Dirty Lies Page 16

I groaned and steeled my resolve. "I've gotta get a handle on myself. I think tonight I'm going to tell him I need some space. I have to focus on my job."

  Emily rolled her eyes and put her hands in a yoga prayer gesture. "Skylar. Balance. No one's telling you that you can't have hot sex and a good job."

  "We haven't had sex."

  "What? Why not?" Emily whispered loudly. "But…you spent the night at his place. I thought you had decided to just be friends with bene—"

  I stood and took Em by the arm. While rolling my eyes, I pulled her into a corridor near the bathrooms where no one could overhear our conversation. "Shh. I've decided to wait."

  "For what? The zombie apocalypse? Is he a shitty kisser? Does he have a small dick?"

  "No." Far from it. I grinned.

  "Then why wait? God, Skylar, you're wound so tight. Just fuck him."

  For a moment I thought I was in high school, what with the peer pressure. I sighed. "I just want to feel good about it. Like I'm doing it for myself, not because he wants it."

  Emily shrugged. "Okay. But don't be a cock-tease, either."

  "Whatever. He seems fine with teasing." Luca seemed to love our ever-heightening erotic encounters. "But I'm worried he'll be the best sex I've ever had. He has to be. We've just fooled around, and it's better than anything I've experienced with any other guy."

  Emily blinked skeptically. "And you're worried about…what?"

  I didn't expect my friend to understand. Or anyone to understand, really. This was my personal quirk. "I know it'll be amazing with him. I just know it. And then it'll be emotionally impossible for me to move on when we break up. When he says goodbye. He's already said he won't be in Florida for that long, and I'm not sure I can deal with the emotional aftermath of breaking up with my sexual soul-mate."

  "You haven't fucked him and you're worried about the emotional aftermath of when you break up? Sexual soul-mate? What kind of crap is that? Maybe he's awful in bed."

  I could see that Emily was losing patience. "No. He won't be awful. That's the thing. I can feel that we're totally, completely perfect for each other sexually. I've never felt like this before. All my past boyfriends have been…just a waste of time. I see that now."

  "Okay, this is getting way too complex. Just get horizontal and enjoy it."

  I chuckled. "Fine. I'll keep you posted. I'm going for coffee now. Want to come?"

  Emily shook her head. "Nope. Gotta make calls."

  I nodded and left the building. I needed some space, anyway. Time to think.

  As I walked the few blocks to the café, my obsessive thoughts took over. For the first time that day, my mind wasn't on Luca. It burned me that Jill thought I was distracted. I mean, I was, but I hated being reprimanded, even a little, for anything. My inability to take criticism was a shortcoming, I knew.

  As an only child, I wanted to please authority figures. I'd always loved my teachers, got perfect grades and did everything my mother asked. God knows I was still trying to please my mother five years after her death.

  So, what am I doing now? Spinning my wheels?

  Living on Palmira, hanging out with Luca, working at a small island newspaper—I didn't think any of this was what my mother had wanted for my life. She wanted me to be more.

  Or maybe I wanted more out of my life.

  A guilty feeling settled over me as I shuffled into the cafe and ordered my iced coffee. Thoughts spiraled out of control, into another universe.

  I'm a shitty reporter.

  I'll be fired.

  I'll have to take a waitressing job to pay my student loans, and probably have to work at the Sloppy Iguana wearing a tight T-shirt that said "Is Eight Inches Enough?" in reference to the bar's hot dogs.

  Probably I'd make more at the Iguana than at the newspaper. That thought was even more depressing.

  As I left the cafe, I focused on my feet, dejected. Then I felt myself bump into something—or someone.

  "Oh! I'm so sorry!" I gasped, feeling iced coffee dripping onto my hand. The lid clattered to the ground, and a few ice cubes skittered along the tile near my ballet flat. I had indeed run into someone, a birdlike woman around my age, who was wearing white pants that now had a golf ball–sized brown coffee stain on the thigh.

  "Crap, I'm sorry. God, I am a klutz," I said as looked at the woman, whose light brown eyes were narrow slits. "I wasn't paying attention. It's totally my fault. I am incredibly sorry. Here."

  I handed her my fistful of napkins. Somehow my own clothes were unscathed by the liquid.

