by Joanne Pence
“Actually,” Richie said, “even more pertinent than that is what the law says about this. You can't just suddenly keep a kid that no one knows is your child.”
“Salma filled out some paperwork, notarized forms declaring I’m the father and that she gives me legal right of guardianship.”
“Sounds like she thought of everything,” Richie said. “But if Gebran decides to challenge those forms, from what I understand, since he’s Salma’s legal husband and was when the child was conceived, he may still have some legal rights those forms might not overcome.”
Shay folded his arms. “I know. I’ve come up with a two-part plan I want to run past you.”
Richie nodded. “I should have known.”
“The first part takes care of Zair. Hannah adores her grandfather. I plan to meet Gebran and tell him if he tries to do anything to Zair, or tries to take Hannah back, I’ll go to the city’s Social Services Department and question his suitability as a father to both his children, Adam as well as Hannah. I'll make it clear to him that I can say enough and do enough that they would take Adam away from him. I’m sure Gebran would do whatever it takes to keep Adam with him.”
“Well, I suspect that would work,” Richie said. “It gives Gebran what he wants, Adam, and gets rid of what he doesn't want, Hannah.”
“That’s what I’m thinking, too,” Shay said. “And the price for all that, allowing Zair to keep his job, isn’t a bad one.”
“I imagine the second part of your plan has to do with Salma,” Richie said. “About Rebecca looking for her, and that you helped a murderer get away.”
Shay nodded. “In a couple of weeks, Salma’s suicide note will be discovered. It'll admit to her having killed Yussef and Fairuz, and will say that she is so filled with remorse and so unable to live without her children that she killed herself. I’ll leave that note somewhere that the authorities will easily connect it to Rebecca’s case. I'm thinking Golden Gate Park, near Yussef’s burial spot. The note will allow Rebecca to close both her cases.”
“And when they can’t find Salma’s body?” Richie asked.
“Her car will be discovered parked near the Pacific,” Shay said. “It's a harsh, dangerous ocean. Not all bodies lost out there are found.”
Richie nodded. “That should work. And you know, of course, Rebecca will see through all that in an instant. It has your way of thinking all over it.”
“Maybe so, but she’ll have no proof.” Shay’s lips compressed, his shoulders rigid as he held Richie’s gaze. “My concern is you, that you're okay with not telling her everything I’ve told you.”
Richie felt his heart twist at his friend’s pain, and that Shay could be driven to doubt him. He struggled to appear nonchalant as he shrugged off the words. “Hey, it's not my story to tell. As far as I'm concerned, it's all just hearsay.”
“Good.” Shay got up and headed for the door, Richie with him.
As they reached it, Richie gave Shay an affectionate pat on the back. “Take care, my friend. Let me know how it goes, and if you need me to do anything to help.”
Shay looked momentarily stricken by the open display of friendship, then the slightest hint of a smile crossed his lips as he said simply, “Thanks.”
o0o
That evening, when Rebecca walked into her apartment, she found Richie sitting on the sofa with Spike curled up at his side, the TV on, a beer and a bowl of popcorn on the coffee table in front of him.
“Well,” she said, removing gun, holster, and jacket, “somebody looks comfortable…. Oh, my God! What happened to you?”
“It’s nothing, and it looks worse than it feels. Sort of.” He grinned… slightly. “Come join me.” He patted the spot beside him on the sofa. “I was hoping you'd get here before the news came on. Believe me, you'll want to see this. It’ll be on in a minute.”
She sat beside him, but couldn't possibly look at the TV, not when his face was such a mess. She gripped his shoulders, studying his new-found cuts and bruises. “Seriously, what happened?”
“I showed someone that I didn’t like him.”
She frowned. “What did you do to him?”
He grinned. “At least you didn’t ask who won.”
“Richie!”
“He’s a little worse for wear, that’s all. Vito showed up, so a clear head prevailed. Okay?”
