Page 2

CHAPTER 2

Philadelphia, Pennsylvania

Tuesday, March 29, 11:05 a.m.

Mrs. Johnson had tried to describe her attacker. She’d really tried. But she’d been far more worried about her niece and her mind had wandered. And then she’d been overcome by the pain, her words becoming slurred, her thoughts fragmented.

Tino had seen it so many times before. He’d learned to listen to what the victims said because they often buried snippets of the description of their attacker in what seemed, on the surface, to be random conversation.

It was their way of coping. All he had to do was be patient and whoever he was interviewing would usually come around to the point. Mrs. Johnson would, too, but it might happen faster if she were no longer worried about Charlotte.

Charlotte, who leaned on a cane, pain tightening her features. She’d tried to hide it, but Tino was a trained observer. He hadn’t missed the twinges, the winces. The lifting of her chin as she walked beside him.

He’d already slowed his pace so that she wouldn’t have to race to keep up. She was five-six to his five-eleven. When they’d been kids, she’d been full of bounce and vigor, often racing ahead of him before turning back with a teasing smile. Hurry up, Tino. We’re going to be late.

She’d never been late to anything—except their last dinner together. The dinner where she’d told him that she was going to school in California. All the way across the country. He’d immediately considered how he’d follow her, what kind of job he could get. How he could leave his parents. His brothers and sister.

But he hadn’t needed to do that. She’d been adamant that they were over, that she was going to chase her dreams. He’d been heartbroken, watching her walk away from him.

He wondered now what had happened to Charlotte’s dreams. She said she wasn’t a chef anymore and he needed to know why. But he recognized the set to her jaw. She was stubborn, so he’d have to be as patient with her as he was with the victims he interviewed.

“Here we are,” he said, stopping at the door of Burt & Angela’s. “This place is in my top five favorite restaurants in the city.”

Charlotte lifted her brows. “That’s saying a lot. Philly’s got some of the best restaurants in the country. I don’t remember this place.”

“I only discovered it a few years ago. I do a lot of work with victims and their families at the hospital. One of the nurses brought back a meatball sandwich from this place and she shared it with me. I was instantly in love.”

“With the nurse?”

Tino chuckled. “With the sandwich. The nurse was flirting, but she wasn’t for me. Nice woman, just...not for me.” He opened the door for Charlotte. “After you.”

She entered, looking around with interest. It was a diner with old booths, many of which were held together with duct tape. The walls were covered in posters of magical destinations—Paris, Athens, Rio. But Charlotte wasn’t looking at the booths or the walls. She was staring at the big window into the kitchen, watching as the food was prepared.

“This is going to be delicious,” she said.

“It definitely will.”

“Tino!” Angela came out of the kitchen, a huge smile on her face. “It’s been too long since we’ve seen you.”

Tino opened his arms and enveloped Angela in a bear hug. “It’s been two weeks.”

“Like I said, too long.” She patted his face as she stepped back, giving Charlotte an interested look, head to toe. “And who do we have here?”

“My friend Charlotte. Her aunt’s in the hospital and she’s been sitting at her bedside. She needs to be fed.”

“Ah. Taking care of others before herself. We will feed her.” She grabbed a menu and gestured for them to follow. “This way.” She seated them in the back of the restaurant where it was quieter. “You can chat without all the noise.” She placed the menu in front of Charlotte. “I hope your aunt recovers, honey.”

Charlotte’s smile was small but genuine. “Thank you.”

Angela patted Tino’s shoulder. “This one will take good care of you.”

Charlotte met Tino’s gaze. “I know.”

Tino waited until Angela had bustled off to take care of another customer then folded his hands on the table. “Everything on the menu is good.”

Charlotte frowned. “She didn’t give you a menu.”

“Because I’ve memorized it. I’ve tried everything on it, but I usually get the eggplant parmigiana if I’m eating here. I get the meatball sandwich if I’m taking it home.”

“Where is home?”

“Mount Airy. My brother Gino and I bought a house out there.”

One side of her mouth lifted. “Bachelor pad.”

He rolled his eyes. “Everyone always says that, but we keep it tidy. We even have a housekeeper come in every two weeks.”

Her lips twitched. “But there is a man cave in the basement?”

He grinned. “With a big-ass flat-screen for football and a full bar. Homemade brew on tap.”

“Who makes the beer?”

“I do. I get gaps between jobs, and brewing beer keeps me busy. That and babysitting my nieces and nephews. Dino has five kids and Vito has two with one on the way.”

