Bed of Bones (A Sloane Monroe Novel, Book Five)

by Cheryl Bradshaw

  She opened her mouth. I raised a finger. She clamped it shut again.

  “You will call him,” I said. “You’ll tell him you’re here with me so he’ll know you’re safe.”

  She crossed her arms. “And if I don’t?”

  “There’s the door,” I gestured. “You can use it anytime.”

  She squinted. “You won’t kick me out.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “You won’t.”

  “Why wouldn’t I?” I asked.

  “You’re too nice.”

  If she really believed that, she didn’t know me at all.

  CHAPTER 10

  Cade McCoy answered on the first ring. His breathing was frantic, agitated. “Sloane, I can’t talk right now. Shelby’s—”

  “Here,” I said. “Your daughter’s here. And she’s fine.”

  “What? What the hell’s she doing—”

  “She’s in the shower. I’ve talked her into calling you when she gets out, but I’d rather she didn’t know I spoke to you first. I think it’s best if she handles it on her own, or at least thinks she’s handling it on her own.”

  “Of all the places she could have run off to, I never thought she’d show up there. Look, I’m sorry. I never meant to get you involved.”

  “Don’t be.”

  “Wait just a minute. How’d she get there?”

  It was a question I had no desire to answer. She was in enough trouble already.

  “Why don’t you talk to her about that when she calls?” I said.

  This way, I figured, he’d yell into the phone at her, instead of me.

  “Shelby’s just goin’ through some stuff right now, and without her mother here, I’m at a loss. No matter what I do, she hates me.”

  “She doesn’t, trust me. You’re a good father, Cade. She’s just a hormonal teenager.”

  “Yeah, well, I don’t do ‘hormonal teenager’ very well.”

  I didn’t know of any parent who did.

  “I’m glad she came to me instead of putting herself in danger somewhere else. There’s a lot going on right now, but if being here keeps her away from this Jace guy, it might be best for her to relax here for a few days while she works through everything.”

  “You’d do that—really?”

  “I might not have a lot of experience with kids, but I have plenty in the wrong-kind-of-guy department.”

  “Sounds like things have…changed since we talked last?”

  He was fishing. He must have detected my disgusted tone.

  “I don’t know,” I said. “I’m too busy dealing with what’s happening here.”

  “I saw it on the news. Are you involved?”

  “Two people I care about were in the theater when it happened. One lost an eye, the other, his life. I’d like to think the police or the feds or whoever else they bring in will find the person responsible, but you know me—hard to sit back and do nothing.”

  “It’s only been one day. Have some faith in the system.”

  Spoken like a true officer of the law.

  “Don’t take this on yourself, Sloane. Promise me.”

  The water in the shower lulled to a stop. “She’s out,” I whispered. “I have to go.”

  “Sloane, wait.”

  “Yeah?”

  “Keep me updated. And please, be careful.”

  CHAPTER 11

  The phone rang a full five times before I answered it. Six and it would have gone to voicemail. In the few seconds I sat staring at the name on the caller ID, I couldn’t decide what I wanted to do—talk to him or let him leave a message. He’d just call again. I knew that.

  “Giovanni, I—”

  The phone clicked.

  Maybe he thought I hadn’t answered, or maybe he heard me and decided he had nothing to say. I called back. It rang. No answer, no voicemail, nothing.

  I was still shaken up from our conversation earlier. Part of me wanted to cry, another part of me was relieved. All of me wanted to get off the fence.

  Boo hopped off the bed, teeth clenched, in full growl mode.

  What now?

  “What is it?”

  All four paws scampered toward the front door. I wasn’t in the mood for another unexpected visitor. For the second time tonight, I reached for my gun, even though I had serious doubts about how capable I was of shooting something at this hour.

  Boo’s paws were pressed against the front door when I got to it, furiously trying to claw through to the other side. I looked through the peephole and sighed. I’d seen enough of the Luciana family for one day.

  “It’s almost midnight, Carlo,” I said through the door. I yawned. “Can it wait until morning?”

  “No. Open the door. And put the gun down.”

  He spoke with confidence, as if he knew the pistol was aimed right at him. He was right.

  It was. I swept Boo off the ground and stepped outside, pulling the door closed behind me. In a lowered voice, I said, “I can’t talk to you here. Not right now.”

  “Why are you whispering?” he asked. “Don’t you live alone?”

  “Yes, but—”

  He raised a brow. “You don’t want me in your house. Why?”

  “I just have someone—”

  Carlo swung his arm around me, thrust the front door open, and stepped inside. “Who’s here? Show yourself.”

  I grappled for his arm and missed. He forged ahead.

  “It’s not what you think,” I said. “If you could just listen to me, I can explain—”

  He flicked his wrist, disregarding my words. “Are you seeing someone else? Is that what’s been going on the last few months? You’re stepping out on my brother?”

  “I’d never…let me explain. Outside.”

  Too late.

  Shelby rounded the corner, her hair damp and unbrushed, her body covered in nothing but a polka-dotted push-up bra and panties. “Well, hello to you.” She flaunted a seductive grin. He quickly looked away.

