Fugitive Heart (19 page)

“I’m not going without the flash drive,” Bert had said. Phil had raised his gun, pointing it at Nick to show he meant business too.

“Fine, goddamn it.” Nick had told them where to find the rock in the woods where he’d hidden the flash drive. Anything to get them on their way so he could go help Ames.

Bert had paused to look out the window, the garbage bag of money slung over his shoulder. He backed away from the front of the house. “I’ll be in touch.”

“No.” Nick halted his frantic dash to the front door. “We’re done, you and I, Bert. I don’t want to hear from you again.” But his old friend was already out the back door.

And Nick had given up his only leverage with the Espositos in his hurry to get to Ames.

Bobby Brown was talking to him. “Wake up, Rossi. Why don’t you tell me what you know? I dug up your name, so I know you’ve got a past with these guys. Give me something to work with, and I’ll decide who I need to keep my eye on.”

Nick fought the urge to tell him anything, just to get the hell out of this room. He needed to hold Ames. But he wouldn’t say anything until he knew for sure Bobby Brown couldn’t be bought.

Esposito money had paid for more than one officer of the law over the years. His father’s fate nagged at him. They’d trusted Agent Kennedy, and he turned right around and told the Espositos all about Rossi’s approach to the FBI.

Kennedy’s boss, Giordano, probably was a straight arrow. He’d gone after Kennedy after the attack on Nick’s father. Giordano had a hard-on for the Espositos once it became clear that someone in his group had been turned. Giordano had come to see Nick a couple of times over the years, and he’d closed the door in the agent’s face. Nick’s father had survived the attack, but just barely, and their lives had been trashed.

No more trusting law enforcement.

But Nick had to admit this small town seemed different.

All those people showing up at once—that just didn’t happen, in his experience. It would be hard to sweep corruption and bad business under the rug in Arnesdale. But he couldn’t count on that, could he? Not when it came to Ames. He swallowed most of his worry and leaned forward so his hands rested on the table. He looked into Bobby Brown’s flat gray eyes.

“Listen. I’m with you on this because I want all the garbage with the Espositos over and done with. I want to get my life back. I will talk, but only to Tom Giordano of the FBI. And by the way? I’ll tell Agent Giordano the same thing I’m telling you now. Ames doesn’t know a damned thing more than Jake.”

“The FBI?” Bobby’s brows furrowed. “I’ve already alerted the state police for help. I’m not sure we need to involve the feds yet.”

“What else can you go with? I bet those two guys in the hospital aren’t going to talk to you, and what do you have on them? Let me guess. Their story is that the gunshot wound was an accident. Idiot number one was cleaning his gun when it went off and hit idiot two?” He didn’t think Les and Duffy were actually idiots, but he wasn’t going to give so much as their names to Brown.

Brown frowned and looked away.

Nick figured he’d gotten it right but tried, “Are you going to attempt to get them on something like carrying a gun without a permit?”

Brown made a disgusted noise. “The laws are looser here than in New York. They told me that too. They know their gun laws.”

“Here’s something I know about the Espositos, and you are not going to like it.” Nick drew in a long breath, wondering if exhaustion and the desire to get the hell out of the station were making him too chatty. He released the sigh. The information wouldn’t hurt Ames, and that was what mattered. “Sometime in the next hour or so, the best lawyers in the state are going to show up in Arnesdale, and they’re going to get those two out of here. If you try to stop them, then your friend with the shotgun. What’s his name—”

Bobby Brown scratched his chin. “Gopher.”

Ames’s boss who made the great fried chicken? Probably. So Nick would have to try protect him too. After years of keeping only his own butt and job safe, he was back to trying to protect people he cared about. Somehow it didn’t bother him as much as he once would have guessed.

He went on, “If you or your friend Gopher press charges, Gopher is going to end up getting a civil case slapped on him that’ll clean him out. He put an injured man in restraints, if I remember what happened correctly.”

