by Jessie Keane
All perfectly logical and reasonable.
But emotionally, impossible.
Constantine took hold of her chin and turned her head toward his. Annie’s eyes met his, obstinate, panicked.
‘He’s dead,’ said Constantine.
‘No.’
‘Yes. You didn’t tell me the truth about what happened in Majorca. You told me Max and Jonjo were in Spain on business, and I’m telling you they’re not. For one thing, we tried to find them, and you know what? We can’t. For another, there was a lot of blood on both sides of the pool. And brain matter too. Now—these people didn’t hurt you, and they didn’t hurt the girl with you. And Layla was indoors. Do you see where I’m going with this?’
All right, she’d lied to him. Big fucking deal. In every other way that mattered for the sake of finding Layla, she had told him the truth.
‘He’s alive,’ she said.
‘He’s dead. I told you. If Max was alive he’d be here. He’d be tearing this whole country and half of Europe apart to find his child.’
‘He can’t be here.’
‘No he can’t. Because he’s dead. All right, don’t admit it to me. Even if all the evidence points to that. Don’t admit it to anyone else. But at least admit it to yourself.’
Annie stared at him.
‘Is that what you did, when your wife died?’
He paused. She had surprised him. ‘Yes. Exactly.’
‘I’m like her,’ said Annie.
He looked at her curiously. ‘Who told you that?’
‘Your son. Lucco. In fact, he warned me off last time I came here.’
Constantine paused for another beat, digesting this.
‘You still haven’t done it, Mrs Carter,’ he said.
‘What?’ She wished he’d let her go. Wouldn’t admit that it felt good, being held in his arms. Warm and secure. A safe place.
Safe!
Constantine Barolli was anything but safe. He was a big-time crook. And she was Max’s wife.
His widow, you mean, said the voice in her head.
‘You haven’t kissed my lips.’
A kiss. Would it really hurt?
Betraying Max, thought Annie, that’s what it was. Not just a kiss.
But then, Max was dead.
There, she was admitting it to herself. Max was dead.
And Constantine Barolli wanted her. She could feel how much he wanted her.
‘Think of this,’ said Constantine, ‘as therapy for a broken heart.’
Annie shrugged, feigning nonchalance. Convincing nobody, not even herself.
‘If he’s dead—and that’s only your say-so—then what makes you think I’m sorry? We could have been at each other’s throats night and day. I might be glad he’s gone.’
Constantine stared at her so long that she had to look away.
‘You’re not glad he’s gone,’ he said quietly. ‘Every time I look at you, I can see your heart is broken.’
Smooth, charming bastard, she thought. That was one thing Constantine Barolli had in bucket-loads—charm.
‘One kiss,’ said Constantine.
One kiss and I’m out of here, she thought.
He was taller than Max. She was tall, too, but even in heels she had to stand on tiptoe to reach his mouth. Steeling herself, she put her lips against his. Kissed him. Then instantly pulled back—or as far back as she could get, because his arms were around her, pulling her in closer, closer.
And now he was kissing her. His hand slid up her back, clasping her neck, holding her head still and now this was a real, full-bodied kiss. His tongue was in her mouth. He was holding her tight against him. Annie felt stifled, delirious, unreal. This couldn’t be happening. She was betraying Max. She was being kissed by Constantine Barolli. And then the door opened and Lucco’s voice was cutting through the moment like ice, saving her—thank God—from further embarrassment, from her own stupid animal urges.
‘Oh…I’m sorry, Papa—I thought you were alone.’ Lucco paused, taking in the spectacle of his father in a passionate clinch with a woman. ‘I hope I’m not interrupting anything?’
45
It was dark when Tony pulled up outside Dolly’s place. He walked Annie to the door, glancing left and right. Someone had tried to kill her and he was being extra cautious.
‘I won’t need you again tonight, Tony. Thanks,’ she said, as Ross opened the door to her, outlining her in yellow light from the hall.
Tony did the right-left glance thing again, planted a hand on her back and gently but firmly pushed her inside. ‘Don’t stand about in doorways, Mrs Carter,’ he said. ‘Too visible.’
