Pieces of You

by Campisi, Mary

  “Look at me.”

  Quinn managed to lift his head and turn toward Alexander Maldonando who stood before him wielding a revolver like an unholy avenger. He had Quinn by at least thirty pounds.

  “I say my wife’s here. Let’s go hunting.” He waved his gun in the air and motioned toward the door.

  Quinn stumbled to his feet, hoping his mother, who usually painted half the night, might hear the commotion. “Why are you doing this? Danielle doesn’t want to be with you.”

  “Danielle?” Maldonando laughed. “You don’t even know her name. It’s Eve. Eve Maldonando,” he ground out through perfect teeth. “My wife.”

  Quinn thought of the gun tucked under his t-shirts in the top drawer of his dresser. If he could get to it, he’d have a chance. But Danielle was there . . . still, it was his only shot. He moved around the desk and started for the door.

  “Hold it.” Maldonando pointed the gun at Quinn’s forehead. “Are you screwing my wife?”

  Quinn stared straight at the man. “No.”

  “I think you are,” Maldonando said, cocking the gun. “I think you’re nothing but a liar. Quinn Burnes, big shot ambulance chaser.” His mouth curved into a wide smile, one Quinn bet could charm the orneriest old lady. “You’re a disgrace to the law profession.”

  “My clients don’t complain.”

  “Why should they when they’ve found a flunky to steal money for them? You should be disbarred.”

  “Should a man who beats his wife be disbarred, too?”

  Maldonando’s mouth flattened. “Eve needs to learn to keep her mouth shut.”

  If he could stall a little longer, maybe Evie would hear their voices. “What did you do,” Quinn asked, “hire an investigator?”

  “Let’s just say my man had a bead on your guy from day one.”

  “You’re very thorough.”

  “I’m a prosecutor. It’s my job to be thorough.”

  “That’s right, I read all about you.” Quinn raised his voice. Dammit, Evie, where are you?

  “All front page press, Burnes.”

  “Doesn’t hurt that your old man’s a senator either.”

  “I earned it on my own.” He jabbed a finger at his chest. “Me. And I didn’t steal from Wendy’s or McDonald’s either, like you did. Now shut up and get moving.”

  “Do you really think I’d be stupid enough to leave her here, in my own house?” Quinn kicked the decibels up as he opened the door.

  “Yes, I do. Where’s your bedroom? If I find her there, you’re a dead man.”

  Quinn worked his way down the hall and stopped outside his bedroom door. His breath jammed in his throat. She’s in there and now Maldonando’s going to take her.

  “Open it,” Maldonando hissed.

  He eased open the door and zeroed in on the king sized bed in the middle of the room. Danielle’s thin form lay on the right side of the bed, her face partially covered by a sheet, her inky hair spilling onto the white pillow.

  “Eve.” Maldonando breathed her name in a blend of frustration and disbelief. “How could you do this?” He moved toward the bed, signaling Quinn ahead with his gun. “Don’t you know you’re mine? You’ll always be mine.” Closer, closer. “What have you done to your beautiful hair?”

  Quinn stood to the side, watching Maldonando out of the corner of his eye. If he could get a little closer, he could hurl his body into him and go for the gun. At least he could cause enough of a distraction to give Danielle a chance to run. Just a few steps closer . . .

  “Everyone misses you. I’ve come to take you back home.” When she didn’t move, his voice deepened. “Look at me.”

  She turned slowly, meeting Quinn’s gaze first and then her husband’s.

  “You shouldn’t have run.” Maldonando’s voice turned hard beneath the soft tones.

  “Alexander, please. I’ll go with you, now.” She threw back the covers exposing long legs beneath the Philly’s t-shirt Quinn had given her. She scooted toward the edge of the bed and said, “Let’s leave.”

  He smiled and extended a hand. “Give your husband a kiss. I’ve missed you.”

  She rose on tiptoe and planted a closed mouth kiss on her husband’s lips. Quinn took that second’s distraction to throw himself at Maldonando, grabbing his waist and wrestling him to the ground. The gun slipped from Maldonando’s hand and landed under the bed. “Run!” Quinn yelled. Maldonando pounded Quinn’s jaw, then the side of his head. Once, twice, but still he yelled, “Run!” Blood spurted from his lip. His eyes blurred as waves of pain and nausea overtook him. “Run!”

