Everything But The Truth (5 page)

“Make sure you keep your feet on the foot pegs,” he said, pointing them out. “Keep your ankle away from the exhaust pipe, and when I turn, lean into it? Okay?”

She nodded. “Will you promise to go slow?”

“Sure,” he lied, and shot out of the drive. He felt her grip tighten even more as her small breasts pressed against his back. Her thighs compressed against his hips. Maybe this hadn’t been such a good idea after all, he thought, remembering it had been a long time since he’d touched a woman.

“Where are we going?” she yelled into the wind.

“Ever been to the Catskills?” he asked over his shoulder.

“No. Why are we going there?”

“Because I think Matt was trying to tell me something when he called earlier.”

It had sounded as if Matt had wanted him to take the woman to his grandfather’s cabin. Reeve just hoped he was right. He’d hate it if he made the long trip—with a hooker wrapped around him—for nothing.

Not that she did anything for him physically, because she didn’t. He’d meant what he’d said to her when they first met. He didn’t do hookers. Nor did he trust them. Yet there was something about her that intrigued him, and it was more than just her eyes and smile. But he’d be damned if he knew what that something was.

****

Reeve swung off the main road and onto a dirt path. “Hold on tight,” he told his passenger, although if she held on any tighter she’d probably cut off his circulation.

He’d only been to the cabin once, four years ago, right after he’d left the force, but he still remembered the way off the main highway. Two lefts, two rights and then another left.

The mountains were off in the distance, looking powerful against the clear blue sky, but in a few hours the sun would set.

They bumped down the dirt and gravel paths making all the necessary turns until it opened up onto a private road. Seeing the weather-beaten A-frame up ahead, he brought the bike to a halt.

There was an old Buick station wagon parked in the drive, and he found himself wondering who would be there and why. He sat still, the bike idling between his legs, while he thought. He supposed if someone were waiting for the woman, he wouldn’t have left his car out in plain sight.

“Is something wrong?” she asked.

“No.” Dropping the bike into gear, he cruised slowly up the long drive and cut the engine. “Here we are. Home sweet home.” When she didn’t start to get off the bike, he yanked off his helmet and looked over his shoulder at her.

“I’m stiff,” she explained. “And I don’t know if my legs will work after that ride.”

Two hours on a bike was a long time for someone who wasn’t used to it. He climbed off first, then helped her to her feet, undoing the chin strap to her helmet and yanking it free.

Running her fingers through her hair and fluffing it, she said, “That feels better.” Her pale ivory forearms and shoulders were bright pink with sunburn. After a quick inspection of her skin, she didn’t complain as she walked toward the front door of the cabin. She looked ridiculous in Kevin’s sweatpants, her skimpy tank top, and red spike heels, he thought, following her.

She stopped just shy of the deck steps, lifted her face to the sky, and took a deep breath. “The air smells so clean here. It’s nothing like New York City.”

It had been a long time since he’d smelled the city, but it wasn’t something a person forgot. Reeve sniffed the air, recognizing the woodsy scent. “Uh, huh,” he agreed.

They walked up the stairs and onto the deck, but just as he reached for the handle to the screen door, the front door swung open, and an old man with snowy white hair stared out at them through the screen. “Welcome,” he said.

“Mr. Brozack?” Reeve asked. He’d met Matt’s grandfather once, but it was a long time ago. It looked as if the man had aged quite a bit since then and had to be pushing ninety.

“Yes, it’s me. I’m still ticking, as the saying goes. Matt said you’d probably show up. I see you brought your girlfriend.” Reeve didn’t bother to correct him.

Smiling, the old man continued. “When Maggie was alive, we used to come here to get away from it all. It’s quite romantic.” He pushed open the screen door and took Pepper’s hand. “Phil Brozack, at your service, ma’am.”

She gave him a bright smile. “I’m Pepper. It’s so nice to meet you.”

Reeve stepped forward and shook the man’s hand next. “Thanks for letting us use the place. How’s Matt doing?”

“Better today than yesterday. That boy is made of some strong stuff,” he said proudly. Reaching into his shirt pocket, he pulled out an envelope and handed it to Reeve. “This is for you, from Matt.”

Reeve looked at the envelope and pocketed it.

“I brought in some groceries and left my number by the phone in case you think of anything else you need while you’re here.”

