Taste of Vengeance

by Kristi Belcamino

I took a long slug of my bourbon.

  “He’s a cop,” I said.

  “Wouldn’t hurt you to hang around a little law and order once in a while.”

  “Ha ha,” I said. “You know he could lock me up for murder?”

  “If you get married he can’t testify against you.”

  That did it. I spit out my drink. It dribbled down my shirt.

  “I’m dating Damien.”

  “Yes. The other ‘D’ in your life.”

  Darling had told me that for some reason the people closest to me would always have a “D” in their name. I believed her. Dante was my best friend. Darling was my mother figure. And Damien was my lover.

  “Damien isn’t really the type to settle down,” Dante said, scooting into the booth beside me. His voice held pity.

  “Well, neither am I. So, we’re perfect for each other.”

  “I don’t believe that.”

  I shrugged and rattled the ice in my empty glass, casting a look at Katrina behind the bar and hoping she’d catch my telepathic SOS—that I needed another drink and was trapped in the booth with my nosy best friend.

  “When do you leave for Brazil?”

  “O-five-hundred-hours, Captain.”

  “Cripes,” Dante said, glancing at his watch. “You gonna sleep at all tonight?”

  I shook my head, my hair swinging wildly. “Not if I can help it. I want to sleep on the plane.”

  “I thought you liked flying.”

  “I do. I just don’t want to socialize on my flight. I don’t want to have to be nice to a bunch of other yahoos on the plane, like this blonde chick who has a wolf sidekick.”

  “A wolf?”

  “Looks like one.”

  “Cool.”

  I glared at Dante. Whose side was he on anyway? I didn’t tell him what she suspected about Rich and Damien.

  “Do you need me to help you pack?” Dante said with a big smile. “I can stop by your place on the way to our hotel?”

  “Nah. I’m bringing a bunch of bikinis and cover ups. I don’t plan to do much besides work on my tan,” I said. “But thanks.”

  “I have a feeling there might be some fancy dinners involved if you are running with that crowd.”

  “Whatev. If Damien has a problem with my wardrobe, he can kiss my ass.”

  It was all bravado, though. I did care what he thought. I made a mental note to throw in a pair of Jimmy Choo’s and a little black dress. Just in case.

  What I didn’t want to admit was that I was getting drunk to squash the slight apprehension about my trip to Brazil. It was that goddamn visit from Sydney Rye.

  A new glass of bourbon magically appeared before me. I looked up and smiled. Silas. God bless him. He was so sweet. I took a big gulp and shook off the feeling of foreboding.

  Despite what Sydney had said, I’d made my choice. I would stand by Damien. That meant going to Brazil. But at the last minute I decided to leave Django home. If something did go sideways or get weird, at least he’d be safe.

  Dante got up to dance with Silas. He gave me a peck on the forehead before he left. “Don’t forget to say goodbye before you ghost on me.”

  I laughed. But as soon as his back turned, I grew somber.

  Despite my efforts to ignore Sydney’s words, I couldn’t help but mull them over. And wasn’t she worried I would tell Damien about her suspicions? I wouldn’t. But how did she know that? Did she say all that to scare me off because she wanted Damien for herself? It didn’t fit. I mean, I didn’t really know her. She could actually be that manipulative and evil, but I didn’t really see it. For some reason, I knew she did have my best interests at heart. Even if she were wrong about Damien. I respected and admired her, but didn’t quite trust her.

  Just then my phone pinged. A text from James. I hadn’t heard from him in months. It was if he had sensed we were talking about him.

  “Got time for a drink Tuesday?”

  My heart thudded in my throat. I’d told him a million times he’d be better off staying far away from me. And yet he kept coming back. Didn’t he know I would destroy him and his life? He was a cop. I was a murderer. We were doomed from the get go.

  I ignored the text. What could I say?

  I frowned and took another gulp of my drink. When I set the glass down, the entire party yelled and gestured at me, reaching out hands for me to join them on the dance floor.

