A Surprise Family: Against The Odds

CHAPTER FIVE

“Why can’t I change the channel? Oprah’s Christmas special is on.”

The blonde’s grating whine drew a long look from Niko Rassi that had the blood draining from her face. What had he been thinking when he hired her? Every time she spoke he wanted to strangle her.

Her tongue darted out to moisten her lips, and a sliver of memory surfaced. Of course. Her appeal had been her mouth. Just not for conversation.

“Because I’m watching the news. Stick around and maybe you’ll learn something. Otherwise get your ass to work. The bar needs polishing before customers start coming in.”

The woman—Chantelle? Chandrelle?—snuggled up to his side, one hand stroking his thigh. “I’d rather stay with you, baby.”

He thrust his heavy crystal tumbler toward her. “Then go pour me another drink.”

She rose to obey, giving an exaggerated sway to her hips as she crossed the room in case he was watching. But she’d already been forgotten. Niko picked up the remote and flicked it to another twenty-four-hour news station.

Didn’t look like Carletti’s body had surfaced yet. Or if it had, the fat bastard had earned less attention dead than he had alive. A satisfied smile crossing his lips, Niko stretched out on the chaise of his Italian leather sofa, remembering the hit with pleasure.

Another flawless job. Another hundred grand wired to his Caymen account. And another little memento for his collection. His world was damn near perfect.

The blonde leaned over him to deliver his drink, her perky plastic breasts spilling out of the skimpy cocktail uniform. Taking the tumbler, he looked past her through the wall of one-way glass that allowed him to survey his kingdom from his second-floor office.

Or at least the front for his kingdom.

The club was nearly empty now, but in a few more hours it would be pulsing with light, music, voices and excitement. Sex, or people in search of it. He’d built Kouples up from a glam bar to the hottest club scene in New York, and it hadn’t been just his connection to the Portino family that had accomplished it. It was his smarts, his guts, his cunning behind its success.

There was satisfaction in knowing that. But it was his other occupation that gave him true pleasure. His lips curved as he tipped the glass of vodka to his lips.

Chandrelle saw the smile and suppressed a shudder. There was nothing warm about Niko Rassi, not even humor. He looked like the prince of darkness, sprawled out in slim black pants and a loose white silk shirt, with his thick dark hair combed straight back from his cruelly handsome face. Some of the other staff whispered that he was Satan himself, but they didn’t whisper it too loud, or too often. It didn’t pay to dis Niko. People who got him angry didn’t last long around here.

But Chandrelle was smarter than most. She’d changed her hair color and her first name when she’d hit New York, hadn’t she? Landed herself a receptionist job at that plastic surgeon’s clinic. Done her best work after hours, on her knees, and earned herself a pair of double Ds that would take her further in life than that college diploma her ma had always preached about.

Niko put that aging, flabby surgeon to shame. He might be ruthless but he was rich and he was good-looking. If she played her cards right he’d spend some of that money on her one of these days. Especially if she became one of his favorites.

Mentally congratulating herself for coming in early, she sat down on the couch next to him, one hand slyly placed in his crotch. “You work too hard,” she cooed, leaning toward him to kiss his neck. “I’ll bet I can distract you from the boring old news.”

Niko reared back, studied her narrowly. “I’ll bet you can,” he murmured. He shoved her head to his lap, stretching in anticipation as she unzipped his pants. With his free hand he picked up the remote and flipped to CNN.

Attention only half on the news, he recalled exactly why he’d hired the blonde. Everyone had a talent. She might be brainless, but she could suck the chrome off a trailer.

He wasn’t focused on the story the anchor was reporting. It was the pictures flashing across the screen that had him straightening abruptly, the blonde and those limber lips forgotten.

“Hey! You gotta relax, baby.”

But his attention was honed on the big-screen TV, disbelief raging through him. It couldn’t be her. She’d dropped off the edge of the earth three years ago. He should know. He’d spent nearly that long searching for her.

But damn, it’d looked like Gracie. He grabbed the remote, turned up the volume.

