Franco's Fortune (Redemption Book 2) (9 page)

“A booksigning at a wine shop? You’ve got to be
kidding.”

“What better place to sign books? It’s a surefire
way to get a large crowd. The author is the wife of a big client
and I have to go. Her book is a mystery set in a wine shop so the
venue makes sense.”

He bent and brushed his lips over hers. “Get
dressed, beautiful. Harris will be here in an hour. You’ll enjoy
it. I promise.”

<><><>

Harris pulled the car to the curb in front of the
trendy wine shop on Philadelphia’s South Street. They sat in the
car while Jo and Harris scanned the elegantly clad crowd waiting
outside in an area roped off in red velvet, no less, to go into the
shop. Curious onlookers stood on the other side of the ropes,
gawking at the well-heeled people confined within the velvet.

Earlier the three of them had studied the picture of
DiGiacomo. They’d be on the lookout for the suspect. “I don’t like
this,” Jo said. “Too many people. DiGiacomo could be in this crowd.
I thought this was invitation-only. Why are there so many
bystanders?”

“Susan’s book has been getting good reviews and
she’s making a name for herself among the locals,” Franco said. “I
guess people wanted to come out and see if they could get a glimpse
of her.” He smiled. “I suspect they also want a glimpse of the
people privileged to get an invitation.”

“I don’t see anyone in that crowd who looks like
DiGiacomo,” Harris said. “I’m keeping the car here and I’ll watch
who comes and goes.” He glanced toward the front of the shop.
“Looks like they opened the doors. Wait until everyone’s inside,
then get out there.” He turned in the driver’s seat to look at Jo.
“Keep your gun and your phone close. You’ll both be safe.”

Jo chewed her lip. “I’d feel better if we weren’t
here.”

Agitation flashed over Franco’s face. “This is an
important client. I have to be here. I won’t live like a
hermit.”

The frustration in Franco’s voice ate at Jo like
acid in her stomach. She hated living like this too. She blew out a
breath. “I know, Franco. Let’s get this show on the road. With
Harris and me working together, nothing will happen to you.”

Jo and Franco waited for Harris to open the
passenger door. When Franco helped Jo from the car, the flash of
cameras going off made her blink. As they walked toward the wine
shop, she scanned the people milling around. Most looked merely
curious. Certainly the invitees included some of the cream of
Philadelphia society. With the cameras flashing, she felt like a
celebrity on the red carpet. An unwelcome feeling.

Franco snaked his hand around her waist and pulled
her closer to whisper in her ear. “I’m glad you wore that dress.
You’ll be the most beautiful woman here.”

Pleasure heated her cheeks and warmed her insides.
Then she reminded herself Franco was putting on a show for the
photographers and others watching. The society gossips would be
wagging tomorrow about playboy Franco Callahan’s new woman. Their
masquerade was working. Now if they could only flush out DiGiacomo
before he got Franco. The thought sent chills skittering up her
spine, cooling her pleasure at Franco’s touch.

When they entered the shop, decorated like an
elegant French villa, servers offered them something to drink.
Franco took a flute of sparkling water with lemon and handed it to
Jo before taking a glass of champagne for himself. Other servers
walked around with trays offering a selection of
appetizers—mushrooms stuffed with crab imperial, asparagus wrapped
in prosciutto, crudités with dipping sauce, elegant cheeses with a
wide variety of crackers.

The crush of the crowd forced Jo close against
Franco. Her hip brushed his thigh as they maneuvered their way to
the back of the store. The silk of her green dress swished around
her bare legs. She knew the silver leather stiletto sandals made
her legs look longer and emphasized her well-developed calves. A
green crystal pendant on a silver chain hung between her breasts,
shown to advantage by the low neck of the dress and the black lace
push-up bra. She was unexpectedly aware of the feel of her silk
thong between her thighs.

Franco tightened his arm around her waist as if he
too had noticed the interested looks some of the men were giving
her. Her new-found sexuality gave her a surprising feeling of
power. She understood for the first time the control a sexy woman
could wield over a man. A part of her liked it.

