Clem leaned her head on his shoulder. “I understand, I do, Luca. I miss Maximo, even if what we had was nothing compared to what you had with Emory.”
Luca took her hand. “But, given time, it could have been.”
Clem nodded. “What are we going to do, Luca?”
But he had no answer for her.
She opened her eyes and drew her breath in little gasps. The room was dimly lit but she didn’t recognize it anyway. Her body felt like a strange thing, something holding her down, not her own. Her brain was foggy, slow, and she began to panic as she realized two fundamental truths.
One: she had no idea where the hell she was, and two, she had no earthly idea who she was.
Emory Dutta stared up to the ceiling, lost, completely lost, and began to cry.
Part #6: Ophelie
Closed due to staff sickness.
Jared stared at the notice on the diner’s door. He gritted his teeth, stepped back from the door and looked up at the windows of apartment above. The shades were still closed. He turned and strode home, wrenching open the door of his car and getting in. Fucking bitch. She was playing games with him, even after he’d warned her what he would do. Someone will pay for your disobedience, Zea.
Teresa let the corner of the shade drop. Podesta looked furious, she thought with satisfaction. She glanced at the clock. Eight a.m., she noticed with unease; he was right on time. She picked up her cell phone and typed a text. Helen has gone to Troy. Teresa frowned, thinking, then added: Hooded Claw is pissed. She pressed send. A second later, Flynt called her back. He was laughing so much she couldn’t understand him at first.
“Terry … what the hell?” The sound of his laughter made Teresa’s eyes prick; it had been too long since she’d heard it. She waited until he caught his breath.
“It’s a code, doofus. Zea’s gone into the city to escape for the day.”
Flynt was still snickering. “And you felt you needed to tell me that in code? And who the fuck is the Hooded Claw?”
Teresa blew a raspberry down the phone. “Podesta, dumbass. He just showed up at the diner. We put a closed notice in the window; he wasn’t happy.”
Flynt had stopped laughing. Teresa could hear his breathing and knew he was trying not to lose his temper. “Hey … calm down. I meant that to be funny. She’s well away from him. I thought you’d find it funny that he was pissed. Flynt?”
Another long silence, then, “Yeah.”
Teresa waited. Flynt sighed. “So, did you two talk last night?”
“Kinda. I think she’s reached the end of her tether with everything. She’s exhausted, and miserable and…” she hesitated. Flynt picked up on it immediately.
“Teresa?” His tone was urgent.
Teresa rolled her shoulders, trying to ease the tension “I’m scared she’ll give herself up to him to save one of us. She feels hopeless.”
Flynt was quiet again. “Yeah.” And Teresa heard the sadness mixed with love in his voice.
“You’ll know what to do. Anyway, dude, I just wanted to…”
“Wait … did she say anything about Podesta? About yesterday?”
Teresa sat down. “She didn’t really … she really didn’t want to talk about him.”
Flynt sighed. “Okay. Okay. Well … I guess, we’ll just see what happens.”
Teresa showered, dressed, and grabbing the bag of trash from the can, skipped down the stairs. She yanked open the back door and yelped. Jared was standing outside, a cigarette in his hand. She hadn’t heard his car pull up and wondered how long he’d been there. Teresa’s insides twisted. Jared smiled pleasantly.
“Good morning.”
Don’t antagonize him. Teresa smiled at him. “Hi Jared, how are you?
He smirked, not fooled. “Fine. Zea’s not at home.”
Teresa arranged her expression into one of cautious surprise. “Oh.” She dumped the bag of trash into the garbage can, brushing off her hands on her jeans. “Well … we’re not open today but would you like some coffee?”
Jared said nothing, just narrowed his eyes. He flicked the cigarette at her feet. “No, thank you.” He moved suddenly, striding away from her. Teresa released the breath she’d been holding. Fucking creep. She went inside and double locked the door, leaning back against. Something thudded hard against the other side and she yelped again. She heard him laughing through the door and she gritted her teeth.
Bastard. You’ll get what’s coming to you, Jared Podesta; I’ll make sure of it.
