The Care and Feeding of Unmarried Men (23 page)

“Why do you want to know?” Nino tossed his butt to the cement.

Nash crushed it out with his heel. No sense in being subtle. “Just give me the name, asshole.”

The gangster's eyes narrowed. “I've punched people for less than that.”

“No doubt.” If Nash let that be a trigger for a fight, though, locating Eve would only be delayed. “But I'm a lot harder to hit than a teenage girl.”

Nino jerked back, and then he had the balls to look almost ashamed. “She told you.”

“Yeah, she told me, but I don't have time to take it out on your face. Who the hell did she leave with? Something's going on.”

Nino's gaze snapped to his. “What's going on? I have orders from Cosimo to keep an eye on the girls and—”

“It's a hunch I have.
Who was it?
”

“Vince Standish,” Nino replied. “I heard him tell her that he wanted to show her a new piece of artwork he recently acquired.”

The ball of fire in Nash's belly rolled. “She fell for the old etchings line?”

“Yeah. Which doesn't sound like Eve,” Nino said slowly. “I think you're right. I think there's a problem.”

Something insectlike skittered down Nash's back, and heat shot to his knuckles.
How could she do this to me?
he wanted to scream.

But it wasn't her fault he'd fallen so damn hard. It wasn't her fault that in a man like Nash, passion equaled violence. It wasn't her fault that after he found her tonight, the next one he'd have to save her from was himself.

His blood pumping hot and fast, he eyed Nino. “Do you know where this guy lives?”

Y
ou invited me to the party. You should have known I'd be back.” Vince Standish frowned as he maneuvered his Jaguar through the quiet streets surrounding the Desert Stars.

“Oh, but I knew not to count on it,” Eve replied. “You're such a busy man.” The fact was that in the past days with Nash, she'd gone back to ostrich-mode when it came to Vince and her deal with the SEC. Rather than worrying about the future or obsessing on the past, she'd been enjoying every present moment with Nash Cargill.

He'd dressed up as a preacher tonight, and at first sight of him she'd had the oddest compulsion to confess—

“Yes, I'm busy.” Vince shot her a look. “But we have things to discuss, remember?”

Oh, she knew they had things to discuss. When he'd first approached her tonight, from the instant he'd slid his palm from her shoulder to her wrist and kissed her cheek she'd known that she couldn't go on faking a friendship with the rat-bastard. She had to get the goods on him ASAP. To that end, she had a plan.

Eve Caruso was still looking out for #1.

Through her short plaid skirt, she fingered the thin mini-recorder resting in the hidden homemade pocket. In high school, she'd sewn it into her skirt herself under seamstress Téa's guilty supervision. Her big sister had been nervous about the alteration that Eve had been making so that she could squirrel away Catholic schoolgirl contraband—lipstick, bubble gum, a tiny handwritten list of conjugated French verbs.

Now it was holding her method of escape from under the thumb of the SEC. She didn't need or want to wait for a wire. She had her very own recording device.

“I'm looking forward to our talk, Vince,” she said. “And to see that new piece of sculpture you have.”

He smiled at her now, and she mentally rolled her eyes. Men were so easy to play.

Except Nash. Her stomach tumbled in one of those nervous somersaults that just thinking of him could bring on. She was still suffering from that Nash-virus—jittery stomach, hot skin, wild bursts of euphoria. She hoped he took the symptoms with him when he left.

And just like that, her mood swung down. It did that too, lately. She'd be high on life in his company, in his bed, only to plummet low with the realization that their time was running out.

That's what you get for forgetting your own rules, Eve.

At his house, Vince unlocked the front door and swung it open. The smell of stale air wafted out. He
grimaced. “My apologies. The staff still has a couple more days off. I came here from the airport, threw on my costume, and immediately headed back out.”

She smiled up at him, trying to look appealing. Trustworthy. “My, you
were
anxious to see me.”

He gave her a puzzled look. “But of course. It's time we settled things between us and set a date.”

Eve's stomach reacted again, but this wasn't the exciting, weightless roll she felt at thoughts of Nash. She touched her tape recorder as reassurance and let Vince guide her through the foyer, past a massive, ornately framed mirror and doors that she remembered led to a powder room and a coat closet. From there they walked into the spacious living room with windows overlooking one of the Desert Stars golf courses. Athlete Joey would know its particular name. Eve only knew that all that empty grass laid out in front of her made her feel particularly alone with Vince.

“Sit down, sit down.” He urged her onto one of the massive couches, then took his own seat on an ottoman placed near her knees.

