Shattered Secrets

by Jane M. Choate

  Sal drove his fist in the gut of one man, sending him sprawling to the sidewalk. The other leveled a Walther at Sal’s chest, the barrel touching his sternum at point-blank range. Sal didn’t hesitate, slamming the side of his hand against the man’s forearm. The assailant opened his hand reflexively, dropping the gun, and shot a look of hatred at Sal. His partner scooped up the weapon, and the two of them took off.

  Olivia hurried to Sal. “Are you okay?”

  He wasn’t surprised that her first thought was for him rather than herself. That was Olivia, always putting others first. “Fine. What about you?”

  “Shaky. But okay.” Hair pulled from its neat French twist and her suit torn, Olivia still managed to look beautiful. “Who were they?”

  “That’s what I was going to ask you. Could they be the same men who broke into your office?”

  “I don’t know. Their builds were similar. They didn’t say anything, so I can’t identify voices, but—” she paused “—they smelled the same.”

  “Smelled?”

  “Like fish.” She wrinkled her nose. “Stale fish.”

  Sal bundled her into his truck.

  “Don’t tell me,” she said once her seat belt was fastened. “We’ve got another trip to the police station in our future.”

  “’Fraid so.”

  At the precinct, they explained what had happened to Detective Nynan, who had taken their earlier report. “You folks sure attract trouble.”

  “Yeah,” Sal said. “We’re trying to work on that.”

  After they’d signed their statements and Detective Nynan had briefed them on what the police had uncovered, which wasn’t much, Olivia and Sal headed back to where he had parked his truck.

  Because he needed to reassure himself that Olivia was all right, he wrapped his arm around her shoulders, to comfort both her and him.

  She turned to face him. “Thank you for showing up when you did.”

  “That was too close.” Pictures of what the men might have done to Olivia if they’d managed to get her in the van swirled through his mind.

  “I’m okay.” She studied him, must have seen the worry in his eyes. “Just remember that our priority is finding Calvin.”

  Sal didn’t disagree, but he knew where his priorities lay: keeping Olivia safe. He’d do whatever it took.

  * * *

  When Olivia learned that Sal had wanted to visit Calvin’s house but planned to take her home instead, she objected. “I’m fine. My suit will never be the same, but the rest of me is good. If you taking a look at Calvin’s house helps us find him, that’s what we’ll do. What are you looking for?”

  “I want to get a feel for the man. How he lives. Anything that might give us a clue as to who might have it in for him.”

  She gave directions to Calvin’s house in one of Savannah’s exclusive suburbs, all the while wondering if they’d been off base in assuming Calvin’s kidnapping was tied to the case against the pharmaceutical company.

  Could he have stumbled on something in another case that put him at risk? He hadn’t told her of anything even remotely dangerous, but if it was serious enough to have someone abduct him, he was probably keeping it to himself in a misguided effort to protect her.

  Calvin’s house was a pseudo Southern-style mansion. She’d often teased him that he was born a century too late because he embraced everything about the old South. When he’d discovered that he couldn’t buy the genuine article, he’d built his own ostentatious version of a stately home, complete with driveways made from crushed shells and wrought-iron balconies that wrapped around the second story of the house.

  The effect was overwhelming and more than a bit ostentatious.

  Olivia had never had the heart to tell him that the house fell short of the mark. It screamed bad taste and new money, a deadly combination in Savannah society. A century and a half ago, he’d have been called a carpetbagger. Now people sneered at him behind his back.

  Calvin had never let on that it bothered him. Instead, he kept making money. She’d once asked him where all the money came from, and he’d only smiled and said, “Smart investing.”

  “It’s...different,” Sal said at last as he took in the massive columns, the overdone portico, the black shutters against the painted brick.

  “Old-timers call it ‘that carpetbagger’s house.’”

  He smothered a laugh. “Good one.”

  “Okay, so Calvin went a bit overboard with the whole Tara theme. But it has its charm.”

  Sal’s raised brow invited her to identify that charm. She thought, trying to come up with something. “The grounds are gorgeous. He has a staff of gardeners who work year round to keep everything pristine.”

  “Too bad they can’t fix bad taste.”

  Silently, she agreed. Understatement was not one of Calvin’s traits. The bigger, the better, had always been his motto, but he took pleasure in his home, and that was enough. He also gave lavishly to the cultural arts and was on the boards of several of the most prominent charities in Savannah.

  “What do you expect to find here?”

  “I don’t know,” Sal answered. “Something more than what we have.”

  She was welcomed into the mansion by the housekeeper, Bessie.

  “Bessie,” Olivia said and leaned forward to kiss the woman’s cheek. “Bessie Raymond, meet Sal Santonni.”

  “Pleased to meet you, sir.” Bessie turned her attention to Olivia. “Bless you, Ms. Hammond. It’s that glad I am to see you. I haven’t heard hide nor hair from Mr. Chantry in three days.”

  “Does Mr. Chantry usually let you know when he’s going to be out of town?” Sal asked casually.

