Luca nodded. “I remember the name. She called my office one time but I wasn’t in the right head space to talk to her. To her credit, she wasn’t pushy at all, and I remember being struck by that. So why a journalist?”
Clem took a deep shaky breath and tried to smile. “Because of two reasons. One, I want to write a book. About the shooting, about the victims … about Emory. The proceeds would go to the victims via a foundation I’m setting up.”
“A foundation?” Luca’s eyes were wide with surprise. Clem took his hand.
“The Emory Dutta Memorial Foundation. We would work with victim support groups, not just from Washington but countrywide. Mental health groups, too, all focusing on the aftermath of school shootings. God, Luca have you seen the stats of them? We barely scratched the surface when we see one reported on the nightly news—which is becoming more and more regular. In some ways, it was inevitable that one would touch us sometime.”
Luca’s dark eyes were unreadable. “The Emory Dutta Memor … Clem, I don’t know what to say.” He got up and went to the window and Clem could see his shoulders shaking and realized he was quietly sobbing.
“Is it too much?” she asked quietly, “Is it too much, too soon, Luca?”
He shook his head. “No.no, it isn’t … it’s perfect. Thank you, Clem.”
She went to him then and they held each other for the longest time. “I promise,” she said into his shoulder, “I promise I will make you happy again, Luca. I promise.”
She only realized how that sounded afterward, later, when she was alone in bed. Luca had gone home, wanting to start the process of mourning Emory properly, of getting his life back.
“Shoot,” she said out loud now, as she took in the full meaning of her words. She had only meant … oh, damn it. Human relationships were such delicate things, a spider’s web of complicated double meanings and hurt feelings.
Maximo. Clem groaned and pulled a pillow over her face. Stop thinking about him, she told herself, then gave in. God, those eyes, that smile. His hands on her body, slightly rough skin. The way he would hold her as if she might break one moment, then drive his cock so deep inside her she thought she might tear in half. His grin when he knew she was totally his. Was he like that with every woman?
“Ouch,” Clem said, her eyes focused but unseeing. He was way too smooth, way too confident. The first night they’d met, he had known about her, about what she was feeling. Did he prey on her kind—newly divorced, not looking to commit? Probably. You’re better off without him.
But that night, that one delicious night with him, and she was lost. And when she had reached out for help, he had been there for her. And again, last night, Luca had told her that Maximo would not divulge where he was holding Ray Grace.
“Not until you have had time to mourn your love,” Maximo had told him. “Believe me when I say, you need time. In six months, a year, come ask me again and whatever you decide, I will help you. But that anger, that sorrow you feel now, is clouding your every cell, mio amico. It is a dark, insidious thing that will only lead to your own destruction. Believe me, I know.”
Clem wondered now about what Maximo had said. Believe me, I know. She had Googled Max, trying to find any clue, but he was first class about keeping his life off the front page, it seemed, unless he wanted it to be front and center. Like the photos of him and actress he was undoubtedly screwing. Clem entertained a fantasy that he was trying to make her jealous. Are you a school kid, Clementine?
“Shut up,” she told herself harshly then sighed. Sleep was obviously a pipe dream at this point. She got up, threw a sweatshirt over her nightgown and went downstairs to get a drink.
Bree was awoken by Jesse moving restlessly beside her. Since she’d arrived earlier, he’d been acting weirdly. He’d been sympathetic about Emory, but even though he’d made all the right noises, Bree could see he was distracted. When she questioned him, he told her it was nothing and Bree, not wanting to intrude, let it go.
Now she turned over and faced him. He was lying on his back, staring up at the ceiling. She reached out and placed her hand on his chest.
“How can I make you feel better?” Her voice was soft and he turned his head to smile at her.
“You being here is enough.”
She pressed her lips to his. “I can do better than that.”
She moved so she was straddling him, reaching between his legs to gently stroke his cock. He smiled up at her. “You know something? For someone new to the game, you sure know what you’re doing.”
Bree grinned. “Borrowed a few of my mom’s Cosmos.”