“The incident left two dead and two others wounded. Ms. Bradford is credited with getting four children to safety before Metro City police shot and killed the gunman.”

There! There was that face again, a camera shoved close to it as she was carried by on a stretcher. He stared hard, trying to see through the surface differences to the woman he’d known as Grace Feller.

Yeah, yeah, the yards of red hair were gone. Hair he’d loved wrapping around his hands while he pounded himself into her. She’d had it cut shoulder length and dyed a nondescript dark brown. Couldn’t see the color of her eyes, but contacts could change them from that unbelievable grass-green, anyway. The shape of them was the same, though, wasn’t it? And those kiss-my-ass cheekbones that made her look like a slumming princess instead of a dairymaid fresh off a Wisconsin farm.

The news went on to something else, and he flipped through the channels, trying to find the story featured on another station. No luck.

The blonde was taking his distraction personally, and applying all her considerable skill to coax his attention back to her. But the excitement firing through his blood couldn’t be credited to her.

It wouldn’t do to get his hopes up. He’d call Horatio, get a copy of that telecast first thing and go over it again. Blow up those shots of the woman and then they’d see.

Yeah, then they’d see.

He’d gone rock hard and the blonde gave a pleased little hum. He didn’t bother to tell her that his reaction had nothing to do with her and everything to do with a woman named Grace Feller.

And the bullet he still carried with her name on it.

“Hospitals creep me out.”

Lindsay cocked an ironic brow at Jolie, although the other woman wouldn’t see it as she prowled around the room. “Really? I, on the other hand, love them.”

Jolie stopped long enough to toss a quick grin over her shoulder. “Yeah, I know it’s worse from where you’re sitting. Or lying, as the case may be. It hasn’t been so long since I was in your spot. I didn’t much like it, either.”

“Hopefully I won’t be here much longer. Sorry you had to wait.”

Jolie gave a shake of her bright blond head. “No big deal. I promised to give you a ride home and I still remember how long it took them to deliver my dismissal papers when I was here. I was chewing nails.”

“I passed that stage hours ago.” Lindsay was fully dressed in the fresh clothes Jolie had brought her. Her others were bloodstained and she’d be leaving them behind. She didn’t want any reminders of those hours at the restaurant.

She wished she could leave the memories behind as easily.

That was what she got for ignoring the itchy feeling she’d had recently. The one that said it was time to move on, time to start over.

That was what she got for letting a broad chest and a crooked smile distract her from instinct. Maybe hormones grew more powerful with disuse, because hers sure had hazed her better judgment.

At that moment, the owner of said chest and smile stepped through the open doorway, a stethoscope draped around his neck. “Wanna play doctor, little girl?”

While Lindsay rolled her eyes, Jolie let out a disgusted snort. “Geez, Langley, could you get any sleazier?”

“I think we both know the answer to that.”

Eyeing the stethoscope, Lindsay commented, “I hope the doctor you mugged to get that isn’t the one I’m waiting for.”

He skirted the question hidden in her words and studied her with an intent dark gaze. “You look pale. Are you sure you shouldn’t stay a few more days?”

“Positive.” If she’d had her way, she would have left after the first day. Two nights in the hospital were going to deplete most of her savings. And with Bill’s death, she obviously wouldn’t be getting her last paycheck. She didn’t know what he had for family, but she couldn’t bring herself to intrude on their grief to ask for money.

Which meant she’d be leaving town riding her thumb instead of a bus.

Trepidation pooled in her stomach. She had the hospital bill to settle. Then she’d have to spend her leftover money to change her appearance again, to get her hair professionally stripped and recolored. To find a place to stay until she had a new job in whatever state she ended up in.

There wouldn’t be enough left over to buy new identification, at least not right away. She’d have to revert to one of her previous identities. That would be best, she decided, a slight frown on her brow. The Lindsay Bradford ID hadn’t exactly been fraught with good fortune, and it wouldn’t be smart anyway to use the same ID in two consecutive places. But still, she’d never resorted to using the same ID twice, and the thought of having to now filled her with unease.

“What’s the matter?”

