Happily Never After, Page 2

Oscar-worthy, if he did say so himself.

  "Jesus!" he heard Paul hiss above him. "Ritchie, what the fuck? There's people around here!"

  Ritchie's heartbeat was galloping, from the thrill of his presumed kill, or the fear of getting caught. Either way, its sound made Chance's fangs ache with longing.

  "Get his keys," Ritchie said roughly. "We'll put him in his trunk, you follow in your car behind me, and we'll bury this fuck before Letterman comes on. Hurry."

  Chance felt them tug his car keys from his hand, lift him up with much muttered cursing about being quick to avoid potential bystanders, and then the thump of landing in his own trunk. Mentally he counted off the time. Less than two minutes from shots fired to body hidden, not bad. Clearly this wasn't their first time.

  He was jostled more as Paul swung the vehicle out of the parking lot. Careful, Chance thought over the squeal of tires. You dent my new Camaro and I'll shove the steering wheel right up your ass.

  Thoughts of Isabella brightened his mood. She had a beautiful face, a curvy body that bucked today's frightful stick-figure trends, and an ironclad streak of loyalty mixed with bravery. It wasn't every person who would sacrifice themselves to save their undeserving brother, after all. Frazier Spaga had gotten involved with Robert Bertini because of the lure of easy money. Now he was being used as collateral over his sister, and Isabella thought she had nothing but herself to ransom him back.

  But you're wrong, Chance mused with a smile. You just don't know it yet.

  Chapter 2

  Isa walked into Blue Ridge Vineyards fifteen minutes early. She didn't want to run the risk of missing Chance if he showed up. What a strange name, she mused. Maybe it was an alias.

  Again, she wondered what her grandmother was up to. Isa hadn't bothered to call her and ask, of course. No need to upset her by telling her she was pulling the plug on whatever it was the sweet old lady had put into motion. Chance had said his "sire," which Isa surmised was just a formal word for father, had been a friend of her grandmother's. Despite Isa's inventive lies, her grandmother must have figured out that Frazier was in trouble, which wasn't uncommon. He'd been very rebellious as a teenager and though he'd calmed down in his twenties, he was hardly a stellar citizen. Isa didn't know how Frazier managed to pay his rent every month, since he hadn't held a regular job in years.

  Still, when you added her brother's abrupt disappearance with Isa's surprise engagement to a man like Robert, no wonder her grandmother was spooked.

  "Hi, Isa," the store clerk greeted her. Since she bought a lot of her wine from this place, she'd been on a first-name basis with most of the employees for a while.

  "How's it going, Jim?" she asked.

  "Can't complain, who'd listen?" he replied with a friendly smile.

  Who indeed? Isa mentally agreed. Certainly not the police. She'd gone to them right after Robert proposed, if that's what you could call him saying, "Good news, Isa. I've decided we're getting married," and cutting off her immediate, sputtering objections with, "Seen your brother Frazier around lately?" with a knowing gleam in his dark eyes. Robert had followed up with, "Yep, I know for a fact you'll see him after our wedding, but if we don't have one…well. That brother of yours. He's accident prone, isn't he?"

  She'd relayed that to the first police officer she saw at the station the very next day, and Isa would never forget what he did. He looked around, shut his office door, and slid her complaint form back across the desk at her.

  "You seem like a nice lady," he'd said without looking at her. "So I'm going to say congratulations on your engagement…and don't ever file this form to me or anyone else if you care about your brother. Or yourself."

  That's when she knew all the whispers about Robert Bertini were true. He really did run the streets, and apparently had considerable clout with the police as well.

  She might have tried again. Called the FBI, Homeland Security, someone, but later that day, she received a phone call at her restaurant.

  "Isa," her brother said as soon as she answered. "Don't say my name, and listen very carefully. I need you to go along with this engagement. Robert thinks he has both of us cornered, but it'll all work out, I promise."

  "You're all right?" she'd asked low, trying to look casual in front of her employees.

  "Yes. I can't explain, but just hang in there and play along. I'll contact you again as soon as I can, but not on the phone. Robert will probably tap all your phones next."

  The line went dead, but Isa said, "Wrong number, no problem," and then hung up like nothing unusual had happened.

  It was only later that she'd wondered how Frazier could have said things like "play along" and "Robert thinks he has both of us cornered." As a hostage, Isa didn't think Frazier would have been granted private phone privileges, but it also didn't make sense that he'd say such things in front of one of his captors. Had Frazier somehow managed to get away?

  "Hello, Isabella."

  Isa had been so caught up in her thoughts, she hadn't even heard the store's door open. Yet there Chance was, standing behind her with a faint smile on his face. Under the harsh fluorescent lighting, his hair looked to be deep brown instead of the darker shade it had seemed last night, and his skin was surprisingly pale. The eyes she hadn't been able to guess a color on before turned out to be an intriguing mix of gray and blue. Like the ocean, she thought. Right before a storm.

  She was staring. With a shake of her head, Isa brought herself back to the present.