  Maldonando punched the side of Quinn’s head again and located the gun under the bed. “Now, you die, Burnes.” Quinn closed his eyes. Thought of Danielle. Her smile. Her touch. “Ahhhhhhh.”A guttural choke filled the air and Quinn wondered if he’d made the sound. He sipped a final breath and waited for the burn of the bullet, praying Danielle had escaped. “Ahhhhhh.”Again, the death gurgle filled him and a crushing weight smothered his chest, sucking the breath from him. Death had indeed come to claim him.

  “Get him off. Get him off,” a woman’s voice pleaded. Was that his mother? Had Maldonando killed her too?

  “Oh, God, look at him.” Danielle’s soft voice filled with pain. No, she can’t be dead, too.

  “He’ll be fine.”

  His mother was speaking again. Who were they talking about? Could the dead hear earthly conversations? Was this his eternal torment? A warm, sticky liquid seeped onto his hand, his arm. Was this Death draining the last bits of life from him? He opened his mouth and heard his own voice. “Danielle?”

  “Quinn!”

  Were they all dead? His body burned with pain as he fought to keep from slipping under.

  “Everything’s fine.” His mother’s words pricked his consciousness, fading with each sound. “Alexander Maldonando’s dead.”

  And then he heard no more.

  ***

  After, Eve wondered how they managed to tell their stories to the police, in a perfect pitch of shock and distress, as though the horrible event had sprung before their eyes and with each retelling had expanded and molded into something that was beyond comprehension; something that was true.

  The police believed Quinn’s story. Alexander Maldonando, Danielle’s estranged husband, broke into Quinn’s home in an attempt to kidnap his wife and held Quinn at gunpoint. There was a scuffle, Quinn knocked the gun out of Maldonando’s hand and stabbed him in the back of the neck with a butcher knife. Self defense. Of course, the police questioned the presence of the butcher knife in the bedroom, an unlikely spot for a kitchen utensil, but when Quinn explained the man’s abusive history with his wife, it all made sense.

  A story, to which, Eve merely nodded and agreed. The explanation satisfied the police and one phone call to the Maldonando residence confirmed both a reticence to make an official statement and an equal desire to keep the incident out of the papers. After all, it was an election year and a scandal of this magnitude would certainly color Senator Maldonando’s chances of a repeat term. It was all so neat, so easy. Too easy.

  Eve wondered if Quinn were used to such plausible, convenient lies. The story he rehearsed with them before the police arrived slipped off his tongue, so beautifully, as if it were pulled from recall. She didn’t like to think of Quinn as a liar, worse, didn’t like to think he might be lying to her.

  And Evie, what of her? She sat in the rocking chair, smoking her cigarette, watching and nodding; not the mannerisms of a woman who had recently driven a butcher knife into the back of a man’s neck. She killed to protect her son. Quinn lied to protect his mother. Tragic, necessary lies, symbols of a mother’s love for her son, a son’s love for his mother.

  When the police finally left, it was almost morning. The carpet cleaners would come several hours from now to work on the smears of blood covering the pale gray carpet but Eve didn’t need to see the blood to feel it in the room oozing into her.

  “Hey.” Quin
n pulled her closer and kissed her forehead. They were in the other guest room, tangled in a post lovemaking embrace. Their joining had been a greedy, needful coming together in an attempt to blot out flashes of death and blood. “You okay?”

  “Hmmhmmm.” She turned her head into his shoulder and breathed his scent. She belonged here, with this man, with this life. Soon, she’d tell him about the baby, but not yet. Evie said Quinn needed to know now before he found out like she had two days ago, with Eve’s head hanging over a toilet bowl. A little while longer, to protect the baby, and to protect what was happening between them. The feelings were fresh, palpating in every cell of her body. Soon.

  “Talk to me, Danielle. Tell me what’s on your mind.”

  I’m pregnant. “Nothing.”

  “You’re safe now. Nobody’s going to hurt you.”

