she said, instantly and so non-Annie-ishly contrite. She even lowered her gaze. But when she finally looked up at him, she nodded, almost imperceptibly. And she, too, touched her ear, pretending to loop a stray piece of hair around it.
Then, there they stood, just staring at each other.
“It’s all right,” Ric finally said. “I know you were pretty upset tonight. And I am so,
so
sorry that you got hit.”
“I’m okay,” she said, but she unconsciously touched the inside of her lip with her tongue—no doubt where her own teeth had cut her when Foley slapped her.
Ric felt sick. “Annie,” he said, wishing he could rewind this entire day, back to this morning when he’d told her she could ride along with him. He should have checked Lillian Lavelle out more thoroughly. He should have known the woman was lying to him. He should have been more cautious. As soon as they got out of here—
if
they got out of here—he was going to track her down and find out what the hell was going on. Was she trying to kill Brenda or Gordie Junior? She was damn lucky she hadn’t hit Ric. Or Annie.
God
damn.
“I’m really okay. I just…want to go home.” Annie forced a smile. “Whenever you’re ready, though.”
Ric was more than ready to go. But they had to stay.
If they tried to book it out of there, if they were in too big of a hurry to run away, Burns might well decide that they were a threat to his organization. God knows what they’d seen or overheard while they were here at Burns Point, not to mention while in Gordie Junior’s company in the limo.
In addition, that is, to the information that Burns had a private supply of cocaine or heroin or whatever illegal substance for which Brenda Quinn had been jonesing.
Burns hadn’t gone to get Annie’s car because he was kind and considerate. No, he was cleaning up. Erasing all evidence that they’d ever been to Palm Gardens.
Just in case he decided he needed to disappear them both, after he evaluated what they did or didn’t know.
Ric’s best chance at getting Annie safely home lay in his convincing Mr. Burns that he wanted to join his team. “How often do I get a chance to do business with someone like Gordon Burns,” he told her now—told the microphones and everyone who was listening in. He raised his voice, calling across the patio, “I’m just going to take a quick shower and change. I’ll be right out, sir.”
“Take your time,” Burns called, an easygoing, generous host, with nothing better to do. Yeah, right.
“What were you talking about?” Ric asked Annie. “Before I came out?”
“Movies,” she told him. “
Key Largo. Bringing Up Baby. Ocean’s Eleven.
He’s a movie buff.”
“Keep it up,” Ric told her. “He seems to like you. I know you’re not convinced, but it’s great that we’re here.”
Across the patio, Burns was watching them.
So Ric kissed her. Just briefly on the lips. Gently—aware of the damage she’d suffered from those slaps. But maybe a little more briefly and gently than he would have done had Pierre not growled at him. Because it couldn’t hurt to let the organized-crime boss think that Annie did more than work for him—that her loyalty exceeded a business relationship or even mere friendship. “Trust me,” Ric told her quietly. “Do you trust me, baby?”
She nodded, but gave him a look for that
baby.
Ric took Pierre out of her arms, set the rat on the deck, and kissed her again.
Just for show.
But this time Annie kissed him back—apparently her lip didn’t hurt her too badly. It was a toned-down version of that blistering Palm Gardens kiss—Burns
was
watching, after all. Still, Ric was suddenly very aware that he was without his jeans.
“Ric.” He’d already turned to go inside, but Annie stopped him with a hand on his arm, her fingers cool against his skin. “In a weird way,” she told him, “I think it’s great that we’re here, too.” Her sarong was slipping, and she had to let
Then, there they stood, just staring at each other.
“It’s all right,” Ric finally said. “I know you were pretty upset tonight. And I am so,
so
sorry that you got hit.”
“I’m okay,” she said, but she unconsciously touched the inside of her lip with her tongue—no doubt where her own teeth had cut her when Foley slapped her.
Ric felt sick. “Annie,” he said, wishing he could rewind this entire day, back to this morning when he’d told her she could ride along with him. He should have checked Lillian Lavelle out more thoroughly. He should have known the woman was lying to him. He should have been more cautious. As soon as they got out of here—
if
they got out of here—he was going to track her down and find out what the hell was going on. Was she trying to kill Brenda or Gordie Junior? She was damn lucky she hadn’t hit Ric. Or Annie.
God
damn.
“I’m really okay. I just…want to go home.” Annie forced a smile. “Whenever you’re ready, though.”
Ric was more than ready to go. But they had to stay.
If they tried to book it out of there, if they were in too big of a hurry to run away, Burns might well decide that they were a threat to his organization. God knows what they’d seen or overheard while they were here at Burns Point, not to mention while in Gordie Junior’s company in the limo.
In addition, that is, to the information that Burns had a private supply of cocaine or heroin or whatever illegal substance for which Brenda Quinn had been jonesing.
Burns hadn’t gone to get Annie’s car because he was kind and considerate. No, he was cleaning up. Erasing all evidence that they’d ever been to Palm Gardens.
Just in case he decided he needed to disappear them both, after he evaluated what they did or didn’t know.
Ric’s best chance at getting Annie safely home lay in his convincing Mr. Burns that he wanted to join his team. “How often do I get a chance to do business with someone like Gordon Burns,” he told her now—told the microphones and everyone who was listening in. He raised his voice, calling across the patio, “I’m just going to take a quick shower and change. I’ll be right out, sir.”
“Take your time,” Burns called, an easygoing, generous host, with nothing better to do. Yeah, right.
“What were you talking about?” Ric asked Annie. “Before I came out?”
“Movies,” she told him. “
Key Largo. Bringing Up Baby. Ocean’s Eleven.
He’s a movie buff.”
“Keep it up,” Ric told her. “He seems to like you. I know you’re not convinced, but it’s great that we’re here.”
Across the patio, Burns was watching them.
So Ric kissed her. Just briefly on the lips. Gently—aware of the damage she’d suffered from those slaps. But maybe a little more briefly and gently than he would have done had Pierre not growled at him. Because it couldn’t hurt to let the organized-crime boss think that Annie did more than work for him—that her loyalty exceeded a business relationship or even mere friendship. “Trust me,” Ric told her quietly. “Do you trust me, baby?”
She nodded, but gave him a look for that
baby.
Ric took Pierre out of her arms, set the rat on the deck, and kissed her again.
Just for show.
But this time Annie kissed him back—apparently her lip didn’t hurt her too badly. It was a toned-down version of that blistering Palm Gardens kiss—Burns
was
watching, after all. Still, Ric was suddenly very aware that he was without his jeans.
“Ric.” He’d already turned to go inside, but Annie stopped him with a hand on his arm, her fingers cool against his skin. “In a weird way,” she told him, “I think it’s great that we’re here, too.” Her sarong was slipping, and she had to let
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