8. Chapter 8
Chapter eight
“ E lio?”
His grandfather’s voice was a familiar cocktail of irritation and concern as he answered his phone. Elio hesitated, glancing down at Rissa, who had stepped away slightly to give him the illusion of privacy. Until he could be sure of his plan of action, he needed her to continue to think he was calling his lawyer. Her sympathies could only be stretched so far, after all.
“Yeah, I’m in trouble,” he said after a moment.
“No shit,” Angelo spat out. “Where are you, boy? Why have we not heard a word from you since the explosion? We thought you might have been killed!”
“No—just arrested,” Elio said dryly.
There was a long pause. He could practically hear the wheels turning in his grandfather’s grizzled head.
“For what?” Angelo asked finally.
“I’m a suspect in the bombing,” Elio said. He couldn’t help the slightly cooler tone that crept into his voice. His grandfather, after all, was partly to blame for what happened. He sent Elio right into the middle of that shitstorm.
“Where are you?” Angelo asked after another long pause. Elio was used to this dynamic. Despite possessing a dangerous temper, Angelo rarely spoke without thinking things through once, twice, or even three times. Elio suspected it was one of the main characteristics, beyond his sheer force of character, that had kept him on top of the crime world and their associated business covers for going on fifty years now.
“Hospital,” Elio said. “But I’ll be leaving soon.” With his transfer imminent, his plan to escape had just been accelerated. He would just have to play it by ear.
He did not miss the side-eye Rissa cast in his direction. She was definitely listening, and she definitely didn’t approve of the idea of him checking out anytime soon. Maybe an argument between her and the detectives would give him the opportunity he needed to make his move—if she refused to sign whatever release they needed.
Or maybe he could take her with him.
Finally, a plan crystallized in his head. A hostage would allow him to walk right out of here—down the hall to the garage. From there, he would go on alone.
A cold trickle of regret marred the anticipation that began to fill his veins. He looked at Rissa once again, thinking of how much deeper her disapproval would be if she knew exactly how he intended to check out—and take her with him.
For one surreal, intense moment, he found himself wishing he could take her with him beyond his escape, that he could ask her to meet him for drinks when all of this had blown over. That he could invite her to his family’s traditional Easter dinner. If only he was just a regular guy, with a regular family, on a regular stopover in the emergency room.
He lost track of the long seconds he had stared into her eyes, watching the color rise in her even features and her chest begin to rise and fall more rapidly as the tension between them sizzled.
What is this? Why does she affect me like no one else ever has? Elio mused. And is it even possible that she feels something for me, too? Or is this all in my head?
The idea that she might want him as much as he wanted her was intoxicating. But this was not the time to be taking off on flights of fancy. He was currently plotting to use her as a hostage to escape from police custody for fuck’s sake.
He almost missed his grandfather’s sharp reply to his hint of escape.
“You are absolutely right you will be leaving soon,” the old man said, his tone heavy with warning. His next words were deliberate and angry but softer, almost as if he hadn’t meant to say them aloud. “They’re trying to set you up to take the fall.”
Elio’s attention snapped back to the phone. “Who?” he asked sharply. “Nonno, what do you know?”
“I don’t know anything,” Angelo replied harshly. “But let me tell you, whoever is on this case knows you’re an Accardi, and that is enough for them. They will find a way to pin the blame on you, even if it’s just to make their job easier. This is reason enough for you to go—and go soon.”
Elio couldn’t help but feel that his grandfather was not telling him the entire truth, but before he could ask, the cop opened the door and said, “One minute, fucker.”
The office was hot, and Elio was sweating.
“There will be a car at the place you met your cousin,” Angelo rasped. “Can you get there on your own?”
“I’ll figure out a way,” Elio said.
He hung up the phone, noticing the once-over that Rissa was giving him. She seemed to have moved on from the sexual fantasies he thought they had both shared for a moment.
It wasn’t as easy for him. Everything about her called to him. Her lithe body was tucked beneath his arm. Beneath her scrubs, she was lean and fit. He had felt the muscles across her shoulders as she’d helped him move. The faint, warm scent of her perfume. The way her face hardened with anger and softened with compassion.