  You can still hurt me, Quinn. Will you hurt me? Will you love me?

  “I won’t let anybody hurt you.” He pulled her closer.

  I’m pregnant.

  He whispered against her neck, his mouth caressing her skin, “You’re safe with me.”

  I’m pregnant.

  Quinn lifted his head and stroked her cheek. She couldn’t see his face in the darkness, but the hatred pulsed through his voice. “I’m going to wipe out every memory you ever had of Alexander Maldonando. I promise you that. Every last one.”

  I’m pregnant. His words seeped between them, settled on her belly.

  He kissed her then, moving over and into her, claiming her as his own, cleansing and exorcising the past, unaware of what he had said, of what he was forcing her to do.

  Chapter 21

  Quinn grabbed his suit jacket and headed for the kitchen. Danielle was probably already reading the paper on the patio, sipping tea. She’d taken to going outdoors in the morning because the smell of coffee bothered her. She’d settle down soon and then she’d be fine. Who wouldn’t be nauseated with a psycho on the loose threatening to beat the hell out of her?

  They hadn’t talked much about the beatings, but then they hadn’t talked much about anything relevant, except the truth behind his mother’s disappearance and even that wouldn’t have happened if he weren’t half drunk.

  Talking had always been difficult for him. Actually, that wasn’t quite true. He talked every day with the eloquence of an English professor. But talking about feelings, now that was a tough one. He’d spent the better part of his adult life hiding his emotions and he couldn’t unearth them in a few weeks. Danielle could help him do it, and the hell of it was, he wanted her to. He grabbed a mug from the cupboard and poured his coffee. He wanted her to? Damn, he was in love with her.

  “Good morning, Quinn.”

  Evie sat at the kitchen table, looking fresh and alert in an apple green striped shirt and khaki skirt. She’d slicked back her hair from a recent shower and wore navy reading glasses, perched on the edge of her nose. The Philadelphia Inquirer lay spread out in front of her.

  “Good morning.” He sipped his coffee and glanced toward the patio. “Did you sleep well?”

  “Very well.” She splayed her hands over the pages of the paper, her silver-blue eyes – his eyes, on him. “Thank you.”

  “For what?”

  “For yesterday,” she said. “You certainly didn’t need to step in the middle of that and you did.”

  “You saved my life. I wasn’t going to let you get involved in a murder investigation.”

  “But this could wreak havoc on your career.”

  “You think it’ll stop the next client who falls off a toilet seat from coming to see me? It’ll probably increase my popularity. They’ll say I’m a no nonsense kind of guy who takes what he wants and defends what’s his.”

  “Is that what you want?”

  Sometimes she saw too much, like now. “Not anymore.”

  “You could always find a different area of law to practice.” She kept her eyes on him.

  “You mean something worthwhile?”

  She shrugged.

  “Maybe.” He didn’t want to think about this anymore, especially since his mother might be right. “Where’s Danielle?” Evie paused, two seconds at most, which put Quinn on the alert. He opened the patio door and stepped outside. “Where is she?”

  “Quinn, sit down.”

  He didn’t like the too sympathetic, too knowing tone in her voice. “What? Did she go to Arianna’s?” The thought ticked him. Didn’t she know they belonged together?

  “No, though speaking of Arianna, she’s called four times. She’s half hysterical over her part in this whole travesty.”

  “It’s not her fault. The guy could have charmed Mother Theresa,” Quinn said, brushing Arianna’s guilt aside. “So, where’s Danielle?”

  Evie ran her fingers along the edges of the paper, licked her lips and said slowly, “She’s gone.”

  “Gone.” The word fell out of his mouth but made no sense.

  “She left early this morning, around six.” Evie reached for his hand, then stopped. “I don’t know if she’s coming back.”

  His heart pounded so hard he thought it would explode.

  “Quinn—”

  “Where is she?”

  “I don’t know.” And then, “She loves you.”

  “She loves me but she left?” He almost added, like you.

  “I told her she should talk to you.”

  “Why didn’t you call me? I could have stopped her.” Not again. He dragged his hands over his face and turned away.

