Knight Errant Page 5

  His smile was thin and mocking. Right. Like she would really accept that.

  He didn’t need to tell Lainie Farrell anything. He didn’t make excuses. He didn’t try to justify what he’d done or to win sympathy. He had committed crimes, had bribed and threatened witnesses. He had fabricated alibis and testimony, had dug up dirt used to blackmail judges and cops, had lived a life of lavish comfort paid for by Jimmy’s trade in drugs, prostitution, protection and gambling. For ten years he had been just as dirty as everyone believed. The circumstances of Rena’s death didn’t change any of that.

  “It was the best job offer I had. Good pay, good hours, good benefits.”

  “If it was such a great offer, why did you turn on him?”

  Tired of the conversation, he gave her a weary look. “Maybe I just got tired of the games. Maybe I got tired of looking at myself in the mirror every morning. Maybe I wanted to give the government a fighting chance. Maybe—”

  “Maybe you got tired of living.”

  He looked at her, so serious and still. “Maybe I’m tired of talking about it. If you’re worried about your safety, don’t be. Jimmy tries to avoid killing innocent bystanders whenever possible.” Though sometimes it happened anyway. “If I thought I was putting anyone else in danger, I would leave Serenity. But I honestly don’t believe that’s true.” Before she could start to relax, he added one last warning. “A word of advice, though. If you ever see me leaving O’Shea’s with a couple of guys bigger than me, try not to look too closely at their faces. You wouldn’t want to be a witness against Jimmy. Trust me.”

  “How’s it going with Nick?”

  Lainie looked up as Karen O‘Shea slid onto the picnic bench beside her. She and Nicholas had been almost home when Jamey had called to them from across the street, inviting them both to join the family in the backyard. She would have preferred going straight upstairs to the apartment, but she had followed Nicholas across the street and around to the back. Sunday dinners were an O’Shea tradition, cookouts when the weather permitted. Today’s had included Luke Russell, the minister, and now them.

  She didn’t answer Karen’s question immediately, but instead focused on the name she’d used. “Everyone calls him something different, don’t they?”

  “Jamey calls him Nicky—but what can you expect from a grown man who goes by Jamey?” Karen grinned. “I picked up Nick from Reid, I guess. I’m certainly not about to call him Nicky, and calling him Carlucci seems just a little unsociable. What about you?”

  “Nicholas,” Lainie replied absently as her gaze slipped across the yard to where the men were gathered in the shade of a giant live oak. “It suits him.”

  “So answer my question. How are you two getting along?”

  “Fine.”

  Her boss gave her a pouting look. “You’re living across the hall from Mr. Tall, Dark and Dangerously Sexy, and that’s all you have to say?”

  On the other side of the table, Cassie Donovan stepped over the bench and sat down, settling Sean on the table in front of her. “You’re a married woman and a mother now, Karen. You’re not supposed to even notice tall, dark and dangerously sexy.”

  “I’m married, not dead,” the redhead retorted. “Can you honestly tell me that you haven’t looked, too?”

  Cassie’s smile was serene and sweet. “I outgrew dark and dangerous when I was a child. Frankly I don’t see what the fuss is. Yes, he’s handsome, but so is Jamey.” The smile grew sweeter. “So is Reid.”

  Karen dismissed her opinion with a wave of one hand. “Newlyweds. So, Lainie, where did you guys go this afternoon?”

  “To the antique store Cassie recommended.” Lainie scraped a bit of fudge frosting from the plate that had held her walnut brownie and licked it from her finger. She and Nicholas had been too late for the burgers, but there had been enough leftover potato salad, baked beans and brownies to make a meal. “I found this great old dresser. It needs a ton of work, but it’s got serpentine marble that’s in excellent condition. I got some other stuff, too. It’s supposed to be delivered tomorrow, so I guess I’ll turn my living room into a workshop for a while.”

  “And live with those fumes?” Karen wrinkled her nose. “Maybe you should wait until you’re better friends with your neighbor so you’ll have a place to escape to.”

  Cassie mimicked her mother-in-law’s earlier dismissive tone and wave. “Matchmakers.”

