Edge of Sight

by Roxanne St Claire

  “Ehh…” Nino gave his signature wave of dismissal. “He was waiting for Vivi to be a hundred percent and all this criminal business to be over.”

  Was he? Sam hoped so, because for the first time she had absolutely no doubt about what she was doing, and knew there’d be no second-guessing this decision… if he asked her to make it.

  “I had to read the letter,” Nino continued. “Because it’s written in Italian. So, I translated her message for you.”

  “What does it say?”

  “You’ll see. I’ll give it to you the very moment I know for sure.” He smiled, his teeth a little yellowed, his eyes crinkling like spiderwebs. “The very moment that we all know you are going to become part of this family.”

  She nodded, then took a drink of wine to cover her reaction. She’d never wanted anything so much in her life, but Zach had to want it, too.

  “You want to be part of this family, don’t you?” he asked with a sly smile. “We could use you around here.”

  Sam didn’t speak, but looked down at her own reflection in the dark glass of homemade wine. “I love this family,” she said honestly. “As much as I love Zach.”

  Behind her, slender arms wrapped around her waist, and soft hair brushed her cheek. Vivi’s spikes had grown in a little; getting a haircut took a backseat to getting healthy.

  “Samantha Fairchild, we love you, too.”

  Sam turned and pulled Vivi closer. “I thought you were outside listening to those two argue it out.”

  “I was, but it got to a point where they just have to work it out on their own. JP says yes, Marc said yes weeks ago, Nicki says yes, I say yes.”

  “Nino says yes,” Nino added.

  Vivi laughed. “Of course he does. But Zach says…”

  The doors opened and Zach walked in, the shadow of a smile on his lips. “What the hell, okay.”

  “Yahoo!” Vivi reached for her brother, still moving at less than the warp speed she used to, but fast enough to get a good hug going. “Aunt Fran! Uncle Jim! Where the heck is Marc? It’s time to make this official.”

  “I chilled the champagne,” Chessie announced, coming in from the dining room with her sister Nicki and their parents. “We were just betting on it. Three-to-one odds he’d agree.”

  “You bet against me?” Zach gave his youngest cousin a tap on the shoulder as he came around the granite counter to Sam, his slick leather patch blocking his eye and most of his scar, but still looking breathtaking. “Welcome to the nuthouse,” he whispered in Sam’s ear.

  Nino’s discussion was so fresh in her mind, she almost imagined Zach could read her thoughts on her face. His mother’s letter. His intended. Part of this family.

  “So you agreed?” she asked, settling into his side, comforted by the arm around her.

  “Evidently, I can be bought with flattery and promises of unquestioned authority.”

  Chessie popped the champagne with a signature shriek as Aunt Fran lined up flutes along the granite bar, and they all gathered around Sam and Zach.

  “We’ll need ten, right?” Fran said. “Always ten in this family.”

  “Gabe’s not here, Ma,” Chessie corrected her.

  “But Sam is,” Zach said. “And she’s prettier.”

  “And swears less,” Fran added. “Although I’d put up with all that cussing just to see his face again.”

  “He’ll be back, Aunt Fran,” Zach assured her. “He’s invincible.”

  “You always say that…” She smiled at him. “I hope you’re right.”

  “He’s always right,” Vivi reminded her. “Just ask him. Now where in God’s name is Marc?”

  “He had a meeting with Lang,” Zach said.

  The name of FBI agent Colton Lang had become a familiar one to the entire family once Finn MacCauley’s name became remotely attached to the case—even though all the evidence said he’d been nothing but a fall guy. Still, the FBI got involved and had interviewed Sam and Zach numerous times, as well as Marc and JP.

  The front door slammed, and in a minute, Marc ambled in, a wry look moving from the fizzing glasses being filled to Zach. “Yeah?”

  Zach lifted a shoulder. “Yeah.”

  “All right,” Marc said, offering some congratulatory knuckles. “Then you’re going to love my news.”