  "Look at my pants," the woman said in a harsh voice, then added something in a foreign language. She looked at the napkins as if I'd handed her a bag of dog poo.

  I paused for a beat, tilting my head. The words sounded Italian. And the woman looked classically Mediterranean, with long, dark hair and olive skin. She was gorgeous, actually, with perfectly made-up red lips, high-heeled strappy sandals and long, dark lashes.

  The woman stared at me, and our eyes met. The woman's gaze traveled slowly down my body, and I felt a mixture of self-consciousness and, strangely, fear.

  Something in the way the woman clenched her jaw and thinned her lips seemed unnaturally incensed. Unhinged-looking, even. I should have been paying better attention as I walked, but it wasn't that big of a coffee stain. Nothing that water and soap, or dry cleaning at the most, couldn't fix.

  "You should pay attention to where you're going," the woman hissed. The shade of her nails matched her lips perfectly, and I briefly wondered if I could ever look that organized, that put-together. That beautifully sophisticated.

  "Really, I'm sorry." The way this tiny woman stared into my soul made me feel like I was stranded in the woods during a New England blizzard. Cold. Uncomfortable. In danger.

  "Forget it." The woman shot me a disgusted look and then turned toward the bathroom, tossing her hair.

  Embarrassed and creeped-out, I whispered another apology to the woman's back then fled the café.

  I shivered, grateful for the blinding Florida sun and the blanket of heavy humidity.

  It took several moments for my body to warm up.

  Chapter Thirty-Nine

  An Unexpected Visitor

  ANNALISA

  I scrubbed at my white jeans in the bathroom, swearing softly in Italian. Skylar was not only fucking Luca, she wore terrible clothes and was clumsy.

  How will I punish the little bitch?

  Skylar didn't deserve to be killed, not really. Even I wasn't that crazy. Or was I? A smile spread across my face. Maybe the American girl could at least be scared into staying away from Luca.

  I scrubbed harder at my thigh, leaving balled-up residue of brown paper towel behind. The stain had nearly disappeared, but an ugly wet patch remained. I tossed the frayed paper towels on the floor and swept out of the bathroom.

  While I waited to get her order, a short, bald man approached. "I wondered if I'd run into you here," he said in Italian. "It's the only place where you can get a decent espresso on this island."

  Oh, fuck.

  I looked into the man's dark brown eyes and tried to hide my fear.

  Gianni Palo. One of my cousin's men. A soldier. A killer.

  "What are you doing here?" I hissed, continuing the conversation in Italian.

  "Same thing you are." He ran a thick hand over his bald head. I had always thought Gianni sexy in a raw way. There was something about his compact, powerful body, the way his upper lip curled into a slight sneer, and, of course, his bald head, that was attractive.

  The barista put my espresso on the counter, and Gianni put his hand on Annalisa's back. "Let's go chat in my car."

  I nodded, then paused. I needed to bide my time with him. A lot of people chatted with Gianni and didn't end the conversation alive. He was known around Naples for being a little stupid and a lot lethal.

  A thousand thoughts ran through my mind. Was he here to kill me? Kill Luca? Kill us both? He sure as hell wasn't here on vacation.
/>   "Wait," I said. "Can we go to mine? Some bitch just spilled coffee on me and I have some wipes there."

  Gianni shrugged. "Sure."

  I swallowed hard as he guided me outside, then I pointed to the burgundy Toyota rental. Trembling as I slid into the driver's seat, I fired up the car and blasted the air. I pawed around in her purse and found a stain-removal packet. I couldn't stop my hands from shaking.

  "Calm down, Annalisa. I'm not here to kill you."

  I pressed my lips together and exhaled. Stared at the steering wheel. "So, you're here to kill Luca?"

  "Not exactly." Gianni sipped his coffee. "Your cousin sent me here for two reasons. To find you, because you know where Luca is. Or you'd be with him. I'm surprised you're not in his bed yet."

  So am I.

  But since Luca never left his gated fortress, it was impossible to get inside. I'd even seen security, or some workers, doing something with the gate and fence near the beach, so it was challenging to get him alone when he wasn't with his uncle or that horrible girl.

