Dark Vengeance Part 2

by Reinke, Sara

  Two minutes. It says it takes two minutes for results to be finalized. One pink line means not pregnant. Two pink lines mean pregnant.

  From the living room, the land line rang, and Lina jumped in startled surprise. Leaving the pregnancy test where she’d placed it, she hurried to answer the phone.

  “You sound funny,” Latisha said from the other end of the line. “Have you been crying?”

  “What? No, Mama. I…I was just in the bathroom. How’s Aunt Baby Sis?”

  “She’s still holding her own. She had her bypass surgery today. She was in recovery most of the day, but they’ve got her down in ICU now. She’s on a ventilator, with chest tubes, but they tell me that’s normal, and it should all come out in about a week.”

  “That’s good, Mama,” Lina said, cutting a nervous glance toward the bathroom doorway. “I’m glad she made it through alright.”

  “I tried calling earlier, but got the machine.”

  “Oh,” Lina said. “I…uh…had a meeting.”

  “A meeting?” Latisha sounded dubious. “This late?”

  “A dinner meeting,” Lina amended. “With this guy named Marcus. He works for the FBI. He’s in town working on one of the cases Elías and I…”

  “FBI?” Latisha said, pleasantly surprised. She’d been pushing Lina to hook up with someone—most specifically, Elías—ever since her break-up with Brandon. She’d considered Brandon to be little more than a kid, without much prospect for a good job by which he could then support Lina. To judge by the tone of her voice, which again, sounded pleased, Latisha approved of Marcus’s occupational choice. “Wow! I imagine he has some interesting stories to tell.”

  “He does, yes, Mama. He’s very nice.”

  “You’re going to see him again?” Latisha said—phrased more as a statement, Lina noticed, than a question.

  “It wasn’t a date, Mama,” she said with a frown. “It was for work and—”

  Latisha charged ahead, cutting her feeble protest short. “You said his name is Martin?”

  “Marcus,” Lina corrected. “And really, Mama, to be honest, I was just about to get in bed. It’s been a long day.”

  She thought about asking Latisha about the hospital bills she’d found. More specifically, she wanted to ask her mother why she’d kept them hidden from her and Jackie. Why didn’t you tell us, Mama?

  When Lina had been growing up, Latisha had worked two jobs, going to school at night to earn first her practical nursing diploma and then her college degree—all so that she wouldn’t have to rely on government subsidies to put food on the table for her family, or a roof over their heads. She’d been proud—too proud to take what she considered to be charity, but at the same time, her children had learned to do their part to help lighten her workload at home. By the time he was eight, Jackson had known how to cook prepare meals and run the vacuum cleaner; Lina knew how to sort clothes and do laundry when she turned six.

  We worked together as a family, Lina thought, blinking back tears. It was always the three of us against the world, Mama—you, me, and Jackie. Why didn’t you trust us to help you this time?

  “Are you sure you’re okay?” Latisha asked, her voice edged with worry.

  “Yeah, Mama.” With a sniffle, Lina managed a feeble smile. “I’m fine. I’m just really tired, that’s all.”

  “I’ll let you go then,” Latisha said. “I’ll try to give you a call again soon.”

  “Okay, Mama. Give Aunt Baby Sis hugs and kisses for me.”

  “I sure will, honey,” Latisha said.

  “Mama?” Lina said quickly, in that split-second pause before her mother hung up. “I…I love you.”

  “Why, I love you, too, Lina.” Again, Latisha sounded pleased and surprised. “Sleep tight, angel. Sweet dreams.”

  “You, too.” Lina set the phone back in the cradle, then looked over her shoulder again toward the bathroom doorway. Steeling herself with a deep breath, she rose from her seat on the couch.

  Well, she thought. Here goes everything.

  CHAPTER TEN

  The drive from Latisha’s house to Valien’s garage on the south side of town went by in a blur. Lina vaguely recalled slipping her keys off the dining room table as she’d walked in a semi-daze out the front door. She turned the car radio on, but couldn’t have named a single song that played in the fifteen minutes or so it took her to get across town; they all ran together, a smear of inarticulate sensory input.

