Hot Shade

by Tamara Lush

  CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE

  Luca jabbed at the buttons of the fancy coffeemaker. What did Skylar know about life and death and grief? She was so young.

  It was a stupid question, though. She had lost her mother when she was a teenager, never had a father, put herself through school. When he thought about it, she was actually much more resilient and tougher than he was. He’d been raised with privilege and wealth, and while his situation was maybe precarious with Bruno Castiglione, he had enough money to hide for the rest of his life. In luxury. Skylar would always have to fight. Unless…

  Luca stopped himself. The idea of caring for her had been a constant fantasy in recent days. He was old-fashioned in many ways, and thought that if he was in a relationship with a woman it was his responsibility to care for her. Not just financially, but in every way. Everything about Skylar made him want to protect her. It was one of the reasons he wanted to run far away. What if they were together and something happened to her? What if he was unable to protect her? He couldn’t bear the thought of that failure.

  He was downstairs for an hour and grew surprised that she didn’t follow him and press him into talking more. For most of the hour, though, he stared off into space, thinking about what she’d said.

  Love in between the moments of suffering.

  Taking two coffees upstairs, he found her lying on a chaise on the terrace. Her hair was wet and her body was swathed in a white towel, her eyes closed to the bright sun. Her phone rested on her stomach.

  “Sky,” he said.

  She opened her eyes and he handed her a glass. “What’s this?”

  “I figured out how to make an iced coffee with that machine.”

  Her mouth turned up in a smile. She sat up and sipped then said, “Very nice. Thank you.”

  He reached down and stroked her cheek with the back of his fingers. The ringing of her phone broke the silence.

  “Hey, Jimmy,” she said, answering immediately, her voice crisp and businesslike. “Oh! Wow. Really? Whoa, shit. Where? Thanks for telling me. I’ll be there as soon as I can. ’Kay, bye.”

  “Who’s Jimmy?” Luca asked as she looked up at him.

  She stood up. “Why do you care?”

  “For someone who talks about peace and love and Zen, you’re awfully sarcastic sometimes.”

  “And for someone who’s going to leave, you’re awfully curious about who I talk to.”

  “I am curious, and I do care,” he said softly.

  Her gaze faltered. “That was my police source. The cops found a body in the Palmira Preserve. Murder. I need to go. Can you drive me to my house? I need my car. I want to get to the preserve before the TV reporters.”

  “Why don’t you just take my car?”

  She shot him a baffled look. “Aren’t you leaving?”

  He shook his head. “No. I’m not.”

  “Well…what if you need your car today?”

  “I won’t. I’m not going anywhere. I have writing to do. It’s not like you’re going to steal my uncle’s Mercedes. How long will you be gone? Six hours? Eight hours? I want you to come back here when you’re done. I have a lot to think about, Skylar. We have more to talk about. Maybe we can go out to dinner tonight. Since it’s Saturday, I’ll try to make reservations somewhere.”

  She grinned and hugged him.

  “You left some clothes here last weekend. Let me get them for you.”

  She followed him inside, and he handed her a folded stack. “I washed them.”

  Skylar kissed him and whipped the towel off herself, tossing it on a bureau. She spoke excitedly as she put on her lingerie and a long, cotton dress. “Apparently a kayaker found the body. And guess what? Half his body was eaten by an alligator.”

  Luca looked startled then cocked his head.

  “Florida,” they both said at the same time.

  * * *

  Skylar had covered a few murders in Boston during her internship, but they were always cold and sterile stories, with her on one end of the yellow police tape and the body and the cops far on the other side. Today at the Palmira Preserve she would reap the benefits of being a small-town crime reporter.

  “What a way to start the weekend. Come on,” Jimmy said, holding up the police tape so she could duck under. “I’ll show you the corpse. Or what’s left of it.”

  Her heart went into overdrive. She’d been at her mother’s bedside when she passed, and had been so devastated that all she could think was that her mother looked so relieved and so peaceful in death. But a murder victim in a swamp? She wasn’t sure she wanted to see the body. But she also couldn’t turn Jimmy down. This was a rite of passage for reporters. She needed to ace this test.

