Forgotten Island

by Kristi Belcamino

  “That’s sweet of you to say, Mr. Alford, but that isn’t from the company. That’s from my own account.”

  The three men exchanged looks.

  “And don’t worry. You’ll earn that. I’m going to rely on you and turn to you heavily in the next few months so we can salvage what’s left of this company. I’ll be here working along beside you every minute for the next six months, but then I’m hoping to turn it over to you three. You’ll be in charge of finding new board members and so on.

  Don’t worry. I’ll make sure you still have a life, too. I’m not going to take you away from your families. My father always said family first and that is a value we need to make sure we keep. But when you are here, I expect the best of you, agreed?”

  The men murmured agreement.

  I gestured at the chairs. “Let’s get down to business.”

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  Swanson Place

  It took two attempts for Bobby and I to get out the door to the grand opening party. I blame it on the dress.

  When Bobby ran one finger down my hips and discovered I had nothing on underneath, it was impossible to resist his kisses.

  As I stepped onto the sidewalk in front of Swanson Place, the black velvet slithered across my thighs and felt delicious against my skin. Going commando had definitely been the way to go. The dress itself was pretty modest, down to my ankles and a modest neckline, but it plunged to my lower spine in the back. I wasn’t a nun.

  I was eager to see the twelve residents. I’d sent them to the Esalen Hot Springs in Big Sur where they’d soaked in the hot springs, and had massages, facials, manicures, pedicures and a chance to relax. On the drive back, I’d had their drivers stop at Sak’s Fifth Avenue in Carmel where personal shoppers had helped them pick out modest wardrobes.

  So far, all twelve of them had gone through two weeks of training for their jobs at the businesses on the street level. There was nothing requiring them to work at Swanson Place, but most had been eager to apply for the jobs offered. They’d interviewed the same as everybody else for jobs in the hair salon, the market, the flower shop, the rooftop garden, and the restaurant.

  The newspaper had already dubbed the restaurant, named Lorenzo’s after my father, the latest hottest sensation. After failing to convince Dante to move to San Francisco, I’d lured a chef away from Chez Panisse in Berkeley and told her to go to town, creating the restaurant of her dreams. Her creation was a luminous, blue-lit underwater-feeling, sensation. In the two weeks, the restaurant had been open, I’d already made back my investment.

  When I stepped inside, Kato rushed over and tried to hand me a glass of champagne. I ignored it and kissed him on both cheeks.

  “Where’s Suzie?” I asked.

  “Over there,” he said. I’d hired his wife, Suzie to manage the restaurant. She was with Dante. He’d agreed to help oversee the first month of the restaurant’s opening. They were talking to a crew of wait staff and looking like a rock star in her sleek silver dress. She saw me watching and winked.

  I’d hired Danny to be the DJ and he was in the corner spinning music that I’d never even heard of, but knew was just right.

  “How’s it going?” Bobby stepped up to Kato and the two shook hands. As they caught up on sports news or whatever dudes talk about, I scanned the restaurant, looking for the twelve residents. As I picked them out of the crowd, one by one, I smiled.

  Everything was in place.

  Tonight, after the celebration at the restaurant, the twelve would go spend the first night in their new apartments. I had fresh flower bouquets and fruit and chocolate waiting for them in their new homes. Each resident had signed a lease for a year. It would be up to them whether to renew the lease. I didn’t want them to feel trapped. I only wanted them to have a leg up. I’d handpicked all twelve and knew that this opportunity was what they needed to turn their lives around.

  Swanson Place had turned into a pilot program. Cities across the country were carefully monitoring the success of our project. It was starting out small, with only twelve residents, but it would be possible with future projects to go bigger, and house even more people.

  The board, now back up to seven members, had agreed that if the development was a success—financially, but also in helping homeless get off the streets permanently—that we would replicate the project, constructing similar developments in other parts of San Francisco and eventually in other cities.

