by Nora Roberts
“That’s right.”
“When La Coeur copped the exclusive on Allied flights to and from Europe, I went out and celebrated with him. We nudged Giambelli out on that one, barely. I patted myself on the back for days over that. Now I look at the timing, go through the steps and realize we copped it because he had the inside track. Don fed him Giambelli’s bid before it was made.”
“That’s the way some people do business.”
“I don’t.”
It was the tone that made Ty stop. He supposed somehow over the past months they’d become friends. Almost family. Near enough that he understood the guilt, and the frustration.
“Nobody’s saying that, David. Nobody thinks that.”
“No. But I remember how much I wanted that account.” He started to jam his hands in his pockets, and his bad arm vibrated. “Goddamn it.”
“You going to finish beating yourself up soon? Because I’ve got a lot of work to catch up on, seeing as I had to go to Italy to help wipe your blood off the street. You getting yourself shot really put a crimp in my schedule.”
David turned back toward Tyler. “Did you use that same tone when you suggested that fucker DeMorney get an X ray?”
“Probably. It’s the one I use when somebody’s being annoyingly stupid.”
The raw edges in David’s stomach smoothed away, and the first glint of humor sparked into his eyes. “I’d take a swing at you over that, but you’re bigger than me.”
“Younger, too.”
“Bastard. Now that I think of it, I could take you down, but I’ll give you a break because Sophia’s heading this way. I’d hate for her to have to watch her future stepfather kick your ass.”
“In your dreams.”
“I’m going to go sulk in the caves.” He started off, pausing as he passed Tyler. “Thanks.”
“Anytime.” He walked the opposite way until he met Sophia. “You’re late. Again.”
“Priorities. Where’s David going? I wanted to ask how he was feeling.”
“Do yourself a favor and don’t. He’s at the restless stage of his recovery. What priorities?”
“Oh, solidifying some shaky accounts, manipulating the press, consulting with legal. Just another quiet day for the wine heiress. How are we doing out here?”
“Nights’ve been cool and moist. Brings on mildew. We’ll do the second sulfur spraying right after the grapes have set. I’m not worried.”
“Good. I’ll carve out some time for the vintner tomorrow, and you carve out some for the promotion whiz. Back to teamwork. Now, why haven’t you kissed me hello?”
“Because I’m working. I want to check the new plantings, run by the old distillery and check on the fermentation vats. And we’re testing today in the caves. Then we’ve got to move your stuff over to my place.”
“I haven’t said I was—”
“But since you’re here anyway.” He leaned down and kissed her.
“We’re going to have to discuss this,” she began, then pulled her ringing phone out of her pocket. “Very soon,” she added. “Sophia Giambelli. Chi? Sì, va bene.” She angled the phone away. “It’s Lieutenant DeMarco’s office. Don was transferred to his custody today. Ah.” She shifted the phone back in place. “Sì, buon giorno. Ma che . . . scusi? No, no.”
Still clutching the phone, she sank onto the ground. “Come! ” she managed. Gripping Tyler’s hand before he could take the phone from her, she shook her head fiercely. “Donato.” She lifted her stunned gaze to Tyler’s. “E’ morto.”
He didn’t need her to translate the last. He took the phone from her and, identifying himself, asked how Donato Giambelli had died.
“A heart attack. He wasn’t yet forty.” Sophia paced. “This is my doing. I pushed him, then I went to Jerry and pushed him. I might as well have drawn a target on Don’s back.”
“You didn’t do it alone,” Tyler reminded her. “I’m the one who yanked DeMorney’s chain.”
“Basta,” Tereza ordered, but without heat. “If they find Donato died from drugs, if they find he was murdered while in the hands of the police, there’s no fault here. Donato’s choices put him where he was, and the police were obliged to protect as well as contain him. I won’t have blame cast on my house.”
And that, she determined, would end that. “He was a disappointment to me. But I remember he was once a sweet young boy with a pretty smile. I’ll mourn the little boy.”
She reached out, found Eli’s hand, brought it to her lips in a gesture Sophia had never seen her make.
