by Nora Roberts
“Let me first state the obvious and say if she had, you wouldn’t be here. And second, she could have chosen art school. She could have chosen Dad and art school. What she did was choose him, this place, this life.”
Reena shifted her gaze now, studied her mother, slim and lovely with her hair slicked back in a shiny tail, laughing as she drilled a finger into her husband’s chest.
“And when I look at her, Bella, I don’t see a woman with regrets, a woman who asks herself what if.”
“Why can’t I be happy like that, Reena? Why can’t I just be happy?”
“I don’t know. I’m sorry you’re not.”
“I know you went to talk to Vince. Oh, don’t put the cop face on with me,” she said impatiently. “He was angry. But he was a little shaken up, too. Wouldn’t expect my little sister to get in his face. Thanks.”
“You’re welcome. It was impulse. I couldn’t stop myself. I was afraid you might be irritated I waded in.”
“I’m not. Even if it hadn’t changed a thing, I wouldn’t be irritated that you stood up for me. He’s cut things off with his current mistress. At least as far as I can tell. Maybe it’ll last, maybe it won’t.” She shrugged, looking back at her mother. “I’ll never be like Mama, part of that kind of team with a husband who adores everything about me. I’m never going to have that.”
“You have beautiful children, Bella.”
“I do,” she agreed, smiling a little. “I have beautiful children. And I think I’m pregnant again.”
“You think—”
But Bella shook her head quickly, cutting off the conversation as one of the kids ran to the table.
“Mama! Can we have ice cream cones? Just one scoop. Nana said to ask you. Please, can we?”
“Sure. Sure you can.” She brushed her son’s cheek. “Just one scoop. I love them so much,” she told Reena when he ran off to spread the good news. “I can’t talk about this now. Don’t say anything.” She popped to her feet. “Sophie! Come help me make the cones.”
Bella swung into the building, with the younger kids whooping as they raced to follow. Sophia brought up the rear.
Sulking, Reena noted, but obedient. And still young enough to secretly lust after a scoop of ice cream.
“I don’t see why she needs me to help. It’s always me.”
“Hey, what’s wrong with you?” Reena demanded. “You get put on the front line, who’s going to notice if you have two scoops instead of just one?”
Sophia’s lips twitched. “Want one?”
“There’s lemon gelato in there. What do you think?” Reena reached over, pinched Sophia’s cheek. “Be kind to your mother. Don’t roll your eyes at me. Just do it. Just twenty-four hours of kindness. I think she could use it.”
She gave the cheek she’d pinched a kiss, then walked to her own mother. Bianca wrapped an arm around Reena’s waist. “You’re just in time. Your father has realized what was obvious. That I was right.”
Reena watched, as her mother did, Bo, Gib, Larry and some of the others as they walked to the corner of the building. Bo gestured with the spray paint, got a shrug from Gib, and began to spray a gently serpentine line on the grass.
“What’s he doing?” Reena asked.
“Laying out the idea for my walkway from the corner. People will be able to stroll around from the sidewalk out front and come right back to my pergola. Maybe they don’t want to walk through the restaurant like they have to now if they want an outside table. Maybe they’re out for a walk, hear the music—”
“Music?”
“I’m putting in speakers. There’ll be music when we have the pergola. And lights along the path. And big pots of flowers.” She slapped her hands on her hips as she circled around, the gesture of a satisfied woman who knows how to take charge. “Ornamental trees. Lemon trees. And in the back corner there. A little play area so the children won’t be bored. And—”
“Mama.” With a laugh, Reena tapped her hands to her own temples. “My head’s spinning.”
“It’s a good plan.”
“Yes, it’s a good plan. A big one.”
“I like big.” She smiled as Bo began to gesture, tick points of some sort off on his fingers while Gib frowned. “I like your Bo. We had fun today. I brought tears to cousin Sal’s eyes, so that was fun, and Bo bought me a hydrangea.”
“He . . . he bought you a bush?”
