by Joanne Pence
Shay had to clear his throat before his voice would work. “Good.”
“I don’t mind staying with you, as long as my grandpa can come and visit me sometime. I’ll miss my brother, but Mama said Papa likes him, so he should be okay.” Her voice went tiny. “Papa said he doesn’t want me. Maybe I shouldn’t call him Papa anymore.”
Shay swallowed hard as he stared down at the child—his daughter—who had taken the upheaval to her life with such stoicism and had given such a long speech. He raised his eyes to Salma’s father. “She’s really only eight?”
“Yes,” Zair said with a knowing smile as he fixed his gaze pointedly at Shay. “And very smart. Too smart for Gebran to handle, I’m afraid.”
Shay had no idea what to do. A big part of him would have loved to order them from his house and go into his bedroom and shut and lock the door. But she looked so small, and was trying hard to be brave.
But when she looked up at him again, the bravery seemed to have vanished. “Do you want me to call you Papa?”
He almost smiled at the question, realizing, yes, she was only eight. “You can call me Shay for now.”
Hannah nodded. Her big blue eyes looked around the elegant living room, with paintings, sculptures, and knickknacks that proclaimed, ‘No children live here.’ “Will I have my own room?” She sounded a bit breathless, as the full implication of her staying there with him was beginning to hit her.
It was bad enough to think about a stoic child with him, but a frightened one was more than he could handle. He squared his shoulders and said loudly, “Zair, we have to talk. I can’t just…”
“Yes,” Zair said. “You can. We’ll work it out with the legal system. Believe me, seeing the two of you together, it will be best for the girl. And, perhaps, for you.”
Zair lifted Hannah’s suitcase. “Hannah is exhausted. Where can she sleep tonight?”
Shay ran a hand through his blond hair, surprised to find it wasn’t standing on end. It should be. “This way,” he said, and led them to the guest room. Like the living room, it was far too elaborately furnished for a child. With irony, Shay realized Hannah would be the first ‘guest’ to ever use it.
She boosted herself up to sit on the high queen-size bed. Even Shay had to smile as he saw that her feet didn’t reach the floor. “This is like a bed for a princess,” she said, patting the white floral spread.
“And you are our princess,” Zair said. “A very tired princess. Now put on your nightgown and get into bed while I talk to Shay. I’ll come back and see you in a little while.”
The first flash of fear struck the child’s face, and Shay’s heart went out to her. “Promise?” she asked.
“Yes, sweetheart,” Zair said with a nod. “Don’t worry. Your mama knows what’s best.”
Hannah nodded, and Zair shut the door then followed Shay back to the living room.
“Now before I leave you I must tell you,” Zair said wearily as he walked over to the sofa and sat, “what really happened on that terrible day, nine years ago.”
Shay sat facing him, puzzled by Zair’s words. “What do you mean, what really happened?”
Zair shook his head and then looked down at the floor. “I mean, it’s all my fault. Everything. What Salma told you nine years ago, it wasn’t true. Yussef did come into the shop looking for Salma on that day, but she wasn’t there. Only I was.”
Shay braced himself. If Salma wasn’t there, that changed everything.
“Yussef was furious,” Zair said. “He had seen Salma with you, and followed you both to an apartment building. When she left, he tried to follow her, but there was so much traffic and stop lights that he lost her. He went to the house, but she wasn’t there, so he came to the dry cleaner’s. She wasn’t there, either.
“He yelled at me, saying he would tell Gebran, who would divorce her and keep Adam. He said he would see that we were sent back to Lebanon. He even said he hoped Gebran would kill her for the dishonor she brought to him. He said he might have to kill her himself. He was crazy, ranting, and the more he talked, the more worked up he got. I tried to defend her, but that only enraged him and he came after me. He was much stronger and bigger than I, so I pulled out the gun from under the cash register. Just then, Salma opened the door to the shop. Yussef spun toward her, and that was when I fired the gun. He died quickly.