  Lainie’s gaze drifted across the yard to the live oak once again. There was no match to be made between her and Nicholas. If she ever married again, which she doubted, it would be to someone very much like her. Someone respectable and law-abiding. Someone she could introduce to her co-workers, whose mere presence in her life wouldn’t mean the loss of her job. Someone who lacked even a passing familiarity with violence. It would be to someone she could reasonably count on growing old with, who would give a damn if his life was threatened, who would never stubbornly tempt fate—and Jimmy Falcone.

  On the other hand, if she was looking for an affair, she would have to vote with Karen. Nicholas was dark, handsome, dangerous and sexy. Even in a group of gorgeous men, he stood out as the handsomest, the darkest, the most sensual. The way he moved, the way he talked, the way he listened, the way his eyes got so intense... If she weren’t such a sensible woman, if her job weren’t too important to lose, she would be no different than every other woman whose fantasies he inspired.

  But she was sensible and her career was important, and she seriously needed a little of Cassie’s he’s-handsome-so-what ? attitude.

  Still, not just yet, a wicked voice pleaded as he looked up and met her gaze. For a long moment he simply looked at her, his expression enigmatic. He didn’t smile, nod or acknowledge her in any way. He simply looked, and under the weight of his gaze, she grew warm. Her mouth turned dry, and she reached blindly for the soda in front of her, knocking it over. Finally, as Cassie lifted the baby away from the encroaching pool of cola and Karen grabbed for napkins to blot it, Nicholas responded—not with a real smile, just the suggestion of one, barely lifting the corners of his mouth, revealed more fully in his eyes—and then turned back to the men around him.

  Lainie sat motionless, forcing deep breaths of air into her lungs, as Karen cleaned the mess she’d made and Cassie talked softly with Sean. Sensible. She was sensible, right? Thirty-nine going on forty. A career woman. Survivor of a bad marriage, a worse divorce and an awful engagement. Sensible, levelheaded, responsible and smart, not ruled by hormones since she was twenty-four years old.

  Now she was remembering how it had felt.

  Belatedly reaching for napkins, she forced her attention away from Nicholas and helped soak up the last of the soda. After piling the soggy napkins high on her plate, she accepted the replacement soda Karen offered with a sheepish thanks and an apology.

  “Forget it,” Karen said breezily. “We’re used to spills, aren’t we, Sean?”

  At the mention of his name, the baby looked up from the necklace he was trying to tug from Cassie’s neck and gave his mother a smile sweet enough to melt the coldest heart. Maybe there was still a chance for her, Lainie thought. If she couldn’t have her own children, maybe she could adopt. She made a good income. She was respectable, well liked by her colleagues, depended on by her neighbors and friends. She didn’t have anything to offer in the way of family, just a father she would never let near any child of hers and a brother who’d left home only days after their mother’s funeral, but she could compensate..

  It had been so long since she’d seen Scott that sometimes she almost forgot his existence. He’d been only seventeen when he’d taken off, troubled, angry and bitter. Occasionally she let herself wonder what kind of man he’d grown into—if he had, in fact, lived long enough to become a man. Had he turned out like their father? Did a troubled, angry, bitter child on his own have much hope of anything better?

  Maybe. By all reports, Reid’s early years had been much more difficult than Scott’s. Born into a marriage t
hat never should have been, he’d always been poor, always unwanted, always surrounded by the criminal element. His mother had taken him off to Atlanta when he was just an infant, where she had neglected and abused him for years before abandoning him practically on the doorstep of the father she’d taught him to hate. By his sixteenth birthday, he had been homeless, left to fend for himself in a world that didn’t give a damn. It was no wonder that he’d joined the toughest gang on Serenity. It was a great wonder that he hadn’t ended up in prison or dead, and nothing short of a miracle that he was now a happily married, responsible, productive member of the community.

  Maybe Scott had been as lucky. Maybe he was married, happy and raising children who adored him.

  Or maybe he was in prison or dead.

