There was a pregnant silence. Then a voice said, “Good evening, Angelo.”
Angelo moved away from me, and I tried hard to stand tall on my own. “Good evening, Don Morelli,” he said.
“Thank you for bringing your hostage with you, as I requested. That is, Iassumehe’s your hostage.”
“I’ve been meaning to get in touch with you, to speak with you about the situation.”
Another silence, and I tried to count how many people I could hear breathing in the room. Then the man I assumed to be Luca D’Amato asked, “Is he not your hostage, Angelo? Because I specifically remember telling you not to strike up any further friendships with any law enforcement officers. From what I’ve been hearing, this boy seems to fit in that category.”
“Let the poor guy take his blindfold off,” said another voice, but it sounded entertained by my predicament. “Come on, Luca. He’s scared enough as it is.”
“N-no, it’s fine,” I stammered. “I’m fine.” The last thing I wanted was to see them, to become a witness. A liability. But there must have been some kind of silent signal, because Angelo walked back to me. I knew it was him, from the gentle way he put his hands on my shoulder before he untied the blindfold.
I blinked to refocus my eyes in a dimly-lit, dusty warehouse. There were rows of mostly-empty metal shelving to the left and large, stacked wooden crates to the right. On the floor in front of me spread out an old, brown stain, and for a moment I thought it was rust. It spread out from exactly where my feet were placed.
I took a small step backward, but Angelo firmly pushed me forward again so that my toes touched the edge of the stain.
There were only two people there, apart from me and Angelo. Still, I would have preferred almost any other members of the Morelli Family. Luca D’Amato and his husband Finch both stared at me, one like I was his prey, the other with interest.
“Well, now, youarea cutie, aren’t you?” Finch said, coming forward to stare even more closely at me. “I told Luca you looked good next to Angelo when they had your mugshots up on the TV. And you really, really do look good together.”
Next to me, Angelo took a tiny sidestep across my body, and I could have sworn it was instinctive protection.
Finch gave him a wide grin. “Hi, there, Angelo. How’s it hanging?”
Angelo cleared his throat. “It’s always a pleasure to see you, Mr. D’Amato, although I wasn’t expecting you.”
Finch wandered back to Luca and stood on his toes to give him a quick kiss on the cheek. “My husband and I were on the way to dinner ourselves when we heard about your own little tête-à-tête at Giuseppe’s. Luca wanted to see you right away, and I had some interest myself in seeing the FBI agent accused of turning on his own.”
“I didn’t do it,” I protested. Angelo put his hand on my wrist and squeezed.
“Didn’t you?” Luca spoke for the first time since my blindfold had come off, looking between me and Angelo. “Well, if youdidn’tdo it, I’m not sure why Angelo has been so quick to trust you and take you under his wing. Perhaps, Angelo, you could explain it to me.”
Angelo gave a respectful nod. “I would very much appreciate the chance, Don Morelli.”
Luca turned away. “Walk with me.”
Chapter Twenty-Five
Baxter
Ihad to make a concerted effort not to run after Angelo as he walked away with Luca D’Amato. As two of the most powerful men in the city made their way into the depths of the warehouse, Finch D’Amato wandered close to me again as though intrigued. He gave me a long, slow up-and-down stare and smiled—if the disagreeable one-sided tilt of his mouth could be called a smile.
“What’s it like being a Fed?” he asked.
“Not so great, right now,” I said politely, and he let out a crazy laugh that made me jump.
“You’re funny. I think I like you.”
I gave a brief, nervous grin.
“IthinkI like you,” he said again, less friendly this time. “Luca tells me you’re on some task force. What is it that all these task forcers do, exactly? What doyoudo? Because right now it sounds like you’re all running around the city like headless chickens.”
It was not an inaccurate description, even of what Angelo and I had been doing the last few days. “I’m a behavioral analyst. Mostly that’s desk work, analysis, profiles, stats, whatever, but my mentor wanted me on the task force to get some experience working a multiagency case.” I was babbling. I needed to stop talking. I needed to shut up and wait for Angelo to get back.
But Finch tipped his head to one side. I had recaptured his interest. “You’re a profiler?”
“A behavioral analyst. But yes, I contributed some psychological profiles to the task force.”
