Two bullet holes. Blood. Luca shook his head, terrorized, confused. She had been shot. How …?
“Good evening Luca.”
Ray Grace walked out of the living room after Tat. Tatiana was gasping for air, the wounds in her abdomen gushing blood. “I’m sorry I had to kill your pretty friend, but she was just in the wrong place at the wrong time. Still, at least you won’t be alone.”
Luca stared at him. “Why?”
Tatiana moaned and Ray, merciless, pointed the gun and shot her again, the bullet slamming into her chest. Luca roared. “No!” Tatiana went limp in his arms. “God, please, no ….”
Ray laughed. “This is what you get for touching my Emory, Saffran.” He bent down and whispered in Luca’s ear, “Next to die will be your daughter.”
“Fucker!’
Luca placed Tat’s body on the floor and went for Ray—who shot him once, point-blank, in the chest. Luca staggered toward him and grabbed his jacket, but the bullet had torn his heart in two, and Luca Saffran sank to his knees.
Ray laughed. “You got to see your new girlfriend die; Harper will see Emory die, and then he’ll get my final bullet. You should never have put your hands on my wife.”
Luca’s last living thought was of Bree and how, no matter what he did now, he couldn’t save her …
The news broke the next day. Luca Saffran and journalist Tatiana Mendelsohn gunned down in a home invasion.
Clem screamed when she heard the news and collapsed as Maximo tried to comfort her. She looked up at him and said simply, “Bree.” Maximo had them on a flight to Seattle within the hour.
Bree was the first to know; the police had come to her house. She had only been back from her dad’s place for less than an hour, and at first, she didn’t believe them. It took Jesse, who saw from the police officer’s face that it was no joke, to put his arms around her. She looked at him, at the expression in his eyes, and she howled, a long scream of heartbreak and grief that neither Jesse, nor the police officers, would ever forget.
“We need to get you into protective custody … both of you.”
Half-a-day later and Clementine arrived and was escorted to the safe house. “We’re taking you and Jesse back to Italy. It’s not safe here.”
Jesse agreed, but Bree shook her head. “Mom … I don’t want to leave Dad alone.”
Clem kissed her daughter’s forehead. “Breana, your dad is not here anymore. It’s just his body, and they will keep that for us until you are safe. We will honor him, I promise, my love. But for now, as he would want, you need to be kept safe.”
The Seattle police agreed, and so Bree, Jesse, Clem, and Maximo got on a private plane back to Rome. As Bree watched Seattle disappear below her, she thought about Emory and wondered how she was reacting. She was wondering if Dante Harper would keep his word to Luca and keep her safe. She touched the plane window and sent a prayer down to her friend. Whatever horrors her father and Tatiana had visited on them before they died, she knew they would be nothing to what Ray had planned for Emory.
“Be safe,” she whispered, and hoped in her heart she would be.
Emory was numb. Dante sat with her, holding her hands, until finally, he said gently, “Sweetheart?”
She looked at him with pain-filled eyes. “It’s not true.”
But she knew it was. Luca was dead. No one had any doubt who killed him: Ray. Oh, God.
She got up and walked to the window. “Dante … you should leave me now. Go, find somewhere safe. I won’t let him hurt anyone else.”
Dante said nothing, knowing she was venting, talking nonsense, but Emory turned around. “Please.”
“That’s not going to happen.”
She wilted. “He will stop at nothing.”
“Yes.”
She looked up at him. “He’ll kill you, Dante.”
“Possibly.”
“No,” she moaned, “no, no, no … this has to end.” She pulled her knees up to her chest and hugged them. Dante smoothed her hair.
“Em? We have to come up with a plan—with the police—to draw him out. Now, I know immediately what you’ll suggest, that we use you as bait. That’s not an option.”
“He doesn’t need to be stopped,” she said in a dull voice. “He needs to be killed. I’ll do it myself. Put me in a room with him, one on one. He might kill me, but I will definitely kill him.”
