by Sandra Scott
“Why Andra?” Jayson asked. “Why target her?”
“Retribution—an eye for an eye. Your family took my Beauty, so I’ll take yours.” He laughed a short, mirthless laugh. His hard-edged stare moved slowly from Stefano to Jayson. “And the kicker is, by killing your wife, I’ll hurt the both of you.”
Sly made a strangled sound at his words.
“Oh, hush up, girl,” Hog growled, deliberately ignoring her to glare at Stefano. “Everybody here knows about your lovesick plight over this one. Frankly, nobody cares.”
Jayson took a step forward, causing Andra to desperately grab his arm.
“Jay, please don’t.”
“No, baby—it’s going to be all right. I have to do this.” After waiting for her silent acquiescence, he turned his dark eyes to Hog. “Do you remember when we first met? On the airplane coming over?”
Leveling the gun to align it with Jayson’s heart, the older man reluctantly nodded.
“You said, ‘The truth be told, sometimes love might not be enough. But sometimes it is.’ You then went on to say, ‘I guess we’ll just have to see.’ Do you remember that?”
“I remember,” Hog grunted. He crisply waved his gun. “Get to the point. Because no matter what you say, you don’t need Beauty—I do.”
Slowly, Jayson spread his arms. His posture might have displayed defeat in Hog’s eyes, but what Andra saw in her husband’s outstretched hands was resolve, not unlike Jesus Christ with his outstretched hands on the cross.
“No, you’re wrong. The truth is, I love Andra so much; she’s my very existence. I don’t simply want her; I need her. I need her to complete me; I need her to survive. Knowing how much you loved your Beauty, I believe you must understand, sir.”
Showing solidarity, Stefano left Sly to come alongside Jayson and place a hand upon his shoulder.
The Texan’s eyes misted; his pale lips parted to push forth a painful sigh, as if doing so would somehow stop the tears from falling. His glassy orbs shifted to Andra. “Well, I guess love is enough in you two’s case.” The weapon in his hand faltered. Hog looked at it, his expression contemplative. “My Beauty would’ve never died if we’d just done what she wanted to do that year. She wanted to go to Spain to be with her family instead of traveling here to Greece. The whole thing was my fault. All my money—and I still couldn’t protect her enough to keep her alive.”
“You murdered Sapphire,” Andra said in a whisper. “You’ve got to answer for that.”
Hog’s eyes alighted upon everyone in the room and finally stopped on her. “I’ve killed more than a dozen women since my Beauty’s death; their bodies are scattered all over the world. I used my money to try them on for size, but none of them were worthy enough to take Beauty’s place—that is, until I met you, doctor.”
Andra, who dedicated her life to trying to save lives, angrily shook her head at the demented man whose purpose in life seemed to be in direct opposition to hers.
“You know, I thought we were gonna be together forever.” Searching Andra’s disgusted face, Hog sighed at what he witnessed there. His next chuckle sounded sad. “When I went to my lawyers to transfer the ransom money, I had them to name you as my estate’s sole beneficiary.”
The others remained silent as Hog coughed in embarrassment.
“I guess I won’t be needing the money any longer.” His faded blue eyes held Andra’s, the melancholy within them overruling the previous madness shown there. “Use it wisely. You hear, Beau—I mean, Andra?”
They heard the faint sounds of police cars. Several vehicles skidded to a stop, followed by the sound of multiple car doors slamming.
“Gotta go to my Beauty.” His glassy eyes glazed over to focus on Stefano. “But not before leaving a parting gift.”
His lips tightening, Hog straightened the gun and pulled the trigger. The force of the bullet knocked Jayson off his feet, and he, along with Andra, crashed to the hard cement floor.
Then, just as quickly, Harlan Orlando Grainger shoved the pistol in his mouth and, before anyone else could move, blew a hole through the back of his throat.
59
With a club soda on the rocks in hand, Al shifted on her chair and let out a sigh. Glancing about the sitting room, her eyes took stock of everyone. She took in Racine, George, and Stefano. Helena’s wide frame flitted about the room as she asked if anyone needed anything, her Greek-driven chatter infectiously bubbly.