“And planted it for me. Either you marry him or I adopt him, because I’m not letting him get away.”
The kids came running out with ice-cream cones, Gina and her mother wandered over, and Bo caught Reena’s eye and grinned at her.
It wasn’t the time to talk about serial arson and murder.
She couldn’t stay, though her excuses to go home were met with protests.
“I just want to lay as much of this out as I can for your parents,” Bo told her. “So they can hash it out overnight, be sure this is what they want. If you can wait a half hour, I’ll go with you.”
“You’ve got your own ride. Big burly one, too. I’ve got files I need to read over. An hour of quiet and thinking time’s just what I want.”
“Want me to bring you dinner?”
“That’d be great. Anything. Just surprise me.”
Xander caught up with her as she followed, for curiosity’s sake, the path between the curvy orange lines. “I’ll walk you around.” He tugged her hair, an old habit.
She poked an elbow in his ribs in the same spirit.
“Why don’t I go home with you,” he began, “hang out awhile? We never get to—”
“No. I’m working, and I don’t need my little brother playing guard.”
“I’m taller than you.”
“Barely.”
“Which means I can be the younger brother, but not the little brother. Either way. Catarina, he could come to your house.”
“Yes, he could. He knows where I live. I’m prepared for that, Xand. I can’t have someone with me twenty-four hours a day. I want you to be careful.” She turned to him, laid her hands on his shoulders. “Joey Pastorelli. If I’m right, he wants payback. You—nearly three years younger—took him on, beat him back. I can promise you he hasn’t forgotten that. I want you to be careful, to take care of your wife and baby. Don’t worry about me, and I won’t have to worry about you. Deal?”
“The son of a bitch comes anywhere near An or Dillon—”
“That’s right.” Her eyes held his in perfect understanding. “That’s exactly right. Keep them close for now. You and Jack, you look out for Fran and Bella, the kids. Mama and Dad. I’ve got some extra patrols, but nobody knows the neighborhood, the feel of it, like we do. Anything, anything seems off, you call me. Promise me.”
“You don’t even have to ask.”
“It’s hot,” she said after a moment. “It’s going to be a hot night. Summer’s starting to kick.”
She got in her car and drove home. But when she got there, she sat, studying the house, the street, the block. She knew several people who lived on this row, had known them all or most of her life.
She knew this place, had chosen to live here. She could walk in any direction and pass half a dozen people who knew her name.
Now neither she nor they were safe.
Gathering her files, she got out, locked her car. She studied the dents and scars pocking it, little reminders of how much worse the explosion on Bo’s truck could have been.
How long would it take him to light up her car? she wondered. Two minutes, three? He could do it while she slept, while she showered, fixed a meal.
But that would just be a poke in the ribs. She thought he’d go up a level now.
She walked to her door, waved to Mary Kate Leoni, who was washing the white marble steps three doors down. Housekeeping, she thought. Life went on with simple things like housekeeping, waiting tables, eating ice cream cones.
She unlocked her door, set the files aside. And unholstered her weapon. Whatever she’d said, or
told herself, about handling things, wanting an hour of quiet and solitude, she was jittery enough to do a full walk-through of her own house. With her gun in her hand.
Satisfied, if not settled, she went downstairs for the files and a cold drink. It was time she made good use of the office she’d only begun to set up on the third floor. Time she did what she did best: organize, study and dissect.
She booted up her computer, then turned to the board and easel she’d hauled up shortly after she moved in. From the files she selected photographs, newspaper clippings, copies of reports. She brought up and printed out copies of photos and reports from her own computer.
When they were arranged, she stepped back, looked at the board as a whole. Then she sat at the keyboard and wrote out the sequence of events beginning with that day in August when she’d been eleven.
It took longer than the hour, but she barely noticed the passing of time. When the phone rang she swore, and was so deep in what had been she nearly forgot what was. Her fingers were an inch away from snatching up the phone when she stopped herself. Looked at the readout.