The concern in Jack’s voice had her deliberately smoothing her brow. “Nothing. Just a headache.” That was true enough. Even with the pain relievers there was a constant dull throb in her temples. She knew she was lucky it wasn’t far worse. A couple inches to the left and Mitch’s bullet would have been embedded in her skull instead of just grazing it.

She gave a quick shudder. And all these years she’d been on the run from Niko’s gun. The irony was inescapable.

“Have you told the nurse?” Jack dropped the stethoscope on the bedside table and strode to the door, still speaking. “When’s the last time someone checked on you, anyway? That’s the way these places are. Won’t leave you alone when you’re trying to sleep, but come daylight you can throw a fastball down the hallway without hitting anyone.”

“Settle,” Jolie advised, shooting him an odd look. “Lindsay’s fine. And the only nurse she needs is the one who’s bringing the papers to spring her. What are you doing here, anyway? Seems like every time I visit her I’m tripping over you.”

The words shocked Lindsay enough to have her attention arrowing on Jack, too. She’d thought she’d dreamed of him, his face floating above hers, tight with concern. His voice, filled with an unfamiliar softness. But she’d convinced herself it was just the product of a drug-induced haze, an embarrassing one at that. With everything she’d been through, why would this man be at the center of her subconscious?

Jack hunched his shoulders uncomfortably. “Just dropped by a few times on my way to or from work. To get an update.”

His obvious embarrassment ignited her own. Or maybe it was the speculation in Jolie’s gaze. Whatever, Lindsay was grateful when her friend was distracted by the short bursts of sound coming from her cell.

Jolie took out her phone, looked at the screen and frowned. “It’s Trixie. I have to take this.”

“Of course.” Although Jolie was closemouthed about her biological mother, Lindsay knew the woman was dying of cancer. Despite the strain between them, Jolie was taking care of her in the last months of her life.

The other woman stepped out into the hall, her cell already pressed to her ear, braving the wrath of any medical personnel who might happen to see her. Cell phones weren’t allowed on the floor.

Lindsay caught Jack’s eye, and her throat abruptly dried. The intensity in his gaze was searing. “You did good in there.” She had no difficulty following his train of thought back to the events in the restaurant. “Most people would have panicked, but you kept your head.” His mouth crooked. “Even threw in some heroics for good measure. Pretty damn impressive.”

There was that glow again, spreading through her chest at his words, even as the accompanying memory brought a shiver. “You obviously couldn’t hear my knees knocking from outside. I was petrified the entire time.”

He leaned against the doorjamb, arms folded and one booted foot crossed over the other. “All the hostages have been interviewed and the mothers of those kids are pretty grateful. You provided us our best intel with those texts of yours.”

Lindsay rubbed her arms, suddenly chilled. “I understood what set Mitch off, but I couldn’t change his mind about what he was going to do. No one could have. And that was the scariest part of the whole thing.” Mitch Engels seemingly had nothing in common with Niko Rassi. Until she’d seen his implacable will, heard the unswerving determination in his voice. In the end, he’d been as intent on death as Rassi. And she was still trying to come to terms with that.

Jack’s look grew quizzical. “You took a helluva risk. Kinda surprising for someone who claims to like playing things safe.”

She could almost hear the sound of a trap clanging shut at his words. Because he was right. For all the care she’d taken with her current identity, that had been Grace Feller in the restaurant, not Lindsay Bradford. It was Grace who reacted without completely thinking through the consequences, to herself or to others. The recognition brought a quick little knife twist of pain. She’d become masterful at disguise. But she was beginning to doubt her ability to ever change her nature.

A nature that had brought her to Niko Rassi’s attention all those years ago.

Because she was still the focus of that searing regard, she forced a light tone. “I surprise myself sometimes.” That, at least, had never been untrue.

Jolie stepped back inside, her expression troubled. “No sign of those release papers yet?”

“What’s the matter?” Because it was clear something was.

She ran a hand through her short tousled hair. “It’s Trixie. She’s being admitted. I’m sorry, Lindsay, I know I promised to give you a lift home, but I really have to get downstairs.” Her smile seemed forced. “She can be a handful.” Her words were rife with understatement.

