The Bounty Hunters: The Marino Bros.: Box Set (101 page)

Lisa was ready; she opened to him and allowed him to get his fill. She’d be there ahead of them. Her flight left tomorrow morning, and she would be signing the contracts in the afternoon for the new house. They had found it on line, and their realtor, had taken them through the house in real time using Facetime. They had fallen in love with the neighborhood.
Seminole Heights
was one of the quaint historical neighborhoods in the Tampa Bay area. The homes were not identical and the architectural styles showed the influence of the arts that the neighborhood was known for.

Lisa loved the porch that ran along the entire front of the four bedroom home, and the tree lined streets. The schools in the area were top notch. Andreas had gone with the realtor as well, to assess the work on the recently renovated home. It had been priced to sell, but he had nothing but good things to say about all the upgrades.

Both Gio and she agreed to make an offer, and it had been accepted. She would be there for the final inspection, sign all the papers, and Gio would be there the following day.

She couldn’t wait to fill the house with things they chose together. Their home, she savored the thought, as Gio broke the kiss that curled her toes and left her wanting more.

He began to walk to the truck, and she followed him. “Okay, we will call every night, and we will be careful,” he assured her one final time before climbing in. He wanted to get a few hours of driving in so he could take the next two days easier and get to know more about his son.

“Love you. Both,” she called and waved as Gio began to back out of the driveway of her parents’ home. She was sleeping there for her last night. Her parents had promised to visit them in Florida once they were settled.

Gio honked the horn, and rolled his window down. “Love you, Lisa.”

She smiled. Yes, he did.

The
End

Book 4 of The Bounty Hunters (The Marino Bros.)

By
MJ Nightingale

To all those who have a dream. Never give up.

To those who feel the weight of the world on their shoulders, don’t lose hope.

To those suffering alone, know you are not.

Six Months Earlier . . . (April 2015)

S
he. Was. Beautiful.

Still is, he thought.

He scooted closer to the wall, repositioned himself for comfort, and then once again brought his face to the small hole he had made in the closet. Placing his eye over the peephole he watched, and remembered.

Catarina Stone was standing before her mirror brushing out the tangles in her thick black hair as she blow dried it to make it smooth. His palms itched to touch her hair. He felt himself getting hard.

She wore a simple white nightgown that reached her knees. Her feet were bare. What he could see of her legs showed him she was still fit. Perfect. He adjusted his erection choking back the groan that threatened to escape from his lips.

He had to sit back for a moment, collect himself.

He counted to twenty, and then leaned forward again to watch.

She had unplugged her blow dryer, then disappeared into the bathroom, and he cursed his impatience. He watched until his eyes began to water, trying not to blink so he wouldn’t miss her coming back into the room. He’d be able to catch a glimpse of her face then.

It seemed like forever. But ten minutes later she emerged from her ensuite, and grabbed the remote off her high boy dresser.

He nearly choked back a sob at her beauty. The whore. That’s what she had been, still was. Yet he loved her. She had been kind to him once. That was when it began, twelve years ago. Catarina was thirty-one now. But he still remembered her at nineteen. He’d been just a few years older, only twenty-two. She’d disappeared. Vanished. Then everything had come crashing down around him. His father still rotted in jail, but he’d managed to escape. But for two years he’d yearned for her. Her smile. Those eyes that glowed grey with flecks of gold. She hadn’t smiled much then. But for him she had. They had been friends, he’d thought.

He’d brought her extra food, books to write in. She was always writing in her little books. He’d asked her about them once. She said they were her diaries. But they were all in Dutch. Her language. She was born in Amsterdam. She’d told him that.

He got bits and pieces out of her when he brought her treats. But he never dared to stay too long in her presence then. He didn’t want his father to find out, plus she was a working girl. One of his father’s many slaves.

Catarina stood, legs slightly apart by her bed. She was close enough to touch. He wanted to touch her. He’d never dared. He sniffed at the wall trying to inhale her scent as he imagined stroking her thighs, cupping her.

His cock hardened even more, and it became so painful. Yet he resisted.

Not yet.

Catarina settled on Bay News 9, a local twenty-four hour news program. She always did that. She’d surf the local stations, but always chose the news. She set the timer on the remote so the television would shut itself off in forty-five minutes, and placed it on her night stand. She quickly crawled into bed. She always slept in the middle. On her back, then in the night she would roll to her side away from him.

It never took her long either. She was usually out in fifteen minutes, and then came the turn. Away from him. Just like before.

He watched. He waited. And just like clockwork, she fell asleep.

After she turned, only then did he grasp his cock in his hand after fishing it out of his pants, and jerk off. He came quickly, but wanted to scream her name. Catarina. He silently lifted his closed fist, and pretended to smash the wall that separated them. After cleaning himself up, he got ready to go to work. The white putty he used to cover the hole could be removed tomorrow—and he could watch her again. But now there were hallways to vacuum, mirrors to clean, and banisters to polish. The Trump Towers in Tampa did not clean itself and he needed to hurry. This wasn’t even his floor.

