One-Eyed Jack

by Kristi Belcamino

Guilt suffused her, but she brushed it aside and ordered coffee and scrambled eggs from room service. While she ate, she searched for more information about Conrad’s uncle on her laptop. He apparently worked at an auto parts store that closed at 8 p.m.

  She wanted to be waiting for him at his house when he returned.

  Which gave her several hours to kill.

  After eating, she quickly changed into some workout clothes and spent the next two hours in the gym, pool, and running on the beach. It was only five p.m. She was restless. At the last minute, Eva decided to call the front desk.

  “Could you please tell me if a Mr. Alex Miller is still staying at this hotel?”

  “Yes, Ms. Spade. He is in the penthouse as usual.”

  She hung up without answering. Her heart was pounding.

  Closing her eyes, she took a deep breath.

  It was only dinner, she told herself.

  She dialed his room.

  “This is Eva.”

  “I thought you’d returned to Italy.”

  “I’m back.”

  “You’ve had quite a time of it the past few weeks, haven’t you?”

  She froze. How could she possibly have thought she could slip back into Miami without everyone knowing who she was. Although she’d managed to avoid most cameras, one image had been making the rounds on the Queen of Spades site—a blurry photo that someone at the pageant had taken as she raced down the aisle shooting at Sebastian on the stage.

  Alex cleared his throat. She’d never answered his question.

  “Yes. Busy.”

  “I bet you could you use a relaxing evening, but that’s probably not why you returned to Miami now is it?”

  “That’s why I was calling…” she said. “I have a few hours to kill, and I’m starving.”

  “I’ve just what the doctor ordered,” he said. “Give me twenty minutes.”

  Eva hung up without responding. She took a deep breath.

  The sex had been good. Great, in fact. The intimacy, though, was terrifying. She didn’t want to become close to this man. A hotel fling was one thing, but the real problem was that his villa was just down the beach from hers.

  That was dangerous. Extremely dangerous, considering her line of work.

  He not only knew who she was now—the mysterious Queen of Spades—but also where she lived. She only trusted a handful of people with that information.

  That would have to come up during their tryst. He would have to know that her location had to be kept a secret. She assumed he knew she owned the villa next to his, but at the very least he knew that she lived in the same small region of southern Italy. It would only take a question or two to point him to her villa.

  Damn. This was not acceptable.

  She’d been extremely lucky when she’d been arrested. Despite a manhunt for her on the west coast a few years before, police had never entered her fingerprints into any nationwide system for some unknown reason. It honestly didn’t make any sense. She had a feeling that Detective Jay Collins was behind it. His message said he wanted to meet, and wouldn’t bring the handcuffs. Still, she didn’t think that was a smart idea.

  But thinking of the detective made her smile. Their last encounter in Los Angeles? He’d let her go. He’d seen her and didn’t arrest her. It meant the world to her. Not only because she’d avoided arrest, a trial, and possibly the death penalty, but because it meant he believed her. He knew she hadn’t massacred her own family.

  51

  When Alex opened the door, Eva was surprised at her body’s reaction.

  He wore faded jeans and a white linen shirt with the sleeves rolled up. His feet were bare. His gray hair was brushed back from his face, and he had a slight five o’clock shadow. He also wore silver glasses. He pushed them up on his head to lean in and kiss her on both cheeks.

  “Buona sera,” he said.

  “Ciao.”

  “I hope you don’t mind; I had them set up everything outside so we could enjoy the last of the sun and the ocean breeze.”

  “Perfetto.” She found herself slipping into Italian with him and blushed.

  She also noticed something she hadn’t realized during her first nocturnal visit to his suite. It was much more sumptuous than hers. While she had a small balcony with a café table and two chairs, he had a broad deck with a table that could seat six.

  It was full of deliciousness right then.

  As they stepped out onto the deck, Eva’s stomach grumbled. There was a platter of antipasti—Italian cold cuts—soppressata salumi, prosciutto, capocollo, mortadella, pancetta, and cheeses she couldn’t name, some buttery, some hard, some oozing from the rind onto the platter. All nestled against a selection of olives, artichoke hearts, cherry tomatoes, and pepperoncini.

  Bowls of fresh fruit and cutting boards of bread and rolls and thick slabs of butter were nearby. In addition, a seafood platter held shrimp, rolled smoked salmon, fried calamari, and other delicacies.

  “You must have some pull with room service because I didn’t see any of this on the hotel menu.”

  He laughed and she realized she loved the sound of it. It was unselfconscious and hearty—a genuinely happy-to-be-alive, delighted laugh.

  He winked at her. “It’s not from the hotel kitchen.”

  “You are spoiling me.”

  “If you haven’t yet noticed, I like the finer things in life.” Something about the way he looked at her as he said it sent a thrill of desire through her core.

  “Mangia,” he said.

  She dug in. There was both white wine with the meal and chilled Limoncello for dessert. She glanced at the empty bottles of wine and then at her watch. She had to be stone-cold sober for her meeting with Conrad’s uncle, so she limited herself to one small goblet of the Limoncello.

  By that time, they had both pulled their chairs off to the side and were facing the ocean with their feet propped up on the balcony rail. The conversation was light and easy. They talked of books and movies.

