Her Sexiest Surprise

Chloe managed a curdled smile.

“We have work to do, Sal,” Natalie said, making a shooing gesture. “And get Ronnie away from those hellish video games, would you? Every day it’s World War III in my house. Boom, crash, rat-tat-tat. Enough. Maybe show him how to fix cars.”

“Possible, Aunt Natalie. I’ll see what I can do.” He looked Chloe over again. “Now if you’d like your oil changed, I’m ready anytime.” He winked. Gross.

“I think I’ll be fine,” she said dryly.

“Oh, you’re definitely fine.” Sal saluted her and Natalie with his beer, then backed away.

“Don’t give that guy a thought,” Natalie murmured. “Sal is bad news. I don’t like Ronnie spending so much time with him, but if I tell Sal not to come over and it gets back to my sister-in-law, major crisis. If I tell Ronnie to stay clear, he’ll rebel. Being a mother is so lose-lose.”

“I can imagine.”

“No one tells you that before, so consider yourself warned.” She wagged a finger at Chloe.

“I’ll remember,” she said, not envying Natalie her kids.

“So, how about we go over your duties, huh? Over cappuccinos? Yes?” She turned to a gleaming metal appliance on the counter. “Can you work this monster? Enzo got it at a closeout from a restaurant supplier. Him and his deals.” She rolled her eyes in affectionate annoyance.

“I’ll try.” The thing looked like it could make bread, create a nuclear bomb and steam shirts all at once.

“The instructions.” Natalie presented her with a thick booklet. Luckily, there was a quick-start page and before long Chloe had cappuccinos steaming, nachos bubbling and was mixing V8 with seltzer and Tabasco for a zingy drink with lots of the vitamins Ronnie needed.

When she carried the tray of refreshments into the playroom, she found Ronnie and Sal madly working controllers from the sofa. Slouched on a love seat and recliner were two malevolent-looking guys in black silk shirts. One was clicking out a text message on his phone, the other studied a folded newspaper. Probably figuring the spread on upcoming games, since he didn’t look like the crossword type. Maybe that wasn’t fair—she tried to give people the benefit of the doubt—but she got a bad vibe from Sal’s friends.

Sal noticed Chloe. “Hit Pause, my friend,” he said to Ronnie. “Let’s see what the pretty lady has for our repast.”

“Repast? What the f’s that?” the guy with the paper said.

“Chloe, Mr. Ignorant is Carlo and that’s Leo over there. Chloe’s Mickey Baxter’s kid.”

“Ah,” both men said, then exchanged looks.

Chloe nodded at the two men, then noticed that the game Ronnie was playing was a car race, at least, not death and destruction, except then she watched a character climb out of a car with a machine gun and blast a Hummer to smithereens before Ronnie froze the action.

“What have we here?” Sal said, pretending to look at the food she’d bent to show them while staring at her breasts.

She described the snacks, then waved her hand before his eyes. He grinned, caught, then grabbed nachos.

Ronnie did, too. He chewed and swallowed, then tossed off a “Good,” before resuming his game.

“I’d love you to cook up something special for me,” Sal said to her.

“I’m the Sylvestris’ cook.”

“Perfect. I’m a Sylvestri.”

She just looked at him.

“Give it up, Sal,” Carlo said. “She’s not interested.”

“Never say never, right, babe?”

Please don’t wink, she thought, her eyes watering from his cologne.

Sal winked.

“Let Natalie know if there’s something you’d like,” she said wearily. Being genial with the guy might help her father.

“She’s warming up,” he said to Carlo, triumphant as a kid. “I can’t wait for the next family dinner.”

“Me, either,” she said, gritting her teeth. As she left, she heard them mutter, then laugh. Something lascivious, no doubt.

Back in the kitchen, she and Natalie sipped cappuccino and Natalie talked through the schedule. “Breakfast is at eight. You can count on me and Enzo. The kids should eat, too, but the crucial thing is them getting to the bus at eight-thirty.”