  “And then what? Always wonder if she wanted to be with you? Maybe come home one day, years and kids later, and find her gone? Is that what you want?”

  “But why did she leave?” The truth seeped into his brain, contaminating his thoughts. “She used me, didn’t she? Once Maldonando was gone, so was she.”

  “That’s not true.”

  “No?” He swung around and faced his mother. “What would you call it? The stalker husband is killed and she walks out the next day. That’s not a hell of a coincidence?”

  “That’s not the reason she left,” Evie said quietly.

  “Then why?” Was that desperate voice really his?

  “She’s pregnant.”

  “Pregnant?” A tiny bubble of surprise filled him, expanding until it burst at the possibility of a child. “Pregnant,” he repeated.

  “Yes.”

  “It’s okay.” He worked up a half smile and said, “Actually, it’s more than okay. I’ll find her and we’ll have a quiet civil ceremony as soon as possible. I guess subconsciously I wanted this to happen.” A child. With Danielle.

  “But Quinn—”

  “I’m going to be a father,” he said with equal parts awe and exhilaration. He’d be a good father, no matter what it took.

  “It’s not your baby.”

  Her words buzzed in his ears making him dizzy. “What?”

  “She was pregnant with Alexander Maldonando’s baby when she came here. That’s why she was so desperate to hide from him.”

  “No.” He dragged a hand over his face. “Why didn’t she tell me?”

  “She was waiting for the right time.”

  “But she left.” None of this made any sense.

  “Yesterday, after the incident, you made a promise to her. Do you remember what it was?”

  Of course he did. “I told her she was safe and that I’d make sure no one hurt her again.”

  “That’s not all you promised.”

  He stared at her. “What else did I say? Will you just tell me?” Anger and fear boiled inside. How could she leave him when he couldn’t even remember what he’d said?

  His mother’s voice gentled. “You promised to wipe out every memory of Alexander Maldonando.”

  “Yes, but I didn’t mean . . . ” His voice faltered and he tried again. “I didn’t know . . .”

  “Of course you didn’t.”

  “I never would have . . .” Loss and regret pounded through his brain, stealing the ability to for
mulate a complete thought.

  “I tried to convince her to speak with you, but she wouldn’t listen. That’s why she left. She thought you left her no other choice.”

  ***

  Didn’t anyone understand that Do Not Disturb, meant DO NOT DISTURB? Apparently not. He’d specifically told Sylvia he had several briefs to review and did not want to be interrupted, but she’d only nodded her red head and given him one of her looks, the kind that had the uncanny ability to slice right through his lies.

  Now she stood before him, a fluff of pastel and pressed powder swathed in an aura of secrecy. “Arianna’s waiting to see you.”

  He heaved a disgusted sigh and glared at her.

  “One minute.” She lifted a hand and her bracelets jangled. “Just one.”

  Why wouldn’t they all just leave him alone? He slammed the brief in front of him shut and said, “All right. Let’s get this over with.”

  Sylvia cast him a sympathetic look as though he were the most pitiful creature on earth. If she kept up the ‘poor pitiful you’ scenario, he’d threaten to send her to the unemployment line.

  “Quinn?”

  Arianna stood in the doorway, tall and beautiful, hands clasped tightly in front of her. “May I come in?”

  He gave a grand gesture and swept his hand in the air. “Sylvia’s paved the way. By all means, come in.”

  “Thank you.” Her voice was quiet, her demeanor demure as she slid into the Queen Anne’s chair opposite his desk.

  Quinn lifted a pen and twirled it between his fingers. “Okay, let’s get this over with.”

  “I’ve been trying to get in touch with you but every time I call, your mother says you’re unavailable. I’m sorry to barge in here but I had to see you. I know you must hate me.”

  “That’s ridiculous.”

  “I can’t tell you . . . oh, Quinn, I’m so sorry.”

  Her voice clogged and for a split second he thought she’d break down. He’d never seen her cry, not even when Ash Revelin walked out on her.

  “Don’t.” He was not going to let her cry now. Not over him.

  She opened her mouth and the words slipped out. “I’m responsible for what happened and I don’t know how to make it right.”