Текст книги "A Lot Like Love"
Автор книги: Julie James
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Текущая страница: 9 (всего у книги 19 страниц)
Fourteen
JORDAN STOOD AT the counter while she waited, checking her e-mail on her iPhone. She did this more out of habit than interest, since the only person she wanted to hear anything from right then was Nick.
She set the phone off to the side when he walked into the kitchen. Her eyes lingered momentarily on the shirt buttons he’d undone at his throat. He’d loosened his tie, too, and wore the shirt casually open-necked, giving her a peek of smooth, tan skin.
She refocused. Bad guys outside her house. Not good. “Now can you tell me what’s going on?”
“Your friend Xander is causing all sorts of problems.” Nick told her about the private investigator Eckhart had hired to follow him.
Jordan sank into one of the bar stools. “I just assumed Xander was flirting with me, like he does with everyone else. I didn’t think he was actually serious. In my defense, the entire time I’ve known him, he’s never dated any woman over the age of twenty-five. I assumed that was some kind of rule of his.”
“Apparently, he’s willing to break the rules in your case,” Nick said. “And now we deal with it. Which brings me to my next point: since I’m being followed, I can’t go back to my place tonight. Obviously, there can’t be any connection between Nick Stanton and Nick McCall. Which means I’m stranded here.”
Jordan raised an eyebrow. “I see.”
“Just for tonight,” he told her. “By tomorrow morning my office will have worked out alternate arrangements.”
She checked her watch. “It’s after midnight already. You FBI guys move fast.”
“We have to, given our predicament. That is, unless our characters were thinking about moving in together.” He grinned. “I didn’t think we were ready for that step yet.”
“I think that’s good thinking on your part. What happens after tomorrow?”
“Well, see, that’s where things get a little interesting,” Nick said. “Now that I’m being followed, we can’t give Eckhart a reason to suspect that anything is off. Which means that until we get the evidence we need through the electronic surveillance, I have to remain undercover. So for the time being, I’ll continue to be Nick Stanton, a real estate investor who rents properties to college kids and people in their early twenties. And who also is … dating you.”
It took a moment for this to sink in.
“We have to pretend to be dating?” Jordan asked. “As in, for more than just tonight?”
“Yes.”
She couldn’t help but feel as though she’d been given the bait-and-switch routine. “My agreement with the FBI was a one-shot deal. Now you’re changing the game on me.”
“Xander Eckhart changed the game,” Nick emphasized. “On all of us. Trust me, if we had known about his interest in you, we never would’ve come to you with this deal.”
Jordan bit her lip, still feeling guilty about that.
“I’m not blaming you,” he said. “I’m just trying to explain why we’re in this position. After tonight, it will look odd if you and I are never seen together again. And not looking odd is the number one rule in undercover work.”
“Okay. Let’s say that I agree to this. How long would we have to pretend to be dating?” Feeling thirsty, she got up and walked over to one of the cabinets. She pulled out two glasses. “Water?”
Nick nodded yes. “I can’t give you an exact time frame, although I don’t expect it to be very long. A week? Maybe a little longer? However long it takes for us to get the evidence we need through the bugs in Eckhart’s office.”
Jordan filled both glasses with water from the refrigerator, then set one in front of him. “So walk me through this. What would I have to do as the supposed girlfriend of a real estate investor who rents properties to college kids and people in their twenties?” She took a sip of her water.
“You’d need to have lots and lots of sex with me.”
Jordan choked on the water and began coughing.
Nick blinked innocently. “No good?”
Her watering eyes undoubtedly lessened the effect of her glare.
Nick smiled. “The answer is that we need to act, from all outward appearances, as if we’re a real couple. Xander thinks that you like me enough to spend five thousand dollars to bring me to his party, and that I’m similarly smitten enough to cancel work plans to be with you on Valentine’s Day. If that was all true, what would you do next?”
