Strip Search (30 page)

In short, Tiffany wouldn't have offered him a dime for any reason that didn't benefit her.

From where he was standing, Nicki had no reason to offer him money ... other than out of the goodness of her heart. That didn't sound like a criminal. So what was her story?

Climbing the stairs to the third floor of the club, Mark cursed. Did Nicki have a good heart? Or was it just something he wanted to believe?

He was so damn confused. But the fact remained that, as long he had no hard evidence to clear Nicki, she had to remain a suspect. And he had to treat her like one. Somehow.

Well, he was back in Vegas, so it was game on. He'd have to answer his questions ... and gather the proof Rafe had sent him here to find. For his sanity's sake, if nothing else.

Mark knocked on Nicki's door. No answer. No stirring inside. He didn't hear the clink of the pipes to indicate she might be in the shower.

An indrawn breath of frustration smelled like ... natural gas. Was it coming from her apartment?

Alarm jolting his system, Mark pounded on her door. No answer. "Nicki!"

Silence.

Where was the gas smell coming from? Why was it so strong? What if ... No, he couldn't think about Nicki being hurt--or worse.

Then damn it, why the fuck wouldn't she answer the door?

Alarm turned to panic. Mark threw his weight against Nicki's door, shoulder plowing into the door. Nothing. Damn it, he had to get inside!

"Nicki! Baby, can you hear me?"

Still no answer.

Fear racing through his blood, Mark forced a calming, centering breath and reached into his years of karate. He could kick the door down. He'd broken bricks with his foot. It was a matter of focus, of channeling energy.

He set up for his kick.

"What is going on?" Lucia demanded, opening her apartment door, which was across the hall from his.

He whirled around. "Do you have a key to your sister's place?"

"Yes." A concerned frown furrowed her brow.

"Get it. Now!"

Lucia hesitated only an instant before she raced away. Mark turned back to Nicki's door and clobbered on it again. The sickly odor of gas was stronger now. Terror ratcheted up in his system. Adrenaline roared inside him until he was sure he could break down the walls with his bare hands.

Thankfully he didn't have to. Lucia sprinted to the door with the key.

"This better be something more than she's not speaking to you and you're wanting me to let you in so you can invade her privacy."

"Inhale deeply."

Lucia did--and she paled. "Oh, no!"

Mark snatched the key from her hand, shoved it in the lock and cranked it to the side. A click signaled the bolt retreating from the portal. He flung the door open.

The smell of gas nearly dropped him to his knees.

"Stay out. Call 911!" he shouted to Lucia as he stormed inside, placing his forearm over his nose.

He raced through the apartment, looking for her. "Nicki!"

Not in the kitchen, not in the living room. He rounded the corner, but did not find her in the bathroom.

Stepping into her bedroom, he prayed she wasn't home at all. Maybe that's why she hadn't answered, why he couldn't find her ...

Barreling into her bedroom, he found her sprawled across her bed sideways, facedown and hanging over the edge of the bed.

"Nicki!"

Mark raced to her side and scooped her up in his arms. She didn't respond to his voice or his touch. Instead, she lay limp in his arms, head dangling over one arm, feet over the other, as if she was ... No!

Swallowing, his heart racing, Mark darted out of her apartment. Lucia met him on the landing, gasping when she saw Nicki was asleep, unconscious or ... No.

Sprinting down the stairs, he raced for the club's door.

"Follow me!" he shouted.

Shouldering the door behind the bar open, he dashed into the club and out into the sun-drenched parking lot. He sank to his knees ten feet outside the club's doors and cradled Nicki in his lap, beneath the shade of a palm tree. Immediately, he placed two fingers over her carotid artery. Her heart was beating, thank God. But it pumped double time, like a marching band on fast forward. She looked pale. Even the red lips that always tempted were a waxy yellow with a tinge of blue.

What the hell had happened?

Panting and pale faced, Lucia made it outside and knelt beside him. "The Fire Department is on their way. They're sending an ambulance."

"Good. Go call the gas company. They need to shut this off and figure out what happened."