She reminded herself what she wore now was a
uniform, no different from the fatigues she favored. But, silk and
lace were worlds away from fatigues. The image of Franco lovingly
undressing her, peeling the black silk thong down her legs, made
erotic bliss flare deep inside her. She took a huge gulp of the
water as if she could quench the liquid fire that raced through her
veins.

When a waiter came by, she set her empty glass on
his tray and waved away another drink.

“Enjoying yourself?” Franco asked, leaning toward
her.

His unique scent of sandalwood teased her nostrils.
“I’m fine.” But she wasn’t. She wanted him.

As they squeezed their way through the crowd,
sampling some of the delicious tidbits of food, Jo constantly
scanned the room, looking for anything unusual, perhaps someone who
didn’t look as if he or she belonged there.

Franco nodded to people they passed and stopped to
talk to some. He always made sure to introduce Jo. The men were
friendly, some openly assessing her with lust in their eyes. But
the women barely acknowledged her. She could hear the cash
registers going off in the women’s heads as their hard eyes swept
her, probably adding up the cost of her clothes and shoes.
Determined to play her part, Jo gave each woman a smug smile. She
was on the arm of one of Philadelphia’s most notorious playboys and
eligible bachelors. The way Franco held her close to his side,
especially when he introduced her to other men, would convince the
most hardened doubters that Franco and she were hot for each
other.

She wasn’t playing a part, a small voice whispered.
She
was
hot for Franco. Very hot.

They finally reached the guest of honor, a plump
middle-aged woman with sparkling blue eyes. Dressed in a
conservative black dress, diamonds winked from her ears, throat and
fingers. Jo glanced around. No one seemed to be paying any
particular attention to them. She breathed a little easier.

“Franco, how wonderful to see you. Thanks for
coming,” the woman said when they stood in front of the table piled
high with her books. She rose and leaned over to give him a peck on
the cheek, then sat back down, still smiling. Her gaze went to Jo.
While the other women had studied Jo with coldness, this woman’s
eyes were soft and friendly.

“Susan, congratulations on your book,” Franco said.
“I hear it’s on its way to being a bestseller.”

“From your lips to God’s ears,” she said with a
self-deprecating laugh. “And who is this lovely young woman on your
arm?”

“Susan Hoffman, Jo Fortune.”

“I’m glad to meet you,” Susan said. “Fortune. What
an unusual name.”

“It’s French.” Jo swallowed and clamped her mouth
shut. She sounded like some unsophisticated country bumpkin.
Despite her costly clothes, in this crowd she felt like domestic
beer on a tray with a bottle of Dom Perignon. She drew herself up.
“It’s nice to meet you too,” she added, giving the other woman a
big smile. “Congratulations on your book.”

“Thanks.” Susan returned her smile, then turned to
Franco. “I always knew the woman who would capture your heart was
out there. I’m glad you found her. You two are a beautiful couple
and anyone can see how in love you are.”

Jo coughed. Franco patted her on the back.

A beaming Susan watched them. The woman thought she
and Franco were in love. They were darn good actors.

For the next hour they mingled, stopping to talk to
some of Franco’s friends and acquaintances or perusing the wine
shelves. Franco had purchased a book from Susan and handed it out
to Harris who waited right outside the door. “No parking” signs
adorned the street but the cops didn’t bother Harris or the black
Town Car parked at the curb. Money had its privileges, Jo thought.
Also having a contact at the police department helped. Uniformed
police were a visible presence outside to maintain crowd control.
But Jo knew they were also keeping an eye out for DiGiacomo.

Although she never left Franco’s side, she’d stayed
alert, watching the guests and the servers. No one fit DiGiacomo’s
description. Jo began to relax as the evening wore on.

Finally it was time to leave. As they held hands and
slipped out of the shop, Franco grabbed a handful of premium
wrapped hard candies from a bowl by the door and stuffed them into
his pocket. As he did, he looked at Jo and frowned.

“What’s the matter?” she asked.

“Let’s get in the car.”

Harris held the car door for them and they slid in.
Then he sank into the driver’s seat and eased the car away from the
curb.

