The Good Daughter by Diana Layne Page A

face contorted, the promise of murder in his eyes.
    “ I didn’t think I should tell you on the phone.”
    “ Certainly not,” Marisa lashed out. “It is much better to tell us while he’s driving so he can kill us in an auto wreck.”
    Dave gritted his teeth. “And there’s a good time?”
    “ How did this happen?” Sandro demanded, the anger in his voice echoing in the confines of the car.
    “ Carlo’s men ran her down in her car.” Dave admitted, mentally replayed his total failure at saving Nia. “I tried to help,” he added quietly. “But they shot out my tires and got away.”
    “ Shooting? There was shooting around my wife? They got away?” Sandro thrust his hands in the air and leaned back, looking up as if to speak to the heavens. Or the roof of the car. “ Dio mio! You are useless.”
    Dave tensed at the insult, though he wouldn’t attempt to defend himself. He had failed, pure and simple, and Sandro was more than justified to be furious.
    “ Was she hurt?” He met Dave’s gaze in the rearview mirror.
    By now Sandro’s neck muscles were bulging; his eyes like shards of sharp, green glass. Marisa laid a hand on his arm to calm him, which only seemed a marginal help.
    “ From what we could tell, she wasn’t harmed,” Dave said, watching Sandro’s nostrils flare in the struggle to breathe and visibly bring his raging emotions under control.
    “ The trunk and tires and back window had been hit,” Dave continued, “but we found no trace of blood. From what witnesses said, she was struggling when they forced her into the other car.”
    “ Witnesses? There were witnesses and no one helped her?”
    “ People get nervous around guns, especially when someone’s shooting them. There were five men with guns.”
    “ What of my son? If they got Nia, where is--”
    “ Danny’s fine. He’s with your aunt and uncle at a safe house. You need to go there.”
    “ No. No safe house.” Sandro slammed a hand hard against the steering wheel, before turning to face Marisa. Dave had no clue what Sandro was spouting in rapid Italian. He was talking much too fast for Dave to pick out any familiar words. As typical of many Italians, Sandro used his arms, punctuating his raised voice and rapid speech with hand gestures.
    The sudden attack didn’t appear to faze Marisa. She argued back, their voices growing louder until she and Sandro were screaming at each other.
    “ Whoa, guys.” With a hand on each, Dave pushed them away from each other. “This is not helping. And besides, all this Italian flying around, I can’t understand a thing. You’re going to have to speak English if you want my help.”
    “ We don’t want your help.” Sandro’s face was still flushed, but his voice was controlled, the volume lower. “Get out.”
    “ Sandro!” Marisa scolded.
    “ You asked for my help, Sandro.”
    “ It was a mistake to trust a buffone like you.”
    The words splattered like hot grease and Dave felt the burn.
    He forced himself to stay calm. “I never intended for Nia to get kidnapped. You know I would give my life for her. We were supposed to get through this without her knowing.”
    “ If you weren’t so incompetent--”
    “ Sandro, blaming me is only wasting time.”
    “ Something went wrong.” Marisa said, changing the course of the dialogue. “We all agree. Now, we will have to work together to find Nia.”
    “ No.”
    “ We need each other, Sandro,” Dave said quietly.
    Sandro ignored Dave and turned to Marisa. This time he spoke in English. “You said she would be safe.”
    “ No one said she isn’t safe. Poppa is using this as a tactic. It’s you he’s after.”
    “ We knew something could go wrong,” Dave added. “That’s why I wanted to have her under surveillance.”
    “ If Carlo’s men had seen you watching my house, it would have tipped them off. Waiting until Nia left for her game in Germany, and she was out of harm’s way would have been best.”
    “ No one would