“Nonna. I’ll go to Italy, to the funeral to represent the family.”
“No, the time for you to stand in my place will come soon enough. Not yet. I need you here. Eli and I will go, and that’s as it should be. I’ll bring Francesca, Gina and the children back with me if they want it. God help us if they do,” she finished with spirit and got to her feet.
Sophia studied Linc’s office. No one, she decided, could accuse his father of preferential treatment. The room was little more than a glorified box, cramped, windowless and stacked with law books and files. She imagined there was a desk hiding under the mounds of paperwork.
“Welcome to my dungeon. It’s not much,” Linc said as he cleaned off a chair for her. “But . . . it’s not much.” He dumped the files and books on the floor.
“The nice thing about starting at the bottom is, you can’t get any lower.”
“If I’m a good boy, I’ll get my own stapler.” With a skill that told her he’d done so before, he wheeled his desk chair around the mountain. From somewhere under the mounds of papers and books a phone began to ring.
“Do you need to get that? Wherever it is.”
“If I do, somebody’ll just want to talk to me. I’d rather talk to you.”
How anyone could work in such confusion and disorder was beyond her. She had to mentally sit on her hands to keep herself from digging in to organize. “Now I feel guilty about adding to your workload. But not guilty enough to stop me from asking if the papers I sent you are somewhere around, and if you had a chance to look them over.”
“I’ve got a system.” He reached under a stack on the left corner of his desk, pulled out a file.
“It’s like the magician’s tablecloth trick,” she commented. “Nicely done.”
“Want to see me pull a rabbit out of my hat?” Grinning at her, he sat. “You covered yourself here,” he began. “I fiddled with the press releases a little, got to earn my inflated fee, after all.” He passed the revised papers over. “I take it you’re acting as spokesperson for Giambelli-MacMillan.”
“I take it, too, at least as long as Nonna and Eli are in Italy. Mama’s not trained for this sort of thing. I am.”
“David? Ty?”
“I’ll see they have copies, just in case. But it’s best that the media representative be someone from the Giambelli family. We’re the ones getting kicked around.”
“I’m sorry about Don.”
“So am I.” She looked down at the releases again, but she didn’t see them. “Funeral’s today. I keep thinking about the last time I spoke to him, how scared he was. I know what he did, and I can’t forgive him for it. But I keep remembering how scared he was, and how cold I was to him.”
“You can’t slap yourself around for that, Sophie. Mom and Dad updated me on what went on, at least what we’re sure of. He got greedy, and he got stupid. He was responsible for two deaths.”
“Accidents, he called them. I know what he did, Linc. But who was responsible for him?”
“Which brings us around to DeMorney. You’re going to have to be careful there. Keep his name out of your statements. Keep La Coeur out of them.”
“Mmm-hmm.” Idly, she studied her manicure. “It’s leaked that the police are questioning him in connection with the tampering, the fraudulent account, even my father’s murder. I can’t imagine how the press got the information.”
“You’re a devious package, Sophie.”
&nbs
p; “Spoken as my friend or my lawyer?”
“Both. Just be careful. You don’t want any leaks traced back to you. And if you’re asked about DeMorney, and you’re bound to be, go with no comment.”
“I have plenty of comments.”
“And the ones you’re thinking of could dump you into a lawsuit. Let the system wind its tortuous way toward the end goal. If DeMorney was involved you don’t have proof,” he reminded her. “Let me be a lawyer. If he was involved, it’s going to come out. But Don’s word isn’t enough.”
“He pulled the strings. I’m sure of it, and that’s enough for me. People are dead, and why? Because he wanted a bigger market share? For God’s sake.”
“People have killed for less, but I’ve got to say, that’s the weak spot. He’s a wealthy, respected businessman. It’s going to be a rough road tying him to corporate espionage, embezzlement, product tampering, much less murder.”
“He’s opened it up, and the press is going to leap on the juicy morsel about his wife and my father. Humiliating him publicly. He hates us and will hate us more as this plays out. I felt that when I saw him in New York. It’s not business, or not just business. It’s very personal. Linc, have you seen our new ad?”
