Next to Die (13 page)

“A bad check ain’t gonna fix my car,” he pointed out, gesturing broadly.

She glanced at the Honda Civic parked at the curb. “Your car’s already fixed,” she snapped. He obviously didn’t need her money. The chain dangling from his neck looked like eighteen-karat gold.

“You still owe me,” he said with a glimmer in his chocolate eyes, like he was laughing at her.

“Look, I don’t have time for this. I’m going to be late for work.”

“So I’ll go with you.”

“The hell you will!”

“Is there a problem?” cut in a third voice.

It seemed to come from the bushes, but then the next-door neighbor cruised around the corner of the house. He must have been in his backyard, about to slip into his hot tub, because all he was wearing was a towel, and—holy crap—no wonder Penny was half in love with the guy!

Little Al turned to face the newcomer. The size and stature of the man didn’t have the effect Lia expected, other than to eradicate his smile. He cut a bland look at her. “Who is this?” he asked with a jerk of his chin.

“I said, is there some problem here?” Joe repeated. His tone was so cold that even Lia shivered.

“Um, sort of,” she admitted. “This boy won’t leave me alone. Now I’m going to be late for work.”

“Sounds like you’d better take a hike,” Joe said to Little Al.

But the young man stood his ground. “Isn’t he a little old for you?” he asked Lia with just a hint of disgust.

“Not really.” She tossed her head.

Joe ascended the porch steps. His body language indicated that this was all going to stop right now. “Is this the person who’s been harassing you?” he asked.

Instead of turning tail, Little Al widened his stance. Hands fisted loosely at his sides, he gave every indication that he was prepared to duke it out.

Lia couldn’t watch this. “Hold on a sec,” she cried, leaping between the pair. “This isn’t Eric, obviously; he’s too young,” she said to the SEAL, “so you don’t have to kill him. He’s just some kid who’s mad because I back-ended his car and crushed a taillight. This guy”—she turned to Young Al while pointing at her neighbor—“is a Navy SEAL. You do not want to mess with him. Now leave me alone.”

Young Al seemed to blanch and snapped to rigid attention. “PO2 Vinny DeInnocentis, Team Twelve, at your service, sir!” he barked. “I’m sorry, sir, I didn’t realize.”

What?

The menace went right out of the neighbor’s face. He took in Lia’s open-mouthed astonishment and smiled. “Joe Montgomery, lieutenant commander,” he countered, extending a hand. “Nice to meet you, Vinny. I live next door.”

The two men sidestepped Ophelia and pumped hands.

Just like that, they were buddies. They both looked at her, as if considering a mutual problem. “She owes me a dinner,” Vinny explained.

The name fit him even better than Little Al. “I am
not
taking you out to dinner,” she snapped, still reeling at how the tables had turned. They were both Navy SEALs? What were the odds of that?

“Deal’s a deal,” Vinny insisted. He pulled a ring out of his pocket. “She even gave me this ring as a token of her honor.”

Commander Montgomery frowned his disapproval. “Does your sister know about this?”

Ophelia snatched the ring out of Vinny’s fingers and jammed it onto her right hand. “I’m twenty-four friggin’ years old. I don’t have to tell my sister everything,” she ground out.

“Then act your age,” he suggested mildly. “You said you’d take him out to dinner.”

“Fine,” Lia said, throwing up her hands. “We’re going to Hooters. I’ll pay for your dinner there.”

The commander looked inquiringly at Vinny. The boy SEAL shrugged. “That’ll work,” he said easily, but his eyes brimmed with mischief.

“See you around, PO2,” called Joe. With a nod at Lia, he pattered barefoot down the steps and across the lawn.

“You’ll have to follow me,” Lia said to Vinny. “And try not to get me into any more trouble than I’m already in for being late.”

He didn’t say a word to that.

Between the boxing match on the wide-screen TV and the action in the restaurant behind him, Vinny didn’t suffer a dull moment. He jump-started his five-course meal with an appetizer: raw oysters on the half shell.