  The other cities who had expressed interest—Los Angeles, Phoenix, Atlanta, New York, Chicago, Minneapolis, Miami—had also talked about partnering with us so that some of the costs could be offset with municipal funds. The developments were something I was excited about. But they were also a way for me to honor Ethel.

  And maybe if enough people were helped during my lifetime, I could let go of some of the guilt I felt about all the homeless murders.

  Because even though her body hadn’t been in one of those barrels, if what King had said was true, Ethel had been the first one they’d gone after. She was the experiment before they refined their technique. If I’d taken time to properly investigate her death, maybe, just maybe I’d have been able to stop the rest of the murders.

  I gave Bobby a kiss and told him I’d be right back. I headed for the restaurant’s bar, which was surrounded by four nearly room-sized aquariums containing exotic fish. I saw a few of the building’s residents: Ron and Serena and Joey and Matt. They were talking to City Council member Julie Kragen who had taken over the mayor’s duties until the next election. Off in a dark corner I saw something that made me pause. Darling and George, with a white bandage on his head, looked pretty cozy together. She leaned in as he brought his lips close to her ear and he had his arm on her lower back. Who knew?

  I never did find the blond woman who saw the men kidnap Sasha, but when George had been released from the hospital, James had showed him mug shots of a few of King’s cronies and he’d been able to identify two of them. Better than nothing.

  A waiter with a tray of champagne passed by and I plucked a glass off with a wink. Then I raised the glass, high above my head. “Ethel, this is for you.”

  I took a sip and standing in the doorway of the restaurant, closed my eyes until I was sure the urge to bawl had passed.

  Then I felt Bobby’s hand on my back.

  “Gia, you did something good here.” He jutted his chin at the room.

  Watching the smiling faces shining under the sparkling lights, the mingling of people from different stratospheres of the city, I could almost feel the hope permeating the room. It was only one small corner of the world.

  But it was a start.

  Want more Gia? Turn the page for a sneak peak of book three, Gia and the Dark Night of the Soul.

  * * *

  Then read on for information about your free GIA prequel.

  * * *

  Or better yet, pick up a box set for the first four books at a 50% discount HERE.

  Sneak Peek

  Gia and the Dark Night of the Soul

  I was in my happy place.

  La Bella Rossini in North Beach. The best Italian food in San Francisco.

  The first bourbon had warmed my insides and flushed my cheeks. My second glass of liquid gold sat sparkling in the candle light. A man I was crazy about was smiling at me like I was the best birthday present he’d ever received. The food was obscenely delicious.

  Bobby reached his fork over the table to spear the massive scallop bathing in butter on my plate. I swatted him away. “Back off if you want to keep that hand.”

  Hiding my smile, I took him in. Sometimes when he showed up at my door, I thought that there was no way such a beautiful man was all mine. He looked like a young Johnny Depp except he had longish auburn hair.

  “What?” he said, tilting his head.

  “Nothing.” No need to tell him what I was thinking or he might get a big head.

  I chiseled off the tiniest piece from the hockey puck-sized scallop. I closed
my eyes, and let out a small groan as it melted on my tongue.

  When I opened my eyes, Bobby was smiling and shaking his head.

  “Don’t do that in public. Please.”

  “I have no idea what you’re talking about.” It was the truth.

  “If you want to stay long enough for dessert, you’re going to have to stop doing that.”

  “Doing what?”

  “Moaning as you eat. Every dude in this restaurant is watching.”

  “Oops.”

  I looked around. The restaurant around us bustled with people celebrating this glorious late fall weather. The wall-sized windows were open, extending the dining room onto the bustling North Beach sidewalk. Diners sat at the sidewalk café tables. Although I didn’t live in this part of town anymore, it was very much my home. My people.

  A small group of chicly dressed diners at a table near us spoke Italian. Although many of the North Beach old timers still spoke Italian, I didn’t hear it very often. This group was definitely from the bel paese. They had la bella figura down pat. From the women’s glossy hair and designer clothing to the men’s polished, custom-made shoes. Italians.