She had cried herself to sleep, but now, as she woke, she sensed someone in the room with her.
“Hello?” Her voice came out in a raspy whisper and she heard a chair shift, and someone hovered into her vision.
“Well, now, look who’s finally awake. Welcome back, little one; we’ve been worried about you.”
The voice was a woman’s, soft and kind, and now she could see her. A middle-aged woman, her brown eyes warm and her smile wide. The woman looked over her shoulder. “Dante? Our visitor is awake.”
Then there was a man, tall, dark hair, green eyes, smiling down at her. “Hey there.”
“Where am I?”
“We’re just outside Seattle, in my compound.”
She looked around her. An IV drip, machinery. “What happened?”
“You don’t remember?”
She shook her head. The woman and the man, Dante, looked at each other and then Dante sat on the edge of the bed. “About six weeks ago, we pulled you out of Elliott Bay. You had been shot, and when we pulled you out, you were suffering from hypothermia and fading fast. You were conscious, but all you said was “Don’t let him find me. Don’t let him find me.” You lost consciousness and slumped into a coma. We brought you here, hoping to find out more. We were able to remove the bullet but we didn’t hold out hope that you’d survive. But you did.”
She stared at him, not comprehending. “Someone shot me?”
“In your belly. It nicked your abdominal artery but the cold water actually saved you, we think. Who shot you, sweetheart?”
Something snagged in her memory, a flash of something she couldn’t grasp. “I don’t know. I don’t even know my name.”
Dante and the woman looked at each other. “We think your name is Emory—does that sound familiar?”
Emory stared at her. “I don’t know, maybe. My mind is so foggy.”
“Don’t stress yourself, honey; we have plenty of time. Are you hungry?”
Emory realized she was starving. “Very.”
The woman smiled fondly. Really, she had the kindest face Emory had ever seen—that she could remember—and left the room. Emory sighed. “Is this a thing? Memory lapses?”
“Sure…although you’d have to ask a doctor. We have one who comes to see you every day.”
“Why am I not in a hospital?”
“You made me promise not to let anyone know where you were. Lucky for you, I could keep that promise—I had the means to treat you privately. Emory, the papers said your ex-husband shot you. Do you remember that?”
A lurching nausea began to rise in Emory’s stomach. Another flash of memory. “Oh, God…” She retched and Dante quickly handed her a bowl, rubbing her back as she threw up. Emory felt too sick to be embarrassed. Dante helped her clean up, his gentle fingers cool against her skin, then left the room to get her some water.
When Emory was settled, she pushed back the sheet and pulled up the gown. To the right of her navel, there was a scar the size of a quarter, still pink but healing. She touched it gingerly but it didn’t hurt. Whoever had operated on her had done a great job, but along with that were other scars, jagged pink things that looked recent as well. What the hell? “Quite the collection,” she whispered dryly to herself.
Emory shoved her gown back down as Dante came back into the room. He handed her a glass of cold water and some tablets. “Painkillers. You may not feel it now, but injuries like yours take time to heal.”
Emory swallowed the tab
lets and drank the entire glass of water. “God, that’s nice. Look … I don’t mean to be rude, but who are you? Not that I’m not grateful for everything but still.”
Dante smiled—he had a kind face, intense green eyes and a sweet smile. She judged him to be in early forties. He was tall, broad, and he had a relaxed, easy manner that she liked.
“Dante Harper, at your service.” He shook her hand. “Emory, I run a conglomerate that deals with companies in the medical arena—which is how we were able to put this together.”
Emory blinked at him. “Put … this together? This is all for me? I don’t understand.”
“Emory, a lovely young woman, obviously terrified for her life and already bleeding to death from a gunshot, is something I take very seriously. When you begged me not to let ‘him’ find you, I wanted to honor your wishes until you were in a position to think for yourself. I had the resources, the team, the connections.”
Emory was speechless for a moment and her eyes filled with tears. “I don’t know how I’m ever going to thank you … or repay your kindness.”
