Page 33 of Perfect Vengeance

“What wasn’t?”

“You peppering me with questions.”

“Let’s compromise. I already ran your criminal history, so I know you’ve never been arrested.” He paused, making her dread what was coming next. “Is there anything else in your background I should know about?”

“Like what?” Sweat began trickling down her back.

“I don’t know.” His voice softened, making her wonder if this approach was some kind of sneaky FBI technique. “You tell me.”

“There’s nothing to tell.” If she gave him any reason to suspect there was something ugly in her past he’d only dig deeper. “What you see is what you get.” Plus a scooch more. Like the little factoid that she was the daughter of Franco Falzone’s former bookie, Tony Perotti. If Jack discovered that, he’d almost certainly throw her, Margo, Kinsey, and Annabelle in jail on the spot. Guilt by association. Mob association. Never a good thing to be with the FBI dogging your every move.

More sweat trickled down her back, making her silk shirt stick to her skin. There was only one antidote. She dug into her tote for her stash. When her trembling fingers contacted the small baggie, she nearly groaned with relief. A moment later, she had a chocolate-covered lychee in her mouth. This time, she did groan, like a drug addict injecting herself with a quick fix.

With slightly steadier fingers, she unwrapped a second lychee and was about to pop it into her mouth when she caught sight of Jack with his back pressed against the driver side door. His face was pale, his mouth pinched. He looked ready to puke.

“What’s wrong?” She shoved the second piece of chocolate into her mouth.

He cracked his window and every other window in the SUV. A gust of frigid air blew inside, ruffling his hair.

“Hey, it’s freezing in here.” More cold air poured into the Expedition, and she pulled her coat closed around her body. “Raise the windows. I’m cold. The least you can do is keep your employee happy.”

He ignored her request and sucked in long lungfuls of air. “You’re not my employee.”

“What am I then?”

“A cooperator.” His Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed.

“Hmm, let’s see.” She intentionally laced her voice with sarcasm. “A cooperator, by definition, is someone who joins with another for a common purpose, but who acquiesces willingly.” She practically spit out the last word.

“I didn’t force you.” His throat continued to work. “I gave you a choice and you made it. Willingly.”

“Whatever.” Man, she’d lost that debate a solid ten to zip. “At least raise the windows so your cooperator doesn’t freeze to death.” She unwrapped another piece of chocolate.

“No.”

“Why not?” She twisted to face him, pulling her coat tighter. She was freezing her butt off, but his terse responses were getting her steamed. He eyed the bag of chocolates in her lap as if it were a bomb with a lit fuse. “This?” She raised her brows. “You don’t like the smell of chocolate?” He shook his head. “Who doesn’t like the smell of chocolate?”

“I don’t.”

“You’re kidding.”

“Do I look like I’m kidding?” He definitely didn’t. In fact, he looked green around the gills.

She popped the chocolate into her mouth, chewed quicker than she would have liked and swallowed. Jack exhaled, as if he’d been holding his breath. He turned to take another gulp of air at the open window.

“What’s with you and chocolate?” Come to think of it, he did have a less than thrilled look on his face last night at her apartment when she’d thrown back a couple dark chocolate balls to take the edge off.

He sucked in more air before turning back to her. “I’m allergic to it.”

She blinked. Huh? Her stomach muscles began to quiver, and she pressed her lips together until she couldn’t contain it and burst out laughing. She laughed until tears pricked at the corners of her eyes. “You’re kidding?”

“Once again”—he curled his lip at the bag of chocolates—“do I look like I’m kidding?”

“Oh my God.” She pressed a hand to her belly. “I’m sorry. I never met anyone with a chocolate allergy.”

“It’s rare.” Sweat beaded on his forehead. “I’ve had it since I was a kid. It’s gotten worse with age.”

“Rare? It’s unheard of.” She wiped the tears now streaming down her temples, loving the irony of the situation. Here she was crying with laughter and he was sweating bullets. “What happens if you accidentally eat chocolate? I mean,” she added with a hint of mischief, “what if one of your enemies gets wind of your rare allergy and slips some into your drink or your food?”