“I don’t know … I’d probably start by calling my girlfriends and meeting them for brunch tomorrow to tell them all about you,” Jordan said.
“There you go.”
She pointed for emphasis. “No way. You need my help, and … well, I agreed, so I’ll help you. But it stays between us. No bringing my friends and family into this.”
Nick thought this over. “All right. To the extent we can reasonably keep your friends and family isolated from this, I’ll go along with that. It’s not like I want to lie to them, either.” He turned oddly serious. “Speaking of family, there’s something else I have to tell you. And you’re not going to like it.”
Not exactly Jordan’s favorite lead-in. “What?”
He rubbed his hand over his jaw and sighed. “You’re really not going to like it.”
“Okay, now you’re making me nervous.”
He looked her dead in the eyes. “We can’t release your brother on Monday.”
The words fell like stones between them.
Jordan said nothing for a moment. On this subject, there would be no jokes or bullshit between them. “Tell me the truth: did you ever intend to release Kyle, or did you simply make that up to get me to take you to Xander’s party?”
“Releasing your brother was always part of the plan,” Nick said. “And it still is. Just not yet. Now that Eckhart has his eye on you and me, we have to proceed cautiously. Letting your brother inexplicably walk out of prison fourteen months ahead of schedule could lead the wrong person to ask the right questions.”
“You didn’t worry about letting Kyle out early before.”
“Before, you didn’t have a man sitting in a car outside your house, watching us and running background checks on me.”
Jordan folded her arms across her chest. “Maybe so. But my brother and I are getting the raw end of this deal. Kyle is the reason I agreed to help you. I’ve done everything you asked. I’ve even agreed to continue to pretend to be your girlfriend, which goes well beyond the original plan. And now that it’s time for the FBI to uphold its end of the deal, conveniently, there’s a problem.”
“I understand your frustration, Jordan,” Nick said quietly. “Trust me, this is not an ideal situation for anyone.”
His subdued tone took the fight right out of her. And knowing Nick, that had been his intent. She was angry and annoyed – with him, even though the rational part of her realized this wasn’t his fault; with the FBI in general; with Xander; even with Kyle. But mostly what she felt right then was tired.
She ran her hands through her hair. “I think I should show you where you’ll be sleeping tonight. It’s getting late.”
AFTER LEADING NICK to the guest bedroom, Jordan left him with a polite nod good night. He heard her retreating footsteps on the hardwood floors of the hallway, then a quiet click as she shut her bedroom door.
Clearly, she wasn’t happy about the news concerning her brother, and Nick couldn’t say he blamed her. She was getting the raw end of the deal with the FBI, but sometimes that was how things went. That’s why they’d chosen her, after all. With her brother’s freedom at stake, she wasn’t going anywhere – no matter how unhappy she was that they’d changed the terms of their deal. The special agent in him knew all this and was glad the operation hadn’t completely tanked because of the curveball Eckhart had thrown at them that evening.
The man in him, however, felt like shit.
Nick closed the door and checked out the guest bedroom. His eyes skimmed over the king-sized bed with its plump, welcoming pillows and silk blue comforter. Through a doorway on his right, he found a private bathroom designed in creamy marble and well stocked with virtually every toiletry imaginable. It certainly beat the eight-by-eight-foot cell he’d slept in as part of his last undercover assignment.
Getting comfortable, he slipped off his suit jacket and made one last call for the night.
“So? Is Jordan on board?” Davis asked.
“Of course. Eckhart’s not going to slip away that easily. But there’s a catch.” Nick eased onto the bed. “I’m calling in that favor you owe me. The one that just tripled in magnitude because of this mess you roped me into.”
Davis sounded surprised. And a little suspicious. “What kind of favor?”
“Do we still have Agent Griegs in play?” Nick asked.
“Yes. Why?”
“This will involve him, too.”
Davis sighed. “I’m not going to like this favor, am I?”