She let it ring a second time as she drew herself in. Though she knew the phone was tapped, and there was a cop somewhere with recording and tracking equipment, she engaged her own recorder before she answered.
“Hello, Joey.”
“Hey, Reena. Took you long enough.”
“Oh, I don’t know, I think I did pretty well considering I haven’t given you a thought in twenty years.”
“Thinking of me now, aren’t you?”
“Sure. I’m remembering what a little asshole you were when you lived on the row. Looks like you’re a big asshole these days.”
“Always had a mouth on you. I’m going to make use of that mouth, real soon.”
“What’s the matter, Joey? Can’t you get a woman? Is your method still knock them around and rape them?”
“You’ll find out. We’ve got a lot to settle, you and me. Got another surprise coming. It’s all picked out for you.”
“Why don’t we ditch the crap, Joey? Why don’t we hook up? Give me the when, give me the where, and we’ll get down to business.”
“You always thought I was stupid, always thought I was less than you, and your holy family. Who’s still living in the neighborhood, slinging greasy pizzas?”
“Oh now, Joey, there’s nothing greasy about a Sirico’s. Come on, meet me there—I’ll buy you a large.”
“Too bad the guy banging you now wasn’t in that truck when it blew.” His breath came quicker now, puffing out the words.
Getting under his skin, Reena thought. Poking at a cobra with a stick.
“Maybe next time. Or maybe he’ll have an accident at home, in bed. Shit happens, right? He smelled like pig cooking. The first one. Remember him, Reena? I could smell you where you’d come on the sheets I used to fire him up.”
“You son of a bitch.” She doubled over when the pain hit her belly. “You son of a bitch.”
He laughed, and his voice dropped to a whisper. “Someone’s going to burn tonight.”
It took Bo closer to two hours than one to pull away from Sirico’s. The job was going to be an interesting one, to say the least. In addition, he’d fielded a half dozen other inquiries about repair, remodeling, cabinetry from people who’d wandered out while he was measuring the site. He’d given out twice that many cards before he’d gotten the takeout chicken Parmesan.
If even a third of those turned into actual work, he was going to have to seriously consider hiring a full-time laborer.
Big step, he decided. Big, giant step from taking on a part-time helper, or just shanghaiing Brad when a job was too big for one man or he was in a time crunch.
This would be commitment time for a man who’d been perfectly content to work alone. He’d be cutting someone a regular paycheck—someone who’d depend on him for that paycheck. Every week.
Definitely needed to think about it.
He ran a hand over the hood of the truck as he skirted it. A nice piece of machinery, he admitted. And he’d gotten it for a better price than anyone could expect. Bianca had all but stolen it for him.
But damn, he was going to miss his old horse.
He reached for his keys, glanced across the street, up the block a little when he heard a quick, signaling whistle.
He saw the man standing with his thumbs in his front pockets. Ball cap, jeans, sunglasses, hard grin. Something about him was familiar enough to have Bo lifting his hand, keys in it.
Then it clicked. Flower guy, buying supermarket roses to get out of the doghouse.
“Hey,” he called out, opening the door of the truck. “How’s it going?”
With that tooth-baring grin still in place, the man walked to a car, got in. He rolled down the window, leaned out. He mimed shooting a gun with his index finger. Bo heard him say bang as he drove by.
“Weird.” With a shake of his head, Bo slid the takeout bag onto the seat, climbed in behind the wheel. He glanced up the street, down, then pulled out, making a quick U-turn to drive to Reena’s.
He let himself in, called out to let her know he was back, then took the bag into the kitchen. Because he caught a whiff of something other than the chicken, he decided a nice, cool shower was the first thing on his agenda.
So he’d bop home and get one, and grab the sketches and designs he’d drawn up for Reena. Going over those would keep both their minds off more serious matters for a few hours.
He headed back out of the kitchen, up the stairs, calling out again. “Hey, I hunted and gathered. Just going next door to grab a shower, and apparently I’m talking to myself,” he decided when he saw no sign of her in the bedroom.
