Mob Mistress. Sheri WhiteFeatherЧитать онлайн книгу.
part of the conspiracy.
“The West Coast Family,” she responded.
“What?” Confused, he gazed at her hazy image.
“The media calls them the Hollywood Mob.”
His befuddled brain kicked into gear. “The Halloways? That’s who did this to me?”
“Yes.” She sat on the edge of his bed, rustling the pricey sheets. “How well do you know them?”
“I don’t know them at all. My uncle testified against Denny Halloway, their old boss, but that was ages ago. Twenty-nine years or so.”
“Really?” She sounded surprised. “So that means Reed Blackwood is your uncle?”
“He’s my mother’s brother.” Justin frowned, wondering why Reed’s name came so easily to her. “He went into the witness protection program.”
“Yes, I know. I read about him in old newspaper clippings.”
He stalled, analyzing her response. If she were closely associated with the mob, she would have known about Reed firsthand.
“My uncle has never been part of my life,” he said, admitting that he was scarcely related to the other man. “I was about a year old when he went into the program. He means nothing to me, and I mean nothing to him.” He paused, curious about his surroundings. “Is this the Halloways’ house?”
“Yes. You’re in their mansion. In West L.A.”
He contemplated what they’d done with his truck, if they’d hidden it somewhere. Surely they hadn’t left it at the Texas diner where he’d been abducted.
“Do they have a private plane?” he asked.
“Yes.”
“Do you think that’s how they brought me here?”
“Probably.”
When a sudden beat pulsed between them, he lifted his hand and attempted to touch her the way she’d touched him. For a split second, she seemed to sway closer to him. Then she pulled back, and he came up empty.
“Why did you sneak into my room? Why are you giving me information?”
“Because I want you to help me later.”
He wanted to trust her. He wanted to believe that she was being sincere. But who the hell knew? “With what?” He squinted at her. Her hair was long and thick, he decided. Falling past her shoulders. Either that or the shifting shadows were playing tricks on his eyes.
“I can’t tell you. Not now.”
“Can you least tell me your first name?”
“No.”
“Why not?”
“I need to be careful. I’m telling you things I’m not supposed to know.” She stood up, leaving him alone on the bed. “There’s something going on with a dead baby.”
His blood drained from his face. He could feel the sudden clamminess of his skin.
Her voice went quieter, even more hushed. He had to lean forward to hear her.
“A baby’s bones were discovered about a month ago. It was a newborn, buried in a makeshift coffin. Its death was never registered.” She exhaled a fragile-sounding breath. “The Halloways think it’s connected to you.”
His stomach clenched. “I don’t understand.”
“Neither do I. But supposedly that baby has been dead for as long as you’ve been alive.”
His mind reeled. “Who discovered it? And where was it found?”
“I don’t know. But it was buried with a toy identical to one you had when you were little. A musical pony.”
Justin went back to his childhood. He remembered his pony. His mom still had it somewhere. But she kept all sorts of sentimental stuff. “How do the Halloways know the toy was identical to mine?”
“I have no idea. I’m only repeating what I heard.”
He made a face. An infant decomposing for thirty years was a ghastly image, especially with a stuffed pony that played a lullaby by its side. “Does Reed have anything to do with the baby? Did they mention him?”
“I didn’t hear anyone say his name.”
“Who was having this conversation?” he asked, keeping his voice as low, as cautious as hers. “Exactly who did you eavesdrop on?”
“Denny Halloway’s sons. Brian and his brother, Richard. They were talking to their security chief.”
Justin pictured her skulking in a doorway, straining to hear their cryptic words. “Is Brian the boss?”
“Yes, and Richard is the underboss. But I only picked up bits and pieces of what they were saying.”
“That they aren’t going to hurt me? That I’m important to them?” His thoughts scattered. “Do you believe in ghosts?”
She hesitated, and he wondered if his question had given her goose bumps. He imagined her running her hands over her arms, up and down chilled skin.
“Do you?” she finally asked.
“Traditional Cherokees do,” he responded.
“Are you Cherokee?”
“I’m a quarter-blood. From my father’s side.” He considered his culture. “They say that murdered souls are forced to roam the earth, unable to go to the next world.”
“Why are you talking about murdered souls?”
“Because I think that baby was killed. Otherwise its death would have been registered. There would have been a legal burial.”
“The Halloways didn’t talk as if it had been murdered. It seemed important to them, too. Like you,” she added softly.
“Me and a dead baby. How creepy is that?” He shook his head. “This is the strangest thing that’s ever happened to me.”
“It’s strange for me, too. I keep hoping I’m doing the right thing. Involving you in my life.”
Was that what she was doing? He couldn’t tell. So far she’d revealed nothing about herself, nothing tangible, nothing he could grasp.
Moonlight drifted into the room, but it wasn’t bright enough to illuminate her, to give him a clearer image.
Was she wearing a nightgown? Or a filmy dress? He noticed how flowing her garment looked, how sleek and watery.
Of course the Mickey medication was still messing with his mind, still distorting his vision.
But even so, he pictured her in silk. And he suspected that she was a brunette. Her hair seemed as dark as the night that shrouded them.
He fingered the sheet and felt it slide against his hand. “Are you as beautiful as I imagine you are?”
Her breath caught. He could hear the quick, sharp sound. “I didn’t come here to feed your imagination, Justin.”
“You know my name?”
“I heard them say it.”
He knew it was crazy, but somewhere in his drugged-out mind, he was attracted to her, to a woman he couldn’t even see. The whispered lilt of her voice sent God-help-me heat up his spine.
“Why didn’t you call the police after you realized they’d kidnapped me?” he asked. “That’s what most people would have done.”
“I couldn’t take that chance. If the Halloways found out it was me who made the call…”
“Dialing nine-one-one would’ve been easier than slipping