  They stood out since most San Franciscans who came to eat in the Italian section of town donned the city’s unofficial laid back utilitarian uniform: skinny jeans, environmentally friendly slip on canvas shoes, flannel shirts, and fitted down jackets.

  I was somewhere in between in my nicest leather pants and high-heeled boots. It was my dress-up uniform. We were celebrating Bobby’s birthday, so I’d ditched my motorcycle boots and faded jeans just for him.

  I took another bite of my scallop and tried not to moan this time after I noticed that Bobby might be right: A few men at nearby tables watching me under hooded eyelids.

  “Gia!”

  A slight moan had slipped out. “I’m trying!”

  “I can’t help it if I enjoy my food.” I gestured at my plate with my fork. “I mean it’s practically orgasmic.”

  “Exactly.” Bobby said, making an exasperated face.

  Over our dessert of pistachio-dotted cannoli, I pushed an envelope toward Bobby.

  “Happy birthday.” My cheeks grew hot. For some reason, I was both embarrassed and nervous for him to open it.

  He slid one finger into the envelope and withdrew a thick stack of papers, reading the top sheet. I knew the first piece of paper listed our airline reservations to Italy.

  “You bought me a ticket.” He gave me a look. He’d thought I was going solo. “When I said I couldn’t afford it, I didn’t mean you should buy my ticket.” He looked a little pained, instead of happy. Damn it.

  “Shut up, it’s your birthday. Dante’s my best friend and I want you to be my date for his wedding so my treat. It’s actually more of a birthday present for me.”

  He rolled his eyes, but he seemed less distressed. He glanced down at the paper again. “We’re leaving tomorrow?”

  “Surprise!”

  “I don’t even have the time off work.”

  “I already talked to your boss. He was totally down for it.”

  Bobby raised an eyebrow.

  “It’s cool,” I said. “He was really nice about it. In fact, he suggested a side trip we should take to some small island of the coast that has a marine research lab specializing in something. Like studying planktoskeletans or something. It’s not far from where we are staying in Positano. A train ride, maybe.” I’d forgotten exactly what it was, but I’d scheduled the trip as part of our itinerary. Bobby worked for a marine biology research lab studying how to prevent the depletion of oxygen-producing plants in the ocean. “The oceans are the lungs of planet earth,” he once told me.

  “You mean phytoplankton?”

  “Yeah, I think that was it.”

  “Cool.” His eyes were wide and glassy with excitement. “Did you know the Mediterranean is arguably the most diverse sea basin when it comes to species and culture? I bet that lab has some research we could use in our studies. If we could figure out a way to keep the oceans clean, we can make up for—or at least counteract—some of the ozone depletion over Antarctica. The ocean provides half of all the oxygen on earth but we are destroying it. Carbon dioxide and industrialization are demolishing the ocean’s ability to provide us the oxygen we need.”

  I tried to look interested. “Wow.” I gestured toward the stack of papers. “There’s more.”

  He turned to the next page. It was a printout with color photos. He sat back, his mouth open as if he were about to say something.

  “It’s where we’re staying.” I said, maybe a little big smugly.

  “You’re joking, right?”

  I couldn’t stop grinning. “No joke.”

  He shook his head. “It’s a freaking castle.”

  “It’s actually a villa.”

  “It’s incredible.” He flipped through the papers. “Is there a picture of our room?”

  “Bobby, the entire place is ours.”

  “You’re shitting me.”

  “Not shitting.”

  “For three weeks?”

  “Yep. Happy birthday.”

  He put the papers down. “It’s too much.”

  “It’s not. Really. You should see Dante and Matt’s place. Freaking Taj Mahal of the Amalfi Coast.”

  He pressed his lips together. I reached over and rubbed my fingertips over his creased brow. “Say thank you. Please.”

  Bobby leaned back again, let out a big breath, and then, finally, smiled. “Thank you.”