  Eva realized she hadn’t felt so relaxed in years—since before. In her past life as a Malibu mother and wife. It was a strange feeling. For the past few years, she had spent nearly every waking moment driven and ambitious in her desire to train an army to defeat the Sicilian mobsters.

  She stood and stretched. She could feel Alex’s eyes on her. “I have to go prepare for my meeting.”

  He stood and walked over to her, taking her in his arms. She didn’t resist. Her heart was pounding in her ears. He gently leaned over and kissed her on both cheeks and then on her mouth, softly, without lingering. Then he drew back.

  Her body yearned to follow his and press herself against him, but her mind stopped her. She had a meeting. An important one.

  “I hope you found this as relaxing as I’d hoped it to be.”

  “It was…” she smiled and shook her head, searching for the right word. Finally, she sighed. “It was everything I needed.”

  He laughed. Again, that infectious hearty laugh. It made her smile grow wider.

  “Thank you.”

  She walked inside toward the door, feeling his eyes on her every step of the way. When she turned, he was leaning back on the balcony rail, legs crossed, holding his wine glass. His body was in silhouette from the setting sun as he raised his glass to her.

  The image was burned in her retina all the way to her room.

  52

  The ramshackle house was off the main road and down a gravel driveway. Her headlights cut through the gloaming, illuminating her way. A forest of mangroves threatened to overtake the small structure. A rusted blue Ford truck was parked to the side of the house.

  Eva’s car kicked up dust as she grew closer.

  Instead of parking behind the truck, she drew up so that her hood was a few feet away from the rickety front porch, also effectively blocking the truck from leaving. She got out, leaving the headlights on, which lit up the porch and front door.

  Securing her automatic in her close-fitting side holst
er, she pulled her leather jacket close to conceal the weapon and got out of the car. There was no way he hadn’t heard her coming. The purr of her engine had to have been the loudest thing around. Except perhaps for the cacophony of crickets coming from the swampy area behind the house.

  As soon as her foot touched the bottom step, the door flung open. A man with a grizzled beard and hair that stuck up stood there, holding a shotgun casually across his front. She paused and slowly drew back her jacket so that her holster and weapon were visible. She watched as the man’s eyes took it in.

  “You a cop?”

  “I’m a friend of your nephew’s.”

  The man scoffed and spit a long wad of chewing tobacco off to one side.

  “Friend, huh?”

  “I’d like a minute of your time,” Eva said.

  The man worked his tongue over his teeth and watched her for a second before he said, “Start talking.”

  “Why haven’t you picked up your nephew’s body from the morgue?”

  “He can rot for all I care.”

  “I have a few thousand dollars to make sure that he’s buried properly.”

  The man spit again. “You the one from the telephone? Said something about the money? I told you money’s not the issue—my sister-in-law paid for his plot. I ain’t lifting a finger for that boy.”

  “You misunderstand me, Mr. Reynolds,” Eva said quietly.

  The man’s eyes narrowed. “What exactly you talking?”

  “You’re going to have to come with me to the coroner’s office to make it official. They close in an hour.” It was a lie. Sarah North agreed to meet Eva at the coroner’s office after-hours.

  “How much you say?”

  “Five thousand dollars.”

  His head tilted.

  “Cash.”

  He closed his lips together tightly and nodded. He turned toward the door. “I’ll get my jacket.”

  53

  They stood around the casket as the priest finished his graveside eulogy.

  They were a small gathering.

  Molly was with her mother. She had her arm around her daughter as if she were holding her up. Molly had said she’d reconciled with her mother after everything had happened. Her mother had seen her on the news and had called and asked to meet. She’d gone through rehab and gotten clean and sober and wanted to make amends to her daughter for a shitty childhood.

  Eva was happy for the young woman.

  And then there was Alex. He’d asked to accompany her, and Eva couldn’t think of a good reason to refuse.

  When the priest finished, he gestured that it was time.

  Molly approached the casket first and laid a rose on its black surface, saying a few words quietly. When she was done, she and her mother and Alex left, heading toward the road to give Eva her privacy.

  Despite everything, Eva hadn’t cried for the young man yet. She didn’t know why. It seemed that when her family had been massacred and she’d held their lifeless bodies in her arms for hours, she’d cried all the tears her body would ever produce. And since then, the only times she cried was when she let herself go during her episodes.

  But as she stood there, looking down at Conrad’s casket, she felt such a wave of grief that it nearly sent her to her knees. There were no tears, just a painful stabbing near her heart. It was a powerful grief. Not just for him—a life barely lived, but for everyone she had ever loved and lost. So many. Her first love. Her parents. Even her duplicitous, traitorous brothers. She’d once loved them too. And of course—always—mostly for her husband, Jason, and her dear, sweet angels, Lorenzo and Alessandra.

  After a few moments, she kissed her rose, placed it on Conrad’s grave and turned toward the black limousine that contained Alex, Molly, and Molly’s mother.

  As they drove away, Eva thought about the next time she’d visit the grave and wondered how long it would be until she was back in Florida.

  Even if she never came back, she’d have Molly ensure the headstone was exactly as they’d planned. Molly had gone with her to pick it out.

  It was a black marble slab that matched the casket. It was inscribed with Conrad’s date of birth and date of death. And under his name, it said the most important part:

  “A loyal friend.”

  ***

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