Her expression became wistful. “That must be nice.”

You could have had that , Tino wanted to say. You could have had me.

But he kept those thoughts to himself, curious as to what had become of her. Curious as to why she was no longer a chef. Curious as to why she used a cane. Curious as to why her aunt thought she felt guilty for the attack. But he kept those questions to himself as well.

“No husband or kids?” he asked instead.

She shook her head with a slight grimace. “Divorced. Messy. You?”

That she was single shouldn’t have made him so happy. But it did. She’d aged, sure, but she was still the prettiest woman he’d ever known. Her hair was still golden, her eyes still the same blue.

His body still responded to her. Still wanted her.

Which was stupid. But it was true.

He pushed the desire away, focusing on the question she’d asked.

It should have felt awkward, talking after so many years apart. Especially after the way they’d parted. But it didn’t. It felt...familiar. “Engaged once. Broke it off. We were better friends than life partners.”

She nodded once, but her eyes flickered with what might have been satisfaction.

He wasn’t going to let his mind go there. He was here to give her comfort and support. Maybe to find out why she felt guilty for her aunt’s assault. Not to fall back into old habits.

She’d been a habit, he’d told himself over and over after she’d left. Not his lover. Not his partner. Just a habit.

It sounded as false now as it had twenty-four years ago.

He was a forty-two-year-old man who traveled for a living. When he came home, it was to the house he shared with his brother.

If she hadn’t thought him worth staying for when he’d been eighteen, when life had been full of possibilities... Well, he wasn’t going to wonder about what might have been. What could still be.

This was a meeting due to circumstance.

And the circumstance was a tragic one.

“You’re still friends with Cliff Gargano,” she commented. “His mother said so.”

“Still thick as thieves. We’re both boring old men now, though,” he added ruefully. “He’s a daddy. Finally. Their little girl is so frickin’ cute.” He pulled out his phone, easily finding a photo of little Addison. His phone was full of them.

Charlotte smiled. “She looks like Sonya. She’s their little miracle, Mrs. Gargano said.”

“Truth.” He set his phone aside and decided to take the plunge into what he really needed to know. “Your aunt is worried about you.”

“I know. She always has been.”

“She thinks you feel guilty for what happened to her, and she’s not sure why.”

Charlotte flinched. “Well, that’s blunt.”

Tino shrugged. “We don’t have much time. I need to get you back to the hospital, and I promised her I’d try to help you.”

Charlotte swallowed hard. “It’s...” She trailed off, shaking her head. “It’s personal and not related to what happened to Dottie.”

“Okay,” he said simply. He’d let it go for now, but he would follow up later because he didn’t think that Charlotte entirely believed her own words. There was doubt in her eyes, a tremble in her voice. “Here’s Angela. Did you decide what you want to eat?”

She looked up at Angela, who’d stopped at their table with an expectant smile. “I’ll try the meatball sandwich, please. I’ve heard it’s wonderful.”

Angela beamed. “It is. My Burt is the very best chef in the city. Tino? The usual?”

“Make it two sandwiches. We need to be getting back to the hospital soon, so we may end up taking some of it to go.”

“I’ll make it quick,” Angela promised, then hustled back to the kitchen, shouting their order.

Charlotte was regarding him with a pensive expression.

“What?” he asked. “I like the meatball sandwich, too.”

She shook her head. “You’re not going to press me for details?”

“Maybe later. Not now.”

“That’s what I figured.” She sighed. “You can find it if you google it.”

“Find what?”

“The report about my...” She sighed again. “My assault.”

He stared at her, shocked. Was that why she now used a cane? Someone had hurt her? Who do I need to kill? “What assault?”

“A man back in Memphis. That’s where I lived for, gosh—fifteen years now. My ex’s family lives there so when we got married, we moved there. After the divorce, I just stayed. My business was there.”

“But not your chef business.”

“At the beginning, yes. I was the head chef in a very nice restaurant in Memphis for about four years. Then my ex and I were in a car accident.” She lifted the cane. “Broke my pelvis. I did all the physical therapy and managed to eventually return to my job, but I couldn’t manage the hours on my feet anymore. So I had to give it up.”

He wanted to say he was sorry, but he sensed she didn’t want that. “What did you do instead?”

“Became a restaurant critic.”

His brows shot up. “I wasn’t expecting that.”