  Shaking off my dread, I smiled and stood, dancing my way over to the people I would always call mi famiglia.

  32

  Love Nest

  Sydney’s eyes were nearly closed, but she was acutely aware of everything that was going on aboard the tiny jet.

  She clocked the movements of everyone. She was sure Blue, lying at her feet, was doing the same.

  Gia hadn’t brought Django and Thornwell hadn’t brought Snuffles. He’d said something about how flying was torture for the little guy. Whatever. He’d told her before that he brought the dog everywhere because it had separation anxiety. Who knew what the truth was? Sydney suspected Thornwell just didn’t want the added responsibility of caring for a dog on a pleasure trip.

  Sydney wondered if the two had decided together not to bring their dogs? Fine. Blue didn’t need any friends anyway. They had each other and that was enough.

  But there was no way she was leaving Blue behind. He was not only her whole world, he was also her bodyguard. He had taken a bullet for her and he would protect her no matter what happened during this trip to Rio.

  And things were getting a little weird already.

  A few seconds ago, while she lay in her seat pretending to sleep, Thornwell had called her name. When she didn’t answer, he’d called Gia’s name. When there was no answer there, either, both men had stood and headed toward the rear of the plane. The men passed by her seat, leaving a faint trail of expensive cologne.

  Sydney strained to hear what was being said, but the low rumble of the jet’s engines turned the conversation behind her into intelligible murmuring. After a few moments, the men’s voices grew audible as they walked slowly back to the front of the plane.

  “I’m telling you, man, you have to sell it. Your little fucking love nest or fuck nest or whatever the fuck it is.” It was Zimmer.

  Sydney could hear the ire in his voice. The love nest? The pied-à-terre.

  “I don’t have to do anything.” Thornwell’s voice was ice cold fury, and his words came out methodical and evenly. “That’s what I’ve worked for all these years—to do whatever the hell I want whenever I want. That’s what we’ve both worked so hard for since we were teenagers. I don’t have to do anything I don’t want to.”

  “Bullshit,” the word seemed wet coming out of Zimmer’s mouth. “You have to get rid of it.”

  “It’s not an issue.”

  “Clem.”

  Sydney caught her breath. Who was Clem?

  Damien inhaled sharply.

  Now they were in the aisle beside her.

  Out of the corner of her nearly closed eyes, Sydney could see Thornwell ball his hands into fists. His knuckles were white and the back of his hands were bright red.

  “I’ll sell it before we return to the states,” he said after a few seconds.

  Zimmer sank into the seat beside her, mumbling. “Thank God.”

  But Thornwell remained in the aisle standing by their seats.

  “Rich, don’t ever fucking say that name again.”

  “Fine.”

  Then Thornwell’s form disappeared toward the front of the jet.

  Zimmer swore lightly under his breath. From beneath her lowered lashes, she watched him take out a bottle of vodka and pound two full glasses before he leaned back in his seat, closing his eyes.

  Sydney couldn’t wait for the plane to land. The overheard conversation had confirmed it. The pied-à-terre was in Rio. Now to find it. And find the notebook.

  33

  Cherry Ice Cream Smile

  I opened my eyes to see Damien leanin
g over my airplane seat, smiling and humming a Duran Duran song about Rio.

  “You’re going to want to see this.”

  The hum of the private jet’s engines grew louder, and I could feel the negative G’s as the plane banked steeply. We were beginning our descent into Rio de Janiero.

  I pushed aside the huge cashmere blanket and raised my seat to an upright position, peering out the window at my side.

  The view took my breath away.

  On the left was a green mass, Corcovado Mountain, topped with the Christ the Redeemer statue. A low bank of fog clung to the far side of it, making it appear even more ethereal.

  To the near right was an impressive skyline, the buildings glinting silver in the sunlight. And beyond them was the bay ringed with smaller green mountains.

  “Unreal.” I shook my head.

  Damien smiled like he’d just opened the best Christmas present ever.