As Ophelia sashayed past him with her tray, he worked the mollusk from the shell, balanced it for a delicate moment on the tip of his tongue, relished the silky meat, and then swallowed it with ecstasy.

She pretended to be unimpressed.

An hour crept by, and his appetite stirred enough to request an entrée. Torn between a Philly cheesesteak and snow crab legs, he ordered both, chuckling at the look of dismay on her face as she realized how much their “date” was going to cost her.

“Are you really going to eat all of that?” she snapped, breaking to a halt beside his stool.

He picked up an empty crab claw, working it open and closed. “Don’t worry,
cara mia.
I can still eat you for dessert.”

“Grow up,” she scoffed, leaving him in a cloud of spicy-sweet perfume.

Her words didn’t faze him. Vinny was used to being teased about his age. In SEAL/BUDS training, he’d been dubbed Mowgli, after the wild child from
Jungle Book
. It had taken him only two years to prove that he was any SEAL’s match, and his code name became “the Godfather,” thanks to his resemblance to Al Pacino.

As man of the house growing up, he’d assumed responsibility early on. Only the toughest survived on the east side of Philly, with gangs and drugs on every corner. From the day his father’d up and left them, to the day of SEAL graduation, there wasn’t an obstacle that Vinny hadn’t tackled head-on. Winning over Ophelia couldn’t be that hard.

The Philly cheesesteak made its appearance. He ate half before setting it aside and ordering key lime pie. The next time Ophelia passed him, he swirled whipped cream on his finger. “You want a lick?” he asked with a straight face.

“No,” she said flatly, but her lips twitched.

She was glancing his way when her foot caught the leg of a chair and her tray went flying, upsetting several half-empty glasses. Soda splattered the wall. Ice chips sprinkled the carpet.

“Shit!” Her gaze flew with dismay toward the office at the entrance to the kitchen, and sure enough, the manager poked her head out.

“Is that you, Lia?” the woman demanded, her lips pursed into a red knot.

“Sorry,” Ophelia said. “I’ll clean it up.”

“You have customers waiting for refills,” the manager snapped. “I’ll get this.” She snatched away the towel that Ophelia had grabbed. “I swear to God, if you don’t learn how to carry a tray, I’m going to have to let you go.”

Observing the interchange, Vinny waited for Lia, as everyone called her, to tell the woman to pack sand. Instead, she nodded to the barkeeper’s helper to pour more drinks and said, “It won’t happen again.”

With grudging admiration, Vinny made a point to catch her eye. “Hey,” he called out, “she’s just jealous ’cause she can’t fit her fat ass into those shorts you’re wearing.” He made sure his words were loud enough to be overheard.

The manager shot him a look that could kill.

Ophelia made a choking sound. He couldn’t tell if she was grateful or contemplating murder as she bore her refills to the waiting table.

The sky outside turned from pewter to black. The restaurant began to empty. Vinny watched the ninth round of the boxing match. Out the corner of one eye, he saw Lia take a biker couple’s order. He thought he saw the old man put his hand on her ass.

“Did that old lech just feel you up?” he asked as she approached the bar.

She looked at him blankly. “I don’t think so.”

“What do you mean, you don’t
think
so?”

She shrugged. “It happens all the time. It’s no big deal.”

“You don’t think?” If she was his little sister—Isabella—he’d make a big fucking deal out of it.

“Relax, Little Al,” she told him. “I know how to handle it.”

He was too startled by the nickname, which was surely a reference to Al Pacino, to summon an argument.

He kept a watchful eye on her as she carried two Long Island iced teas back to the table. Sure enough, the hairy geezer with tattoos on his forearm put his hand right below her heart-shaped bottom.

With a forced smile, Lia removed it, put it back on the table, and gave it a pat.

Good boy. Down, boy.

She called that handling it?

Vinny stood up. This was wrong.

