Rushed(95)

I wasn't as shocked as you may think. After all, crime families are just that, criminal. We betray the law on a regular basis, and while honor is a major point and a part of the very glue that holds us together, that doesn't mean that you turn your back on anyone without knowing what they had in their hands at the time. “So you want to find this person. Why?"

Tomasso thought before answering. "Because my only thought once that van side-swiped you and until I saw you standing in the doorway of my room at the hospital . . . the only thought I really had was if you were okay. Someone tried to hurt you, and they tried to make me look like an incompetent idiot. That doesn't sit well with me."

It wasn't Shakespeare, but there was a sense of romance to what he said. I stood up and went over to his chair, leaning down and kissing him gently on the lips. “I’ll be happy to help," I whispered, stroking his face. "But you promise me something."

"What?" he whispered back, his face open and honest.

“That you don’t risk your life over it.”





Chapter 11





Tomasso





I woke up the next morning in pain. I wish I could say it was the fiery pain like I'd felt in my neck where Luisa had unknowingly scratched me the night we had sex, or even the dull, thudding pain of a hangover. Both of those I was familiar with, and I knew how to do something about them. I could make the pain go away.

Groaning, I rolled to my side, only to hiss when my right leg, which had been banging against the metal hinge of my brace all night, also decided to tell me what a dumbass I'd been not to take any pain pills. Lying on my back, I stared at the ceiling above my bed, wondering if I'd been wrong not to take any pills at all.

I heard a soft knock on my door, and I struggled to a sitting position, making sure I was at least somewhat composed. "Come in."

Luisa opened the door and stepped inside, wearing a t-shirt and shorts that looked better on her than the model in the catalog I was sure the company had used to sell it. "I just wanted to come by and see if . . . what's wrong?"

"What do you mean?" I asked, trying not to show my surprise.

Luisa crossed her arms and tapped her foot, giving me a nonplussed look. "I've been spending enough time with you over the past few weeks that I can tell when something is wrong. What is it?"

I laid back down, giving in. "My ankle hurts. Seriously, this shit is painful."

Luisa came over and sat down on the edge of my bed, looking in my eyes. "Okay. Do you trust me?"

"That's a strange question," I replied, looking back into her beautiful face with those ebony orbs of mysterious darkness. I swallowed and nodded. “Sure. Of course I do,” I said, wondering what the hell she was up to.

"Good," she said with a small smile. "Then close your eyes."

For the next few minutes, I felt her fingers tapping, touching and pushing on various points in my leg, but also on other areas in my body. While she did, she talked in a low, soft voice. "Listen to me. Let my voice guide you. I want you to feel as I touch the areas of your body, and as I do, let your body feel the sensation. Accept it as it is, with no other meaning than that it is sensation your body feels. I want you to open your mind to the pain that is in your ankle. Accept the pain, and taste it. Let it wash over you and through you, accepting it for what it is, the signals from your body that say that you are not at a hundred percent. Recognize that you’re in control of that signal, and that you can control the intensity, just like you can control the volume of a radio or the speed of a car."

She kept up her touches and taps, and as she did, I felt myself drifting, and the pain not so much stopping as becoming manageable, something I could accept and deal with. When she stopped and I opened my eyes, I was amazed. "What was that?"

"A little bit of acupressure, point therapy, and what was it you called it? Oh yes, biofeedback bullshit," she said with a little smile. "My jiu-jitsu instructor learned under Rickson Gracie, who is into that sort of thing. I learned a little bit of it myself. Now, how do you feel?"

"Better," I admitted, taking her help in sitting up. "Like you said, the pain is still there, but the volume's turned way down. Right now, the biggest thing I feel is hunger.

She smiled. "Let me get your crutches."



"So what's the plan for this morning?" Luisa asked as we ate. "I assume you don’t intend to drag everyone into the pool area and have me hold a gun to their heads until someone fesses up.”

"Effective, but far too crude," I replied, contemplating. "We need to check the security video. Even if it doesn't show the actual phone call being made, we can see who was on the grounds at the time of your leaving that morning."

"And then?"

"We start narrowing it down."

Luisa finished her omelet and set her fork on her plate. "You know what the most difficult part of all of this is going to be, I assume."

"Making sure we don’t tip off whoever sold us out," I replied in appreciation of her foresight. I smiled before growing sober. "This is going to be difficult. I'm not as skilled as some of the men who work for my father. I don't pick locks, I can't hack computers, and while I can shoot, it'd look mighty strange if I started carrying a Beretta to the toilet. I've spent most of the past four years learning more about marketing, human resources, and sales plans than some of the nastier parts of our family's business."