“I told Salma what had happened. At first she tried to deny that she was in love with someone other than Gebran, but she couldn’t. I told her I knew she was in love, because I’d seen her happy for the first time since we arrived in the U.S. She said it was true, but she also believed Yussef would be alive if it weren’t for her—that I wasn’t his killer, she was.
“She believed that if she called you and told you she had shot Yussef because he was attacking her, you would help us make this all go away and I would be safe. She believed you could do anything. And you did. You hid the body.”
“You didn’t need to lie to me,” Shay said. “How could Salma not know that?”
“There was another, more necessary reason for the lie,” Zair said. “That same day, Salma went to Fairuz and also told her she had killed Yussef because Yussef had attacked her, sexually—I cannot use the vile word. Fairuz threatened to go to the police and tell them what Salma had done. Salma said, if so, she would allow the police to test her, and prove what Yussef had done. Fairuz then believed her. She had seen the way he had eyed Salma.”
Shay could scarcely believe what he was hearing. “You mean, all this time, when I thought Salma … she was innocent.”
“But it changed her,” Zair said. “She was sad. Always sad. I worried about her constantly. And I felt guilt. Guilt because, had I been a braver man and had gone to the police, she might have found some way to overcome everything. Even to find happiness. But I was never that brave.”
Shay could hardly breathe. Zair wasn’t brave and Salma paid the price for his cowardice. “No,” he whispered. “If you went to prison, Salma would have blamed herself. If anything, it would have been worse.”
“Perhaps you are right. And if so, that helps a little. But then,” Zair continued, “after Yussef’s body was found, everything became much, much worse.”
Shay frowned. “How?”
“The night Gebran went to the nursing home, the last night Fairuz was alive, he told her that Yussef’s body had been found. She then asked to talk to Salma, alone. When Salma arrived at the nursing home, Fairuz said she couldn’t keep her secret any longer, and that every day—whenever she looked at Hannah—she realized Salma had lied to her, and was especially suspicious of the reason for Yussef’s death. She said she was going to tell the police everything, and to make Salma pay, finally, for what she had done to their family.
“Fairuz told her that Gebran would surely throw Hannah out of his house, that the child would go to live in homes with bad children, or with foster parents who took children in just for the money the state gave them. She told Salma all the horrible things they would do to an intelligent, sensitive little girl. Salma was beside herself.
“She waited until after Fairuz’s bed check, then just before she left, she put a pillow over her face, holding it until Fairuz’s struggles stopped. Then, Salma quickly and quietly left the nursing home. This time, there was no escape. The police, the woman inspector, suspected too much. Salma had to get away.” He drew a folded paper from his pocket and placed it on the coffee table. “She always feared such a moment might come, so she wrote out an affidavit and had it notarized back when Hannah was only four months old. It states that you are the girl’s father. She gave it to me to keep. I do not know if this will have any status in an American court, but here it is.”
Shay lifted the paper and tried to read it, but he couldn’t focus on the legal words used, all he could think about was how to contain the rage that built up inside him—a fierce, deadly rage—as he thought of the injustice that had been done to Salma and to him. Worst of all, it had driven Salma to act in a way c
ompletely against the nature of the woman he once knew. He couldn’t bear what it had done to her, her loss of innocence and pure goodness, even as he realized she had killed to protect their child. More than ever, his heart, his entire being, ached for the woman he loved, for all she had gone through, and for the complete hopelessness she must have felt.
At that moment, he knew she would never come back here, and that he would never see her again.
He didn’t dare allow himself think about that now. Perhaps he couldn’t think about it, ever. It hurt too much. He forced himself back to the paper Zair had given him, to read its words. It was just as Zair had described. Shay didn’t have any idea what standing such a paper might have in court, but if need be, he was willing to try.
“Now that you know what happened, it is time for me to go somewhere as well,” Zair said as he stood. “Perhaps, where I go will be nearer, and yet much farther, than where Salma has journeyed.”
He sounded suicidal, Shay thought, realizing how devastated Zair had to be by this. “No,” he said. “Salma has done everything, given up everything, so that you and her children will be safe. And Hannah will need you more than ever. No suspicion has turned your way. You must continue with your life as usual.”