  I matched his grin. Because that is exactly what it felt like.

  Reaching for his hand, I said, “Thank you for waking me.”

  “Do you hang glide?”

  I raised an eyebrow. “Sure. Why not?”

  “I’ve scheduled a private hang gliding session for just the four of us at Corcovado Mountain,” he said.

  The rest of our group had flown on a different jet, but we would rendezvous at the airport and head to the beachfront villa from there.

  A few seats away I spotted a blonde head and heard the impatient whine of the wolf dog. Her words of warning haunted me, but I pushed back the niggling thoughts in the back of my mind. I’d made my choice. I would believe in Damien until I had reason not to do so.

  Two giant, black SUV’s waited at the private landing strip to take us to our beach house.

  Damien told Sydney and her dog and Rich join us in the lead vehicle. I was glad. I liked her and her dog was amazing. Besides, I knew I’d have a hard time finding anything to talk about with the other two women who were runway models or something.

  Rich and Damien remained outside the vehicle talking to the drivers.

  After I settled into my seat, I whistled softly. The dog, Blue, looked up at his owner. She nodded and he came over and put his head in my lap. I shot a glance at Sydney and she smiled. “He likes you.”

  The smile on my face was genuine. I buried my fingers in the soft fur on his head and gently scratched behind his ears. I couldn’t help myself and leaned down to give him a kiss on the top of his snout.

  Sydney raised an eyebrow. “I can count at least a dozen people who would rather eat glass than put their face that close to Blue.”

  I nuzzled my cheek in his fur.

  “I’m in love with your dog.” Guilt flooded me as I remembered referring to Blue as her wolf sidekick. He was much more than that.

  “He’s my best friend. He took a bullet for me.”

  “Would love to hear that story.”

  She smiled, but didn’t elaborate.

  “I love Django,” I said, “but he’s sort of a big baby. Not sure about him taking a bullet for me. It’s not his fault, though. His former crackhead owner probably abused him since he was a puppy.”

  Remembering this, I suddenly wished I’d killed that junkie instead of beat the shit out of him.

  “There’s a special place in hell for people who abuse innocents. Innocent animals. Innocent people.”

  Her words were loaded with meaning. I nodded. I couldn’t argue. Even though I didn’t believe that Damien was one of them, it didn’t mean I disagreed with her statement.

  I opened my mouth to explain, but the door opened.

  Damien hopped back in with Rich behind him. Rich held a bottle of Champagne and four glasses.

  I noticed how Sydney tensed when Rich plopped on the seat beside her. His eyes were hidden behind dark sunglasses.

  We drove through the city of Rio, which was as cosmopolitan as New York City, teeming with massive skyscrapers bordered by turquoise oceans on one side and brushing up against green mini mountains on the other.

  When we pulled up to the villa’s gate, Damien leaned forward to speak to the driver. The driver said something into an intercom and the gate slid open. Before us was a three-story stucco home that stretched for a block.

  The driveway was lined with thick palm trees and bushes that shielded us from the neighbors. I scanned both sides but only managed to catch a small glimpse of a terra cotta rooftop to my right. The villa was secluded on all three sides, but I knew from what Damien had told me that the backside was all beach and oceanfront.

  Both vehicles parked in the large circle driveway.

  I stretched when I got out, and Blue stretched beside me, making me laugh with delight.

  While Damien and Rich helped the driver unload our luggage, I caught Sydney pouring her Champagne glass into a bush. When she saw me watching, she gave a long, slow wink.

  “I’m a bourbon girl, myself,” I said. But I thought about what I’d seen. She dumped the whole glass. I wish I’d done the same. I’d felt strange ever since I drank mine. It was a good feeling, though. I wasn’t drunk, just buzzed and kind of horny, affectionate, and benevolent. Everyone was so sweet and here we are in fucking Rio de Janiero.

  Blue went to Sydney’s side, his nose tapping her thigh as we headed toward the stairs leading to the front door of the villa.

