In Enemy Hands (4 page)

Nadia nodded, and it surprised Dante that—even with bullets flying around them—he was conscious of the way her agile body felt under his.

Nadia shifted beneath him, breaking his thoughts.

“Go!” he shouted.

Dante fired a volley of shots into the area he’d last seen the gunman, trying to provide cover while Nadia scrambled for the tree.

He heard a muffled shout when one of his shots hit home, and he was reaching into the pocket of his black cargos for another clip when movement rattled the bushes on his right. A flash of blond hair appeared through the foliage and Nadia opened fire. Dante scurried toward her, keeping his head down.

“Where did they come from?” she asked, while he popped the clip into his gun.

“Those are the other two clowns from the diner. We’ve got to get out of here, before reinforcements arrive.”

“Follow me,” she said, and charged into the thick underbrush before Dante could protest. He fired another round in the blond’s direction and took off in pursuit. Branches slapped at him, briars tore at his skin, and tree roots appeared out of nowhere to trip him. Dante lost sight of her in the thicket, and paused, disoriented.

Her hand appeared magically through the bushes and tugged at his wrist.

“Come on!” she yelled, then was gone.

She ran, fleet-footed as a deer, and it was all he could do to keep up with her. They emerged at the road several moments later.

Dante squinted in the sudden burst of sunlight when they ran across the highway. Heat beat down on his back and the thick, oily smell of hot asphalt made his stomach churn when they do—bled back to his car.

Nadia threw herself into his passenger seat, laughing.

Dante blinked at her. Her green eyes sparkled with excitement, and at that moment, he knew he’d never seen anything more beautiful, even though her head was bleeding again and her dark hair was a wild tangle around her face.

“That was great!” she said, then impulsively threw her arms around his neck.

Dante wasn’t ready for the kiss, or for the sweet taste of her mouth, but his arms encircled her, pushing her back against the hot leather seat as her tongue teased his.

Her breath came hard and fast, but he didn’t think his was coming at all. Her skin was hot and slick, and the scent of her perfume had grown darker, more exotic as it mingled with her sweat.

Suddenly, her hands were at his chest, pushing him away. “My friends …” she said. “I have to see if they’re okay.”

Almost in response, sirens wailed in the distance. It broke through the fog she’d created in his brain. Dante shook it off and slammed the car in reverse, squealing tires when he headed off in the other direction.

“They’re okay, princess, but you and I had better get out of here. I don’t know how far behind Blondie is, or where the others are, so I want to make sure you’re safe before we talk to the police.”

She nodded, then popped open his glove compartment and rummaged through it until she found a handful of fast food napkins. Wadding them up, she pressed them against her streaming head.

“Whew, Slick, you sure are an exciting date!”

“Don’t call me Slick.”

“Don’t call me Princess,” she countered, and Dante laughed.

Some of the tension that knotted his gut relaxed. “What? It’s a term of endearment,” he protested.

“Yeah, well … it’s not endearing,” she replied, but she was smiling.

“I’m surprised the blond was moving,” Dante said absently, while he checked the rearview mirror again. “After I hit him with that gravy.”

“Pardon?” Nadia shot him a baffled look. “Did you say you hit him with … gravy?”

“Yeah, a whole skillet of it.”

Nadia laughed.

He grinned at her and said, “Mama told me not to waste my food, and I sure wasn’t going to eat that stuff.”

She shook her head. “You’re a nut.”

“You’re probably right,” he conceded.

If the urge he felt to pull to the side of the road and take her in his arms was any indication, she was most definitely right.

She leaned forward to pull a cocklebur off the leg of her jeans and smiled when she caught him peeking down the front of her shirt. “Keep you eyes on the road, pal. You wouldn’t want to wreck this bitchin’ car. What kind is it, anyway?”

“A 1967 GTO. I’m glad you like it.”

Dante reached a stop sign, and Nadia said, “Turn left. Take me to my father.” She gave him a faint smile. “He’s probably going ballistic by now. Flat Branch Road is a little over five miles away. Take another left when you see the sign.”

She leaned back against the headrest and squinted at him. “You know, you haven’t asked me why these men are trying to kill me. I find that a little strange.”

Dante shrugged. “I figured you’d tell me when you had a chance. We haven’t had much time for conversation, you know. Besides, whatever you’ve done to them, I didn’t think the odds were fair.” He grinned. “But it seems maybe I was wrong about that.”