  She had tried to find him, had exhausted every resource open to her and learned nothing. He could have changed his name or left the country. Any one of the countless dangers that faced runaway kids could have befallen him. He could be a John Doe in a pauper’s grave anywhere in the country. He could be a skeleton in an unmarked grave somewhere.

  The night he’d left Savannah, she had begged him to write to her. Losing both him and their mother had been too much to bear. She’d needed contact with him, even if it was only a card from time to time. But he had refused. She’d had no privacy from their father. The risk of his learning Scott’s whereabouts was too great, her brother had insisted before he’d kissed her, told her he loved her, then slipped out of her life.

  One more reason to hate Frank Ravenel.

  “You look like you’re a million miles away.”

  Lainie blinked and found Karen and Cassie watching her. She gave them a wan smile. “Just a thousand or so.” She stood, climbed over the bench, then rested her hand on Karen’s shoulder. “Thanks for the lunch. I think I’ll head home now.”

  Her boss didn’t ask her to stay longer, although she looked as if she wanted to. “See you tomorrow.”

  Cassie said goodbye, and Sean gave her a sloppy kiss on the cheek, but the men didn’t notice her leaving. Not that she wanted them to, of course. Not that she wanted Nicholas to.

  The front gate squeaked as she closed it behind her, then she stood for a moment on the sidewalk. She could go right, leave Serenity and take in the sights and sounds of the French Quarter, pretending to be just a tourist without a care in the world beyond squeezing all of New Orleans into one short vacation. She could go across the street to O’Shea’s and spend the rest of the day alone in a bare apartment with no television to watch, no radio to play, nothing to read and less to do.

  She turned to her left, toward the park, and walked with her hands in her pockets, her gaze shifting frequently from the broken, uneven sidewalk in front of her and the buildings on either side. She hadn’t gotten more than a block when her steps slowed as three men came out of a house on the left and started down the sidewalk. They slowed, too, pacing themselves so that they would reach the car parked on the street an instant before she did. If she crossed the street to avoid them, they would move more quickly to cut her off. If she turned around and started for home, they would follow her.

  She had been warned about them before she came to Serenity and again on her first day. Such warnings were a standard part of the welcome-to-Kathy’s-House speech that Karen delivered. The one in the middle was Vinnie Marino. Big, ugly and more than a little sociopathic, he had taken over Falcone’s business down here after Ryan Morgan had turned up dead of a gunshot to the head. It was rumored that Marino had been the one to carry out Ryan’s execution, but no evidence supported the theory. Of course, when Falcone was involved, evidence was hard to find.

  Beside him was Ryan’s younger brother, Trevor. He was twenty-two, good-looking and proof of the adage that appearances could be deceiving. For all his youthful innocence, Trevor was nothing but a thug. Whatever decency the kid had possessed had been lost after his brother’s murder. He was as coldhearted as they came.

  Tommy Murphy walked a few paces behind them. As criminals went, he was strictly small-time—petty larceny, an occasional assault, an even less occasional auto theft As people went, he was small-time, too, with no goals, no plans or aspirations. He was perfectly satisfied being nobody.

  They stopped side by side, blocking the sidewalk and facing her. Lainie knew it would be a mistake to try to avoid them by going into the street, so, drawing a deep breath for courage, she continued walking, keeping her pace slow and steady, finally coming to a stop a few feet in front of Marino.

  His blue gaze locked with hers, he grinned. “You’re new around here, aren’t you?”

  “She’s one of those do-gooders over at the women’s place,” Murphy announced.

  “Oh, darlin’, you could do me some good. Why don’t we go someplace private and let Vinnie welcome you to the neighborhood?”

  He raised his hand, and Lainie knew he was going to stroke her hair and probably a whole lot more. She thought of the gun tucked in her waistband and knew that each of them most likely had bigger, deadlier guns with more shots and hotter loads tucked in their holsters, along with whatever other weapons they liked. Morgan, it was known, was handy with a knife and usually had at least one within reach.