“The one with the couple on the porch? Sunset on the lake, wine and romance. Very slick, very attractive. It had your name all over it. Yours, I mean, not just the company.”
“Thanks. My team put a lot of time and thought into it.” She reached into her briefcase, pulled a photograph from a file folder. “Someone sent this to me yesterday.”
He recognized the ad, though this copy had been computer-generated and altered. In this, the young woman’s head was tipped back, her mouth open in a silent scream. A glass lay on the porch, the wine spilling out and bleeding from white to red. The header read:
IT’S YOUR MOMENT
TO DIE
“Jesus, Sophie. This is sick, and nasty. Where’s the envelope?”
“I have it. No return address, naturally. Postmarked San Francisco. Initially I thought of Kris Drake. It’s her style. But I don’t think so.”
She could study the doctored ad now without a shudder. “I think she’s backing way off to keep herself clear of the fallout. I don’t know if Jerry was on the West Coast, but he did this.”
“You need to take this to the police.”
“I took the original in this morning. This is a copy. I got the impression that while they’ll look into it, they see it as another ugly little prank.” She pushed to her feet. “I want the private detective you’ve hired to look into it, too. And I don’t want you to say anything about it to anyone.”
“I agree with the first part, but find the second stupid.”
“It’s not stupid. My mother’s planning her wedding. Nonna and Eli have enough to deal with. So do Ty and David. Besides, this came to me. Personally. I want to deal with it personally.”
“Even you can’t always have what you want. This is a threat.”
“Maybe. And believe me, I intend to be very careful. But I’m not going to have this time spoiled for my mother. She’s waited too long to be happy. I’m not going to dump any more stress on my grandparents. And I’m not telling Ty, not just yet anyway, because he’ll overreact. So it’s you and me, Linc.”
She reached down for his hand. “I’m counting on you.”
“Here’s what I’ll do,” he said after a moment. “I’ll put the detective on it, and give him forty-eight hours to work before I say anything. If during that time you get another of these, you have to come to me right away.”
“I can promise that. But forty-eight hours—”
“That’s the deal.” He got to his feet. “I’ll give you that because I love you, and I know what you’re feeling. I won’t give any more because I love you, and I know what I’m feeling. Take it or leave it.”
“Okay. Okay,” she said again on a long breath. “I’m not being brave and stupid, Linc. Stubborn, maybe, but not stupid. He wants to scare me, and throw my family into more turmoil. He’s not going to. Right now, I’m going to meet my mother, and yours. We’re going shopping for a wedding dress.” She kissed his cheeks. “Thanks.”
Maddy’s idea of shopping was hanging around the mall, scoping out the boys who were hanging around the mall scoping out the girls, and spending her allowance on some junk food and new earrings. She expected to be terminally bored spending the day with three adults in fancy dress shops.
But she figured the points she’d earn with her father for agreeing to go would translate into the streaks she wanted to put in her hair. And if she played her cards right, she could cop some pretty cool stuff out of Pilar.
A potential new stepmother was prime fruit for plucking. Guilt and nerves, by Maddy’s calculations, equaled shopping bags.
She was supposed to call Ms. Giambelli Pilar now. Which was weird, but better than being expected to call her Mom or something.
First she had to get through the lunch deal with Pilar and the judge lady. A girl lunch, Maddy thought with derision. Tiny portions of fancy, low-fat, tasteless food where you were expected to talk about clothes and your figure. It wouldn’t have been so bad if Sophia had been with them. But Maddy’s broad hints that she’d tag along with Sophia while she did her errands had fallen on barren ground.
She resigned herself to a miserable hour or two, more points, she decided. Then was surprised to find herself walking into a noisy Italian restaurant where the air was full of spice.
“I should get a salad. I should just get a salad,” Helen repeated. “But I won’t. I already hear the eggplant Parmesan calling my name.”
“Fettuccine Alfredo.”