“Of course you have to go.” Lindsay waved her away. “Don’t worry about me. I can grab a bus.”

“Don’t be ridiculous.” Jolie was slipping her phone in her purse before she hitched the strap over her shoulder. “Jack may as well make himself useful. You’ll get her home safely, won’t you, Jack?”

Lindsay’s stomach muscles jumped, then tightened at the expression in his dark eyes.

“Absolutely.”

“This really isn’t necessary.”

“Hold still.” Jack applied the ointment from the hospital with all the care of an artist applying finishing touches to his masterpiece. “You had to know that the dressing wasn’t going to stay on in the shower. Are you sure you were supposed to get it wet?”

“I had to wash my hair,” Lindsay said with a note of finality. The nurses had seemed curiously deaf to that logic, but there was no way she was going to spend another couple days with dried blood clumped in it.

She tried to peer past him into the small sack the nurse had sent along. “What else is in there for supplies?” Since she didn’t intend to stick around long enough for the scheduled follow-up visit, she’d need to change the dressing herself, at least until the wound was healed enough to go without one.

One of his hands tipped her chin back into position, held it there. “You don’t follow directions well.”

He didn’t know the half of it. But Lindsay sat meekly while he finished, until he withdrew a large gauze dressing from the sack. “Uh-uh, way too big. I just need something big enough to cover the injury.”

“Bossy, too.” His tone was amused, but he obeyed, snipping the dressing in two before applying it and finally getting it secured to his satisfaction.

She cut short his admiration of his handiwork by pulling away and gingerly raking her hand through her hair to cover as much of the bandage as possible. She might have to hold off for a time before changing her hair color. The chemicals would be harsh against a barely healed wound. Maybe she’d invest in a wig instead.

Dropping her hand, she swiveled on her perch on the stool to face him. “Is the bandage showing?”

“A little.” He reached out to bring a strand of her hair forward, his fingers lingering. “You won’t be able to hide it altogether. It makes you look…sort of tragic.”

As if embarrassed by the observation, and his action, he dropped his hand and busied himself putting the supplies neatly back in the bag.

She stared at him, stunned. “I’m not.” The denial was automatic. It couldn’t be termed tragedy, could it, when everything that had befallen her in the last three years was of her own doing? When every blessed consequence could be laid at her door, a dark divine justice for blithely doing just as she pleased six years ago?

Mitch Engels had been the first event in all that time that couldn’t be blamed on her. The regret she’d carry from that incident at least wouldn’t be tinged with guilt.

Jack scooped up the bits of wrapping and the soggy bandage he’d replaced and crossed to toss them in the trash. She watched him, admitting silently that he was going to be one more regret from her stay in Metro City, and how the heck had that happened? Jolie and Dace, yes. The friendship there had bloomed so slowly, formed so solidly, she’d had little defense against it.

But Jack…She’d had defenses raised from the moment she’d first set eyes on him, for all the good they’d done her. For the first time in longer than she could recall she wanted a man. Not because she was lonely, or scared, but because of everything he was.

It was getting harder and harder to squelch that sly inner voice reminding her that she was leaving anyway. It would hurt no one if she indulged her desire just this once. And it was that kind of thinking, Lindsay told herself shakily, that made the man so dangerous.

Jack checked his watch. “Almost time for you to take a pill.” Their trip back to her place had taken longer than it should have because he’d insisted on stopping at the pharmacy first, despite Lindsay’s protests. She was too self-reliant for her own good, but without a car there was no easy way for her to fetch the medication later.

“That reminds me.” She stood abruptly, steadied herself with a discreet hand to the counter when she swayed, just a little. “I owe you for the hospital bill. And the medication.”

“You don’t have to worry right now….” He was speaking to her back. She’d gone to the cupboard, where she withdrew one of those false soup cans that any thief worth his salt would recognize, and gave it a twist.

He eyed the bills folded inside it bemusedly. It had come as no surprise that Lindsay didn’t have health insurance. Hell, millions of Americans were without it, and he’d already noted the sparseness of her belongings.