Jesse chuckled, his hands sweeping up the long, silky length of her thighs, but try as she might, Bree couldn’t make him hard. Jesse sighed. “I’m sorry, honey. Guess I have too much on my mind.”
Bree sighed. “Talk to me.”
Jesse smiled but shook his head. “It’s family stuff, is all.”
Bree felt stung but she nodded. “It’s okay.” She rolled off him and sat on the edge of the bed, pulling her jeans on. “Look, I’m going to give you some space. I have stuff to do at home anyway.”
He didn’t argue with her but saw her to the door and kissed her tenderly. “I’m sorry, Boo,” he said, holding her tightly. “I promise, it’s nothing to do with us. I’ll call you in the morning.”
Bree drove home feeling … what was she feeling? Hurt? There was no reason why Jesse should have to share family stuff with her—they weren’t there just yet. Except … given the thing that had brought them together—the school shooting—wasn’t a little thing. Surely, they should be able to talk to each other about everything now?
Confused. Bree finally pinned down how she was feeling. She felt as if the rug had pulled from under her, that she hadn’t understood her relationship with Jesse after all. She hadn’t met all of his family yet, maybe that was why … God, she just didn’t know.
At home, she found her mom awake and picking at the food in the refrigerator. Without saying a word, Bree poured herself a tall glass of cold milk and pull up the stool next to her mother’s. They both sat in silence for a while, eating random tidbits from the cooler, before Clem looked at her daughter. “Man trouble?”
Bree nodded and half smiled back at her mom. “You?”
Clem hesitated slightly before shrugging and nodding sheepishly.
“The sexy Italian?”
Clem sighed. “The sexy Italian.”
“How did you even meet?”
Clem told her the story of how she had met Maximo Neri, even regaling her laughing daughter with how cocky the man had been, so sure of himself. “He was entirely convinced he’d get me into bed.”
“And did he?”
Clem flushed. “Breana, that’s none of your business.”
Bree grinned, her mouth full of bread. “So yes, then?”
Clem sighed. “Okay, yes.”
“And?”
“Oh, no,” Clem shook her head, smiling, “that’s as much detail as you get.”
Bree tried to talk her into giving her more details but Clem resisted. Finally, Bree gave up. “This is nice. We’ve never done this, you and me. Just stayed up talking, eating junk food. We should do this more often.”
Clem looked half shocked. “We have done this.”
“No,” Bree shook her head. “You’ve done this with Dad, or it’s been me and Dad. Never you and me.”
Clem looked upset. “That makes me sad, Bree. Nineteen years and we’ve never…”
“Been best friends. It’s okay, Mom; we both had Dad. And you know how things are between mother and daughter during puberty.”
“I could have tried harder.” Clem’s voice was soft.”
“Me too. I do love you, Mom. I haven’t said that enough.”
“I love you too, Bean.”
Bree grinned. “And you haven’t called me that in years.”
Clem’s eyes glistened and she reached over and grabbed Bree’s hand. “From now on, we make it a regular thing. If these
past few months have taught us anything, it’s we never know how long we have left.”
Bree nodded, her own emotions threatening to spill over. She was silent for a while then … “Mom? Do you think Dad will ever be okay, again?”
Clem sighed, “I don’t know, honey. I honestly don’t know.”
Luca Saffran was at his office, working late into the night. He’d found a way to block out his pain by throwing himself into work, even making extra work for himself. He had seen the concern on his co-workers’ faces, sensed them talking about him in hushed tones. It didn’t matter; if work was the one thing that distracted him from seeing Emory’s face everywhere, then he didn’t care what other people though.
He heard a soft tap on his door and looked up to see Betty, his personal assistant, at the door.
“Betty, for crying out loud, what are you still doing here?” His words were spoken softly, not in anger, and Betty, a striking, graceful woman in her fifties, smiled at him.
“You might have needed me.”
Luca shook his head. Betty was unfailingly loyal. “Go home, Betty. I’m almost done.”
“There’s someone here to see you—Grant Willis?”