  Two pink lines.

  That was all she kept thinking. It hadn’t really taken her by any sort of surprise. After all, it had only confirmed what she had grown to suspect anyway—that she was carrying Brandon’s child. But to see it there—two pink lines—made her realize that everything in her life up to that precise moment had simply, suddenly come to a complete halt, irrevocably and forever changed.

  And I’m not ready for that.

  She’d sat on the toilet and started to cry, holding the test in one hand and covering her face with the other. How many times when she’d been growing up had Latisha told her about the struggles she’d faced as a young mother? Latisha had been a teen-ager when she’d gotten pregnant with Jackson. Lina was older, true, but little better off in terms of security in life.

  Hell, I’ve only just now landed another full-time job, she’d thought miserably. I don’t have a car. I don’t have health insurance. I don’t even have a permanent address, for God’s sake!

  She’d almost called her mother, but hadn’t. What would Latisha say?

  You’re keeping it, of course. That would pretty much be the gist of it, once any preambles on how careless and foolish she’d been to get herself into this spot in the first place were out of the way. Latisha had kept Jackson; Lina would be expected to keep this baby, too.

  Even if that’s not what I want.

  Unable to bear the thought of the disappointment she knew would edge Latisha’s voice—the cold remonstration, the judgment—she decided the first person she had to speak with—needed to speak with—was Brandon. He had the right to know.

  She pulled into the lot surrounding Valien’s repair shop. The apartment was on the second floor, but it wasn’t until she drove around to the rear of the building and saw Brandon’s rental car parked near a back entrance that she realized how to access it. Jackson’s bright blue motorcycle had been parked nearby, along with several others belonging to different members of Valien’s corillo.

  Lina pulled Latisha’s car in next to Jackson’s bike, then got out. Despite all of the vehicles in the lot, the exterior of the building was quiet and seemingly still. She could see a call button beside the back door, and pressed it once, stepping back to wait and see who answered. Tipping her head back slightly, she caught sight of a small surveillance camera mounted near the security light above the door. Figuring it was connected to some kind of closed-circuit monitor inside that Jackson and Brandon could see, she lifted her hand in a wave.

  After a moment or two, she heard muffled footsteps approaching from inside, then the heavy steel door swung open.

  “Hey.” Jackson gave her a nod in greeting. He stood with one hand planted on the door to prop it slightly open, and kept his burly frame positioned so as to completely block the doorway.

  “Hey.” Lina nodded back. “You having a party?”

  “Why? You going to bust us for playing our music too loud? Sic your friend from the FBI on us again?”

  Clearly this was as warm as he intended to get with his little sister. Fine by me, Lina thought with a scowl. “I need to talk to Brandon,” she said.

  “Why?” Jackson asked. His frown deepened as he took her in from head to toe, and she remembered she was still dressed up from her date. “And why are you wearing a skirt?”

  “None of your business,” she replied. “To both questions.”

  Jackson studied her for a long moment, then shrugged again. “Suit yourself,” he remarked, and he stepped back, pulling the door with him, meaning to shut it in Lina’s f
ace.

  “Jackie.” Lina caught the door. There was no way she could beat him in a tug-of-war over it, but thankfully, he didn’t pull against her. “Please. It’s important.”

  She was startled when a shadowy figure stepped into view from behind her brother—a pretty young woman she recognized as Taya Parker, Jackson’s girlfriend. Taya draped her hand lightly against Jackson’s arm to draw his gaze and alert him to her presence.

  “Brandon’s gone,” she said to Lina.

  “What do you mean?” Lina asked. “Gone where?”

  Taya shook her head. “We don’t know. He took off while Jackie was at the hospital. He didn’t leave a note or anything.”

  Lina had been a cop long enough to recognize physical cues when someone was trying to deliberately hide something. Taya was exhibiting all of them to textbook perfection: cutting her gaze this way and that, her posture stiff and fidgeting.

  What aren’t you telling me?