  Inside, the villa was all terra cotta stone with high ceilings and arches. The main room opened up to a secluded courtyard filled with a fountain, a small swimming pool, and trees filled with tropical birds. Through the courtyard was another room that stretched the length of the back of the house. It was floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the beach and the sea beyond. A small wall separated a stretch of sand between the house and the public beach. A few lawn chairs were set out facing the water.

  “There is a high-tech security system between the wall and the house that alerts us if anyone who is not welcome tries to come close to the villa,” Rich said, noticing where I was looking. “But all the locals already know this, and there are security signs on the other side of the wall alerting tourists.”

  Damien took my elbow. “I’ll show you to your room. You can freshen up or take a nap or whatever. In a little bit, Rich and I are going to hit the waves for an hour or two. It’s our ritual. The first thing we do when we land in Rio.”

  A small part of me was disappointed to hear “your room.” But Damien had clearly pointed out he wasn’t into monogamy or exclusivity and I’d agreed.

  He’d been very attentive to me, but I’d also watched him dip his head to listen to the sexy English model speak. I think her name was Zoe. Or Cat. Or maybe the other one was Zoe and she was Cat. I’d also seen him watching Sydney with narrowed eyes on more than one occasion.

  I thought about Sydney and how beautiful and sensual she was. She wasn’t interested in him, one bit. This was all business for her. That didn’t mean he didn’t have designs on her, though.

  I didn’t want Sydney to be right, but I also didn’t want to be blinded by my feelings toward him. Every once in a while, his aggressiveness in sex bordered on something that frightened me. I could sense he was always holding back. That some other primal urge was kept barely under control. Maybe that’s why he excited me so much. He was dangerous.

  The upstairs of the villa held four massive bedrooms overlooking the beach.

  My room contained a large bed with a white coverlet. A stereo system. A built-in bar. An en suite bathroom. And floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the beach and water.

  He nudged a closed door with his knee. “I’m right through there … if you need me.”

  The way he looked at me made me turn and close and lock the door. His eyes never left mine as I pulled my dress over my head and made my way over to him.

  Later, knocking on the door woke me.

  “Damien? The waves have picked up.” It was Rich.

  Sitting up, he ran his hand through his hair and pushed back the covers. “I’m on it. Meet you out bac
k in two.”

  I watched him walk to the adjoining door naked, waiting for him to say goodbye. But he slipped inside his own room and closed the door without a word.

  Anger flared through me. Fuck him.

  I threw back the covers and stepped into the shower.

  34

  In the Flesh

  As soon as she was alone in her room, Sydney unpacked her laptop.

  Blue settled in to the corner near the floor-to-ceiling window and exhaled loudly before closing his eyes.

  Using a satellite connection that Dan set up for her, Sydney logged online and searched for any apartments Damien or Rich might own in Brazil

  Nothing came up.

  She dialed Dan.

  “Hey.”

  “Hey.”

  “Did you search for any holdings Damien or Rich might have in Brazil.”

  “Not yet.”

  “That’s where he killed her.”

  “You’re sure she’s dead?” Dan asked. There was something in his voice.

  “Didn’t we already talk about this?”

  He sighed.

  “There’s somebody who wants to talk to you,” he said. “I was going to call you tonight, but you might as well get it over with. Stand by.”

  “What? Who? What are you talking about?” But he’d set the phone down. She could hear him talking to someone else but couldn’t make out what he was saying.

  He got back on the line. “Okay. We’re all set.”

  “What?”

  “You’re going to get a call through Skype. You’re going to want to answer it. We’ll talk when you’re done.”

  As soon as he hung up, her Skype phone rang. Sydney answered and gaped at the man’s face on her computer screen.

  It was Alaia’s father. Reginald Schwartz. Sitting by his indoor pool outside his daughter’s cabana.

  He wore white pants and a white blazer. He also had a cigar and a tumbler with a lime floating in it.

  “You’ve got to be kidding?” Sydney said. “You’re supposed to be dead. And yet there you are.”