“Not many people do. Long story short, my column became popular and I became locally notorious. I didn’t write under my own name and I wore disguises every time I was working. Never took the cane, as that would have been a memorable detail. I wanted to be incognito. No special treatment.”

“You wanted to experience the food the way a normal person would.” He winced. “A person who wasn’t a food critic.”

“I knew what you meant, and yes. That’s why I did it. Turns out that anonymity kept me safe for a long time. Then a year ago a restaurant owner had to declare bankruptcy and blamed my review.”

“Not five stars, I take it.”

“Not even one. The place was filthy, the food was frozen, cooked in a microwave. The servers were untrained and rude. One of them hit on me, then called me a bitch when I turned him down.”

“Wow.”

“Yeah. So the health department went in and found a ton of violations. My review didn’t shut the place down. His own negligence did. But he wasn’t just negligent. He was mentally ill and unraveling—and it showed up in his cooking and every other aspect of his restaurant.”

“He came after you.”

“He did. Took him months to figure out who I was.”

“How did he?”

“Bribed someone at the newspaper where I worked to give him tax info. Showed my real name and address. He was waiting for me when I got home one night, about a year ago.” She closed her eyes. “It wasn’t pretty.”

Tino reached across the table and covered her hand with his. “Where is he now?”

Her eyes opened, her gaze dropping to their hands. “Prison. He was sentenced to eight years.”

“Not enough.”

“No. But I always wonder now if someone is following me. If someone is stalking me. And when I found Dottie lying in a pool of her own blood, I had to wonder if it was my fault. The man who attacked me was average in height with big hands. But there are a lot of men of average height with big hands, so it’s just me being paranoid again. I call it being hypervigilant, but I know I’m really just being paranoid. I can’t help it. I think I see him—or someone like him—every time I turn around. I think he’s hiding in the shadows. Behind a tree.” She made a face, looking embarrassed at the admission. “My therapist says to cut myself some slack, that it will be better soon.”

He kept his expression calm. He’d had a lot of practice over the years, staying calm while talking to victims or witnesses. But this wasn’t just any victim. This was Charlotte.

“I have to agree with your therapist. But your aunt’s assault can’t have been connected to yours. Your Memphis attacker is in prison.” Then he understood her fear about ongoing stalkers. “You’re still doing restaurant reviews?”

“I am. I’m more careful now and I’ve gone freelance. No one has access to my address and pay records other than the IRS. I even do my own accounting and tax prep.”

“I don’t blame you. Are you using the name you used before?”

“I am. I almost didn’t, but I couldn’t start all over again.”

“I get that,” he said gently, because she’d said it so apologetically. “You have to make a living.”

She nodded, looking relieved. “So now you know my big secret. You can tell Aunt Dottie that it’s just misplaced guilt because I wasn’t with her at the time.”

Tino managed not to shudder, but it was close. “If you’d been home, he might have hurt you, too.”

Her chin lifted. “Better me than a seventy-five-year-old woman who can’t defend herself.”

“Better that nobody gets hurt. But I get your point of view. You know how to defend yourself?”

“Now I do. I took classes targeted at people with disabilities.”

“Smart.” He smiled at her, shoving away his own roiling feelings of rage. Someone had put his hands on her, had hurt her. Had made her afraid. “Are you here in Philly permanently?”

Her expression tightened. “Yeah. Couldn’t stay in Memphis. Too many bad memories.”

He frowned, thinking things through. “But if you are reviewing Philly restaurants under your old moniker, then someone will know where to find you.”

She shook her head. “I take the train to New York or Baltimore. Do reviews there.”

That made him feel better—except it meant she was alone on trains.

Lots of women travel alone on trains and they’re fine.

But he wasn’t thinking about lots of women. He was thinking about Charlotte.

“Does your aunt know? About the assault?”

“No. I didn’t want her to worry, so I told her that I was just ready to come home. That wasn’t a lie.”

“Well, now I can tell your aunt that you’re okay.” Kind of. She was becoming okay, at least. “Thank you for telling me.”

Her smile was wry. “Figured you’d poke around until you figured it out. Saved us both some time.”

“You did. And here is the best meatball sandwich you’ll find in Philly,” he said when Angela slid two plates in front of them with two takeaway boxes.

“In case you need to eat and run,” she said.

“Thank you, Angela,” Charlotte said, drawing in a deep breath. “It smells heavenly.” She took a bite and groaned. “Oh my God. This is good.”