He heard a door open overhead and climbed to the third floor.
“Hey, Reene, why do people like you and me buy houses where you have to climb . . . Hey, what’s the matter?”
She was standing just outside of what he knew was a small bathroom. Her face was pale as glass.
“You need to sit down.” Even as she shook her head, he was taking her arm, taking her weight and guiding her back into her office. “He called again.”
This time she nodded. “I need a minute.”
“I’ll get you some water.”
“No, I had some. I’m okay. Yeah, he called again, and he got to me. I had control, I was pushing the buttons, then he got to me, and I lost it.”
She’d barely been able to get through the follow-up call to O’Donnell before she’d been sick. Horribly sick.
“I saw you pull up.” She’d had her head out the window, just trying to breathe.
“What did he say?”
Rather than repeat it, she gestured to the tape recorder. “Play it back. You should hear it for yourself.”
While he did, she rose to go to the window. She opened that one, too, though the air outside was hot and weighty.
“Not exactly what you signed on for,” she commented and kept her back to him.
“No, I guess it’s not.”
“Nobody’s going to think less of you if you decide to back off from all this, Bo. He’ll hurt you if he can. He’s already hurt you.”
“So, it’s okay with you if I take off for a couple weeks. Maybe go visit some national parks, or do some snorkeling in Jamaica.”
“Yes.”
“Good Catholic girl like you’s going to have to go to confession with that big, fat lie.”
“It’s not a lie.”
“Then you’ve got pretty low standards in men.”
“It has nothing to do with standards.” She pulled the window back down with an impatient snap. “I don’t want anything to happen to you. I’m scared.”
“Me, too.”
She turned around, looked him dead in the eye. “I want to marry you.”
His mouth opened and closed twice, and definitely lost a few shades of color. “Well. Wow. Wow, there’s a lot of stuff flying around in this room. I’m just going to sit down before a piece of it c
rashes into my skull.”
“What do you think, Goodnight? I am a good Catholic girl at the core. Look at my family. Look at me. What do you think I’d want when I finally found someone I love and respect and enjoy?”
“I don’t know. I don’t know. The whole, let’s say ‘institution’ isn’t something—”
“It’s a sacrament to me. Marriage is sacred, and you’re the only man I’ve ever wanted to take vows with.”
“I . . . I—I—I. Shit, now I’m stuttering. I think something did crash into my skull.”
“I didn’t care if I ever got married and had kids because there was no one I wanted to marry and have kids with. You changed that, and now you have to deal with the consequences.”
“Are you trying to scare me so I’ll go visit those national parks?”
She walked to him, bent down, gripped his face hard in her hands and kissed him, firmly. “I love you.”
“Oh, boy. Oh, boy.”
“Say ‘I love you, too, Reena.’ If you mean it.”
“I do mean it. I do love you.”
His eyes stayed on hers, and the fact that there was a trace of fear in them made her smile.
“It’s just . . . I never completed this part of the plan in my head. You know, there’s the whole we’re-having-a-really-good-time-with-each-other part—despite fear and mayhem. Then there’s the maybe-we-should-move-in-together part. After a while there’s the where-should-we-go-from-here? part.”
“That doesn’t work for me. I’m thirty-one. I want children, your children. I want to make a life, our life. You told me once you knew because the music stopped. I’m telling you I know, because the music started. Take some time.” She kissed him again. “Think about it. There’s enough going on right now.”
“A lot going on.”
“I’d still marry you if you went away for a while, somewhere out of all this.”
“I’m not going anywhere. And I don’t know how you could . . .” He couldn’t quite form the word marry. “How you could be with someone who’d leave you to save his own skin.”
“Your skin’s pretty important to me.” She let out a breath. “Well, all this detouring has settled me down a little. So there’s that. We’ll get him, maybe not in time to stop whatever he has planned for tonight or tomorrow. But we’ll get him.”