by Karen Rose
She shuddered. “I was so scared, but I didn’t want him to see.”
“You said that the people he’d killed continued to scream and that I heard them.” He said it with a kind of wonder, and Sophie realized she’d paid him the highest compliment possible.
“And you always will.” She leaned up and kissed his mouth. “My white knight.”
He grimaced. “I don’t want to be a knight. How about I just be your cop?”
“What do I get to be of yours?”
He met her eyes and Sophie’s heart did a slow, delightful roll. “Ask me in a few months and I’ll say ‘my wife.’” He lifted a brow. “For now, my Boudiccea will do nicely.”
She smiled up at him, content. “You’re bad, Vito Ciccotelli, bad to the bone.”
He slipped his arm around her shoulders and led her toward her grandmother’s room. “You’re just saying that to be nice.”
She glared up at him as they were buzzed into the CCU. “You saw Simon say that on the tape didn’t you? You rat.”
He chuckled. “Sorry. I couldn’t resist.”
Sunday, January 21, 4:30 P.M.
Daniel stopped his rental car in front of the train station. “I wish you wouldn’t go, Suze.”
Her eyes were so sad. “I have a job, Daniel. And a home.”
Interesting, how she’d ordered the two. Job, then home. It was exactly how he ordered his priorities in his own mind. “I feel like I just found you again.”
“We’ll see each other next week.” At their parents’ funeral in Dutton.
“And after that? Will you visit?”
She swallowed hard. “Back home? No. After we bury Mom and Dad, I don’t ever want to go home again.”
His heart hurt just looking at her. “Suze, what did Simon do to you?”
She looked away. “Another time, Daniel. After everything that’s happened . . . I can’t.” She climbed from the car and ran toward the station, but he didn’t drive away. He waited, and when she got to the station door, she paused, turned, and watched him watching her. She looked fragile, but he knew that inside she was as strong as he was. Maybe stronger.
Finally she waved, just once, and she was gone, leaving him alone with all his memories. And all his regrets.
Then sitting there in the quiet of his car, he reached into the back seat for his laptop case. From inside he pulled a thick manila envelope. He slid the contents from the envelope and paged through the stack of pictures one at a time. He’d given Ciccotelli a copy, keeping the originals for himself. He forced himself to look at each snapshot, each woman. The pictures were real, just as he’d thought they were so long ago.
To each woman he made a silent vow to do what he should have done ten years before. One way or another, no matter how many years it took, he’d match these pictures with the victims. If Simon had perpetrated crimes against them, he could at least notify their families that justice had been done.
If someone else was responsible . . . I’ll find them. And I’ll make them pay.
And then maybe he’d finally find peace.
Epilogue
Saturday, November 8, 7:00 P.M.
Everyone.” Sophie tapped the microphone. “Can I have your attention, please?”
The conversation gradually stilled and everyone in the crowded room turned to face the podium where Sophie stood, looking elegant in an evening gown of shimmering green. Vito, of course, hadn’t taken his eyes off her all evening.
Much of the evening, he’d been at her side, if for no other reason than to run interference against the skinny old philanthropists, who, although they’d helped make this night possible, still didn’t get that they weren’t allowed to pinch Sophie’s butt.
Pinching Sophie’s butt was Vito’s job. He had the hardware on his left hand to prove it. Sophie met his eyes and gave him a wink before addressing the audience. “Thank you. My name is Sophie Ciccotelli, and I want to welcome you tonight to the opening of the new wing of the Albright Historical Museum.”
“She’s sparkling tonight,” Harry murmured and Vito nodded, knowing Harry wasn’t referring to the evening gown that hugged Sophie’s every curve. The sparkle was in her eyes, and the energy in her face was contagious.
“She’s worked hard to make this happen,” Vito murmured back. Which was an understatement. Sophie had labored tirelessly to create a complex of interactive exhibits that had caught the eye of newspapers and several national magazines.
“So many have contributed to the success of this endeavor,” Sophie went on. “Were I to read all their names, we’d be here all night. So I won’t. But I would like to recognize those who’ve put in tireless hours to create what you’re about to enjoy.
