With her fingers fluttering against her lips, she smiled back. “Two.”
Derrick reached forward and took her hand. He raised it to his lips and kissed her palm, sending a warm shock up her arm and through her heart. “I’ll see you at two.”
Sarah walked him to the door and kissed him good bye. She fought the urge to drag him close to her and convince him to stay, and knew that was exactly why he had to leave.
He paused on his way out the door and turned toward her as he lifted his collar up against the wind. “I love you, Sarah Thomas.”
Sarah smiled and laughed. “And I love you, Derrick DiNunzio. Have a good morning.”
She didn’t shut the door against the cold until he backed down the driveway. Rubbing the chill from the wind out of her arms, she moved to her bedroom and pulled the shades, determined to get a few hours of sleep before she had to work.
CHAPTER 20
AT one forty-five, Sarah came out of her bedroom and turned toward her bathroom. The text from Derrick said that he was five minutes out, and she wanted to get her hair pinned up before he got there. She slipped her phone into the pocket of her scrubs and gathered her hair at the base of her neck.
She felt the movement behind her but nothing registered until a hand grabbed the back of her neck and pushed her forward, slamming her against the wall. Her hands, which were already at the base of her neck, were grabbed together and raised above her head. Before she even had time to react, the cold blade of a knife pressed against her cheek.
Sarah closed her eyes and concentrated on slowing her breathing. Breathe in through the nose and out through the mouth. As soon as she felt like she might not hyperventilate, she opened her eyes. A familiar voice spoke close to her ear. “Not a word,” he said. “We’re going to walk out of here nice and calm. No scene. Or I’ll cut your pretty face to pieces. Understand?”
She gave half a nod and whispered, “Yes.”
He released her hands but grabbed her again behind her neck. His hand on her neck kept her from turning around and seeing his face. He turned her body, propelling her through her house and toward her open front door. The security chain dangling, obviously cut, gave a clue how he broke through her meager defenses.
The shock of cold outside had her rubbing her arms, thankful that she wore a long-sleeve t-shirt underneath her purple scrubs. Her rubber shoes slipped on the ice on the edge of her sidewalk, but her abductor’s hand on the base of her neck kept her from slipping and falling.
He half pushed her toward a black sedan. As they approached, the back door opened and, using the forward momentum of her body, he bent her and shoved her inside.
She landed against another person, who put his hands on her shoulders and settled her next to him. Before she could turn and bolt out of the car, the door shut in her face. The other passenger clucked his tongue and shook his head, and she saw that he had a gun pointed at her.
“Do you know who I am, little girl?” he asked.
Nothing about his appearance would suggest that he would have the murdering and thieving reputation that he had so rightfully earned. He had a small, lean frame. His once dark hair had gray peppered through it, and he had it combed off his forehead greaser-style. At a glance he just looked like an older man, heavy corduroy coat and thick pants blocking the cold winter wind. But as soon as she met his eyes, she felt very real fear. His light brown eyes pierced right through her.
“I’ve seen pictures of you.”
Gianni Castolli laughed, a short, mean bark. “I bet. Plenty of pictures of my boy, too.”
She could see the family resemblance. She imagined that, had he lived, his son would look very much like the older pictures of this man she’d seen. “Yes.”
He looked her up and down, his eyes penetrating, almost as if they could look straight through her. Sarah felt a shiver shake her, but didn’t know if it was his look or the cold.
“Go,” he said to the driver – the same man who had dragged her out of her house. He didn’t hesitate once the command was given to put the sedan into reverse and back out of the driveway. He sped quickly through the neighborhood and turned in the direction of downtown.
As soon as they were on the main road, Gianni looked at her again. “He killed my boy.”
Sarah blew on her hands, then stuck them into the pockets of her scrubs shirt and almost started crying when she felt the slim lines of her phone. There was no way she could dial a number without looking at the screen, but she could answer it when it rang. Her only fear was that the setting was on ring instead of vibrate. She could only pray that she never changed it after her shift the night she was attacked.
