“I, um . . . I’m just worried, I guess. Seems like there’s a lot going on here, like a tension in the office, you know?”
Val nodded, but it looked like he had more to say. “What is it, Ralph? You’re not saying everything.”
He shook his head as he thought about it. “I just . . . I’m not sure I ought to say . . .”
She gave a harsh, self-deprecating laugh. “I know what you mean. I feel like there’s something I need to figure out, and I just can’t put it together. How about this? How about you tell me what things don’t make sense to you, then I’ll give you my pieces to the puzzle, and we’ll see what we get.” She grinned, trying to prompt him along. She had to find out what he wasn’t saying.
Ralph nodded his head, having made his decision. “All right. It’s been bugging me for a while. I’m afraid I might have made a big mistake. I’ve been going over it and going over it, and at first it didn’t seem like a big deal, but somehow . . . I just feel like it might be, after all.” He looked guilty. Her stomach dropped.
“Ralph, you better spit it out. Right. Now.”
He suddenly looked like a frightened rabbit. Then he spit it out all at once, in one giant sentence on high speed. “Okay, it’s like this, a while back, Lizzie came to me and said that she and Roxy were trying their hardest to put their past small-town images behind them and that they were scared no one would take them seriously here in the big city if people knew where they came from. See? It’s not that big of a deal, right?” he asked, still nervous and shaky.
“Ralph. What exactly did you conceal and from whom?” she asked, deadly serious.
His eyes widened. “Well, you see, it’s all in their records, I didn’t falsify documents or anything. But a few people have asked about them, just in passing, you know, so I told them what Lizzie said to say.”
“You mean you lied.”
He gulped. “Yeah, I lied.”
“What exactly did you say?”
“Well, Lane asked about them a while back as well as Roarke. And then that Finn guy. I didn’t think anything about it; it was just a conversation in passing. You know.”
Her gut was doing a little dance, and he still hadn’t said the punch line yet.
“Ralph!” she yelled.
“Okay! I told all of them fake places. Roxy is really from North Carolina, and Lizzie is from Michigan.”
“Michigan? Where in Michigan?”
“Rochester, I think. Rochester, Michigan.”
“Oh, my God. Rochester,” she said, just barely above a whisper. “Is Roxy’s real name Roxy?”
“Yeah. I think it’s Roxanne. But . . . but Lizzie’s real name is Louise. Louise Franco.”
* * *
Finn nervously sat at his humdrum desk, which was a drab green that had been painted approximately thirty times. The top middle drawer had been touched up so many times it was impossible to shut completely, making it appear to be grinning with the underbite of a bulldog. He had a lot of paperwork to do, but he couldn’t focus on that to save his life. There was too much going on. And tomorrow was the deadline for Daley’s threat.
He had to admit, Donagan Connell and Daley Joseph were turning out to be more than the average thugs. Cunning, smart, knew how and when to keep quiet. Most didn’t. They kept their cards close to their chests, no matter what angle Finn tried. How could he focus on typing reports? He had put on a brave face for Lane, and the plan really was a plan that he had faith in. But it was risky. If there was any way not to involve her, he would do it. Gladly. But she was already wrapped in everything too tight. She had to be part of it to get her out of it. Alive.
That night when they danced in the foyer of her house to that sexy piano music . . . He’d never forget her face, so full of life, laughter, wonder. He’d never met anyone like her before. Her intuition constantly startled him; they’d make eye contact, and instantly he’d know she was thinking exactly what he was thinking.
Just like that first time he really saw her on the platform to the train. He still felt the same way: She was the most alive person he’d ever met. She wasn’t beautiful in a cover-of-a-magazine kind of way. Which was what took him off guard. In many ways, she was average. Average height, brown hair, blue eyes. But there was something about her eyes and smile that made you want to just keep looking. And her body was lithe and sexy to the point of distraction. In the park that day, when she’d kissed her hand and put it on his thigh that had been aching from his old injury, he had thought he’d burst into flames right then and there. And he really did believe her: She saw something worthy in him, which was something he’d given up on a long time ago.
