Page 49 of Donovan Blake: Adrenalin

“Exactly, but Phoebe, I’ve been thinking about your hand signals. He’s a poker player…high stakes. He might spot them. Rubbing your nose if he’s telling the truth and touching your hair if he’s lying might be too easy to spot.”

“What do you suggest?”

“If he’s telling the truth, do something…anything…with your right leg, hand or arm. If he’s lying, use the left. But make sure everything you do is subtle. And don’t worry, I’ll catch your signals. What the hell…?” he suddenly muttered, staring across to the far side of the room and touching the brim of his hat.

“What?”

“That man dressed like a 1940’s gangster, that’s Franco Giancana, and I bet the suit and fedora he’s wearing belonged to his great-grandfather. Talk about arriving and making a statement.”

“Isn’t he the man you think tried to kill you that night?”

“It sure is. This is going to be a very interesting evening.”

CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

As Franco moved through the crowd searching for Candace he could barely contain his excitement. He was determined he would find a way to be alone with her. But the home was huge. Rooms were everywhere leading into more rooms.

Then suddenly he saw her!

Speechless, he stared in awe at the stunning beauty who owned his heart.

He had no idea who she was supposed to be, but he didn’t care. The historical costume accentuated her figure, and ringlets from a wig framed her beautiful face. She was talking to a good-looking young man with an impressive physique and longish sandy hair dressed as Tarzan. Feeling a streak of jealousy, Franco took a deep breath and was about to walk up to them when there was a tap on his shoulder. Startled and spinning around, he found himself staring at Manny Trubello.

“It’s an amazing costume, but Franco, it’s rude to stare!”

They may have been friends as children, but at that moment Franco hated him. He’d stolen Candace, and it took every ounce of self control not to hurl his fist square between Manny’s eyes then pound him into a pulp.

“Who is she?” Franco managed. “The outfit, I mean. I don’t recognize it?”

“Marie Antoinette, and I guess I can’t blame you for not being able to take your eyes off her. She really is a vision,” Manny declared, waving over a waiter carrying a tray of drinks. “Have some whiskey. You look like you could use it.”

“It’s been a crazy few days,” Franco managed, taking a glass though he hated Manny’s patronizing tone.

“Yeah? Why is that?”

“Why do you think? Boris! I still can’t believe he was shot the way he was,” Franco replied, lowering his voice, then downed the whiskey in one gulp.

“You weren’t behind that?”

“Are you out of your fucking mind? You think I’d send a shooter into a restaurant full of people? That’s not my style. Not in a million years, and you fucking know it!”

“Hey, he was trying to muscle his way into your operation. Seemed like a reasonable conclusion, but if it wasn’t you, then…”

“Who was it? Not a clue. But I’d like to shake his hand—or hers. I guess you heard the killer was a woman. I’ve been racking my brains but I can’t think of anyone who has a woman on their payroll. Not that kind of woman.”

“Yeah, and I don’t know why but it bothers the crap outta me,” Manny grunted.

“And it was a woman who saved Donovan Blake the night I tried to snatch him.”

“You screwed that up big time. He’s here, by the way.”

“Donovan Blake is here?” Franco exclaimed. “Where is he? I’ll kill that asshole myself.”

“Not at my party, you won’t. And not while he’s here in Southampton.”

“Why the fuck not?”

“He’s with Phoebe Beaumont, as in Beaumont Engineering, that’s why not! If anything happens to either of them the feds will be all over it and that’s the last thing I need.”

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