“They have trouble making the bus?”

“Are you kidding? They have trouble waking up, let alone making it to the bus or breakfast. Delores just shouted up the stairs like that would do it.” Natalie rolled her eyes.

“So you want me to…?” Drag them downstairs?

“Take any measures necessary,” she said. “Whatever it takes. Completely your call.”

They talked next about menus. The family mostly ate Italian, but Natalie urged her to be creative. Chloe couldn’t wait to try her own riffs on Italian dishes, working in the family’s nutritional needs and preferences at the same time.

There was to be a big family dinner on her second day of work. And Enzo’s birthday was next week. She would prepare a traditional family meal, followed by a party. She couldn’t wait to work up the menus. Soon, she had pages of notes and a partial shopping list.

“Now the housework,” Natalie said. “Just the light stuff—laundry, dust and vacuum, clean the bathrooms. We have people for the heavy stuff—the marble floors, the windows and whatever you don’t want to do. The kids should pick up their own rooms. Delores despaired and did it herself, but you’re so good with people, maybe you can motivate them?”

“I’ll talk to them, Natalie, but—”

“I know, I know. We’re the parents. Your job is to cook our socks off. The rest is gravy. Get it? Gravy?” She glanced at her watch. “I should walk you through the house, but I’ve got a tennis game.” She smiled, then hugged Chloe hard. “I have such a good feeling about you being here.”

“Me, too.” Chloe’s heart felt like it would burst with happiness. She would do all she could for these dear people, who were paving the way to her dream. All she needed was Riley to come through for her father. One last flare-up to fix, and she’d finally be able to live the life she wanted.

4

ON SATURDAY AFTERNOON, when Riley went to the station to check Michael Baxter’s criminal record, he was dismayed to hear his squad mate Max’s whistle moving down the row of detective cubicles. Damn. Not wanting to have to explain what he was up to, he’d hoped for the usual weekend quiet.

“What are you doing here?” Max asked. “I thought you were sleeping all weekend.”

“Woke up. Got bored.” Riley had almost not come, since Idle had seemed under the weather. The dog had a hot nose, no appetite and remained in bed instead of trotting after Riley around the house. It had crossed his mind the dog just missed Chloe. Riley kind of did, too.

“What about you?” he said, to shift focus. “You worked as hard as I did.” They paired up on a lot of cases, both feeling the drive to push for the last clue, make one last canvas, one more attempt to reach a missing witness, even when the lieutenant blasted them for too much overtime.

“Just finishing up some DRs and supplementals.”

“You’re doing reports? On a Saturday? Without the lieutenant ragging on you? Come on.”

“Okay, okay. Susan bitched me out for not doing anything around the house. So I told her I had paperwork and left.”

“You are purely whipped, man,” he said.

“You’ll see. Wait’ll you get married.”

“Like I’ll ever do that.”

“Sure you will. What about Marie? She’s into you.”

“That was just sex.” He shrugged.

“Sex…yeah, I remember sex. Back when I got some.”

“Come on. Susan’s good to you.” He wanted Max to stay happy—he was one of the few cops Riley knew with a good marriage. Lots were divorced, a few were on shaky ground on the home front, and the single ones were like him: no plans to change status.

“So, who’s Michael Baxter?” Max looked over his shoulder at the terminal where Riley was checking records.

“This guy’s involved with the Sylvestris and got into some trouble. He wants to come clean, but looks like he’s got some beefs back in Chicago. Minor stuff, but stuff.” He normally liked the feel of finding somebody had a record. But this was Chloe’s father. With his record, jail time was almost a guarantee with this felony burglary. Especially in the law-and-order atmosphere of the state these days. Gloom filled Riley.

“How did you connect with this guy?”

“Through his daughter. Long story.”

“Long story, huh? I got time.” Max leaned back in his chair, arms behind his head.