“Most of you know that the Albright Museum is a family operation. Ted Albright started the museum five years ago as a way to continue his grandfather’s legacy.” She smiled fondly. “Ted and Darla made a lot of personal sacrifices every day to keep our operating costs low so we can keep our doors open to everyone. To that end, we enlisted the help of family to build the exhibits. Ted’s son, Theo, and my father-in-law, Michael Ciccotelli, have designed and built everything you’ll see inside. Your guide will be Ted’s daughter, Patty Ann, who many of you enjoyed as Maria in the Little Theater’s production of West Side Story.” Patty Ann smiled, and Ted and Darla beamed. It was off-off Broadway, but Patty Ann had finally found her niche and seen her name in lights.
“We have three separate sections. In ‘The Dig’ you can get dirty searching for artifacts. There’s ‘The Twenties,’ where you’ll walk through science, culture, and politics of the twentieth century and hear firsthand the stories from the people who lived it. And finally, we have our ‘Freedom’ exhibit, which will be constantly changing, spotlighting people who have paid the price for freedom. The first of these will be Cold War.”
She looked to Yuri Petrovich Chertov. “Are you ready?” She carefully placed the scissors in his hands, then handed Ted and Darla their own scissors.
“I don’t know how she’s keeping it together,” Harry whispered harshly.
Vito’s throat had closed, knowing what was coming. But Sophie smiled as Yuri and the Albrights took their places by the big red ribbon that stretched across the door to what eleven months before had been an empty warehouse.
“Very good.” Sophie leaned toward the microphone. “It’s my pleasure to dedicate the Anna Shubert Johannsen Memorial Wing.” She stepped back amid flashes of cameras to let the three with scissors cut the ribbon, She’d taken this job to pay for Anna’s nursing home. She’d kept it to work through the grief after Anna had died quietly in her sleep a month after Simon Vartanian’s attack damaged her heart beyond repair.
Katherine had declared Anna’s death a homicide, bringing Simon’s list of victims to nineteen.
Vito didn’t think hell was hot enough for Simon Vartanian.
But it wasn’t a night for sadness. Sophie had come down from the podium and was mingling once again, trying to catch Vito’s eye. She looked at Harry’s wet eyes and gave Vito a little nod and a smile before turning to talk to the reporter from the Inquirer.
“Harry, I need to get up there and make sure the butt pinchers keep their hands to themselves. Can you get Sophie a drink? I think the lights up there were hot.”
Harry nodded, pulling himself straight. “What’s she drinking? Wine? Champagne?”
“Water,” Vito said. “Just water.”
Harry’s eyes narrowed. “Just water? Why?”
“She can’t have alcohol,” Vito said and let his grin escape. “It’s bad for the baby.”
Harry turned to Michael, who was still wiping his eyes. “Did you know?”
“Just this morning. She tried to eat lox with her bagel. It wasn’t a pretty sight.”
Vito grinned. “Dad’s already planning the crib.”
“Which Theo here will build.” Michael beamed at the boy who’d done what none of Vito’s siblings had been able to do—carry on their own fat
her’s art. None of them had a lick of woodworking talent. Turned out Theo Four had enough for all of them.
“No big deal,” Theo mumbled.
“No big deal,” Michael scoffed. “He’s already finished one of the cribs for Tess.”
Who, after trying for two years, was having twins, and Vito couldn’t have been happier. It was a second wave of Ciccotelli grandchildren. Which just added more family.
Which, in Vito’s book, made him the richest of men.
About the Author
KAREN
ROSE
is an award-winning author who fell in love with books from the time she learned to read. She started writing stories of her own when the characters in her head started talking and just wouldn’t be silenced. A former chemical engineer and high school chemistry and physics teacher, Karen lives in Florida with her husband of twenty years, their two children, and the family cat, Bella. When she’s not writing, Karen is practicing for her next karate belt test! Karen would be thrilled to receive your e-mail at [email protected].
Enjoy an exclusive sneak preview of Karen Rose’s next riveting novel!
SCREAM FOR ME
Available in mass market April 2008.