  “Who’s this?” Shelby asked. “Friend of yours? Boyfriend? Is this the guy you ditched my dad for?”

  “Her what?” Carlo asked.

  I glared at Shelby.

  “He’s no one.” I pushed my hand to Carlo’s chest, steering him backward. “He was just leaving. Put some clothes on.”

  “Why? I’m not naked.”

  “This isn’t the beach. Your attire isn’t appropriate for company.”

  “My attire isn’t appropriate,” she mocked. “You’re funny.”

  Carlo brushed past me—again. “Who’s your father, and who are you?”

  “Her name is Shelby,” I replied, “And she was just going back to bed.”

  “No, I wasn’t,” she spat.

  I shot a snarky glance in her direction. “Carlo is in the FBI.” I paused, allowing the magnitude of his profession to sink in, and then followed up with, “Now go call your father like we agreed and watch him for me while I step outside.”

  I set Lord Berkeley on the floor.

  When the horrified look in her eyes abated, she spun around, Boo in hand, and without another word, swayed her butt cheeks from left to right, prancing back to the guest room. I could only imagine what it was like to parent her full-time.

  Carlo followed me outside. “Are you going to tell me who her father is? Who she is?”

  “Who he or she is isn’t important right now.”

  “It is to me.”

  “It shouldn’t be. Why are you here?”

  “Tell me who they are, Sloane.”

  I gripped the door handle. “I’m going to bed. Goodnight.”

  He placed his hand on my arm, stopping me.

  “I want to hire you,” he said.

  I hadn’t seen that coming.

  “Hire me? Why? Don’t you have your own people?”

  “Things are…complicated right now. There’s something I can’t share with the bureau—not yet.”

  I took my hand off the knob. “I’m listening.”

>   “I need you to find someone,” he said. “I’d arrange it myself, but for reasons I’d rather not discuss right now, I need to focus on my family. Giovanni needs me. Daniela needs me.”

  “Are you leaving?”

  He shook his head. “I’m finding it hard to focus on the bombing and mediate for my family at the same time.”

  Mediate?

  I ran my hands up and down my arms. The chill of night had me wishing I’d snagged my coat from the hook inside the hall closet. Carlo didn’t seem to notice or care. Maybe chivalry was dead.

  “Am I in some kind of trouble?” I asked.

  “What do you mean—with whom?”

  “Your family. Giovanni seems to think he put Daniela’s life in danger, my life in danger, his own life. I need to know what’s going on.”

  Carlo’s expression was a mixture of uncertainty and possibilities. He caught me staring, and his face went blank. “I told you. He’s not himself right now.”

  “Is anything he said true?”

  “You have nothing to fear from my family or anyone affiliated with it. Daniela is safe, and I’m sorting out the rest. Will you help me, or do I need to find someone else?”

  I wanted to say no. I deserved to say no. I’d now spoken to all three siblings in the same day and hadn’t learned a damned thing.

  “Who am I looking for?” I asked.

  “A woman.”

  “Does this woman have a name?”

  “Melody. Melody Sinclair.”

  CHAPTER 12

  The name was familiar. I was sure I’d heard it somewhere before.

  “Melody produced Bed of Bones,” Carlo said.

  “I remember now. They were talking about her on the news. She’s missing?”

  He nodded. “No one has seen or heard from her since the explosion.”

  “Is it possible they just haven’t identified all of the bodies yet?”

  “Everyone is accounted for now,” he said, “except her. I want you to do some digging, but if it turns out someone took her and we’ve got a murderer out there, I’ll take it from there. I won’t put you in harm’s way.”

  Harm’s way was the only way I’d ever known.

  When my body temperature reached shut down, I excused myself for a moment, fetched a blanket from my bed. Shelby’s voice trailed through the hall. She was on the phone, talking to her father. Talking and not yelling. I considered it progress.

  I sat next to Carlo on a patio chair. “What do I need to know about Melody Sinclair?”

  Carlo arched over, relaxing his hands between his knees. “I met Melody many years ago when she was a film student at NYU. I’d stopped by a café one weekend when I was in town. She was refilling some guy’s coffee at another table when I first saw her. We locked eyes. I couldn’t look away. Her face reddened when I kept staring until finally she winked at me. I don’t know how to explain it, but there was an instant bond between us—a connection—like I’d known her all my life.” He leaned back. “I must sound like a lunatic.”

  “You’re talking to a woman. It sounds wonderful.”

  “It was. Over the next month, whenever I was in town, we spent all of our free time together. Even though it was only a handful of weeks, by the end, I knew I wanted to be with her for the rest of my life.”

  “Why aren’t you?”

  “My father.”

  Having never met Giovanni’s father, I had imagined what Luciana Senior must be like based on the secretive, yet successful nature of his three children. Thoughts swirled inside me, none of them good.

  “So your father found out you were seeing Melody, and—”

  “He put a stop to it,” he said.

  “By doing what?”

  “He forbade me to see her.”

  “Why? Didn’t he want you to be happy?”

  “He had other plans for me.”

  I surmised one of those plans included his current position in the FBI.

  “I was the brains,” he continued. “Giovanni was the firstborn son. The leader. In my family, everyone has a role to play whether they like it or not. It’s been that way for generations.”