But Riley wasn’t about to get into it. “I’m going to talk with the lieutenant about pursuing a deal. There’s a possible in with the Sylvestris, since the guy works for them.” Baxter might make a decent informant. Chloe was their new cook, but Riley didn’t want to involve her if he could help it. Already, he was pulling punches on the case. Not a good sign.

Forcing out the thought, he said, “Want some help with those DRs?”

“What’ll I owe you?” Max said, suspicious.

“Susan’s pot roast some Sunday. And help with my cases if the Sylvestri thing pans out.”

“You know I’ve got your back,” he said. “Pot roast it is.”

Riley took a stack from Max’s in-box. “Go do some yard work. Get on Susan’s good side.”

“I’d better if I ever hope to get laid again.” Max shook his head, but there was a trace of a smile on his face.

Riley saw the appeal of a family, but knew it meant sacrifice and a burden. Max’s kids hardly saw him. He’d missed soccer matches and dance recitals, and Susan’s family reunion, which had pissed her off big-time.

At least as a detective, Max wasn’t in much danger. Not like a vice or street cop. How could those officers put their families through the dread of that call, the officers on the doorstep with the bad news? And, with that on your mind, how could you do the job right?

Riley was glad he was accountable only to himself. Except now he was worried about Chloe and her father. Not good. Emotions snarled good sense, complicated things, muddied life.

On the other hand, the idea of nailing Enzo Sylvestri got Riley’s blood moving. Maybe he’d been bored. He’d considered trying for a reassignment as undercover or working narcotics again. He’d wanted to shake things up.

If the lieutenant and the D.A. worked a deal with Mickey Baxter, coordinated with the FBI’s Organized Crime Task Force, Riley might get assigned to the case. A lot of dominoes had to fall right first, so he wouldn’t get ahead of himself.

He hoped he could help Chloe’s father, too. It meant so much to Chloe, which, he realized with a twinge, mattered more to him than it should.

“YOU TOLD A COP!” Chloe’s father’s eyes went wide with alarm. “What have you done to me, Chloe Marlene?”

“Riley’s a good guy, Dad. He’ll help us.”

“Cops live to clear cases. To them, we’re all liars and thieves, believe me. They’ve got no mercy.”

“I trust Riley,” she said, though his voice on the phone had been stern. We need you and your father to come to the station this afternoon to discuss his situation. One this afternoon.

No would that be all right? or when’s a good time? More like get your asses down here. Maybe people were listening, so he’d had to sound terse. When she’d asked if everything would be all right, he’d only said, We’ll talk once you’re here.

She hoped he’d be warmer in person, but when he met them in the lobby, he looked stern, almost angry, and his kind eyes were hard as stone. “Ms. Baxter,” he said, nodding at her as if she were a casual acquaintance, not someone he’d held naked in his arms. She felt queasy and disoriented, as if she didn’t even know the man, as if her trust had been misplaced.

“Mickey Baxter,” her father said, lunging forward to shake Riley’s hand.

“My father,” she added, emphasizing the personal connection. “We’re very nervous about all this.”

She tried to catch Riley’s eye, draw out a smile, but he opened the security door and said, “If you’ll come this way,” completely neutral.

He led them to an interview room that looked more like an office meeting room than the grim, prison-green space with a two-way mirror she’d expected. The walls were a soft white. There was a whiteboard and a small laminate table surrounded by three office chairs on rollers. No mirror anywhere.

Two men in suits rose from the table, where a tape recorder rested. “Special Agent Emile London from the FBI and Assistant District Attorney Paul Adams,” Riley said, then introduced Chloe and her dad.

Her father sank into a chair, his face pale.

“I had no idea this would involve the FBI,” Chloe said, shooting Riley a look. “We were to discuss this with local authorities, weren’t we?”

“There are federal statutes involved,” Agent London said. “The FBI has an ongoing interest in Mr. Minetti and the Sylvestri family.”

“You mean Enzo?” she asked.

“Among others,” the agent said.

“Enzo knows nothing about this,” Chloe said. “In fact, Sal threatened my father if he said a word to Enzo.”

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