“Which doesn’t bode well for business.”
“No. Especially when you’ve booked convention after convention.”
“No one wants to be at a hotel under construction,” she said, filling in the blanks in her mind. “But surely during the winter months, when people migrate indoors. Why not then, when business slowed?”
He rubbed his thumb and forefinger together. “Money.”
“Yes, but the lawsuit had to cost them.”
“It did. In more ways than one. The publicity after the fact was horrible, so they went for a quick settlement. It was a local politician’s kid that drowned, you know.”
“Definitely food for the piranhas.”
“You could say that.”
“But from what I can tell, there was little or no coverage on the incident. How come?”
“Because nobody wanted to mess with Senator Marinelli.”
Diego’s mob talk floated in. “He a bad guy, I take it?”
Bartender shook his head. “Quite the opposite.” A waitress at the far end of the bar summoned him and he promptly took his leave.
Damn. She wasn’t ready for him to go yet.
But patience was a virtue and the key to information, so Sam waited. Music overhead eased into the void and she watched a group of men enter the lounge, leisurely scanning the area for an available table. More intrigued with her bartender, she returned to watch him fill the order wondering how far he would go.
So far he had been helpful, almost as though discussing it lifted a burden from his conscience. Did he have anything to add? Anything to connect Vic? Swirling her sword, she debated the likelihood and how hard to push.
Upon his return, she ventured, “So, any idea how much it cost them?”
“No.”
“Had to be hefty.”
“You’d think.”
“Any idea why Scaliano left the hotel?”
“Left?” The bartender scowled. “The man was kicked out on his—” He grabbed a bar towel and started wiping again.
Sam gave in to a private smile. “Did they have cause?”
“I’d say.” He swept the area with another glance. “Rumor has it ours wasn’t his first experience with accidental death.”
No, nor was it his last.
“He came to Regency from another hotel chain and word is, there was an accidental fall from a ninth floor balcony.” Sam knew his next words before he spoke them. “Faulty railing, in need of repair.”
# # #
Sam checked her watch and drained a second cup of coffee. Seven forty-five. From her window side table, she calculated time. Doors opened at eight, giving her roughly two hours to research the date and catch her flight—hopefully—with something tangible in her briefcase. After another half-hour with the bartender, it became clear Scaliano was bad news—a regular negligence nightmare. Something Vic apparently already knew.
But how?
That was the sticker. The one piece Sam couldn’t fit together. Nothing in her conversation last evening revealed any connection between Vic and Scaliano. Nothing. Checking the microfiche database was her last chance.
She briskly folded her newspaper and set it alongside the empty coffee mug. Wired for sound, she gazed at the bleak concrete building across the street. Brown framed windows lined its front, a single set of doors accessed its interior. Spotting the librarian inside as she unlocked the door, intuition hummed. She felt certain the answer lay beyond those gray walls.
Upstairs on the second floor, Sam searched for any clue as she scrolled through article after article, screen after screen whizzing by. It had to be here somewhere. But the rapid pace of white light began to form one big blur. Wait—
There. Spotting the name, her hand stopped and reversed course. Her movements grew urgent as curiosity sharpened. Grazing over the headline, she went straight to the meat of the story.
Her heart went cold. There it was, in the first paragraph.
Twelve-year-old girl drowns Saturday afternoon at the Regency Hotel pool. Celebrating her father’s win during a special election, the Senator’s daughter tragically lost her life as her brother struggled to save her.
But his efforts proved futile as paramedics arrived and pronounced the girl dead on the scene.
“Oh my God...” Sam murmured as she stared at the mottled black and white photo. Dread trickled in, rippled across her skin. The gooseflesh rose instantly.
No need to read any further. Everything about her case just turned crystal clear.
Chapter Twenty-Two
Sam couldn’t move fast enough as she steamrolled her way through the offices of Baker, Schofield headed straight for Vic’s. Roiling in disbelief, she still couldn’t believe it. She had to find him, talk to him. Careening around the corner, she halted at the desk of his secretary. Casting a glance toward his closed door, she asked, “Vic here?”
The woman looked up with a smile. “Hey, Sam. How are you?”
“Fine,” she replied, though it took every bit of self-control not to leap passed her.
Receiving no more, the woman briskly responded, “He’s in court this afternoon. I don’t expect him back.”
Doing what? she wondered, but the distraction was brief. Without another word, Sam entered Vic’s office without objection from his secretary. Practically partner and personal friend, she didn’t expect any and strode over to the far wall. Sam halted before the diplomas, mesmerized by what she found. There it was, on each and every one, plain as day.
How had she missed it? How could she have missed such an obvious detail? And Raul. Realization washed over her. Why had he hidden the fact? He must know—he hired the man!
Like a bad movie, the story replayed over and over and over. Twelve-year-old girl drowns Saturday afternoon at the Regency Hotel pool. Celebrating her father’s win during a special election, Senator Marinelli’s daughter tragically lost her life as her brother struggled to save her. But his efforts proved futile as paramedics arrived and pronounced the girl dead at the scene.
