by C. A. Szarek
A man who looked like Detective Pete Crane, with those gorgeous eyes, high cheekbones and sculpted body, could likely have any woman he wanted.
So what was wrong with him?
Shaking herself, she sucked in a breath and headed back to her desk in the smaller front room of Chief Martin’s executive suite. Nikki needed to check on Gram. She hadn’t talked to her since early that morning, and the woman who’d raised her hadn’t had much positive to say about the rehab centre—or its staff. Gram’s doctor was making her stay at Health Solutions for another few weeks.
Then Nikki would have to broach the ‘You can’t live by yourself anymore’ subject that she just plain dreaded. No one told Molly Jenkins what to do, least of all the woman she most certainly still saw as a child.
Worry roiled in Nikki’s gut as she moved her chair and reached for the phone. In a matter of moments she’d memorised the number to her grandmother’s private room at Antioch’s one and only rehabilitation centre. It’d only been open for a few years, and was close. Good thing Gram wasn’t far from home.
The phone rang twice. “Hi, Gram.”
“Nikki, baby.” Nikki heard the familiar gravelly voice of the only family she had.
“Yes, ma’am, it’s me. How’re you?”
“I want to go home.”
She swallowed back a sigh and sat straighter. “I know. But you need to listen to Dr Bishop this time.”
“I am fully capable of—”
But Gram wasn’t. Not anymore. “These things take time.”
“Pish-tosh. Now you sound like them, child.”
Of course, all medical staff was looped equally into evil. “Because I love you, Gram. Always.”
“I can’t get any sleep. They wake me at all hours to poke and prod me.”
Nikki released a breath, cocking her head to one side. “They’re doing what they need to do to make you better.”
“Nothing’s wrong with me.”
She wouldn’t contradict her grandmother with the truth. Nikki wanted her calm, not riled. This conversation wasn’t going as planned. “I’m gonna come have dinner with you. I want to see you.”
“Good. I want to see you, too.”
“What’d you want to eat?” Her voice caught. The lump in her throat was sudden and unwelcome. She closed her eyes against the image of her grandmother on the kitchen floor the morning of the stroke.
Nikki’s world had narrowed. Panic had surged and threatened to overtake her. She’d thought she was dead. That she’d lost Gram.
“Whatever you bring, baby. You cookin’?”
She cleared her throat. “I can. Or I can just grab a plate from Dixie’s. Grilled chicken and the potatoes you like. Marge will make it special if I ask.”
“Sounds good. I really do like Marge’s red potatoes.” Gram’s voice deepened, her words slowing.
Terror jumped up from Nikki’s stomach. “Gram?”
“Yes?” The word was accompanied with a yawn and Nikki screamed at herself to calm down. Her heart thumped.
Gram’s fine. She’s tired. It’s not another stroke.
“I’ll just call Marge if it’s okay with you.” Forcing her words to remain even, she fidgeted in her chair, biting back a curse when her knee rammed into her keyboard tray.
“It’s fine.”
“Good. I’ll see you before six, then.”
“Okay, darlin’.” The familiar endearment rolled off her grandmother’s tongue like normal.
Nikki smiled. Gram was going to be fine. “I love you.”
“I love you, too, baby.”
“Nikki?”
Her gaze darted to her boss poking his dark head around the doorframe from his office as she laid the phone in its cradle. “Yes, Chief?”
“I have a conference call until two. Can you order in lunch?”
“Sure. What do you want?”
Chief Martin smiled, making his greying moustache twitch. “Just the daily special at Dixie’s. Order something for yourself, too.”
“Gotcha, boss.”
“Thanks.” His voice faded as he disappeared back into his room.
“Two birds with one stone,” Nikki murmured as she picked up the phone again.
* * * *
Berto jumped as he made a grab for the cell phone vibrating across the coffee table. Unknown flashed on the screen.
One of his daughters giggled, and he glanced in the direction of the two little girls. He slid his thumb across the touch screen to answer the call, strolling to the other end of the living room. As far away from the twins as he could get.