Lastly, her sights landed on Andra sitting next to Jayson. His upper arm heavily bandaged, he kept it stationary inside a shoulder sling, where it would remain until his body healed.
The only ones unaccounted for were Paulo and Sly. Paulo was currently recuperating at the local village hospital, and Sly was at his bedside.
Al’s gaze returned to a certain section in the room. Her girls were her main focus. Women, actually, she thought wistfully, correcting herself. Once in a while, she couldn’t help but shake her head, marveling at their brave resilience despite what they’d both been through in their short lifetimes.
As she sipped her drink, her gaze stayed on Andra, whose head leaned against Jayson’s good shoulder. Her beautiful face was all smiles, her body protectively wrapped inside her husband’s one-armed embrace, their bodies fitting perfectly together. Every so often he’d whisper in her ear, and she would reach over to lovingly touch his cast, her voice laughing in shy delight.
Al’s amusement grew when she shifted to Racine, who aggressively vied with Jayson for Andra’s attention. Racine threatened to punch Jayson on his bandaged arm, while he, on the other hand, announced he would strangle her with his sling if she did. Her eyes misted over at their lively banter while she silently offered a prayer of motherly thanks to God for bringing them all home safely.
She placed her glass on the end table just as Racine imparted a few choice words to the snuggling couple before rising. Pausing to reassure the circling Helena she couldn’t eat another bite, she then rolled her eyes at Al as she plopped down on the couch beside her.
“Man, I don’t have time for all that lovey-dovey stuff—they can have it.” Watching the lovebirds for a few second more, Racine dismissed them to smile ruefully at Al. Her expression immediately sobered. “You all right, Mama?”
Al patted her daughter’s knee. “Right as rain.” She laughed quietly at Racine’s repeated eye roll concerning the old-fashioned saying and abruptly grew serious. “However, Race, I do want to talk to you about what you and Sly did. It was reckless and extremely dangerous.”
Grinning, Racine deflected the rebuke. “You’re right. But everything worked out, didn’t it? I mean, all’s good as long as we got Andra back.”
Al smacked the knee she’d previously patted. “Sure, everything’s okay now. But what if it hadn’t worked out?” Al sniffed, attempting to hold back tears of both fear and relief. “What would I’ve done if I’d lost both of you? Don’t ever do anything so foolish again, young lady.”
Upon witnessing Al’s falling tears, Racine nodded sincerely. “Sorry, Mama. I’ll try to use my head next time.” She glanced over at Jayson, who was in the process of placing a gentle kiss upon Andra’s upturned face. “I’m just glad the bullet happened to hit Jayson in the shoulder and not somewhere more critical.”
“Yes, thank the Lord,” Al said. Pondering, she shook her head. “However, it’s highly unlikely the bullet just happened to miss his vital organs.”
Racine turned to stare at her. “What do you mean, Mama? You believe the Lord guided it?”
“Well, maybe,” she said slowly. “But Mr. Grainger might’ve had something to do with it too.”
“I don’t follow you, Mom.”
Al shrugged philosophically. “I don’t know. The way you guys described the moment before the shooting, the proximity of Mr. Grainger to Jayson, the way he handled the gun—everything.” Al glanced over at Jayson. “
I believe if that man had wanted to shoot to kill, he would have.”
“So why didn’t he then?” Racine asked.
“Your guess is as good as mine,” Al answered. “And we’ll most likely never know why the man had a change of heart. Maybe he couldn’t bring himself to actually kill Jayson but felt he had to at least wound him—force Jayson to carry around a wound for the rest of his life, probably like the one he was burdened with since his wife’s passing.”
“Hmm, you could be onto something,” Racine replied, her expression thoughtful before turning angry. She shot a glaring look over her shoulder. “Still, I blame this whole thing on that slime-ball Hog—and him.”
