Desperate Measures by Linda Cajio Read Free Book Online Page A

more, for she was all too aware of Joe’s touch on her elbow. She went on. “It’s curiosity combined with the concern that it might actually be important. Will you slow down! We’re practically on top of him.”
    “I literally can’t afford to lose him.”
    She was tempted to remind him that Mariomight lead them on a wild-goose chase if he noticed them, but she didn’t. She supposed she ought to keep her comments to herself. After all, this was Joe’s problem and her little bit to help him was almost over. One point of the finger was all that was left to be done. Then she’d be back to home and bed—and peace and quiet.
    It sounded dull.
    Ellen set her jaw. She wanted privacy, and if it meant being a little dull, then she could certainly live with that. And she would make sure Joe understood that too. When she had a moment to tell him.
    They rounded the end of a long line of slot machines just in time to see Mario walk into the lounge. He held his head up and his shoulders square. Although Joe’s cousin wasn’t very tall, it would be hard to miss the curly, nearly black, hair cut precisely to the point where it just grazed his shirt collar.
    “Do you suppose he’s been in here all the time?” Joe asked in a low voice.
    “We must have checked here every fifteen minutes!” Ellen said in disbelief. “We couldn’t have missed him.”
    “True.” Joe stopped on the threshold and stared into the dimly lit room. “I don’t see him. Do you?”
    She peered inside. Except for the occupants of the first few tables, she could see only shadows and silhouettes. “No. The light’s bad.”
    “We’ll have to go in.”
    “But—”
    That was as far as her protest got. He tightened his grip on her elbow and pulled her into thelounge. When they were finally perched on stools at the bar, she was breathless as much from his touch as from his speed. Her eyes slowly adjusted to the low lighting. Fortunately, the lounge was between floor shows, so she wasn’t distracted by a bright stage. She glanced around again.
    “There,” she said quietly, nodding toward a back booth. Sitting directly under the booth’s yellow light was Mario. He was talking intently to some-one else in the booth.
    Joe turned casually, leaning his elbow on the bar. “I see him.”
    The man Mario was talking with leaned forward into the light.…
    “I don’t think it’s the same man,” Ellen said, peering intently. “His profile is too … defined. Unfortunately. It’s not the same person from the rink, Joe.”
    “I know.”
    “You do?” She turned to look at him and was even more surprised to see his features hard with anger. “You know him?”
    He nodded. “All too well. It’s my uncle Thomas.”
    Ellen glanced back at the two men. “Not his father, I take it.”
    Joe smiled grimly at her. “You take it right. Uncle Thomas is the last person I’d expect Mario to be with. I doubt Mario has bothered to say more than hello to Thomas in years. But here they both are, and cozy too. I don’t understand this. I thought he was selling the recipe at the rink.”
    “But what does your uncle have to do with any of that?” Ellen asked.
    “Too much. Remember I told you Mario has, by right of his position, access to a quarter of the recipe?”
    She nodded.
    “Uncle Thomas has one quarter of the recipe. If what’s going on is what I think is going on. Mario is about to have access to two quarters of the recipe. Another cousin and my sister hold the other two. I wonder now if the rink meeting was to arrange things with a buyer before he stole the recipe. Maybe he doesn’t actually have it yet. Dammit! Don’t tell me I have to watch all of them!”
    Ellen groaned. It was easy to guess whom he was going to ask to help him.

Four
    Panic, Joe admitted, was probably in order. Thomas Carlini was gregarious and generous and completely without guile. While the older man would guard his part of the recipe from outsiders with his life, he was