As she turned toward the kitchen, she intercepted his path. “Go back to your chair,” she warned him. “Don’t you dare get me into trouble!”

“I’m just going to talk to him.”

“Oh, no you’re not.” She darted an uneasy glance at the manager’s open door.

“Is there a problem, Lia?” The woman’s voice was like nails on a chalkboard.

“Not at all,” she retorted.

“Actually, there is,” Vinny countered, turning to the matron. “Do you allow your waitresses to be groped by customers?” he demanded.

“Of course not,” the woman huffed.

“Well, that old guy just put his hands on her backside. What are you going to do about it?”

“Well, I hope you told him to stop,” she said to Ophelia.

“Yes, of course I did. There isn’t a problem.” She tried to move past Vinny, but he wrested the order booklet out of her hands.

“How ’bout you take their order?” he said, thrusting it at the manager.

“Excuse me?” the woman huffed. “I am not a waitress. Tending tables is Lia’s job, not mine.”

“Looks like you’d better take over,” said Vinny, grabbing Lia’s hand, “’cause she just quit.”

“Oh, no I didn’t,” Lia countered, trying to break free.

“You know what?” the manager shot back, “I’m glad for an excuse to let you go. Take a hike, and take this hothead with you—
after
he pays for his food.”

Vinny whipped his wallet out and tossed forty dollars on the counter. Retrieving Lia’s purse from behind the bar, he dragged her toward the door. “Come on,
cara mia,
let’s go,” he urged.

With her jaw dangerously set, she let him tug her toward the door.

“Do you have a jacket?” he asked as the door whooshed shut behind them.

“In my car.”

As they marched toward her car, he sought the keys in her hippie-style purse. She snatched it from his hands, pulled out her keys, and tried to get in, but Vinny held her fast.

“Let me go. I can’t believe you did that!” Her voice shook with fury.

“You’re not driving anywhere right now,” he said. Spying what looked to be her sweater, he edged her aside and lunged for it, then locked the car up tight. “Let’s go for a walk,” he suggested, pocketing her keys.

“I’m going to kill you.”

“How ’bout you count to thirty and then I’ll let you hit me,” he suggested.

She wrenched the sweater out of his hands and stormed ahead of him, throwing it on as she stomped across an enormous parking lot toward an indoor shopping mall.

Vinny followed close behind. “Are you counting?” he inquired.

“Thirty!” She whirled without warning. He caught a fist in the gut and a cuff on the side of the head.

“Ouch, that hurt.” He was impressed.

“I can’t believe you just got me fired,” she ranted, shoving him with both hands. “Who the hell do you think you are? I needed that job. I’m completely broke, you jerk. Thanks a lot!”

“No problem,” Vinny murmured, smiling to himself.

He knew from experience that you had to hit rock bottom if you wanted to push your way to the top.

* * *

Hearing the break in her voice, Lia fled across the parking lot, scattering the seagulls who were hunkered down for the night.

A car that was backing up blared its horn as she stepped into its path. The driver shouted obscenities. Lia shouted one back.

How was she going to pay her rent now? There weren’t any jobs near the beach this time of year. She’d be crashing at her sister’s place till springtime, providing Penny didn’t kick her out first. She had to be tired of having Lia around.

Hell, Lia was tired of herself these days.

Tears of frustration stabbed her eyes. She was so intent on putting distance between her and the boy SEAL that she didn’t see the manhole cover jutting out of the sidewalk. She tripped over it in classic Ophelia style and pitched to her knees on the unforgiving concrete.

Crushed, she rolled onto her bottom, bowed her head over her scraped knees, and willed herself not to cry.

The air shifted. “You okay?” Vinny asked matter-of-factly.

“Fuck. You,” she gritted. She kept her head down so he wouldn’t see the self-pity pooling in her eyes.

“Yeah, you can do that later,” came the cocky response. “So, did you hurt yourself? Lemme look.” He lifted the hem of her sweater and peered at her knees. “Scraped ’em up good.”

No shit, Sherlock.