Sexy Ms. Takes. Jo Leigh

made a one-armed gesture. John hit him with curses that would make Nonna, who was ninety-two last San Gennero’s, light enough candles to torch the Bronx.

      “Sal.” Vince motioned with his gun. “Get out.”

      “The cuffs,” John said, preparing his posture to charge.

      Sal didn’t answer. Instead, he walked backward, the shotgun still pointed at the woman, until he reached the door. The two men slipped outside and closed the door so hard the reinforced frame shook. A moment later, the slot opened, and Vince said, “The girl first.”

      John stood, and so did she. He cocked his head toward the door. “It’ll be a lot more comfortable.”

      “I’m not getting out of here anytime soon, am I?”

      He winced at the fear in her eyes. “Not yet.”

      She looked at him a few more seconds, then went to the door and turned to offer her wrists.

      A minute later it was John’s turn. If he thought it would do a bit of good he’d grab Vince by his goddamn jacket and smash his face in the door. Instead, he decided to leave that option for later and concentrate on the woman.

      BELLA STEPPED BACK AS John’s handcuffs were unlocked and the door slot closed. She still couldn’t believe this was happening. Of course she understood that the Mob existed, but even living in Manhattan she’d never dreamed she’d be in any way involved with them, especially not as a hostage. It should have been a good thing to have a detective with her, but he was the one who’d gotten her into this mess, so no points there.

      No windows, a steel door, lunatics with guns, no phone. Her chance at stardom shot to hell. And she had to pee.

      “Look, I don’t know what to say.” John met her eyes. “Sorry obviously doesn’t cover it.”

      Bella blinked at him, not sure how to respond. Especially since his GoodFellas accent had suddenly disappeared. She headed for the other side of the room, hoping against hope it had a bathroom. Thank goodness it did. A stall shower, a pedestal sink and god-awful wallpaper, but infinitely better than a bucket.

      She closed the door behind her, then locked it and promptly fell apart. Leaning against the door she tried to breathe, but only managed a few labored gasps. She shook so hard her teeth chattered and for a long moment she thought she was going to faint for real. Finally, her heartbeat calmed enough for her to take off her coat and put it on the hook on the door. One look in the mirror at her pasty face and she straightened up. She might be an innocent victim, but she wasn’t going to lie down and wait to die. She focused on pulling herself together, using all her sense memories to project strength and calm. Thoughts of the audition almost derailed her. Just remembering how long it had taken her to dress, to make up, to do her hair this morning made her eyes well with tears. She’d been so excited. So certain that this was going to be her best New Year ever.

      She all but had the part. The director had told her he just needed to convince the bean counters, and she’d be the lead. Nothing this big had ever happened to her before and now it was all going down the tubes. She couldn’t even call to let him know why she wasn’t there.

      All she could hope for was to live to see January 1. She’d rarely thought about her own death, not seriously. To never have another audition. Never see her parents again. Or her best friend. She didn’t want to die. Not today. Not like this. The whole situation was impossibly unfair. A regular Greek tragedy, only no gods were going to swoop in and save the day.

      As she washed her trembling hands she tried to find something to hold on to. He was a cop. A detective, although she didn’t know what kind. Killing a cop was huge. They wouldn’t do that, right? Vince had said she’d be fine. Sal had said they needed to talk. If the plan was to leave no witnesses, they’d be dead already.

      She did a relaxation exercise she’d learned from yoga class. No Greek gods were going to save her, and more than likely the cop wasn’t, either. Which meant she’d better get on with it. Save herself.

      First, she looked in the vanity drawers. Surprisingly, next to several unopened toothbrushes was a half-full box of condoms. A shudder stole through her at the thought. No guns or knives or even razor blades. She did find a hair brush that looked reasonably clean, a box of bandages and some superglue, but none of that would do her any good.

      There was nothing in the trash, nothing in the shower but soap and shampoo. The towels might have helped to strangle someone, but they were awfully thick, besides, the only person she could get close to was the detective.

      Finally, though, she had to leave the safety of the small room to face the reality out there. She opened the door and walked right smack into the detective. She yelped and he grabbed her by the shoulders. With her heart thudding like a bass drum, she looked into the man’s dark eyes, but he seemed as surprised as she was.

      “Sorry,” he said. “I didn’t mean to—”

      “What in hell are you doing?”

      He licked his bottom lip, then glanced quickly to the toilet.

      She felt herself blush and she looked away, her gaze landing on his chest. He let go of her shoulders and she realized just how tightly he’d held her. He was stronger than she’d imagined, which was a good thing. Now if he was half as capable.

      He rushed inside the bathroom and closed the door behind him, making her blush deepen. If this were a play, he would clearly be her hero, but in real life, heroes were in short supply. She walked away from the door, rubbing her arm. It wasn’t sore, not really.

      To her amazement, her stomach grumbled, and she looked at her watch. No wonder, it was after two. The auditions were still going on, and she had no doubt some other ingenue had caught the director’s eye. It had been too good to be true, anyway. As if to mock her, a wave of nausea hit hard and she pressed a hand to her belly.

      Trying to take her mind off of the play, she wandered around the sparse room, wrinkling her nose at the layer of dust lining the baseboards. Thank goodness the bathroom had been clean because the rest of the place needed a good vacuuming and.

      On the floor next to the couch was a dirty plate topped by a crumpled paper napkin. Her repugnance was cut short as she noticed a silver handle peeking out. A knife? Please, God. She hurried over and used the toe of her shoe to move the napkin. It was a fork. Better than nothing. She could keep it tucked in her waistband. She bent to pick it up.

      “At least the towels are clean.”

      Bella straightened and spun to face Detective Greco, and then quickly moved away from the fork. The sudden movement reminded her of the nasty bump she’d suffered in the cab. She didn’t think there was any real damage to her ribs, but it hurt.

      “Sorry, didn’t mean to startle you. Again.”

      “I—” She forgot her snippy retort as it hit her how improbably handsome he was. Black hair, cut rather short on the sides, but longish on top. Thick black eyebrows that totally worked over dark brown eyes. His jaw, already peppered with a five o’clock shadow that didn’t hide his cleft chin, was square and strong. Her gaze moved down past a broad chest to narrow hips. His dark suit had been cut well, and his taste in ties wasn’t horrible, although wardrobe would have picked out something in red.

      “Uh, ma’am?”

      That brought her right back to snippy. “Just how old do you think I am?”

      It was his turn to be startled. “I meant no offense.”

      “I’m twenty-five. I’m not married. I’m not anything but trapped here with insane mobsters and…you.” Her voice cracked. “That guy, Sal…you seem to know him. Are we going to—” She cleared her throat. “I don’t want you sugar-coating anything.”

      His lips curved in a sad smile. “Look, if I’d known you were in the back—”

      “We had that discussion. I don’t accept your apology.