  Moving quickly before he could touch her, she grabbed Marino’s hand, pulled his arm out straight and bent his wrist back. Twisting his arm to put pressure on the elbow, she forced him to his knees, then bent closer. “Let me do you some good,” she agreed, her voice soft and pleasant. “Let me warn you that the next time you try to touch me, I’ll break your wrist and your arm and your elbow. You try it again after that, I might be forced to really hurt you.” She gave his wrist one hard turn for good measure, making him yelp in pain, then let go, stepped over his legs and, with a shaky, silent breath, walked away.

  Nicholas leaned against a dusty, empty storefront on the corner and watched Vinnie Marino struggle to his feet, turn to yell an obscenity at Lainie, who pretended not to notice, then give Tommy Murphy a shove that lifted him onto the hood of the car. For a moment, when he’d first seen the men block her way, he’d thought it was lucky for Lainie that he’d followed her from Jamey’s. Serenity’s streets were usually safe during daylight hours, according to Jamey, but there was always the odd incident. So much for luck, though. She hadn’t needed his help.

  Which made this incident odder than most.

  Women didn’t stand up to Vinnie Marino and walk away unscathed. If he had the brains, Marino would be another Jimmy Falcone in the making. He had no respect for human life and no concern for right or wrong. He took what he wanted, property or people, and damned if they didn’t want to be taken. He was the coldest, meanest bastard around—sometimes too cold and mean even for Jimmy. Five years ago the old man had considered Vinnie a problem that would eventually have to be dealt with. It didn’t seem the problem was any more under control now than it had been.

  The car drove by slowly, Marino giving him a nod of acknowledgment, one ex-con to another. One soulless bastard to another. The simple gesture left a bad taste in Nicholas’s mouth.

  Once they were out of sight, he crossed the street and followed Lainie to the park. He expected to find her sitting on one of the benches, but instead she was on her knees beside the flower beds that rimmed the mortared walls supporting the wrought-iron fence. She was pinching off dead blossoms and pulling weeds that had sprouted through the pine bark mulch.

  “Nice move.”

  Her only response was a steady glance.

  He walked through the gate and followed stepping stones to the nearest bench, sitting on the back, resting his feet on the seat. The position allowed him a clear view of her left profile. “It’s a cop thing, you know. Called a wrist lock.”

  “It’s a self-defense thing called doing whatever works.”

  Although he’d never known anyone who wasn’t a cop to use it, she was probably right. It was an easy technique that required only speed. Size and strength were irrelevant. A slender woman could use it on a man
twice her size with satisfying results, as Lainie had just demonstrated. “Why did you find it necessary to take a self-defense course?”

  She pulled one last weed, then turned around to sit on the ground facing him. “I’m a woman.”

  And women were victims. It was a simple, sad fact of life, especially with people like Vinnie Marino. With people like her ex-husband? Maybe her father? “Next time he won’t give you a chance to take him down.”

  “Then I’ll pop his eyeball out. Or I’ll give him a blast of pepper spray.”

  “Or you could just try to avoid him.”

  She drew her knees up and clasped her hands around her legs. “What are you doing here? I thought you were talking with Jamey and the others.”

  He had been talking to Jamey and his guests and thinking that it wasn’t a half bad way to spend a Sunday afternoon. Then she had left, and it sounded sappy, but suddenly standing under the old tree discussing Serenity’s woes and |ways to alleviate them hadn’t seemed so interesting anymore. He had wanted to know where she was going and why. So he had followed her—to her advantage, he’d thought when Marino had confronted her. To his own advantage, he knew now as he watched her sitting in the sun.

  Instead of answering her question, he looked around the park. It was a large lot, with the brick walls of neighboring apartment houses forming two sides, a free-standing brick wall across the back and the iron fence in front. The back wall was painted with a mural of familiar places—the Serenity he had grown up on. The artwork had been provided by Reid, the images probably by Jamey.

  “There used to be a house here. It burned down when I was a kid,” he remarked, remembering not the house but its destruction. The fire had been spectacular, a better show by far than the fireworks displays his mother had once taken him to see. He’d stood on the porch of their apartment house down the street, listened to the sirens of the fire engines and watched the flames light up the night. “The owners walked away from the place, and the parents decided to claim it for a park.”