Harlequin Romantic Suspense March 2021

by Anna J. Stewart

  “Give them enough time and people will always show you who they are.”

  “Did he have something to do with Gaia’s death?”

  Before she could answer, Emilio suddenly jumped from his seat. He rounded the sofa and raced toward him, throwing himself against Davis’s chest.

  “Uncle Davis!”

  “Hey, bud! You okay?”

  “Yeah. I have a grandfather. And this is my cousin. His name’s Paul Balducci but everyone calls him Pie.” Emilio giggled. “Except my grandfather. He calls him Pauly.”

  “It’s nice to meet you,” Davis said, throwing the man a wave of his hand.

  The man they called Paul, Pauly or Pie barely looked up from his game. He gave Davis one quick stare, his eyes narrowed into thin slits, his jaw tight. Turning back to his game, he continued to ignore Davis, seeming uninterested in him being there.

  Davis shifted his attention to the little boy standing before him. “I came to check on you, bud. I wanted to make sure you were doing okay.”

  Emilio shrugged. “I’m good.”

  “He’s doing very well,” Ginger said. She had moved to stand behind the boy, her hands pressing against his narrow shoulders. “Emilio is very resilient. He’s been having a good time getting to know his new family.”

  “Is that true?” Davis asked.

  Emilio shrugged. “I guess,” he muttered.

  “Do you mind giving us a minute?” Davis said, directing his question at Ginger.

  She smiled. “Of course not.” She stepped away, moving to go sit on the couch with Pauly, or Pie, or whatever the man called himself.

  Davis dropped down on one knee. “I just want to tell you how sorry I am about your mom. She was a good friend and I’m going to miss her.”

  Emilio nodded. “My grandfather said someone hurt her. He said he’s going to make them pay for what they did to her.”

  “We all want to find who did it. We want justice for your mother.”

  “No,” Emilio said, shaking his head. “Grandfather says we want revenge.”

  Davis inhaled swiftly, holding his breath for a moment as he thought about how best to respond. Before he could find the words, Emilio gave him a fist bump and returned to his seat in front of the game.

  Davis suddenly felt like he’d been dismissed a second time.

  Ginger returned to his side. “He’ll be fine,” she said.

  “I’m not so sure about that. Those values are nothing his mother would have wanted for him.”

  “Maybe not, but now he’ll learn how to survive and to excel. He’ll succeed where Alexander’s other sons failed. He’s been given the keys to the kingdom and he’ll reign. Alexander will make sure of it. And I’ll be here to help in any way that I can.”

  Davis studied her expression, something like awe and wonder lighting her eyes. “I’m sure you will,” he responded.

  “You should go now,” she said, pointing him in the direction from where he’d come.

  With a nod of his head, Davis turned, heading back up the stairs. As he maneuvered the steps, he noticed the family photos lining the length of the wall. One, in particular, captured his attention.

  Oddly familiar, it was a formal portrait of two small boys standing on either side of an elderly man. Both wore identical outfits, miniature replicas of the older man’s tuxedo. One child was fair with blond hair that had a cowlick in the center of his head. The other’s complexion was significantly darker, his jet-black hair swirled in silky, close-cropped curls. The family resemblance was in the eyes, but Davis needed to stare hard to see it. Until he did, and then there was no denying the connection. For a few brief moments, Davis stood staring, trying to remember where he’d seen the image before. Suddenly, Balducci’s words felt like a harsh slap. Our two families have a complicated history that makes our relationship very tenuous.

  In that moment, Davis realized things were more complicated than he could have ever imagined, and he needed to speak with his father. And he needed to talk with him right now.

  CHAPTER 12

  When his parents entered the family home, Davis had been sitting in his father’s office for some time, his head between his hands, his shoulders rolled forward, dejection wrapped around him like a wool blanket. The room looked like a hurricane had blown threw it. Papers were strewed across the floor, books pulled from the shelves, and there was a large hole in the drywall. He looked up as Jerome and Judith both gasped, trying to comprehend what had happened.

  “What the hell...!” Jerome shouted.

  “Davis, what happened?” his mother questioned. “Are you hurt?”

  He held a photograph in his hand, the edges yellowed and frayed with age. He held it out to his father, the two men locking gazes.

  “What’s going on? What is that?” Judith asked.

  “I saw this photo today on Alexander Balducci’s wall and, for the life of me, I couldn’t remember where I had seen it before. Then I remembered.

  “Simone and I found this copy in some old pictures Dad kept in a box. We’d been snooping around and when you caught us, you yelled at us for going through his things. I think Simone even got a spanking because of it since she was the ringleader.”

  He turned to stare at his father. “This is you and Alexander Balducci, isn’t it?”

  Jerome visibly paled. He reached for the photo, pulling it from his son’s hands. He stood staring, a flood of memories seeming to possess his spirit. A tear rolled down the curve of his cheek. He wiped at his eye with the back of his hand and dropped the photo to the floor. He turned and, as he passed his wife, took her hand, holding it briefly.

  “It’s time,” Judith said softly. “It’s time we told them all the truth. They’re not children anymore. Besides, our secrets keep coming back to bite us and that’s not good.”

