Reckless Read Free Page A

he wanted to know in less time than she would
believe possible. “Got no choice. I'm taking you home with me.” He
said it slowly, watching her face.
    She looked up fast, her shock in her eyes.
“You're kidnapping me.”
    He said nothing, just held her arm and
started tugging her back toward the big black car whose headlights
and wipers fought a losing battle against the pouring rain.

    Toni shivered. She was soaked, she was
barefoot and she was mad as hell. How dare this bastard make a
remark like that when he was constantly sprinkling his
speech with “gonna” and “wanna”? Her father may have been Puerto
Rican, but he'd also been one of the finest surgeons at Saint
Mary's. Her mother had taught English literature at NYU. Toni had
grown up hearing both languages, and she spoke both fluently and
flawlessly. Her English had no trace of an accent, nor did her
Spanish. She was proud of her parents. Mostly. The past had taught
her that nothing was more dangerous than an ignorant bigot.
    Unless it was being kidnapped in the middle
of the night by a hit man. She shook her head slowly as she walked
with him back toward the car, knowing there was not much point in
fighting him physically. She was going to have to think her way out
of this. Months of lurking around courtrooms and reputed mob
hangouts had given her a lot to work with. Nothing, though, had
prepared her for tonight. Tonight, she'd followed Vincent
Pascorelli from the jail. He’d been arrested for conspiracy and
had, briefly, agreed to testify against his boss, Lou Taranto in
exchange for his freedom. But then he’d suddenly recanted. The D.A.
had to let him go, as the charges against him wouldn’t hold water
anyway. It had all been a bluff. And it had backfired.
    She'd expected to see Skinny-Vinnie meet with
one of Taranto's thugs, maybe even Fat Lou himself. She hadn't expected to get a front-row seat at a hit.
    She glanced again at her captor. His long
raincoat hung open and his tailored three-piece suit was
soaked—ruined, she hoped. At least he still had his shoes
on. If he hadn't been so damn big, she might have managed to get
away from him. She supposed she'd have to make the best of it until
she had another opportunity. She was beginning to believe he wasn't
going to kill her. It made no sense, but he'd have done it by now
if he were going to.
    Her foot came down on something sharp, and
she winced, lifted her foot, jerked her arm from his grip and ran
her fingers over the sore spot. No cut. She supposed she'd live. He
watched her, his dark brows drawn together over his narrowed eyes,
as she put her foot down again.
    The next thing she knew, he scooped her up
into his arms and carried her, not over his shoulder this time, but
like a hero carries a damsel in distress to safety. Ha! When she
tried to fight him, his powerful arms tightened and she gave it up.
The guy was just too big. She sat still and clenched her teeth. His
jaw was set, she noticed as she watched his face in the rain. Maybe
he found this as distasteful as she did. He carried her as if she
weighed no more than that gun of his. She wished she was eighty
pounds overweight. She wished carrying her would give him a
hernia.
    This close he wasn't as frightening. Big,
yes, but that hardness to his face was only in the expression. He'd
lose the hardened-criminal look the minute he smiled, she thought.
She could see the shadow of a beard darkening his jaw. He stopped,
bending to pick up her shoe when they came to it, and then its
partner. As they moved past the glow of the car's headlights, she
saw his thick lips and the cleft in the center of the upper one,
which gave it a sensual shape, when he wasn't snarling.
    He wasn't half as scary as he probably
thought he was. He could've killed her. He hadn't. He could've
roughed her up, slapped her around until she was ready to do
whatever he said. He hadn't. Hell, he couldn't even make her walk
barefoot over a lot of broken glass and litter.
    When he