“Probably not,” Nick said. “But I debated between this and having you call my mother to explain that it’s your fault I can’t make it to her sixtieth birthday party. You pick. But I should warn you: my mother is Italian. New York Italian, which is like being five hundred percent Italian.”
Davis swore under his breath. “The hell with that. I’ll get ahold of Griegs.”
Fifteen
NICK WOKE UP the next morning not immediately recognizing his surroundings. An occupational hazard. When he felt the silk comforter brush against his bare chest in a caress, he remembered.
Jordan.
He wondered how angry she’d still be that morning. If he were an introspective person, one of those in-touch-with-hidden-emotions types – aka a woman – he would probably take note of the fact that it was much harder to blow off her dislike of him than it had been merely six days ago. And, if he were an introspective person, he might also ask himself what he’d been doing by calling in that favor with his boss last night.
Thank goodness, then, that he wasn’t such a person.
Because if he were, he would also have to tell himself to shut up and stop asking so many damn questions. He had an assignment to focus on.
He sat up and listened for any sound outside the guest bedroom, wondering if Jordan was awake. He checked the clock on the nightstand, saw that it was just past seven A.M., and figured she was still asleep after the late night they’d had.
He yanked the comforter off and made his way into the bathroom. He sped through his shower routine and threw on the shirt and pants he’d worn the night before, having no other options. Despite its other luxuries, Palazzo Rhodes didn’t come with a spare set of men’s clothes.
He looked in the mirror and decided to skip shaving. For anyone who might be watching from a black sedan out front, Nick Stanton had just spent the night rolling around in bed with a smart, sexy woman and undoubtedly had better things to do this morning than shave.
Nick Stanton was a lucky SOB.
Nick McCall, on the other hand, had work to do, starting with a few phone calls. Including one in particular he dreaded.
He went downstairs to the kitchen, found an expensive-looking espresso maker that appeared wholly unused, then poked around and saw no other machinery in the house capable of producing caffeine. This brought about a round of grumbling about damn fancy rich types and their damn fancy gadgets as he sat down at the counter and called in to the office.
“We’ve got a condo for you in Bucktown,” Davis told him. “1841 North Waveland, unit three-A. It’ll work well for you – two bedrooms and an office, top amenities. Nice enough that it won’t raise any suspicions.”
“Can’t have Jordan Rhodes’s boyfriend slumming it now, can we?” Nick grumbled.
“I wasn’t thinking so much about the girl, more that a successful property investor such as yourself wouldn’t be slumming it,” Davis said. “What’s gotten into you this morning, sunshine?”
Nick grunted. Damn pesky questions. “Just haven’t had my morning coffee, boss.”
“Perfect. Because you and your girlfriend are going to make a run over to Starbucks so we can drop off your new house keys. There’s one located a couple blocks from Jordan’s house, at the corner of Barry and Greenview. Pallas will meet you there at ten – you know the drill. Got car keys for you, too – you’ll find a Lexus waiting in the parking spot of your new condo.”
“Sounds like I’m moving up in the world.”
“As they say, you are the company you keep,” Davis quipped.
When Nick hung up with his boss, he checked his watch. It was nearly nine A.M. in New York, which meant he had only a short window to catch his mother before she left for church. He steeled himself and dialed the phone number. Heck, he already had one woman mad at him that morning because of his job; he might as well make it two.
His mother picked up on the second ring.
“Happy birthday, Ma,” he said.
“Nick! What a surprise to hear from you,” she said in an overly dramatic tone. She lowered her voice to a whisper. “Hold on – let me go into the other room.”
There was a pause, then she came back on the line. “Okay, the coast is clear. Your father still thinks I don’t know about the party. Are you at the airport? You should call Anthony or Matt to pick you up – tell them to bring you right over. Who knows how long it’s been since you’ve had a decent meal? I’ve already got a pot of sauce on the stove.”
Nick closed his eyes. She was making his favorite – penne arrabiatta. Just shoot him now.
