The Unforgettable Queen of Diamonds

by Nellie K Neves

  “Dad, how are you feeling today?”

  Roman’s dad sits upright in the hospital bed. His gray hair is unkempt, though I’m sure Sylvia tried to brush it. Brown eyes move from his son to me, and back to his son.

  “Who are you?” he asks in a croaking voice. “Where’s Sylvie?”

  “Mom’s in the hall,” Roman’s grip tightens on mine again. “I’m Roman. Do you remember, dad? Do you remember me?”

  His eyes narrow a bit, searching through the cloudy haze for something tangible. “I have a son named Roman. He’s a good boy.”

  “Yeah, he is,” Roman whispers, turning his face from me. Despite his best efforts, the tear is too hard to miss. “He misses you too, Gio.”

  His eyes are red and glassy when he looks at me, emotion too close to the surface to cover. “Kennedy, this is my dad, Giovanni Palermo. Gio, this is Kennedy.”

  Gio’s eyes brighten. One trembling hand reaches out for me. I give it, feeling an action like that deserves acknowledgement. The muscles have deteriorated, leaving not much more than bone covered in thin skin. But despite that, his grip is true and connected, as if he needs me to know he’s aware.

  “I knew Kennedy once. But she’s a might bit prettier, don’t you think?”

  “Yes, sir,” Roman whispers, casting an appreciative glance my way.

  “Is Roman coming today?” Gio asks me.

  I turn to point out that he’s right there, but Roman shakes his head quickly. He’s traveled this path before.

  “I’m sure he’ll be here soon,” I say.

  “Roman!” Sylvia’s voice carries through the small house. “Roman, I can’t get this lid off, can you help me?”

  He shoots me a look to ask my permission. I smile and nod. Roman wipes his eyes with the back of his hand and hides his sniffle until he’s in the hallway.

  “Do you know my son? Roman?” Gio asks me.

  “Yes, sir,” I tell him. “I know Roman very well.”

  His grip tightens on my hand again, as if he’s struggling to cleave to this moment. With great effort, he pulls himself forward. Voice low, he whispers, “He’s FBI you know. It’s a big secret. Don’t tell his mother. Roman told me the last time he was here.”

  “Oh? Yes, he told me too.”

  Gio sinks back into the pillows. “Then you know. You know how he helps people.”

  A fit of coughs take hold of his body, each one stronger than the last. Gasps of air suck into his lungs as if he might lose the battle at any second. I drop his hand and retrieve a cup of water with a straw. Gio allows me to put the straw between his lips, and he sips what he can before he falls back again.

  “I’m proud of my son, proud of who he’s become.” Gio’s dark eyes catch mine. “Can you tell him that? Next time you see him?”

  “Yes, of course,” I say between the cracks in my pending tears.

  Gio’s trembling grip finds mine, and I press my opposite hand over his cold skin. “You’d be good for him, I think. He needs someone kind like you. Caring and gentle. A soft place to land at the end of a hard day. Someone like my Sylvie.”

  I press my lips together to keep the emotion in. Footfalls echo in the hallway. Gio’s eyes close, and his breathing evens until I know he’s asleep. Roman pauses in the doorway before he enters.

  “I’m sorry, mom needed me. I hope that was okay.”

  It’s all I can do to nod. I wanted to know Roman, the real Roman, thinking it would make all this that much easier. But my heart is ripped in half, knowing what I’ll have to give up

  ✽✽✽

  Roman

  “Are you sure you won’t stay for dinner? I have Stouffer’s big enough for everyone.”

  I kiss the top of her head again. “I promised I wouldn’t keep Kennedy away for long. She’s busy with work.”

  Mom frowns and yet smiles at Kennedy at once. “I hope you’ll come back again.”

  “I’ll try,” Kennedy says, but I can’t tell if she’s lying.

  Once more she allows me to set my hand to her back to guide her out. The door shuts behind us, and she gives a quick swipe to her eyes. I follow her to her car, eager to know if any of this changed my standing.

