Chapter Six
Amerella sat in the front seat of Detective Freeman’s sedan, blanket draping her shoulders, but her body still shook uncontrollably. The only thing running through her mind was that she would’ve been dead. She should’ve been dead. The love of her life saved her. Of course he did. Who was the last person in the world she wanted to see? The one walking toward her with broad shoulders, well-fitting T-shirt showing off his narrow waist, faded jeans that cupped in the right places, and worn leather boots.
Fuck. She could spontaneously combust right this second, just from watching the man walk. God, how could she have forgotten how sexy he was? The same way she tried to forget everything about him: pharmaceutically induced suppression. She took so many pills she was sure she’d put a couple sales reps’ children through college.
Pills for manic depression, bipolar depression. Pills to let her sleep, pills to wake her up. Pills for high blood pressure the other pills were causing. God, she was such a fucking mess.
The car door opened and Frank looked at her with his amazing smile and happy eyes. She melted on the spot. He took in a deep breath, then held out his hand. “Let me help you out. Everything is safe.” She placed her hand in his and savored the feel of his callus-roughened hands.
She remembered how those hands had slid over her body, caressing every part of her. Every part. Shit. Her undies were wet now. Frank’s grip on her hand tightened as he inhaled. He couldn’t smell that, could he? No, humans weren’t able to do that.
He pulled her out of the car and into his arms. Oh, god. How she’d missed this. Missed his touch, his smell, his body pressed against hers. Nowhere else had she ever felt so protected, so safe.
His chest vibrated against her ear, kind of like a cat purring while its back was being scratched. The sound had always calmed her when agitated.
“Dubois,” said Freeman, skirting the driveway. She pulled away and for the first time noticed the people who roamed her drive and front porch. Police, an ambulance, people in hazmat gear, a guy snapping pictures, and more police. Then there was everyone lining the fence, gaping at her blown-up front entrance.
Detective Freeman hurried toward her and Frank. “Did you find anything else?”
Frank shook his head. “Everything is clean except for the kitchen door, which had two desert people and a family member here not too long ago.”
What the fuck . . . “How the hell did you know that?” she asked. She was concerned about someone knowing her son’s whereabouts more than if someone was spying on her.
His gorgeous smile reappeared. “There were two sets of footprints that had sand particles that had fallen from their shoes or clothing.”
Seriously? How did he notice something so minute? A person just didn’t see sandy footprints. Wait a minute. She snapped her head around to him. “Detective Freeman said you were here as my bodyguard. Are you . . . you . . .” She looked his body up and down. “A security person?”
Freeman stepped forward. “Let’s go around to the kitchen and talk there.” He glanced at the crowded fence. “Too many spectators for my taste.”
She let Frank guide her along the side of the brick house to the back porch. Frank pulled her keys from his pocket. “Any of these open the door?”
She picked out one with a key cap designed like a hot pink cupcake. She loved those tiny desserts. She could eat one or three with each meal. Before she twisted the lock, she looked back at Frank. He grinned and gave her an approving nod. She continued to unlock the door and went inside.
Her heart jumped into her throat when thinking about Maria being injured. Then she remembered that with her son staying with the Running Winds, Maria took the day to visit her elderly mom. Thank god.
Frank put his arm around her shoulders. “Something wrong?”
She grinned at her memories. Frank always could read her like a very open book. He knew when she was sad, worried, or needed a hug. He was either the most perceptive man she ever met or her face screamed everything she felt. She also noted how no one since him had cared about her feelings. No one gave a shit if she was alive or dead.
No. She couldn’t let her feelings for him resurface. It took so long to push them down just to keep alive with such heartache. She was angry for a second, thinking how Frank never came looking for her. Then she remembered who she was in college—not Amerella Capone, great-great-grandniece of the infamous gangster. She was Amie Truman—normal girl from Nevada. There was no way he could’ve found her even if he tried. She wondered if he had.
No, no, no. For everyone’s sake, she had to stop this. She shrugged off his arm from around her shoulders.
“I’m fine. Everything is peachy.” She sat on a wooden chair at the breakfast table and put her head in her hands. This was a complete nightmare. Now was not the time for this man to come back into her life.
A cup of coffee slid under her nose. Her favorite roast with a hint of cinnamon. Yum. One of the other chairs squeaked as it was pulled back from the table. Detective Freeman sat while Frank popped another pod into the coffee machine.
Freeman cleared his throat. “Amerella, besides the obvious, is everything okay? Something we should know about?” She shook her head and sipped from her mug. “Do you have a place you can hide out until the judge decides if there is enough evidence to go to trial?”
She thought about the Mojave, where her son was hiding. That wasn’t an option. If she went there and they found her, her son’s safety would be jeopardized. “No. This is the only place I’ve been.”
“What about a summer home your family owns?” Freeman asked.
Again, she shook her head. “Everything like that belongs to Uncle Giuseppe.”
“Whoa, whoa, whoa.” Frank nearly dropped his coffee cup on the table. He leaned both hands on the wood. His eyes slowly rolled to her. “You’re tied to the Mafia? You’re family to the Mob?”
She glanced at Detective Freeman then back to him. “Uh, yeah. Haven’t you figured that out already? I guess we’re not all on the same page.”
Frank raised a hand. “No, we are. It just sank in. I was”—he looked at her with narrowed eyes—“preoccupied with unforeseen circumstances until now.”
Oh, god. He must’ve realized everything she told him about herself was a lie. Flat-out, premeditated lie. Everything except her feelings for him. Those were as real as the sun and moon. He seemed to be debating whether he was going to sit or leave. Please sit. Please sit.
He pulled out a chair and slid his gorgeous backside onto the seat. He whipped his head toward her with a deep breath. His look was filled with anger and disappointment, nearly breaking her. She stared into her coffee.
Freeman sat back in his chair and crossed his arms over his chest. “Am I missing something, or do you two know each other?”
She would let Frank answer. She didn’t know what to say.
As usual, Frank stepped up. “Yeah, we were in college at the same time. Long time ago.”
Freeman snorted. “Can’t be that long ago. Both of you are still kids compared to me.” The detective looked between her and Frank. “Is there going to be a problem with this? Should I call Director Tumbel and get another agent?”
She said no the same time Frank did. She didn’t plan to be around him much. She’d hide in her room while he guarded the house. That would work, right? Then she remembered the RPG launcher. Shit. The bad guys could be two neighbors over and fire one of those into any window. Shit, shit, shit. This was getting worse by the second. Where could she go where the Mafia wouldn’t find her?
Frank sighed. “Getting back to the situation, the only place I can think of that would be safe for her would be my home.”
What the fuck? She replied, “I don’t think so.”