She still looked askance at him, but knew better than to keep harping on the fight. When he was ready to tell her about it, he would. Since a commercial was still running, she said, “By the way, I spoke to my friend at the FBI—”
“Oh yeah, good old Brandon Seymour. What was it you called him? Brand, was it?”
“Bran,” she said. “And—”
“Bran. How could I forget? In fact, my mother always eats All-Bran® when she’s—”
“Will you stop!” she insisted. “As I was saying, I spoke with Bran, and he’s agreed to look into the situation with API Holdings. He'll be able to handle it as long as everything I told him checks out. If it does, he’ll make an arrest very quickly.”
“Well, bully for him,” Richie muttered, eying the TV as if he was actually interested in a Charmin commercial. She knew he had never liked Special Agent Seymour, especially since she once dated him when she unsuccessfully tried to break up with Richie. “I'm glad,” Richie continued in his sarcastic tone, “that this isn't a matter of life and death. In fact, the death has already happened. Heaven help us if we had to rely on good ol’ ‘Bran’ to do anything in a speedy manner.”
“He isn’t that bad,” Rebecca began when Richie interrupted.
“Here we go.” He sat up straight, the remote pointed at the TV as he turned up the volume.
Rebecca watched in astonishment as the television screen switched to an outside shot of the Marina branch of Superior Savings Bank. A reporter standing in front of it announced that federal officials had shut down the bank as they investigated illegal money laundering transactions that included payoffs to the management of the branch, and potentially to the entire board of the bank. Those arrested were indicted for their activity, which could lead to jail time as well as the confiscation of all assets, personal and private. Photos of Brian Skarzer and Grant Yamada flashed across the screen.
“Incredible,” Rebecca said. “How in the world did you manage that?”
“Me?” Richie did his best to look innocent, which was close to impossible for him. “You think I managed to do any of that?” He put an arm around her shoulders, a smugly self-satisfied grin on his bruised and battered face.
She eyed him. “Hmm. I have a sneaking suspicion you and Shay—or Vito, or both—were behind it, especially since Bran had no idea what I was talking about earlier today when I was filling him in on the suspected money laundering. But now the news is saying that the Feds were involved.”
“Actually, I suspect Treasury Department agents led the operation.” Now Richie's smile was as broad as she had ever seen it. “And I may happen to know a few guys who work in the San Francisco office.”
“Very clever, Mr. Amalfi.” Rebecca smiled at him, thankful that this time at least, he not only had stayed within the boundaries of the law, but had worked with the law. Maybe there was hope for him yet, she thought with an inward smile. Except for his fighting. She was also glad that she, too, had managed to stay within the law in this case—except for one little white lie about working on a “cold case” when she asked Deputy Rachel Swann to give her access to Cory Egerton. But all in all, she felt, it was the most minor of infractions. And she'd only been yelled at a couple of times by Lt. Eastwood. Life was good. “It sounds like people will pay for their wrong-doing and greed.”
“That’s what I hope,” Richie said. “At least, I have answers now, not complete answers, but I can live with that. But keep in mind, it wasn't the bankers who left warning notes for you, or who tried to broadside you with a truck, or pulled a gun on you after rear-ending your SUV. Yamada made a threat last night—”
“Ah, so that’s who you were tussling with—”
“As I was saying, Yamada warned that there are bigger fish out there. Actually, they’re more like sharks—sharks that we can’t reach or touch. He said they won’t give up. It makes me think they’re afraid that we might know too much, which means we’re both in danger.” His fingers gently touched the side of her face, her hair, her jaw. “I don’t want you to be. I want this to be my fight, alone, and for you to be safe.”
She angled her head slightly so that the warmth of his palm rested against her cheek. “It’s my fight, too. I’m the one who traced the activities to someone, potentially, in City Hall. Whoever is behind this isn’t about to forget that. And there’s nothing you or I can do about it, but to see that the person behind this monster money laundering scheme—and whatever else is being done to corrupt City Hall—is sent to prison. That’s the only way we can both be safe again.”