  “I’m sorry I left you alone. I probably shouldn’t have—”

  She waves me away with her opposite hand. “It was fine. He loves you so much.”

  It pricks my already wounded heart. “He doesn’t know who I am anymore. Alzheimer’s has taken that from him.”

  “But he does know,” she says, “he told me all about your work in the FBI, and how proud he is of what you’ve become. He knows who you are, he just doesn’t recognize you.”

  Forgettable face, that’s my curse. It should help that he knows me, but the pain remains. Watching my father deteriorate and become a shell of who he once was has taken its toll. If I have to add losing Kennedy, my heart might give out. Because unlike my father, she’ll choose to forget me.

  “And you? Do you know who I am?” I ask her.

  “Roman,” her head begins to shake and my hope drops from my heart, “Roman, this was amazing, and they’re great people, and yes, I get it, you’re exactly who I thought you were.”

  “But?”

  “But I can’t live this life with you. I can’t do guns and danger and wonder if you’re coming home.” Her hands press against my chest, running up toward my collar. “I’m not made for this. You need someone who can stay at your side, understand why you’re doing this.”

  “I’ll quit,” I whisper, pulling close to her. “I’ll become a bookkeeper. I’ll be your bookkeeper.” My lips find hers, and for a second, she gives in, kissing me back, giving back the hope she stole from me.

  “You don’t mean that,” she says as she breaks the kiss. “You help people. You’re good at this.”

  “I need you,” I whisper against her neck. Her grip tightens as I plant kisses along the length. “I’d give it up for you.”

  Her hands press me back, pushing too much distance and sense between us. “No, I won’t let you.”

  “Please,” I smash my hands over her hair, kissing her deeply before I beg again, “Please, don’t do this to me.”

  Tears well and fall over her cheeks. I brush them away with my thumb. Then when they fall too fast, I kiss them, tasting the salt and bitter pain in each one.

  “We weren’t meant to be, Roman. I should have listened to you from the start.”

  Suction breaks as her door pops open. The metal wedges between us. She pauses before she can sink inside.

  “Goodbye, Roman.”

  Chapter 21

  Roman

  “Careful ‘round him, he’s in a foul mood,” Rick says to the analyst, John, working with me.

  “He’s been in a foul mood for a couple weeks now, hasn’t he?” John asks like I’m not five feet away.

  “Girl done him wrong.” Rick drops his volume. “I took him to the shooting range, I let him beat the crap out of me in some sparring matches, even blasted the country music for a while. Nothing’s helping.”

  “If he takes down Dark Fox, that might do it,” John says.

  Rick has his doubts. “Time is about the only thing that will heal this kind of pain.”

  But I doubt even that. The pain hasn’t lessened in two weeks, it might never let up.

  The phone rings on the side table, but Rick grabs it before I have a chance.

  “Yeah?” A pause fills the air until I fear it might explode. “You’ve got to be kidding me. That’s not possible.”

  He has my interest all at once. Rick runs a hand over his almost nonexistent hair. He’s still talking but, on the far side of the room, I can’t make out the words. He hangs up the phone and strings together four of his favorite curse words.

  “They’re out on bail. The whole lot of them.”

  “What?” My mouth goes dry. “Pedro Marquez?”

  “Everyone.” Rick kicks a chair. It clatters across the floor, punctuated by his cursing. “Said we didn�
��t have enough evidence, says what we had was circumstantial. Judge threw out half of what we brought in, saying we gathered it illegally.”

  “They’ve got someone on the inside.”

  “Obviously, someone’s been bribed, but what does that do for us?”

  “More importantly, where are they going?” John says.

  I turn to look at the squirrely nerd. “What do you mean?”

  My intense stare scares him a bit. He twitches for a moment before he says, “I’ve been looking at their history. If a town gets hot, they cut ties, tidy up loose ends, and move on to a new place.”

  “Loose ends?” Rick asks. “What do you mean by that?”

  The analyst shrugs. “Informants, dealers, heck, if they know we have these files Roman stole, we’ll be at the top of the list.”

