Page 29 of Above ’N’ Beyond

Marco made a hmphing sound. “You might have run into a friend of mine. Danny Visconti. He was in Sing Sing the same time as you.”

And you must think I’m stupid to fall for that crap. He shook his head. “Never met him. Not that I know of, anyway. Different cell block, maybe.”

“Maybe.” Marco narrowed his eyes. “I checked you out.”

“Then what’s your problem?” Jamie didn’t doubt his cover would pass scrutiny. Marco had been wasting his time searching Jamie’s apartment.

“The problem is, I don’t like you, and I don’t trust you.”

Jamie leaned over the bar, getting in Marco’s face. “Then it’s a good thing I don’t give a shit what you think.” He remained that way, waiting for Marco to balk first and knowing the other man would. Sure enough, Marco sat back, his expression darkening.

Seeing Tony emerge from the men’s room, Jamie topped off his own glass. No background was perfect, but his cover was as good as it got.

“One more thing.” Jamie leaned in again, fast and close enough to make Marco jerk back. “Break into my place again, and I’ll bust every tooth in your big fucking mouth.”

Tony came back, then whispered, “Jimmy, did you come up with something good to bring to the table tomorrow?”

Meaning, not flowers or a bottle of wine. “Working on it.”

“Work fast.” Tony held out his empty glass, again whispering, “We’ve got a big job coming up, and Paola needs to know she can count on you. Most of all, she has to trust you. She won’t let you in until you earn your keep.”

Jamie’s pulse thrummed faster. In could be the “big splash” the FBI suspected was about to go down. “I’ll make it happen.” Come hell or high water, he would make it happen. “I know a guy,” he began. Detective Steve Palos, to be precise. “Who knows a guy.” Detective Artie Masamoto, Steve’s partner. “I’ll have more on it tomorrow.”

“Good. I know you won’t let me down.” Tony grinned, but there was warning behind the man’s friendly facade, reminding Jamie of just how deadly he really was.

Marco Ianetti might have “asshole” stamped on his forehead, but Tony’s true nature was deceptively hidden. Not far beneath the surface of his jovial demeanor was the soul of a cold-blooded killer suspected of murdering at least four people.

Including that FBI informant.

Chapter Ten

Hours later, Jamie wiped down Big Mama, then hooked clean glasses on the overhead rack. The Bistro was finally closed for the night. He’d lost count of how many cappuccinos he’d whipped out. Once customers got a look at his latte art, the orders flowed in like a tidal wave of caffeine. All those hours making cappuccinos at his friend’s café-bar had paid off in spades. It had given him a leg up with Bella.

In the dining room, Lori and Rebecca set the last of the tables in preparation for tomorrow. Sierra was busy helping Lou and his staff wipe down the kitchen. Bella was nowhere in sight.

After meeting with Paola behind closed doors, she’d helped her staff with practiced efficiency but zero joy on her face. Whatever she’d discussed with her aunt had left her more than a little upset.

He grabbed a clean rag to wipe down the bar.

Caring about Bella Bianco’s feelings wasn’t something he should spend time on. He also needed to stop doing things for her. Fixing broken equipment and bathing puppies weren’t requirements of his assignment, although that’s how he’d justified them.

Jamie wiped the bar harder, until it gleamed. Keeping his hands off Bella was a directive he had to follow.

He tossed the rag in a bin beneath the sink, then collected his tip money from a jar, portioning out some to share with the waitresses. Speaking of money, if his plan to earn big worked, it would catapult him higher in Tony and Paola’s estimation. Not Marco’s.

Ironically, he and Marco Ianetti weren’t so different after all. They were both assholes. In many ways, however, Jamie’s condition was more deep-seated, like a stain he could never erase. Memories of all the stupid, bad things he’d done after his father had been arrested settled over him like a shroud.

In the weeks after they’d hauled his father away in the back seat of a police car, Jamie became defiant, aggressive. His temper knew no bounds. To hide his emotional pain and loss, he’d had a complete meltdown. He’d stolen things. Gotten drunk and bashed in so many windshields he’d lost count. He even set a few of those cars on fire. When another boy taunted him, he beat the kid senseless, busting his nose and bashing in most of his teeth. He’d been in the hospital for weeks. The local cops quickly labeled Jamie as the town’s “bad boy.” Only his age at the time kept him in juvie court. If it weren’t for a kindly lieutenant who set him straight, he might be in the cell right next to his father.

Seventeen years later, Jamie was still trying to make up for all he’d done. Trying to be something he never could be. A good person. Misleading Bella—lying to her—wasn’t helping.

He went out the back door to check on the AC unit one more time before heading home to his apartment and Jax. Though it was close to midnight, the July air was still warm and humid, and his shirt stuck to his chest and back.

The AC’s fan spun smoothly, whirring, not clunking, the way it had before he’d replaced the capacitor.

Movement in the alley caught his attention. Bella. As his eyes adjusted to the dim light, he recognized her black-and-red Mini Cooper parked behind his Tahoe.

While holding on to Gnocchi’s leash, she balanced several aluminum trays, trying unsuccessfully to open the hatch door. One of the trays tilted precariously. He ran over, catching the tray just before it slipped from the top of the stack. “Can I help?”