“Sure, fine for you,” Helen said to Pilar. “You never put on an ounce. You won’t have to worry how you’ll look naked on your wedding night.”
“He’s already seen her naked,” Maddy said and had both women turning around to stare at her. She felt her back go up, her brows lower as she prepared for a lecture. Instead she got laughter, and Helen draped an arm around her shoulders. “Let’s get a corner booth, then you can give me all the dirt on your father and Pilar I haven’t been able to crowbar out of her.”
“I think they did it outside last night. Dad had grass stains on his jeans.”
“Can you be bought?” Pilar demanded.
Maddy slid into the booth, grinned. “Sure.”
“Let’s negotiate.” Pilar sat down beside her.
She wasn’t bored. She was surprised to find herself having fun, not being shushed for wisecracks or expected to sit quietly and behave. It was, she thought, a lot like hanging out with Theo and their father—only different. Good different. And she was smart enough to realize it was the first women’s outing she’d ever had. Smart enough to understand Pilar knew it, too.
She didn’t even mind being dragged into the dress shop, or having the conversation turn absolutely and completely to clothes and fabric and color and cut.
And when she watched Sophia dash in, windblown, flushed, happy, Maddy at not quite fifteen had a revelation. She wouldn’t mind being like her, like Sophia Giambelli. She proved, didn’t she, that a woman could be smart, really smart, do exactly what she wanted in the world, and how she wanted to do it, and look really amazing at the same time.
She didn’t dress like she was craving attention, but she got it anyway.
“Tell me you haven’t tried on anything yet.”
“No, not yet. I wanted to wait for you. What do you think of this blue silk?”
“Hmm. A definite maybe. Hi, Maddy. Aunt Helen.” She leaned over to kiss Helen’s cheek, then let out a quick whoop. “Oh, Mama! Look at this. The lace is fabulous—romantic, elegant. And the color would be perfect on you.”
“It’s lovely, but don’t you think it’s a little young? More for you.”
“No, no. It’s for a bride. For you. You have to try it.”
While she studied the dress, Pilar laid a hand on Sophia’s shoulder. Sort of absentminde
dly, Maddy thought. Just to touch. Her own mother had never touched her absentmindedly, not that she could remember. They’d never had that connection. If they’d had it, she couldn’t have left so easily.
“Try them both,” Sophia insisted. “And this rose linen Helen’s picked out.”
“If she wasn’t in such a rush to hook this guy, she could have something designed. And I could lose ten pounds before I have to wear the matron of honor gown. Do I have time for liposuction?”
“Oh stop. Okay. I’ll start with these three.”
When Pilar went off with the sales assistant to the dressing rooms, Sophia rubbed her hands together. “All right, your turn.”
Surprised, Maddy blinked at her. “This is a grown-up shop.”
“You’re as tall as I am, probably about the same size,” she added as she studied her target. “Mama’s going for soft colors, so we’ll stick with that. Though I’d like to put you in jewel tones.”
“I like black,” Maddy said for the hell of it.
“Yes, and you wear it well.”
“I do?”
“Mmm, but we’ll expand your horizons for this particular occasion.”
“I’m not wearing pink.” Maddy folded her arms.
“Aw, and I was imagining a pink organdy,” Helen said, “with ruffles and little Mary Janes.”
“What’re Mary Janes?”
“Ouch. I’m old. I’m going over to daywear and sulk.”
“Well, what are they?” Maddy demanded as Sophia went through the selections.
“Either shoes or pot—or both. I’m not entirely sure. I like this.” She pulled out a full-length sleeveless gown in smoky blue.
“It’d look okay on you.”
“Not for me, for you.” Sophia turned, held the dress up in front of Maddy.
“Me? Really?”
“Yes, really. I want to see you in it with your hair up. Show off your neck and shoulders.”
“What if I got it cut. My hair, I mean. Short.”
“Hmmm.” Lips pursed, Sophia mentally cut and restyled Maddy’s straight mop. “Yes, short around the face, a little longer in the back. A few highlights.”