bad? I would think hospital food would be worse,” Emma said, wondering if he’d talk about the attack. Now that she wasn’t quite so overwhelmed she was ready to hear the rest of the story.
But Anthony sidestepped the topic, saying, “I was only laid up for a week, then had to move into the Whitney for a night or two because Jim knew we’d have good security. After that it was the St. Paul Hotel. The rest of that second week’s pretty much a blur. Painkiller fog. But that ended after Dop’s last swipe.”
“What happened?” she asked, sliding a cutting board toward him when he pointed to it with a knife.
Emma refused to look at the melon while he cut it.
“Nothing much,” he said. “Dop drew an X on the door across from ours. Hornsby turned the place inside out but there was no sign of him. Probably happened while we were all asleep. And then Layne decided to show up.”
“You don’t like her?”
Anthony shrugged a shoulder and Emma’s eyes lingered on the shiny white fabric covering smooth, rounded muscle. “It’s not that I don’t like her. I just don’t know anything about her, and Jim’s being very tight-lipped. Hornsby hinted she’s pretty high up the ladder, though.”
“A surprise around every corner,” Emma said. “But how did the FBI get involved, anyway? I mean, this place is gossipville and I never heard one word.”
She snagged a piece of melon off the cutting board and nibbled, watching his arm flex as he worked. Her stare followed a line of tendon to his hand. She was an expert on male hands, after years of staring at them while fitting wedding rings on innumerable couples.
Anthony’s had changed. Back then she could have sworn he got manicures, but now they looked beat-up, as if he’d been doing some sort of manual labor. Hard to believe, but scattered across the square backs, palms and long knobby fingers were calluses, scratches and a scar or two. Not too many. As with everything concerning Anthony, he seemed to have the exact amount to suit her taste.
Here we go again, she thought. Very depressing. Two years later and she was still hopelessly in lust.
But the bad things had not been forgotten. He may have changed somewhat, but it would take a heart and brain transplant for Anthony Bracco to be someone she could count as a friend. Or anything else, for that matter.
He explained. “Mom checked my e-mail while I was in the hospital and found it flooded with Dop’s pictures. Pretty hard to miss the connection between the Xs and the assault. So since Internet crime is the FBI’s jurisdiction, she had an excuse to call Jim, and he slapped a gag order on the cops right away.”
“I take it you already knew Jim?” Emma asked. With Anthony one had to fish diligently or details had a tendency to be brushed over.
“Yes. We were roommates at college and kept in touch. Luckily, he had enough pull to get my case assigned to him.”
“Does he have a specialty?”
“Criminal profiling, mostly. You know, where they try to discern personal attributes by a suspect’s behavior, and then use it to predict what he might do. Not easy with Dop.”
“Hmm,” she murmured, trying not to think about that. “And who’s Hornsby?”
“Jim’s partner. A security expert.”
“Ah. You said something about messages? Like word messages instead of pictures?”
“Yes, but not a subject matter to discuss while eating,” Anthony said, turning away from the sink. “They came in fast and furious when I was in the hospital, then dropped off that second week. After the X on the hotel wall they all but stopped. Jim was starting to get concerned, but now we know what Dop’s been up to. Following you around.”
Emma sighed impatiently, “Are you ever going to tell me what he said in those e-mails?”
“There you are,” Jim said from the doorway. “Brady was having a fit, thinking you’d been abducted.”
Pressing one hand over her thumping heart, Emma exclaimed, “Do you have to sneak up on people like that?”
“Yes, it’s a job requirement. Is Anthony bringing you up-to-date?”
“Sort of,” Emma replied, sliding Anthony a piqued look.
“There’s really not all that much to tell. Just the messages and the hotel thing,” Anthony said.
“You’re forgetting the phone calls,” Jim stated. “But I need to get back downstairs. Just wanted to make sure you were up here, and hadn’t run off somewhere again.”
Emma raised her brows at the glowering looks that flashed between the two men, but Jim darted away before she could comment. Ignoring Anthony’s irritation, she prompted, “Phone calls?”
“A few. Not pleasant. I know I’m leaving things out, but trust me, you don’t need to hear the gory details.”
“Isn’t that my decision?”
“No, it’s not. You might as well get used to guessing what’s happening because no one tells the whole story. Not even Jim.”
“Great. I ought to be crazy in about twenty-four hours.”
“Slacker. I was there in twelve. But then I learned I was better off. And you, the biggest worrywart on the planet—”
“Ha,” Emma said. “As if I don’t have reason. Especially where you’re concerned.”
“You’re just spoiling for a fight, aren’t you?” Anthony challenged, sliding her a plate. He had the gall to smile at her as if it were cute that she was still angry after two years.
“I wasn’t until you said that. Now that you mention it, maybe I am. I can’t believe you’re acting like nothing happened.”
Anthony hooked his foot through the rungs of a stool and pulled it up to the island counter. “Fine. You want to yell? Go ahead.”
Emma gaped at him for a moment, then said, “I hate it when you condescend.”
“I wasn’t condescending. If you want to yell, feel free. Get me mad enough and I might even yell back.”
“Oh, can I?” she asked sarcastically, annoyed that she’d actually missed the way they used to bicker over nothing. Only this wasn’t nothing.
“All right, Emma, listen. What’s done is done. Neither one of us can go back and undo what we did to each other—”
“As if I have anything to take back,” she muttered, and took a bite of her sandwich.
“You have plenty to take back. Like shooting your mouth off and being a tease just for extra revenge. Not very nice after being Miss Don’t-Touch-Me for a week.”
“And that compares to what you did?”
“I never said it did. I’m just saying you didn’t play fair, either.”
“Do you think I’m proud of that?” she asked, wondering just how obtuse the man was.
“Are you saying you’re not?”
They stared at each other for a moment, and Emma noticed Anthony squirming a bit. His shoulder itched.
Let him suffer.
“No, I’m not proud of it,” she sighed. “What about you? If you could do it all over again would you bribe your way into owning my company?”
“Honestly?”
Emma let out a groan of sheer disgust. “You would!”
“In a heartbeat.”
Rolling her eyes, she said, “Some people never learn.”
“Right. So how would you do away with me this time?” he