Nadia ignored his attempt at humor. “I haven’t done anything to them,” she said, bristling. “They want to get to Nick, my father. The easiest way to do that is through me.”

“And he lets you walk around in the open?” Dante pretended not to notice the sharp look she shot him.

“He doesn’t
let
me do anything,” she snapped. “I come and go as I please. I’m a grown woman, in case you didn’t notice.”

Dante lifted his eyebrows and rubbed the back of his neck with one hand. “Oh, yeah. I definitely noticed.”

Nadia made a hrmmph sound in the back of her throat, but her frown relaxed. That killer smile fought its way back to the surface.

Ruefully, she said, “If Nick had his way, I’d be locked up in a nunnery somewhere.”

“That would be a shame,” Dante said solemnly.

Nadia punched his shoulder and laughed. Then she shook her head. “I guess I give him a hard time, but he doesn’t understand that if I hide away like some scared little mouse, then this man is still taking my life.”

“Why is he after your father?”

A veil slipped over Nadia’s face.

“It’s personal,” she said, and made a show of looking through Dante’s CDs. He could guess from the stubborn look on her face that she was through talking about it.

She stared at the floorboard, then said, “Fred, Jack … Mortimer?”

Dante frowned. “Excuse me?”

“Your name. You said I can’t call you Slick, so you need to tell me something.”

“My name is Dante.”

“I’m Nadia. Nadia Branson. Hey, you missed the turnoff!”

Before Dante had a chance to respond, he saw them.

They came out of nowhere, surrounding them like a swarm of bees. A black Humvee, two four-wheel drives, a motorcycle

… and they were not the police.

A Ford Bronco pulled alongside them, and a man with a bullhorn shouted through the window, “Pull to the side of the road, turn off the ignition, and step out of the car with your hands in the air!”

Dante glanced at Nadia, but she stared straight through him with an unreadable expression on her face. “Do as he says, Dante,” she said calmly.

N
adia swung out of the car before Dante could stop her.

He climbed out slowly, raising his hands over his head. A burly redhead in a Tennessee Volunteers T-shirt shoved Dante against the side of the car. The hot glass of the window burned his bare stomach as the man frisked him.

“Geez, Waynie. No wonder I can’t keep a boyfriend,” Nadia complained when he emptied Dante’s .38.

Dante jerked his head around to look at her and earned himself another rough shove from Waynie. Nadia shrugged and shot him an apologetic smile. Dante felt a rush of relief. They were Branson’s men.

“Nadia, are you okay?” the big man asked.

“Yeah, I’m having an epic bad hair day, though, and I’d kill for a cigarette. Please tell me you have one.”

“Huh uh,” Dante heard a deep male voice say. “I don’t think so. A bet’s a bet, girl. You don’t want a reputation as a welcher, do you?”

“No, Mother,” Nadia said dutifully.

She winked at Dante and hopped onto the hood of his car.

“Lord knows her reputation is bad enough as it is,” Waynie cracked, and Nadia administered a swift kick to his ample behind.

“Hey, Waynie, come on … are you going to let Dante up or not?” she asked. “He helped me get out of Dodge back there.”

The big man backed off, and Dante turned to face him.

“You were kind of right about the princess thing,” she admitted, and made a sweeping gesture with her hand. “Meet the royal guard. They mean well, but they watch way too many guy flicks at the Multiplex.”

Six pairs of eyes bored into Dante before a dark-haired man stepped forward. Something about him looked familiar—the way he stood, the shape of his blue eyes-but Dante couldn’t quite place him.

“I’m Ronnie McNamara,” he said, extending his hand. “Really, we’re more like big brothers trying to keep our bratty little sister out of trouble. Believe me, it’s not easy with this girl.”

“DanteGiovanni. And I can imagine.” He shook the man’s hand.

Ronnie held onto his hand for a second too long, then twisted Dante’s wrist around to peer at his forearm. “Marines?” he asked, pointing at the tattoo.

“Yeah, I was in the 312th platoon. Alpha squad.”

“Great!” Nadia said. “I’ve been looking for a few good men.”

Dante grinned at her and saw that someone had snuck her a cigarette. She held it up for Waynie to light.

Ronnie never missed a beat. Grabbing it out of her fingers, he said, “No bull? My brother James MacNamara was in 312th too. Bravo squad.”