He wanted to mentally kick himself in the ass. He was sounding like a lovesick schoolgirl. He’d never tell anyone these thoughts, but he secreted them away and kept them safe, bringing them out once in a while to carefully treasure.
With that thought, his mind flickered to the time when he and Lane had been in the bomb blast at Randall’s Island and he’d learned of how her parents perished. It explained a lot. He knew she was an only child, which accounted for her independence and some of her ability to hold down an extremely stressful job. He could tell Fio was grooming her for a bigger role. But she had this intriguing mix of maturity and sexy sophistication beyond her years, blended with a kid’s enjoyment of life. She drank it all in like no one he had ever met before. Maybe when you faced tragedy like that, you either turned bitter . . . or you drank in life.
But every once in a while there was a flicker in her, a glimpse that made him think she hadn’t fully dealt with her past. There was something she hadn’t faced yet, and he knew it was coming upon her fast and furious. It worried him. Would she be ready? Would it change her? He knew how brutal the past could be. By God, he did know about that.
It made him want to hold her in his arms and protect her, to help heal those wounds. He thought of the last time he held her tightly, swaying gently in the foyer of her home. And he realized something profound. She felt like home. A feeling he hadn’t known in a long, long time.
There was a knock at the door of the office. A young police officer came in looking for someone. The secretary up front pointed back to Finn. The officer came over and handed him a note. Finn opened it, and his face drained of all color. He told the officer to stay with him for a minute.
He had a tough choice to make. And he hated the choice, but he needed help. For Lane, he would do anything. Even this. He took his suit coat and the note and paused for a moment as he looked down at his ugly green desk. It was highly likely that the next time he came back to this homely desk grinning up at him, his life would be forever changed. If he came back.
Finn walked down a long hall with the officer trailing behind and opened a door, and a large group of officers turned to face him. At first their faces were friendly and open, then they registered who he was and every face became closed and anything but welcoming.
The tall one in the center of the group was especially closed. Finn tilted his head up and over, suggesting a private meeting, and then said, “Pete, please?” His kind and somewhat imploring tone completely surprised Pete, and he found himself walking over to Finn. Together, they walked out into the hallway. The officer with the message stood off to one side.
Pete’s face was a mask of mistrust. It took everything Finn had not to smack it off him. He said, “Look, Pete, I know you don’t trust me. But that’s the past, and if you care at all about Fiorello, about Lane and Valerie, and about our city, for Christ’s sake, then just listen. I need your help.”
Pete’s face looked like he couldn’t completely let go of his misgivings, but then Finn saw something in Pete’s face twitch and then relent. He took a small breath, happy to have cleared that first major obstacle.
“All right. This is the deal. Something big is going down tomorrow.. . .” And he filled Pete in on everything.
Finn showed him the note from Lane. “Good God!” Pete exclaimed. “By herself? She went off to Uncle Louie? She started t
he plan on her own?”
“Mm hm,” said Finn. “Well, she took Mr. Kirkland. . . .” He looked over at Pete’s shocked face. “I know. At first I was angry, then I realized it was exactly what I would have done in her shoes. Admit it. You would have, too.”
“I know,” he said grudgingly. “But I don’t have to like it.”
“Yeah. Me, neither,” grunted Finn.
Pete actually smiled. A little. Pete took a long, calculating look at Finn. It was obvious to Finn that he still didn’t like him and he wasn’t able to forgive the past. But there was something there in Pete’s face that he hadn’t seen before.
“All right. Let’s do it,” decided Pete.
Finn nodded. “Thank you. Let’s go.”
He was about to tell the officer he could leave now, but just then, the guy came over to Finn smiling, with a raised hand, and said affably, “Oh, I forgot to say . . .” He chuckled, as if Finn and Pete were going to get a big kick out of this. “I got this message yesterday. I almost forgot to get it to you.”