Dante gave her a half smile. “Again,” he said gently, “not an option.”
Emory made a disgusted noise. Grief was fueling her anger. “Where the hell was Luca’s protection? He had security. What the fuck?”
“Ray killed them, too. He got into the estate from the waterside.”
Emory got up them and walked to the French doors, looking out onto the small beach at the bottom of their property. “Huh.”
Dante frowned. “What?”
“Wait, I’m thinking.”
He waited, watching her staring out at the water. Then she turned and came to sit by him. “We’re arrogant billionaires who think we can’t be touched.”
Dante blinked. “Okay?”
Emory half smiled. “That’s what Ray thinks. All he has ever wanted is fame. He couldn’t get it as a professor, or as the ‘loving’ husband of a so-called heroine.”
“Not ‘so-called’—you saved some kids, remember?” Dante said, but held up his hands when she groaned at him.
“So, now he’s decided he’s going down as a serial killer. Why don’t we give him what he wants?”
Dante was confused. “Which is?”
“Fame. But not in the way he thinks. We’ll go on television and tell the world he’s pathetic, deny he’s a killer, say he’s just a sad old, middle-aged man who couldn’t hang onto his wife.”
“I don’t get it.” Dante was missing something, and Emory chuckled darkly.
“We humiliate him. We ridicule him. You forget, I was married to the man for five years. He hates being embarrassed, put down, laughed at. I learned that the hard way. Now we can use it against him.”
Dante was still wondering. “How will that … ?”
“He’ll get angry, enraged,” Emory was really warming up to the subject now. “He’ll be desperate to show he is this big man, a killer. We lead him straight to me and play on his utter conviction that he can outsmart all of us.”
Dante nodded slowly. “It could work.”
Emory turned, jabbing her finger at the window, out at the water. “If he doesn’t already know we’re here, we make sure he does … then we leave that there,” she jabbed again, “open for him. It’s Christmas come early. Because we’re arrogant billionaires, who think we can’t be touched.”
Dante grinned suddenly. “It’s worth a shot, baby.”
“Just one thing.”
“What?”
Emory turned to face him. “I don’t want the police involved.”
Dante stood. “Are you crazy? Why the hell not?”
Emory walked to him and kissed him softly. “Because, one day, I want to look Breana Saffran in the eye and tell her I killed the man who murdered her father.”
The first interview was with the local news station. Dante’s money made sure the interview was repeated and sent out to as many affiliates as possible. Emory played her part beautifully, mocking Ray in every way she could think of. She even managed to persuade some of his ex-colleagues to join in—they were only too glad to play down the good professor’s reputation. They were careful with the words they used—standard, ordinary, unremarkable. Emory’s description of her husband—unimaginative, weak, impotent (Dante’s personal favorite) were equally as damning.
The police called them and asked them what the hell they were doing. Again, Emory learned that Dante’s money could buy anything.
All they had to do was wait.
Meanwhile, Emory told Dante that, whatever happened, she would be going back to teach at Auburn, and before that she would attending the charity concert that Kizzie Kline was performing at. He wa
s nervous at first. Then, when she allowed him to contact the dean and offer security, he relented.
The night of the concert, feeling very aware of the two hulking bodyguards at her side, she hugged Stephen Harris and her colleagues who had survived the horror. Being back in the building was strange, too. The office where David had attacked her and where the police had killed him had been gutted (ha, she thought, me, too) and repainted and was now a quiet reading room. Dante caught up with them and stopped her security to talk with them.
Every place someone had died was marked in a discreet but beautiful way, honoring them. Nowhere was David’s name, nowhere was Nick Petersen mentioned. Emory thought it ironic—here she was, trying to erase Ray’s name. Proof here—it did work. The school was open again and functioning. It hadn’t been cowed. And neither am I, she thought grimly.
“Hey, Ms. … um” She turned and saw Ethan Fonseca smiling at her.
“Ethan, I think you can call me Emory, after everything we’ve been through.” She hugged him. “I heard you arranged this all.”
