Page 13 of Taking Care of the Target

Carlo swore under his breath. “I can’t believe my own son is such afannullone.” The lazy kid didn’t care about family, honor, or working for what he got. He only showed up at the restaurant when Carlo threatened to cut him off, even though he was twenty-five years old now. He and Bobby were pretty much peas in a pod, which was why he’d never tried to pull either into the family business.

“He’ll have to come in if he wants to keep driving that flashy sports car he loves so much,” Carlo said, sure it’d be the perfect motivation. “Angelo and I will run the restaurant while you’re gone. You just focus on taking care of Cassie.”

“Tommaso keeps the kitchen running smoothly, and everyone respects him. He can help with the manager stuff if you need it.” With that, Vince turned to go.

“As fast and painless as possible,” Carlo said, still hating it had to be done—he’d gotten more attached to the sweet girl with the bright smile than he’d like to admit. And he wouldn’t. Not to anyone. “But you make sure she’s dead.”

“Don’t worry. I’ll make her disappear.”

Chapter Nine

How fast could one’s heart beat before it short-circuited and gave out?

Cassie needed to know, because her heart was seriously testing the limits. Every turn that brought her closer to where she used to work—or maybe still did—made her palms sweat and her heart accelerate. Every nerve in her body screamed to stop until she’d slowed the car to a near crawl. Any second someone would pull behind her and start honking. If they called the cops, she’d also be screwed because she still didn’t have a license, although the DMV—er, theMVC, since here in New Jersey they went by the motor vehicle commission—was next on her to-do list.

A faded sign on the brick exterior declared she was at the right place, but even though Rossi’s looked like a perfectly nice restaurant, being in the near vicinity of it gave her a panicky feeling she couldn’t shake.

She pulled into an empty spot a block down, her breath sawing in and out of her mouth. After a few minutes of debating whether or not she should bother Tom at work, she gave in and called him up.

“Officer Duffy,” he said after she’d been transferred to his line.

“It’s Cassie. Was I hit in front of an Italian restaurant?” If this was where the accident happened, that’d explain why her body rejected the idea of going back to the scene.

“I know there’s a donut shop real close,” he said, and she looked around, spotting one across the street, kitty-corner from the restaurant. “Hold on and I’ll check the exact location.”

A moment later he rattled off the address, and sure enough, she was there. She wondered if there was blood still on the street.Thanks for going to that disturbing place, brain. Like I wasn’t already freaking out.

She should get out of her car, go into the restaurant, and see what they could tell her. She curled her fingers around the door handle, and her heart beat even faster. Sweat pricked her neck and forehead. Her chest tightened to the point that getting air became difficult.

“You okay?” Tom asked, and she nearly dropped the phone because she’d forgotten she was even on it. Great, now she was forgetting current events, too.

“Fine,” she rasped out. “Thanks for the information. I’ll, uh, talk to you later.” She hung up after his goodbye and stared at the storefront. If her deposits and cash pile were any indication, it’d been a good place to work.

But why hadn’t anyone shown up to see her, and why had she been identified as a Jane Doe? A prickling sense of wrongness crawled over her skin, everything in her shouting to get out of there, and to do it now.

The door to the restaurant swung open, and for reasons she couldn’t explain, she slammed on the gas, accelerating away as quickly as possible. It was a good thing no cars had been passing by, or she would’ve had her second accident in the same exact spot as the first.

***

The past few days had been a blur of trying to find her way around the city, so Cassie wasn’t forever relying on her new phone for directions—although it certainly came in handy—and learning the ropes of her new job.

Sheer force of will had landed her a waitressing spot at McCarthy’s Steak and Seafood Restaurant, an upscale place within walking distance of her apartment. With her new bold motto in mind, she’d gone in, asked to speak to a manager…

And then stumbled over her words as her face heated up, sending her down to a sixth of a badass yet again. She was much better at the showing than telling, but she’d managed to convey her experience and flexible hours, and Mr. Brown, who was as lively as his name, had hired her on the spot.

Since she doubted her new boss would be impressed if she was on her phone while she should be working, she fought the urge to check her email again—digging through her inbox this morning had unearthed an old email from Annie, her next-door neighbor in Parker. She was a nurse, so whenever Dad got sick and Cassie wasn’t sure if she should take him in—he always said no, because ER visits were too expensive—Annie would come over and check his vitals and offer advice. After Dad passed away, she’d occasionally stopped by to check on Cassie, often bringing dinner and giving her much-needed company.

To distract herself, Cassie checked on her customers and closed out orders. Her tipsy group ordered another bottle of wine, looking like they were in no hurry to leave. Unable to take it anymore, Cassie checked her phone, but Annie hadn’t responded yet.

If this hazy fog hovering over my brain would just freaking go away, that’d be great.She’d even toyed with the idea of a hypnotherapist. She was sure her memories were two years of boring day-to-day activities, but they werehermundane memories, and she wanted them—along with her college education—back.No doubt hypnotherapy would cost big bucks, and saving for college will probably be more productive.

“Waitress?”

Cassie turned toward the voice and noticed the manicured finger in the air. With a tug on the hem of her black skirt, she headed toward the table. Apparently the dressy white button down negated the fact that so much of her legs were on display. She’d convinced herself the uniform was bold, because it helped her feel less awkward about how short the skirt was. In theory, anyway.

She flashed the lady a smile. “Yes?”

“We’re ready for our check now.”

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