“Yesterday?” Finn burst out in savage, primal anger. Pete held him back as he strained to throttle the idiot.
“You better get outta here, you dumbass!” uttered Pete, having difficulty restraining Finn.
* * *
Valerie grabbed Ralph by the wrist, Ralph wincing in pain. “You’re coming with me,” she said.
“Where are we going?” he asked, obeying her reluctantly.
“Oh, you don’t really want to know that. But you’re going. You owe me, and I’d rather have you come along than go by myself.”
They found a cab with just a little difficulty. On the way, they both were silent, held captive by their thoughts, fears, and concerns that they hadn’t acted fast enough.
They pulled up, and Valerie told the cabbie that she’d pay him double if he waited for them and that they wouldn’t be long. He looked hesitant until she said, pay double. Valerie marched up to the door and rang the bell. It was after the dinner hour, and she hoped with all her might that he’d still be at home, not having gone out for the evening.
The butler came to the door and gave her a cryptic look as she told him who she was and that it was in reference to Lane Sanders. His eyebrows went up, and he ushered them inside. After only a few moments, he collected them and took them to the back of the grand old house to what looked like an enormous personal office.
They went in the door, and Valerie walked right up to the humongous desk and said, “Mr. Venetti, sir, I know who killed your nephew, Danny.”
Uncle Louie’s thick, bushy eyebrows almost shot off his face, he raised them with such force. “My dear, you’re the second person to tell me that.”
It was Val’s turn to be shocked. Ralph was utterly, hopelessly distraught, and he looked like he might just melt then and there into the lush carpeting.
“Let me guess, Lane was here,” Val offered.
“Yes.”
Val put her hands on her hips, taking charge. “Well, I can sense that you like her, as do I, sir. You don’t owe us anything, but I was wondering if you might be in a position to help find her. She’s disappeared.”
Ralph looked as if he might wet himself at Val’s gumption. Uncle Louie’s eyes looked incredulous, and he started muttering to himself, shaking his head. At first it was in Italian and Val couldn’t understand the murmurs, but then she thought she caught something like, These women will be the end of me.
After clasping his hands on his desk, deep in thought, he finally looked up and took a good long look at Valerie. He looked at odds with himself. After a long moment, he said, “All right. I do like Lane. She is quite . . . unique. I think I found the information she was looking for. And I think I might know where she could be.” His face looked pleasant at first, like he genuinely did like Lane. Then, as he said the last sentence, his face turned dark and almost worried, a foreign look for that stony-faced countenance. That dark look scared Valerie more than anything up to this point.
“Mr. Venetti, where do you think they have her?”
CHAPTER 32
I am seeking, I am striving, I am in it with all my heart.
—ML
Despite the constraints in the van, I was able to wiggle my way over to Roarke. Any kind, friendly contact was a lifeline in this journey. We pulled up to our mystery destination, and the engine clunked to a stop. I heard the back doors open, and someone helped us out, leading us into a building. From the night sounds, it didn’t seem industrial; there was traffic, but it was quieter than in Manhattan.
We went up some stairs, the kind that led to an apartment versus an office building, and then through another door. Inside I was assaulted by women’s perfume, my senses in overdrive, compensating for the lack of vision. I was walking on a rug, then a wood floor, then more rugs. At last, we came to our destination. A door clicked open, we went in, and someone roughly took the bindings off our hands, then left the room, shutting the door behind.
I took off my hood as fast as humanly possible while trying hard not to touch my still very painful head, and I yanked off the gag. Roarke and I looked gratefully at one another. We were, for now, in one piece.
“You okay?” he asked.
I tried a smile and said, “Yeah, thanks. Seems like we’re in Queens, huh?”
“I think so. We went over a bridge.” I nodded.
“And this is a residential area, not industrial,” he said.
“I gotta say, I was scared we were heading back to Metropolitan Hospital.”