“Who?”
Gianni narrowed his eyes. “You know who. He’s going to pay, though.” He leaned close to her, his nose almost touching hers. “She was a waste of breath. Wouldn’t stand by her old man while I went through the mockery of a trial and the disgrace of prison. Ten years I rotted and never a word from her. Good riddance,” he said, and for the first time Sarah saw the insanity in his eyes. “But my boy, now, he was my light. And he killed him. You’re going to help me fix that.”
Sarah prayed she gave no outward indication when her phone vibrated in her hand. She quickly hit the button to activate the phone. “Mr. Castolli,” she said, “Nothing you do is going to bring your son back.”
Another short bark of a laugh. “He owes me for this.”
Sarah pulled her empty hands out of her pockets, and made a show of rubbing her arms, even though the warmth of the car had started to beat back the cold outside. She kept the phone on. “Where are you taking me?”
Instead of answering her, he sat back and looked out the window. “Oh, he’ll pay all right. He’ll pay what he owes.”
DERRICK turned onto Sarah’s street and nearly collided with the quickly moving sedan. He ripped the wheel to the right and skidded on a patch of ice, but narrowly avoided hitting the neighbor’s car parked across the street.
Something started tingling in his subconscious when he saw the driver’s sunglass adorned face, but he couldn’t see any other details because of the darkly tinted windows.
Once the sedan was gone, he kept driving and pulled into Sarah’s driveway. Tire marks on the snow had that subconscious tingling move from the back of his neck to grow into nerves in his stomach. He raced up the path and onto the front porch, ignoring the footmarks he saw in the snow.
The door stood partially open, the security chain dangling free, cut. Panicked, he pushed the door open and rushed inside. The house was empty. Every room echoed her name as he called for her. The sight of her purse hanging over her coat on the coat stand made the nervous flutterings in his gut turn into full blown panic fists.
He raced back out the door and pulled his phone out of his pocket. “Please God,” he whispered. She answered the call on the first ring, but didn’t say anything. “Sarah?” He said. “Sarah?”
Her muffled voice carried almost clearly through his speaker. “Mr. Castolli,” she said, “Nothing you do is going to bring your son back.”
He raced his Mustang to the exit of the neighborhood and sat there at the main road, trying to decide which way to turn. Closing his eyes, taking a deep breath, he headed in the direction of downtown, and prayed he’d made the right call. He knew he should call the police, but he couldn’t risk disconnecting her call, so he just prayed for her protection and for his wisdom, and darted the race car through the heavy late afternoon traffic.
At a red light, he ripped open his glove compartment and dug around until he found the hands free device for his phone. He plugged it in as he accelerated and surged the car forward, darting in between cars and gunning the powerful motor, intimidating other drivers into moving out of his way. As soon as he had the earpiece in place in his ear, he pushed a button to activate the recording device on the phone, then dug through his pockets and found the business card Sarah had given him after she’d programmed Beaumont’s number into her own phone. He prayed, f
ervently, that trusting her instincts was the right call as he sent a text to Beaumont, keeping the call to Sarah’s phone engaged, listening to Gianni talking to her about his son.
THE driver stopped the car in front of a dilapidated building in Roxbury. Despite being mid-afternoon, the street around them appeared deserted. As Sarah stepped from the car, icy wind blew a flyer for a hip-hop show across her foot and sent a shudder through her body. She looked up at the building and said the name of the street out loud. “I think I used to live near here.”
The driver pulled a heavy key out of his pocket and opened the old door. “Memory lane. It’s a blast.” Gianni grabbed her arm again and half dragged her into the building. The smell in the lobby made her knees weaken slightly. The smell of stale urine and God knew what else battled for the most prominent odor. Ripped carpet, trash, even a dead cat, lay on the empty floor. A broken chair lay against a far wall, and the frame of what was once a couch lay teetered back in front of a built-in desk.