He was thirsty for a taste of her mouth and the smooth, creamy skin of her neck beneath his tongue.
He had to escape this place before they moved him—while his guards considered him weak and dazed, while security was low. He had to focus or he’d end up making some stupid move and his chance would be gone. But all he wanted, all he could think about clearly, was the woman who watched him now with a dubious expression.
As he replaced the phone in its outdated cradle, Elio ran back over his side of the conversation.
I called him Nonno, he realized with a sinking sensation. Would she have recognized it as the Italian equivalent of grandad?
But Rissa didn’t quiz him. She simply stepped forward, ready to help him.
“All good?” she asked.
Elio stepped toward her, but a sudden wave of dizziness overtook him and he faltered, reaching out for the desk with one hand. It wasn’t there.
“Whoa,” he murmured as his legs began to buckle and his vision clouded.
“Elio?” Rissa said. He thought hazily that it was the first time she had said his name. He liked how it sounded on her tongue. “There you go. Lean forward and put your head on your knees,” she said. He felt her arms around him as he sank to his knees and bent forward. Then, her hand was on the back of his neck, cool and bracing.
“Elio, can you hear me?” she asked, and he nodded.
“Just got dizzy for a minute,” he mumbled. His vision was already clearing now that he was on the floor, and the buzzing in his ears began to quiet. He was momentarily surprised that the cop wasn’t already bursting through the door. He must not have been watching through the window as closely as he had suggested he would be.
The guy was lazy, Elio thought—a slacker. That could work in his favor. The chance to put his plan in motion would come, and it would come soon.
He lifted his head. Rissa’s face was inches from his, her blue eyes brimming with concern, her face glistening with sweat.
“Are you okay?” she asked. “We need to get you out of this hot room, but don’t try to stand back up until you’re ready.”
“I won’t,” he said and lifted his hand, running his finger gently along the smooth, damp surface of her skin, tracing her jawline. Rissa froze, her eyes widening. Her lips parted, and his eyes dropped to them. “Thank you,” he added softly, “for everything you’ve done to help me.”
“It’s my job,” she replied, sounding slightly breathless. “But you’re welcome.”
She was not pulling away from his hand. Elio felt his own breath quicken as he leaned closer, close enough to feel her exhale featherlight against his face. Almost close enough to touch his lips to hers.
The door banged open, and the cop barged in.
“What’s going on?!” he snapped, his voice sounding slightly panicked. “I said no funny business!”
Elio immediately pulled back, and Rissa looked up, her professional mask falling quickly into place over her smooth face.
“He almost passed out,” she said. “I can’t allow this man to be moved until he has had a CT scan and an MRI. He could have an intracranial hematoma.”
“A what now?” Hupp asked, frowning. Elio relaxed slightly as the man’s fidgety hand moved farther away from his gun.
“A bleed between the brain and the skull,” Rissa replied. “If there is one, my patient may require surgical intervention.”
“Your patient, my prisoner,” the cop said sourly. “My superiors say it’s time to transfer him, so it’s time to transfer him.”
“We’ll see about that,” Rissa said sternly.
Elio forced himself not to smile. The woman certainly knew how to stick to her guns. He felt another pang of regret given how much she was trying to help him. Surely, she wouldn’t be able to fault him for helping himself, though, right? Once she’d had a little time to think it over. . .
“You can take that up with the detectives,” Hupp said stubbornly. “When we meet them at the police vehicle.”
“Get up,” he told Elio, holding up the handcuffs.
“When you’re ready,” Rissa said, shooting the man a glare.
It was as if the almost-kiss hadn’t even happened, Elio thought. But then he noticed her hand as she reached to brace herself against the desk. It was shaking slightly.
“I’m ready,” he said. She took his elbow, helping him stand. The cop gestured for him to turn around, and he complied, putting his hands behind him. He was facing Rissa, and their eyes met and held.
I’m sorry, he thought, feeling slightly sick to his stomach. He wasn’t sure if it was from almost passing out or from the anticipation of what he was about to do.