She edged further along the sand-colored velvet. “So, where's this new sculpture?” Her gaze circled the room, but no piece popped out at her.

He waved a hand. “We'll get to that.” His hands rubbed along his toga, as if his palms were sweaty.

A little frisson edged down Eve's spine. She was the one who should be nervous. But she covered up the feeling with a bright smile. “Then tell me how your business trip went. Any exciting new plans or accomplishments?”

Her fingers hovered over the hidden recorder, not yet ready to turn it on. She didn't want to waste tape or battery power on irrelevant chitchat.

“I told my team in South Africa that I'm getting married.”

Whoa. Whoa whoa whoa.

Another shiver shot down Eve's spine. She tried laughing it away. “Married? Wait a minute. What's that all about?” Surely, surely—

“I know we haven't ironed out all the details, but I was shopping for diamonds, and in my enthusiasm I let it slip.”

“‘We' haven't ironed out all the details?” Eve echoed, sliding further down the couch.

Vince rubbed his palms on his toga again. “I haven't felt this nervous since I was fourteen years old.”

Eve didn't want to think of the other time she'd felt this nervous. If she did, she'd want to run away, run out of Vince's stale house and into fresh air and sunlight and Nash's arms. But she was Salvatore Caruso's daughter, and the ability to fake confidence was bred in her genes.

Doing her best to be mob-daughter strong, she eyed Vince and refused to back away another inch. “What are you nervous about?”

“I'll feel much better when I hear you say yes.” He popped up from the ottoman, the hem of his toga swirling around his calves.

She gave her voice a steely edge. “Yes to what, exactly?”

“Say yes you'll marry me.”

“You're kidding.”

He smiled, apparently relieved now that he'd gotten it out. “Of course I'm not. I thought I made it clear before this last business trip that when I returned we'd come to an understanding. I'm sure I made it clear.”

Her brain scrambled to think back to the last occasion
they'd met. She'd been so preoccupied with Nash, before and since, that the meeting had made little lasting impression on her. And then, she'd been aiming to please. Trying to win Vince over. Gain his trust.

All of which she still had to do if she wanted to get that information for the SEC. And she
had
to get that information for them, or Sandy would prosecute her—and perhaps put her behind bars.

“Vince, I didn't realize…I didn't take seriously…” She spread her hands in mute appeal. “I thought we'd been through all this last year.”

His smile didn't drop. “Yes, but now you've had time to reconsider. Wouldn't you find your life more pleasant with me?”

“I don't find it unpleasant as it is.”

“But things have happened to you. Things that made you feel vulnerable. In need of someone.” That weird smile on his face didn't die.

“I don't know what kind of things you mean,” she said slowly.

“I would never have really hurt you, you know. When I saw you with that girl on the street, well, it was just an impulse. I didn't think it through.”

Oh, my God.

“It was my temper. My damnable temper. You made me want you so much and then, because you wouldn't let me have you, it got the best of me.” Vince was still grinning at her, but his normally bland face suddenly looked frightening and ugly.

Nash had thought of himself like that. But this…this was the real face of someone scary. A monster.

Eve rose to her feet.
Don't show any fear
. “Well, um, no harm done. But I think we should save the rest of this conversation for another time. Another day.”
The
one where you're locked behind bars in a loony bin.
“I have to get back to the party.”

“We're not finished,” Vince protested.

“Everyone will wonder where I am.” Wouldn't they? Her sisters were accustomed to the Party Girl partying on her own, but certainly Nash would be concerned about her absence.

Or he'd learn that she'd gone off with some other man and decide good riddance.

She took a step in the direction of the front door, but Vince blocked her way. “You want me to apologize,” he said. “But it's your own fault for playing so hard to get. And I'm only really responsible for the bird and the fax. That stupid cat trick was dreamed up by this incompetent fool on my payroll.”

Eve froze. Her muscles, her brain, her breath. “What?” her voice sounded faint.

“The canary was after you confessed to the SEC and before I decided I could forgive you for it. The fax was just a warning to that hulk who was shadowing you.” Vince's eyes narrowed. “Who is still shadowing you. That's your fault too. You need to tell him you're taken.”

Near-miss of the car. SEC, canary. Nash, fax. It was all starting to make sense in a twisted, sick sort of way.

“It was
your
bad tip that set the SEC after me,” she murmured. Somehow Vince had learned of her talking with them.