  Jerome nodded in agreement, squeezed her hand one more time, and then left the room, having nothing more that he was ready to share.

  “So, that’s it. He’s just going to walk out?” Davis said as he got to his feet.

  “Watch your tone,” Judith snapped. “He’s still your father and you’re in his house. You will not be disrespectful—and what you just did was as disrespectful as can be.”

  “He’s been lying to us! Both of you have!”

  “Enough! Not everything is about you or your brothers or sisters. Some things weren’t meant for you to know for a reason, and you don’t get to judge us for making the decisions we made. You don’t have a heaven or a hell to put either one of us in, and we don’t have to justify our actions to you. When we feel it’s appropriate to share something or to explain our decisions to you, then we will. But you certainly don’t get to point fingers and make us feel bad because you don’t like how we chose to do things.”

  Davis bristled, the scolding pushing every one of his buttons. He was squarely in his feelings and not in the mood for more emotional overload. Because he wasn’t twelve anymore and he was tired of being admonished for feeling the way he felt. But she was also his mother and she would neither tolerate his reproach nor give him a pass if he came at her out of turn. He bit his tongue, knowing that if he said what was in his heart to say, he would live to regret it. “I’m going back to my home,” he finally said instead.

  Judith nodded. “I think that’s a very good idea. Before you go, though, you need to clean up this mess you made. Put your father’s office back the way you found it, and don’t you ever violate his privacy again. Is that understood?”

  “Yes, ma’am,” Davis said, his sardonic tone moving his mother to eye him with a narrowed gaze.

  She held up her index finger, the warning obvious. There wasn’t much more attitude she planned to take from him. She spoke, the command final. “Let everyone know there’s an important family meeting this Sunday. Your father will answer your questions when everyone is here.”
r />   “I’m still bringing Neema,” Davis said, an edge of defiance in his voice.

  His mother stared at him for a moment and Davis sensed she was weighing whether to make it an argument. “That’s your choice. If you consider her family, then she’s more than welcome.” Judith turned on her high heels and made her exit.

  Air blew past his lips like helium out of a popped balloon. He bent to pick the photograph up off the floor, staring again at the image of Jerome Black and Alexander Balducci and the patriarch clearly related to them both.

  * * *

  The man who opened the door to greet him did so cheerily, his disposition slightly disconcerting for the late hour. Davis appreciated his efforts, but he was not in the mood to be as jovial back. “Thank you for seeing me,” Davis said, his somber tone forecasting his mood.

  “I try to avail myself to patients when they need me, no matter what the hour,” Dr. Wayne Jacobs responded.

  “You’re an anomaly. Not everyone is as accommodating.”

  “So, what brings you here this evening?” Dr. Jacobs asked. He led the way to his home office, pointing Davis to the leather couch as he took a seat in an upholstered chair. “You were agitated when you called.”

  “I feel like everything I’ve ever believed about my life, my family, everything, has been a lie and the lies have begun to unravel. Now I don’t know what’s true and what isn’t. I feel lost.”

  Dr. Jacobs nodded. “Why don’t you tell me what happened that has you feeling this way?”

  For a moment, Davis wasn’t even sure where to begin. He felt conflicted but that was more about him finding it difficult to process what he’d recently learned. Feeling like he needed to make sense out of it all.

  “A woman died in my office recently. She was a good friend and, for a minute, the police thought I might have been responsible for her death.”

  The doctor frowned, his brow furrowing as he processed the news. “I’m so sorry for your loss. How are you holding up?”

  Davis shrugged. “I haven’t taken the time to mourn her the way I probably should. There’s just been a lot going on.”

  “Have you considered that maybe you’re having such a hard time because you are mourning the loss of your friend? There’s no set method to mourning, and we each do it in our own way. Yours may be manifesting in your frustration with everything else that’s going on in your life right now.”

  A pregnant pause blossomed full and thick between them as Davis pondered his comment. After a moment of contemplation, he sighed, then continued. “I found out that my parents have both been keeping secrets from us.”

  “And that’s upset you?”

  “It’s pissed me off! Why didn’t they think my siblings and I deserved to know the truth about their lives?”

  “Why do you feel they have a responsibility to share everything about themselves with you? We’re all allowed to withhold information from friends and family if it doesn’t directly impact them. Or do you share everything?”

  “Well, no, but they’re my parents and...” Davis hesitated. “They set that standard.”

  “Did they? Or did you just project your personal opinion upon them?”

  “I...well...it’s...” Davis stammered, searching his thoughts for the words to explain himself. “They lied.”

  “Did they lie outright?”

  “No, they lied by omission. They just didn’t tell us. And they should have told us.”

  Davis spent the next thirty minutes detailing the ill will he’d been harboring in resentment against his parents. Ten minutes in, he felt foolish for complaining, the wealth of his criticisms feeling nonsensical. Twenty minutes in, he felt vindicated, that his rational made all kinds of sense for anyone willing to examine the evidence. By the end of the half hour, he didn’t know how he felt or even why, just that trying to put all the pieces together had him feeling out of sorts.