  His giddy optimism is misplaced, as if he’s excited the whole crew is headed our way. Rick shoots me a quick glance before the orders start.

  “We’re pulling up stakes first. Shut down everything here at Santos Sound. I want every hard drive cleaned and scrubbed once you have the information sent off. We’re gone within twenty-four hours, understand?”

  It’s protocol. Leaving like this is my normal. We need to be ready to move as soon as they move. We have to stay on their trail while it’s hot. That means no time for goodbyes or explanations, not for my parents, and certainly not for Kennedy Cartwright.

  ✽✽✽

  Kennedy

  “Hudson, have you seen Carly and Marco?” My typically small voice echoes across the auditorium.

  “No, last I saw they were doing mic checks.”

  I groan. The concert is set to start in less than four hours and losing the first singers before I can give them last minute instructions isn’t a good omen. I jog down the stairs to the lowest level and take the exit off the side that leads to the backstage area. I smile at a few band members from Last Summer Serenade and stare into the darkness looking for someone, anyone, who might know where I can find Carly and Marco.

  I should turn on the overhead lights. This place is creepy without them. Dim rays from the auditorium streak in, but the faint glow through the door isn’t enough to illuminate the entryway, let alone under the stage.

  A sound catches my attention. A can hitting the ground? Likely a beer can. We’ve kept a tight rule on alcohol and drug use since the start of the series, but I’m not naïve enough to realize some will find ways to break the rules.

  “Hey, Marco, Carly, come out. I know what you’re doing.”

  The can rattles across the floor. I shake my head. I’m older than both of them, but you’d never guess it with this routine.

  “Come on, guys. We just need to run through the line up one more time before tonight. Could you please get it together for a minute or two?”

  Laughter echoes beneath the stage. They think I won’t go in there? They’ve got another thing coming. I’m scared of spiders, snakes, and clowns, but the dark doesn’t freak me out.

  “I’m coming in,” I call into the ether. In response, a second can rattles out and lands at my feet. I pick it up, frowning, and toss it behind me. “You guys are going to be lucky if I don’t bump you from the entire line up.”

  The dark doesn’t answer back.

  Maybe I’m losing it. I’ve been going nonstop since…since meeting Roman’s parents.

  Since saying goodbye.

  Since making a big mistake.

  I saw on the news a couple weeks ago that they took them all in, the whole corrupt lot of scoundrels from The Nightingale.

  Now with his case wrapping up, he’ll be moving on, and I’ll never see him again.

  My fingers run through my hair, catching in a few places, but my nails on my scalp alleviate some of the tension. I thought if I threw myself into work it’d be enough.

  I’d forget him.

  I’d move on.

  So far, no dice.

  A quick glance at my watch says I’m behind schedule. No built-in buffer for wallowing in my feelings, let alone chasing down ghosts and performers beneath the stage. I have a four o’clock meeting with the lighting specialist to go over requests for tonight’s lineup.

  “Finish up whatever you’re doing. I’ll meet you on the stage in twenty.” I raise my voice to carry into the black ether. I take a step to leave, but laughter echoes from beneath the stage. Harsh, wicked, jagged at the edges, verging on maniacal laughter. I take a step away. My fingers latch around my cell phone. I pull it free and unlock the home screen.

  Feet shuffle and drag. The sound echoes around me, but I can’t place the direction. Fear creeps in with the encroaching steps. I was wrong. That isn’t Carly or Marco under the stage.

  My contact list swirls in front of me.

  I glide through the names until I hit his.

  Roman.

  I select the name, the screen shifts.

  The footfalls move, sticking to the shadows, but instincts tell me not to let them get behind me.

  The auditorium door slams shut. The entire backstage area goes pitch black. A scream erupts from my throat, strangled, terrified. I’m locked in.

  The laughter continues, bouncing off the walls until I can’t tell the position.

  Involuntary sobs burst from my chest. I’m trapped. He’s getting closer. In the dark, I’m not safe, too disoriented to make my way out.

  “Help!” I scream with all my air. “Help me!”

