DeMarco was watching him intently, his black eyes prob ing into Judd’s.
“How did you know she was coming to see me?” Judd asked, making the question casual.
DeMarco looked at Judd a moment, then walked over to a large desk and picked up a razor-sharp letter opener in the shape of a dagger. “One of my men saw her go into your building. There are a lot of baby doctors there and they figured maybe Annie was keeping back a little surprise from me. They followed her up to your office.” He turned to Judd. “It was a surprise, all right. They found out she was going to a psychiatrist. The wife of Anthony DeMarco spilling my personal business to a headshrinker.”
“I told you she didn’t—”
DeMarco’s voice was soft. “The Commissione held a meet ing. They voted for me to kill her, like we’d kill any traitor.” He was pacing now, reminding Judd of a dangerous, caged animal. “But they can’t give me orders like a peasant soldier. I am Anthony DeMarco, a Capo. I promised them that if she had discussed any of our business, I would kill the man she talked to. With these two hands.” He held up his fists, one of them holding the razor-edged dagger. “That’s you, Doctor.”
DeMarco was circling him now as he talked, and each time that DeMarco walked in back of him, Judd unconsciously braced himself.
“You’re making a mistake if—” Judd started.
“No. You know who made the mistake? Annie.” He looked Judd up and down. He sounded genuinely puzzled. “How could she think you’re a better man than I am?”
The Vaccaro brothers snickered.
“You’re nothing. A patsy who goes to an office every day and makes—what? Thirty grand a year? Fifty? A hundred? I make more than that in a week.” DeMarco’s mask was slip ping away more quickly now, eroding under the pressure of his emotions. He was beginning to speak in short, excited bursts, a patina of ugliness warping his handsome features. Anne had only seen him behind his facade. Judd was looking into the naked face of a homicidal paranoiac. “You and that little putana pick each other!”
“We haven’t picked each other,” Judd said.
DeMarco was watching him, his eyes blazing. “She doesn’t mean anything to you?”
“I told you. She’s just another patient.”
“OK,” DeMarco said at last. “You tell her.”
“Tell her what?”
“That you don’t give a damn about her. I’m going to send her down here. I want you to talk to her, alone.”
Judd’s pulse began to race. He was going to be given a chance to save himself and Anne.
DeMarco flicked his hand and the men moved out into the hallway. DeMarco turned to Judd. His deep black eyes were hooded. He smiled gently, the mask in place again. “As long as Annie doesn’t know anything, she will live. You’re going to convince her that she should go to Europe with me.”
Judd felt his mouth go suddenly dry. There was a trium phant glint in DeMarco’s eyes. Judd knew why. He had un derestimated his opponent.
Fatally.
DeMarco was not a chess player, and yet he had been clever enough to know that he held a pawn that made Judd helpless. Anne. Whatever move Judd made, she was in dan ger. If he sent her away to Europe with DeMarco, he was cer tain that her life would be in jeopardy. He did not believe that DeMarco was going to let her live. La Cosa Nostra would not allow it. In Europe DeMarco would arrange an “accident.” But if Judd told Anne not to go, if she found out what was happening to him, she would try to interfere, and that would mean instant death for her. There was no escape: only a choice of two traps.
From the window of her bedroom on the second floor, Anne had watched the arrival of Judd and Angeli. For one exhilarating moment, she had believed that Judd was com ing to take her away, to rescue her from the terrifying situa tion she was in. But then she had seen Angeli take out a gun and force Judd into the house.