Calm the fuck down.
“Mata,” Berto said.
Heavy breathing greeted his ear before the raspy voice. “Always hiding out in the open, ‘eh?”
Shit. Caselli himself. Berto’s heart dropped to his stomach and he turned his body away from the children, swallowing hard. “Go to hell,” he croaked.
His old boss laughed, a cackle really that one would expect from a much older man—or a wart-nosed witch. Then Caselli inhaled, as if he was taking a drag on something. Probably a cigar. The crime boss liked his Cubans. “What did I tell you four years ago?”
Berto said nothing, but closed his eyes.
“You will always be mine, Alberto Carbone.”
“Mateo Mata.”
“Call yourself whatever you want. You. Are. Mine.”
“Fuck off, Caselli.”
There was another laugh that made Berto’s spine tingle. Sweat broke out on his forehead.
The call wasn’t a shocker. The three threats—promises—had arrived consecutively, starting over a week ago. Caselli’s calling card of a dozen roses—first red, then white, finally black—and a Thinking About You greeting card always preceded a death.
Last warning: phone call.
Over the years, Berto had arranged so many of the same, as well as delivered the final blow, he’d lost count.
If he was smart, he would’ve packed his wife and the girls up and got out of Dodge. But he wasn’t running. He’d been done with Caselli for more than four years—too bad the feeling wasn’t mutual.
“You really fucked me over this time. Talking to the Feds? I always knew you had brass balls.”
“What the hell are you talking about?”
No way was Caselli referring to the Carlo Maldonado situation almost a year ago. Berto wouldn’t have had this long of a shelf life.
His old boss had even appeared to have given up on turncoat former FBI agent Cole Lucas. It wasn’t a secret where the man had settled and taken a job in local law enforcement. Yet Caselli had let him live.
“Let’s not be foolish. We both know it was you.”
Nope. Berto had no idea what the bastard was referring to. How to answer? Denial didn’t matter, even if it was the truth. Weakness would be perceived quickly. He shouldn’t be concerned anyway. Caselli always went for the jugular.
“Whatever I did must have seriously pissed you off, since you’re calling me yourself. Or have you failed to replace Bruno after, what, almost a year?”
Caselli laughed long and hard. “Want your old job back?”
“Fuck no.”
The growl told Berto he was getting to the man after all. “You’d best get your affairs in order.”
“I’m not afraid of you, Caselli.” Liar. But Berto was more frightened for his family than he ever could be of his former employer. Sucking in a breath, he glanced over his shoulder.
His daughters shuffled dolls back and forth. Laughing, playing, bickering like sisters did. Innocence surrounded him. Berto didn’t deserve a happy family after all he’d done in his life.
If Caselli was going to kill him, so be it. But what about Maria and the girls? They’d been through hell, but he’d got all of them out of the life. He loved her. She loved him. Understood him. Accepted him, despite his past before she’d stumbled into his sorry existence.
Shit. What the fuck am I going to do?
“Mi amor—�
�� Maria took one look at him and froze in the doorway.
“Ah. Your lovely little whore,” Caselli drawled in Berto’s ear.
“Shut your mouth. You. Do. Not. Talk. About. Her.”
His former boss cackled again.
Berto shot into the hallway, but his wife followed, grabbing his forearm. Close enough to hear Caselli’s every word—Maria ignored his gesture urging her to join their twins in the living room.
“She’s not involved in this. It’s about me and you. Only me and you,” Berto barked.
“Oh, but she’s always been involved, my friend. From the moment you stole her from me.”
Maria choked back a sob, her beautiful dark eyes going wide. Her nails sank into his wrist.
She was dressed for work in bright pink scrubs. Maria was scheduled for the late shift at Health Solutions. Probably had been on the way to kiss him and the girls goodbye before the forty-five minute drive into Antioch.
“Caselli, I’m warning you—”
At the use of the man’s name, Maria’s tears welled and spilled. She started shaking.
Berto drew her into his chest, squeezing his free arm around her.