  "Jim, do you mind if I show my friend the new stock in the back?" she asked, flashing a smile at the clerk.

  "Sure thing," he responded with a lazy wave. She bought in bulk and she always paid on time. Jim would pretty much let her do anything.

  Isa walked toward the back, glad that Chance followed without argument. When they were away from any prying eyes, Isa started right in.

  "Whatever my grandmother hired you for, I'm telling you the job's off. If she owes you any money for your time, I'll pay it. Just tell her you didn't find anything or that everything's okay. She doesn't need this kind of stress at her age."

  Chance regarded her with open curiosity. "You think I'm someone she hired? You mean your grandmother hasn't told you anything about me?"

  "No," Isa said, impatient. "But whoever you are, you don't want to be mixed up in this. Trust me, pal. It goes way over what any pay scale can cover."

  He continued to stare at her like she was speaking a foreign language. Isa tapped her foot. Maybe Tall, Dark and Dumb had been an accurate way to describe him after all.

  "Has your grandmother ever mentioned the name 'Bones' to you before?" Chance asked in a very careful voice.

  "Who?"

  Chance inhaled. From her scent—and the thoroughly blank look on her face—she was telling the truth. She had no idea he was a vampire. Odds were, if her grandmother hadn't told her about Bones, Isa had no idea that vampires even existed.

  This would make things more complicated.

  "The only name that matters here is Robert Bertini," Isa went on. "You already seem to know what he's involved in, so I shouldn't have to spell out how hazardous it would be to your health if you continue to mess around with him."

  Chance laughed. "You'd be amazed at all the things my health can handle, darling. Your little Robbery doesn't scare me, and as I told you last night, I'm here to help you. It's not a matter of money, so you can keep your bank account as it is. It's a matter of honor."

  "Honor?" Isa couldn't stifle her snort. She had enough to handle without anyone meddling in this. "Right. Do me a favor. Go away before you make things worse."

  It would be so much easier if she knew what he was, Chance mused. Still, it wasn't his place to enlighten. Not yet, anyway. Maybe there was a reason for Greta's secrecy. Perhaps Isabella was one of those humans who couldn't handle the knowledge. She didn't strike Chance that way, but then again, this was only his second time talking to her.

  Chance smiled. "Thanks for the wine recommendation," he sa
id, and walked away.

  Isa watched him go, gripped with the uneasy feeling that she hadn't seen the last of him.

  * * *

  At nine o'clock sharp, Isa's premonition was confirmed when a familiar dark-haired man slid into table twelve at her restaurant. She almost groaned out loud in frustration. Talk about not taking a hint!

  Chance even had the nerve to wink at her as he took his seat. What was it with men lately? Didn't the phrase "No means no" translate to them anymore?

  She didn't even wait for the waitress to approach his table before she marched over.

  "Whatever you want, we're out of it," Isa announced crisply.

  Chance pushed his menu aside with a lazy grin. "Doesn't matter. I'm only here for you, darling."

  Isa clenched her fists. She may not be able to throw Robert out on his ass—yet—but that didn't mean every male around could ignore her wishes in favor of their own!

  "Get out, and by the way—calling a woman 'darling' when you don't even know her is sexist and demeaning. Got that, sugar lips?"

  She stressed the endearment as a taunt, but it didn't have that effect. A light appeared in Chance's eyes. If Isa didn't know better, she would swear they seemed to be turning green.

  "Sugar lips…mmm. I confess I'd like to find out."

  The way he was looking at her mouth made Isa want to wipe it, but not in disgust. To see if it had suddenly turned into dessert, since that was the only way she could justify the intensity of Chance's stare. For someone who said he wasn't here for food, Chance looked very, very hungry.

  "You have to leave. Now."

  Isa said it with none of the internal tremble that had taken up inside her. The last thing she needed was another complication in her life, and a stubborn, sexy-as-hell private eye would definitely complicate things.

  Then again, so would Robert's two goons Ritchie and Paul, and they just swaggered in the door.

  "Oh, hell, it's Smelly and Bowling Ball," Isa muttered.

  Chance began to laugh. "Is that what you call them? How appropriate."

  She gave him a fraught look. "Are you trying to get killed? Leave! Before they see you!"

  But it was too late. Paul glanced their way…and stopped so abruptly, one of her waiters crashed right into him. Spaghetti alla nona decorated the front of him, but he didn't even seem to notice.

  "You!" Paul exclaimed in a voice much higher than usual.

  Chance inclined his head. "I see you're wearing your favorite meal. Now if you can only bash into someone carrying meatballs, your ensemble would be complete."

  Isa's eyes closed. Good God, he was a dead man.

  Ritchie, oddly enough, didn't fly into his usual hair-trigger temper.

  "You can't be here," he almost squeaked. "We—"

  "You what?" Chance interrupted. "Shot me? Put me in a trunk, drove me to an old warehouse, wrapped me in plastic, and buried me around the back?" Chance let his words sink in, and then he smiled, perfectly cordial. "How preposterous. If that's what you did, then I wouldn't be sitting here, would I?"