  I offered Gianni a smile. "I'm close."

  "I'm sure you are," the man said softly. His eyes traveled to my cleavage and then to the wet stain on her leg. I unwrapped a wipe and scrubbed hard at my leg.

  "Bruno wants me to put you on a plane home. He doesn't want you here, interfering. He wants you to get help. I'm supposed to tell you that he'll pay for whatever you need."

  I opened my mouth to speak, but Bruno held up a hand.

  "Now, don't get upset. Bruno's grateful that you led us to Luca. He'll reward you for that."

  I nodded slowly. "Have you been following me since Miami?"

  "Of course. We've been tracking your cell calls too."

  My heart sank. How stupid could I be? "Wait. Is that why he told me Luca was in Florida? Because he knew I'd find him?"

  Gianni laughed. "Bruno knows you're a better researcher than any of us. And your English is excellent. He figured finding Luca quickly would be easier for you. My English sucks, and I have no patience. And Bruno doesn't have access to as many of us as he used to, not when he's under house arrest."

  I grimaced. I should have known my family would interfere. They always did. They never trusted me or my feelings. I swallowed a lump of rage.

  Think. Think.

  How am I going to get out of this?

  "What are you going to do with Luca?"

  "Bruno wants me to bring him back to Italy to testify, say the book was all a lie."

  I shifted in my seat and shot Gianni a skeptical glance. "Like the judge will buy that. Bruno will need a lot more than Luca's testimony to get acquitted. I've read there's a lot of evidence against him."

  Gianni sighed. "Yeah. Bruno's working on other witnesses and alibis on the murder charges. He figures he'll serve time for a few counts of racketeering, but hopefully he'll get off on some of the murder charges. The judge on the case was a sailing buddy of Luca's father, so Luca's testimony could go a long way. It's worth a shot."

  "How are you going to get Luca back to Italy? That won't be easy."

  Gianni curled his fingers and inspected his nails. "I'm going to tell him I'll kill his uncle if he doesn't go. He won't want his only living family member to die. We were going to use you as collateral…had you started sleeping with him again. Now we won't need to go through that charade."

  I exhaled. My cousin Bruno was even more heartless than I was. "And I suppose you want me to tell you where he is."

  "Exactly." Gianni watched two police officers walk toward the café. They each checked me out as they passed, and one smiled lasciviously and winked.

  "But let's go somewhere a little more private to have this conversation, no? I don't like being so exposed here, especially with you. You attract too much attention. You're too pretty, Annalisa."

  I nodded and tried to stall. Should I take him back to my hotel room? No, that wouldn't do.

  Gianni reached onto the dash and grabbed the brochure for the swampy preserve the hotel clerk had given me a few days earlier. "Oh, hey. Let's go here. This looks private. I heard about this park."

  I winced. It was the place with the fucking alligators.

  Chapter Forty

  Blood

  ANNALISA

  The long wooden boardwalk into the swamp seemed to stretch for miles. Dense green foliage pressed up against both sides of the waist-high wooden rail, and I fought back a wave of revulsion.

  God, I hated nature. It was so out of control, so untamed, so claustrophobic. Especially in this damn heat.

  "You never imagine Florida being like this," Gianni remarked. "You think of the sand and water, of Disney, of clubs on South Beach. This is actually pretty cool."

  I stopped to read from a wooden sign. "Says here it's an eighth of a mile to the river."

  "Let's do it. You okay in those heels? I just didn't want to go to either of our hotel rooms. Didn't want to attract unnecessary attention."

  I smiled. "I'm fine."

  Of course, I was far from fine.

  It was so quiet in the swamp that I jumped every time I heard the buzz of a mosquito. We were seemingly the only visitors in the park. Which made sense, because it was two in the afternoon and hotter than fuck. No sane person would be out at midday in a Florida swamp in August.

  Gianni peered over the side of the railing, and I wondered why he didn't mind that his blue soccer jersey was touching moldy-looking wood.

  "Look, it's water under here. Hey, check out that big white bird!"

  He pointed, mouth agape, and I sneered. The hitman was a bird-lover. Wonderful. I wanted to roll my eyes but didn't dare. Birds creeped her out. Gianni creeped her out.