  “Not yet.” Vivi was grinning broadly as she handed out champagne and ten glasses were raised, along with a lot of voices. “Quiet down,” she called.

  They got louder. She put two fingers in her mouth and whistled.

  Silence.

  “Thank you,” she said, her eyes twinkling like the tiny diamond in her nose. “Please raise your glasses to the staff of the newest security, investigation, protection, and crimefighting company in Boston.” She shifted her glass toward Chessie. “To our director of information systems in charge of technology and hacking and general noisemaking and definitely Friday afternoon parties.”

  “Suweeet!” Chessie giggled, and clinked.

  Next, Vivi lifted her flute to Nicki. “To our head psychologist and criminal profiler.”

  “Part-time,” Nicki qualified, her brown eyes glimmering at her cousin. “I still have a shrink practice to run.”

  “We’ll take it,” Vivi said, and stepped to JP. “To another part-timer, our special consultant from the Fraternal Order of Police.”

  JP’s expression was serious. “In charge of making sure you renegades don’t break too damn many laws.”

  “But if we do, you’ll save our backsides.” Vivi winked at him.

  Marc was next. “To our senior weapons specialist and vice president in charge of relations with the Feds.”

  “Good relations,” he promised, tapping Vivi’s glass.

  “And, of course, our incredible team of support staff, Aunt Fran and Uncle Jim. And…” She looped an arm around Nino’s thick neck. “Our chief cook and bottle washer.”

  He waved a hand, but the pride in his expression was hard to miss. “I’ll keep you all in ziti.”

  “That leaves you and Zach,” Chessie said, glass poised. “Co-owners?”

  Vivi tilted her head in acknowledgment. “It’s a joint venture, yes, but I’m taking the title of vice president of investigations.” Then she turned to Zach and lifted her glass higher, the shimmer in her eyes a common sight these last few days. “And ladies and gentlemen, meet the chief executive officer of the Guardian Angelinos!”

  A cheer went up, followed by a lot of crystal clinking, laughter, and sips of bubbly.

  “Are we done doling out titles?” Marc asked. “Because before you all get too looped and happy, we need to have an inaugural staff meeting to discuss our first…” They all looked at him expectantly, and he rewarded them with his heartbreaking smile. “Paying client.”

  “What?” At least three people asked the question at the same time.

  “Joshua Sterling’s widow is missing. I’ve agreed to consult for the FBI on a mission to track her down and bring her in. And this will be an official Guardian Angelino assignment, with me in the field and you as my backup.”

  “Does the FBI do that?” Chessie asked. “Hire outside consultants?”

  “All the time,” Marc assured her. “Sometimes for budget reasons, sometimes for manpower, sometimes because they want a particular individual to handle the job. That would be the case this time. They want me and since I won’t go back to work for them, they have to hire us.”

  “I like it,” Vivi said. “The FBI at the top of the client list is going to go a long way to attracting more work.”

  “I better add that to the website,” Chessie said.

  “We have a website?” Zach looked incredulous.

  “All we need is an office,” Nino said. “The Jamaica Plain house is off the market now.”

  Jim put his glass down with a little more force than necessary, the patriarch having been very quiet up to this point. “As you know, I have a law office in Boston that I never use, but won’t sell, since I can’
t get my arms around the fact that I’m truly retired. I’ll give it to the company.”

  Fran smiled up at him. “That’s very generous of you, honey.”

  “Generous?” Vivi almost crawled out of her skin to throw her arms around her uncle. “Those offices are freaking gorgeous! Thank you! Zach, isn’t this perfect?” She beamed at her brother, then focused on Sam. “But what about Sam? You need a title and a job, even if you are going to law school. Until you can be our chief counsel, of course.”

  “I’m the CEO,” Zach said, looking down at her with love and affection. “I’ll give her a title.”

  “I trust it’ll be a good one,” Sam said, reaching up to kiss him. As she did, she saw Nino slip a thin envelope into her handbag on the counter.

  Red-hot shrapnel cut his skin. Daggers of pain shot through his eye. Misery stabbed his face like a thousand prickly fireworks, slashing pain from brow to bone.

