uncle Thomas instead of some pretty girl, bless him.” Thomas looked at Ellen and smiled. “I see you have a pretty girl with you, Joey. A very pretty girl. Come and join us for a little while. Mario won’t mind my asking. We’re all family.”

Joe pulled Ellen closer, putting his arm around her waist. His mind was racing with the twin thoughts of keeping Thomas from trouble and watching his own back at the same time, but it was instantly sidetracked by the soft curve of Ellen’s waist and the subtle wave of heat that threatened to send his senses into oblivion. She stiffened at the contact, and he realized she was as affected as he.

“This is Ellen Kitteridge,” he said, keeping his response to her at a minimum. “Ell, my uncle, Thomas Carlini, and my cousin, Mario Penza.”

Ellen’s smile was serene as she shook hands with both men. Joe wondered what Mario thought at seeing the woman from the skating rink with him again. Whatever he thought, it didn’t show on his face.

“Do we have a few minutes, Ell?” he asked her, deferring to his “date” as any gentleman would.

Her smile never faltered. “I think so.”

Joe decided he never wanted to play poker with her. No one would ever know if she held a royal flush or a pair of deuces.

“Wonderful!” Thomas exclaimed.

They ordered drinks and settled into the booth, with Ellen between him and Thomas. The long, lush line of her thigh brushed his, sending primitive signals coursing through him. Ellen jerked as if he’d run his hand along her leg. He wanted to. Badly. But he had a recipe to save. He felt caught between heaven and hell.

Deciding to take care of the hell first, he asked, “Well, Mario, how did you manage to get tickets for Sinatra? I heard the regular shows were sold out within hours of being booked.”

“It’s all in who you know,” Mario said, shrugging.

“And you actually know someone. I’ll keep it in mind next time I need hard-to-get tickets.”

Mario glared at him, knowing he was being baited.

“I didn’t realize you were a Sinatra fan, Mario,” Joe went on, smiling. “I would have thought Sting was more your style.”

“Who?” Uncle Thomas asked.

Mario shrugged again. “I wanted to treat Uncle Thomas.”

Joe raised his right hand and vowed, “I promise not to tell your parents about your ‘hot’ date tonight. If I remember rightly, they like Sinatra too.”

Mario’s expressionless face could have been made from stone, Joe thought, knowing full well he had just hit the mark.

Thomas chuckled, then turned to Ellen. “Mary, Mario’s mother, is a bigger fan than I am. And we’re talking big!”

Everyone laughed.

Suddenly Thomas frowned. “Mary
is
a bigger fan. And she was just saying last week that she wished—”

Mario brought his hands together in a loud clap. “So, Joe, tell us about this beautiful new lady of yours. Have we met before, Ellen? You look very familiar.”

Joe flinched at this sudden turn of the conversation. He had planted a little seed with Uncle Thomas that he expected, or more precisely hoped, would now niggle at the man. Thomas might just realize that he was being singled out in a big way by a nephew who had barely acknowledged him before. That Mario would attempt a diversion at this point wasn’t surprising, but the direction of that diversion was. Joe didn’t like it in the least that his cousin was focusing on Ellen.

She smiled demurely. “We haven’t met before.”

“Are you sure? But … Kitteridge … why is that name so familiar?” Mario mused aloud, the malicious glint in his eyes all too clear.

Joe could see his uncle frowning now for a different reason. The diversion was clearly working, but that was the least of Joe’s worries. Clearly,
Mario was about to bring up Ellen’s infamous background, possibly even the tragedy with her son. Red-hot anger shot through him at the thought of any embarrassment his cousin might cause Ellen. He’d take Mario by the throat to stop him, if he had to.

But Ellen was speaking already, calm and outwardly unflappable. “Kitteridges have been around Philadelphia for about two hundred and fifty years. Everybody knows us. My family does a lot of charity work, and several Kitteridges are in local politics. In fact, my father’s cousin, Talman, is a rather flamboyant city councilman at large. He’s always in the newspapers as an opponent of the current administration. It never seems to matter whose administration it is.”

Uncle Thomas slapped the table. “Of course! Talman Kitteridge. He’s run unsuccessfully for mayor five times.”

“Six, actually,” Ellen said, laughing. “The family joke is that nobody would be more shocked than Talman if he ever did win.”

Joe hid a smile as she and Thomas launched into a discussion of her relative’s antics. She had effectively cut off Mario’s attempt to bring up her own past. He couldn’t pursue the subject now, without looking as if he were deliberately trying to embarrass her. Joe gazed at her with frank admiration, at first for her adept turn of the conversation, and then just because she was Ellen. Her face was glowing and animated, and he knew it was partly because she was caught up in her role as spy. The other part he hoped had something to do with being with him.…

“She’s delightful, Joey,” Uncle Thomas pronounced with great satisfaction a few minutes later.

“Yes, I know.” Joe smiled and took her hand under the table. He wasn’t surprised by the jolt of electricity that passed through him. Ellen didn’t flinch. Outwardly. After a decent moment, though, she deftly pulled her hand from his and began to fiddle with her glass.

Mario made a show of glancing at his watch. “We’re going to have to go, Uncle Thomas.”

Thomas nodded. “Sure. In a way it’s a shame to go now. We were having such a nice talk with Joey and Ellen.”

Ellen patted the older man’s hand. “What a polite thing to say, and you’re not fooling either of us with it. Go and enjoy the show, Thomas.”

He grinned unabashedly at her.

“Yes, you lucky dog,” Joe added, smiling at his uncle. “Besides, Mario would be mad as hell if you skipped the show, after all the trouble he went to for the tickets. I’m not surprised, though. After all, you’re my favorite uncle, too.”

“And mine, of course,” Mario chimed in.

But it didn’t ring true, and from Thomas’s puzzled frown Joe knew his uncle was having doubts on the subject. He felt Thomas would be just a little suspicious and untrusting of Mario now. Enough to make the man stop and think about anything out of the ordinary before acting. Still, he would have to have a further chat with his uncle later to emphasize the point.

He imagined that Mario was none too happy with him at the moment. It was the second time
he had taken him by surprise, Joe thought with satisfaction. He noticed Mario’s set expression as the two men took their leave of him and Ellen. He could almost feel the wheels in Mario’s head turning as he assessed the damage done tonight and worked on figuring an alternative plan. The one thing Joe couldn’t sense in Mario was defeat. So far, he had managed to block his cousin through sheer luck. It didn’t do to think how much longer his luck would last.

Once Mario and Uncle Thomas were gone, Ellen flopped back into the padded seat and sighed loudly in obvious relief.

“I was terrified he would recognize my voice after talking with me on the phone,” she said. “Remind me to leave you to be hoisted on your own petard next time, Joe.”

He leaned his elbow on the table and said, “You were terrific. Scotty couldn’t have done any better, Ell.”

“Scotty,” she pronounced, grimacing, “should have had his head examined for being the rescuer. If there were a next time, I would definitely be the impulsive one.”