“Do I need this?” I asked.
He looked at his house and wrapped his fingers around his big steering wheel. “Take it for your safety. Use the next few hours to work on your paper. You’ll be safe in my home, but I find when it comes to you, I’m rather cautious. I suspect you know how to use one?”
“Of course,” I replied quickly, almost offended he asked.
He nodded once. “You won’t see my men, but trust they are there. I’ll tell Big Tommy to keep an eye on you, but he shouldn’t bother you while you’re working. Take your time. I’ll be home in time for dinner.”
I checked the gun to find it loaded and flipped it between my hands, feeling the weight. “But I don’t understand. I could shoot you right now and make a run for it.”
Frankie patted the side of his suit jacket, where I assumed he had his gun stashed, even though I hadn’t realized he carried. He did so in such a subtle way that if you weren’t actively looking for a weapon, you’d never see it. Contrary to Westley, who wanted his gun on him at all times and carried the big, shining kind.
“I suppose you could,” Frankie answered, watching me move the gun from hand-to-hand. “But I trust you.”
“The possibility of it doesn’t scare you?” I stopped staring at the gun and tilted my head in his direction.
Frankie’s gaze met mine, and he held it tightly. “Make no doubt about it, Shiloh. You terrify me, but not for putting a bullet in my head. Now go. Finish your paper. I’ll be home soon.”
The car was heavy with tension, and I didn’t jump at his command but lingered another few seconds, letting my fingers trail across the bumpy door handle. I wanted to say so much more—ask questions and demand answers—but something warned me he wouldn’t give out any more information that afternoon.
When I finally exited the vehicle, I did so in a daze, my steps heavy as I walked up his front steps as Frankie sat in the car watching me until I’d made it into the house.
CHAPTER 16
My fingers found three keys and went back to staring at the window, wondering how long Frankie would be in Clearwater. Even with my cousin paying half the police in Chicago, they’d keep him at the station for hours if something like this happened to one of his places. I tapped my pen on the computer desk and checked the time. He’d only been gone an hour, but it felt like a day.
Anxiety ran through my veins, and I jumped out of my chair at a slight knock on Frankie’s open office door. “Miss Vonnie to see you,” a large voice boomed in the small space as I flinched.
Big Tommy barely met my gaze, and if I wasn’t so worried about Frankie, I might’ve laughed. “Will Frankie be okay with that?” I asked, not knowing if I was making sure he was okay with my presence or if I was okay to meet with Vonnie since Frankie wasn’t home.
He looked to me again, eyeing me up. Rather than finding me wanting like I expected, he gave me a jerk of his chin, which I was learning meant I passed approval.
“Yeah,” he said and then his gaze fell to the gun I stationed at the corner of Frankie’s desk for easy access.
Men.
“I’m not going to shoot you.” Now I felt how Frankie did every time I tensed around him. If I wanted to make a run for it and take out Big Tommy, I would’ve made my move an hour ago. Instead, I started the last few pieces of research I needed for my paper.
The worst part was I hadn’t come up with an excuse for why I decided it was acceptable for me to stay in Frankie’s home and work on a paper rather than plot my escape.
He nodded again and leaned back out of the doorway. “Just making sure.”
I tapped the pen hard against the desk, beating out a steady rhythm in the same tune as my anxiety. In reality, being in Frankie’s house without him was completely boring. We both sat in the same office not speaking, but him beside me was better than being here alone. What the hell did that mean I was doing? Did I actually enjoy my kidnapper’s presence?
I’d made a few dumb choices in my life, even a few Westley had to bail me out of. Most recently, walking out of the bar without a weapon, but by far, falling in love with a mobster would be the height of my list. I couldn’t allow it to happen. The problem was I didn’t know how to stop it.
“Holy shit,” the woman’s voice I recognized as Vonnie’s called out somewhere in the room past the office. “No way, dude, you can’t hide it from me. I’ve seen it now.” Her voice was rising in volume.
My suspicions grew. Taking the gun with me, I worked my way out to the living room, doing my best to look like I was out for a friendly walk and not investigating.
Frankie’s living room was like that of any other house with the comfortable couch and the chair, leaving open space in the middle. If I hadn’t seen the bazooka come out from underneath the furniture, I wouldn’t have guessed anything was weird about it.
Right then, it didn’t look normal at all, even though the bazooka was nowhere to be found. Something much crazier was taking place in the space. When the hell did they start this?
Under the direction of Big Tommy, two of Frankie’s men—and it was easy to tell they were Frankie’s men since they were both wearing suits that seemed to be the mobster equivalent of the uniform in Maine—were lugging matching black duffel bags into the home. I counted as they lined them up along the couch, stopping at ten. I didn’t have to look in them to know what they carried because each bag was identical to the one Frankie rejected at the Navy Pier a few days earlier.
Just because I didn’t need to look at them didn’t mean Vonnie would let them go uninspected. As some point between Big Tommy alerting me she was here and the guys busily bringing in other bags, she’d unzipped one duffel and peeked inside.
With her hands.