“Told you,” Tino said smugly, telling himself not to react to her groan. He’d heard it before, many times. Sometimes it was because she’d just tasted something wonderful.

Sometimes it was because he had tasted something wonderful. No, no, no. He was not letting his mind go there.

Angela grinned and left them to their meal.

“I didn’t realize how hungry I was,” Charlotte said. “Thank you, Tino. For taking care of me today.”

He could only nod. He would have gladly taken care of her forever once upon a time. Those days were gone, but he was glad that he could take care of her today.

He cleared his throat, the words exiting his mouth before he knew he’d planned to say them. “Have dinner with me tonight.”

Her eyes widened, her jaw freezing mid-chew.

Shut up. Shut up now. Tell her she doesn’t have to. That you were just kidding. But those weren’t the words that he said.

“I’ll show you another one of my favorite restaurants. You can enjoy a meal without having to review it.”

She finished chewing the bite she’d taken, then tilted her head, studying him. “Okay.”

He was surprised. “Okay?”

She smiled hesitantly. “Okay. We were friends once. We can be again.”

Friends. He made himself smile. “Of course we can.”

* * *

Mount airy, Philadelphia, Pennsylvania

Tuesday, March 29, 1:15 p.m.

“You’re back from Knoxville,” Vito said when he answered Tino’s call.

Tino shook the bag of dirty clothes into the washing machine in his basement. He made it a rule to do laundry as soon as he got home from a trip, because if he put it off, it would never get done. “This morning. I got a call about the victim of a beating.”

Mrs. Johnson’s assault wasn’t being investigated by his brother’s department. Vito was the lieutenant over Homicide, but he might be able to make some calls on Charlotte’s behalf.

Tino wanted to make damn sure that the asshole who’d hurt her was still behind bars.

Vito was quiet for a moment and Tino could hear road noise in the background. Vito must be in the car. “You sound off, T,” Vito finally said. “What’s going on?”

“What’s wrong?” a woman demanded. “Is Tino okay?”

That was Vito’s wife, Sophie, one of Tino’s favorite people in all the world.

“Tell Sophie that I’m fine. Mostly. A little rattled,” he confessed. “The victim is Mrs. Johnson, my old art teacher from high school.”

“Oh no,” Vito said, sounding both shocked and sad. “I liked her. Is she going to make it?”

“Who?” Sophie demanded louder. “Dammit, Vito, put him on speaker.”

Vito, being a very smart man, put the phone on speaker.

“Who are you talking about, Tino?” Sophie asked.

Tino might blame both her bossiness and nosiness on her pregnancy, but she’d always been like that. He loved her so much.

“My case this morning was my old art teacher from high school.”

“The one who told you that you were good,” Sophie said, her voice softening.

Tino wasn’t surprised that she remembered, even though he’d mentioned Mrs. Johnson only once that he could recall. Sophie had a memory like a steel trap and the softest of hearts.

“She’s the one.” He drew a breath. “Charlotte’s here,” he blurted out. He wouldn’t call her Charlie. Not ever again. He needed to keep her at arm’s length. He needed to protect his heart.

“Oh,” Vito said, a lot of feeling going into the single word. “Tell me you’re not tempted by her. Please tell me this.”

“I’m not,” Tino said. “I promise.”

Liar, liar, pants on fire. He’d been so tempted. But he’d held strong. Kept his emotional distance. He sighed silently. Liar.

“Good. When does she go back to wherever she came from?”

“Vito!” Sophie admonished. “What the hell is wrong with you?”

“She broke his heart, Soph,” Vito said. “Trampled all over it and then walked away. It took him years to get over her. I had to help him pick up the pieces, and it broke my heart, too.”

Tino wanted to deny it, but it was true, at least the heart-trampling part.

“Oh,” Sophie said quietly. “I remember you telling me about her a long time ago. Do I need to threaten her, Tino?”

Tino closed the laundry room door and sank into the leather sofa in his and Gino’s basement man cave. “Not necessary, Sophie, but thank you for the kind offer. Charlotte’s back in Philly permanently.”

“Why?” Vito asked coldly.

“She was hurt. Attacked by a stalker. I don’t know how bad her injuries were, but she was hurt badly enough that she didn’t want to stay in Memphis any longer.”

“Is she worried that the attack on her aunt is connected to her attack?” Sophie asked, always on the ball.

“She is. The guy’s in prison—or he’s supposed to be. I was hoping you could check on it for me. It would settle her mind.”

