A Steep Price (The Tracy Crosswhite Series Book 6)

by Robert Dugoni

  “Tracy didn’t care for you too much,” Del said.

  “I think I blew her secret,” Gonzalez said.

  “What secret?” Faz asked. He looked to Del, who also looked like it was news to him.

  Gonzalez smiled. “You don’t know?”

  “Know what? Is she quitting?”

  “She’ll have to, for a while,” Gonzalez said. “She’s pregnant.”

  “No,” Faz said. “Seriously?” He turned to Del. “Did you know?”

  “I suspected, but I wasn’t about to ask. My luck she could just be putting on a few extra pounds since her marriage. You know how that is.”

  “Yeah, I do,” Faz said. “Damn. Tracy’s pregnant.”

  “I guess she was trying to keep that under wraps,” Gonzalez said. “In another month she’s not going to have that choice. The secret will be out. I just happen to know a pregnant lady when I see one.”

  “You have kids?” Faz said.

  “Four.”

  “Wow,” Faz said. “No kidding?”

  “I’ll take that as a compliment, Detective. What about you two? You got kids?”

  “Not me,” Del said.

  “One,” Faz said.

  “I thought you Italians always had big families.”

  “My wife and I got a late start,” Faz said. “And then there were complications. She couldn’t have any more children.”

  “I’m sorry to hear that.”

  “It was uterine cancer.” Faz shook his head. He could feel his emotions leaking out. “We just found out she has breast cancer. We’re going through that process now.”

  Gonzalez touched Faz’s shoulder. “It’s going to be okay. They get better treating it every year, and she isn’t alone. She has a lot of sisters. I’m one of them.”

  “Yeah?”

  Gonzalez pointed to her breasts. “You didn’t think these were real, did you?”

  “No comment,” Del said.

  They laughed. Then Gonzalez said, “I had a double mastectomy ten years ago. I figured I might as well get something positive out of it. My husband is happy.”

  Del and Faz laughed, though neither said a word.

  “I’ll give you my private number. If your wife needs someone to talk to as she’s going through the process, if she has any questions, you have her call me.”

  “Thanks. She’ll appreciate that. She’s not saying much about it to me.”

  “Give her some time and some space. It’s a pretty overwhelming experience.”

  Faz looked to Del. “Speaking of Vera.”

  “Yeah, we better get you to the hospital,” Del said. “If you think I can rain down hell, you don’t want to see Vera at work.”

  “This might actually be a good thing,” Faz said.

  Gonzalez looked skeptical. “How hard did they hit you in the head?”

  “Vera’s a caregiver,” Faz said. “It’s what makes her happy.”

  Gonzalez smiled. “Then she’s going to be very happy when she gets a look at you.”

  CHAPTER 59

  Patrol cars awaited Tracy when she came out of the park escorting Himani Mukherjee; Kins had been busy. Red and blue emergency lights spotted the side of the home and the trees behind it. Neighbors had come down their driveways to the street, noticeably concerned, though they could never have guessed what had transpired—and was about to—at their neighbors’ house. Tracy placed Himani Mukherjee in the backseat of one of those patrol cars, her hands cuffed behind her back. If Himani was embarrassed, she didn’t show it. She held her chin high, defiant, her eyes directed at the seat in front of her. Kins had already placed Nikhil in the back of a separate car, his hands also cuffed. Nikhil, however, had his head down, avoiding the stares.

  “The father just got home,” Kins said, nodding at the house. “He’s inside with Sam, the grandparents, and Anderson-Cooper.”

  “How’s he doing?”

  “He’s shell-shocked. They all are. He’s called an attorney—a friend—and he’s supposedly on his way.”

  “What did Nikhil tell you?” Tracy asked.

  “Not much. It was pretty much a standoff. He had a knife to his throat. The younger brother talked him down.”

  “He didn’t say he killed Kavita?”

  “Not in so many words, no.” Kins looked at Himani’s profile in the backseat of the patrol car. “Why? What’s she saying?”

  “She says she killed Kavita,” Tracy said, following Kins’s gaze. “She says she hit her with a rock.”

  “There’s no way she carried her to that hole in the ground.”

