The Woman in the Trunk

If you drove directly there, the drive was just about two and a half hours, but on the bus, it took over six and a half with stops, putting me in Cape May the following morning.

I made my way through the streets of Downtown with my stomach in knots, jumping at shadows, searching faces for anyone who didn't seem like they belonged. Men in suits. People scanning crowds looking for me.

I took two minutes to pop into a coffee shop, exhaustion making my eyelids puffy and my eyes unfocused. But I couldn't just get a room in town. I knew I had to drive out, preferably get out of New Jersey as a whole, put another state between myself and the mafia, so I would need the caffeine to keep me going.

Finally, I made my way toward Penny's, feeling a small, tired smile tug at my lips at her prized snowball bushes overflowing the sweet white picket fence in an array of pinks and purples, whites and blues. She was equally miffed and satisfied every summer when some bold tourist would walk past, snapping off a cutting to take along with them.

Penny's house was everything I loved about this town. The pretty old Late Victorian style home with its shingle-covered gable roof, turrets, and open front porch with its rows of spindles. The house itself was a light green, the accents a soft yellow. It was cotton-candy sweet and meticulously kept despite Penny's advancing age.

I could see my car parked on the street, my first hint at true freedom.

Ten more minutes.

I could grab my stuff, tuck it away, and be gone.

All of this nightmare would be behind me.

As I made my way up the front path, I chose to ignore the tiny twisting sensation of regret in my stomach.

Because it made no sense.

I had nothing to regret.

I'd done nothing wrong.

In fact, I had, arguably, done everything right.

You know, except not resisting that kiss. Except actively participating in that kiss. Except maybe allowing it to replay in my head a few times on the ride down to Cape May.

But only a few times, mind you.

And I tried my best to reexamine it rationally.

The only reason I had a physical reaction was the shock mixed with Lorenzo's alpha-ness, and the fact that I hadn't been close to a man in longer than I cared to admit. My life had been about work. My precious free time was typically spent running errands or trying to catch up on sleep. Or, more often lately, looking for ways to trim excess so there was always more money for my father to funnel to the Costa family.

That was all it was.

Biological.

Nothing to beat myself up over.

Certainly nothing to waste any more precious time thinking about.

That was what I was telling myself as I made my way to the front door, knocking on the frame a few times. Then again, louder.

Penny, though she would never admit it, was getting just the tiniest bit hard of hearing.

When there was no response, I checked the handle, feeling it open in my hand.

"Penny?" I called, stepping inside, closing the door, smelling Penny's familiar potpourri fresh flower scent, something that had never changed my entire life. Likely not hers, either. "Penny, where are you?" I called, moving through the front hall and into the kitchen where you could usually find her making her hundredth cup of tea for the day.

But nothing.

Of course, I hadn't told her the exact time I would get there since all I could do was give a rough estimate.

She was probably up in her room, maybe taking a nap.

I checked the lower floor for my possible belongings, but they weren't around.

On a small sigh, I made my way up the stairs to the darker upper level, the only light on being a small one in the hallway.

"Penny," I called again, going toward the master bedroom at the end of the hall. "Are you here?" I added, wondering if she had slipped out to grab something to eat or something.

"Afraid she's not," an all-together too familiar voice said, pitched low, as the light flicked on in the bedroom, making my heart soar upward even as my stomach plummeted. "Don't bother trying to run, Giana," Lorenzo said, moving closer, his dark eyes heavy-lidded with sleeplessness, but bright with victory. "Chris is downstairs. You won't get far. Might as well make it easy on yourself," he offered, moving closer, arm reaching out.

"Like hell," I snapped, raising my arm, flinging scalding hot coffee at him, then turning to run.Chapter SevenLorenzoThe meeting with Leon Lastra had been frustrating at best.

It was painfully clear within five minutes that the man simply didn't have the kind of money my father wanted to squeeze out of him. Why he was so intent on bleeding a stone was completely beyond me. There were other marks, ones who owned bigger businesses, who could be convinced to pay more.