Prologue
Mansfield Community Hospital, Dutton, Georgia Thirteen years before
A bell dinged. Another elevator arrived. That made six now. The same number of floor tiles Alex was able to see around her feet. She didn’t lift her head. Didn’t lift her eyes. She stared at the floor and wished to be invisible as a strong perfume tickled her nose. You will not sneeze. Invisible people did not sneeze.
“Violet, come on. We’ve still got two patients to visit and my bursitis is actin’ up on me again. What are you doing? Oh.” The last was uttered on an indrawn breath and Alex knew invisibility wasn’t going to happen today. Go away.
“Isn’t that . . . her?” The whisper came from Alex’s left. It was a woman and she sounded very old. “The Tremaine girl that lived?”
Alex kept her eyes fixed on the fists she clenched in her lap. Go away.
“Looks like,” the first woman answered, dropping her voice. “My goodness, she looks just like her sister. I saw the other one’s picture in the paper. Spittin’ images they are.”
“Well, they are twins. Identical, even. Were, anyway. God rest her soul.”
Alicia. Alex’s chest closed up and she couldn’t breathe.
“Shame, it was. Pretty thing like that found dead in a ditch without a stitch on. God only knows what that man did to her before he killed her.”
“Dirty no good drifter. I hope they fry him alive. He deserves it for what he did to that poor girl. I heard he’d . . . you know.”
Screaming. Screaming. A million voices were screaming in her head. Cover your ears. Make them stop. But Alex’s hands stayed clenched in her lap. Shut the door. Shut the door. The door in her mind closed and the screaming abruptly stilled. There was quiet again. Alex dragged in a breath. Her heart was racing.
“Well, that one in the wheelchair there tried to kill herself after she found her mama dead on the floor. She took every pill Doc Grindle prescribed for her mother’s nerves. Luckily her aunt found her in time. The girl, of course. Not the mother.”
“Well, of course not. You don’t get up after shootin’ yourself in the head.”
Alex flinched, the crack of the single shot echoing through her mind, again and again and again. And the blood. So much blood.
Mama.
I hate you I hate you I wish you were dead.
Alex closed her eyes. Tried to make the screams go away, but they wouldn’t stop. I hate you I hate you I wish you were dead.
Shut the door.
“Where’s she from, the aunt?”
“Trudy at the bank says the aunt’s a nurse from Ohio. She and the girl’s mama are sisters. Were anyway. Trudy says when the aunt walked up to her window she nearly had heart failure. Lookin’ at the aunt was just like looking at Kathy’s face—spooked her out, but good.”
“Well, I heard Kathy Tremaine used the gun that belonged to that man she was livin’ with. What an example to set for those girls of hers, livin’ with a man, and at her age.”
Panic began to well. Shut the door.
“Hers and his. He has a daughter, too. Bailey’s her name. She used to babysit for my grandbabies when my son and his wife went out. They won’t have her now, though.”
“They were wild, wild girls, all three of ’em. Somethin’ like this was bound t’happen.”
“Cecile, please, you know that’s not what I meant. It’s not that poor girl’s fault some deranged homeless man raped and killed her.”
Alex’s breath was backing up in her lungs. Go away. Go to hell. Both of you. All of you. Just leave me alone and let me finish what I started.
Cecile scoffed. “Have you seen the way these girls dress today? Just askin’ for a man to drag them off and do God-knows-what. I’m just glad she’s being taken away.”
“She is? The aunt’s takin’ her back to Ohio?”
“That’s what Trudy at the bank told me. I say it’s a blessing that she won’t be going back to the high school. My granddaughter goes to that school, in the tenth grade, same as the Tremaine girls. Alexandra Tremaine would be a terrible influence. Pretty soon all the decent girls would be takin’ pills and cuttin’ on themselves.”
“I just don’t understand what this world’s coming to. Oh, look at the time. We still have to visit Gracie Wiggins and Estelle Johnson. Push the elevator button, Cecile. My hands are full with these violets.”
The button dinged and the two old women were gone, leaving Alex alone. She was shaking from inside her body out to her skin. Ohio. Kim was taking her to Ohio.