  “Yes. Very considerate that way, Mr. Chantry is.”

  “Could we take a look inside Mr. Chantry’s study?” Olivia asked. “I need to pick up some papers for work.”

  “Well, I suppose that’d be okay.”

  Olivia led Sal to the study. Two stories in height, it was her favorite room in the house. Paneled in cypress wood, it was warmly decorated in tones of gold and hunter green and promised hours of reading delight with the requisite sliding ladder attached to the shelves of books occupying three walls.

  She moved to Calvin’s desk. Calvin was meticulous in his organizing, and his desk reflected that. Nothing seemed out of place. Neither did anything appear missing. She had been here enough to recognize the precise placement of the blotter, the pen-and-pencil set, the Venetian glass paperweight that had never held down any papers.

  “I don’t know what I’m looking for,” she said in frustration.

  “Anything that looks like it doesn’t belong. Or anything that should be here that isn’t.”

  A leather desk set. A letter opener and scissors in silver. A stack of files neatly arranged in alphabetical order. The brass figurine—where was it?

  She opened the drawers, didn’t see it.

  “What are you looking for?”

  “A miniature brass. It was a favorite of Calvin’s. He’d found it in an antiques shop. Cerberus.”

  “Cerberus? As in the three-headed beast?”

  She nodded.

  “Is it valuable?”

  She furrowed her brow, trying to recall the details of the tiny statue. “Not particularly. I think he bought it on a whim.”

  “Would he have moved it?”

  “Not that I know of. But...maybe.” She certainly didn’t know everything about Calvin’s home. Maybe he’d moved the figurine to his bedroom. Or the front room.

  “Anything else out of place or missing?” Sal asked.

  “No.” The missing figurine was hardly proof of anything. It certainly didn’t help them in finding Calvin. “Let me say goodbye to Bessie and then we can go.”

  “Sure.”


  Olivia found Bessie in the foyer, polishing the gleaming balustrade. “Thank you, Bessie, for allowing us in.”

  “I’m prayin’ I’ll be hearin’ from Mr. Calvin soon,” the woman said, twisting a cloth.

  “I’m sure you will.” Olivia paused. “I noticed that the little statue on Calvin’s desk wasn’t there. Did he move it to another room?”

  “I’m sure he didn’t. Many’s the time he said he liked to look at it while he was at his desk workin’.” A stricken look settled on the housekeeper’s face. “You’re not sayin’ I took it, are you, Ms. Hammond?”

  “No! No, of course not. I just wondered. The desk looked empty without it.”

  “Well, all right then.”

  Olivia and Sal took their leave. Outside, he turned to her. “What was that all about?”

  “Something about the Cerberus being missing bothers me.” She lifted a shoulder. “I don’t know why.”

  “Does Chantry have children?”

  She nodded. “A son. Walter.”

  “Do you think he’d know anything?”

  “I don’t know. Walter’s an investment banker. Hey,” she said when Sal gave a slight sneer. “Don’t knock it. He’s an ex-SEAL. You and he could probably swap war stories.”

  “A SEAL-turned-investment banker. An odd fit.”

  “I don’t know. From what I hear, the financial world is pretty cutthroat.” She pulled out her phone. “Let me call, see if he’s home.”

  The drive to Walter’s condo took twenty minutes. Olivia used the time to try to figure out what was going on between her and Sal. She could no longer deny the sizzle of awareness whenever they were in the same room.

  * * *

  Walter Chantry’s condo sat on a pricey piece of land with its own boardwalk that stretched out to the bay. In the drive was a Land Rover LR3. With a supercharged Jaguar engine under the hood, the vehicle had probably set Walter back a hundred thousand dollars or so.

  Sal gave a low whistle. “Investment banking must pay well.”

  “Walter has always been a go-getter. Even when we were kids, he had schemes going. He was always looking for the next big thing.”

  “You and he close?”

  “We spent time together as children, but as we got older, we grew apart. He’s a couple of years older than I am, and he went off to college, then joined the navy. When he came back a few years ago, he was already well-off. He’s done really well for himself.”

  “Sounds like Walter has found his place in life.”

  “I’d say so.” As she thought about it, she reflected that father and son weren’t particularly close. Certainly not as close as she and her father had been, but there was no crime in that.

  When Walter answered his door, Olivia made the introductions. Sal extended his hand, and, after a moment, Walter took it. The handshake lasted at least thirty seconds longer than necessary, as though each man was testing the other’s strength.

  It would have been comical, but they weren’t laughing. Neither was Olivia.

  “Chantry.”

  “Santonni.”

  The two men sized each other up. They were both physically fit, both big and strong, but to her eye, Walter came up short. It had nothing to do with size and everything to do with being comfortable in one’s own skin.

  Sal didn’t have anything to prove, she realized, whereas Walter was always trying to impress someone. Maybe that was why they’d stopped getting together.

  “Walter, we wondered if you’d heard from your father lately.”

  Walter looked surprised. “No. But we’re not much on talking on the phone. Sometimes we get together to go hunting or fishing. Any special reason you’re asking?”

