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Kinahan looks at me. Then at Adam. Then he laughs. “So, you two are going to rid the state of blackmail and racketeering, and you’ll do it by blackmailing me out of business?”
Adam looks at me. I look at him. We shrug.
Kinahan says, “This is just a classic shakedown.” He shakes his head, laughing, “We might just get along yet, young feller.”
Then, Colm Kinahan, the Irish prince of darkness himself, points at me. “I’d keep this one if you can, though. She’s a fireball.”
Chapter Ten
India
Adam drives the limousine. I wanted to sit up front with him, but he won’t allow me.
“A limo like this one carried my father and mother, and me,” he tells me over the intercom, “for almost as long as I can remember. Believe it or not, this is the first time I’ve taken the wheel on a public road. Driving it makes me nervous. If you sat in front with me, I would shake like a leaf and I’d kill us both.”
I don’t believe him, but I do as he tells me and sit in the back. He also told me to enjoy the ride. I try, but I’m too wound up. I feel like the clock struck midnight and I’m on borrowed time.
I don’t dare ask where he’s taking me, but he hasn’t asked me where I live, so I take that as a reason to be hopeful.
When he swings the long car out of the underground garage, the velvety darkness of the night is shot through with orange from the low, fat moon hanging over the swamp. I’m giving myself two pep talks, both saying opposite things. One goes: India, you’ve been noticed, admired, and desired at the Governor’s Ball. You faced down one of the most fearsome gangsters in the state. You deserve appreciation. You deserve to be heard. Even to be loved.
Tell him what you want. Tell him. Right now.
And from the other shoulder, a voice tells me, You had a good time. Be glad. But take care of yourself. You’re exposed and vulnerable. Don’t lose sight of yourself and give in to fantasies and dreams.
I should say something to him.
He clears his throat over the intercom. “Where would you like to go, ma’am?”
I like this game.
“Take me to the Monteleone.” I add, “Be sure and get us there in good time for sunrise.”
“Yes, ma’am.” I get a shock when his eyes flick up at me in the mirror. “Shall I book a suite?”
I chuckle. “Their best,” I tell him. Then I say, “Isn’t there any champagne back here?”
“Of course, ma’am. In the mini-fridge. May I come back and serve you a glass?”
“You may, Adam.” I giggle.
The moon reflects in the bayou where he parks. As he steps into the back of the car with me, I feel like this could be my life. Limousines. The Monteleone. Him. But I have to hold myself in check.
“I have to ask you something,” he says as he pours cold champagne into a chilled flute.
“You won’t have any?”
He slips back into character. “Not when I’m on driving duty, ma’am.”
“It’s funny,” I tell him as he hands me the glass, “the idea of you serving me. Being my man.” That came out with a double meaning that I didn’t intend. But, ah well. I may as well have all the fun that’s going while I can.
“What did you want to ask?” I hold the glass up, but I wait to take a sip.
“Well, ma’am, now you’ve reminded me of the other thing, but I was going to leave that for a little later.” Later. That’s something.
He says, “I hope you won’t be upset or offended.” His lip trembles. My heart hammers. “I’m afraid you might be, but I have to ask.”
“What, Adam?”