  The morning’s coffee sloshed around uncomfortably in her stomach as she followed Jimmy down a boardwalk. It was so hot and bright out that the sun was almost colorless, pure light beating down on the wooden walkway and the Technicolor green swamp surrounding the path. In the distance, a cluster of cops stood peering over the boardwalk railing, and as she approached Skylar saw men in hip-waders in the water, in the narrow river that flowed between the boardwalk and a thicket of mangroves.

  “Who are they?” she hissed at Jimmy.

  “Medical Examiner’s office. And some of our techs, looking for evidence.”

  Skylar nodded and held her breath.

  Jimmy addressed two of the cops looking down into the water. “Guys, let the reporter have a look.”

  The men stepped aside, and Skylar felt her entire body trembling uncontrollably.

  “Right there,” Jimmy said, pointing down.

  She stepped forward, mouth open. There, in the shallow water, tangled in the mangroves, was a human body. Or what had been. He—for Skylar assumed it was a man—was bloated, puffed up like a sick, yellow-gray balloon. Pulpy red flesh twisted around what appeared to be arm bones, and Skylar thought she spotted a single eye, half-open in a sickening, horrific gaze. The other eye, the entire left side of his head, actually, was missing.

  She quickly turned away and sipped a shallow breath.

  “See where the gators got his legs?” one of the cops said, removing a toothpick from his mouth and pointing. “Right below the knees. And when we arrived, a big-ass vulture was snacking away on his face. That guy’s probably been in this swamp for several days. Surprised there’s anything left of him.”

  She turned her head, shooting another quick glance to the body as bile rose in her throat.

  Indeed, the man’s legs were missing. Or underwater. Or shredded, torn and bloodied to the groin. She didn’t stare long enough to determine which. If that wasn’t horrific enough, Skylar noticed a long cut in a half-circle through flesh. Was that his throat? She wasn’t even sure, the body was so putrefied and mangled.

  “Holy shit,” she whispered, thankful that she still wore her sunglasses and that the cops couldn’t see the fear, sadness and revulsion in her eyes. “Was his throat slashed?”

  She stepped back, not wanting to see any more. If she lingered, the contents of her stomach might come back up.

  Jimmy glanced at her. “You didn’t hear it from us, but yeah. The chief’s coming to give a news conference soon and he’ll tell you all about it.”

  “Was he killed there?” She swallowed hard. “Weird place for a body.”

  Jimmy shook his head. “No. We think he was killed further down, at the wooden platform. We found a shitload of blood there on the boardwalk.”

  Skylar looked into the brown, murky river on the other side of the boardwalk and took several deep breaths but got no relief. She realized the thick, humid air smelled sweet, like rotting meat. “Is that smell…?”

  “Dead body? Yep.”

  Holding her breath for a few seconds, she walked toward the parking lot, trying not to retch.

  “Was that your first?” Jimmy asked, catching up.

  “Hunh?” She was trying to keep the coffee in her stomach and had zoned out for a few seconds.

  “Have you
ever seen a dead body before? A floater like that?”

  She couldn’t help but grin a little at Jimmy’s casual yet macabre questions. “That was my first.”

  “Right on. So, hey, good job on not puking. I had a bet with the guys that you wouldn’t, and I won. Thanks.”

  Skylar rolled her eyes and snorted. She reached up to adjust her sunglasses, which had slipped down her nose from the perspiration on her face. Her hands still shook. “You guys are so bad.”

  “Yeah, you get kinda jaded as a cop,” Jimmy said cheerfully.

  They were back at the parking lot, and Skylar slid back under the tape. She quickly pecked out a few sentences in an email to the newsroom so they could update the online story, then tweeted a few details. As she waited for the news conference in the shade of a large tree, she dialed Luca.

  “Hey,” she breathed, still slightly queasy. “I just saw the body.”

  “Really?” He sounded genuinely interested. “Was he actually ripped apart by an alligator?”

  “Yep. Part of his legs were totally eaten off. So awful.”