  She hesitated, snuck a look at Sal. Imperceptibly, he shook his head. “No. He took a few days off, and there’s something at the office that needs his attention.” She winced at the weak explanation.

  But Walter didn’t seem to notice anything off. “If I hear from him, I’ll tell him to give you a call. Good enough?”

  “Sure. Thanks.” She turned to leave, paused. “Walter...”

  “Yes?”

  “Thanks for seeing us,” Olivia said easily. “I appreciate the time.”

  “No problem.”

  Outside, she rounded on Sal. “Why didn’t you want me to say anything? He has a right to know that his father’s been kidnapped.”

  “I don’t know what to think. I just don’t want to give away anything. Not yet.”

  Walter? A kidnapper?

  The thought startled her, but before she could push it totally out of her mind, she considered it. Granted, she and Walter had grown apart over the last decade or so. He wanted different things from life than she did. Again, no crime in that.

  His obsession with material things had always been a stumbling block between them. Even as a kid, Walter had had to have the most expensive sneakers, the computer with all the bells and whistles. She’d seen it as amusing at first before his obsession had grown to include the Ferrari sports car, designer clothes and a Rolex.

  But to kidnap his own father? It was laughable. What would he gain by it? “Investment banking’s where the big boys play,” he’d said more than once.

  He and Calvin had a different kind of relationship than the one she and her father had shared. Theirs seemed to be one of competition, but it worked for them, so who was she to criticize?

  “You don’t like him,” she said.

  “I don’t not like him. I’m reserving judgment.”

  “What does that mean?”

  “Just that. I don’t know him, so I can’t make any judgment. Yet.”

  The last word hung in the air. “Why can’t you take anyone at face value?”

  “Maybe because I’ve seen too many people who wear too many faces.” Sal placed his hands on either side of her face. “Not you. Never you. Everything you are is right out front. But not everyone is like you.”

  “I don’t know what to say.”

  “Just say that you’ll be careful. We’re dealing with too many unknowns.”

  EIGHT

  Sal always knew how to figure out a problem. It was a Salvatore Santonni way of life. He was good at working his way around obstacles. So why was he coming up at dead ends with this op?

  That’s how he thought of protecting Olivia and rescuing Chantry: an op. No different from any other he and his Delta unit had pulled off in the Middle East countless times. Only this was Olivia’s life. That changed the stakes.

  The clink of silverware against the china stirred him from his thoughts, reminding him that he wasn’t alone. Olivia sat across the table from him, her eyes dark with concern.

  He’d insisted they eat at a real restaurant the following night. They’d both needed a break from the diet of fast food and worry. “Sorry,” he said briefly. “My thoughts took a detour.”

  “No problem.”

  At that moment, the two men sitting three tables over caught his attention. It wasn’t anything they did. It was more a matter of how they held themselves. There was a watchfulness to them that set them apart from the other diners.

  To anyone who had served in the armed forces or with the police, the hypervigilant posture was unmistakable. Neither man had touched his drink. Nor had they taken their gaze from Olivia and himself. Both wore button-down shirts with the sleeves rolled up, revealing thick arms ropey with muscles.

  Sal clicked into combat mode. He didn’t doubt that he could take them. They appeared to be in reasonably good shape, but they looked a little soft around the edges, as though it had been a while since they’d seen active duty. It had been several years since Sal had left Delta, but he hadn’t let civilian life interfere with his staying in shape. Daily ten-mile runs and lifting weights kep
t him fit.

  But he had Olivia to think of. She wasn’t a combatant. Putting her in danger wasn’t an option, but how was he supposed to get them past the men who would undoubtedly stake out the entrance to the restaurant?

  The rear door led to an alley that could become its own trap if the men had some confederates watching it. Ex-military types like he’d pegged the men to be often operated as part of a unit. It was entirely possible that another team was waiting at the back door, ready to ambush him and Olivia. Alleys could become death traps, the canyon-like walls providing surfaces from which bullets could ricochet.

  However much he didn’t want to take Olivia out the front door, he didn’t see he had a choice.

  Without more intel, he had to make the best decision he could under the circumstances. His mind sifted through the various possibilities, and he still came up with the same plan of action.

  He made no secret of his study of the men and raised his glass, not in a toast but in acknowledgment of their presence. In his experience, it did no good to feign ignorance of the enemy. Better to let them know they’d been spotted. The knowledge might rattle them.

  It became a matter of who blinked first.

  Surprise crossed the face of the smaller of the two men before he started to return the gesture. He was stopped by the other. Okay. The roles had been established. Leader. Subordinate. Sal filed that away. It was helpful to know who was giving the orders and who was following them.

  Sal didn’t miss the silent exchange between the two men. The leader slapped a couple of bills on the table, got up. After a slight hesitation, his partner did the same.

  “What’s going on?” Olivia asked as the men walked out. “Why were you watching those men?”

  “Because they were watching us. When we go outside, stay behind me. When I say move, you move.”

  She didn’t bother protesting but only nodded.