In Enemy Hands (6 page)

Gary Vandergriff’s anxious voice blasted through the phone and Dante had to hold it a couple of inches from his ear.

“You’re inside the Branson estate? Is Nadia okay?”

“She’s fine. We were attacked, but we managed to get away unharmed.”

“Attacked? What happened?” Vandergriff fairly screeched.

“Some goons ran her off the road. But she’s okay, I swear.”

“When are you bringing her to me? When do I get to see my daughter?”

Dante stared at the tile floor. “It’s not going to be that simple. The security around this place is tight. I’m going to have to make them trust me first.”

“You have to hurry!” Vandergriff said. “I can’t sit by and let her die because someone wants to get back at Nick Branson.”

“I understand. I’ll do everything I can.”

The line fell silent and Dante was about to hang up when Vandergriff asked, “Did you see my ex-wife?”

Dante frowned. “Yeah, I saw her.”

A wave of anger washed over him, hot and black, when he thought of Maria Branson and recalled how small and birdlike her hand had felt in his. Unlike her spunky daughter, she seemed so fragile.

How could a man do that to his wife? What kind of life did she and Nadia lead?

“Nick Branson is a monster,” Vandergriff said. “A cold-hearted, cold-blooded monster. He took everything from me when he stole my wife and baby away to Tennessee. I know things will never be right between Nadia and me, too much time has been lost, but I have to do what I can to protect her. You’d do the same if it was your child, wouldn’t you, Mr. Giovanni?”

Dante flipped open the worn brown wallet and smoothed his thumb over the plastic screen that protected Lara’s baby picture. “Yeah,” he said. “Of course I would.”

“Does Nadia call him Father? Does she know anything about me at all?”

“I don’t know.” Dante shifted against the cold, white tile. “She calls him Nick, but she also calls her mother ‘Maria’.” He heard voices outside and glanced at the door. “Look, I’ve got to go. I’ll be in touch soon.”

Dante clicked the phone shut and stared down at Lara’s picture, at the real reason he’d taken this case. He wondered where she was tonight and if she was safe. If Lara was in danger, he’d give his life to save her.

When he’d accepted this job from Vandergriff, he had as much as promised the same, to lay down his life to protect Nadia. To do that, he was going to have to shove aside this crazy attraction he felt for her before his distraction got them hurt.

Nadia Branson was only a job.

Nothing more. He would just have to remember that.

He quickly washed up in the sink and joined the Bransons in the dining room. Nadia was already sitting at the table. She didn’t look up when he took a seat across from her.

A plump blonde in an apron bustled through the other doorway, carrying a steaming pot. Nadia hurriedly moved a vase of fresh flowers out of the way and the cook set the dish on a flowery tablemat.

“It smells like heaven, Lee Ann,” Nadia said, and she was right.

The scent made Dante’s mouth water and, much to his embarrassment, his stomach rumbled loudly.

Lee Ann grinned. “I hope they taste like heaven too. Sounds like your young man here is in need of some nourishment.”

Nadia flushed. “Damn Yankee doesn’t even know what a dumpling is,” she grumbled. “Can you believe that?”

She finally glanced at him and Dante smiled. He received a faltering smile in return.

“Hey,” he said. “I’m not above a little educating. I’m not afraid to try anything that smells that good.”

“Well, I hope a big boy like you has a big appetite,” Lee Ann said with a wink. “I don’t like messing with leftovers.”

“I’ll try to do my part, ma’am,” he promised.

Dinner with the Branson’s was a strange affair. Dante couldn’t get a read on their relationships. Nadia and Nick seemed to have a close relationship, but what bugged Dante was the vibe between Nick and Maria.

They were a quiet couple, but seemed comfortable with each other, and she didn’t have the demeanor of an abused wife. People forgave each other for horrible things every day, but to forgive such cruelty seemed inconceivable. But then again, maybe Maria Branson was just a good actress.

Dante stared at Nadia across the table. Her sudden shyness disturbed him. He was afraid he’d hurt her some way, scared her, and it nagged at him because he’d had no intention of doing either of those things. But then she cleared her throat and looked at him.

