I checked my watch again, my steps slowing.
It was madness, really. Just because the Underboss wasn’t getting his hands dirty wasn’t proof that the rest of the Family were keeping theirs clean.
Why was I so determined to prove Messina in particular innocent of these crimes?
I slowed even further and, before I could stop myself, yawned.
Right in the middle of that very satisfactory and wide yawn, I found myself grabbed up in an iron grip. I choked out a startled gasp, but before I could even cry out, I was slammed up against a tree and the breath knocked out of me, stifling my wheeze.
Dazed, I stared into the hard, dark eyes of Angelo Messina.
“What do you think you’re doing?” he asked. His voice was calm. Quiet. But that only made it worse.
“I-I’m a federal ag—”
“I know who you are, Babyface. You’re Hanson’s offsider. Or you were, till he got himself killed. What I want to know is, what the hell are you doing wandering around after me through Central Park at night?”
I took a deep breath, trying to slow my hammering heartbeat, and got a full scenting of his cologne. Woody, intense, expensive. “I was following you,” I told him.
He gave me a grim smile. “Little boys who run around in the woods might find themselves eaten up by the Big Bad Wolf. Where’s your partner—your new one? Don’t your kind run in twos?”
He’d let my shoulders go by then, though he still loomed over me as I slouched against the tree trunk. I could hardly admit this was an off-duty tail. He’d have me up on harassment and I’d be off the task force as soon as Captain Walsh heard the first word about it.
“Well?” he demanded.
“I’m alone,” I admitted, like a fool. Why not hand over my gun and make the job that much easier on him? Telling the Morelli Underboss I’d been following him, alone—
“You’re not alone,” he growled. “There’s someone with you.” He put a hand on my shoulder, close to my neck. I hoped he couldn’t feel my racing pulse.
“I swear,” I whispered. “I’m not even supposed to be out here. I’m—”
“Shut up,” he hissed, but I already had.
Because I’d heard it, too.
Stealthy footsteps, the rustling of leaves.
Messina’s eyes were boring into the night over my shoulder as though he could see in the dark. He put his mouth very close to my ear and spoke almost without sound. “Is he with you?”
I shook my head wordlessly, and he moved further around the tree, pulling me with him, silent and careful.
I could hear no further movement on the path, even as I strained my senses, as though I could supernaturally identify whoever—whatever—was out there.
Nothing. I could hear nothing but the very faint sound of Angelo Messina’s breathing. Not even the wind or the traffic from the roads nearby. On my shoulder, Messina’s hand relaxed.
The silence was obliterated when shots rang out—three of them, too close to even tell which direction they were coming from as they echoed through the still night. Instinctively the two of us ducked, and Messina’s hand forced my head even further down, shielding me with his body as I curved into him.
Of course, I thought stupidly. He’d spent decades of his life guarding Morelli Dons. His first instinct would probably always be to protect the person he was with.
I tried to draw my gun, my crouched and crowded position making me clumsy, along with my shaking hand. But then Messina pulled me to my feet, made me run with him, yanked me along by the arm as though I couldn’t move faster on my own. I tugged out of his grip and pulled ahead of him, ducking under branches and around bushes, until I wondered if I should head off in another direction.
But then I heard it: the footsteps pounding along after us, someone crashing through the greenery with much less grace than Messina and I were.
I slowed as my flight instinct began to turn to panic. It was like a childhood nightmare, running from an invisible monster and not sure which way to go.
Messina grabbed my arm again, hard. “This way,” he panted, and took off down a more open, but unlit path to the right. It only took me a split second to make up my mind. I followed him, my lungs shuddering, no thought to keeping my breath quiet anymore. A minute later we were out of the trees, heading towards one of the gates. It was still open, thankfully, and now I could see Messina more clearly, bolting ahead of me just as fast as he had the whole time.
Dude was fit, despite his age.
