Franco's Fortune (Redemption Book 2) (12 page)

To Jo’s relief they spent most of the rest of the
two-hour trip strategizing their meeting with Lynn DiGiacomo and
going over everything that had happened to Franco, trying to tie
the pieces together. It had been Jo’s idea to visit Lynn when
Detective Morelli reported the woman had refused to speak to the
police. When Franco had called Lynn, she’d readily agreed to his
visit, promising she had useful information about her husband. Jo
had felt a twinge of jealousy at the way the other woman jumped at
the chance to see Franco again.

No surprises there. She knew exactly why his
ex-girlfriends still wanted him.

Franco directed Harris through Rumson. They passed
elegant McMansions, each one seemingly larger than the one before
it. Finally they stopped at a gated driveway. Harris pressed the
call button to announce them. When the gate swung open, they headed
down the winding drive.

The drive ended in a flower-filled circle before a
large, tan stucco house. White columns fronted the house which had
a wraparound porch. An enclosed sunroom jutted from one side of the
structure. A detached five-car garage was visible on the other
side.

“Holy Tony Soprano,” Jo said. “I swear I’ve seen
this house on TV.”

“Maybe the wealthy housewives of wherever?” Franco
said.

“Seriously? She was on TV?”

He laughed. “No, but Lynn is a former model. She
could definitely be one of the housewives.”

“Or a mob wife.”

“That too.”

Harris pulled to a stop, then opened the back door
for Jo and Franco.

“I’ll wait here,” Harris said, glancing around.
“Looks clear so far. Ms. DiGiacomo said she has security cameras
around the property and a security detail so we should be
okay.”

Franco placed a hand on the small of Jo’s back.
“Shall we?”

She adjusted her designer bag. It hit against the
small shoulder holster she’d elected to wear today under her
jacket. They headed up the tan brick walkway to the wide brick
steps. The steps led to the porch and the ornately carved double
oak doors flanked by stained glass windows.

Franco reached up to ring the bell, but before his
finger touched the button, the door flew open.

A statuesque blonde, who would have been stunning
except for the yellowish bruises under her eyes, the bandage
partially covering a swollen nose, and her arm in a sling, stood at
the opened door and smiled at Franco. Her injuries couldn’t hide
the perfect white teeth and the clear green eyes that softened as
she looked at him. A low-cut white sweater barely contained the
most magnificent breasts Jo had ever seen. Probably man-made.

“Franco,” the woman breathed in a smoky voice. “I’ve
missed you.” Ignoring Jo, she ran her hand down his arm, as if she
needed to reassure herself he was real. “Come in.” She slid aside
to let them into a black and white marble-floored entryway. The
heavy scent of the woman’s perfume made Jo cough as she slipped
past. Even in her heels, Jo only came up to the woman’s
shoulders.

A hulking man, a weightlifter by the size of the
biceps bulging from the short sleeves of his black T-shirt and the
massive thighs outlined by the tight jeans, stood inside the
doorway, studying them. His short dark hair shouted Special-Ops. No
doubt one of Lynn DiGiacomo’s security detail.

As Jo preceded Franco through the door, her gaze
swept upward. A crystal chandelier hung from a high ceiling that
soared two floors. A winding staircase led to a landing dominated
by a stained glass window with a picture of a tall blonde, naked
and riding a white horse. The blonde was a dead ringer for Lynn.
The oddly disturbing image made a chill skitter over Jo.

She lowered her gaze to take in the entry hall.
Gilded statues lined walls covered in gold brocade. Jo had seen
many elegant homes in her line of work, but none quite so gaudy as
this.

“Lynn, this is Jo,” she heard Franco say.

She looked at Lynn and smiled, ready to put on a
polite mask.

The blonde’s green eyes, so soft when she looked at
Franco, hardened as she scrutinized Jo.

“A pleasure, I’m sure.” Lynn raised one exquisitely
arched eyebrow. Disdain on her face, she looked Jo up and down.
Seeming to dismiss Jo, the woman turned to Franco with a dazzling
smile. “Let’s go into the living room.”

Franco took Jo’s hand as they followed Lynn into the
large room to the right of the entryway. Jo had to hand it to the
other woman. Wearing skintight jeans and six-inch heels that
clicked on the marble floor, Lynn’s movements were fluid, graceful,
and suggestive. Four-inch heels Jo could handle, but she knew if
she wore those pants with those sky-high heels on that floor, she’d
be down on her butt.