“Dante, you’ll have to spend the night here.” She patted her mouth with a napkin and gave him what looked like a forced smile. “It’s too late to head to Indiana now, after the exciting day you’ve had.”

This was what he’d been hoping for, but he made a show of protesting. “I don’t want to impose. I am tired, though. If Ronnie or one of the guys will take me back to my car and direct me to the nearest motel, I’d be grateful.”

“Nonsense,” Maria said. “We insist. We have plenty of room, and besides, there’s not a decent motel for miles.”

Nick Branson didn’t look too happy, but he smiled and said, “Of course. Please let us do this little thing to repay you, Mr. Giovanni.”

Slowly, Dante nodded. Conversation lapsed after that. Dante lifted his glass to take a sip of tea and even the clink of ice in his glass seemed loud in the silence.

Finally, Lee Ann came to clear away the dishes and Nadia stood. Brushing the napkin against her mouth, she said, “Come on, Dante. I’ll show you to the guest room.”

Dante was still getting this weird vibe from her, like she’d thrown up a wall between them, and he couldn’t stand it anymore. She walked quickly up the stairs in front of him, and he waited until they reached the hallway to catch her wrist.

She froze.

“What?” she asked without turning around.

“Look at me.”

Her shoulders contracted. She took a deep breath and slowly turned to face him, plastering on another of those false smiles.

“What?” she repeated.

“I’m sorry for what happened in the bathroom. If I hurt you, if I scared you …”

With a nervous laugh, she said, “You scare the hell out of me.”

He thought he saw the glimmer of a tear in her eye before she ducked her head, and he wanted to know what caused it.

“I didn’t mean—”

She silenced him by pressing a fingertip to his lips. “It’s okay.” She leaned against him to brush a soft kiss on his cheek. “It’s a good kind of scared.”

She turned and started walking again. Dante decided not to press the issue.

“This is it,” she said, and pushed open a door to reveal a king-sized bed with a royal blue comforter. The battered duffle bag from his trunk lay at the foot of the bed.

“Do I get a map?” Dante joked. “I’ll be afraid to go to the john. If I get lost in this place, you’ll have to send a search party to find me.”

She gave him a patient smile. “There’s a bathroom connected to your room. You should find towels and whatever else you’ll need inside, but feel free to holler if you need me. I’m only three doors down.”

She blew him a kiss and sauntered down the hall. Once again, Dante found himself unable to look away.

Finally, he let himself in and shut the door. Something felt off with this whole thing, but Dante wasn’t sure if his instincts were true, or if his perceptions were off because Nadia made him such a wreck.

He placed the duffle bag on the bed, tugged his T-shirt over his head and pulled out his phone to call his office. When the machine picked up, he remembered how late it was and dialed Sanders at home.

“Hello?”

“Hey, Sanders. This is Giovanni again. Sorry to call you after hours.”

“Not a problem. Diane’s got me cleaning out the garage, so I need rescuing. What can I do for you?”

“It’s about Nick Branson.” Dante paused, perching on the edge of the bed to tug off his boots. “Tell me again what you know about him.”

“Um, okay. Hang on a minute while I go inside to get the folder.” Dante heard the phone clatter, then, a few moments later, the rustling of papers over the line. “Okay. Let’s see what we have here … my sources say Branson had a pretty good business going, shipping illegal aliens from Mexico to work on tobacco farms, but he’s branching out into new and naughtier things. Sources say they’d probably classify him as a mid-grade dealer, Mexican meth, but he’s got his eyes on the prize. He’s involved in a turf war with a drug lord named Diego Cortez over a section of business in Grundy County.”

“Okay.” Dante sighed and raked a hand over his face. “That’s pretty much squares with what Vandergriff told me. And you didn’t find anything at all on Vandergriff?”

“No, nothing. He looks clean. A few speeding tickets, but nothing out of the ordinary. His company makes those little foam thingies that keep my beer nice and cold this time of year.”

“What about family?”

“No close relations, now that his father is dead. He has an aunt and a couple of cousins in Maine. One ex-wife, who is now the honey of our notorious Mr. Branson. One daughter, the lovely Nadia, who was three months old when Maria walked out.”

“Okay, thanks, Sanders. I only wanted to be sure about all this.”