“You getting better is enough. Now, when you’re feeling more awake, I’ll come and we’ll talk some more. Sophia is preparing some food for you right now, and she is an excellent chef. Enjoy, get some rest. There’s a TV. if you want to watch it—remote’s by your bed and a call button if you need anything else.”
He stood but Emory, wincing slightly as the movement pulled on her sore abdomen, grabbed his hand.
“Thank you, Dante. I mean it. From the bottom of my heart— you saved my life.”
Dante’s cheeks turned a little pink and he looked suddenly ten years younger and very shy. “Don’t mention it. I’m just glad you’re okay.”
When he’d gone, Emory laid back and closed her eyes. Her head was spinning, mostly from trying to recall what had happened, where she had come from, who she was. Right now, her world was this room, and Dante and Sophia. She wondered if they were married; they appeared to be roughly the same age. Even if they were just friends, they seemed to have a great relationship. Emory felt a pang. Was there anyone out there wondering where she was? That cared for her? She hoped there was, because right now she was sure of only one thing:
There was definitely someone out in the world who hated her enough to put a bullet into her.
Rome
Maximo Neri was wracked with nightmares he couldn’t shake. For the fourth night running, he awoke before three a.m. and got out of bed, lighting a cigarette and going out on his balcony. Even at this hour, Rome was buzzing and that’s why he loved this city. He’d been born in the south of the country, Trani, in Apulia, the illegitimate son of a billionaire shipping magnate. His father, Alphonso Neri, already had a son, Ferdinand, and a daughter, Perdita, with his wife but he adored Maximo. Maximo’s mother Lucetta, a piano teacher, had discovered she had terminal cancer six months after Max was born and so Alphonso’s wife, Nunzia, took Max in and treated him as one of her own, until her own death five years later.
Maximo had a great relationship with his parents and his siblings while he was growing up. It was only when he met Ophelie, heartbreakingly beautiful and sweet-natured, that the problems with his half-brother, Ferdie, began.
Max sighed. He knew why he couldn’t sleep. Tomorrow, it would be ten years since Ophelie died. Max closed his eyes. Died. No. Murdered. Viciously, brutally, and by his own brother. And why? Because she had loved Max instead of him.
God, the pain was still raw within him, but he was glad of it. He didn’t ever want that anger, that grief, to leave him because it fueled him, protected him. He’d never let himself get hurt like that again … except now he had met Clementine Saffran and he couldn’t get her out of his head. Even when he was fucking half of Rome—and losing friends because of it; Valentina had realized he was using her and slapped his face before leaving him in tears.
Goddammit. He had thought finally screwing Clem would ease the need for her, but instead, he had become like a man obsessed and it scared him. Obsession was never healthy; Ferdie had proved that.
Alphonso and his billions had helped cover up Ferdie’s crimes and he had banished his eldest son to Zurich, much to Maximo’s horror and disgust. He couldn’t believe Ferdie would get away with it, but Alphonso stood strong and Ophelie’s death was officially recorded as an accident.
It had destroyed Max’s relationship with his father and Max’s desire for revenge had never wavered. With unlimited funds, however, Ferdie had elude him for the last decade, moving around the globe easily but mocking Max at every turn.
Max remembered the phone calls. I’m glad I killed her. I wish I could do it all over again. Ferdie was a sick, sick fuck and Max had never stopped looking for him.
But while he was free, Max hadn’t dared form any long-term relationships. His devastatingly handsome face meant he could always find someone to sleep with, but it was a lonely existence. The brief glimpse of family, of belonging he’d felt at that Seattle port, had been enough to know that he wanted that.
Max finished his cigarette and went to brush his teeth. He glanced at the clock. It was almost four a.m. It would be seven p.m. in Seattle right now.
He wiped his mouth and grabbed his phone. Fuck it, I want to hear your voice.
He found Clementine’s number and pressed dial. In a few rings, he smiled. “Hi. It’s me.”
Bree Saffran felt lost. After she’d broken up with Jesse and then discovered her mom and dad in bed together, she had avoided everyone, camping out in a local bookshop and reading every day until it closed. She ignored Jesse’s texts and calls; her mom repeatedly tried to reach her, but Bree would cut her and her father dead before stalking out of the room.