Luca’s blood turned to ice. Grant was the head of the search team that was looking for Emory. If Grant was here in person, it meant they had found something.
Jesus. Luca steadied himself on his desk as he stood, the grief almost overwhelming. “Show him in, Betty.”
Betty, her expression one of concern, turned and spoke to the man, who thanked her and walked into the room. Betty closed the door to give them privacy. Luca steeled himself.
“You’ve found a body,” he said in a flat, dead voice.
Grant Willis nodded. “A couple, actually. The Seattle police will be in touch with you shortly. Thing is, Mr. Saffran … I don’t think either will be identified as Emory Dutta.”
Luca who had been tense, looked up in surprise. “What?”
“I think she’s still alive.”
Luca’s legs gave way and he sank into his chair, staring at the other man. Grant took the seat opposite and waited for Luca to collect himself.
“How? How do you know?”
“This time of year,” Grant said, “The Bay is cold. Real cold. If Emory was shot and then if she fell into the water, it could have given her a chance. After all, we only have Ray Grace’s claim of where he shot her. If it was a flesh wound and she was able to swim further along the coast … I can see I’m not convincing you. I just have a gut feeling that she is still alive, somewhere, and hiding out. After all, she doesn’t know we have Ray Grace. She could be protecting not only herself but you, too. Your family.”
Luca rubbed his hand over his eyes. “Grant…”
“We have scoured land and sea. I mean, everywhere, Mr. Saffran. Everywhere. Our men and Mr. Neri’s too. We would have found something. If you knew me better, you’d know I don’t say these things lightly. The bodies they pulled out look like they’ve been down there for months. We would have found Emory, I swear to God, if she was dead; we would have found her by now.”
Luca started to feel a small flame of hope ignite in his chest. “You really think she’s out there somewhere?”
Grant nodded. “I’m saying it’s a real possibility. She might have been picked up by someone, someone who could help her. Someone who would look after her.”
“I hope so, I really do. There is the other possibility though.”
“What’s that?”
Luca held the man’s gaze. “That she is alive—and being held somewhere against her will.”
Zea moved like a robot through the next few days. Flynt had gone out of town, so it was no drama to go back to her apartment. She refused to sleep in the bed where Jared had raped her though—or in the guest room where he stayed. No, she went and bought a new comforter and hunkered down on her couch to sleep. She felt sick inside and so, so alone. Jared’s threats hadn’t been empty; she knew now the violence in him. Had it been buried in David’s heart too? Had it erupted from having been pushed down so long?
More than once over the last couple of days, she had contemplated ending it all. A handful of pills, a quick slice to the carotid—all over. No more pain. But the thought of never seeing Flynt again—or Teresa, or any of her friends here in Portland, was too much to bear.
And there had already been so much death—David, the kids, his colleagues—and Emory, of course. She’d seen on the news that Emory had been murdered by Ray Grace, who had since disappeared. Bastard. She’d never liked him; he was an egotistical man who hated that his wife was younger, kind, and worst of all, more intelligent than him. I would have killed the bastard long ago, Zea seethed to herself, and then stopped.
No. No. She couldn’t be thinking of … but she was. I could kill him. I could kill Jared. Problem solved. For a moment, Zea froze, her mind racing through all the ways she could do it.
Madness.
Just stop it and think rationally, she told herself fiercely. If she told Flynt about Jared’s threats, she was scared Flynt would fly off the handle and do exactly what she had just been thinking. Kill Jared.
No. She was making way too much of this. She’d talk to Jared. Make him realize it wasn’t going to happen between the two of them. Ever.
She started as she heard a thump from downstairs. The front door of the apartment building. It’s just a neighbor, she thought, but she couldn’t help the clenching fear that paralyzed her.
Her cellphone beeped. Text message from Flynt. Missing you, beautiful. Hope you’re making yourself at home. See you soon. F. x
Zea’s eyes filled with tears. The small window of happiness she had enjoyed was closing too fast and she had no idea how to stop it.