Twisting around in her seat, Al followed Racine’s stare. Stefano and George stood at the bar, quietly engaged in a solemn conversation. She turned back to her daughter. “Who? Stefano?”
“Yes,” Racine said, her focus steady. “Yes, him.”
“Why in the world would you blame Stefano?” Al asked incredulously.
Racine’s breathing grew rapid. “Mama, it’s not fair how he’s disrupted our family and—”
“Look who’s talking about disruptions.” Al cut in with a dismayed shake of her head. “That’s like the pot calling the kettle black.”
“Please stop with the antiquated sayings.”
“Like I said, you’re the last one to talk about disruptions.”
“Okay, okay,” Racine said, acquiescing with a huff. “Still, he’s in love with Andra.”
“Who wouldn’t love Andra?” Al said quietly. “You?”
“Of course I do!” Racine said, desperation entering her tone. “How could you ask such a thing?”
“Okay, prove it.” Al again shook her head. “Love does not rejoice about injustice but rejoices whenever the truth wins out.”
Her daughter stared at her, dumbfounded.
“This time, it’s not an antiquated saying, as you put it,” Al said with a short nod. “It’s from the Bible: First Corinthians 13:6. Read it sometime; you might learn something.”
“But …” Racine sputtered, her eyes darting back to Stefano.
“But nothing! And the truth is, Stefano’s a good man, despite his faults,” Al said, her voice low yet firm. Reaching out, she captured Racine’s chin and forced her to look directly into her eyes. “His faults, his prejudices, are no less and no greater than yours.”
Racine pulled her chin from her mother’s grasp, hanging her head. “I know,” she whispered. “But just look at him! Standing over there like he’s—”
“Dying.”
Racine’s head jerked up. “Huh? What did you say?”
“He’s dying, Racine.” At Racine’s expression of confusion, Al nodded. “George told me as much. So whatever you may feel about Stefano, his love for Andra, combined with yours, is what helped bring her safely home.”
Simultaneously, both pairs of eyes returned to Stefano and George, who remained in deep conversation by the bar, their tall bodies close as they faced one another. All at once, George’s kind face softened with grief; his lips moved with spoken words too soft to hear. He placed a tender hand upon Stefano’s lean shoulder.
“How long does he have to live?” Racine asked, her eyes riveted on the men.
Watching them as well, Al let out a sigh. “I don’t know. Andra informed me his illness looks to have gone into remission, and he appears to be holding his own. However, it could be a year, a few months, days, or anytime at all. It’s anybody’s guess at this point.” Feeling Racine stir beside her, she immediately focused upon her child’s abrupt rising. “Where are you going?” she asked.
Saying nothing, Racine strolled over to the huddled men, who glanced up with surprise at her appearance. She first presented George with a winning smile, only to transfer it to Stefano. “Care for a walk and talk, big brother?” she asked.
A faint smile appeared on Stefano’s gaunt face. His hand trembled as he placed his glass of brandy and ice upon the bar counter. “Papa, I must leave you now,” he said, his voice serious. His face produced a wisp of appreciation. “A beautiful woman awaits my attention.”
An expression that displayed both happiness and sadness washed over George’s face. He glanced Al’s way, and she smiled at him. His eyes immediately returned to pass fondly between Stefano and Racine. “But of course, Son—I do not blame you.”
Stefano held out his palm.
Hesitating at his gesture, Racine slowly placed her hand in his.
Leaning over, Stefano brought her cocoa-brown flesh to his lips and bestowed upon it a whisper of a kiss.
Shifting uncomfortably, Racine stared down at his bowed head. Then, her face broke out in a shy smile.
Pride bursting from every pore, Al watched as Stefano looped Racine’s hand through his arm. In one accord, their bodies pivoted toward the open sitting room door. Suddenly, Stefano stopped in his tracks.
One eyebrow lifted, Racine tilted her head to stare at Stefano, her lovely face teasing him with a grin. “What’s wrong, big brother? Having second thoughts?”
“No, I …”
Looking on, Al stood uncertainly waiting for words that never left Stefano’s open mouth.