He nodded. “I know. I've got to be more careful. The Exchanges have new computer systems that cross-reference trades and company announcements. Much more sophisticated than years past. They pass along the information to the SEC.”

Not that she'd tell him, but the SEC had already had their eye on Vince. They'd told her they'd been on the lookout for suspicious trades made by names in the same ZIP code as his and even on the same country club rosters.

“It's too bad you took my advice, though, Eve. I wasn't sure you would, you know. It was vindictive of me, but if you hadn't lost your values, you wouldn't have lost all your money, now, would you?”

She almost wanted to laugh, because this vengeful bastard was right. As much as she would like to blame him for being dirt poor, the only one to blame was herself. And the only one who could get her out of this mess was herself, too.

“So you set me up on purpose,” she said, sliding her hand into her hidden pocket.

“Of course. I actually thought it was quite a brilliant revenge at the time.” He reached up to pat himself on the back. “I've let slip information to other friends and lovers at other times, but I always made
them
money.”

“Like who?”

He laughed. “Jealous, my darling Eve?”

Yuck. “Well, yes.”

“You really want names?”

Oh, yeah. “Perhaps it will take the sting out of what you did to me. You know, if I could believe it might come out the other way some other time.”

Even crazy men could be easy. He seemed eager to get back into her good graces and so spilled a surprising number of names, dates, and illegal trades that he'd been part of. When he wound down, he held up his hands. “Satisfied now?”

Eve hoped her old friend Sandy Dailey would be, anyway. “Very.”

His smile widened. “Then about that wedding date…”

Which had her thinking of Nash again. He was supposed to be her date to Téa's wedding. Generous, strong, law-abiding Nash, who would sneer at what her greed and selfishness had led her to.

But with luck, he'd never know.

With luck, when she made it back to the party, he'd be there and she could dance with him again, laugh with him again, take him home and make—have sex with him again. Yes, he'd leave town, but without ever knowing what she was truly capable of. Without ever knowing the real Eve.

She shoved her hand in her hidden pocket and clicked off the recorder. “I want to go back now, Vince.”

“Of course you don't. At least, not until you've seen the ring and we've set a date, and…well, I have champagne cooling in the fridge. We can discuss all this in bed.”

Never. Never ever ever.
She could barely suppress her shudder. “I want to go back to the party.” To her family. To Nash.

Vince shook his head. “No, Eve.”

She refused to acknowledge the uneasiness welling inside of her. Was she a mob boss's daughter or not? Taking a deep breath, she forced herself to start off again in the direction of the front door. When Vince put his hand on her arm, she gave him a narrow-eyed look and shook his hand away.

“Stay,” he said.

“If you won't take me, I'll walk.”

And she did. She refused to scurry away like a timid rabbit. Instead, she headed steadily for the exit, and freedom.

“You can't do this to me.” Vince's voice sounded more bewildered than demanding. He was right behind her. She could almost feel his hot breath on the back of her neck. “You can't do this.”

She glanced at him over her shoulder and sent him her most withering look. No more nice girl. “Of course I can. I'm a Caruso.” Then she grabbed the doorknob in front of her and pulled it open. She stared, surprised at not finding the outdoors in front of her.

Oh. Coat closet,
she thought.

She made to back away, but then she felt steely hands on her back. Vince shoved her inside, hard. With a stumble, her knees and palms hit plush carpeting. The door slammed behind her, and she heard it lock.

His voice sounded calm, not crazed, as now she figured him to be. “Eve, my love. You just need some time to reconsider.”

 

Time. It had no meaning for Eve in that small, black room with its stale, heated air. She knew she had to get out, get away, but the heavy darkness kept her down.

Her lungs felt leaden too, holding her to the carpet like an anchor.

She pressed her cheek to the fibers and tried rising to her feet. Somewhere a party was going on, with music and dancing and laughter. She had to get back there. But the panic acted like a weight, pulling her back.

There were clothes brushing her cheeks. She gathered them around her, cowering further into the corner as she heard the people with the guns and the loud voices dump drawers and break toys in their eagerness to catch the Carusos doing something wrong.

But no! No. That was before. That had been sixteen
years ago, when she'd been a helpless little girl. She'd been yanked out of the closet that time, though she'd wanted to stay in the darkness forever, hiding from the fact that her father had disappeared, hiding from the cruel voices of the federal agents, hiding from her cowardice, which had meant she hadn't lifted a pinky to stop them from roughly pulling her little sister from under the bed. But then a hard hand had reached into her hiding place and latched onto her arm, leaving bruises that hadn't faded for weeks.