Going Too Far. Tori Carrington
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Название: Going Too Far

Автор: Tori Carrington

Издательство: HarperCollins

Жанр: Современные любовные романы

Серия:

isbn: 9781472028730

isbn:

СКАЧАТЬ to work from home this afternoon. She looked hot. And he wanted to touch her.

      He cleared his throat. “In a word, yes.” He leaned forward and shook his leg in an effort to move his pulsing arousal to a more comfortable position. Thankfully his suit pants were baggy enough to conceal the sad shape he was in. “Your father says he didn’t show up for work yesterday morning. Something I didn’t find out until the questioning was well under way.” He turned his coffee cup around to grasp the handle. “I had to do a bit of damage control when that little bit came out.”

      “Holy cow,” Marie whispered.

      Ian’s gaze dropped to her mouth as she said the words. Damn, but she had a beautiful mouth. The kind of mouth that could take real good care of a guy if she put her mind to it.

      “You can, um, say that again,” he said, unsure if he was talking to himself or her.

      Marie ran her fingers through her wild red hair several times, then sat back and blew a long breath out of those luscious lips. The fact that she was completely unaware of the carnal direction his thoughts had taken made her all the more attractive. Of course, not many people would be able to see beyond what he had just told her. Which was basically that her father was in deep doo-doo.

      Her blue eyes focused on him. “Did they say what the reason was for the suspicion?”

      Ian shrugged and took a long sip of his coffee. “Something about discrepancies on your father’s business returns.”

      She grimaced.

      “And, um, he was also questioned about his connection to someone out of Chicago.”

      “Who?”

      “James Baldacci.”

      “Uncle Jimmy?”

      Ian winced, her father’s position looking dimmer and dimmer all the time. “You call Jimmy the Head ‘uncle’?”

      Marie looked genuinely perplexed as she leaned forward. “What do you mean, Jimmy the Head?”

      She honestly didn’t know.

      Ian scratched his head then smoothed his hair back into place. “What do you know about James Baldacci?”

      Marie’s gaze narrowed. “Why did you just call him Jimmy the Head?”

      “Answer my question first and then I’ll answer yours.”

      She picked around the edges of her bran muffin, eating only the pieces that fell off onto her plate. “My father and Uncle Jimmy go back a ways. I think they came over from Italy together.”

      “Great.”

      “What does that mean?”

      He debated telling her, then decided she’d probably get it out of him one way or another. “It means that Jimmy is called the Head because he heads up one of the most powerful crime families in the Midwest.”

      Marie had the olive-colored skin that went with her rich Mediterranean heritage. Not that you could tell at that moment because she’d gone as pale as copy paper. “You’re kidding.”

      “I wish I was.”

      “Holy shit.”

      Holy cow to holy shit. Quite a jump for Marie even on a bad day. And fitting. Because Ian had thought exactly the same thing when the agents had asked Frankie Sr. about Jimmy, and Frankie had shrugged and explained that they were friends. Very good friends. Not something one usually went around bragging about, especially to U.S. Treasury agents.

      “So what happened to my father’s accountant?”

      Ian finished off his coffee, then wiped his mouth with a napkin. “I think the treasury agents believe he’s wearing cement boots at the bottom of a very large pond,” he said from behind his napkin.

      But Marie had heard him and looked about a flinch away from flinging her coffee into his face.

      “You can’t possibly believe that, can you?” she asked, color returning to her face in full.

      “I didn’t say that. I said I think the agents believe that.”

      She looked like she’d been physically struck. “Why that’s stupid. Ridiculous. Ludicrous.”

      “It’s fact.”

      She went silent and still, looking much like a statue as she stared at him in dawning realization.

      Ian felt decidedly uncomfortable. All these years and never once had he thought that the joking rumors about Frank Bertelli were true. Don Bertelli, indeed. Hell, the morons among the kids his age had also habitually greeted the Schlachter kid down the street with a Nazi salute. Certainly none of them had ever truly believed he was a Nazi.

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