French doors, open to a large flagstone-paved patio,
took up one wall of the cavernous living room, done in black, white
and red. A black baby grand piano stood in one corner. Couches and
chairs in shades of red were scattered around the room.
Marble-topped tables in varying sizes nestled among the chairs and
sofas. Lynn gestured to an overstuffed couch done in red velvet. Jo
and Franco settled in while Lynn sat opposite in a matching
chair.

Lynn’s bodyguard followed them and went to stand
behind her. He rested a proprietary hand on Lynn’s shoulder. She
twisted around to look up at him and pat his hand before turning
her attention back to Jo and Franco.

“This is Tim Sheehan, one of my bodyguards,” Lynn
said.

Jo and Franco nodded at the bodyguard. He gave them
a curt nod in return, his hard gray eyes challenging, as if daring
them to make a move to hurt Lynn. Franco had said Lynn was
insecure. Some people never learned. Would Lynn’s husband come
after Sheehan once he was done with Franco?

“Would you like something to drink?” Lynn asked.

“Thanks, but I’m good,” Franco said. “We had a light
lunch in the car on the way up.” He looked at Jo. “How about
you?”

“I’m good.” She fidgeted. Even if she were starving
she wouldn’t say so. Uncomfortable in the gaudy surroundings and
facing one of Franco’s ex-lovers, she wanted out of there as
quickly as possible.

Through the years, she’d seen Franco with other
women and it had never bothered her this much. Refusing to
acknowledge why the thought of him making love to other women
affected her now, she refocused on her job and the reason they’d
come all this way.

Lynn settled back in her chair, wincing a little as
she touched her injured arm. “I was surprised and happy to hear
from you, Franco.”

He leaned forward. “Lynn, I’m sorry for what
happened to you. If I’d known you were in danger from your
husband—”

She waved a hand, cutting him off. “You couldn’t
have known, and I knew exactly what I was getting into when we
started our affair. Sal’s beat me before this, and I’ve no doubt
he’ll try again.” She turned around to smile at Sheehan, then
looked back at them. “That’s why I have Tim and the rest of my
security detail. I don’t go anywhere alone nowadays.”

“That’s no way to live,” Franco said. “I know. I’ve
had a taste of that myself. The police told you we think your
husband may be the one trying to kill me.”

Sadness darkened Lynn’s eyes as she nodded. “I’m not
surprised. He threatened to go after you when he was through with
me. He would have killed me this last time if I hadn’t run out of
the house. The gardener saw us and called the cops.” Tears
glistened in her eyes and she clasped her hands together on her
lap. “I didn’t tell him about us, Franco. I swear. He put a tail on
me when he was in prison. I didn’t know. I’m sorry.”

Jo stiffened. “You knew your husband would come
after Franco, but you didn’t tell the police?”

Franco put his hand on Jo’s thigh and squeezed
gently as Lynn’s mouth set in a grim line. “Sal beat the shit out
of me. I was afraid if I told the cops about him going after
Franco, he’d come back here and finish the job. I was scared,
Franco. Please believe that.”

“I understand,” Franco said in a soothing voice. Jo
guessed he was trying to gain Lynn’s trust so she’d tell them
anything that might help them locate her husband. Jo gripped the
seat cushions, fighting for patience when what she really wanted to
do was shake the information out of the woman.

Lynn turned to Jo with narrowed eyes. “You the new
girlfriend?”

Jo nodded. She and Franco had decided they’d keep up
the pretense with Lynn on the chance she was still in touch with
her husband. They didn’t want him tipped off that Franco had
round-the-clock protection.

“You sure don’t look like Franco’s type,” Lynn
said.

“This isn’t about my girlfriends.” Franco’s sharp
voice cut into the tense atmosphere. “We have to find your husband.
You said you could help us.”

Lynn chewed her lip. “I don’t know where Sal is. I
haven’t seen him since the night he did this to me.” Blowing out a
breath, she glanced toward the French doors.

Beside Jo, Franco tensed. “What the hell?” he said,
his voice harsh. “We came all the way up here because you said you
had information that would help us find him, information you
couldn’t give the police.”

Lynn shifted a furtive gaze to Franco. “Maybe I just
wanted to see you again.” Despite her flirty words, fear flashed
from her eyes. “Sal’s got friends and contacts all over New Jersey
and Pennsylvania. He could be anywhere.” Her voice trembled
slightly and she lowered her eyes. Jo’s instincts went on alert.
Lynn was hiding something.