“You are in no position to warn me.” The voice was deadly calm—Caselli at his most dangerous.
Cursing under his breath, Berto threw his cell to the floor and stomped on it.
Maria met his eyes, trembling from head to toe. Her Venezuelan olive skin was pale. He’d never seen her so scared, even before they’d fled the life.
“Baby, it’ll be—”
“How long, Berto?” Her accent deepened. In a moment, she’d revert to Spanish and scream at him.
“How long what?”
“Han llegado las flores?”
Berto closed his eyes. Shit. She knew him—and Caselli’s ways—too well. He didn’t want this. Thought they were done with this. “Si. But—”
“Colores?”
“All three.” The words came out on a croak. “Three dozen roses.”
Maria cursed in Spanish, but every word shook even more. “We need to leave.” She sucked in a breath, then another, her ample breasts heaving.
“I won’t run.”
Shoving against his chest, she yanked away and glared, hands on hips. “Loco. What about your daughters? What about me?”
“He’s after me. He’s blaming me for something I didn’t do. I have guns. I will fight.” Berto rested his hands on her shoulders and shook her gently. “Go to work. It’ll be okay. I promise you.”
“You dead will never be okay.” Her voice rose and fell as she fought more tears.
Maria swallowed and he wanted to kiss her throat, pull her into his arms and hold her.
Lying to the love of his life didn’t sit well. But if Caselli killed him, Maria and the girls would be left alone.
He’d paid for her—more money than anyone would ever pay for a girl—and Caselli had promised they were out. Done. Square. She’d been pregnant with their twins already. Berto had cleaned out his stash to save their lives.
But promises from his former boss were always liquid. Contact from his ex-colleagues over the years had proved that if nothing else.
“Maria. Maria. Look at me.”
Deep pools of midnight locked onto his face. She worried her lip.
“Te amo,” Berto whispered. “Forever. And it will be okay. I refuse to stop fighting him now.” Even though he’ll kill me.
His wife nodded, a solitary tear running down her cheek. She shook from head to foot under his grip. “Am I supposed to leave you like everything is okay?” Her whisper was more heavily accented than normal. Her long, wavy dark hair was pulled into a ponytail, making her look younger. Innocent.
Berto cupped her face and kissed her long and hard, as if he was tasting her for the last time.
There was only one thing he could do.
Chapter Three
Nikki smiled as she pulled into Dixie’s tiny parking lot. The place was packed, like always. Two patrol cars were parked around back, which meant some of the APD officers were having dinner, too.
Lively conversation sucked her in as much as the cosy, familiar atmosphere. Photos of residents and public events from over the years decorated the walls, as well as antique road signs and ads.
Dixie’s was an institution in Antioch. Marge and her husband Jimmy had opened the place before Nikki had been born. They spent more time in their restaurant than they did at home. Ran a light staff, too. It was a family affair, made up of their daughters, their husbands and now teen granddaughters. Once in a while they added a few kids during the busier times of year.
Manoeuvring between stuffed booths and full tables as she wound her way to the counter, Nikki wished she’d lost the heels after work. It’d be just like her to fall on her ass in front of half the city.
Three cops sat at the corner booth in the back. Officer Shannon Crowley winked and waved when he caught Nikki’s eye. Shannon’s partner, Mark Rodriguez, nodded hello and the last, Officer Nina Ricketts, smiled.
Nikki returned their gestures and set her purse on the counter by the register. Marge was already hollering to the kitchen for her order. The round short-order rack above her head was full of old-school carbon copy receipt slips. Jimmy or one of his assistants would spin it and grab the next in line before they threw plates on the counter. It was an organised rush, but fascinating to watch.
“How’s your gram, hon? I miss seeing you two every Sunday morning.” Marge’s grey hair was piled on top of her head in tight curls. Her white apron was pristine, but it didn’t fool Nikki. The woman was the hardest worker in the place.
“She’s getting better. But the doc is being cautious.” Nikki offered a smile.