  Zach pulled himself from the nightmare, automatically turning to find the comfort of Sam’s silky hair and body, the ease for his ache.

  She was gone.

  He sat up, blinking into the darkness of her bedroom, used to the shadows of her apartment, the lingering scent of her fruit-flavored shampoo, the welcome sensation of being where he belonged. Mostly, he was used to her being in his arms at 4:00 A.M., but she wasn’t there.

  Nerves, he guessed. Night before law school nerves.

  He threw off the covers, grabbed the pair of boxers she’d taken off him when they first got into bed, and went looking for her. Searching her apartment, he ended up in the kitchen, where he heard a noise from the balcony.

  Nudging the door, he spied her sitting on the deck, leaning against the wall, papers in her hand.

  “Sammi?”

  She looked up at him, stunning him with her tears. He was next to her in an instant.

  “Honey, what’s wrong?”

  “Your mother…”

  His mother? He folded in half, getting next to her. “What about her?”

  “She wrote this letter and I…” She held an envelope to her lips and closed her eyes. “Want to read it.”

  “She wrote a letter?” He reached for it, but she didn’t let go. “And you can read Italian now?”

  “Uncle Nino translated it.”

  “Who is it written to?”

  She let out a soft breath. “I guess that remains to be seen.”

  “I don’t understand,” he confessed.

  “It’s written by your mother for…” She picked up an envelope. “La… fidanzata.”

  The pronunciation hurt. “I don’t speak much Italian anymore and you butcher it beyond description. What does Nino say that means?”

  “Your… intended.”

  He took her chin and turned her face toward him. “You’re my intended,” he said. “I intend to drag you off this balcony and back into bed in five minutes. Does that count?”

  “I don’t think that’s what she meant.” She smiled. “But I like the idea.”

  He pulled her face to his and kissed her, slow and sweet, savoring her taste and the sensation that always rolled through him when their mouths met. “Then don’t make me drag you.”

  “I want to read this letter, but don’t know if I should.”

  He kissed her again, threading his fingers through her hair. “I think you should come back to bed so I can spend about an hour letting you know exactly how I feel about you.”

  She breathed into his kiss. “I know how you feel about me, Zach.”

  “Then what are you waiting for? Read the letter.” He dragged his hand through her long hair, gliding over her shoulder to her chest to caress her breast. “Then come back to bed.” He stroked her to a peak. “But whatever you do, don’t come back and try to speak Italian.”

  She laughed into his kiss. “Wait for me.”

  The whispered words hit him much harder than they should have. He leaned back and stroked her face, pushing her hair back to look at her. “If I had said that to you when I left your bed that morning I went to Kuwait, you would have waited for me.”

  “Yes, I would have,” she said.

  “I wanted to,” he said softly. “I just thought it was too soon to tell you how I felt, and then… all that happened.”

  “It’s history, Zach.” She searched his face, her eyes wide and blue and sincere. “The same things would have happened to you over there, and you don’t know what you’d have done. Those three words don’t matter anymore.”

  “These three do.” He cupped her chin, held her face steady. “I love you.”

  She just looked at him.

  “I love you, Samantha Fairchild,” he said. “I love your brain and your body and your face and your heart and your soul. I love you.”

  He saw her work to swallow as she touched his face. “I love you, too. I love all of those things about you and more that I haven’t even discovered yet.”

  “Then you should read that letter, mio fidanzata.” He kissed her on the forehead, the nose, the mouth. Then pressed his cheek against her hair. “Just don’t take too long.”

  Back in the bedroom, he opened the drawer of the night table, reaching to the back where he’d placed one item the day he moved into this apartment.

  In a few minutes, he heard the kitchen door close and lock, her bare feet padding down the hall, her whisper of a sigh as she reached the door.

  “What’d she say?”

  Her face was glistening with more tears as she approached the bed. “She just asked that I love you as much as she did.” Her voice cracked. “And asked if I could be a sister to Vivi.”