“Thanks. Let me pay you for the groceries,” Reeve said, reaching for his wallet.

The man held up his hands. “Matt already took care of it. You settle up with him.”

Reeve nodded. “Thanks, Mr. Brozack.”

“Sure thing. Well,” he said, heading down the stairs, “I’d better be on my way if I want to be home before dark. There’s a shed around back if you want to get that bike out of sight.” He winked.

So, the old man knew he wasn’t there for any romantic getaway with his girlfriend. Reeve laughed to himself. “Will do.” He and Pepper watched as Mr. Brozack drove off, then they went inside the cabin to check things out.

There were enough groceries to last at least two weeks, though Reeve hoped they wouldn’t be there that long.

“This is so cute,” Pepper said, admiring the living room and dining room combo decorated with cast-off furniture and accessories. On the wood paneled walls were several family photos. Mostly of Matt, his wife Barbara, and their three children.

It was more rugged than cute, but he didn’t argue with her. Mr. Brozack had opened the windows but it still smelled slightly musty, which he knew was to be expected being that close to the lake and the woods.

“There are two bedrooms upstairs,” he said, pointing to the loft area, “and a bathroom with a shower.”

“Oh, this is wonderful.” She kicked off her shoes, dropped to the worn red velveteen sofa and rested her head against the cushion. She smiled contently for a moment, then sat up suddenly. “You said Detective Brozack called you this morning. You don’t think anyone could have put a tap on his phone, do you?”

“Matt wouldn’t have called me unless he was calling from a secure line. Don’t worry. You’re safe.”

She smiled again and breathed a sigh of relief. “Thank you.”

“For what?”

“For helping me. I know you’d much rather be back in Albany with your son. It’s obvious you don’t have a lot of sympathy for…women like me, but I want you to know how much I appreciate you getting involved.”

“I’m doing this for Matt. I already told you that.”

“Yes, I know…thank you anyway.”

He watched as her eyes closed. She looked relaxed, content, drowsy. “I’m going to put the bike in the shed,” he said.

Outside, remembering the envelope Mr. Brozack had given him, he dug it out of his pocket and ripped it open.

Reeve, the cabin should be safe. I’ll be in touch as soon as I hear something. In the meantime, keep an eye on the girl. She’s a nice kid. In fact, you two may even hit it off. We’re even now, buddy. Matt

“A nice kid?”
he said aloud. “She’s a
hooker
, Matt. Or hadn’t you noticed?”

Chapter Five

“So, do you want to go out and get something to eat, or do you want me to open a can of soup?” Lisa Lorenzo asked.

From the sofa, Roscoe Donatelli looked up at her standing in the doorway between the kitchenette and living room. He was barely able to remember the question. “What?” he asked, his mind so far removed from her he felt guilty. He didn’t mean to ignore her, but he couldn’t help it.

Lisa frowned, pushing her blond hair away from her face. Her blue eyes softened. “Honey, what’s wrong? You’ve been acting funny all day.”

“Nothing,” he lied. Roscoe didn’t want to worry his fiancée. What good would it do to tell her he was afraid of his uncle’s reaction? She’d only feel guilty for asking him to go straight. Roscoe had promised her he’d get a respectable job if she’d agree to marry him. The wedding was only six weeks away, and he’d yet to tell his uncle that he wanted out. That he wanted something better than a life of crime.

He and Lisa wanted children. Lots of children. He couldn’t take the chance that he’d end up in jail someday, leaving her to raise their kids on her own. It wouldn’t be right.

He’d hinted to Nick Montero and Louie Jacobi, just to see what they thought about him talking to Uncle Sonny, but they hadn’t been much help. Louie had drawn a finger across his throat and Nick had stared at him like he was crazy, then asked, “Do you have a death wish or what?”

So Roscoe had talked to Father Mike Micelli at St. Christopher’s. Father Mike had said, “Do the right thing, son. God’s with you all the way.” Well, Roscoe certainly hoped so because he had an appointment to meet with his uncle in the morning, although he had a feeling Uncle Sonny already knew his plans. The man had been acting pretty weird earlier today, as if he were angry with him. He’d told Roscoe he needn’t bother to come to tonight’s little meeting. Uncle Sonny always met with his guys on Wednesday evenings.

Something was going on. Something his uncle didn’t want him to know about.

A knock on the apartment door made him jump a little.