  “I know,” Tracy said. “She’s lying to protect him. She said she’d already lost a daughter and she wasn’t about to lose a son.”

  “Almost sounds rational, doesn’t it? Do you think she sent Nikhil to kill his sister?”

  “I don’t know. They knew she was at the hotel, and they knew she’d come to the park, for what reason we may never know.”

  “She can’t protect him now,” Kins said. “Not completely anyway. And if she does, they’ll both be tried for Kavita’s death, unless one or both of them plea. The son might. But I don’t see the mother taking a plea.”

  Tracy looked at the house. “I feel bad for the father and for Sam, for what they’ve suffered through and what they’re going to suffer through.”

  Kins shook his head. “I know the daughter’s death hits close to home, Tracy,” he said. “You doing okay?”

  She thought of that horrific day in Cedar Grove, when Sarah’s remains were finally found in a shallow grave. Tracy had wondered how she could continue living, what would drive her after she had learned the truth about her sister’s twenty-year disappearance. She didn’t have an answer then, and didn’t until that moment in the bathroom of their Redmond farmhouse, when she’d held the pregnancy stick and saw two irrefutable lines.

  Tracy touched her stomach. “Yeah,” Tracy said. “I’m okay.”

  EPILOGUE

  Saturday, December 15, 2018

  The nurse handed Tracy her newborn baby girl, swaddled in a blanket, a pink beanie covering the crown of her head. Her face was ruby red and her eyes wide open, searching with an unfocused and slightly cross-eyed gaze.

  “You’re sure that’s normal?” Dan said to the maternity nurse. “The crossed eyes.”

  “Perfectly normal,” the nurse said.

  “Will her eyes stay blue?” he asked.

  “Not always, but given that her mom and dad both have light-colored eyes, I’d say it’s a strong possibility.”

  “And she’s healthy? Everything is okay?”

  “She’s eight pounds and three ounces,” the nurse said, chuckling. “She’s definitely not malnourished.”

  They’d induced labor when Tracy went a week past her due date.

  The nurse, having completed many of her tasks, grabbed towels and trays and said, “I’ll give you some time alone. You have guests in the waiting room.”

  Tracy looked to Dan, then spoke to the nurse. “Give us a minute before sending them in. And thank you—for everything.”

  The nurse smiled. “You did all the work. I was just here for support.”

  After the nurse departed and the door swung shut, Dan walked to the side of the bed, bent down, and kissed Tracy. “So, how are you doing, Mom?”

  Tracy smiled through the tears trickling down her cheeks. “She’s so perfect, isn’t she? She’s so innocent.”

  “Ten fingers, ten toes, two ears, and a nose,” Dan said. “I wish our parents could be here to experience this. My mom would have adored her. Spoiled her rotten, but . . .”

  “How do you feel?”

  Dan smiled. “Like I just climbed Mount Rainier and I’m standing at the top of the world watching the sun rise above the horizon, seeing that first light of a new day and a rainbow of colors. And it still wouldn’t be nearly as beautiful as what I’m seeing in this room.”

  “Don’t get too mushy on me. My hormones are going crazy.” She started to
cry again.

  “Hey,” Dan whispered. “It’s all right. Look at what you just did.”

  “What we did,” Tracy said. She looked down at her daughter. “I just want to protect her, you know? I never want her to fall and skin her knee, or have some boy break her heart.”

  “We have time before the boys start coming around,” he said. “And her mom does own a couple of weapons and is still one of the fastest guns in the West.”

  “I can teach her to shoot,” Tracy said, not having considered it before that moment. “She can compete.”

  “As I said, she has a little time before we put her in training,” Dan said.

  Tracy smiled and looked up at him. “So, have you given it more thought?”

  “You know I’d be perfectly happy if you wanted to name her Sarah.”

  “I know,” Tracy said. They’d had that discussion one morning while lying in bed thinking up names. A part of Tracy wanted to honor her sister, and to remember Sarah in a special way, a way that brought a smile to Tracy’s face instead of a profound sadness. But Tracy didn’t want to put that burden on her daughter’s shoulders, didn’t want her to have any expectations as to who she was, or who she was supposed to be. She wanted her daughter to grow into her own person, to be exactly who she was meant to be. Tracy could never forget that something horrible and tragic had happened to Sarah, something Kavita Mukherjee and thousands of young women had suffered. She didn’t want that morbid thought associated with something so innocent and beautiful.

