Fugitive Heart (8 page)

And now she thought of the dirt on his hands and jeans—and oh no. The dirt floor in the basement. For a horrible moment, she wondered if he was digging holes to find or, worse, plant Elliot’s corpse. She thought back on their conversations. No. She didn’t believe he’d killed Elliot but perhaps he believed someone else might have.

Ames abandoned any attempts to manipulate him and begged for the truth. “You kept asking about his habits and places Elliot liked. Please, tell me you’re not looking for his body.”

He raised his brows and stopped eating. “No. Not him. I’m looking for some things he took from the Espositos. Like I said, he worked for them. Didn’t he tell you about what he did for a living at all?”

She shook her head. ”Not really. He mentioned accounting for some firm, but he was vague about it.”

Sam/Nick withheld information, but she believed him when he said he didn’t know where Elliot was. Why in God’s name did she feel like she could trust him? She felt like a rubber ball, bouncing up—yes, she believed him, and down—no, he was just a lying scumbag. Maybe the strong attraction she’d felt for him made a neutral response impossible. Because even if it had been a lie, yesterday’s immediate sense of connection still existed inside her.

She heaved a sigh. “What did Elliot take?”

He hesitated, then said, “Evidence.”

“Maybe he was going to the police?”

“No, I’m sorry, I don’t think that was his intention.” He really did sound sorry.
Boing
, her emotions bounced back into trust again.

He put down his fork and rubbed his face briskly, as if trying to wake himself up. “It’s not just evidence about shady accounting that vanished. A hell of a lot of cash is gone too.”

He pushed away the food half eaten. Maybe he wasn’t so calm after all. “That’s part of the reason the Espositos are so determined. They don’t want the news to get out. Elliot makes them look bad. Anyone who knows anything will be in a lot of trouble.”

His voice turned gruff with anger—at Elliot or her? She flinched away.

“I’m not threatening you, just telling you how it is. Dammit, will you please believe I don’t mean you harm?”

She gave a nod, unwilling to trust her voice.

“You know pretty much everything now, so do me a favor and tell me the truth, after you did your search for my name did you talk to anyone about me?”

She didn’t owe him. She wanted him to tell her more of his secrets—any of his secrets. “Why’d you tell me you’re a museum curator?”

“I am. I’m not lying, Ames. I promise. I help run a small museum on the Upper East Side devoted to New York history.” He started to reach for his back pocket, then shook his head. “Past tense. I jettisoned that job and that part of my life. Ha. I was going to give you a business card, but they’re all gone. I had to leave behind even the damn business cards.” He sounded bitter.

“If you left that old life, then how’d you get involved with my brother? And what are curators doing going clubbing with people like Sandra Marvin?”

He’d been eyeing her uneaten pie but looked up sharply at her words. “Sandra’s an old friend from before I changed my life. How’d you know about her?”

“She was in the photo and I tracked it back to her Facebook page.”

“Christ,” he whispered. “What did you do? Did you contact her?”

She nodded.

“Oh, shit.”

He stood up, pulled out his wallet and threw a couple of twenties on the table. “Come on.”

“What’s wrong?”

“What’s wrong is that Sandra Marvin is Bert Esposito’s girlfriend. If she knows where I am, so does he.”

“Bert Esposito.” He’d said that name before.

“A really, really bad guy.” He grabbed her hand. “Let’s go. Now.”

Chapter Seven

Ames was glad she hadn’t eaten much. As it was, the peach pie curdled in her stomach. Mobsters. Mafia. Wise guys. Goombas. Hit men. She felt as if she’d wandered onto the set of a crime thriller. While it was exciting to watch such dramas from the safety of an armchair, she wasn’t prepared to plunge into one.

“I’m going to call the FBI and tell them everything. You say my brother’s mixed up with criminals; I’m going straight to the authorities and get help.” She tried to keep her voice calm, but it quavered on the last two words.

