“Uncle Jerry.”
“Baby, he’s not going to put you in jail.”
Wasn’t going to happen.
“That doesn’t mean you won’t have to hear an earful from him, because believe me”—I glanced around at the mess—“you will. But he’s not putting you in jail.”
“He will,” Lany insisted. “You don’t know Uncle Jerry that well. He’s going to be pissed.”
“I imagine he will, Lany. But it’s not like you did this on purpose.”
God, now I was defending his actions.
“Yes, I did.”
“What I meant was, you wouldn’t have driven if there hadn’t been an emergency.”
“Uncle Jerry won’t care.”
Probably not, but he still wasn’t putting Lany behind bars. It just wasn’t going to happen. Lany was going to be grounded, but he’d be grounded to our penthouse and nowhere else. I refused to visit my husband in jail.
I grabbed Lany around the waist and lifted him up onto the seat of the vehicle. I shook my finger at him. “Don’t move from this spot.”
“Sal—”
“Ti prego, amore, basta fare quello che ti chiedo.”
I wasn’t above begging.
Lany’s shoulders slumped. “Fiiinne. I won’t move from this spot.”
“Grazie, caro.”
“Prego,” Lany replied in flawless Italian.
He was getting better.
I leaned forward and pressed a kiss to Lany’s forehead. Before I turned away, I sent him a smile. By the time I got turned around, not a hint of that smile was left on my face.
I walked over and crouched next to the man I had shot in the leg. “Who are you?”
The guy glared up at me with a face paled by pain. “Lawyer.”
“Oh, you have done this before.”
There was a surprise.
Not.
I smiled sweetly and then reached down and patted the guy on the thigh where he had been shot. Hard. Once he stopped screaming, I said, “Let’s try this again. Who are you?”
“La-Lawyer.”
I squeezed his thigh.
The man screamed again. “You can’t do this. You’re a cop.”
Not right now, I wasn’t.