"There's a phone inside. I'll just--"

"No, the gas is worse than I thought, and it's unpredictable. Any spark or current, and this whole place could blow. Even my cell phone could set it off. Is there a phone nearby?"

Lucia shrugged, hands shaking. "I guess ... I've only been here a few weeks."

"All right. You'd better shout into the club and make sure no one else is in there. Everyone ought to know this place could turn into a fireball at any moment. Maybe someone in there can help you find another phone."

"Yes." Then Lucia looked back at him and said, "Take care of my sister."

Mark looked away from Nicki's pale, unresponsive face to gaze at Lucia. Tears now seeped from her dark chocolate eyes and tracked down her smooth cheeks. Her chin trembled as she fought more tears. Clearly, these sister shared a deep bond--a bond he understood, sharing something similar with Kerry.

Sirens began to wail, coming closer and closer.

"As if she was my own," he vowed.

Lucia sent him a shaky nod. "Thank you."

A few minutes later, she appeared with Zack and Blade in tow, along with a few of the other dancers who had arrived early for their shift.

"What's going on?" Zack shouted as he jogged next to Mark. "Why is a fire truck pulling into the parking lot?"

Mark looked up to respond and saw Bocelli standing beside Lucia, as the Vegas heat shimmered off the blacktop.

"Doc?" Blade said softly to Lucia. "Do you need something? Help?"

Never had he seen Bocelli be anything other than threatening or sarcastic. Apparently even the thug had a little compassion somewhere for Lucia's pain and worry.

"Nicki ..." she trailed off, looking back toward her limp sister's form in Mark's lap.

She sobbed quietly into her hands.

Bocelli glanced at Nicki and squared his jaw, as if he was angry. Then he wrapped his arms around Lucia.

Mark had no time to ponder the Italian's reaction before he barked to Zack. "Get over there and see if they have any EMTs."

"But--"

"Don't fucking argue. Now!" he growled.

Petulant, Zack stomped away.

Then he turned to the other man. "Bocelli, will you take Lucia somewhere so she can call the gas company? We need to shut the flow of gas off to Nicki's place immediately."

Nodding, and without any smart ass comment or argument, Blade slid an arm around Lucia's waist and led her away. She looked back at Nicki until she was out of sight.

Bocelli seemed surprisingly gentle for a Mafia heavy.

Finally, Mark was alone with Nicki. He didn't even want to think that fate might force him to do without her.

"Baby, can you hear me?"

"H
eard anything yet?" Zack asked as he darted into the hospital's stark waiting room just before midnight.

"No," Lucia whispered, looking up at Nicki's stage manager with damp, red-rimmed eyes. Blade sat next to her in utter silence.

Sitting in an uncomfortable chair the color of baby vomit across from her, Mark was every bit as distraught as Lucia looked. He rubbed his cold palms together, absently wondering why hospitals were always cold enough to double as meat lockers. Mostly, he wished he could say something to comfort her. Nothing came to mind. No one knew how severe Nicki's gas poisoning was yet.

No one knew if she'd live.

What the hell had happened?

God, he'd seen enough of hospitals the last few days to last him a good decade, at least. He only hoped that the ending to Nicki's stay in this hospital was as happy as Kerry's had been in hers.

"Damn it," Zack cursed, sliding into a chair next to Mark's. "I got here as fast as I could. The gas company turned off the gas in Nicki's apartment and checked out the rest of the building to make sure it's safe. When I closed the club early for the night, the other dancers had a lot of questions, we had an irate thirtieth birthday party ..."

"Thanks for coming. You're important to Nicki." Lucia did her best to smile.

Zack shuffled his feet and looked at the ground. Apparently, he was as uncomfortable with praise as a kid wearing shoes two sizes too small.

"Did the gas company have any idea what caused the leak?" Mark asked.

"They suspect a broken pipe at the stove."

Mark nodded. What else could he say? Those pipes were reportedly easy to break, so it was possible Nicki had accidentally endangered herself. It was also possible the broken pipe was planned. This incident just a few weeks after a light nearly crashed on her head made him wonder ... Still, he couldn't prove anything.