“I’ll get it,” Lisa volunteered, hurrying to the door.

Roscoe quickly got to his feet and stayed her with his hands. “No, let me.” Looking through the peep hole, he recognized the two men standing in the dim hallway. Nick Montero and Frank Harrington.
What are they doing here?

He brought a finger to his lips and motioned for Lisa to go to the bedroom. “Lock the bedroom door and don’t come out, no matter what.” A confused look crossed her face, but then she turned and scurried away.

Hearing the bedroom door close with a click, Roscoe reached under the sofa cushion and pulled out his .38 special. He slid it in the waistband of his jeans, then pulled his sweatshirt over it just as another knock sounded and Nick’s voice boomed out. “Open up, Roscoe. We know you’re in there. It’s okay. Sonny sent us to give you a message.”

A message from Uncle Sonny?
Roscoe’s palms started to sweat. He thought about ignoring the men in the hall, then slid the chain across the door and unlocked it. They’d only kick it in anyway, and then if he was still alive when they left, he’d have the landlord on his back. The jerk would probably charge him three hundred dollars for a new door.

“Hey,” he said to the men, trying to sound relaxed. “What’s up?”

“Where’s your girlfriend?” Frank asked, looking around the apartment and staring at the closed bedroom door.

“Lisa went to the store…to get some milk.”

“Is that right?” The man ran a hand through his thinning blond hair. He walked to the small kitchenette, swung open the refrigerator door and pulled out the nearly full gallon of milk. Opening the cap, he brought the jug to his lips and took a gulp. Then, wiping the milk from his mustache, he put it back on the refrigerator shelf and closed the door. “Is that right?” he asked again.

Roscoe swallowed nervously. “What do you guys want?”

“We told you,” Nick said. “We have a message from Sonny. Actually, it was supposed to be a surprise—sort of an early wedding gift. But Frankie and me aren’t very good about keeping things a surprise.” He pushed his glasses up on his fat, round face and smiled. The ceiling light reflected off his shiny bald head. “So, where’s the girl? I’m sure she won’t want to miss this.”

Frank’s gaze slid to the bedroom door again, and Roscoe said, “Leave Lisa out of this.”

The men laughed. “Why are you so paranoid, kid?” Nick asked. “We’re just going to take a little ride and show you that surprise.”

Roscoe didn’t want to go for a little ride, but he knew he didn’t have a choice. Thankful he’d gotten his gun, he went to the bedroom and tapped on the door. “Honey?” he called, hoping she was no longer in the bedroom, that she’d had the good sense to jump out the two-story window. If she had, she’d probably broken an arm or a leg, but at least she’d be alive.

His wishful thinking ended when she opened the door and peered out. “Run,” he whispered. “Go out the window.”

But it was too late. Nick and Frank were right behind him, pushing the door open more fully. “Hello, Lisa.”

Her eyes shifted between the two men, and then she looked at Roscoe, confusion etched into her features. “What do they want with us?”

“They want us to go for a ride with them,” Roscoe told her as calmly as possible.

Frank pushed past Roscoe and draped an arm through Lisa’s. “Wait until you see the great wedding gift the kid’s uncle got for you two.”

Trying to be as inconspicuous as possible, Roscoe reached for the .38. But Nick was faster. “No need for this where we’re going,” he said, pocketing Roscoe’s gun on the inside of his jacket. “Let’s go.”

Praying silently, Roscoe followed Nick out of the apartment, Frank and Lisa trailing behind them. They drove in silence toward Staten Island with Nick at the wheel of the big black sedan and Frank and Lisa in the back seat.

They stopped at the gate to a marina, and Nick used a key to open it. Slowly, they drove through, past of row of small yachts, to the far end. The car came to a stop. “There she is,” Nick said, pointing to a forty-two-foot cabin cruiser. “Your wedding gift from Sonny.”

Lisa looked at Roscoe with wonder. “Your uncle bought us a yacht?”

“Yeah, I guess so.” Roscoe didn’t have the heart to tell her the truth—that something didn’t smell right. He’d worked for his uncle a long time. He wasn’t the type of man to give away expensive presents like this one, even to family. Roscoe also knew when Frank and Nick were lying.

“Let’s go check it out,” Frank said.