“Kinda,” he said shyly. “Kizzie and me, well, we’re close.” Emory grinned at him.
“I get it.”
Ethan laughed. “Look, she’s getting ready, or I’d introduce you. We’ll be starting soon.”
“Hey, before you go, has Kizzie heard from Jesse? And Bree?”
Ethan’s smile faded, and he nodded. “Bree’s a mess, but they’re safe at least. All I know is that they are in—”
“No. Don’t tell me,” Emory said. “The fewer people that know, the better. Just … if you speak to them, tell them I love them.”
“I will. Thanks, Ms. …Emory.”
When the music began, Emory almost forgot everything else. Kizzie Kline, her cello between her knees, was an emotional player, and the music poured from her instrument in sweet highs and sensual lows. Emory leaned back against Dante, and he put his arms around her.
The whole room was entranced along with her, and she barely noticed when Dante told her he was going to talk to security again. Overprotective, she said, and smiled wryly. Was there such a thing anymore?
So lost in the music was she that it was only after her phone vibrated against her hip that Emory realized someone was calling her. She eased the phone out of her pocket and glanced at the screen.
Immediately, her heart began to pound. Ray. She slipped from the concert hall out into the corridor and pressed accept.
“Bitch.”
She gave a low, humorless chuckle. “And hello to you, you murdering sack of shit.”
“Who the hell do you think you are?”
This time, Emory laughed out loud, startling some people at the other end of the hallway. “Who do I think I am? You cock-sucking motherfucker, you killed Luca and Tatiana. You shot me, and you’re asking who I think I am?”
She could hear his breathing, heavy and angry. Good. He was on edge.
“Let’s finish this, Ray. You and me.”
“Yes, let’s. You want to see your boyfriend again?”
No. She pushed away the thought of Dante being with Ray. He was safe. He was with her security guards … but now she could see them at the other end of the hall and Dante wasn’t with them.
Ray laughed. “See? Don’t play me for a fool, little girl. Remember when you were in the hospital the first time? After you’d left me? I took your key, Emory. I took the key to the cottage you were staying in and made copies. It’s been a very comfortable stay and very discreet, tucked away in this little corner. Shame on school security. You would have thought they would have learned their lesson, but no. Not once did they search here.”
Emory felt terror build in her. No, please … “Seems your Dante Harper was more thorough. Came to check himself just a few minutes ago, in fact.”
Blank terror. “You touch him, I’ll …
“What, Emory? You know how to end this. Come here. Now. Lose your bodyguard, and I’ll let him go. One of you will die tonight, Em. It’s up to you.”
Emory didn’t hesitate. Her security guards were almost at her. “I’m going to use the bathroom. I’ll be just a second.”
She counted on them not knowing which room was the bathroom. She slipped into the staff classroom where all her colleagues had died and pushed open the window. At the last moment, she had a thought, tapped out a message, left it unsent on the screen and left her phone. Then she climbed out of the window and dropped to the grass below. All she could think of was getting to Dante, not caring now if she lived or died.
She scooted across the schoolyard and onto the grounds, heading through the darkness to the small cottage. Why hadn’t she thought of it? Now, it was so obvious, but God … Her breath was coming in panicked gasps.
Please, hang on, Dante. I’m coming …
Inside the school, her security team was starting to get antsy. One of them was about to walk down to the room she was in, when someone called his name. He turned—and Dante Harper, his boss, spoke to him.
“Where’s Emory?”
The two security guards looked at him, then at each other. “Bathroom, boss.” One of them pointed down the corridor. Dante looked alarmed.
“Bathroom’s back there.” He started to run, down toward the room, and when he got into the room, he saw the window open and Emory’s phone on the desk. He picked it up and saw the message:
The cottage.
Dante knew instantly that it was happening. Ray was here.
And Emory was delivering herself straight into his deadly trap.