Marge regarded her seriously, reaching to squeeze her hand. “I know it’s been difficult on you both. We’re praying hard over here.”
“Thank you, ma’am. Gram will appreciate that.”
“Order up!” The shout from the back accompanied the ding of a bell. Jimmy’s voice was as familiar as the rest of the place.
The older woman smiled as she stacked two white Styrofoam takeout containers in a plastic bag. “Here ya go.”
“Thanks.” Nikki paid and threw her purse over her shoulder.
“Give Gram our love,” Marge said.
“You bet.”
Nikki sucked in a breath after she settled back in her car. It was hard seeing her grandmother at the rehab centre. Despite her age, she hadn’t considered Gram fragile until she’d seen her huddled in a hospital bed.
“It’s gonna be okay,” she whispered, starting her Chevy Impala and inching out of the parking lot.
Before she’d even made it to the four-way stop at Main Street and Stewart Avenue, a giant black Hummer came out of nowhere from around the corner and cut Nikki off, pulling out of Marty’s, the local mom-and-pop grocery store.
“Crap!” Nikki yanked the wheel and grabbed the bag from Dixie’s to keep her and Gram’s dinner from flying into the windshield.
The Hummer sped up without remorse as she slammed on the brakes. Nikki looked around as the black beast turned onto Main Street without so much as a turn signal. “Jerk,” she muttered.
A flash of shiny black caught her eye on the way into Health Solutions. The oversized SUV that’d cut her off sat parked on the street across from the rehab centre. The windows were too dark to see inside, but as often as she’d come to see Gram, she’d never seen the Hummer before. Odd. Antioch wasn’t that big. Maybe someone had bought a new car.
“They sure as hell need a driving lesson,” Nikki said as the automatic double doors parted on a whoosh. She waved to the nurse at the front desk before hanging a right towards Gram’s room.
“Nikki.” Gram’s smile lit her face.
“Hi, Gram!”
Her grandmother sat higher in the bed. She lifted a frail hand and pointed a remote at the TV mounted on the wall above the bed. The volume faded, but the clack-clack of the Wheel of Fortune wheel still
whirled.
Nikki set down their dinner on the table next to Gram’s bed. The room was light and airy, welcoming, with the evening sun peeking in the window. Her car would be visible in the lot if she glanced to the left.
Gram reached for her hand, and Nikki tried to ignore the IV. She pressed a kiss to her grandmother’s wrinkled cheek, straightening her nightgown as it slipped off one thin shoulder. It was pale pink with a floral print, one of her favourites from home. Gram had fussed until Nikki had brought her clothing to the centre, but she didn’t blame her. Sleeping away from home was bad enough.
“How was your day, darlin’?” Gram asked as Nikki slid a chair to the side of the bed.
“Good, but long.” She reclined, sighing as she slipped her stilettos off.
“Tell me all about it while we eat.”
Nikki grinned and reached for the plastic bag.
By the time they were through with dinner, she felt better about her grandmother’s health. The conversation they’d shared was the most normal so far. Gram didn’t slur her words—she stayed engaged and didn’t doze off like she had in the days following the stroke. The next few weeks would go fast then Gram would be back home. Good.
Nikki would have to give up her apartment and move back into the house she’d grown up in. Unless she hired an in-home caregiver. Part-time or full-time, her grandmother would hate that. She chided herself not to think about it right now. One day at a time.
“Missus Molly, I have your medicine.” Maria appeared in the doorway with a small tray. Her accent made the word sound like meesus, and Nikki smiled.
She liked the petite Venezuelan nurse very much. Even Gram couldn’t hold the scowl when Maria spoke with them. She was sweet, often talking about her husband and four-year-old twin girls.
Gram said hello with a grumble about her pill and the nurse entered the room. Maria’s shoulders were stiff, her back as straight as a board. She walked quickly, as if she was in a hurry, not with the leisure and care she usually demonstrated. The woman’s hands shook as she put the tray down on Gram’s bedside table.
“Maria, is something wrong?” Nikki asked.