  Lina glanced her brother, who had turned enough to lip-read as Taya spoke. When he noticed Lina’s attention, he nodded once in begrudging confirmation.

  “You can check with Pilar,” he told her. “He’s probably at her place.”

  I doubt it, Lina thought, considering what Pilar had told her earlier. It sounded like neither she nor Brandon were as keen on their parejas status as the rest of the corillo, and had been avoiding each other, if not at all costs, then as much as they could.

  She studied Jackson for a long moment. He had no idea about her and Brandon, and no reason to think she had any reason to be looking for him other than as part of her police investigation into Valien and the corillo. And Jackson had made it abundantly clear that’s where his loyalties lay; he was as likely to tell her something he thought might potentially hurt the corillo as he was to pierce his dick without anesthetic.

  He was keeping something from her—he and Taya both—but it didn’t matter. All at once, Lina had a strong suspicion as to who Brandon might really be with.

  Because I talked to the son of a bitch myself less than three hours ago.

  * * *

  “I want to talk to Brandon,” Lina said into the concierge phone at the front desk of the Bayshore Grand Resort. The hotel’s expansive lobby had marbled floors and towering granite columns, lush tropical foliage and brass-plated everything. Guests ranged from tuxedo- and gown-clad wedding guests heading to an upstairs ballroom for a reception, to men in business clothes and women in power suits checking in for a conference, fresh from their late-night airport arrivals. Even the tourists here looked upscale in their seersucker gingham prints, polo shirts and golf shorts.

  “How did you know which hotel…?” Augustus began, sounding uncharacteristically surprised.

  “You’d be staying at?” Lina finished, while exchanging a pointed glare with the front-desk receptionist who had directed her rather curtly to the courtesy phone. “Easy. The Grand is the biggest, tackiest, most expensive hotel in town. I figured it was just your style. Now put Brandon on the phone.”

  “What makes you think he’s here?”

  “Well, since he’s not at the apartment, and Jackie hasn’t seen him since…I don’t know, right around the time I told you where he was crashing…it seems to make a certain kind of sense.”

  “I’m very sorry to disappoint you, Angelina, but…”

  “You either put him on the phone, or you tell this uptight bitch at the counter to give me your room number so I can come up there and speak to him in person,” Lina snapped. “If you don’t, then so help me God, Augustus, I will come back here with a warrant not only for his arrest, but yours, too—and nothing would give me more pleasure than clapping a pair of cuffs on your sorry ass, believe me.”

  Silence on the other end of the phone. She fully expected Augustus to call her bluff and hang up on her, but at least if he did, she’d give the son of a bitch something to think about afterwards.

  Then: “I’m in room fourteen-oh-eight. The penthouse suite.”

  * * *

  “You’ll excuse my appearance,” Augustus remarked as he greeted her in the doorway of his suite, a half-empty tumbler of what appeared to be bourbon in one hand. She could smell the other half—at least—on his breath, even from a good three feet away. He wore a pair of black pajama bottoms and a matching robe. His feet were bare, his hair hanging down almost to his waist in a heavy sheaf. “I’m not exactly dressed for company…though it would appear you are.”

  He said this last with a pointed sweep of his gaze down the length of her form, his brow raised almost appreciatively as he took in the sight of her in the short-hemmed skirt and sleeveless top.

  “Sorry to interrupt your nightcap,” Lina growled, shoving past him and entering the suite. She wished she had the time or inclination to admire the room, because it really was pretty amazing—the walls, draperies, upholstery and linens she could see were all white, with either black or brushed chrome accents. The marble-tiled floor looked glossy enough to see her reflection in. At fifteen stories up, the suite awarded a nearly panoramic vantage of the Gulf of Mexico. In the daytime, she imagined the view would be breathtaking.

  “Please,” Augustus murmured—and was that a hint of sarcasm edged in his voice? “Won’t you come in?” He closed the door, but remained near the threshold, turning to look at her. “Would you like a drink, Angelina?”

  “No.” She whirled to face him, brows narrowed. “What I’d like, Augustus, is to speak with your grandson. Preferably in private, if you’d be so kind.”