  I can hear him breathing. I flung my hands out trying to strike at the phantom I can’t see, but I come up with air, more terrified than before. I shrink back, trying to pull away from the danger.

  “Help me!” My throat shreds under the strain. I draw in a breath amidst the sobs of fear. “Please someone help me!”

  A tickle at my arm steals my breath. I jerk away, flashing the light of my cell’s screen to chase the darkness. But I’m a matchstick in a cavern. Nothing but grey haze shines back at me.

  Fingers wisp through my hair, like a phantom in a hallucination.

  I scream.

  I scream again.

  “Please! Please help me!”

  My feet break into a run, disoriented, backwards, unsure of whether I’m running for the door or running deeper into the abyss. The steel double doors rise up in my vision as I near them. The metal rod cools my hot hands. I grip it and shove with all my might. It won’t move. I slam my body against it. A slip of air tells me I’ve managed to push it far enough that a crack has opened to the stage area. Pulling close to the gap, I smash my mouth to the only chance I have left. Cool air eases over my lips. Safety calls from the other side. If I could just get there the other side.

  “Help me! Please! Someone help me!” I pray my voice carries through the gap in the doors.

  I look at my phone screen, hopeful that the call has connected.

  Roman will hear me.

  Roman will save me.

  No Service.

  I scream again, this time in defeat. An arm loops around my waist, another smothers my mouth with sweaty hands. With no other option, I bite down into their flesh with all my strength. My attacker flings me from his body. The light of my phone clatters in the opposite direction, sliding across the floor until the glow extinguishes. The ground slams against my shoulder, hip and leg. I roll under the momentum until I finally give up.

  Weak.

  Exhausted.

  Finished.

  The pressure starts at my ankle, a hand working up my leg, over my hip, curving around my back until I feel his whole weight pressing down on me. An exhale flickers over my ear. Condensation from his breath gathers on my neck. My sobs are the only sound.

  Until he whispers, “Sing for me, Nightingale.”

  Pain cracks my skull. Light flashes behind my eyes, and the world goes numb.

  Chapter 22

  Roman

  Twenty minutes. I have twenty minutes to tell her goodbye. I’m lucky Rick is giving me that. Going by the local haunts for Dark Fox’s crew, everything
has been stripped. They’re in the wind already, breaking protocol and skipping the steps for getting rid of loose ends. Maybe I should take comfort that we managed to scare them, but it puts unneeded pressure on an already tense situation.

  I head for the cottage first, assuming she’ll be in her office, but other than a few high school kids in server’s uniforms, it’s empty.

  “Do you know where I can find Kennedy Cartwright?”

  The shaggier of the two shrugs. “We’re helping with the food, man. Everyone else is at the auditorium.”

  It’s everything in me not to beat directions out of him. His companion comes to his rescue. “You can’t miss it. Everyone’s headed there now. Follow the path past the barn, up toward the back forty. The concert is set to start soon.”

  “You the missing guy?” the shaggy one asks.

  “Missing guy? No, I’m not one of the acts.” I stop short of the door, curiosity peaked. “Someone’s missing?”

  “Yeah, they’re looking all over. Can’t start the show I guess until the head guy turns up.”

  Head guy?

  Ace?

  I find the path with ease. Just like the delinquents said, the crowd of people is moving as a body to the largest building at the back side of the property. I search the crowds for someone, anyone, I might know, but to no avail.

  “Ticket, please?” Another teen accosts me at the front door of the auditorium.

  I stretch on my toes to see inside, but the wall of people gives me nothing to work with.

  “I don’t have one. I need to find Kennedy Cartwright.”

  “No ticket, no pass,” he says.

  “Look, I’m not here for the show. I’m here to see Kennedy, Ace’s daughter.”

  “You won’t get by without a ticket, pal.” He folds his toothpick arms across his chest and squares his jaw like it means something.

  I dig into my back pocket, I’m sure he thinks I’m grabbing a wallet. Instead, I jam my badge into his face. “How about this, Junior? This enough of a ticket for you? Or are you looking to hinder a federal investigation?”