The whole morning had felt like a dream. A nightmare, actually. Ames alone with two killers, and he’d walked away from her only to hear that gun going off. Jesus, he’d aged a thousand years during those seconds. He rubbed his eyes and got back to the matter at hand. “Those high-priced lawyers will have Gopher’s tooth fillings before they’re done. The two guys in the hospital will leave town as soon as humanly possible, and they will punish anyone who tries to stop them.”

“You’re talking from experience?” Bobby Brown leaned forward in his chair. “They’ve done that for you, have they?”

No. They did it
to
me and my family.

“Have you found Bert Esposito yet?” Nick asked.

Brown didn’t answer for a moment, then surprised Nick by talking again. “I think he took off from a small airport, ninety miles south of here. A friend in the state police is checking on that.”

Nick only said, “I’ll talk to the feds but, like I said, only to Agent Tom Giordano.”

He didn’t have a lot he could give them, but if anyone could squeeze something useful from Nick’s description of the book and flash drive, it would be Giordano.

The agent was a humorless workaholic but Nick was fairly sure he was an honest jerk. As certain as Nick could be—he trusted only a couple of people in the world.

Brown reached for a mug of coffee and drank, watching Nick over the rim. Nick gazed at the swirling script on the mug spelling out
World’s Best Uncle
. He amused himself for a few seconds, imagining Bobby Brown’s relatives presenting him with the gift.

Brown tapped his fingers on the side of the cup and nodded. “All right. Where are you going to be staying? At your house?”

Nick wasn’t going to volunteer anything he didn’t have to. “You have my cell phone number. I won’t leave the town limits, so it’ll be easy to find me.”

Brown drained the coffee and stood. “You’re right. I got nothing to keep you here. And nothing on Les Delgado and Danny Duflin.”

Nick raised his brows. “You got their names that fast?”

“Both have been arrested before. Never convicted, though, so they’re allowed guns.” Bobby Brown frowned again and put down the mug firmly. “Okay. I’ll call your Agent Giordano. They probably already know I’m interested because of the Internet search I did.” He muttered something about goddamn feds.

“Giordano’s in the New York office,” Nick said and flashed back on all the hours he’d spent in Federal Plaza. But more time there would be worth it, to keep Ames safe—and maybe get the Espositos to leave him be. Even after the last few weeks of misery he wouldn’t mind if Elliot got off scot-free. The jerk might have messed up Nick’s life, but he’d given him something—Ames.

Brown led him to the front of the police station, which also operated as the village hall. They found a couple of uniformed cops, a janitor…and Ames. His heart soared like in some greeting card or love poem, and the strength of his emotion made him finally understand what all the fuss was about when people declared their love. He feasted on the sight of Ames—deceptively soft and vulnerable looking with her wide eyes shadowed from the long night and her hair tangled in a frizz of curls. But he knew she wasn’t really that soft, nor was she weak. The woman had a will of iron and the bite of a tigress. She was a survivor, and she would protect her own. Astonishingly, she apparently viewed Nick as someone worth calling “hers”.

A small, gray-haired woman with eyebrows plucked into surprised arches sat behind the desk at the front entrance of the jail. She smiled at him and looked ready to talk, the way so many people in this town did, simply chatting up random strangers.

Nick needed Ames alone, where he could hold her, so he grabbed her and pulled her past the nosy receptionist into the fresh evening air. He drew in a lungful and felt as if he could breathe for the first time in days. He wanted to haul Ames up against him and kiss her until the whole world went away, but Brown and the others might be watching them from the ornate brick municipal building. He didn’t give a rat’s ass who saw, but this was Ames’s town and she might care.

She looked up and down the sidewalk and crossed her arms against a cool breeze. “What’re you going to do now?”

“I promised I’d stay in town. Deputy Brown is going to contact me soon.”

“You call him Deputy Brown?”

“He seems to want to keep our relationship formal.”

Finally she looked at him, her brow puckered with concern. “Poor Nick. Was the questioning awful?”

“Nope. Not even close.”

“Did Bobby tell you anything new? Like maybe something about Elliot?” She sounded so hopeful he wished he could say something optimistic, but was too tired to put a spin on it.

