Charade. Kate Donovan

but under any other circumstances, that wouldn’t have been enough. Not this quickly, at least.

      “But you could die in Kestonia,” she reminded herself, only half joking. “The question now is, if you survive, can you go back to being just his asset? Did you mean what you said about cold turkey?”

      She honestly didn’t know.

      Dressing quickly, she returned to find him standing right outside the bathroom door, his green eyes warm with concern. “Are you okay? I can’t believe we did that. I kept expecting you to stop me.”

      “I would have, but you’re pretty good at it.”

      He grimaced. “I’d love to take credit, but the truth is, you were just in denial over the prospect of talking to your dad. Maybe looking for an excuse to postpone it. And like a jerk, I took advantage of that.”

      Sasha touched his tightened jaw. “You’re overanalyzing it, Jeff. Like you said, we’ve obviously been thinking about each other that way for a long time. It was bound to surface eventually. I’m glad it did, so we can deal with it, one way or the other. After I talk to Dad, of course.”

      “About your mom? Are you sure you’re ready for that?”

      “I’ll never be ready. But it has to be done. He’ll probably lie anyway, so…”

      Jeff eyed her hopefully. “Maybe that’s better, right? The truth might hurt too much. So don’t push it. The less you know about his business, the better it is for you, actually.”

      “His business is legitimate,” she retorted instinctively, even though Allison’s words were echoing in her head, reminding her that her father might be making an exception for the lucrative Kestonian market.

      For a moment she thought Jeff was going to argue with her, but instead he just shrugged his shoulders again. “Whatever you say.”

      Sasha studied his guarded expression. “Are you worried about my reconciling with him? In terms of my usefulness to you, I mean?”

      “No. Not at all.” He flashed an encouraging smile. “I trust you, Sasha. Without reservation.”

      “Why? Because I got you a picture of Vincent Martino’s new face?”

      “Because of the way you got it for me. Not from a desire to get revenge for your mom’s murder. Just because you want their brand of ruthlessness to end once and for all. You took no pleasure in what you did last night. In fact, it hurt you to do it. I respect that,” he added softly. “But I don’t want to see you get hurt where your father is concerned. It’s not necessary. So be careful.”

      “Thanks.” She smiled gratefully. “Did they arrest Vincenzo yet?”

      “We’re still working on it. By the time you check in with me next, it should be done.” He cleared his throat. “How long are you thinking? A week? Two?”

      She nodded. “At the most. If I need longer than that, I’ll call you.”

      “Call anyway, day or night, if you need to talk. If it gets rough…” He hesitated, then pulled her into a bear hug. “Don’t let my sex-maniac routine scare you off. I can be a good friend. I hope you don’t need one, but if you do, call me.”

      “I will.” She wrapped her arms around his chest and squeezed gratefully. He felt so big and strong and safe, and once again she wondered how she could possibly pull off the rescue in Kestonia without him whispering encouragement and advice into her ear.

      “Hey.” He tilted her chin upward with his fingertip. “Is something else bothering you? Other than the manhandling and the date with your dad?”

      “No,” she murmured. “But I’d better get going or I’ll lose my nerve. And as for the manhandling, well…” She stepped back, then admitted, “I may have lied about that cold turkey business.”

      “Huh?”

      “You’re a brilliant strategist, right? So while I’m visiting Dad, try to strategize a way you can be my handler and my manhandler. Okay?”

      “Sasha—”

      “I’ve got to go.” She grabbed her coat and purse off the chair and strode to the door, afraid to turn back toward him, even to say goodbye. Something inside told her that if they made eye contact now, she’d be back in his arms for the rest of the morning, and there wasn’t time for that.

      Not now, because she needed to rescue Teal.

      And maybe not ever.

      But she wasn’t ready to concede that yet.

      Spoiled Mafia brat, she accused herself with a rueful laugh as she dashed down the three flights of stairs to the street, then hailed a cab to take her to her childhood home for the first time in almost eight years.

      She would have loved to surprise Big Frankie, but security at his two-story brick house was too tight to allow a strange vehicle to approach without someone noticing, so she instructed the cab driver to pull right up to the front curb, then took a moment to compose herself.

      To her amazement, the emotion that was causing her hands to tremble was pure excitement untainted by dread. Was it possible she was really ready to face him? Or more likely, had Gianna’s wedding gotten to her so much that the little girl in her needed to touch base with her daddy—to pretend that nothing had come between them?

      The house was set back a good fifty feet from the street, and Sasha knew she was being watched. She could be intercepted easily before she reached the porch despite the lack of fencing around the property. There were always men in the apartment over the garage, visiting, plotting or just catching a few winks. And her father was almost certainly sitting at his desk, which was positioned in front of a huge bay window that looked out on the street. In warmer months, he could usually be found in the backyard, tending his fruit trees and garden. But in winter, he practically lived at his desk in the den.

      Pulling out a compact, she checked her makeup, and was amused at the flush that lingered on her cheeks from her encounter with Jeff. Not exactly the first look she wanted her father to see after so many years. He was a pretty good judge of human nature, and he’d want to know who the man was, the same way he had demanded to know about every boy she had ever spoken to in Chicago and Arizona during her teenage years.

      Probably not the right time to tell him that you’re hot for an FBI agent, she teased herself as she applied a light dusting of powder to her otherwise radiant glow. Then she winced, remembering that that wasn’t half the story. She was an FBI snitch in her own right. What would her father say about that? Subdued, she paid the driver and sent him away, then turned back to the house just as the front door opened and Big Frankie Bracciali stepped into view.

      At fifty-five, his hair was the same vibrant shade of blue-black as Sasha’s, without a hint of gray. Still he looked a little older, she realized in surprise. Strong as a bull, yes, and commanding as ever, but there was something a little different behind his deep brown eyes.

      It wasn’t age that had changed him, it was sadness. She knew that because as soon as she lifted her hand in a halfhearted, vulnerable wave, the years dropped away, and his expression became almost celestial with love and relief.

      “Dad…” She bit her lip, then raced toward him, throwing herself into his arms, shocking herself even more than him with the intensity of her display.

      “Mio Dio,” he whispered into her hair as he crushed her to his chest. “Is this true? Are you here?”

      “I’m here,” she assured him, laughing and sobbing all at one time.

      He grabbed her by the shoulders and pushed her a few inches away, enough to stare down into her face as he demanded frantically, “You’re not dying, are you?”

      Laughing again, Sasha sandwiched his cheeks between her palms. “Of course not, silly. Do I look that bad?”