“Even if Elliot might end up in prison due to your ‘helping’ him?”

“Better in prison than dead. If he knows stuff about these criminals, he can plea bargain or something. He can maybe make amends for what he’s done.”

“I don’t know if he’d feel the same way. And the FBI might not be the saviors you want them to be. Besides, Ames, he wouldn’t be safe in prison either.” Nick’s hand came down on her arm and he drew her gently but firmly up from her seat. “We should go now. We can talk more in the car.”

As she let him lead her from the restaurant, Ames questioned her sanity. Now that he knew she knew his true identity, this guy might be driving her somewhere to…to whack her. But instinct told her this wasn’t true. She believed his story about Elliot having burned his fingers, messing with stuff he shouldn’t have gone near. It was such an Elliot thing to do. He’d been getting into scrapes since middle school, for no particular reason she could tell. It wasn’t as if their family had been broken or dysfunctional. Elliot had simply always had a wild streak.

“I’m going to drop you off at your apartment, and then I suggest you stay as far away from me as possible,” Nick said as he opened the car door and practically shoved her inside. “If a stranger comes to see you, don’t let him in.”

“Duh. Ya think?” She rolled her eyes. “I’m not stupid enough to believe I can handle this on my own. Like I said, I’m going to call the FBI.”

He didn’t say anything until he’d slid into the driver’s seat and started the engine. “Right now, if I can find what Elliot stole and return it to Bert, we could come out of this okay. Getting the FBI involved isn’t our best move, trust me.”

Our
best move, he’d said. That was interesting. “Really? You think Bert and his friends are going to forgive somebody who stole from them? Why should I believe they’ll just walk away?”

Nick glowered at the road before them. “You don’t understand everything that’s involved here.”

“Then why don’t you tell me the rest,” she exploded. “Ignorance isn’t going to keep me any safer. I have a right to know exactly what Elliot did.”

His jaw tightened, and how sick was it that the play of muscles sent a little wave of heat through her?

“Fine. I guess you’re in it now,” he muttered at last. “I met your brother in college through some mutual friends. To be honest, I didn’t like the guy much at first, but…” He paused, and Ames could almost see memories flickering across his expressive eyes. “We ended up bonding over some beers and we were practically roommates for a while, in the same suite. Elliot could be a real asshole, but he could be a good friend too.” He flicked a glance at her.

Elliot had been her best friend and worst enemy at various times in their life. “He’s never boring,” she offered.

Nick smiled. “No, that he’s not. You know what a thrill seeker he is. When he learned I was related to one of the ‘families’, Elliot wanted me to introduce him to people. He loved to gamble, had an on-campus bookie business for a while, and he was eager to kick it up to the next level.”

The more Nick spoke, the more Ames believed he really did know her brother. She shook her head at Elliot’s stupidity. “So you introduced him to the Espositos.”

“No. In fact, I told him he was an idiot. I’d worked to escape those connections. After what happened to my father, I wasn’t about to get a guy I liked sucked into the life. But after college Elliot used my name, introduced himself, and got the Espositos to hire him.”

Ames stared at the trees rushing past the window. That sounded just like something her brother would do. “Ah jeez. Elliot,” she murmured.

“We’d stopped hanging out around that time,” Nick continued. “I didn’t want any part of what he was getting into. I was concentrating on my own career, a nice normal job working at a museum, doing research, paying back school loans. Elliot was just a memory from my college days, until he called me out of the blue last month. And then he sent a text message…” He shook his head.

“What did he do?” Ames didn’t want to hear the answer. She’d already figured it out. “Did he embezzle from them? Siphon off money to an account in the Caymans or something? Isn’t it all electronic transfers now?”

“Something like that. They still like cold hard cash. I think he skimmed money from a couple of betting operations. He took cash and, more importantly, information to use as leverage to keep himself safe if he ever needed to plea bargain. I think he took small amounts and was having trouble laundering it, so he just let it pile up. When he ran, he stopped in at my place first. And someone was watching him.”