This obviously had once been a hotel of some sort, but Sarah could only imagine the class of clientele based on the decor and the location. Before her ninth birthday, there was no telling how many similar buildings she’d lived in with her mother and her sisters. Now that she could remember her past, having actual memories to remind her of the salvation the Thomas’ gave her made her appreciate them all the more.
The driver kept his glasses on, even in the dim interior of the building. He led the way to the stairwell in the back of the lobby, and Sarah walked between him and Gianni up three flights of precarious stairs. Halfway up the third flight, her foot went through the stair.
“Ouch!” She said loudly. The driver immediately stopped and turned around. Gianni gripped her arm and pushed her forward. “Wait,” she said, “my shoe is caught.”
Her comfortable slip-on nurse’s shoe came off as the driver pulled her forward. “My shoe!” She said.
“You won’t be needing it,” Gianni said as she reached the landing of the fourth floor. Once they opened the access to the floor from the stairwell, she could feel the warmth coming from one of the rooms, spilling into the hallway. The unnamed driver pushed her into the room.
A man stood with his back to the door looking out the far window. He wore a tweed overcoat, leather shoes, but no hat. A kerosene heater sat in the middle of the room. Something about the warmth made the smell worse. Sarah swallowed against a gag reflex as the man turned around.
“I’ve met you here per your request, Gianni, but my reluctance is still very much present.”
She immediately recognized him. She had never met him, but his son could have been carved out of the same mold. Nick Wilson, Senior’s eyes widened when he saw her, then immediately flew to Gianni.
“What is she doing here?”
“She knows all about you. We have to get rid of her.”
“All about me?” He looked at her again and stepped forward. White hair framed a tanned face, ice blue eyes penetrated hers. He stood a full foot taller than her, and as he approached, she resented having to look up at him. “What do you know about me?”
Praying her phone was still engaged, she raised her chin defiantly and started making a few calculated guesses. “I know you’re Detective Nick Wilson’s father. I know you’re the head of one of the wealthiest families in the greater Boston area. I’m guessing that your wealth was accrued through some less than respectable methods, considering your association with Mr. Castolli here.”
Gianni Castolli barked a short laugh. “She’s smart, this one. Told you.”
Wilson reached forward with a hand gloved in brown leather and grabbed Sarah’s chin, forcing her to maintain eye contact. He moved her face back and forth and visually inspected her forehead. “Matty here did a good job on your head.” She could hear the shuffle of the driver’s feet but he didn’t speak. “Obviously, you didn’t get the hint as I intended it.”
Refusing to be intimidated, she kept talking. “Maybe if you hadn’t killed Ginger Castolli, things would have eventually died down.”
“She could tie my Nicky to your boyfriend. All it would take would be some green waved in her face and she would have spouted anything to anyone.” He squeezed her jaw hard enough to bruise before pushing her away. As she lost her balance, she felt Matty take her arm again. “As will you. DiNunzio needs to take the fall for all of it.” He looked at Gianni. “What I don’t understand is what she’s doing here. Matty should have just taken care of her at her place and let her little boyfriend find the body.”
“You killed my boy.”
Wilson raised an eyebrow. “I beg your pardon?”
“You killed my boy then sent me to prison to rot while you took the money I made you and lived high and mighty.”
“So what?” Wilson stepped forward, pushing Sarah aside as he did so. “What are you going to do about it? Threaten me?” He waved a hand at Matty. “Kill them both.”
Gianni pulled the gun out of his pocket and pointed it at Wilson. “Oh no you don’t. This is going to end here.”
IF Derrick hadn’t had the ear piece in his ear, he would have missed Sarah saying the name of the street. He pulled over and sent Beaumont another text message, and as he did, received one from him. Carefully pushing buttons to keep from disconnecting the call with Sarah, he read Beaumont’s reply to the first message and his immediate reply to the location.