Zair covered his face with his hands. “How am I supposed to do that? How can I—”
“Please, jido, don’t go away,” Hannah stood in the doorway, barefoot and wearing a long nightgown with drawings of Disney princesses, her eyes filled with tears.
Zair jumped to his feet, horrified. “My God, child, did you hear all this?”
She nodded.
“Come over here, then,” Shay said to her, holding out his arm, “and tell your old ‘jido’ that you need him. That we all will need him.”
She ran to her grandfather and he held her close as they both cried.
As Shay looked at them, he realized his life had completely changed forever. He also realized that not only was he no longer alone, but that he needed help to deal with this situation. He needed someone he could trust implicitly.
He needed help from Richie.
He looked at the time. Two a.m. Richie was probably heading home from work, or already there, exhausted from his long day. Now wouldn’t be the time to tell him about the latest developments. He’d have to wait.
o0o
Big Caesar's had closed for the night, and Richie knew that if he got into his Porsche, he would again be followed by a black Lexus SUV. He was sick of being tailed, and it was going to come to an end, right here, right now.
Earlier, he had asked a couple of guys he knew to search the streets for the SUV. In a city filled with expensive cars, it was fairly easy to tell which was the right one—it was the one that didn't have license plates, but only those advertising things dealers put on used cars before the actual plates arrive.
If it had had real plates, he would have given the number to Rebecca and had her run the license to learn who the SUV belonged to. But things were never all that easy.
His guys told him where the car was parked. He usually left at closing time, and took the back door to his Porsche, which he kept parked in a private spot behind the nightclub. Tonight, he changed his clothes from his black suit and black bowtie, the usual combo he wore at work, into a light gray sports coat and red tie. Then he slicked his hair straight back using water and gel, and put on a pair of slightly tinted sunglasses. As quickly as he could, he snuck out of the club by using the doors facing the street—the doors the public used. He noticed a couple of people giving him a strange look as he walked out, and he could only hope no one he knew saw him this way.
He went to the spot where the SUV had been located, a block from the nightclub, on the street he always took as he drove toward home.
He crouched behind a car across the street from the SUV, and waited. He figured that soon after closing time, whoever was driving the SUV would get into it and wait there until his Porsche drove by, and then follow him again.
Richie didn't have to wait long before he saw Grant Yamada and another fellow jogging up the street to the SUV. Yamada was about to open the driver's door when Richie bounded across the street, grabbed Yamada by the arm, spun him around, and then pushed him back into the Lexus. He gripped Yamada’s lapels and yelled, “What the hell is your game? I've been watching you following me, and I'm sick of it.”
Yamada put his hands up as if he were being arrested. “I don't know what the hell you're talking about. Let go of me!”
Just then, the guy who had been with Yamada circled around the SUV to where the two men faced off, but he had a gun in his hand. “Let Yamada go,” he demanded.
Richie saw the gun. Fury flashed through him. If that was how these guys wanted to play, so be it. His fingers tightened on Yamada's lapels and only the rush of adrenaline surging through him helped him swing the big man between himself and the gunman. He gave Yamada a forceful shove right into the armed man. The gun went flying.
Richie ran toward it and gave it a kick so it skittered along the street, ending up under a parked car. The gunman looked at the car then back at Richie. He swung his fist at Richie's jaw.
Richie saw the fist coming, ducked, and at the same time charged the now unarmed gunman, hitting him in the stomach and knocking him down. The gunman's head hit the street hard, temporarily stunning him, and giving Richie a chance to sock him in the face, trying to knock him out. But Yamada decided to jump into the fray, pulled Richie off his friend and socked him in the stomach.
Richie lunged after Yamada with both fists. All the rage, frustration, and the sorrow he felt over everything he learned had happened to Isabella because of this man and his cohorts, came out in a barrage of punches. Yamada went down, but Richie didn't stop hitting him until he felt powerful hands grab his arms and lift him off Yamada.