And he pulled the door quickly closed behind her.
Ross went off to the kitchen and for a moment she was alone in the hall. She leaned back against the front door, her mind in total turmoil. Was she glad Lucco had interrupted them, or disappointed? She couldn’t believe that she had actually been kissing Constantine Barolli.
She pushed a shaky hand nervously through her hair, trying to collect her tumbling thoughts, trying to regain what little composure she had left.
‘Fuck it,’ she said savagely under her breath, closing her eyes, thumping the door with her fist in anguish.
What was happening to her? Her husband was barely cold, her daughter was in danger, yet there she’d been kissing another man. Was she going completely off her head?
Dolly was coming along the hall as Annie started to unbutton her coat. She froze at the look on Dolly’s face.
‘What’s up, Doll?’ she asked.
‘Mr Delaney’s in the front room. He says he’s come to see you.’
Annie stopped taking off her coat. Checked her pockets. The kiyoga in one, the gun in the other. She slipped one hand in her pocket and grasped the gun. Kieron fucking Delaney. At last. This time, given half a chance, she would finish this for good. She would put him down like the mad dog he was.
She thought of Layla’s finger.
Max, dead.
Jonjo, shot between the eyes.
Rufio and Inez, butchered.
Now it’s your turn, you bastard, she thought. But then she paused. No. She mustn’t act in haste. He might be here to review terms for Layla’s return. She had to slow down, to think, to talk…but later, given the merest chance, she would kill him. She swore she would do that.
‘It’s okay, Doll,’ she said, sounding surprisingly calm even to her own ears. ‘I’ll talk to him.’
And she went into the front room and closed the door behind her.
She leaned against it and looked at the man standing there.
It wasn’t Kieron Delaney. It was Redmond, his older brother. Orla’s twin and the boss of the Delaney mob.
Redmond!
Once her friend. Cool and red haired and immaculate in black coat, black leather gloves, black suit, and shoes. Just the same as always. Emotional as a block of stone. Pale green eyes watching her through a fringe of reddish-blond lashes. Tall and slender and warm as an icicle. Not a bruiser like his dead brothers Tory and Pat. A thinker, and all the more dangerous for that. A cold, bloodless ruler.
Her hand closed over the gun in her pocket.
He had his hand in his coat pocket too.
‘Mr Delaney,’ said Annie with a nod. Her heart was thumping.
The head of the Delaney clan was standing here in Dolly’s front room, confronting the head of the Carter clan. But they were on his patch, not Annie’s. He looked very cool, very confident. As always.
‘We haven’t seen each other in some while,’ he said. ‘Orla sends her regards.’
‘That’s kind of her.’ Was he going to just shoot her? Would she have time to shoot back, before she died?
And what would happen to Layla then?
He was staring at her, his eyes intent, his expression regretful. ‘But sadly this is not a social call,’ he said.
‘Oh?’ Annie’s mouth was dry.
‘I have a reputation to protect, Mrs Carter.’
&nbs
p; ‘I understand that.’
The pale eyes stared into hers. ‘Do you? Good. Because I’ve been very fair, wouldn’t you say? I allowed you to be here, and said nothing. As a matter of courtesy, because we were once business associates, I allowed that. But it seems that now you are taking advantage of my generosity, Mrs Carter. You will understand that I cannot be seen to do nothing when my right-hand man is abused. That would indicate weakness on my part, and that might lead on to trouble.’
Annie nodded. His voice was just as she remembered when she used to take his weekly phone calls. The same musical Irish lilt, sounding so calm, so assured, but now promising mayhem.
He was going to kill her. Shoot her dead where she stood.
She knew it now.
She wondered why she didn’t care more. Maybe she was just tired of the struggle. Trying to save Layla. Mourning Max. Attempting the impossible in winning over Max’s boys. Trying not to admit to herself that she was going to sleep with Constantine Barolli to get her daughter back. Wondering how she could bring herself to do that, hating herself because she had relished his kisses, felt desired, felt wanted, and that feeling had been good. And would poisonous Lucco stand aside and watch his position within his father’s firm rendered unstable? Would he risk letting his dead mother be usurped by another woman?