  Had he always been so goddamn tall? She’d never noticed it until then, but even in her heeled sandals, she had to hoist her chin way up just to glare at him. He definitely had Brandon—and her—by at least a head.

  He studied her for a moment, then reached up, tucking wayward strands of hair behind his ears. “I’m a bit confused,” he said at length. “Did we not have this very conversation earlier this evening? Only…I was on that side of it…” Using the hand holding his cup, he pointed at her. “And you were on this one.”

  “You’re drunk,” she observed with a scowl.

  “I am, yes,” he replied with a conciliatory nod. “My best friend—whom I’ve known at least four times the length of your lifespan—died no more than forty-eight hours ago.” With a slight tilt of his head, he knocked back the remaining bourbon in his glass, then added, “I do believe that entitles me to get as shitfaced as I’d like.”

  “I’m very sorry to hear about Michel,” she said, admittedly startled because she’d never heard him swear before. “But that doesn’t change the fact that I need to talk to Brandon.”

  Augustus blinked at her, seeming at a loss. “He’s not here.”

  Lina frowned. “Bullshit, Augustus. I know you went to Valien’s garage after you left my mother’s house and picked him up.”

  “I have no idea what you’re talking about. The only thing I did when we parted company was return to this hotel suite, change my clothes, open a bottle of brandy, and proceed to drink as much of it as possible as quickly as possible.”

  “Brandy,” Lina repeated drily. “What, was the liquor store out of Bloodhorse?”

  “It may come as a surprise to you, but after one hundred and fifty years of running a bourbon distillery, I occasionally get sick of the shit.”

  “Nothing surprises me anymore,” she assured him—although admittedly, this entire line of conversation was beginning to. She’d never seen Augustus so…uninhibited before. “So cut the bullshit. Where is Brandon?”

  He shook his head, looking rather bewildered and helpless. “I have no idea. Perhaps he’s with that young woman…what’s her name? Pilar?” Cocking his head, he studied her a moment. “And what on earth could possibly be so important that you have to go tracking him down tonight—threatening legal action against me, no less, and making an ass out of yourself in a public venue where I happen to—”

  “I’m pregnant,” Lina said, cutting him short.

  Augustus blinked at
her, then moved to take a drink. Realizing his glass was empty, he glanced at her again, then—in a gesture that reminded her so much of Brandon, it was nearly uncanny—he forked his fingers through the heavy crown of his hair. “Well,” he remarked at last. “I think this calls for a refill.”

  * * *

  “I have the test stick in my car,” Lina said, having a seat in one of the white-upholstered armchairs positioned to look out across the private terrace, and the glittering expanse of ocean beyond. “I can prove it.”

  “Not necessary,” Augustus murmured, startling her by dropping in genuflection directly in front of her. He’d refilled his brandy, but set the glass on a nearby table for the moment. When he reached for her, Lina stiffened reflexively.

  “What are you…” she began, and when he placed his hand gently against her abdomen, she froze, as surprised and admittedly horrified as if he’d dropped a live snake in her lap. “…doing?” she finished in little more than a squeak. Then she realized.

  He’s trying to sense the baby.

  Before Rene had betrayed Brandon and pretty much ruined what had been, up to that point, as close a friendship as she’d ever had with anyone—never mind a man—he’d told Lina about how he had been able to telepathically sense the presence of Tessa’s unborn baby, its sentience in her womb. He’d called it a glow. “Like a sunbeam,” he’d told her. “Warm and golden inside of my mind.”

  “Can you feel it?” Lina asked Augustus in a hush, because she didn’t know how she felt about this. She couldn’t even tell the baby was there yet, outside of throwing up just about anything she ate, and bursting into tears at the drop of a dime. To that point, it had been easy enough for her to put the possible pregnancy out of her mind, to pretend that the physiological changes she’d been noticing were caused by something—anything—else. In fact, the whole situation had become so surreal, she felt like she ought to pinch herself to be sure she was, in fact, awake.

  He drew his hand back and rose to his feet. “No,” he said. “But it’s likely too soon.”