“Not a word. I’m sorry. The Esposito guys in the hospital aren’t talking.” He took a step toward her, unable to resist getting close to that trim little body. “So. Your place is walking distance from here.”

“That way.” She nodded toward the east then looked at him with questioning eyes. “Want to join me for breakfast?”

“Yes. Thank you.” Food was the last thing on his mind, but he wasn’t going to let Ames out of his sight. Besides, her invitation seemed to be about more than breakfast.

They strolled along the sidewalk, past several storefronts, behind the windows of which Nick could feel curious eyes watching them. Then they turned onto a side street and left the “shopping district” behind. Leafy branches shaded their path. Big old houses with wide front porches sprawled on generous green lawns.

“Nice neighborhood,” he said.

“Mine’s just an apartment. Maizie Jones converted her house to several apartments and, boy, you should’ve heard the neighbors call to arms at the zoning meeting. But Maizie had sway with the board, so her request made it through.”

Nick smiled at the small-town politics, actually not so different from city wards, where those with connections got what they wanted.

“And here we are.” Ames turned up the pathway to another Craftsman. Plants hung from the eaves of the porch and the upper windows regarded them like sleepy eyes. She trotted up the stairs, which had been added to one side—no wonder the neighbors had complained—and reached under a flowerpot for the door key.

“Left my purse at your house,” she explained as she unlocked. “Although I suppose locking at all is pointless when the key’s so easy to find.”

“I thought people in the Midwest didn’t lock up at all.”

“Not so much, but I figured under the circumstances…” She smiled and pushed the sticking door open with a shove of her shoulder. He’d picked her up here, but hadn’t come in. He could imagine what her apartment would look like—warm colors, inviting furniture, lots of throw pillows, a safe nest to roost in.

The door opened right into the living room, no hallway or foyer. Clearly some walls had been taken out to turn what had once been bedrooms into a living room and kitchenette. The awkwardly laid-out space had a homey vibe that reflected its owner, from the yellowish hue of the walls to the cotton curtains at the windows. The furniture appeared squashy and comfortable, and the area rug that marked the living area was worn bare in spots. Bookshelves and end tables overflowed with stuff. It was clear Ames was a bit of a packrat and needed more space. Like a house in the country.

“Let’s see. I hope I have coffee…and cereal. And milk to put on the cereal.” Ames headed into the kitchen and peered hopefully into the fridge. “Unfortunately, I was going to go shopping after our lunch out. Was that only yesterday? How do you feel about stale Pop-Tarts?”

Nick followed her into the kitchen and closed the door on the nearly empty fridge. “I’m not really hungry. Are you?”

Ames slumped against the appliance. She seemed pale; her eyes looked enormous. She appeared cute and vulnerable, and he wanted to kiss away the shadows under her eyes. “No. More like exhausted but kind of wired too. I feel like I’m buzzing like a power line.”

“Adrenaline. Takes a while to work it out of your system.”

She tipped her head back to look up at him. God, she was a tiny thing. Before he met her, he’d never known he had a protective streak. Or a mile-wide yen for feisty females. A slow smile showed the dimple in her cheek, and suddenly the yen to protect her turned into something even more primitive.

“Got any ideas about ways to unwind?” She squinted and wrinkled her nose. “Aw, geez. You must think I’m some kind of nympho. Trust me, I’m not usually like this, but around you…”

He smiled and slid his hands around her waist. “Me too. Guess it’s just chemistry.”

“Or heightened emotions from being in a life-or-death situation.”

“Like last night. But I think we should experiment. You know, find out if we still enjoy ourselves. Because I really, really”—he kissed his way along her jaw with each
really
—“really enjoyed you.” She made a breathy sound deep in her throat. He stroked the sweet curve of her hip. “Yeah. I remember you said something about long, slow lovemaking. I’d like that more than breakfast.” He bent and plucked at her soft lips with little nibbling kisses that quickly bloomed into something fuller and deeper.