  “Wow. I can’t say I’ve ever seen that.”

  “Oh, gotta run. The chief’s here.”

  “Be careful, amore mio.”

  Skylar beamed when she heard him say those words, and the unsettled feeling in her was crowded out by a shimmer of adoration for Luca. He was still calling her that after their talk. Amore mio. My love.

  By the time Chief Judson was ready to address the media, a few other reporters had gathered. They all clustered around the chief, who usually held news conferences about boring things like drunk-driving checkpoints and seatbelt usage. This was only the second homicide on Palmira that year, he said, the first being a man who had bludgeoned his brother with a baseball bat in a fit of rage during a family barbecue on Memorial Day, right when Skylar started at the paper.

  She held her phone and notebook in one hand and wrote with the other. Audio recording the chief’s remarks was de rigeur, but she liked to take old-fashioned notes, too. That made her feel like more of a journalist somehow.

  She scribbled as he talked in a slight New York accent, coupled with a monotone. “So, this is one of those things you usually see on TV or in Hollywood. Shortly after oh-seven-hundred hours—that’s seven o’clock—a kayaker in the mangroves called us to report a body. We got out here and found the deceased in the water. We’ve tentatively identified him as Gianni Innocenti. We got his ID from his wallet, and we have good reason to believe that’s his real name. We can tell you that when we arrived on the scene a very large vulture was near the body. We also saw some alligators in the area, but we don’t believe that’s how the man died because we found other evidence. He’s the victim of a homicide, but at this time we’re not releasing the manner of death. We think he’s been in the swamp for several days, if the condition of the body’s any indication.”

  Gianni Innocenti. The name sounded so Italian. Maybe she was just hypersensitive because of Luca and his situation. Skylar scowled in the direction of the chief and tried to read his sweaty face, but his sunglasses obscured any expression. She raised her hand.

  The chief pointed at her. “Yes, Skylar?”

  “Where’s Mr. Innocenti from?”

  The chief sucked in a breath. “Well, that’s interesting. He had an Italian passport that said he was from Naples. Naples, Italy, not Naples, Florida. And we’ve run him in criminal databases and someone with that name is wanted by Interpol on murder charges in Serbia and in Italy.”

  Skylar felt sick to her stomach again. She wanted to call Luca, but the TV reporters were asking questions about the alligator, about Interpol, and about whether the man’s body was badly decomposed. She stopped writing in her notebook, grateful for her smartphone’s recording capability. Could the homicide victim have been on Palmira for Luca, or was this all just a coincidence? Should she say something to the chief or Jimmy in private?

  The news conference ended, and she approached the chief as he walked to his car. She’d talked with him a few times for stories, and he’d been friendly in the past. Hopefully he’d be accommodating today, when she really needed information.

  “Sir? Can I ask you a few things on background? I won’t quote you.”

  “Sure, Skylar.”

  “I heard the guy’s throat was slit.”

  The chief nodded. “Yep. It was. We think that’s how he died. But I’m asking you not to put that in the paper just yet. Only us and the killer know that detail. And you, now.”

  “No problem. But is the public in any danger?”

  The chief’s eyes got squinty, and he tilted his head back and forth. “It’s hard to say. I don’t think so. I have a feeling this guy was here on vacation and maybe one of his Mafia frenemies happened to catch up with him. You like that word, frenemy? I just learned it from my teenage son.” The chief chuckled then continued, “This guy was kind of a scumbag according to his criminal record. Wanted for a bunch of stuff in Europe, like I said. The Florida Department of Law Enforcement is taking over this investigation, in fact, and the FBI is coming in, too.”

  Skylar swallowed hard. “Can you give me any other details for my story? Was he staying here on Palmira? Where’s his car?”

  “You didn’t hear it from me, but he was staying at the Palm Inn. If you go there now, you should be able to get photos of the FDLE techs processing the scene. And his rental car was found near your newsroom, parked in front of the coffee shop, but we towed that to our impound lot behind headquarters. The FDLE and the Feds are taking over this investigation soon. We’re just securing the scene here.”