Dig deep and stand alone, she thought.
That was what she had always done.
But she was tired now, tired of finding another iota of strength to carry on, tired of standing alone against the world. It was strange to her now, doing that. Her love for Max had made her weak.
Redmond Delaney looked into her eyes.
Silence settled between them.
‘We never involve the police, do we, Mrs Carter?’ he said quietly. ‘We always take care of our own business.’
‘Yeah,’ said Annie. ‘That’s true.’
What the hell, she thought. Constantine was right. He warned me this could happen. And now, do I care? Not much.
‘I did say I hoped your visit here would be a short one, didn’t I, Mrs Carter?’ said Redmond. ‘In my note. You did get my note?’
‘I got it,’ said Annie.
‘And yet here you are—still.’
‘I won’t stay much longer.’
‘No,’ he said. ‘You won’t.’
Annie nodded. Get on with it, she thought.
‘And now I have business that I have to take care of and regrettably it involves you,’ he said.
Annie wondered why she couldn’t just shoot. The gun was in her hand, Max’s hair-trigger gun; it was loaded; she was ready to deal out death at a moment’s notice.
Redmond would shoot first, and this time she would die. No recovery, no hope of redemption this time. Just blackness, just death.
I’ll be with Max.
And soon with Layla too.
But Layla wasn’t dead yet. That jolted Annie. Layla had had no chance to even live her life. She was so young, everything ahead of her. She ought to grow up into a beauty, perhaps marry, have children of her own. But if Annie died, she knew that Layla was finished, her story unwritten.
Something in Annie choked at that. She couldn’t accept it.
Her life had become intolerably hard, but she had to live—for Layla.
Her hand tightened on the trigger, and she gently released the safety catch. But then Redmond took his hands out of his pockets.
Her hand grew still.
‘Redmond,’ said Annie.
‘Yes?’
‘There’s something I have to ask you.’
He nodded. ‘Go on.’
Annie swallowed. She took her hands out of her pockets too. ‘Where’s Kieron?’ she asked.
Redmond’s long, pale face twitched briefly with amusement.
‘You don’t change—Mrs Carter,’ he said.
‘So I’m told. So where is he?’
Redmond was silent a moment, watching her face. Then he said: ‘He’s in the graveyard, Mrs Carter. Kieron’s dead.’
46
‘That’s a lie,’ said Annie.
‘I assure you, it’s the truth.’
‘I don’t believe you,’ said Annie, her eyes searching his face, looking for signs of a lie. ‘Until I see his rotting corpse, I won’t believe you.’
‘You think he’s snatched your child, don’t you? Oh yes, I know about that. I’ve heard the rumours. But think again, Mrs Carter.’ Redmond’s smile was bleak. ‘My younger brother is dead. Dead and buried and beyond hurting anyone any more.’
Annie looked at him, open-mouthed.
It had to be Kieron who was doing this to her.
If not Kieron, then who? Who could possibly hate her so much as to cause her such torment?
But she looked at Redmond’s face and saw that he was telling the truth.
‘When did he die?’ she asked numbly.
‘Two years ago. In Spain. He was painting in Andalusia. He cut himself when he was sharpening a pencil, isn’t that silly? He had surgical scalpels to do it with, obtained through a friend of the family who worked as a nurse. Cut his finger, didn’t get treatment, developed blood poisoning, and died. All perfectly accidental and entirely preventable. By the time we got to hear about it, he’d been dead for a fortnight.’
And you’re even cold-blooded about that, thought Annie.
‘Did you see the body?’
‘Mrs Carter, of course I didn’t. Two weeks after the event, in that heat? It wouldn’t have been a pretty sight.’
‘The grave, then?’
‘Yes, I saw the grave. And I can tell you exactly where it is.’
‘He can’t be dead!’ she burst out.
‘That’s what Orla said,’ Redmond told her. ‘She was wrong, Mrs Carter, and so are you. Kieron is dead.’
‘No…’ Annie was shaking her head.