Franco settled himself and reached into his pocket.
“Harris, I grabbed a few pieces of that fancy candy for your sweet
tooth. When I stuck them in my pocket, I felt something else.” He
pulled out a small piece of paper. “What’s this? It’s not mine.” He
turned on the overhead light and unfolded the paper. “Damn!”

“Let me see that,” Jo said.

Without a word, he handed her the paper.

She held it by the edges and read.

I’m watching you
was slashed across the paper
in bold letters.

She raised her gaze to Franco’s worried stare.
“DiGiacomo wasn’t in that crowd. I’m sure of it.”

“Anyone could have brushed up against me and slipped
that into my pocket,” Franco said. “I knew most of the people there
or knew of them. It could have been one of the servers.”

Jo nodded. “Could be. Could also mean DiGiacomo
isn’t working alone. I’ll call Morelli.”

She leaned forward. “Harris, do you have something I
can put this note in?”

“I always carry small plastic bags in the car just
in case.” He reached over and opened the glove compartment, pulled
out a baggie and handed it to Jo. She carefully put the note in the
bag and shoved the bag into her purse, then pulled out her phone to
call the detective.

After Jo and Franco arrived at Franco’s house, he
locked the door and reset the security alarm, then followed her
into the living room.

She sank into the leather sectional and set her
purse on the table in front of her. The evening had been more fun
than she’d expected, and there were times she’d forgotten she was
working and let herself enjoy Franco’s company. But that note in
his pocket had disturbed her little oasis of peace.

“Drink?” he asked, holding up the crystal brandy
decanter from the bar.

She shook her head. “You know I can’t drink when I’m
on duty.”

“Want some water?”

“No. I’m good.”

His gaze met hers from across the room. “Someday you
won’t be on duty.” He grinned. “When that day comes, I’ll take you
out and get you drunk.”

“As if.” But she smiled. She suspected he wanted to
dissolve some of the tension the note had engendered.

Carrying a brandy snifter half filled with amber
cognac, he crossed the room and sat next to her. He held up his
glass in salute. “To getting you drunk.”

“Dream on.”

He chuckled, then looked away while he sipped his
drink. She studied his profile, his Italian heritage evident in his
hawk-like nose and firm jaw. Despite his teasing, worry had glazed
his eyes before he’d turned away.

Cradling his glass, he settled back in his seat.
“What are your thoughts about this mess?”

“Some things don’t make sense. If this was just a
man out to hurt the guy who slept with his wife, he would have
probably cornered you somewhere by now and beat the crap out of
you.”

Franco shot her a wry grin. “Thanks for the vote of
confidence. You really think he could beat the crap out of me? I
work out with a boxer once a week at the gym. And remember, I
didn’t know Lynn was married when we started our affair.”

“I don’t think our man DiGiacomo is going to cut you
slack because of that. And don’t believe for a minute that because
you know a few boxing moves you can best a man like him in a street
fight.”

“Point taken.”

“He’s got someone helping him. He has to. Why would
he hire people to help kill you? From what I’ve read about him, he
could do that on his own. And why is he asking for money?” She
widened her eyes as a thought forced its way into her mind. “Did
Lynn give you money to hold for her?”

“I know what you’re thinking. No, she didn’t.”

“I thought I was onto something, like maybe you were
inadvertently holding mob money. There’s something more going on
here than we’re seeing.”

“No kidding. Don’t worry your pretty little head
about it now. It’s late.”

She bristled. “Don’t patronize me.”

“You’re too easy, Josephine. I was teasing.” He
placed his glass on the table, then stood and reached down to take
her hand and pull her up. “It is late.”

They faced each other. He continued to hold her
hand. She should pull free but she didn’t want to. For just a
little while, she’d enjoy the security of his nearness, of knowing
somehow she wasn’t alone. “I need to get out of these clothes,” she
finally said. “Then while you sleep I’ll do some searches, see if I
can come up with anything else on DiGiacomo.”

“You work too hard.” His eyes darkened. He released
her hand and reached out to slide a finger along her low neckline.
Delicious chills ran over her arms. “This dress looks unbelievable
on you.” He touched the pendant hanging in the shadow between her
breasts, then his fingers followed, skimming the tops of her
breasts exposed by the plunging neckline.