Sam peered up at the diploma, her mind threading around the intricate calligraphy. Victor Marinelli, Juris Doctor.
I saw a girl drown.
The words floated in.
It was a long time ago.
After Selena’s ordeal, Vic had revealed a part of his past. Given her a fleeting glimpse into the pain he carried with him, memories of a tragedy. A pool. A different dark-haired girl in danger of losing her life. Only this one had.
Fixed in place, Sam waited while the horrible events coursed through her, scraping the insides of her soul clean. It shouldn’t have happened. Should never happen. The worst kinds of accidents were the foreseeable kind. When so many events existed outside our control, Sam felt a poignant responsibility when it came to the avoidable ones. They loomed all the more tragic and fueled her fight against the injustice.
Vic had lost his sister. Worse, he was with her, had tried to save her. She closed her eyes and a chill raced across her skin. It was a cross no one should have to bear.
Left with a deep sense of sadness and regret, Sam knew Vic was right. Disgust welled from her gut. There was no question. Frank Scaliano had to pay.
# # #
Jessica’s hand trembled as she picked up the phone. Curled up in the corner of Sam’s sofa, it was time to call Luke. Outside, evening shadowed the sky, painted clouds with embers of gold and violet. Solemn and beautiful, the scenery felt like an end as well as a beginning. Twelve hours and she’d have new day.
With new challenges. New hope?
Doubt riddled her chest. But she first had to face this one. Jessica dialed the number. And waited.
She’d made her decision. One he would have to accept.
“Hello?”
“Hello,” she croaked, embarrassed by the sound of her voice. “May I speak with Luke?”
“Sure, man—”
“Hello? Jess?”
What—was he tied at the hip with his friend? Fear peppered her limb
s. How did he answer so soon?
“How are you, babe?”
How did he think? Horrible, miserable, this wasn’t some reality show playing out, this was real life. “We need to talk.”
“I’ve been trying, you know I have.”
Yes, well. “I’ve made my decision.”
Silence.
She hesitated, suddenly nauseous.
“Babe?”
Jessica drew her knees to her chest and clutched the phone tight against her ear. “I’m having an abortion.”
Luke said nothing.
Tears pricked at her eyes as she willed him to speak. Speak, damn it! Say something—anything!
But he didn’t.
Jess could envision his face, the complete shock, the disappointment. She could see it as clear as if he stood before her. Words?
Who needed them. She knew how he felt. He wanted this baby.
“Well?”
“Well, what?”
She wanted to scream, to slash and kick. To throw something. “What do you have to say?”
Nothing.
“Damn it, Luke, that’s not fair! You can’t put this all on me! I didn’t get pregnant myself!”
“I’m not putting anything on you.”
The righteous tone irritated her and she cried, “This isn’t only my choice!”
“Sounds like it to me.”
“You’re part of this, too!”
The pause was deafening, until he whispered, “I told you what I want.”
No, no, no—you can’t want that! Fear clashed with doubt as a pit formed in her stomach. It felt like a hard ball wrenched tight within her belly, sickening her as it grew harder and tighter. “But Luke,” she pleaded. “You can’t be serious. This is real, not some fantasy where we play house and live happy-ever-after.”
“Why not?” His disappointment cut deep. “Why can’t we have this baby, Jess? I don’t get it.”
“Because we’re not ready! We’re still kids ours-elves!” Wasn’t that what Sam said? Wasn’t that her reasoning? She got it—why couldn’t he?
“Kids.”
“Yes,” she said, breathless, as hope swished in.
“So because we’re still kids ourselves, it makes it okay for us to kill a kid? Is that what you’re telling me?”
Blackness sprayed dots across her vision and she closed her eyes.
“Because if that’s your logic, I’m totally insane.”
# # #
Sam entered her home, greeted by dead silence. “Jess?” she called out. It wasn’t unusual these days for the girl to be locked in her bedroom. It seemed hiding out was her new way of coping. Continuing through the house, overwhelmed by converging thoughts of Vic and his sister, Jess and the pregnancy, she ached for relief. Answers. “Jess?”
Yes, she yearned for answers.
Moving back toward the living room, she spotted the note and walked into the kitchen, plucking it from the counter. Out for the evening. Should she call to check on her? See if she needs anything?
No. She’s a big girl and quite clear on the subject. She doesn’t want your help. Sam’s heart clenched; an uncomfortable yet common feeling these days.
She left the message where she found it. There were bigger fish on her plate at the moment, namely one Mr. Marin. Marinelli, she corrected herself. He was on his way over now.
After a quick shower, Sam changed into a cotton tank and elastic gym shorts, misgiving churning. She brushed her hair, paced around her room, softening her focus on its contents. She still couldn’t believe it. A connection to Scaliano she expected, but victim? She ran fingers through the waves behind each sweep of her brush. His sister? Imaginations of the tragedy shot through her mind’s eye. The pain he must have endured, the justice he now pursued. It was more than she expected to find. Much more.
At the knock on her door, she placed the brush in a drawer and took a deep breath. This was going to be tough. Collecting her nerves, she tamped down the angst as it fluttered anew. For both of them.