Dante clicked the phone shut, grabbed a change of clothes and headed to the shower. He wasn’t sure how he was going to manage it, but as soon as he got a chance, he had to get Nadia out of here.

Gary Vandergriff stared at the phone and contemplated making another call to his bounty hunter.

Not yet. Don’t push him
, the voice in his head whispered.
It’s simply a matter of time now
.

A shiver of anticipation stole through him when he thought of how perfectly his plan was working. His Trojan horse was inside, quicker than he’d ever dared to hope. He didn’t know if that was a credit to the bounty hunter, or a chink in Andreakos’ armor. He preferred to think the latter, because it pleased him to think his old enemy was slipping when he himself had never felt more cunning. More alive.

Andreakos had started this war, for years holding him powerless with his cowardly blackmail, but Gary had known his patience would pay off eventually.

So many times he’d been tempted to call Andreakos’ bluff because he knew his father. The old man had cloaked himself in religion, but the god he served was himself, and the number one commandment was “Thou Shall Not Tarnish the Family Name.”

If Andreakos had gone to him when the old man was still in power, he would’ve been signing both his and Maria’s death warrants. But also because he knew his father, and the fact that he harbored a strong sense of self-preservation, Gary had bided his time and made his plans. This time, he would not be denied.

N
adia crawled under her bed, straining to reach the pack of cigarettes stashed below the headboard. Her fingertips grazed the cellophane wrapper, but it remained just out of her reach.

Muttering to herself, she wiggled back out and yanked a clothes hanger from her closet. Resuming her position on the floor, she finally fished the pack toward her and blinked in surprise at the yellow Post-it note stuck on front of it.

It read, “Sorry, loser. A bet’s a bet.”

“Damn you, Ronnie,” she said, and crumpled the empty pack into a ball. She tossed it at the waste can and missed.

If there was ever a time she needed a cigarette, it was now.

Nadia couldn’t sleep. Her head was pounding like a drum, and the events of the day wouldn’t let her mind shut down. She felt hyper, anxious, and it had everything to do with the man down the hall.

After futilely searching her dresser again, Nadia placed both palms on her dresser and stared into the mirror.

She didn’t like what she saw.

The wan reflection gazing back at her looked scared and confused, and it made her furious.

She thought about how Dante had looked at her in that mirror, like he could see into her soul—like he
knew
her. But that was impossible. No one knew her.

Because if he did know her, he wouldn’t want her.

She was nothing. She was empty.

With another growl of frustration, she yanked open her door and wandered downstairs in her bare feet.

The mansion was oddly built, a result of Nick’s obsession with security. An outdoor garden was situated in the very center of the house, visible through three sets of sliding glass doors. Nick had built it for her mother, a place where Maria could feel safe when she tended to her flowers, but it had become Nadia’s favorite place, a place where she went to sort out her thoughts.

She felt better the moment she walked outside.

Pale marble statues glowed in the moonlight, reflective of Maria’s passion for Greek mythology. Nadia had never felt alone under their watchful stares.

Poseidon, god of the sea, presided over a cascading fountain, looking so real that sometimes Nadia could almost swear she saw his robes flutter. She gazed into the rippling water for a moment, standing close enough that a faint spray of water covered her face.

Her father had taken to throwing pennies in the bottom of the circular fountain when she was only a girl.

“Make a wish,” he’d say, then he’d send the coin sailing into the clear water. Although she had no coin to offer tonight, she made a wish anyway.

“Let him be the one,” she whispered, then flushed with embarrassment.

What a stupid little girl wish that was, because there was no “one”. Not for someone like her. Nadia wiped the mist from her face with the back of her hand and continued down the walkway.

The white cobblestones were smooth and cool against the bottoms of her feet as she wandered deeper into the garden. She trailed her fingers down the muscular arm of Ares when she passed and tried to enjoy the warm summer breeze that ruffled her hair. The scent of her mother’s roses hung heavy in the air around her.

Nadia sat on a marble bench beneath a bronze replica of Rodin’s
The Kiss
. The embracing lovers should’ve seemed out of place among the other statues, but somehow they didn’t. She stared at them and then up at the full moon, and found herself thinking again not of the man who had tried to kill her, but of the man who had rescued her.