“Hey, no kidding!” Dante said, recognition finally dawning. “I knew Jimmy MacNamara. He was a great guy, the most hilarious drunk in the world. He would get up and do the karaoke thing at the bar we used to go to near base.”

Ignoring Nadia’s protests, Ronnie broke the cigarette in half and tossed it over his shoulder. Rolling his eyes at Dante, he said, “Yeah, that sounds like the moron, all right. Do you believe he’s a suit in Texas now? Military defense.”

“You’ve got to be joking!” Dante laughed, then shook his head. “Jimmy MacNamara, a suit. Now that’s hard to imagine.” He pointed at the Humvee and said, “Hey, man, can I check out your ride? I love those things.”

“Sure. That’s my baby. I call her The Black Beast.” Ronnie motioned for Dante to follow him. Nadia scowled and hopped off the hood.

Dante grinned when he heard her whisper, “Give me another one.”

“Anybody gives her a cancer stick and I break his face,” Ronnie said, not looking back.

Dante brushed his fingers against the door handle and peered into the gleaming black interior. “Aw, man, I’m in love. Are these things built or what? Sleek, powerful, gorgeous.”

“Now I’m insulted.”

Nadia leaned against front fender, her bottom lip jutting out in a way Dante found sexy as hell. When she crossed her arms over her chest, the purple strap of her tank top slipped off one tan shoulder.

“Why is it you guys have nicer things to say about vehicles than you do women?” she asked.

“Because the Hummer doesn’t talk back, it doesn’t get jealous if I look at other vehicles and it only takes one flick of the switch to turn it on.” Ronnie grinned at Nadia and stuck out his tongue.

She rolled her eyes. “See, Ronnie, that mentality is the reason you can’t get a date on Saturday nights.”

“So, what’s your excuse?” he shouted, and darted around the back of the vehicle before Nadia could respond.

Dante laughed. Nadia shot him a peeved look, but it gave way to a smile when he hooked his thumb under the fallen strap of her tank top and tugged it back up.

Resting his hand on her shoulder, he said, “You don’t have to be jealous of anything, princess. You’re as sleek, gorgeous, and powerful as it gets. You handled yourself well back there.”

She gave him an uncertain smile, and Ronnie peeked back around the rear of the vehicle to see if it was safe. Seemingly satisfied Nadia wasn’t going to attack him, he said, “C’mon, Dante. You can ride back to the Branson estate with us in the Humvee. I’ll get one of the guys to follow behind in your car.”

“I don’t know, man,” Dante said.

“Come on.” Ronnie pushed a wave of sweaty brown hair out of his face. “It’s hot as hell out here. At least have a beer with us or something. Mr. B will want to meet you.”

“Yes, come with us.” Nadia slipped her hand inside his. Her fingers were surprisingly cool, and when he stared down into those green eyes, Dante doubted he could’ve refused her anything at the moment.

He helped her into the passenger seat of the Humvee and crawled in beside her. She sat close to him, so close that her long hair tickled his bare chest. That tickling intensified when Nadia turned the air conditioner up full blast.

“Ahh, that feels so good,” she said, closing her eyes.

A few moments later, she opened them and smiled up at him. A horrified Dante realized his hand was in her hair. Touching her was instinctive, and that scared him more than any gun pointed at his head.

“Now you’re the one who’s bleeding,” she said, staring at his chest.

He looked down in surprise. A row of scratches crisscrossed his skin. Magically, they began to sting.

“They didn’t hurt until you said that,” he groused.

“Sorry.”

He winced when she dug an embedded briar out with her bright red nails.

“Oops. Sorry again.”

“Where you from?” Ronnie asked, then held up a hand. “No, wait. Let me guess. I know that accent. Queens, right?”

Dante smiled. “The Bronx.”

“I’m from Riverdale.”

They talked about the old neighborhoods while Ronnie turned down a narrow gravel road. Dante was checking out Nadia’s head wound again when Ronnie groaned.

“Aw, crap. Anderson’s working,” he muttered.

They rolled to a stop at a huge black gate where an armed guard peered at them through the windshield. He tapped on Ronnie’s window.

With a sigh, Ronnie lowered it.

The guard gestured at Dante. “Who’s that guy?”

“A friend of Nadia’s. He’s okay.”

“Is he on the list?”

Ronnie tapped his hand on the steering wheel. “No, but I think Mr. B will be interested in meeting the guy who helped Nadia escape back there.”