  “No,” Tracy said. “When I hear our daughter’s name I want it to be associated only with something beautiful, something that has always brought a smile to my face.”

  “Okay,” Dan said. “So then what do you want to name her?”

  And the name came to Tracy, one that neither she nor Dan had previously discussed, but that now seemed just perfect. “I want to name her after the person who brought color back to my world when I could see only black-and-white. I want to name her Danielle.”

  Tears filled Dan’s eyes. He bent down low, so that their noses touched. “Seriously?” he whispered.

  “We can call her ‘Dani’ for short,” Tracy said.

  “Okay,” he said. “Danielle Sarah O’Leary it is.” He kissed Tracy, long and full on the lips.

  Then she said, “Why don’t you bring them in?”

  Dan kissed his daughter and left the room. Tracy found the remote control and raised her bed, Danielle cradled at her side. The epidural had begun to wear off and she could feel the discomfort setting in, as well as the fatigue. Still, her focus remained on her daughter. She couldn’t stop looking at her, couldn’t stop smiling.

  The door to the room pushed open and the nurse walked back in.

  “Has she tried to eat yet?”

  “Not yet,” Tracy said. “She’s just lying here taking everything in.”

  “She is alert, isn’t she?” The nurse walked over and gave the baby a closer look. “Give her a few minutes, then try to get her to eat. She’ll be hungry. Speaking of which, what can I bring Mom?”

  Tracy had to get used to the sound of that: “Mom.” “I’d love a cheeseburger and fries . . . and a chocolate milk shake,” Tracy said, “with a shot of whipped cream. I figure I have a few more months to be bad.”

  “Then you might as well enjoy it. What about your husband?”

  “Make it two.”

  “You got it,” she said, departing.

  The door opened again and Dan walked in, followed by Faz and Vera. Vera walked straight to Tracy, straight to the baby. She wore a fashionable knit hat over the remnants of her hair. When the oncology team told her it would be best to shave her head during the chemotherapy treatments, to avoid the shock of clumps of hair falling out in her brush, Faz had called Tracy and asked if she would come over for moral support. Tracy did so, and she’d visited Vera nearly every day during her chemotherapy treatments, even when Tracy had become as big as an SUV. She brought over home-cooked meals Vera could freeze during the week.

  “She’s beautiful,” Vera said, gushing. “Oh my God. Vic, look at her. She’s like a little angel.”

  Faz stepped to the edge of the bed. “She’s gorgeous, Tracy. You done good. You done real good.”

  His face had healed from the beating. He had scars, but they’d been able to stitch the cut over his eye into his eyebrow and to straighten his nose and shave the bump. He had been off work for almost two months while he recovered from his injuries, which included two cracked ribs. They were still easing him back into the A Team. Vera had taken care of him, despite Faz’s protests. It had been good therapy for her, and it had helped her to forget about her cancer and to get through the days.

  “How are you feeling?” Tracy said to Vera.

  “Isn’t that a question I should be asking you?”

  “I’m fine,” Tracy said. “A little tired and a little emotional, but I couldn’t be happier. How did your last treatment go?”

  Vera’d had her final chemotherapy treatment two days before Tracy went into the hospital. Faz said the oncologist was more than optimistic her cancer was in remission and would stay that way.

  “I’m fine,” Vera said. “Honestly, I’ve never felt more energized than when Dan called and told us you were in the hospital.”

  “When do you see the plastic surgeon?”

  “About a month,” Vera said.

  “I suggested that we have dinner with Andrea Gonzalez in case Vera wanted to get a look at possible sizes,” Faz said.

  Vera swatted him with her hand.

  “Hey, it’s like buying a car, right? You got to go out and take a look to see what’s out there.”

  “You go look,” Vera said. “You’re not the one who has to carry them around all day.”

  “Hey, what did you name her?” Faz said to Tracy.