Maximo Neri posed for the paparazzi alongside Valentina Siamarco, the actress he had been seeing for a week now. Screwing, he amended in his head, as he grew tired of the flashing bulbs and shouts around him. What the hell was he doing? Valentina, a friend who had always harbored a crush on him, had been delighted when suddenly he took her to his bed and now Maximo felt like a heel. He should have known better. He should have behaved better.
But, goddamn it, he couldn’t get Clementine Saffran out of his head and screwing Val had seemed like the best solution. He would not let himself fall in love with an unavailable woman. Scratch that—he wouldn’t let himself fall in love, period.
Val was gorgeous, honey-blonde hair, dark brown eyes and a luscious pouty mouth which, only an hour ago, had been wrapped around his cock, in the back seat of the limo, on the way to this movie premiere. Even this was deliberate; he wanted to show the world that Maximo Neri was in control of who he fucked and when.
He wanted to show Clemmie. He wanted her to see he was okay without her. Just like a spoiled child, he thought to himself. That’s what you’re acting like, a spoiled little rich boy.
Because she had touched him. Had seen inside him, in that one, incredible night. When she’d left that evening but then called him for help, he had held out hope that she would be his. But then he had seen her with her family; her daughter and he ex and he’d known—she wasn’t ready.
So be it. Maximo could do without the drama; he’d seen enough of that. When he’d looked into Luca Saffran’s grief, he’d seen his own reflected back at him.
Ophelie. His love. His life. She had been taken from him by his jealous, obsessive brother. So yes, Maximo knew exactly how Luca Saffran was feeling and he knew—he would need his family with him, and Clem, despite the divorce, was still Luca’s family. Maximo would not get in the way of that.
Maximo was good at shutting off his emotions now and that’s what he was doing. He wouldn’t think of Clementine at all, would concentrate on his business and on screwing as many women as he liked. That way he knew, for sure.
He would never be hurt again.
“You look terrible.”
Zea tried to smile at Teresa’s bluntness but found that her eyes filled with easy tears instead.
“Hey, hey.” Teresa looked alarmed. She reached to hug Zea but Zea backed away and fled into the back of the diner.
Teresa found her in the backroom. She took one look at Zea’s face and put her arms around her.
“Oh sweetheart.”
Zea started to cry. “I can’t do this, Teresa. I feel so stupid, so weak.”
Teresa smoothed her hair away from her face. “What is it, honey? This isn’t like you and you look like you’re sick as well.” She studied her friend’s face, frowning. Zea’s complexion, usually so glowing, was almost green, her eyes red-rimmed and dull. “You’re pale too. Zea, I’m serious, I’m worried. You haven’t been yourself since Jared left … you need to see a doctor, this isn’t normal.”
Zea shook her head, pulled away and grabbed a tissue. She sat on the edge of the couch. “I just need to pull myself together. Jesus. This is all so very high school, isn’t it?” She tried to smile.
“No, it isn’t,” Teresa took her hand. ’You’ve been through so much, I wouldn’t blame you if you had a nervous breakdown let alone a few tears.” She regretted her words when she saw Zea’s face crumple again. “Oh God, I’m sorry … it’s just you need time to grieve, Zea.”
Zea took a deep breath, dashing away the tears with the back of her hand. “I’m tired of grieving, Teresa. I feel like that’s all I’ve been doing for a year.” She looked away from Teresa’s penetrating gaze and when she spoke again, her voice cracked. “I’ve lost so much, Teresa.”
“Oh, honey…” Teresa felt tears prick her own eyes. She didn’t know what to say to make her friend feel better.
Zea sighed. “I have to figure out what to do with my life now. I can’t keep living like this … I have to do something on my own, not plan my life around someone else. It can’t be like that anymore. It just can’t.”
Teresa frowned. “What about Flynt? I know I warned you about him but I’ve never seen him so besotted and—”
Zea shook her head. “I have to finish things with Flynt, Teresa. I have to.” Her voice was little more than a whisper and she looked away from Teresa’s searching gaze.
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