Page 12 of Above ’N’ Beyond

The main room was large and furnished with a brown leather sofa, two red upholstered armchairs, and a large TV sitting on top of a black credenza. A blue-and-red Persian-style rug sat on top of oak flooring that looked brand-new. A couple of seascape prints adorned the walls. Unlike her earlier statement to the contrary, the place looked cleaner than a surgical suite. Nothing out of place and not a speck of dust he could see.

“The kitchen’s over here.” She pointed to a small kitchenette off to one side. “Bathroom, bedroom. Air conditioning. Take it or leave it.”

It was clear from the uninviting way she’d shown him the place that she hoped he’d leave it. She was about to be disappointed.

Jax trotted into the kitchen, did a quick loop, then proceeded directly into the bedroom. Jamie followed, pretending to give the place some thought, even though he already knew he’d be staying there. The bedroom had a queen-size bed and two bureaus. Like the main room, the bedroom was spotless. Bella had been lying her ass off about needing to clean the place.

They rejoined her in the main room. “What do you think, Jax? Is this place okay for you?”

Jax bobbed his head up and down, eliciting a smile from Bella.

“I guess we’ll take it,” Jamie said. “Shake on the deal, Jax.”

Jax stepped close to Bella, then sat and lifted his paw in the air. Again, Bella smiled. Again, not for Jamie. But if Jax’s canine charm helped ingratiate him with Bella, he’d let his dog schmooze her all day. She shook Jax’s paw, then lifted her gaze to Jamie’s and narrowed her eyes. “There’s one other rule.”

“You’re big on rules.”

“I like rules. They keep order.”

“What’s the other rule?”

“I live on the top level.” She flicked her gaze to the ceiling. “I don’t want you bringing trouble into my house.”

“Why would you assume I’d bring trouble here?”

She pressed her lips together and gave him a duh look. “If you have business dealings, you don’t conduct them here. I know who you are.” He seriously doubted that. “I know what you are.” He seriously doubted that, too.

“What exactly am I?” he pressed, amused by the banter.

“Tony’s boy.”

“And that’s a bad thing because…” He’s a mobster?

She pressed a hand to her forehead and shook her head. “Never mind.”

Jamie pulled a thick wad of cash from his pocket and slipped off the gold money clip. No self-respecting mobster carried credit cards. Too traceable. He began peeling off C-notes.

“I can’t take your money.” Stepping back, Bella held up her hands, palms facing out.

“Why? Tony’s not here. He’ll never know.” The look on her face when Tony had essentially ordered her to take him in rent-free had been obvious. Offering her cash behind Tony’s back might earn him some points with her.

“I’ll know. First of all, like I said—you’re Tony’s boy. Second, my cousin and I don’t agree on much, but he was right about one thing. You did save his life, and that means something to me.”

Interesting. His something-is-off meter was pinging into the WTF zone.

The affection Bella had for her cousin appeared genuine, and yet, clearly, she didn’t want Jamie—a mobster—living here. That didn’t jibe.

The FBI had identified the Bistro as ground zero for Paola Mancuso’s money laundering scheme and the geographical focal point of her entire operation, so why would Bella care if he was part of the Mancuso crew?

“You really don’t want me living here, do you? And it’s not just because Tony ordered you not to take any rent money.” Something else was at play here, and he intended to find out what.

Rather than answer his question, she pulled the apartment key off her keychain and handed it to him. “I have to get back to the Bistro. I’m down a bartender for the next few weeks.” She headed for the door.

“Wait,” he said, another idea crystalizing. “I can tend bar. If you can’t take money from me, at least let me help out.”

Again, her eyes narrowed, glittering with distrust. Compared to her, Tony was an open book. The woman was suspicion personified, and he wondered why. “What’s your experience? Serving juice boxes in prison doesn’t count.”

“Ouch.” He grimaced, feigning indignation. “I helped out at a friend’s bar for years. It’s been a while, but I’m assuming beer taps and corkscrews still operate the same.”