“What if the scheme is too big, the players too dangerous?” His gaze was filled with worry, but she knew it was for her, not for himself.
“You know as well as I do, there’s no backing out now. We can’t ‘unknow’ what we’ve discovered, and because of that, we’ll remain in jeopardy until we capture whoever’s behind it.”
He nodded, knowing she was right.
“The good news, for the moment at least,” she continued, “is that all has been quiet along that front for some time.”
“They might have been scared off by Vito,” Richie said, then frowned. “Wait, though. Vito never did explain how he ended up at Big Caesar’s last night to help me when he was supposed to be watching you.”
Her eyebrows rose. “Maybe I knew he was watching me, so when I decided to retire for the night, I told him I was locking up my apartment and sleeping with my Glock under my pillow. That way, he would rest easy and go home—or wherever he thought he might be more needed.”
He looked skeptical. “Maybe so.”
“Well, whatever might be going on, I'm sure we’ll figure it out. Everything will turn out fine.”
“I'm working on it,” Richie admitted.
That was a strange thing for him to say. “What do you mean?”
He looked guilty. “Nothing. I don’t mean a thing.” As quickly as it hit, the guilt vanished as he said, “I almost forgot to tell you about Shay. His daughter is with him.”
“She is?” Rebecca was stunned.
Richie quickly told her about Hannah’s plight and Shay’s reaction. “My God, Rebecca. We're going to have to keep a suicide watch on him as he tries to figure out how to deal with having a daughter. He’ll have to learn to associate with all kinds of people, and God help us, pretend to be friendly to them.”
“Still, it sounds like he’s doing the right thing,” she said. “He wants to keep her and give her a good home, despite everything that happened between him and Salma.”
“That’s for sure.” Richie nodded. “He only met her yesterday, but from what I’ve seen, heaven help anyone who tries to step between them.”
“Good. I’m so glad.” She was smiling, and so was Richie. But as she looked at him, tears filled her eyes. She did her best to blink them away so he wouldn't notice. The ironic part was that they weren't tears of sadness, but of happiness. She felt good that these two men that she had somehow learned to care about, and even—yes, she admitted—to love, suddenly had a lot of answers that they'd spent years looking for. She loved it when that happened, but hated it when she turned all sappy.
“Hey, what's this?” Richie studied her face.
“Nothing,” she said, but then admitted, “Sometimes even hardened cops get a little sentimental. Things might not be perfect, but whatever is? Still, I'm happy that you both have more answers now than you did a short while ago. And for Shay, I can only hope that somehow things will work out.” She bowed her head, not wanting to even think about what the future might bring to her case. “I'd hate to have to arrest Salma. That would be tough.”
“Don’t worry,” Richie said. “I’m sure everything will be fine, uh, so to speak.”
Something about his words definitely made her suspicious, but right now, she didn’t care. “I hope you’re right, Richie, I truly do.”
“When am I ever wrong?”
“You are so egotistical,” she said with a laugh, then turned toward him and stroked his hair back. “You’re going to have a nice shiner to go with all the cuts and other bruises, I’m afraid. But even when you’ve been beaten up, you’re still too handsome by half.”
He caught her hands in his, then gazed at her, his brows slightly crossed.
“What is it?” she asked.
“You. I was just thinking of all you mean to me. Of how much you’ve come to mean to me in such a surprisingly short time.”
His words surprised her. “That’s funny. Not long ago, I was thinking the exact same thing about you, and wondering ...”
“Wondering?” he asked.
Here I go again, she thought, ready to blow up a good thing. “As I was reading the reports … about Isabella’s accident and all, and how much you loved her, I couldn’t help but…” She couldn’t go on.
His hands tightened on hers. “Isabella will always be in my heart, Rebecca. She was a wonderful person.” And then, his voice broke ever so slightly as he whispered the next words to her. “But I believe my heart is big enough to have room for more than one person in it. I hope you believe that as well.”