No sense in delaying the inevitable. “Ma, there’s no easy way for me to say this, but … I’m not coming today. They put me on a new undercover assignment, and there’s been an unexpected development that means I can’t get to New York. But as soon as the assignment’s over, I’ll visit for a whole week. I promise.”
He waited. He could practically hear her thoughts.
Your promises aren’t worth very much these days, are they?
And it would be the truth.
“I understand,” she finally said. “I know how hard you work, Nick. Your job comes first. You do what you need to do.”
He tried to explain as best he could without getting into details. “This wasn’t something I planned. The case was supposed to end last night. You know that if there was any way I could make it today, I would.”
“Don’t worry about it,” his mother said in a short tone. “The family will be disappointed, but I’ll explain it. Frankly, I don’t think anyone will be too surprised you’re not coming.” She made some quick excuse about needing to finish getting ready for mass, told him to call soon, and hung up.
Nick set his cell phone down on the counter and blew out a ragged breath. Plain and simple, that sucked. He would’ve preferred she’d just yelled at him – that he could handle. But hearing the disappointment in her voice was tough.
He heard Jordan clear her throat from the doorway. He looked over, not having realized she was there.
She shifted awkwardly. “I overheard your conversation when I was coming down the stairs.” She walked over and took a seat in the stool next to his. “Your mother’s birthday is this weekend?”
Nick nodded. “Her sixtieth. My family planned a big party for her.”
“She was born the year after my mother. My mom would’ve been sixty-one this June.” She hesitated before continuing. “She died in a car accident nine years ago. Maybe you knew that already.”
Actually, he had known that from the file Huxley had pulled together. Jordan had been in business school at the time of her mother’s car accident. “Yes.”
“Granted, I’m a little biased when it comes to the subject of mothers. But I would’ve given anything to have been able to throw a sixtieth birthday party for mine.” Jordan held his gaze. “I’m sorry you couldn’t make it home this weekend.” She rested her chin in her hand and sighed. “What can I say? Xander’s an asshat.”
Nick blinked, then laughed. And something pulled tight in his chest when he realized that was exactly what she’d intended. “I didn’t realize billionaire heiresses were allowed to say asshat.”
With a slight smile, she glanced at him sideways. “You don’t know a lot about billionaire heiresses, do you?”
“No.” Although he did know one in particular who looked awfully cute in her jeans and long-sleeve navy T-shirt that made her eyes seem impossibly more blue.
Suddenly uncomfortable, Nick looked away and cleared his throat. He shook off the feeling and changed the subject. “We need coffee.” He pointed to the high-tech espresso maker. “Think you can skip the homemade stuff and go for a Starbucks run? I have to get my new house keys from another agent who will be there at ten. I was thinking you could be the contact person for the drop-off.”
Jordan’s eyes widened. “Ooh, that sounds very cloak and daggerish. How will I know who to get the keys from? Some sort of secret code word?”
“Don’t worry. He’ll find you.”
Just then, the doorbell rang.
Jordan looked at Nick, and he gave her the same look right back.
“Are you expecting someone this morning?” he asked.
“No. Are you?”
Neither of them moved, and the doorbell rang again. Twice in quick succession.
“Whoever it is, it sounds like he or she isn’t going away.” Nick stood up and pulled his gun out of the harness at his calf. He tucked it into the back of his pants, where it was more accessible. “Stay close to me while I check this out.”
Jordan gestured to the gun as she followed Nick to the front door. “Take it easy there, cowboy. I don’t want you blowing a hole through some poor guy asking for donations for Greenpeace.”
“Door-to-door solicitations when it’s fifteen degrees outside?” Nick asked. “I don’t think so.”
The doorbell rang a third time.
Nick gestured to the door. “You have a library, a wine cellar, an espresso machine that looks like it could launch a space shuttle, and yet no peephole. Personal security isn’t a priority for you?”