“Your place?”

“I had a spot where I hid stuff. My—” He shut up and stared out the window as he passed an SUV with Rhode Island plates. His expression went cold as he intently studied the passengers of the car, and his hand went into his pocket. Wait, was he carrying a gun?

He remained silent even after he obviously relaxed and dropped back into the slower lane.

She tapped his leg. “Go on. You were about to say something about a hiding place.”

“Oh, right. Just that my father got me into the habit of hiding important…stuff for easy access.”

Important “stuff” in her world included passports, car titles, but maybe with his background, he meant valuables like drugs and unregistered handguns—that sort of fun
stuff
.

He said, “Dad didn’t have safe-deposit boxes in banks, and we never trusted anyone. He believed in keeping ready cash and other things in case he needed to run. I hadn’t used my secret spot for years, but Elliot knew where I used to keep valuables in my apartment. He came to my place for advice about how to break off with the Espositos, and while I was distracted, he lifted my extra key. He came back when I wasn’t home and hid part of his stash in the false back of a bookcase. Some of the money and a coded ledger page tracking payoffs.”

“Why would he go to the trouble of hiding those things in your apartment rather than some spot of his own? It doesn’t make sense.”

“He left just enough to drag my ass into the fire, to get the Espositos to focus on me instead of him.” He glanced away from the road to scowl at her—angry because she was related to Elliot, or because he didn’t think she’d believe him?

She ignored his dark look and circled a hand to get him to keep talking.

He wiggled his shoulders as if he tried to get comfortable, then leaned forward over the wheel again. So much nervous energy flowed through Nick, he didn’t seem able to relax.

“Someone broke into my house, presumably because they’d been tracking Elliot, and found the evidence, which makes me think maybe Elliot somehow secretly tipped him off where to look. Anyway, I had no clue about any of this until I got a warning or something from Elliot, a text message. I went looking for your brother and found this guy at his apartment instead.”

“Did you know the man?”

He shot her a scowl. “No. I told you, I haven’t been in that world for years. The guy knew me though. Bert had given him my name, maybe my description, who knows. It didn’t end well. I think he must have been hired help because Bert didn’t mention him later on, after the guy, um, disappeared.”

A chill ran through her at the word “disappeared”. Could Nick have killed the man? She wanted to ask what had happened, but instead said, “So you came looking for Elliot in Wisconsin?”

“There’s still over four mill in cash missing, some in small denominations. That much money is sort of tough to cart around everywhere. Not impossible, but not simple.”

She gasped. He sounded so casual. Four million might not be a lot to him, but she suspected it was more than she’d earn in her lifetime.

He went on. “No one came knocking at my door after that first guy, but Bert Esposito let me know that if I could track down the money and evidence, I’d have a better chance at survival. That was a few weeks ago.”

“Survival? They’d kill you?”

He hesitated, then nodded. “Elliot’s in trouble. I’m in trouble, and now, dammit, so are you. I told Bert to give me some time, and he agreed. But after that I dropped my name and life. I saw what Cesar did to my dad and if I didn’t succeed… They’ll be after me. I probably have hours to find the rest of that ledger or whatever it is, and the money. Delivering Elliot to them would be a bonus, but that’s not going to happen.” His teeth worried his bottom lip. “Bert’s probably using his own guys on this job. A contractor may show up too.”

“Contractor?”

“Hired killer.” He sounded as casual as he had when talking about the four million bucks. “I hope Bert or someone from New York comes west, which they will after your little chat with Sandy. I can talk to someone from the outfit—if I find them before they find me.”

All of a sudden, Ames was very glad she’d hardly eaten anything at the restaurant. “Pull over.”

He glanced at her. “Huh?”

“Pull over
now
!” She clapped a hand to her mouth and urged her roiling stomach to hold on to its contents just a little longer.