It couldn’t be true. She had been so sure it was Kieron behind all this. It had to be Kieron. Redmond was just protecting him…
But then she looked at Redmond again. Saw the truth written in his face. Saw the sorrow behind the blank coldness of those pale eyes.
He’d lost all his brothers now. Only had his sister left.
Kieron Delaney was dead.
Someone else was doing this to her.
But who?
‘I’m really sorry about this, Mrs Carter,’ said Redmond, and walked towards her.
So this was it.
The end of the road.
Annie tensed as Redmond came closer, but she didn’t touch the gun again or even the kiyoga. She waited to see what he was going to do. Maybe slit her open with one of Kieron’s scalpels. Maybe throttle her with his bare hands.
Redmond came up to the door and stood right there in front of her, inches away.
‘I really do regret this, Mrs Carter,’ he said, and reached past her and opened the door. ‘Finish your business, and don’t take too long. I want you out of here,’ he said, and then he was gone, closing the door gently behind him.
She was still in one piece.
Annie slumped against the wall. She heard him going softly along the hall, heard the front door open and close. For a moment there was silence, then Dolly threw the front room door open and looked wildly round it. She saw Annie standing there and put a hand to her chest.
‘Fuck! You’re all right.’
Annie nodded. Couldn’t get a single word out.
Kieron Delaney was dead.
And what the fuck did Redmond mean by what he’d said? Yes, she was still alive, and he was going to let her finish her business here. But her stomach was doing somersaults; she felt sick with apprehension.
She put a hand to her mouth to stifle a groan of horror at what she might now have unleashed. I was wrong. Oh Jesus, I was wrong, she thought, half crazed with the realization of it.
She had made a huge mistake. Misread the signs. Fastened in her panic and despair on answers that were hopelessly misguided. There would be blood spilled over this. Redmond Delan
ey had something planned. Something bad.
47
Next morning they were all around the kitchen table having breakfast—Ellie, Darren, Dolly, and Annie; no Una, thank God. Then Aretha breezed in like a chic black tornado, her hair in a huge Afro, a tan Afghan coat swirling around her, a purple feather boa wrapped around her neck, her six-foot frame hoisted even further upwards by three-inch platform soles.
‘Hey, girlfriend,’ she greeted Annie with a grin.
Annie stood up and was enveloped in a bear hug. Aretha took her shoulders and pushed her back and looked at her face.
‘You look like shit, Annie Carter,’ she said frankly.
‘You, on the other hand, look bloody great,’ said Annie.
Aretha was right. She did look like shit. Felt like it too. She was in a state of terror and bewilderment so bad since seeing Redmond that she wondered if all this was going to drive her completely mad.
‘I get by,’ said Aretha modestly, giving her a high-five.
Nodding at her other friends, she took off her coat, revealing skin-tight denim hot pants and a tie-dyed cheesecloth shirt. Dolly poured her a mug of tea and Annie sat back down, budging up to make room for Aretha.
‘So, you still in the biz then?’ Aretha asked Annie.
‘Nope. Going straight. How’s Chris?’
‘Oh, he cool,’ said Aretha.
‘Yeah, but is he cool about this?’ asked Annie, trying to take an interest. ‘You coming back to work and everything?’
‘I tol’ you, he cool. No worries.’
Annie glanced across at Ellie, who was diving into the biscuits again, her chubby face suffused with angry colour. Darren looked down in the dumps, too. He looked really ill and it worried her. She turned her attention back to Aretha. Aretha’s presence here might rattle Ellie’s cage, but it would also give this place a much-needed shot of exuberance.
‘Well, that’s good,’ said Annie.
‘I’ve got something to tell you that’s not so good,’ said Ellie.
‘Oh?’
‘Your horrible cow of a cousin kicked me out.’
‘What, Kath?’
‘How many cousins you got? Yeah, Kath. Your dirty-bitch-mother-from-hell cousin. Those poor kids.’
‘So what happened?’ Annie asked, feeling a surge of anger at her description of Kath—but it was accurate. Ellie was only telling it like it was, annoying though it was to hear.