She then gasped in horror when he pulled away from Racine and crumpled to the floor, his tall, lean body landing awkwardly, unmoving.
60
The hospital room was dark except for the small light above Stefano’s bed.
Andra paused inside the threshold, holding the heavy door open with a steady hand. She peered across the private room’s vastness at the patient, whose body lay motionless. Even from afar, she saw the paleness of his skin, its washed-out hue almost lifeless, the color especially noticeable against the white bedsheets surrounded by gleaming chrome handrails raised to an upright position.
His eyes were closed, and despite his sickly pallor, he appeared much younger than his years.
His face looked at peace.
Despite his repose, an inner alarm sounded as she gazed at his shut lids. She silently prayed they were closed due to him sleeping and not anything else.
Deciding she couldn’t straddle the fence of Stefano’s hospital room door forever, Andra stepped inside. Initially, she hadn’t noticed the attending nurse who stood in the shadows off to one side, reading his vitals from various monitors. She stopped in her tracks when the woman turned her way and quickly advanced with nurse-driven determination.
“I’m sorry, miss,” she said, her voice slow and heavy with her country’s native accent, “but you must not be here. For family only.”
“She is family, Amelia,” Stefano said behind her, his voice weak and raspy. He coughed. “She’s also a great doctor. Let her come to me.”
Nurse Amelia froze momentarily to stare over her shoulder at her patient before her dark-as-night eyes swung back to Andra. Andra tried not to flinch as the nurse gave her body a thorough once-over, the woman’s expression a blatant display of incredulous disdain.
“All right, Mr. Theonopilus,” the nurse said, continuing to glare at Andra. Her voice lowered in warning. “But I will be right outside.”
Bemused more than insulted, Andra observed the woman in white turn up her nose and, in a haughty manner, make a wide berth around her, the smell of antiseptic and liquid sanitizer trailing behind. Once she made it to the door, she yanked it open, paused to glower at Andra, and stalked out.
I guess she told me.
“Don’t mind her—not everyone’s as progressive in their tolerance as I.”
Chuckling in amusement, Andra crossed over to Stefano’s bed. With soft eyes, she regarded his pale face momentarily before lowering her head. She kissed him first somewhere above his right eyebrow only to shift lower to place her mouth in direct alignment with his. Their eyes held for a brief moment before she lightly touched her lips to his. Stefano’s lips were dry a
nd chapped—and exquisitely wonderful.
She pulled back slightly and shook her head. “You’ve got that right—no one’s ever going to be as progressive as you.”
Andra waited for his weak smile to appear before she straightened. “How’re you feeling, Brother?” She took hold of his closest hand and gently squeezed. “Are you comfortable? Is there anything I can do for you?”
Stefano coughed again. Andra watched with concern as small projectiles of bloody spittle shot forth to sprinkle his dry lips. Quickly, she reached over to the side table, pulled free a couple of tissues, and carefully wiped away the spatters. After tossing the soiled tissue into the wastebasket, she applied sanitizer to her hands and then dipped her fingers into an ice container to retrieve a disc of ice.
He sighed, his cracked lips parting slightly, as she painted them with the frozen water.
“Better?” she asked, disposing of the rest.
“Yes.” His tongue licked away the excess moisture before he spoke again. “And there is nothing else I need except your company.”
Andra’s stomach performed a flip-flop that was immediately replaced with a queasiness at the thought she’d never know this man beyond that deathbed. She tossed aside the thought and put on a brave face.
“You got it. My company’s free, so at least it won’t cost anything.” She smiled and searched for a chair. Finding one, she pulled it close and sat down. “However, you my friend, would be considered a high-maintenance kind of guy.”
Stefano attempted another smile; however, it came out like a grimace. “Only to you I am.”
Andra blushed. His statement went deeper than mere words; it implied his feelings for her were more complex than for any woman he’d ever known. The rawness of his emotion twisted her heart, causing her to draw closer to his spirit than ever before.
Minutes passed before either one spoke.
“Where is everyone?” Stefano asked.