  “Thanks, Chief.”

  Skylar walked quickly back to Luca’s car. She cranked the air-conditioning and called the editor on duty in the newsroom to dictate all the details. After she hung up, she considered whether to call Luca but decided against it. Gianni was dead. She didn’t want to worry Luca if it was nothing—and what if his phone was tapped? No, she should just finish up then get back to his house as fast as possible.

  The editor on duty asked Sky to update the story on Twitter—things like the victim’s name, in what ways he was eaten by the alligator, a photo of the chief at the news conference—but once she had, she drove fast to the hotel where the dead guy had been staying. A state crime-lab van was parked in the lot, and Skylar pulled up near the hotel’s registration office. Her face was slick with perspiration after the thirty-second journey from the car to indoors.

  An older woman sat behind the desk, and Skylar introduced herself. Then she asked, “Can you tell me anything about Gianni Innocenti?” She tried to sound casual and not like she was freaking out. Which she was.

  “He didn’t speak much English. He was only here one night before he, well, disappeared. We thought it was weird that he was never around after he checked in, but we don’t ask questions. He said he was meeting his girlfriend here.”

  Skylar exhaled. Girlfriend? Maybe this guy had nothing to do with Luca, he was just an unlucky tourist. Or maybe his girlfriend killed him.

  “Did he seem shady to you? Weird?”

  “No. Not at all. He was a quiet man, seemed to keep to himself. Waved at us. Friendly enough.”

  “Did you ever meet his girlfriend? Did she show up?”

  The woman shook her head.

  Skylar thanked her. At least she’d gotten a quote for the story. Picking up her phone, she tapped out Luca’s number, but a sick feeling soon went through her, similar to when she’d seen the body earlier. Luca’s phone rang and rang and never went to voicemail.

  * * *

  Luca swam laps in the pool. The cool water refreshed him, washed away the tension of the morning.

  Skylar was right, he knew that. He was running from his own fears. How was it that a woman he’d met a month ago had cut through all the bullshit and diagnosed what was in his heart? He smiled when he thought of Skylar’s phone call about seeing the body. She was so funny. He also remembered his excitement and panic when he�
��d seen his own first homicide scene.

  The thought of having Skylar call him with her reporting tales every day made him grin wider. And what if they shared their workdays over dinner and then woke up next to each other every morning? Wouldn’t that be something?

  He dove underwater, a fantasy flashing through his mind: A wedding, maybe on a beach somewhere. Skylar, pregnant with his child. A house, filled with love. Maybe a normal life was within his reach.

  What had changed in him? Why was he now open to love when he had resisted it before? It was baffling that he was so willing to let Skylar into his heart when he had rejected so many other women. It must be the incredible sexual and mental connection between them, an incalculable mixture of need, chemistry and karma. Or maybe it was because Skylar also inspired him to be a better man.

  Climbing out of the pool and toweling off, he had the urge to call his uncle and apologize. Yes, that’s what he’d do. It’s what Skylar would want. Luca hadn’t been fair to Federico.

  He picked up his smartphone and saw that Skylar had called, and that he had a few alerts from Twitter because he was following Skylar’s feed. He swiped to the tweets. She was so quick in posting information.

  Palmira Chief says large alligator was near body when officers arrived.

  Luca smiled.

  Murder victim was likely in swamp for days, officials said.

  He tapped on her next tweet.

  Palmira Chief identifies man as 30-year-old Gianni Innocenti of Naples, Italy.

  Luca’s fingers fumbled and nearly dropped the phone in disbelief. Innocenti was one of Bruno Castiglione’s men. A low-level thug. A low-profile one, too. A rush of sheer panic gripped him so hard that he felt a tightening in his chest.

  Looking around, Luca suddenly felt too exposed in the bright sunlight of the pool deck. Head bent, he walked inside and made sure every door was locked and every window was darkened.

  Oh fuck. His gun was in the glove box of the Mercedes. With Skylar.

  Skylar. Was she safe?

  He dialed her number and exhaled when she answered.