With that, he let go of her as if to say it was her choice to make.
She remained absolutely still for a few seconds, her blue eyes capturing his deep, dark brown ones, as his few simple words filled her and broke through the carefully constructed barrier she used as a shield. Her heart opened to him completely. She loved him. She knew it by the beat her heart skipped whenever he came into view, by the little surge she felt when he gazed at her with tenderness, by her trust in him. Love was opening the door to her apartment and finding him there patiently waiting for her, a scruffy little dog on his lap. Love was the heat she felt on her face when he was close to her, and the quickening deep inside when he moved even closer. It was physical, it was mental, it was all-consuming. It was scary.
“I’ve watched your friends and family react to you,” she murmured, her palm lightly caressing the side of his face. “They know you well, and they love and trust you completely. How could I not believe you? How could I not feel the same way?”
He shifted so that he was sitting up in front of her while she remained against the sofa's back cushions. The way he looked at her, she knew what he was feeling, but she could tell he was also struggling to somehow ease the emotions that flowed between them. “My offer for you to move in with me still stands,” he said lightly, but almost immediately, the lightness vanished. “It'll always stand.”
“You're sure?” she whispered.
“Yes, and I've been sure for a long, long time. It's you,” he said, his voice husky and heartfelt as he leaned closer. “Only you.” And then he kissed her.
THE END
Plus ...
Reviews are gold to authors. If you’ve enjoyed this book, a review on your bookseller’s Six O’Clock Silence page would be most appreciated.
Find out what happens next in the lives of Rebecca and Richie when the clock strikes SEVEN O'CLOCK. Don’t miss hearing about the next Rebecca and Richie story, and all of Joanne’s new books by signing up for her New Release Mailing List.
In the meantime, while waiting for “Seven O’Clock,” you might be interested in learning more about Richie’s cousin, Angie Amalfi, and her fiance, Rebecca’s fellow homicide detective, Paavo Smith. Their stories are a mixture of culinary and “ghostly” situations. The first mystery in their new series is Cooking Spirits: An Angie & Friends Food & Spirits Mystery, in which “culinary queen” Angie Amalfi puts aside her gourmet utensils to concentrate on planning her upcoming wedding to Paavo. But instead of the answer to her heart's dreams, she scrambles to deal with wedding pla
nners with bizarre ideas, wedding dresses that don't flatter, squabbling relatives with hurt feelings, a long-suffering groom, and worries over where she and Paavo will live after the wedding. Soon, all of that pales when Angie finds the perfect house for them, except for one little problem … the house may be haunted.
For your enjoyment, here’s Chapter 1:
Angelina Amalfi had no sooner entered her penthouse apartment high atop San Francisco’s Russian Hill than she heard a knock on her door.
“I was just thinking about you, Angie,” her neighbor, Stanfield Bonnette, said as he entered the apartment. “And then I heard you come home. You look tired.”
“I am tired.” She tossed her Balenciaga jacket on the arm of a chair, kicked off her Jimmy Choo four-inch high heels, and plopped herself down on the sofa.
Stan sat beside her. He was thirty, thin and wiry with light brown hair and brown eyes.
His was the only other apartment on the top floor of the twelve-story building on the corner of Green and Vallejo Streets. Stan could afford his place thanks to his father, a bank executive. He had a job in the bank for the same reason. Neither provided much motivation for Stan to work hard, or to work at all for that matter.
His one regret in life was that Angie wanted to marry someone who wasn’t him. He thought they’d be perfect together—her money and what he saw as his self-evident charm. He continued to hold out hope that someday Angie would come to her senses and dump her fiancé, San Francisco Homicide Inspector Paavo Smith. Stan was ready, any time, to take his place.
“I just fired the worst wedding planner the world has ever known,” Angie said.
“You fired her?” Stan couldn’t imagine getting up the nerve to fire anybody. “But I thought you needed someone to help you with your wedding.”