“I have another security measure that works just fine,” Jordan retorted. “It’s called an alarm system.” Using the panel on the wall next to the door, she deactivated the security alarm before unlocking the deadbolt. She glanced over at Nick, who had moved to her side and stood behind the door.
He nodded.
Jordan opened the door and –
– Panicked.
Melinda stood on the doorstep, shivering. “Geez, took you long enough to answer. Let me in – it’s freezing out here.”
Before Jordan could say anything, Melinda brushed past her and stepped inside. As her friend unwrapped her scarf, Jordan peeked over her shoulder and saw Nick standing behind the door. He shrugged helplessly.
She leaned against the door, keeping it open so that she could block Melinda’s view of Nick. Hopefully, whatever the reason behind this untimely visit, they could keep things short and quick. Without her moving an inch from that spot.
“So here’s the question,” Melinda led in. “Who’s Tall, Dark, and Smoldering?”
Jordan gestured nonchalantly with her free hand, the one that didn’t have a death grip on her front door. “I’ll go with Gerard Butler in 300. Or that naked guy from the first Sex and the City movie.”
Melinda pointed. “Good answers. But neither is correct today.” She pulled a folded newspaper out of her oversized purse. “This just in from Anne Welch’s Scene and Heard column in the Sun-Times, the weekend roundup.” She read out loud from the paper. ” ‘Millionaire restaurateur Xander Eckhart’s annual charity fund-raiser at uber-swanky restaurant and nightclub Bordeaux raised over a hundred thousand dollars for Children’s Memorial Hospital and proved once again the place to be seen by Chicago’s social elite.’ ”
She held up her finger for emphasis as she read the next part. ” ‘Gorgeously attired in an amethyst-colored backless dress, wine entrepreneur Jordan Rhodes, daughter of billionaire Grey Rhodes and sister of the illustrious Kyle Rhodes, who made headlines worldwide five months ago when he …’” Melinda cleared her throat. “Well, I think we can skip over that part, Twitter, prison, et cetera, et cetera. Ah, here we go: ‘Ms. Rhodes attended the party with an unknown man who sources describe as tall, dark, and smoldering. Sources also say that the couple appeared quite close. Here’s hoping, for all our sakes, that this Rhodes twin is luckier in love than her brother.’ ”
Melinda refolded the paper and stared expectantly at Jordan. “So I repeat: who is ‘tall, dark, and smoldering’?”
Jordan swore to herself – potently vile, offensive curse words that undoubtedly were not in the vocabulary of most billionaire heiresses. She knew that Melinda would never, ever in a million years let this go until she had some answers. The jig was officially up.
She pushed the door closed, revealing Nick.
He grinned and held out his hand in introduction. “Nick Stanton.”
“Interesting.” Melinda’s eyes went wide as she slowly shook his hand. “Melinda Jackson.” Coming in at a flat five feet tall, she let her gaze travel up and up before she got to Nick’s face. She seemed to take particular note of his unshaven jaw and casually untucked dress shirt.
She turned to Jordan with a grin that spoke volumes. Somebody got la-id. “Now I know why it took you so long to get to the door.”
“Nice, Mel. We were simply …” Jordan looked at Nick for help.
“Trying to start her espresso machine,” he offered.
Melinda raised an eyebrow. “Is that what you kids call it nowadays?”
“Did you come here this morning solely to harass me about my date?” Jordan asked.
“Actually, after reading the paper, I came over to drag you out to brunch. I didn’t realize the date was still going. So tell me all about yourself, Nick. I’m eager for the details, since Jordan is being so circumspect these days.”
Nick opened his mouth, but Jordan promptly cut him off. She had to set some rules here: no lies, or as few as possible, to her friends and family. “Actually, Mel, we’ll have to take a rain check on the meet and greet. Nick and I were just about to run out. Can I call you later?”
Melinda studied her suspiciously. “You’re acting awfully odd. What’s going on here?”