  Everyone in the restaurant had stopped eating to watch this exchange. Isa was torn between the ingrained urge to keep her business running smoothly—and the new, unhinged desire she had to bash plates over Paul's, Ritchie's, and even Chance's head.

  Her business sense won. Isa laughed like a joke had been told and then approached Paul and Ritchie with a fake, warm smile.

  "Let's get you guys to your favorite table. Lauren, bring something to help clean Paul up. And Ritchie, you look like you could use a drink."

  She politely dragged them across the room under her effusive hostess pretense. Both of them went like they were dazed while still staring at Chance. Isa didn't know what he'd meant by his bizarre little imagining of what Ritchie had been about to say, but damn it, this was her restaurant! Not some criminal macho showboating ring.

  Paul stiffened. "Uh…we gotta go, Isa," he said. "Gotta check something out."

  "You think Kevlar?" Ritchie whispered with a glance in Chance's direction.

  "Must've been," Paul muttered.

  Isa didn't care what they were babbling about as long as they didn't cause any more disruption.

  "Don't worry about him, he's on his way out," she said low.

  Paul looked at Chance and grunted. "Uh huh. We thought that last night, too."

  What?

  Ritchie grabbed Paul's arm. "Come on, let's roll. Boss needs to hear about this."

  With a last look at Chance—and the mess on his Armani shirt—Paul left with Ritchie in tow. Chance gave them a cheery wave that made Isa want to smack him again. Thankfully, it was obvious Robert's two thugs had pressing business elsewhere.

  Chance stood, stretched, and brushed his hand across Isa's cheek.

  "Some things we need to talk about, but not here. I'll see you later, darling."

  "No you won't, nut muffin!" she replied as low and fiercely as she could.

  He laughed at that, giving her a lingering glance.

  "Yes, I will."

  Chapter 3

  Robert came in right after closing. All the patrons were gone and it was just her, a few servers, and her head chef Frank tidying things up.

  "Isa," he said, without acknowledging any of her staff. "Brought you your wedding dress."

  Frank and the others left the main room, used to Robert's rudeness by now. Paul obediently approached Isa holding a garment bag. Isa stared at it for a moment before taking it. Even holding the dress in her hands filled her with panic. Frazier better call again soon, she found herself thinking, because I can't fake this much longer.

  "Um…thanks." She couldn't manage to say anything more enthusiastic.

  "It was my mother's, God rest her soul," Robert replied, crossing himself. "My sister made an appointment for you to get it fitted. She'll call you tomorrow with the date and time."

  No consultation, no consideration for her schedule. Isa hadn't even participated in the decision of where or when her wedding was going to take place. Robert's sister had showed up at Isa's restaurant a week ago and told her what church to be at on what date. It was a good thing Isa had no intention of actually marrying Robert, or she would have been pissed about how someone else was planning her wedding.

  "The boys tell me that dark-haired mook's been hangin' around you again," Robert went on. "They warned him to stay away last night, but they said he was back again tonight. I don't like that, Isa. It's disrespectful to me."

  She had to tread carefully. Chance might be asking for trouble, but Isa didn't want to serve him up a big plate of it.

  "He's just a customer, Robert. I wouldn't even remember him, except Paul and Ritchie made such a stink when they saw him earlier."

  Robert gave her a hard stare, but Isa schooled her face to show only innocence. If Catholic nuns couldn't make her admit to cheating on a test in high school, then Robert had no chance of breaking her with his gaze.

  Finally he shrugged. "Good. Then you won't mind if the boys keep this troublemaker from bothering you in the future."

  "If I see him again, I'll tell him not to come back myself," Isa said with complete honesty.

  Robert moved closer. It took all of Isa's willpower not to flinch when he touched her face.

  "Still…maybe you should come home with me. This guy could be a real whack job. I don't want anything happening to you."

  Isa hardly knew Chance, but already she surmised that out of the two of them, the true whack job was the man in front of her.

  "That's okay, Robert. I'll be fine. If I see him again, I—I'll call you so you can deal with him."

  A complete lie. She'd chase Chance away herself, true, but she'd never turn him over to Robert.

  Robert trailed his fingers down her arm. "Maybe that's not the only reason I want you to stay with me," he said in a husky voice.

  Oh, shit. Isa steeled herself to stay where she was, instead of running away screaming, "hell no!" like she wanted to.

  "I tol
d you before, Robert—I'm an old-fashioned Catholic girl. That's one of the things you like about me, remember? Well, in my family, we don't have sex until our wedding night."

  Another bunch of bullshit. Isa hadn't been a virgin since nineteen, and while she hadn't racked up the notches on her bedpost, she'd had a few lovers in her time. None since she moved back to Philly three years ago, however, which is why Robert didn't know about them and believed her claims of chastity. And while she couldn't speak for her grandparents, Isa was pretty sure her parents hadn't abstained from premarital sex either.

  But just in case Robert needed more convincing than her supposed desire to wait until their wedding night…