“Let’s settle down and see what you do know,” Jo
said, hoping her falsely calm voice would put Lynn at ease and
encourage her to talk. “Does he still drive a black Cadillac
Escalade?” Jo had tapped into the New Jersey and Pennsylvania DMV
records. The Escalade, with New Jersey plates, was the only car
registered to Salvatore DiGiacomo. And someone in a black Escalade
had taken shots at Franco.

Frowning, Lynn looked at Jo. “How do you know that?
You a cop?”

Franco took Jo’s hand in his and squeezed. “We got
the information from the Philly police. Jo is worried about me.
That’s all.” Still holding Jo’s hand, he moved to the edge of his
seat. “Lynn, tell us what you know. Don’t you want your husband put
away so he can’t hurt anyone again?”

She chewed her lip. “Yeah, I do, but I’m afraid.
It’s why I didn’t tell the police.”

“What has you too scared to tell the police?” Franco
asked.

“Because of who’s involved. If they find out I
talked to the police, I’m dead. I’ll tell you, but don’t tell the
cops it came from me.” She leaned forward, a conspiratorial look on
her face. “I think Sal’s with his latest girlfriend. Her uncle is
high up in the Philly mob. Sal has some mob ties, but he’s strictly
small potatoes. If I bring the cops down on the niece, I’ll
pay.”

Jo straightened. She’d never understand some people.
“Your husband has a girlfriend?”

Lynn barked a bitter laugh. “Sal always has a
girlfriend or two. Yet he beats the shit out of me every time I
fool around.”

Jo pulled her hand from Franco’s. “You’ve had other
lovers since you’ve been married?”

“Yeah. So what of it? How many married people do you
know who don’t fool around?”

Jo thought of Logan and Doriana. “I know a few.” She
met Lynn’s gaze. “Has your husband tried to kill any of your lovers
before?”

“No.”

“Then why is he going after me?” Franco asked.

Lynn’s eyes softened as she looked at Franco.
“Because you’re the only one I’ve ever fallen in love with. The
only one I’m still in love with.”

Jo shot a glance at Lynn’s new lover standing behind
her. The other man’s face remained impassive. Jo guessed he didn’t
care much if Lynn had feelings for another man. She almost felt
sorry for the other woman. Unless she got help, she’d only keep
making the same mistakes over and over again.

Franco’s thigh brushed Jo’s as he shifted and
cleared his throat. “Do you know where this girlfriend lives?”

Jo wondered if Franco felt as uncomfortable as she
did.

Lynn nodded. “South Philly.”

“Can you give us the address?” Franco asked.

“I’ll write it down.” Lynn went to a small desk
partially hidden in a corner and opened a drawer, pulling out a
sheet of paper and a pen. She hastily wrote something, then strode
to Franco and handed him the paper.

He glanced at it, then looked up at Lynn. “Thanks.
I’ll give this to the police. Anything else you can think of?”

A stricken look came into Lynn’s eyes. “Please keep
me out of it.”

“We will.”

“Lynn,” Jo said, getting the other woman’s
attention. “The person or persons after Franco keep telling him
they want the money. We don’t know what money they’re talking
about. Do you know anything about that? Is Sal broke? Why would he
ask for money?”

Lynn sat back in her chair, her body tense. “I can’t
imagine why he’d ask for money. Look around you. Does this look
like we’re broke?”

“No,” Jo said. “But seeing isn’t always
believing.”

“Are you sure about the money?” Franco asked. “Your
husband could be belly up and doesn’t want to tell you. Or he could
have gambling debts, or owe the mob.”

Lynn shrugged. “Sal drops loads in Atlantic City and
Vegas, but far as I know, he’s always paid his debts. And he knows
better than to owe the mob. Although.” She stopped, then shook her
head. “No. I can’t see him asking you for money.”

Franco took Jo’s hand again and squeezed. “Whoever
is after me threatened Jo. Would your husband threaten her? And
why?”

Lynn let out another short, brittle laugh. “That’s
easy. Tit for tat. You took me so he’s gonna take something of
yours.”

“Anything else, Lynn?” Franco asked. “Anything at
all you think might help?”

“Nope. Nothing.”

“You have my number. Call me if you think of
anything. And we’ll keep your name out of any information you give
us.” Franco stood and gently pulled Jo up with him. “Let’s go.”