Speak Easy by Melanie Harlow

problem—at my feet was a hell of a lot of booze that I had to sell in twenty-four hours. In addition, I owed Sam the Barber any information I could get about that rail shipment. How was I supposed to do that? Could I get it out of Enzo? That meant being sweet to him again, and I wasn’t certain my acting ability was up to par—I was furious that he’d stolen Al Murphy’s business, especially since he knew I needed money this week. Bastard , I thought for the hundredth time today. If I could get that information, it would sure feel good to pay him back for double-crossing me. It would make Joey happy too.
    Finally I risked a peek at him, and he was looking at me too. For a few seconds, we stared at each other, neither one speaking, until the tension between us had every muscle in my body clenched so tight I had to look away.
    Once we docked, Joey and I ran the whisky into the boathouse while lightning flashed over the lake. The wind howled and rain fell harder, pelting our faces. Thunder rumbled in the distance as I picked up the last case and hurried toward the boathouse, where Joey stood just inside the doorway. We still hadn’t spoken.
    “I’ll buy three cases from you,” Joey said as I set the sack down. From his pocket he took a wad of cash and handed it to me. I stared at it, and then at him.
    “What the hell, Moneybags? You rob a bank this afternoon?” The roaring wind slammed the door shut behind us, and I jumped.
    “No, I earned it. You’re not the only one who works, you know.” Joey tucked the money into the front pocket of my blouse. Then he moved for the door, but I scooted in front of it.
    “Hold on a second.”
    “What?”
    “What exactly are you doing for Sam the Barber to make that kind of money? And why doesn’t he have hair, anyway?”
    “What’s his hair got to do with anything?”
    “I don’t know. I just thought a barber would have hair.”
    “He’s not a barber.”
    “He’s not? Well, why do they call him—”
    “Because he’s good with a razor.”
    Lightning cracked, illuminating Joey’s grave face. “Oh, God.” My legs threatened to buckle as the thunder rolled. It sounded as if the storm was right above us.
    “Look, Sam’s not a bad guy,” Joey said as rain pummeled the roof. “He’s fair, at least. You get him what he wants, and he’ll return the favor without double-crossing you.”
    I shook my head. “I can’t get him what he wants. Angel’s not going to tell me anything.”
    “I agree. You’ll have to get your fancy suit to talk.”
    “How am I supposed to do that?”
    “You’ll find a way.” Lightning flashed again, allowing me to see the ghost of a smile on his face as he came toward me. For a second I thought he might kiss me, but he didn’t. He just rubbed his lips back and forth against my ear and whispered, “You’ve got hidden talent.”

Chapter Eight
     
    That night I tossed and turned in sheets damp with sweat and humidity. I listened to the storm through my open window and fretted about selling enough whisky to buy Daddy’s life and protect my sisters. My stomach ached, and I curled into a ball on my side. Had I done the right thing by going to Joey and not the police? Was I wrong to hide this from Bridget? Would I regret making a deal with Sam the Barber in which I promised to trade information for protection?
    If anything went wrong, it would be my fault.
    And Joey—I’d kissed Joey . I’d wanted to do more than that. Slamming my eyes shut, I tried to block the memory, to forget how much I’d enjoyed it. What the hell was wrong with me? Was I just starving for physical attention? Desperate for a release of the tension? Between Joey and Enzo, I’d had more sexual excitement in the last three days than I’d had all year. And none of it was real; someone was always acting.
    Flopping onto my back, I tried to think of things I could say or do to entice Enzo to tell me about the rail shipment. He was too smart to let something slip,