  “Danielle,” Tracy said. “We’ll call her Dani.”

  “No kidding.” He looked at Dan and gave him a nod. “I always wanted to name Antonio ‘Faz.’ Vera wouldn’t let me.”

  Vera rolled her eyes. “That would be perfect, wouldn’t it? Faz Fazzio. You got a restaurant named after you. Be happy with that.”

  “Is it open?” Tracy asked.

  “A week from tomorrow,” Faz said. “We want you there with Del and Celia and Kins and Shannah.”

  “Wouldn’t miss it,” Dan said.

  “It’s a dual celebration,” Vera said. “Antonio proposed to his girlfriend.”

  “That’s wonderful,” Dan said.

  “Did Vera tell you she’s going to be working at the restaurant?” Faz asked.

  “Just a few days a week as the hostess,” Vera said.

  “No, no. Tell them what Antonio said.”

  Vera looked reluctant.

  Faz said, “He wants Vera to eventually move into the kitchen. What’s the word he used?”

  “Tournant,” Vera said.

  “That’s it. He wants Vera to become the tournant chef. That’s the chef who oversees everything in the kitchen. She’ll fit right in.”

  “I appreciate all the attention,” Vera said, “but I think there’s a certain mother and adorable baby who deserve it a little bit more than me.”

  Tracy smiled. “Do you want to hold her?”

  Vera beamed. “Do I want to hold her? Can a rooster crow? Let me see that little angel.” Tracy handed the baby to Vera. “My God, look at how awake and alert she is.”

  “You better be careful, Tracy. This one could end up a detective,” Faz said.

  “She’s just beautiful,” Vera kept saying. “Just the most beautiful thing.”

  Tracy gave Dan a nod. Dan said, “Listen, before everyone else gets here, there’s something Tracy and I wanted to ask the two of you.”

  Vera, who had been swaying and cooing, stopped moving. Faz looked concerned. He turned to Tracy. “You’re coming back, aren’t you?”

  “That’s a decision for down the road,” Tracy said.

  “You know tha
t Tracy considers you all to be like family,” Dan said. “So we were wondering if the two of you would do us the honor of being Danielle’s godparents.”

  For a moment, neither Vera nor Faz spoke. They looked at one another in silence. Then Vera began to cry, tears streaming down her cheeks, which set off Faz. “Wow,” he said softly. “That would be an honor. That would be a real honor, wouldn’t it, Vera?”

  Vera nodded. She moved to Tracy, bent, and kissed her cheek.

  “How do you like that,” Faz said. “First, I get a restaurant named after me. Then I become a godfather. And don’t you worry, Tracy,” he said, adopting a very good Marlon Brando impersonation. “Any boys come around your daughter, I’m going to make them an offer they can’t refuse.”

  “Don Fazzio,” Tracy said. “God help us. The A Team will never be the same.”

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  The plot of this novel came about after I read separate newspaper articles about arranged marriages in the Indian culture, and about sugar dating. The subject of an arranged marriage, especially with respect to the Indian culture, is both complicated and interesting. My intent in writing this novel was not to cast judgment but simply to raise the topic, and compare it to blind dates, not uncommon in the United States. I called upon good friend and talented writer Bharti Kirchner for help. Bharti read an early draft of this manuscript and also recommended several novels that would assist me in understanding the culture, including her novel Sharmila’s Book, Anne Cherian’s novel A Good Indian Wife, and Pulitzer Prize–winner Jhumpa Lahiri’s The Namesake. Sadly, the basic premise of this novel is both tragic and true.

  The whole concept of sugar dating, on the other hand, is troubling. After reading dozens of articles and websites I’m not sure what to think. The websites would have you believe that a certain percentage of American college students are using the service to put themselves through school. The colleges contend there is no way to verify these statements. The article that struck me as the most troubling was one written by a reporter who posed as a sugar baby and attended a seminar in Los Angeles. The most striking quote from that article was the reporter’s observation that nearly everyone on the websites used a fake name to protect their anonymity, including the sugar daddies. She called it a “dangerous game” in which young women go on “dates” with older men, sometimes without even knowing their real names.