"Devina, come meet our guest," diPietro called over his shoulder.
As the sound of high-heeled shoes came toward the living room, Jim stared out at a truly stunning view of Caldwell...and tried not to think of when he'd seen the woman last. She had on the same perfume she'd worn the night before. And how fitting her name was. She'd certainly felt divine.
"Jim?" diPietro said.
Jim waited a moment longer, to give her time to look at the side of his face and compose herself. Seeing him from far away was one thing; having him in her home, close enough to touch, was another. Was she in blue again?
No, red. And diPietro had his arm around her waist. Jim nodded at her, refusing to let even one memory enter his head. "Nice to meet you."
She smiled at him and extended her hand. "Welcome. I hope you like Italian food?"
Jim shook her palm quickly and then stuffed his hand in the pocket of his jeans. "Yeah, I do."
"Good. The cook is off for the next week, and Italian is pretty much all I can do."
Shit. Now what.
In the silence that followed, the three of them stood around as if they were all wondering the same thing.
"If you'll excuse me," Devina said, "I'll just go check on dinner." Vin dropped a kiss on her mouth. "We'll have drinks here."
As the clipping of those high heels receded, diPietro went over to a wet bar. "What's your poison?"
Interesting question. In Jim's old line of work, he'd used cyanide, anthrax, tetrodotoxin, ricin, mercury, morphine, heroin, as well as some of the new designer nerve agents. He'd injected the stuff, put it in food, dusted it on doorknobs, sprayed it on mail, contaminated all manner of drink and medications. And that was before he'd gotten really creative.
Yup, he was as good with all that as he was with a knife or a gun or his bare hands. Not that diPietro needed to know it.
"Don't suppose you have any beer?" Jim said, glancing at all of the top-shelf liquor bottles.
"I've got the new Dogfish. It's fantastic."
Right, Jim had been thinking a Bud, and God only knew what that was - neither dogs nor fish were something you wanted brewing with hops. But whatever. "Sounds good."
DiPietro fired up two long glasses and opened a panel that turned out to be a mini-fridge. Grabbing a pair of bottles, he popped off the caps and poured out a dark beer with a head so white it looked like ocean foam.
"I think you'll like this."
Jim accepted one of the glasses along with a little linen napkin that had the initials V.S.dP. on it. A single sip...and all he could say was, "Damn."
"Good, right?" DiPietro took a draw and then lifted the beer to the light as if inspecting its character. "It's the best."
"Straight from Heaven." As Jim savored what was passing over his tongue, he looked around with fresh eyes at all the fancy-dancy. Maybe the rich did have a something going on. "So, this is a hell of a place you got."
"The bluff house is going to be even more magnificent."
Jim wandered over to the banks of glass and leaned into the view. "Why would you want to leave this?"
"Because where I'm going is better."
A subtle doorbell-like chiming went off, and Jim glanced down at a phone.
Vin looked over as well. "That's my business line and I have to take it." With his beer in his hand, he headed for a doorway on the opposite side of the room. "Make yourself at home. I'll be right back."
As the guy walked off, Jim laughed to himself. Home here? Riiiiiiight. He felt like he was part of one of those children's quizzes where the kid had to pick out the object that didn't belong: carrot, cucumber, apple, zucchini. Answer: apple. Silk-covered sofa, fine woven rug, workman, crystal decanters. Answer: duh.
"Hi."
Jim closed his eyes. Her voice was still lovely. "Hi."
"I..."
Jim pivoted around and was not surprised to find that her eyes were still sad.
As she struggled for words, he held up his hand to stop her. "You don't have to explain."
"I've...I've never done anything like last night before. I just wanted..."
"Something that was very not him?" Jim shook his head as she grew agitated. "Oh...shit...look, don't cry."
He put down the beer diPietro had poured for him and came forward holding out the napkin. He would have dabbed at her tears himself, but he didn't want to smudge the makeup.
Devina's hand trembled as she took what he offered. "I'm not going to tell him. Ever."
"And he's not finding out from me."
"Thank you." Her eyes drifted over to the phone console, where a light was flashing next to the word study. "I love him. I do...It's just...he's complicated. He's a...complicated man, and I know he cares for me in his own way, but sometimes I feel invisible. And you? You actually saw me."
Yeah, he had. He couldn't deny it.
"The truth is," she murmured, "although I shouldn't have been with you, I don't regret it."
He wasn't so sure of that, given the way she stared up at him like she was waiting for words of wisdom or...absolution. Which he really couldn't give her. He'd never been in a relationship before, so it wasn't like he could offer advice about her and Vin - and he only knew from one-night stands, so what might be shocking to her was all he had experience with when it came to sex.
One thing was clear, though. As this spectacular woman looked at him with those dark, luminescent eyes, he saw the love she had for the man she was with: It was in her heart, radiating out of her.
Man, Vin diPietro was a full-load idiot to f**k this up.
Jim lifted his hand to her face and brushed off one of her tears. "Listen to me. You're going to forget it ever happened. You're going to lock it away and never think about it again, okay? If you don't remember it, it's not real. It didn't happen."
She sniffled a little. "Okay...all right."
"Good girl." Jim tucked a strand of her soft hair behind her ear. "And don't worry, everything's going to be okay."
"How can you be so sure."
And that was when it dawned on him. Maybe this was Vin's crossroads - right here in front of the man, wanting to love him, hoping to get the chance, but losing the fight to stay connected. If the guy could just see what he had, and not as in his real estate or his cars or his statues and marble, but what really mattered, maybe he'd turn his life and soul around.
Devina blotted at one of her tears. "I'm running out of faith, it seems."
"Don't. I'm here to help." Jim took a deep breath. "I'm going to make it okay."
"Oh, God...you're making me cry more." Devina laughed and clasped his hand. "But thank you so much."
Damn...those eyes of hers made him feel as if she'd reached in past his ribs and taken his heart into her delicate palm.
"Your name," he whispered, "suits you."
A blush flared in her cheeks. "In school, I used to hate it. I wanted to be Mary or Julie or something normal."
"No, it's perfect. I can't imagine you being called anything else." Jim glanced down at the phone and saw that the light was off. "He's ended the call."
She dabbed under both eyes. "I must be a mess. Here...let me give you some amuse-bouche. Take them to him and keep him busy in the study while I go fix myself."
As he waited for her to come back from the kitchen, Jim finished his beer and wondered how in the hell he'd found himself in the role of Cupid.
Man, if those four lads even thought about getting him to wear the wings and a diaper while he nocked his arrow, he was so renegotiating his employment contract. And not with words.
Devina returned with a silver tray of bite-size somethings. "The study's down that way. I'll come get you both when I don't look so weepy."
"Roger that." Jim took the tray, prepared to act the waiter and babysit diPietro. "I'll keep him in there."
"Thank you. For everything."
Before he said too much again, Jim took off, carrying the tray with both hands through an endless spread of rooms. When he got to the study, the door was open and diPietro was sitting behind a big marble desk that had a lot of computers on it. The guy wasn't staring at the machines, though. He was turned around and focused on the bank of windows and the twinkling view.
Something small and black was buried in his palm.
Jim knocked on the jamb. "I got some amusements for your mouth."