  I relaxed back into my seat, as well. The smile that always made me melt, also made everything perfect in my world again. My heart was full to bursting. If I could purr, I would. I’d have to make do with ripping his clothes off and having my way with him. Not a bad compromise, I thought, grinning to myself. I snaked my foot under the table and rubbed it against his leg.

  “Should we blow this joint? I can think of something I’d rather be doing right now.” I gave him my sexiest smile.

  “Check please.” He raised his arm.

  We were curled around each other as we walked through the restaurant. As we stepped outside onto the sidewalk, I impulsively turned to kiss Bobby. I went up on tiptoe. His silky hair brushed against my cheek. At the same time my lips grazed his, a horrific screeching noise and ear-splitting blare of a horn was accompanied by Bobby jerking me off my feet and flinging me away.

  I slammed against a wall, stunned by the impact, and blinded by headlights and then crushed by Bobby’s weight on my torso. I instinctively put up my arm to shield us. The air was filled with blood-curdling screams and the shuddering crunch of crumpling metal. The headlights stopped a few feet away from my face and the wall I was against shook.

  Distantly I registered the headlights came from a gray SUV, wedged cater-cornered into the wall supporting the restaurant’s alcove doorway where we had taken cover. Or rather, where Bobby had tossed us. The passenger side door was inches away from Bobby’s leg. A few feet closer and we’d have been underneath the engine. A few feet the other way and the SUV would have careened through the open French doors and taken out the entire crowd of diners inside.

  The screaming, coming from God knows where, grew louder and shriller.

  I pushed my way out from under Bobby, frantic for air, hyperventilating with panic.

  Bobby grabbed my arm before I could scramble to my feet. “Are you hurt?” He took my chin in his hands and looked into my eyes.

  I couldn’t speak. Only shook my head. I tried to stand but my legs were Jello. I collapsed back onto the sidewalk.

  “You sure you’re okay?” His voice was shaking. I didn’t answer, too staggered by what lay a few feet away. Limbs stuck out helter-skelter from beneath the vehicle, along with the mangled frame of a café table. The front window of the SUV had disintegrated, jagged glass shards along its edges. I couldn’t see anybody inside.

  “Good God.” Bobby sprung up and was at the bumper. Several other men joined him. They lifted th
e car and set it off to one side. A man miraculously scrambled out from under the SUV. He had a tire mark on his chest. He took a few steps and collapsed. Another man lay unmoving. Bobby leaned over and checked the man’s pulse and then shook his head. A woman in a torn dress, stood screaming, pulling her hair and staring at the dead man. A small crowd gathered. The dead man’s eyes were open and seemed to stare straight at me. I looked away. That’s when I saw her.

  With everyone concentrating on the victims under the vehicle, nobody had noticed her. She lay on her back on the sidewalk near the building, staring at me, her lips moving. Her clothes bloody. Her legs splayed at an unnatural angle. As I met her brilliant green eyes, she reached out her arm toward me. She gave me a look I knew I would never forget to my dying day: a combination of desperation, determination, and wide-eyed horror.

  I crawled over to her on my hands and knees. She was speaking Italian, talking so quickly I couldn’t hear her over the still blaring horn or make out the words in the foggy, surreal haze that surrounded me. I lifted her head a few inches onto my lap and gently smoothed her hair off her forehead, trying to soothe her as I looked around for someone who could help her. Everybody was busy with the man who had crawled out from under the car. Finally, someone disabled the vehicle’s horn and whomever had been screaming finally stopped.

  I heard the faint sounds of sirens in the distance. In the back of my mind I remembered something about not moving an injured person, but it was instinctive to lift her head out of the pool of blood on the sidewalk and smooth her hair back in an attempt to calm her. Her eyes were so green they seemed to glow.

  She continued to speak in Italian, sounding angry, but her words seemed like they were coming from far away. I brushed a bloody clump of hair out of her face.