“I’m taking Sophie to her obstetrician right now. It’ll have to wait until I’m back in the office. Both my assistant and my analyst are out sick, and I’ve put several of my detectives on a string of neighborhood murders so I’m shorthanded right now. Who requested the sketch?”

“Nick Lawrence,” Tino said, naming the head of the unit that investigated major crimes and assaults. “Don’t worry about this. I’ll call Nick.”

“Why didn’t you call him first?” Vito asked.

“I didn’t want to have to explain my background with Charlotte. He’s kind of nosy.”

Vito chuckled. “He is, but he’ll help you. You won’t even need to explain why you’re asking.”

“It’s Nick,” Tino said flatly, and Vito chuckled again.

“I told him last week to stop matchmaking and he said he would.”

“He lied,” Sophie said. “He called me two days ago asking for my help in setting Tino up with a nice woman who’s just relocated from Albuquerque.”

“And you said?” Tino asked, annoyance creeping into his voice. He loved Nick Lawrence like a brother. The man had been Vito’s partner in the Homicide Division for years. But he did not care for the continuous matchmaking.

“I told him that you wouldn’t like me interfering,” Sophie said dutifully.

“And then you said?” Tino asked.

“I said I’d talk to you about it. Which I now have. She does seem like a nice woman from her social media.”

“You stalked her socials?” Tino asked, not really shocked.

“Only a little. And you can’t be mad at me because I’m pregnant.”

Tino laughed. “Goodbye, Sophie. Have fun at the doc’s. If you get a new sonogram photo, I want to see it.”

“Deal.” She hesitated. “Be careful, Tino. With your heart, I mean. I don’t want this Charlotte person hurting you again.”

“I’m not eighteen anymore,” Tino said. “And neither is she. We can be friends.”

The words stabbed at his chest, just as they had when she’d said them at the diner over lunch.

Vito sighed. “Do the sketch for the victim and walk away, brother.”

“I will. Bye now.” He ended the call and leaned his head back into the soft sofa, remembering the haunted look in Charlotte’s blue eyes when she’d told him about her attack. She was not okay.

He knew he wouldn’t walk away. He couldn’t. Not as long as she needed him.

Besides, they were having dinner together tonight. He was very glad he hadn’t shared that fact with his brother and Sophie.

Squaring his shoulders, he dialed Nick Lawrence’s cell phone.

“Tino! Did you see Mrs. Johnson?”

“Yeah, I did. Did you know that I knew her a long time ago?”

Nick sucked in a startled breath. “I didn’t. How?”

“She was my high school art teacher.” Rip off the Band-Aid, Ciccotelli. “And her niece was my prom date.”

Charlotte had been so much more than that, of course. She’d been his everything. Until she left you. Don’t forget that she left you.

“Well, shit.” Nick hadn’t lost his southern drawl, even after having lived in Philly for years. He still drew “shit” out to at least three syllables, sometimes four. “Is this going to impact your ability to get a sketch?”

“No. I didn’t finish this morning because Mrs. Johnson needed her pain medication, which made her sleep. I’ll go back this afternoon and try again. The reason I’m calling is, did you know that her niece was a recent victim of an assault in Memphis?”

“No. I didn’t. Neither of them mentioned it. You think it’s connected?”

“No, but I want to be sure. The guy who hurt the niece is in prison. Can you verify that he’s really still there?”

“Of course. Thanks for the lead. So, Tino, I have?—”

“No,” Tino said firmly. “If this is about the nice lady from Albuquerque, then no. For the love of all that’s holy, no .”

Nick made a grumpy sound. “Sophie narced on me.”

“She did. Let the matchmaking thing go, Nick,” he begged. “Please.”

“Fine. Whatever. Just want you to be happy.”

He sounded so wounded that Tino had to smile. “I know. I’ll be happy if you leave me alone. Let me know what you find out, okay? The niece is Charlotte Walsh. At least that was her last name when I knew her.”

He hadn’t asked if she’d changed it when she’d gotten married or after the divorce.

“Still is. I’ll make some calls. Let me know when you have that sketch. We got an image of Mrs. Johnson’s attacker from a neighbor’s security camera, but the guy wore a hoodie and we couldn’t see his face. He left no trace of himself behind. That’s why we were hoping you could get a sketch. The old lady is the only person who saw him clearly.”

“I’ll send it over as soon as I’m finished with it,” Tino promised. He ended the call and closed his eyes. He’d had an early flight and needed a nap.