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looking into those
eyes so she tried focusing on his lips. The sensual curl of them
made them more disturbing.
    “If you don't get out of those wet clothes,”
he told her, “you are probably going to catch pneumonia. I'm not in
any position to take you to a hospital right now, so I can't allow
that to happen. Now, are you going to take them off, or am I?”
    She tried to swallow and couldn't. She wanted
to move away from him, but her feet seemed to have rooted
themselves through the floor. He took her inaction for defiance.
She knew it when he shrugged as if it made no difference to him and
reached up to release the top button of her blouse.
    Toni drew a steadying breath and told herself
to move.
    He freed the second button. At the third, his
fingertips brushed over the mound of her breast, deliberately, she
was certain. The way he slowed his movements, made them a caress,
was a dead giveaway.
    The contact shocked her out of her momentary
paralysis. She balled up one hand, drew back and punched him in the
jaw. His head snapped sideways from the impact and she spun around
and ran into the bedroom, slamming the door and leaning back
against it. She was sure he'd come after her, and God only knew
what he'd do then.

Chapter 2
     
    Nick stared at the door, rubbing his jaw.
She'd surprised him more than she'd hurt him. A grudging smile
tugged at the corners of his lips, and he shook his head slowly.
Damned if he'd come across many men who'd slug a guy his size—let
alone one who happened to be packing a 9 mm. Little Antonia didn't
hesitate. She was gutsy; no denying it.
    At least he'd managed to figure out what she
reacted to. He'd been worried about how the hell he was going to
control her. His gun hadn't seemed to intimidate her, or his size,
or his best street-thug imitation. When he touched her, though,
that was a whole other story. When he'd trailed the backs of his
fingers over the soft swell of her breast, her pupils had dilated
until her irises vanished. Then she'd decked him. Hard.
    So he'd learned two valuable methods of
dealing with his temporary captive. He could intimidate her with
sexual innuendo, and he'd better duck whenever he found it
necessary. He didn't imagine there were many things that scared
her. He figured he was lucky he’d stumbled upon even one.
    Nick tore his gaze from the door and glanced
around the room. She'd be safe here, and no threat to his cover.
This part of the mansion had been a safe room, designed by a
billionaire with more money than common sense. It wasn’t on the
blueprints, and when the feds had confiscated it for back taxes,
they’d decided it was the perfect place for a low level gangster
who allegedly came from big money, to live. He unplugged the old
fashioned landline phone, wound the cord around it and tucked it
under the couch. It had a secure line and was less easily hacked
than his secure cell. He'd take it downstairs later, while she
slept. He double-checked the bookcase door—cliché, yes, but also
the only way out of this hidden apartment. It could only be opened
by pressing the right combination of numbered buttons on the panel
beside it. A light would flash and an alarm would sound if anyone
tampered with the lock, so there was no chance of her getting
away.
    He felt a momentary pang of guilt, but forced
it aside. It wasn't difficult. What he was doing was far too
important to put it at risk just for one woman. So she'd be scared
for a while. So her family would go nuts worrying about her. So
what? Kids were dying every day, and Lou Taranto was as responsible
for that as if he were choking the life out of them with his own
fat hands. Nick's own brother... No. He wouldn't think about
Danny—not now.
    Too late, a voice whispered from within, and
the memories crashed over his mind like a flash flood.
    Nick squeezed his brother’s skinny, limp
hand tighter, as though he could squeeze the life back into it.
“Don't die on me, man. You're all I got, Danny, hold on. Hold