Salvatore shut the closet door, and padded out of the empty apartment. The owners were snowbirds, and they were gone for eight long, beautiful months of the year. That gave him time—plenty of time. He hummed softly as he hit the stairwell taking him back down to the seventh and eighth floors.

He immediately got to work upon finding his cart.

Ah, Catarina. He’d missed her. And she brought back those urges he thought he’d been able to suppress. A plan began to form. He hadn’t done anything bad in nine years. Nine long, lonely years. And she had made him do it when she disappeared.

Twelve years ago, this beauty had escaped him. She wouldn’t do that again, he vowed. Never again. If she tried, she would be beautiful no more.

Six Months Later . . . (November 2015)

A
ndreas opened the
door and immediately loosened the tie at his collar. It had been a long day. He climbed the stairs two at a time, his shoes making soft noises up the wide marble staircase on his way to his bedroom. The house was quiet. Too quiet.

Ever since his brothers moved out, the huge house on Anna Maria Island seemed too large. He still loved it though. His business and solid investments made the purchase possible within the first year of his move to Tampa.

The hallway was dark, but he didn’t need the light. He knew where he was going, past the four large bedrooms, two on either side of the long hallway, each with their own bathrooms, to his own master suite. He opened the door, and flicked on the light. Soft tones illuminated the room. The grey walls, and midnight blue décor soothed him immediately, and the stress of the day and long night faded away. All his brothers were married now, settled down.

He shook his head at the thought. All of them younger than him. All of them had found their soul mates, and he was happy for them. He looked forward to having more than just the one nephew. The house would be full on Sundays at least. But he had no plans to settle down. Soul mates were not for him. No woman had ever been able to capture his heart. Not even the one he had been engaged too. He’d proposed back then because she pressured him to do it, and he felt it was time. But at thirty-five, he was older, wiser.

He went to the dresser that faced the wall across from the sliders that opened onto his balcony overlooking Tampa Bay. The waves soothed him. So different from the street sounds that had come in through the windows of his New York apartment.

That had been another time. Another life. One he didn’t regret leaving behind. Except for one thing. There was only one. Not catching his parents’ murderer.

*     *     *

He removed his
cuff links, placed them in a drawer of his dresser designed for his jewelry.

He finished undressing, setting his tuxedo garments carefully on a chaise longue in the corner of his room. His decorator had assured him it was manly, but the piece came in handy to lay out his attire before and after special occasions. He thought about the event he just left. His brother Nikko’s wedding to his fiancée Ronnie. She was a beautiful bride. All his brothers and their wives stood up for Nikko. All newly and hastily married. Blaze had wed his Bella over the Labor Day weekend in a small ceremony and announced they were pregnant. Gio and Lisa got hitched right here a few weeks earlier, on their son’s birthday. And Nikko married his Ronnie just six hours earlier.

With all the weddings hastily planned, Ronnie hadn’t minded in the least that Nikko’s brothers married while she was planning her own event. It had been quite a year for the Marinos. And they were all blissfully happy and well-suited to each other. He was pleased for all of them.

He walked towards his bathroom, flicked on the overhead lights, and quickly made his way to the shower. The wedding, held at
The Pelican
, had been spectacular. Outdoors, in autumn, the beautiful gardens and beach views had been impressive and festive. The weather in early November was comfortable enough that the guests enjoyed the outdoor ceremony and patio reception under the stars.

He enjoyed himself as well. His date had been more than willing to come home with him tonight and finish the evening off right, but he’d turned her down. He’d taken Annie to way too many events of late. She was great in bed, and their no strings attached relationship was working, but after tonight he knew he needed to cool his heels a bit with her.

She was a well-known realtor, and although a bit older than his thirty-five, he found her New York attitude refreshing, and her candor entertaining. She cursed like a truck driver, and everyone enjoyed her company. But six months was long enough. He’d met her while helping Lisa and Gio house shop. It was time to move on. Annie had plenty of other companions; she wouldn’t remain on the vine long.

His shower done quickly, and methodically, Andreas stepped out of the overly large steam shower feeling refreshed. Toweling off, he then wrapped the same towel around his hips and walked back into his large bedroom.

He grabbed the remote and flicked on the news, Bay News 9, a twenty-four hour news network that covered the local scene. He’d catch up quickly on the day’s events as he prepared his tuxedo to be brought to the cleaners. He had another black tie event coming up next month, a charity fundraiser for the General’s passionate cause, and a charity he also supported, Fight for the Fallen. He liked the General, respected his hard work in the community, and had attended for the last two years.

Done with prepping his tuxedo, he began to shut the lights and was about to crawl into bed when a story on the news caught his attention.

“Police continue to investigate the murder of a Clearwater college student, Crystal Smythe, whose body was discovered by her roommates yesterday. The young woman was mutilated, and tortured before she was raped and killed. Police have no leads, but believe this murder may be linked to an Orlando woman’s death three weeks ago. Fatima Perez, a recent graduate of The University of Central Florida. If anyone knows of a connection between the two, or has any information on these murders, please contact your local police department or call the tip line number on the bottom of your screen.”