He shivered. “I thought the same thing.”
We took a look around, and we had it pretty good. It was a small bedroom, even had a good-sized bed. Clean, dark colors on the walls, a new bedspread, and there were two lamps that gave off a golden light. There was a pitcher of water on a dresser and some bread and cheese. I went over and sniffed the water.
Roarke snickered. “Think it’s been drugged?” he asked sarcastically. “You read too much, Lane.”
The water didn’t smell of anything bitter. Didn’t cyanide smell like almonds? Maybe I did read too much. I figured if they’d wanted us dead, they could have killed us easily by now. If anything, there could be something in it to make us sleepy and incapacitated. I ate some bread and cheese, and it made me feel considerably better. Roarke had some, too. Then we drank down some water.
The only odd thing about the bedroom was that there were no windows. There was something that looked like a window with curtains, but it turned out to be a solid wall. I started to get an idea of what kind of place we were in. There was no escape.
Turned out, the water was drugged after all. Roarke and I became extremely sleepy. And given the fact that we couldn’t escape, Roarke went over to the bed to lie down.
“I told you it was drugged,” said Roarke.
“Ha!” I said.
“How’s your head, Lane?” he asked softly. Earlier he had looked at my pupils to see if they were dilated abnormally, a sign of concussion. They looked all right.
“Well, it’s throbbing again. I think rest would be a good idea.”
I looked at his handsome form as I sat next to him on the edge of the bed. He was such an interesting guy. A great friend and someone I could count on. Yet there was something remote about those eyes of his. Like he was always just about to take a trip, like he wasn’t able to be completely present.
I sighed. Other than seeing Fio leading a rescue party and knocking down our door, there wasn’t anyone on earth I wanted to see more than Finn. Where is he? Did he get my message? Will he be able to find me even after they moved us from the Meatpacking District?
Roarke looked at me, his serious eyes marked with dark shadows underneath. “Finn will find us, Lane.” He smiled slightly at my look of surprise. “You talked while you were sleeping at the other place. You said his name.”
I looked over at him. It was the first time my fears had a chance to catch up and tears were threatening to make an appearance.
“
Come here,” he said as he reached out a long arm. I laid my head gently on his chest and felt his arm come around me. We fell fast asleep.
* * *
When we woke up, I was completely disoriented. It felt like we’d been asleep for hours, but without windows to really know how much time had passed, it could have been one hour or ten. I had a crick in my neck from lying on Roarke’s chest for so long, and he was massaging his arm like it had fallen asleep.
After a little while, the doorknob wobbled like someone was tentatively coming in. A girl came in with a tray. She laid it down on the dresser and took up the leftover bread and water. She had dirty blond hair, her movements were skittish, and her face held a world of fear. She was probably all of sixteen years old. She turned to us and put a finger to her lips telling us not to make a sound, pointed to the new pitcher of water, nodded, and made the okay sign. Then she quickly left.
I looked at Roarke in amazement, and he laughed right out loud. It wasn’t my imagination that they’d drugged us; the girl had just provided us clean water.
We waited for hours and hours; it was just awful. We had nothing to consume our minds but fear for our friends, for ourselves, and for what was coming for the city. I rummaged around the room and luckily found a deck of cards. We played everything we could think of from poker, to gin, to Old Maid. The waiting was tedious. But more than that, there was a menacing presence in the air. I was extremely grateful for Roarke’s company; it would have been infinitely worse had I been alone. Also, I had no doubt we were in the hands of criminal minds who would have no qualms about harming us if the need arose. I didn’t take for granted for one second the fact that we were still alive.
The young girl came in a couple of more times to replenish our water and give small offerings of food, still giving us the okay sign in silence. Once, I caught her eye and tried to smile. I thought she might be trying to smile back, but then she looked at the door and ran out. Finally, there was a robust knock at the door, and our two large friends from the night before came in. They informed us that we had a meeting.
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