Bailed Out (The Anna Albertini Files #2) - Rebecca Zanetti Page 0,49

up to him. I wish I’d been watching the street and entrance to Tessa’s building the day he was shot, but I was answering texts on my phone and was parked down the street.”

I narrowed my gaze. “What could Danny have possibly been doing with Rich and his micro-brewery plan? You said they worked together.”

“Danny was Rich’s third cousin on his mom’s side,” Aiden said easily. “Family pressure for a job, I assume. They didn’t even like each other, but that’s the other reason I know Rich didn’t have anything to do with Pucci’s death. You don’t kill family. Well, usually.”

My phone buzzed, and I drew it out of the back pocket of my jean’s shorts. “Hello.”

“It’s Nick. Get to the office. We have a serious problem.” Without waiting for an answer, Basanelli hung up. I looked at the steaks and sighed.

Aiden crossed his arms. “Who was that?”

“My boss,” I said, standing.

Aiden’s eyes darkened even more. “Oh, we’re gonna have to talk about that guy, aren’t we?”

I saw no reason to change my weekend clothing when I’d been ordered to work on a Sunday night but felt a little off as I walked into the quiet offices still wearing cut off shorts and a tank top. “Nick?” The hallways were dark as I moved to the big office on the end and opened his door.

He sat in his chair, a tank top revealing his muscled arms and a pissed off expression revealing more than I wanted. “I can’t believe you.”

Well, that could mean anything. I shut the door and strode into the office to sit on the other side of his desk, noting the nice view of the darkened Lilac Lake outside his wide window. Nothing came to mind that I’d done lately to elicit that reaction, and surely calling for help when I had thought Kelsey was going to self-harm wouldn’t make him mad. “Could you be more specific?”

“More specific? Sure.” He turned to the monitor of his computer and started to read. “This is online now, and the print edition hits the Timber City Gazette first thing tomorrow.”

I swallowed. “I’m in a newspaper article?”

Nick barked out a laugh and turned the monitor so I could see a picture of me taken that morning holding Aiden’s hand beneath the headline: “Possible Corruption in the Prosecuting Attorney’s Office.”

My belly cramped. “Oh, crap.” The photographer that morning worked for the paper?

“Yep,” Nick said, his voice low as he turned his monitor back to himself. “Shall I paraphrase it for you?”

I winced and tried not to puke. Everyone would see Aiden leaving my place in the morning with us holding hands. And by everyone, I meant my family. They’d know I’d slept with Aiden. I was a big girl, and a grown-up and had privacy and all, but no girl wanted her Grandpa to know she’d tangled up the sheets with a hottie Irishman who might be on the wrong side of the law. “Go ahead.”

Nick kicked back and looked at me and not the monitor, obviously having read the gist enough. “Let’s see. Anna Albertini, who found both Aiden and her sister standing over a dead body, who works for the prosecuting attorney’s office, is having an illicit affair with the prime subject in the murder—a guy who belongs to a motorcycle club that was just disbanded for distributing drugs. Can you say conflict…of…interest?”

A headache started in my shoulders and shot up my neck to my head. “Um.”

“Yeah. Um.” Nick’s dark hair was standing on end as if he’d yanked on it, and his usually mellow brown eyes held a sharp edge.

“Shouldn’t they have tried to contact me for a comment?” I asked lamely, trying to drum up anger instead of embarrassment and dread.

“Why yes,” Nick said, sarcasm heavy in his tone as he leaned back to read from the article. “Anna Albertini confirmed that the rumors surrounding this situation are true and that her sister did not murder Danny Pucci.”

What in the world? I leaned forward.

Nick continued, “Ms. Albertini also confirmed that she found her lover and her own sister standing over the dead body of Mr. Pucci. Mr. Pucci was arrested in the past for assaulting Ms. Albertini’s sister as evidenced from court files.”

I couldn’t breathe. “I didn’t confirm anything. Who wrote that?”

He faced me again. “The byline says Jolene O’Sullivan.”

“Oh, that bitch,” I muttered. When we’d had lunch by the beach. What had I said to her? “I didn’t confirm anything, and I had no clue she was