  “You are entitled to feel the way you do. And your parents were entitled to those feelings that made them do what they did. I think for you to better process why you feel the way you do, you need to better understand their motives. Have you talked to them?” Dr. Jacobs asked.

  “We’re having a family meeting on Sunday.”

  “That meeting may give you more clarity and understanding. But if it doesn’t, you need to consider how you move forward. Will you be able to forgive them? Will you let this change your relationship with them? How does it impact your future? You’ll have to ask yourself some hard questions.”

  Davis nodded as he considered the doctor’s comment. He suddenly changed the subject. “I’ve met someone. A woman I really like. I worry that my family’s dysfunction may impact how this relationship develops.”

  “Is your family truly dysfunctional?”

  “We have our moments.”

  “Like most families. But from what I know about you and your family, you are truly a tight unit and very supportive of each other. Why not focus on what’s positive about your family and allow your new friend to get to know that?”

  “That’s sometimes hard to do.”

  “How have you been handling your anxiety?”

  “I have good days and then I have bad days.”

  “Perhaps we need to consider medication. I’d like to prescribe you something that might help take the edge off and allow you to ease into situations that elevate your stress.”

  Davis shook his head. “I don’t know. I’m very anti-pharmaceutical.”

  “Give it some consideration. Talk to your primary care physician and get his input. Then let’s revisit the idea again when I see you next week.”

  * * *

  The text message Davis sent to his siblings an hour later was short and sweet.

  I need help. Can you all meet me?

  Armstrong responded first.

  Peace Row. One hour.

  Five more responses followed, everyone agreeing to meet up at the private nightclub. Peace Row was a membership-only establishment for law enforcement officers. The brainchild of his brother Armstrong, it was owned by him, specifically for cops who needed a private space to unwind. It was also their go-to spot when Davis and his siblings needed to gather in solidarity.

  Davis was actually the last of his family to arrive, parking his car behind Simone’s. He maneuvered through the door of the old brick building on what appeared to be a deserted street. He made his way down a flight of newly carpeted stairs to a second door that had been freshly painted a vibrant shade of glossy red. He lifted a heavy gold knocker to announce himself, waiting for someone on the other side to allow him inside.

  The elderly man who answered the door gave Davis a nod. Davis recognized him from his days on the force with his father. The octogenarian had retired many years ago.

  “Hey, Mr. Henry. This is a nice surprise!” Davis exhorted. “I didn’t know you were working here.”

  The old man nodded. “Your brother’s been good to me. Keeps me busy so these old bones don’t go cold too soon.” He chuckled, the toothless laugh making his lean body shake.

  “Well, it’s good to see you, sir.”

  “It’s good to see you, too, son. Nice to see all you young folks.” The old man pushed past him. “Your brother said to lock the door behind me. Your kin are here already, waiting on you. I need to get on home to my wife.”

  “Well, you be safe out there, Mr. Henry.”

  Mr. Henry tapped the holstered weapon hidden under his wool blazer. “I’m gonna be just fine,” he said with another laugh.

  Davis followed the old man as he made his way down the length of hallway and disappeared out the front door. He turned the door lock, securing the entrance, and retraced his steps toward the inner sanctum.

  On the other side of the red door it was like being transported to another time and place. The walls were oak-paneled, polished to
a high shine and looking like an expensive old library. Round tables were neatly arranged around a dance floor and full bar. Except for his family, who were seated around a table in the center of the room, the space was empty.

  Most of the staff had retired for the night. Only one waitress dressed in black slacks and a black turtleneck had stayed and she was circling the table taking drink orders. The bartender and the cook stood shoulder to shoulder, arms crossed, waiting to see how their services would be needed.

  “You hungry?” Armstrong questioned, tossing Davis a look.

  Davis nodded, realizing that it had been some time since he’d enjoyed coffee and pie with Neema. His stomach did a flip, affirming his need for something to eat. “Yeah. That would be good,” he said as he took the empty chair between Mingus and Vaughan. Vaughan rubbed a warm palm against his back and the gesture was instantly soothing.

  Minutes later, after ordering food for the table, the family sat chatting amongst themselves. They waited just under a half hour for the cook, a robust Jamaican woman with waist-length dreads, to personally delivered platters of stewed oxtail, peas and rice, fried plantains and potato pudding. The conversation was casual as they each ate heartily, savoring every forkful until they were stuffed and ready to be rolled home.

  After helping to clear away the dirty dishes, Armstrong followed the last of his staff out the door, locking it tightly behind them. When he returned, he shut down the sound system and turned up the lights. He pulled his chair up to the table and in near perfect synchronization, they all turned to stare in Davis’s direction.

  “What did you do?” Simone said, her hand gliding over the protrusion of tummy beneath her formfitting blouse.

  “What your sister meant to ask,” Parker interjected, “is what’s wrong and how can we help?”

  “Does this have anything to do with Daddy?” Vaughan asked. “Because I was at the house earlier and asked about your case and he damn near took my head off!”

  Davis dropped his head into his hands, his elbows propped on the table. “I ransacked his office earlier. He’s probably still pissed.”