Either way, the last thing he'd expected when he returned from New York was to see the woman he couldn't get out of his head slumped across her bed, near death. Sitting here, watching Lucia huddle in the seat across from him, struggling to keep herself together, he wondered if this incident was going to extinguish the bright light Nicki shined in all their lives. It was surreal. And terrible.

Zack fell into the same somber silence as the other men.

Lucia covered her mouth with her hand, trying to stifle a sob. The anguished sound ripped through the silent room, occupied only by the four of them and some dusty artificial plants.

Wishing he could do something--damn it, anything--Mark clenched his teeth against the rising frustration and reached out to comfort Lucia. Blade shot him a fuck-off glare and tucked her against his shoulder, murmuring soft assurances in her ear. Apparently, she preferred to receive her comfort from someone she knew, someone who hadn't driven her sister to a chianti-induced crying jag. But Bocelli was no Boy Scout. Clearly, Lucia had no idea he was a Mafia thug who knew murder intimately. Mark made a mental note to warn her if things began to look any cozier between them.

"It's okay, Doc. Nicki's a fighter. She'll come out," Bocelli whispered.

Nodding as if she wanted to believe more than she actually did, Lucia sobbed again. Blade rubbed her back, stroked the long auburn tangle of her hair. She clutched his shirt and hung on as if he were a life preserver in a raging sea.

"How could something like ... like this happen?" Lucia wailed. "How is it possible I-I was right down the hall and never n-noticed anything?"

Mark shrugged, wishing like hell that he had answers. Nothing made sense. None of it.

"I-if you hadn't come back." Lucia looked up at him from the tangle of Bocelli's arms. "Hadn't smelled the..." She pressed her lips together, unable to go on.

"Don't worry about that now," Mark murmured. "Focus on Nicki pulling through. While my sister was in the hospital, Nicki offered to get out her rusty rosary beads and pray. Maybe you should do that for her."

Lucia smiled through her tears. "Hers would be rusty. She probably hasn't been to confession since eighth grade. She's always teased me that I'm the good sister."

On that note, she cast a furtive glance at Bocelli, then straightened away from him. Blade gritted his teeth, but he let her go.

"Did you notice the smell of gas in her apartment when you were there earlier in the day?" Blade asked Zack.

The stage manager shook his head. "No. I was really only there for a minute to talk through a costume problem and run a new idea past her. She said she'd just come back from the gym and was going to shower." He shrugged. "I left and..."

Something horrible had happened. Zack didn't have to say it. They all thought it, Mark was sure.

"Ms. DiStefano?" a white-coated doctor called from across the room. "I'm Dr. Halstar, the resident on duty. About your sister..."

Mark held his breath. Every second that passed in silence was like a rusty blade to his insides.

"Yes?" Her voice trembled. She squeezed Blade's arm, as if he alone kept her upright.

"It was close, but she's going to be fine." His kind smile softened his young face.

Collectively, they sighed in relief. Mark heard his roaring heart slow, finally stop kicking his ribs like a kung fu master on meth.

"Thank God," Lucia sighed. "Can I see her?"

"Briefly. She's being moved to a bed where she'll be watched very closely tonight. I expect she'll sleep quite a bit for the next few days, but she should recover quickly and have no lasting effects. Come this way."

Lucia stepped forward to follow the doctor. Before they disappeared around the corner, Dr. Halstar paused, then looked back at the trio of men remaining in the waiting room.

"Is one of you Mark?"

"I am." Full of relief and washed-out adrenaline, his voice scratched like steel wool as he stood.

The resident smiled. "She's been asking for you. I'd prefer that she only have one visitor at a time, so I'll take her sister first and come back for you."

Swallowing against a jolt of shock strong enough to light up Girls' Night Out on a swinging Saturday night, Mark nodded. Nicki had asked for
him?
"Please. Thank you."

Lucia and the doctor disappeared, then. Twenty minutes ticked by, and Mark found himself pacing. He knew why family got to visit first, but the waiting made him want to pound something. He watched the clock, ticking. Slowly. So damn slowly. Was it broken? Was he in the Twilight Zone, where five minutes suddenly took two years?