Something inside of her knew that when she walked through this door, Dante wouldn’t be there. And now, as she walked into the small cottage and faced her would-be-killer, she realized that she had never believed it, that she had used it as an excuse. She wanted to be face to face with this scumbag, wanted them to be one on one.
“I suppose you think that aberration of an interview was funny?”
Ray stepped into her eyeline and she suddenly realized how diminished he appeared to her. Small. Rat-like. Disgusting. She was also surprised he wasn’t holding a gun. He saw her eyes flick to his hand and he grinned. “Seems you’re impervious to gunshot. And besides, I want to feel your blood on my hands.” From his pocket, he pulled a knife and waved it at her.
“Do you think I’ll just take it like a good girl? That knife won’t be ending up in me tonight, Raymond.”
He laughed, but she didn’t crack. He stared at her. “You really believe that don’t you?”
She tugged the bottom of her T-shirt up, baring her belly. “See these scars? Survival. That’s what they stand for. And I’m going to keep surviving, Ray, because you are a weak, pathetic man. A toddler, who shakes his baby fists in the air when he doesn’t get what he wants.”
Ray was staring at her bare skin, bloodlust in his eyes. “I’m going to add to those scars right now, Emory.”
She dropped her shirt as he advanced, but stood her ground. “Try it, motherfucker, and see what you get.”
Ray grabbed her as she brought the flat of her hand up. She smashed it with all her strength against the bottom of his nose as the knife nicked her skin. Ray staggered back, roaring as his nose exploded with blood, but Emory wasn’t finished. She drew her leg back and smashed her foot into his groin.
“Seriously? You gonna let a girl beat you? Didn’t expect that, did you?” She ripped the knife from his hand and held it under his chin just as Dante and the security guards burst into the room. Emory, half-crazed with anger, didn’t let go of the knife. Ray whimpered.
Dante crept forward. “Baby?”
“Dante, back off.”
He did as she asked as Ray shook his head, panicked now. Emory bent down so that she could look Ray in the eye. “This is for Luca.” And she rammed the knife into his throat.
Emory stood as Ray gurgled his last, his blood pumping from him as his hands flailed uselessly at his torn throat. She took a deep breath in and turned to Dante. She noted the look in the guards’ eyes
with satisfaction—admiration.
“You got some balls,” one of them said, and she laughed.
Dante looked as if he were in shock. Emory pressed her lips against his. “I love you. That’s all that matters now.”
And she took his hand and led him out of the room.
Four months later …
Emory looked at the judge as he came into the courtroom and felt nervous. The jury was already in, waiting expectantly. Dante reached over and took her hand, and she smiled over at him. He traced his thumb over the platinum band on her ring finger, and she could see the love in his eyes. On her other side, Zea Azano-Newlan and her handsome husband waited to hear the verdict.
“Would the jury foreperson please read the verdict?”
It seemed to Emory that the whole place was holding its breath as the female foreperson stood. She looked over to where Nick Petersen stood in the dock, then across the aisle to where Bree, Jesse, Kizzie, and Ethan sat. Bree smiled at her and mouthed at her “Love you.” Emory grinned back.
“We, the jury, in the case of Washington versus Nicolas Petersen find the defendant guilty on all charges.”
Bedlam. So many cheering people as Nick Petersen was led away, cowering. Dante held Emory in his arms and kissed her passionately, not caring that they were in a courtroom. Emory gazed up at him with shining eyes.
“Dante Harper…it’s finally over.”
“You bet your sweet ass it is, Mrs., Harper,” and she laughed along with him. Zea tapped her shoulder, her burgeoning belly bumping Emory’s hip. Emory chuckled as Zea rolled her eyes.
“We’re all going to find a bar and get wasted to celebrate. Well, sadly, not me. But at least you’ll have a sober person to take you all home afterward. Coming?”
Emory sighed happily. “Try and keep us away…”
And as she walked out of the courtroom, Emory finally knew, she was free.
The End.
The Midnight Club
Dangerous Kiss Page 89