Alex didn’t really care. She didn’t plan on making it all the way to Ohio anyway. All she wanted was to finish what she’d started.
“Alex?” Footsteps clacked on the tile behind her and she smelled a new perfume, clean and sweet. “Alex, honey, what’s wrong? You’re shaking like a leaf. Meredith, what happened here? You were supposed to be watching her, not sitting on that bench with your nose in a book.”
Kim’s hand went to her forehead and Alex wrenched back, keeping her eyes on her hands. Don’t touch me. She wanted it to be a snarl, to lash out. But the words echoed only in her own mind.
“Is she okay, Mom?” It was Meredith. Alex had a vague memory of her cousin. One big girl of seven playing Barbies with two five-year-olds. Two little girls. Alicia. Alex wasn’t part of two anymore. Just me. I’m alone. Panic began to well again. Shut the door. For God’s sake shut the door. Alex drew a breath. Focused on the darkness in her mind. Quiet darkness.
“I think so, Merry. Alex, look at me.” Kim knelt in front of the chair and tugged on Alex’s chin until she lifted her face. Her eyes met Kim’s and instantly skittered away, dropping to Kim’s fingers on her wrist. Alex’s hands stayed balled into fists. “Her pupils are a little dilated. She’s seems more upset than sick.” Kim stood up and Alex breathed again. “Let’s just get her out to the car. Dad’s bringing it up to the door.” The elevator door dinged once again and Alex’s chair was turned around and pulled into the elevator backwards. “I wonder what upset her? I was only gone for a few minutes.”
“I think it was those old ladies. I think they were talking about Alicia and Aunt Kathy.”
“What? Meredith, why didn’t you say something to them?”
“I couldn’t really hear them. I didn’t think Alex could hear them either. Mostly they were just whispering.”
“I’ll just bet they were, old busybodies. Next time, come get me.”
The elevator dinged and the chair was pushed into the hall and Alex again focused on counting the floor tiles.
“Mom.” Meredith’s voice took on a warning tone. “It’s Mr. Crighton. And he’s got Bailey and Wade with him.”
The wheelchair jerked as Kim slowed. “I was hoping he’d do the right thing for once. Meredith, run out to the c
ar and get your father. Have him call the sheriff, just in case Mr. Crighton gives us any trouble.”
“Okay. Mom, don’t make him mad, please.”
“I won’t. Now go.”
The wheelchair came to a stop and Alex stared hard at the hands in her lap. Her own hands. She blinked hard. They looked different. Had they always looked this way?
“Dad, she’s taking her. You can’t let her take Alex away.” Bailey. It sounded like she was crying. Don’t cry, Bailey. It’s better this way.
“She’s not taking her anywhere.” His boots stopped shuffling on the tile.
Kim sighed. “Craig, please. Don’t make a scene. It’s not good for Alex or your own kids. Take Wade and Bailey home. I’m taking Alex with me.”
“Alex is my daughter. You can’t have her.”
“She’s not your daughter, Craig. You never married my sister, never adopted her children. You have no more right to them than a stranger. Alex is mine. And she leaves with me, today. I’m sorry, Bailey,” Kim added, her voice gentling. “But this is the way it needs to be. You can come visit her any time you wish.”
Scuffed black work boots stopped next to Alex’s own feet. She pulled her feet back. Kept her eyes down. Breathe.
“No. That girl lived in my house for five years, Kim. She called me ‘Daddy.’”
No, that she had never done. She’d called him “sir.”
Bailey was crying now, hard. It was real, not the fake tears she always used when she wanted her own way. “Please, Kim, don’t do this.”
“I love Alex like she was my own. You can’t take her from me. You . . . she can’t even look at you.” There was desperation in Craig’s voice. And truth in his words. Alex couldn’t look at Kim. Not even now that she’d changed her hair. It was a nice try and Alex knew she should be grateful for Kim’s sacrifice. But Kim couldn’t change her eyes. “You can cut and dye your hair, but you still look like Kathy. Every time she looks at you, she’s gonna see her mama. Is that what you want?”