She grasped the doorknob and forced her demeanor to remain casual. Easy. But when Sam opened the door, he pulled her into his arms, and took her breath away.
“I missed you,” he said, and nuzzled his face into the crook of her bare neck.
His touch, his scent, the warm sensations flowing through her body. She felt control slipping away as she reached her arms around his waist and squeezed firm. Me, too, she mouthed silently.
Vic pecked kisses up her neck and nipped the lobe of her ear. “Did you miss me?”
When he pulled back, a heavy weight settled in her chest. His eyes were bright, his smile eager. Business as usual, he was here for some fun. But she was serving up anything but. “I did,” she said, and managed a small smile.
“I knew it.” He gave a quick pat to her rear and placing her arm through his, walked further inside, tugging her alongside. Vic scanned the surroundings. “Your sister here?”
Her heart lurched. “No.”
“Good.” He gathered Sam in his arms and brought his face nose-to-nose. “Cause I want you all to myself.”
“I want to talk,” she blurted. She wanted to be smooth and sensitive, but the secret was suffocating and she needed release. She didn’t lie well and keeping secrets poisoned her soul.
“Talk?”
She nodded, and swallowed, the truth stuck in her throat.
“Sure.”
He let go of her and Sam took him by the hand and led him to the sofa. She sat and he lowered down next to her, careful, as though she suddenly were a fragile doll.
Sam’s heart ached at his reaction. They should have already had this discussion. He should have told her about his sister, his family, about the real reasons driving his revenge against Scaliano. She would have helped him. Tender, gentle, Vic had been nothing but decent with her. Despite the burdens he carried and the truth he buried, he had always been kind, considerate and respectable of her and her sister.
Sister. She would have helped him. Because it was the right thing to do and he a man who deserved nothing less.
“You want to tell me about your sister?”
The color drained from his face.
Chapter Twenty-Three
Sam knew.
His breathing slowed. Vic didn’t know how or why, but she knew. A slender hand reached out and gently touched his cheek.
“Can you talk about it?”
Like delicate porcelain, expectation hung in the air between them. He could reach out to her, or raise the wall—his choice. Vic’s throat tightened. There was only one choice for him. “It was the worst day of my life.”
“I’m so sorry,” she replied. Sadness filled her eyes.
He didn’t know how much she knew, but it didn’t matter. She had asked, and he would answer. “I was there...with her.” His throat became painfully constricted and suddenly Vic wasn’t sure if he could continue, wasn’t sure he could utter the words, save for the soft plea in Sam’s eyes.
And the promise of a safe landing in her arms of com-passion. “My family...we were all there...to celebrate.” Tears burned behind his eyes as the memories came pouring in. “My father won an important primary. He was a Senator,” Vic explained, acutely aware how little she knew of his background. “He was on his way to becoming Governor.” President. Many believed he would go all the way to the White House.
The thought fell away. Did Sam even know his father had been in politics? Did she know Anna’s death ended the same career? Devastated his mother, crushed his father... Vic held her gaze. That it ruined all of them? The incident at the hotel changed their lives forever.
At once, Vic decided the depth of her knowledge was irrelevant. He needed to start from the beginning. Taking a deep breath, he calmed the pound in his chest and eased into the story. “Anna was twelve. I was fifteen.” Vic dropped his gaze and took Sam’s hand. He enfolded it within his own, the smooth warmth of her skin reassuring. “We were swimming together, Anna and I.” She was pr
acticing her synchronized swimming for the school team and I was working on my dive techniques.”
The images were vivid. Dark brown eyes beckoned him to watch her through crystal blue water...the escape of bubbles as she smiled, followed by the excited waving, begging him to watch one more time. Which he did.
One last time as she somersaulted, her long hair brushing across the bottom of the pool...
The blade plunged and twisted as her vision reappeared. “She had beautiful long black hair. It would swirl around her body as she twirled beneath the surface, her moves more graceful than a ballerina.”
Tears filled his eyes, but he faced Sam fully. He wasn’t ashamed. He was relieved. He wouldn’t have to hide his secret anymore. He could share his life—a very significant part of his life—with the woman who had become significant to him.
He could reveal the true nature of his animosity toward Scaliano and somehow, he knew, Sam would understand.
Vic took a deep breath and continued, “Anna ran through her routine, rolling and gliding to perfection until one time, she dove too deep, and her hair got caught—” he choked on the words, and a fresh wave of tears pushed forward, “—in the drain.”
He remembered her frantic reaction with such lucid detail, it felt as if he were reliving it—underwater—struggling as he fought to release her, fear squeezing in as she tried to pull free.
Tears streamed down Sam’s face. As though she could feel his pain, could understand what he went through in one awful day, one terrible moment, where everything was lost. Vic tore his hand from her clasp and squeezed thumb and forefinger hard against his eyes. He crushed them closed to ward off the nightmare.
Sam said nothing, did nothing. She waited.
In his mind’s eye, he could see the swarm of bubbles arise from Anna’s panic, the sheer terror take hold when she realized she couldn’t free herself.
And she looked to him. For help.
To free her. To save her.
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