The gunman, he thought, and broke free, raising his fist to continue the fight, when he saw Vito.
“Stop, boss,” Vito shouted. “You're going to kill the guy. Let's get the hell out of here.”
Richie breathed heavily, blinking away the fog of pure black anger that had swept over him, an anger beyond anything he’d ever felt before, an anger he didn't know he could possess. He looked at Yamada, cowering on the street, leaning back against the SUV and shaking his head slightly as if trying to focus. The other fellow, whoever he was, was gone.
“It was all Skarzer,” Yamada whimpered. “He told me to follow you. I don't know anything about it.”
“So you just do whatever Skarzer tells you to do?” Richie said with a sneer.
“In this, yes. I'm innocent.”
“No, you're not,” Richie said. “And if I ever see you near me, Inspector Mayfield, or anyone else that I care about, that'll be it for you. Do you understand what I'm saying?”
Yamada nodded. “But listen to me,” his words were mumbled, his voice low, “you might stop me and maybe Skarzer, but this goes a lot farther than us. To people you can’t touch or push around. In the end, you’ll pay.”
Richie seethed, but held himself in check. “Don’t count on it fellow. Vito, watch him as he drives away, and then follow him to make sure he goes straight home.”
“Sure boss,” Vito said. “I can do that, but if he doesn't do what you say, is it okay if I shoot him?”
“With pleasure,” Richie said, then grinned. So did Vito.
Yamada crawled into his SUV and drove off so fast his tires scarcely touched the ground. Vito followed in his Dodge Ram. As Richie watched them go, he smoothed his jacket, tugged at the cuffs of his shirt, and despite the bruises and aches he could already feel forming, he walked back to his Porsche with a definite spring in his step.
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
It was early morning when Richie heard someone ringing his doorbell. He was still in bed and he opened one eye to look at the clock. It was only 10 AM. What in the world?
He put on his bathrobe, stumbled to the front door, and opened it.
“We've got to talk.” S
hay pushed past him into the living room.
“Is there a problem with our plan?” Richie asked as he went into the kitchen and made himself a cup of coffee. “I got home late last night. Vito and I caught Grant Yamada following me. The guy all but wet himself.”
“The plan is fine,” Shay said, eying Richie’s bruised face and the slow way he was walking. “If Yamada got the worst of it, I’d hate to see him this morning.”
Richie scowled. “My only excuse is, it was two against one.”
Shay shook his head. “Anyway, I’ve set what I could in motion, and the rest is up to you and your ‘friends.’ I’m here about something else.”
“Would you like some coffee or tea?”
“No thanks,” Shay said.
Richie returned to the living room, sipping his coffee, and sat on the sofa. Shay took his favorite easy chair. “So, what's going on?” Richie asked.
“Hannah’s at my house,” Shay said.
“What?”
“You heard me. A perplexed but thrilled Mrs. Brannigan is busy spoiling her as we speak. Her grandfather brought her to me last night. Salma told him that she wanted me to take care of Hannah if anything happened with Gebran, and it has. Gebran’s decided Hannah’s not his daughter and doesn’t want her.”
“Damn,” Richie murmured. “But I imagine you assumed something like this might happen.”
“It’s possible to assume all kinds of things, but when you’re faced with the reality of them, it’s like a kick to the teeth. I'm not sure how to handle it, or even what I should do. All I know is there's a part of me that thinks maybe I should keep her. I need you to tell me honestly, Richie, am I crazy or what?”
“No, not crazy,” Richie said. “After all, she is your daughter, and to hear Rebecca tell it, she is much like you.”
“Rebecca’s seen her?”
“Not only seen her, but talked to her. Hannah seems to have made a great impression.”
“Yeah,” Shay said with a small, proud smile. “She is an impressive little thing. And brave. When I left her this morning and told her she was going to have to stay with Mrs. Brannigan, she simply nodded and accepted it. I actually was kind of surprised. But then I realized, what do I know about kids? How can I take care of her properly?”