But, God, she was lonely. And the person she would have turned to, that she had turned to before all of this happened, was dead. Bree now realized just how much of a friend, as well as teacher, Emory had been. Big sister, Bree thought now, you would know what to do. I wish I had known what Ray Grace was doing to you. And yet, you still had all the time in the world for us.
It just made Bree angrier at what she perceived was her father’s betrayal of Emory. What had her parents been thinking?
Her phone buzzed with a number she didn’t recognize. Hesitating, she answered the call.
“Bree?”
Bree couldn’t place the female voice. “Yes. Who’s this?”
“It’s Kizzie, Bree. Jesse’s sister. Please don’t hang up.”
Bree fought against the urge to end the call but this girl hadn’t done anything to her, and she knew Kizzie was already fragile. Bree owed Jesse enough not to be rude to his sister. “Okay.”
Kizzie sighed. “Look, I wanted to say, Jesse’s an idiot. A big one. For what it’s worth, he really loves you, but I’m not calling to fight his corner. He’s a big boy.”
Bree was mystified. “Okay, I appreciate that, but then…”
“Why am I calling?” Kizzie gave a soft laugh, then her voice choked a little. “I need someone to talk to, Bree. Someone who was there. Lexi…”
Suddenly Bree got it. Jesse and Kizzie’s sister Lexi was one of David Azano’s victims. Kizzie’s twin sister. Oh, you poor thing.
“Of course, Kizzie. Of course. Look, shall we meet?”
They arranged to meet that afternoon in the city. Bree showered and dressed and went downstairs. Her mom was in the drawing room, talking with the journalist she was working with on Emory’s Foundation. Bree saw her mother look up as she passed, call out, but Bree ignored her. She wasn’t ready to forgive her yet.
Kizzie was waiting when she got to the coffeehouse and she smiled nervously at Bree as she sat down. “Thank you, Bree, for agreeing to come.”
She looked so jittery that Bree took her hand. “It’s okay, really. It’s nice to meet you properly.” She gave Kizzie an embarrassed grin. “I’m sorry about calling you names before.”
Kizzie laughed. “I’ve been called worse. I’m glad someone was passionate enough about my
brother … sorry.”
Bree had winced, but now she sighed. “It’s okay. I’m sorry it didn’t work out, is all. But that doesn’t mean you and I can’t be friends.”
“I’m glad.”
They ordered some hot drinks then chatted easily for a while. Bree found Kizzie had a wicked sense of humor and loved reading as much as she did. She was grateful Kizzie didn’t talk about Jesse or if she did, it was just in reference to something else.
It was an hour or so before Kizzie shift uneasily in her chair and said. “What do you remember about that day? At the school?”
Bree drew in a deep breath. “I remember everything changing in the blink of an eye. The first gunshot. The first screams. I wasn’t in Mr. Azano’s class, I was across the hall. Everyone started running.” Bree’s eyes unfocused as she remembered. “I remember seeing Azano shoot Hailey Wells. He shot her in the stomach and she just dropped to the floor, and he shot her again in the head. God. Lee Wells, Hailey’s boyfriend, just lost it and charged at Azano but, of course, he just shot him down. A bullet in the chest. I remember it felt like slow motion then; I was the last out of the classroom opposite and Azano looked up slowly and I just ran.”
Her voice was shaking now and she refocused on Kizzie’s pale face. “I didn’t see Lexi and Sandrine, Kizzie, I don’t know where he … where they were. I ran to the teacher’s break room. I knew from there they had a large window I could get out of. But he’d fixed it so it wouldn’t open because there were … others. Other teachers. They’d tried to get out and he’d simply massacred them all. Jesus…”
She was shaking now and Kizzie got up and pulled her chair around so she could put her arm around Bree. “I’m sorry to make you go through this, Bree.”
Bree shook her head. “No, it’s okay, it helps, weirdly.”
“What happened next?”
Dangerous Kiss Page 74