  “What about what you want?”

  “You don’t understand.”

  I understood perfectly.

  “In my family, you do what’s expected,” he said. “For a brief time, I considered eloping, cutting myself off from the family, but I couldn’t. I had to choose. So I did. Did I choose wrong? Probably. It doesn’t matter. It’s all in the past now.”

  “Did Melody ever know how you felt about her?”

  “She knew, she just didn’t understand. I didn’t expect her to. She thought we could go to my father, explain things.”

  “And you’ve kept in touch?”

  “I hadn’t heard from her for quite some time. Several years ago she called me unexpectedly. She was single. I was single. We got together. I knew she was still trying to break into the movie industry so I took her to a premiere, introduced her to some influential people, tried to help her out.”

  “It must have worked.”

  “Not in the way you think,” he said. “She refused my help for the most part. Everything she’s accomplished, she did on her own. She was determined to make a name for herself the hard way.”

  “How did she meet Giovanni?”

  “The premiere after party was at his home. I received an important call and had to leave. I asked Giovanni to keep an eye on her for me.”

  “So they aren’t—and they never…”

  “No, Sloane. They’re just friends.”

  As if on cue, my body relaxed. “Do you have a timeline for Melody last night?”

  He reached into his pocket, handed me a slip of paper. “It’s not much, but it’s the best I can do right now.”

  I unfolded it, looking over the notes he jotted down. None of it seemed new or useful, a fact I’m sure he already knew.

  “Why weren’t you with her?” I asked.

  “At the movie premiere?”

  I nodded.

  “I was supposed to be. I had some family business. It couldn’t wait.”

  It never could.

  “Take me through what you know about Melody’s whereabouts that night.”

  “Before the film started she went on stage and introduced the movie,” he said. “Giovanni said she seemed happy and calm, excited for the film to debut. After her speech, she was supposed to return to her seat, but she never did.

  “How did she exit the stage?”

  “There’s a passageway on both sides. It’s used to shuttle people back and forth without being seen. My brother watched her exit. Minutes later the place blew.”

  “How much time had passed? Did he say?”

  “His best estimate, not more than ten minutes. He assumed she’d gone to the ladies’ room, but when the film came on and they dimmed the lights, she still hadn’t made it back to her seat. Her assistant said something to him about Melody going to her car, saying she should have returned already. He sensed something was wrong and sent Lucio to find her.”

  “Is that how Lucio—”

  “He stood up the very moment the bombs detonated. A piece of shrapnel severed his jugular vein. The coroner said he went into some kind of hypovolemic shock and bled out.”

  “Hypo what?”

  “It’s when your heart doesn’t pump enough blood through your body. Your organs fail, and, well, to put it plainly, you die.”

  We sat, somber, in silent reverence for the dead. Not just for Lucio, but for all who’d lost their lives. Every second that ticked by ignited my resolve to find out not only what happened to Melody and the others, but why.

  “What I am about to say is confidential,” he said. “Just between us for now. Understand?”

  I nodded.

  “Melody is the FBI’s prime suspect.”

  “Why? Just because no one can find her?”

  “There’s no body, and the building has no surveillance cameras. It’s like
she walked off the stage last night and disappeared.”

  “It doesn’t prove anything,” I said.

  “You have to admit, if anyone else came to you with this, you’d suspect her too. I know she’s innocent, but until I can prove it, I’d rather my affiliation with her not be brought into the open.”

  “I understand,” I said. “I just have one more question.”

  “Go on.”

  “When was the last time you two spoke?”

  “A few months ago.”

  “What was her demeanor like—happy, sad, agitated in some way?”

  “Nothing she said gave me cause for concern. She acted normal, happy, herself. My opinion? Whoever bombed that building took her. What I don’t know is why.”

  I intended to find out.

  CHAPTER 13

  A soft hush lingered in the morning air. I wasn’t used to the eerie silence. Not here. Not in a town so jubilant and bright. The festive spirit had been snuffed out, replaced with a feeling of fear, helplessness. The question on everyone’s minds: Will it happen again?

  The grocery store was deserted except for a handful of people wheeling rickety carts through the aisles. I used the self-checkout, swiped a full-size bag of crunchy Cheetos through the scanner, and paid. Then I walked next door and sat down.

  Carlo took a manly gulp of his specialty coffee and leaned in.

  “How’s Shelby?”

  “Sleeping,” I said.

  “Still not going to tell me who she is?”

  I didn’t respond.

  “All right. You want to tell me why you asked me here?”

  “I thought a lot about what you said last night,” I said.

  “And?”

  “I’ll find Melody Sinclair on one condition.”

  “I thought you agreed to it last night.”

  “I never said I would,” I said flatly.

  He crossed a shoe over one knee. “I don’t care what your fee is, I’ll pay it.”

  “I don’t want money. You’re Giovanni’s brother—I’d never ask.”

  “You want something, or I wouldn’t be here. Am I right?”

  “I need answers, Carlo. Whatever is going on with your family, I have a right to know.”

  “You don’t need answers, you want them. There’s a difference.”

  He ran a hand through his thick, perfectly brushed hair.