  I scratched the back of my neck nervously as we walked. It felt like a thousand bugs were crawling across my skin, ready to suck my blood.

  Stifling a sigh, I hitched my purse a little higher on my shoulder, stopped at the edge and pretended to look over but groped in my bag for a tissue. Something in this awful place was making my nose run.

  Maybe I was allergic to nature.

  "How did Bruno track Luca to Florida, anyway?" I called out. My voice seemed especially quiet against the ambient noise of the swamp. A dragonfly the size of a bird buzzed my face and I stifled a yelp.

  "It took us a while, but we figured out how to hack into his Skype. When he called his uncle, we kind of figured he was headed here. I guess Luca needs his long-lost uncle after all, eh? Probably because Federico's rich as fuck."

  I laughed, angry at myself for bringing this on Luca. On me. "And then Bruno made a point of telling his crazy, obsessive cousin that Luca might be in Miami, and boom! Problem solved."

  Gianni laughed too. "I'm sorry. I know you loved Luca at one time. I'm sorry we're going to have to kill him after he testifies. But you were going to do that anyway, weren't you? Once you found him and fucked him, no?"

  No. I wasn't going to kill him. I was going to love him. But I couldn't tell Gianni that.

  "Of course. I want him dead for what he did to me. Breaking my heart. Stronzo."

  We walked in silence for a while, the sound of my heels clacking against the wood.

  Gianni's steps were silent, but he inhaled loudly. "This is nice. Thank you. I needed a little bit of peace and quiet to take the edge off. It was a stressful flight. Bruno made me fly coach, and the drive here from Miami was brutal."

  Was the hitman whining about flying coach? Christ.

  We reached the end of the boardwalk. It was a wide, wooden platform overlooking a tea-colored river. It smelled earthy and a bit like rotten eggs. The river didn't seem to be moving much, and bugs buzzed the surface. I pressed my hand to my mouth and swallowed a gag. Everything was making me sick.

  How am she going to stop Gianni from taking Luca away from me?

  Without touching the wood, I peered over the edge of the rail and grimaced when I spotted a swimming turtle. Gianni walked to the other side of the platform, near an opening in the railing where a ladder led down and
into to the murky brown river. I glanced at him, then the sign.

  LADDER FOR RESEARCH PURPOSES ONLY. DO NOT CLIMB.

  What kind of idiot would climb into that water?

  "Holy shit, Annalisa! It's a huge alligator. I gotta get a photo of this. Those bastards back home won't believe it."

  By the time he pulled out his phone, swiped it with his finger, and knelt on his knees over the ladder, I had slipped my feet out of my strappy sandals. I swiveled my head, looking for other people. My hearing seemed attuned to every rustle of every leaf, and I could only hear the horrific silence of nature.

  I had to do it.

  When he lifted his phone to snap a picture, I already had my hand on what I needed. I crept toward him as he turned his phone horizontal and vertical, shooting at different angles. He was in an all-fours position, stretching his neck out over the water, except one of his hands grasped the phone, pointing it downward.

  "It's so big I can't get all of it in the frame. Look at this thing!"

  Bending over him, as if I were looking into the water, I reached down. Noticed that his bald head was shiny with sweat.

  Touched the knife to his throat.

  Pressed hard.

  Sliced.

  It was like cutting into a giant steak, difficult at first and then gristly and squishy. He dropped the phone in the water and protested briefly with a few stammered words. Flailing, his hands at his throat, he tried to clutch at the wound, but his skin was so split open that he gasped and crumpled onto his belly.

  I stepped back. Stopped breathing. At least until I knew he had taken his final breath.

  I'd never seen so much blood. Never knew it could spurt and gush with such force. Like a man's orgasm.

  Mesmerized, I watched the blood seep into the wood of the walkway, through the cracks of the boards, onto his shirt. I watched him the whole time. He gurgled and flailed, and after a while, his eyes fluttered.

  Dropping to my knees, I grunted as I pushed Gianni toward the edge of the boardwalk. Wow, was he heavy. I managed to push, tug and push some more, and finally, I sent his thick body tumbling into the murky river with a splash. I peered after it, watching his blood swirl into the disgusting, tannin-colored water.