Nick came to her rescue. “It’s my fault. I roped Jordan into coming with me to meet a friend for coffee. My sneaky way of keeping the date going.” He slid his arm around Jordan’s waist and pulled her close.
“Aw, aren’t you two just the cutest?” Melinda smiled at Nick. “Some other time, then. Oh, I know – Jordan should bring you to dinner at Corinne’s on Saturday. That way you can meet everyone at once.”
Jordan shook her head. No way, no how – that would mean lying to her friends all evening. “Oh, unfortunately, Nick already has plans for Saturday.” She spun around to face him, which put her body smack up against his firm – really firm – chest.
Wow.
She pled with her eyes for him to play along. “You know, that thing you mentioned earlier that you have to do. On Saturday.”
“You mean that meeting with the developer I told you about,” Nick said without hesitation. “The one who’s building the new apartment complex in Old Town for me.”
She could’ve kissed him right there. Handy, these undercover FBI agents, when one needed a lie on the spot.
Jordan turned back to Melinda with a reluctant shrug. “Darn developer.” She patted Nick affectionately on his cheek. “Doesn’t he know how much I want to show off this tall, dark, and smoldering guy to all my friends?”
Nick threw her a look that said she needed to shut up. Fast.
Jordan clapped her hands together, not disagreeing with that. “So. I don’t mean to rush you out, Mel” – of course she did – “but Nick and I really should get going.”
She somehow managed to get her friend out without any more deceit or trickery, and shut the door behind Melinda with a groan. “I hate that I had to lie to her like that. Thanks for helping me out when she invited you to dinner on Saturday. This secret-agent stuff is not my thing.”
“Just hang in for twenty more minutes and then you can be free of all secret-agent responsibilities for the rest of the day.” Nick pointed in the direction of the door. “Starbucks. My treat.”
“Are you sure I don’t need a code word or something?” Jordan asked. “Maybe we should have one just in case.”
“You’ll be fine, Rhodes. Trust me.”
ON THEIR WAY to Starbucks, Jordan noticed that Nick kept a watchful eye out as they walked the few blocks from her house – presumably checking to see if they were being followed. How surreal that this was her life now, she thought. Making up a fake boyfriend, lying to her best friend, and looking out for shady private investigators who had been hired by a money launderer.
Ah, to go back to simpler times, when she was merely the sister of the world’s most infamous Internet terrorist and daughter of a billionaire.
Nick held the door open for her when they arrived at Starbucks. She hurried into the coffee shop, savoring the warmth inside and the anticipation of getting her much-needed caffeine fix. She checked out the other customers, looking for anyone who might be their FBI contact. She shivered, a combination of nerves and excitement, and decided that she’d become quite the badass these days. She had an FBI contact.
Nick hadn’t told her anything about how this drop-off would go down, so she followed standard protocol and acted normal. She ordered her drink at the counter. “I’ll take a tall, one-pump, sugar-free vanilla soy latte please.”
Nick seemed to find her order amusing. Of course he did.
“Just a grande coffee for me,” he said.
Jordan stepped to the side to wait for her drink to be called, when someone bumped her from behind.
A firm hand on her shoulder steadied her. “Sorry. My bad,” said a man’s voice.
“No worries.” She glanced up at the man with nearly black hair who smiled apologetically as he left the coffee shop. She pulled her cell phone out of the pocket of her coat. Not unexpectedly, she had a text message from Melinda:CALL ME LATER – I WANT ALL THE DETAILS ABOUT NICK.
BTW, HE’S SEX ON A FUCKING STICK.
Subtlety always had been one of Melinda’s strengths.
Jordan tucked the phone away when her drink was called. Nick walked over with his coffee.
“Ready?” he asked.
She cocked her head, confused. “Don’t we have that thing you need to take care of?”
“Already done.” Nick took her gloved hand in his and leisurely led her out of the store. To anyone watching, they were just an average, everyday couple getting coffee on a Sunday morning.