  “Done.” He smiled, reaching for her hand. “That’s it?”

  “One more thing.” She unfolded the single piece of paper, revealing the scratchy handwriting of the woman who gave him birth. He waited for a jolt of emotion that, oddly, didn’t come. “This was in it.”

  In two fingers, Sam held up a slim gold band.

  And there was the jolt. “Her wedding ring,” he said, taking it from her, the gold warmed by her touch. “I always wondered what happened to it. There was a diamond ring, too.”

  “She says that one is in Vivi’s letter.”

  He fingered the ring, his mind’s eye remembering the slender, olive-skinned hand where it had once resided. The image was a blur. “You know, I don’t remember much about Rossella Angelino, except…” Roses. She always smelled like roses. “Her hands were… soft.” He looked up at her. “Like yours.”

  He put the ring on the nightstand and pulled Sam against him, leaning on the pillows. “What else did the letter say?”

  She laid her head on his chest and settled into her place, half on him, half on the bed. “That if we ever have a baby boy, we have to name him Giovanni.”

  “My dad’s name.” Why did that make him so damn happy? “Are you okay with that?”

  She looked up, smiling. “Beats Nino.”

  Resting on him, their heartbeats synchronized, their breathing slowed, he reached over to the nightstand.

  “I have one more piece of mail for you,” he whispered.

  He handed her the postcard, the picture of the hills of western Massachusetts and the Wachusett Reservoir.

  She smiled. “Is this the… ahem… postcard I’ve been complaining about not getting?”

  “Yep.”

  She sat up and took the card, clearing her throat, and taking her sweet time about turning it over as she studied the picture on the front. “We were at the bottom of that reservoir. I hope you didn’t write ‘wish you were here’ on the back.”

  That made him laugh. “Read it.”

  “I want to guess,” she said, teasing him with a smile. “You wrote that you love me.”

  “Read it.”

  “That you’re sorry you made me miserable when you went off to war.”

  “Read it.”

  “That you want to…” She turned the card over and read it, a soft sigh shuddering through her. “Give me my title.”
>
  “Do you like that title?”

  She bit her bottom lip and nodded. “Mrs. Angelino. I like it a lot.”

  He reached over and closed his fingers around his mother’s ring. Taking Sam’s left hand, he threaded the ring onto her finger. “From one Mrs. Angelino to another.” A tear rolled down her cheek, and his own eyes burned. “I believe this was meant for you.”

  She gave it a kiss, then pressed her palm against his war-torn cheek, cooling and soothing. “I believe it was.”

  “You’re sure? No second-guessing?”

  “Never.” She laid her head on his chest, and he stroked her hair, finally at home.

  She has something he wants.

  He has something she needs.

  But first they have to survive…

  Please turn this page

  for a preview of

  SHIVER OF FEAR

  Available in April 2011.

  Did I hear you say you were looking for a Dr. Greenberg, miss?”

  For the first time since she’d started her search, Devyn Sterling felt a surge of hope. She blinked at the smooth-faced concierge and hesitated a second, making sure she understood the thick Belfast accent. “Yes, I am.”

  He notched his head to the side and sent his thumb in the same direction, silently telling her to separate from the other guests lined up for help in the lobby of the Europa Hotel.

  “She’s here, but she’s not here,” he said, youthful eyes wide, a sweet flush of color on his pale cheeks, as though getting that close to a woman didn’t happen every day. “What I mean is she’s checked out, but left bags.”

  After all the B&Bs, hotels, and hostels she’d tried throughout Belfast and the surrounding area, this was the first time someone had given her anything concrete on the whereabouts of Dr. Sharon Greenberg. She had to fight the urge to grab his arm and demand more. But since she’d arrived in Belfast, she’d made every effort to stay low and quiet, giving no one her name, paying in cash, and changing hotels after a night or two. Just to be on the safe side.

  “Are you certain it’s Dr. Sharon Greenberg, an American?”

  He flickered his fingers around his cheeks. “Lots of silver hair, kinda curly?”