Red Velvet. Noelle MackЧитать онлайн книгу.
reflected his killer smile upside down as a killer frown. Ruth had a feeling he knew the goombah and didn’t like him. “Ignazio. Long time no see. Who’s your friend?”
Huh. Nicky didn’t recognize her. Ruth was about to open her mouth and enlighten him when she realized she would be enlightening the goombah at the same time. She clammed up.
Ignazio gave a theatrical shrug. “We just met.”
“Uh-huh.” He looked directly at Ruth. “Is he bothering you? Need a ride somewhere?”
“Okay.” She picked up Tuff again and edged past the limo driver, who was sweating.
“Get this boat off the sidewalk, Ig. Don’t make me run the plates. I don’t even wanna know where you stole it from.”
“I didn’t steal it,” the limo driver said, looking outraged.
Nicky shook his head as if he didn’t want to hear another word. The sunlight hit his dark-gold hair just right, Ruth noticed, and the breeze ruffled it. Even though he was standing on the other side of his car, he was tall enough for her to see through the window that he was in plainclothes. As in faded jeans. And a nice shirt that the breeze kept pushing against his body. Chest to die for, biceps ditto. He’d been a golden boy in high school and he was a golden man now.
It crossed her mind that maybe Sofia had set this up—but no, that couldn’t be. Ruth had gotten incredibly lucky, that was all.
She wobbled to the unmarked car on those goddamned red velvet platforms. Safe in her arms, Tuff indulged in a few parting growls at the goombah.
“Go back to Brooklyn, Ig,” Nick said quietly. “Don’t let me catch you around this neighborhood again.”
The other man opened his mouth to protest, then shut it again. He got behind the wheel of the limo, puffing a little, and slammed the door. Then the same fandango with the windows started again—up, down, up—until he figured it out and drove very carefully off the sidewalk, maneuvering the white limo with a little more skill than he’d shown before.
Nicky watched him go around the corner and turned to her. “Where to? I’m Nick Del Bianco, by the way. Detective NYPD.”
“Um, that way,” Ruth began, gesturing vaguely. He really didn’t know who she was. Interesting. Very interesting. She decided to change her destination and go someplace else besides home. “But could you drop me on 187th Street instead, near Arthur Avenue? At De Lillo’s? I want to get a cannoli.” She did want one—the crunchy sweet tubes of pastry filled with flavored whipped cream were her favorite treat.
He looked at her like she was a cannoli, grinning like a hungry wolf. “Sure.”
Like mirror images, they opened their respective doors, got in and closed them at the same time.
“How about that. Simultaneous…never mind.” He grinned at her and started the car. Tuff wriggled so he could look out the window and then he yarped. “Is that how he barks?”
“Yeah, when he’s happy. Thanks for rescuing me. I mean, that guy wasn’t really bothering me, but I was kinda nervous.”
Nick drove, keeping his eyes on the street. “They don’t call him Ig the Pig for nothing.” He didn’t say anything more for a minute, just went left and then right, moving into the center lane.
“Oh, so you, like, know him?”
“He’s on our list, put it that way. Why was he talking to you? I could tell you didn’t want him to.”
“The fabulous Del Bianco, psychic. How’d you pick that up?”
The fabulous Nick looked at her and gave her a half smile. “Just observant.”
“He thought I was someone else. Someone named Gina, who was supposed to go to a thing in Brooklyn with la famiglia.”
“Got it. Gina Bertelli. She works the motels near LaGuardia now. You do kinda resemble her, at least in shades and that outfit.” He gave her an appreciative glance. “But you’re a class act all the way and she—uh, she isn’t. Believe me, you don’t want to spend a sun-filled, fun-filled weekend with that famiglia.” Nick slowed down and a gypsy cab behind him honked. He waved the guy around. “Hard to find a spot near De Lillo’s.”
She looked ahead on the bustling street, thinking fondly that the neighborhood had hadn’t changed much. Her mother’s falling-apart photo album from her 1950s childhood showed the same brick apartment buildings with Art Deco details, butted up against much older tenements. And the people hadn’t changed much, either.
The local women still shopped almost every day, buying everything fresh, going in and out of the stores: Borgatti’s for pasta, Calandra’s for cheese, Biancardi’s for meat, Tino’s Salumeria for cold cuts, and Randazzo’s Sons for fish. They sniffed and sampled everything, gossiped, prepared to stock up shelves and refrigerators that were already crowded with good things to eat. Ruth pointed. “Up ahead.”
Nick pulled over into an empty spot by a fire hydrant. “Okay. You and Tuff enjoy yourselves. I’d stay for a cannoli, but I gotta get back to the precinct. See you around, Ruth.”
She pulled down her sunglasses and looked at him with mingled disappointment and amusement. “You knew it was me all along.”
“Yeah, I remember you tagging around after your cousin Sofia. But you were always so shy. Pretty, though.”
Ruth gaped at him. Had Nicky Del Bianco really thought of her as pretty? The thought was mind-boggling.
“But you had me fooled for a little while. I really didn’t recognize you at first. So are you in disguise or what?”
“Kinda. I lost a bet on the Mets.”
Nicky gave her a pitying look. “They never win any more.”
“Sofia made me pay up by dressing me like this.”
He gave her a long onceover. “Yeah? She did you a favor. You’re a knockout in that. Can I have your number?”
Ruth swallowed hard. She wanted to scream it to the heavens—Nick Del Bianco wants to hook up with me!—or at least into Sofia’s ear on a cell phone. “Uh, yeah. Sure. But I don’t have a pen. Can’t you look it up on your superduper cop computer or something? I thought you guys could get anybody’s number.”
“Yeah, we can. I just wanted to know if you wanted me to have it. And now I know.”
“Then, uh, call me.” What in holy hell had gotten into her, Ruth wondered. Were the hooker clothes making her bold? Or was it because, Nick, the sex god, was only six inches away? Looking her up and down…from her tousled hair to her red velvet shoes.
She liked the way his look made her feel. Warm all over. Hot all over. Um, she needed to think about that. Ruth reached out to unlatch her door and swing it open. She slid halfway out of the seat, holding Tuff, who suddenly wanted to get down in a big way because he saw another mutt in front of De Lillo’s.
The dog’s front paws scrabbled at the air and his back paws caught in her micromini, hiking it up so high her black panties showed. Brand new—a present from Sofia that she’d added to this ridiculous outfit. Teeny-tiny. Sheer front and back. Decorated with a crystal drop that hung from a thin, black satin ribbon to right about where she was desperately pressing her thighs together.
She could drop her dog or yank down her skirt, but not both. Tuff was going nuts barking, trying to escape, so that answered that. Ruth got a better grip on him and felt her face slowly turn beet red.
Nicky looked. And looked. “Nice panties, Ruth,” he said at last.
“Thanks,” she gasped out.
“I like the little thing on a ribbon. What is that?”
“Ah, a decoration. A crystal.”
Kept in place by the pantyhose, it did catch the eye.