Jordan studied him as they stopped at the street corner outside Starbucks. Finally, she caught on. “The guy who bumped me.”
“Yep. The keys are in your left coat pocket.”
“Son of a bitch, that’s good.”
Nick grinned confidently. “I told you, Rhodes. This is what we do.”
NICK DROPPED JORDAN off at her house and told her that he’d call her later. Not seeing the black sedan that had followed them the night before, nor anyone else who looked suspicious, he decided they could forgo the aren’t-we-the-loving-couple good-bye kiss. As he strode down her front steps, he caught himself momentarily wishing they had been followed.
The introspective side of him – which luckily didn’t exist – would’ve had a field day with that one.
Halfway down the block, he spotted his car, still parked on the street where it had been all night. He kept right on walking – he couldn’t risk that someone would see him driving it and trace the license plate. He headed to the nearest intersection to hail a cab, making a mental note to arrange to have someone from the office pick up his car and bring it back to his condo. His real condo.
He found a cab easily and gave the driver the address that would be his home for the next week or two. He checked his phone and listened to two messages from Huxley, who apologized profusely for forcing him into the assignment and screwing up his plans to fly to New York. Although Nick appreciated the messages, they weren’t necessary. No one had forced him into anything, and he had no doubt that every other agent in the Chicago office would’ve made the same decision he had. It was part of the job they’d all signed up for. If he’d expected to be pampered and coddled through his undercover assignments, he would have gone to work for the CIA.
His phone rang just as he was tucking it back into his coat. He saw that it was his brother, Matt, and answered. “I had a feeling you’d call.”
“Anyone ever tell you that you’re a douchebag?”
Nick grinned at the inside joke. Back when he and his brothers were younger, they’d once gotten carried away and “accidentally” tossed three footballs through Tommy Angolini’s second-floor apartment windows after he’d claimed during recess that Scottish douchebags couldn’t throw for shit. Tommy had been wrong on two counts: first, in not knowing that they were only half-Scottish douchebags, and second, in doubting the athletic prowess of the McCall brothers.
Not surprisingly, that bit of good-natured fun had put an end to any trash talk from Tommy Angolini, but also had royally pissed off their father. A sergeant on the NYPD at the time, he had rounded up Nick and his brothers, brought them down to the Sixty-third Precinct, and locked them up in an empty jail cell.
For six hours.
Needless to say, after that the McCall brothers had all developed a healthy appreciation for the benefits of being lawabiding ten-, nine-, and seven-year-olds. The only person more traumatized by the lockup had been their mother, who’d spent the six hours crying, refusing to speak to their father, and making lasagna and cannoli – three helpings of which she’d practically force-fed each of her sons immediately upon their homecoming from the Big House.
“The last person who called me that watched while three footballs crashed through his living room windows,” Nick said.
“Seeing how you can’t seem to find your way to New York to save your life, I’m not too worried,” Matt shot back. “You’d better be saving the world from a biological weapons attack or foiling a plot to assassinate the president.”
“Nope. That’s next week’s agenda.”
“Seriously, Nick – you couldn’t even make it to Ma’s party? We’ve been planning this for months.”
Feeling like a major asshole, Nick distracted himself by looking out the rear window of the cab and keeping an eye out to see if he was being followed. “I know. But something came up that made leaving impossible. I’ll figure out some way to make it up to Ma. How bad is she taking it?”
“She says she’s not FedEx-ing you any more arrabiatta sauce,” Matt said.
Nick whistled. His mother had to be really pissed if she was threatening to cut off food. “That is bad.”
“Unless you suddenly announce you’ve got a girlfriend or you’re getting married or something, I think you’re going to be on her shit list for a while.” Matt chuckled. Being the middle child and peacemaker of the family, he didn’t hold grudges for long. “She’s getting crazy with this grandchildren stuff, you know. If I so much as mention that I’m having drinks with a woman, she’s on the phone with Father Tom, asking what days the church has free for a wedding.”