The four of them made their way toward the boat, and Roscoe felt his eyes dampen with tears. He hadn’t cried since he was ten years old. But tonight, he suspected he would. His uncle had Father Mike killed, and now he was going to do the same to his own nephew and Lisa. A man who he thought loved him, at least a little bit, was going to have him murdered. The tears began to dampen his cheeks as he looked at Lisa for what would be the last time.

****

Peyton opened her eyes and surveyed the foreign surroundings, the events of the past few days coming back to her as she sat up on the sofa.

She was at the cabin in the woods. The air inside was humid, and her skin was damp and clammy. Someone had covered her with a blanket. It could only have been Reeve Sinclair.

Noticing it was brighter outside than when they’d arrived, she was wondering how long she’d been asleep when Reeve walked inside from the deck.

“You’re awake, finally.”

“Yes,” she answered, stifling the urge to yawn. “How long was I asleep?”

He lifted his wrist and glanced at his watch. “About eighteen hours.”

“Oh my God.” She flung the blanket off and began folding it. “I can’t believe I slept that long. Though it shouldn’t surprise me. I haven’t slept much the past few nights.”

“You missed dinner last night and breakfast this morning. I was about to make some sandwiches for lunch. Hungry?”

“I’m starving.” She set the folded blanket on the sofa and picked up her bag from the coffee table. Pushing her hair away from her face, she realized how awful she must look. “Maybe I could freshen up first?”

“Sure. Take a shower if you’d like.” He nodded toward the loft. “I took the bedroom on the right, and I left some fresh clothes and toiletries for you in the other bedroom.”

“Thank you.” Turning away, she strolled casually up the stairs, feeling his eyes on her with every step she took.

****

The shower was exactly what she’d needed to revive her, Peyton decided, stepping out of the stall. Quickly, she toweled off and then brushed her teeth. Refusing to put on the same underwear she’d worn for the last three days, she washed them out in the sink with a capful of shampoo. They’d probably dry in an hour if she hung them outside in the fresh air and sunlight.

She pulled a clean T-shirt over her head and then, using her towel, wiped the steam from the mirror. Examining herself, she wondered if Reeve would notice she wasn’t wearing a bra. Probably not, she thought, since she hadn’t been blessed with much in the breast department.

Stepping into a pair of jeans shorts that belonged to Reeve’s son, she sucked in her breath and zipped them. Although they were snug, they’d have to do. It was too warm for the sweat pants, and the only other thing she had was the red leather skirt.
Forget that.

She ran a brush through her hair, arranging her bangs. Since she hadn’t seen a blow dryer anywhere, she opted to let her hair hang loose while it air dried. Happy to have a clean face, she ignored the cheap make-up in her bag and headed downstairs.

After hanging her bra and panties on the deck rail outside, she let herself back in the cabin and joined Reeve in the kitchen.

“I feel like a new person,” she said, smiling and dropping into the chair across from him. A plate with a bologna sandwich and a glass of something that looked like pink lemonade, sat on the white speckled Formica table in front of her. She was ravenous, but her smile suddenly vanished.

A gun, similar to the one Detective Brozack had used, decorated the center of the table. She wondered if it was loaded. Of course, it was. He used to be a cop, and he was here to protect her from killers. It wouldn’t make any sense to have an empty gun, now would it? Still, she didn’t like looking at it while she ate.

Reeve picked up his sandwich and said, “You
look
like a new person too.” He took a bite, chewed and swallowed, the whole while watching her. There was no mistaking his meaning. That she no longer looked like a hooker.

Ignoring him, she picked up her own sandwich and bit in, refusing to look at the gray centerpiece. Bologna wasn’t her favorite, but she was so hungry it tasted better than any gourmet meal she’d ever had.

“Why aren’t you wearing any underwear?” he asked.

She choked, the bread lodging in her throat, and reached for her lemonade.
How the heck had he known that?
She’d deliberately sat down immediately after entering the kitchen, just in case his eyes wandered.

Nonchalantly, she glanced at her chest and cringed. Two wet spots—from where the ends of her hair had dripped—stained the pale blue T-shirt, advertising the fact she was naked beneath.

Clearing her throat, and refusing to let him know he’d embarrassed her, she explained, “I only have one set. I washed them and hung them outside to dry.”

His eyes darted toward the screen door, then back to her face. He stared at her for what seemed an awfully long time, then went back to eating his lunch.