He knew he was only a block away, so he left the Mustang parked and, grabbing a small knife and a screw driver out of his tool box in the trunk, he dashed around a couple of parked cars and into an alley that would take him to the street Sarah mentioned. But it would put him about midway down the street, and he wondered once he got there, which direction to take.
He emerged out of the alley, listening to Wilson’s father greet Sarah and felt strangely sick. This man, who had spent many a night in the New York Viscolli hotel, was obviously a ring leader of Castolli’s empire. But, how had he gone undiscovered? Then it occurred to Derrick. His son had been the one to bust Castolli. And, obviously, Castolli had been promised either money or survival if he kept his mouth shut about Wilson’s part in the syndicate.
So, Wilson killed James, framed Derrick for the murder, bricked him into a wall, and walked away. Maybe it was a sign to Castolli to go down without a fight. Maybe it was because James wasn’t going to let his father take all of the rap for the numerous crimes committed in the Castolli name. Whatever the case, by framing Derrick, it allowed him to be the suspect no matter when the body was found.
Ginger was obviously a loose cannon, and the one who could tip the scales on Wilson. Intimidation and a monthly allowance hadn’t kept her mouth shut so they had to shut it permanently. But to do so, once Beaumont knew about it, they would have to frame Derrick once again. Piling Sarah’s body into the count would only point the finger more firmly at Derrick, since Sarah was completely removed from any part of Derrick’s past and anything to do with the Castollis.
He reached the end of the alley and looked up and down the street, praying for spiritual guidance. To his right, traffic picked up, pedestrian and automotive. A shopping district started at the end of the street, and several businesses operated above restaurants and boutiques.
To his left, the buildings slowly became more worn down, less attractive, less populated. A few beat up cars sat under a few inches of snow and trapped in the drifts created by the snow plows. Sending Beaumont a quick text, Derrick turned the collar up on his coat and started at a half-run, half-walk down the street, careful not to slip on patches of ice and, in one case, not to trip over a drunk’s legs.
Three blocks down, he saw the sedan he’d seen in Sarah’s neighborhood. He crossed the street and approached the building where it was parked more slowly, trying to appear casual. He paused at the corner of the block and looked up at the buildings and around him, seeing no movement, almost sure no one stood guard.
He cautiously approached the building and tested the door. It was locked tight
. Looking around him, he knelt and inspected the lock, then pulled out his knife and the screwdriver. More than ten years had passed since he last picked a lock, but his hands remembered even if his mind tried to disengage the notion, and in seconds he cautiously inched the door open and slipped inside.
He held his breath against the stench and let his eyes adjust to the interior. As soon as he could see, he raced across the lobby and up the stairs. He knew from the time they entered the lobby to the time they started talking to Wilson, they were at least two floors up. So, he lost what he thought was precious time moving quietly and steadily over the second floor. Halfway through checking the rooms, he remembered. Her shoe! It hadn’t been a full minute from the time she lost her shoe to the time she’d started talking to Wilson, so wherever he found it, he would also find the floor they were on.
Racing back to the stairwell, he moved as quickly as he could, as quietly as he could, until he came upon the stair where her foot had gone through. Reaching in between the rotten wood planks, he retrieved her shoe and went to the top of the stairs. His phone buzzed in his hand and he saw the message from Beaumont informing Derrick that help was minutes away. It seemed when seconds counted, the police were always just minutes away.
Through the muffled confines of Sarah’s scrubs pocket, he heard Wilson say, “Kill them both.”
CHAPTER 21
“THIS is going to end here.” Gianni waved the gun between Wilson and Matty. “You’re going to be implicated, and so is your boy.”
Sarah’s heart fluttered in her chest. Panic tried to gurgle up and choke her, but she forced it back down. Die or live, she wouldn’t give in to hysterics. Watching Darlene’s grace in even the most trying of circumstances through the years taught her how to put her back up and maintain an outward appearance of stoicism.
Topaz Heat (Christian Romance) (The Jewel Series) Page 17