A laptop docking station with an attached keyboard, mouse, and a big flat-panel monitor added a modern touch.
From her seat in Mark's visitor chair, Damaris could see the backs of the letters painted on the window behind the desk: Mark E. Swanson, Attorney-at-Law.
Hannah had cheerfully packed up their lunches and decanted their drinks into tall disposable cups. Damaris now took her time arranging her sandwich paper and drink on the edge of Mark's desk, trying to figure out how to start the conversation.
It was hard.
She liked Mark a lot—liked all of the Swansons—and she wanted them to think well of her. Even with the privacy afforded her by attorney-client privilege, what would happen to Mark's opinion of her if she confessed the truth about her special assignments?
For his part, Mark methodically worked his way through his sandwiches and iced coffee, his warm hazel gaze never leaving hers as he waited for her to start.
Finally she said, "I don't know even where to begin. This whole thing is…complicated."
Mark stopped eating and leaned back in his chair. "Do you want me to start with what I've heard and what I've guessed?"
Damaris nearly choked on her iced tea. "W–what have you heard?"
"That some of your clients are members of the Mafia," Mark began.
His words hit Damaris like a punch to the middle of her chest, driving the air out of her lungs. How does he know that?
Mark continued, "And that the New York State Attorney General's Organized Crime Task Force is currently working with the FBI to investigate a series of suspicious deaths tied to the adult entertainment clubs owned by your clients." He raised his brows. "There have apparently been a suspiciously high number of fatal accidents over the past four years."
Another punch to the chest. If they're investigating those accidents, I am so screwed.
Mark paused, and Damaris tried to catch her breath. He knows! But how the hell does he know? And if he knows, do Dimitri and Ash know, too? Why haven't they said anything to me?
And an instant later: And the FBI and the AG's task force figured it out, too? This is the end. I'm doomed.
Then Mark said, very gently, "Were you threatened by one of your clients?"
Relief poured through Damaris like a stream of cold water in the desert. "Sort of."
"Is that why you're so afraid?" Mark paused.
Damaris opened her mouth to protest.
But before she could speak, Mark said, "Don't try to deny it—I can hear your heart and smell you. You're terrified, Damaris. Let me help you. Please."
She needed help. She needed to find a way to keep the FBI and the AG's Organized Crime Task Force from coming down on her like a ton of bricks and crushing her.
"If—" Damaris croaked, her throat dry. She took a long sip from her iced tea and tried again. "If someone happened to be working for a bunch of mobsters, and if those mobsters happened to have blackmail information on her about possible criminal activities, and forced her to do some bad stuff…um, how much prison time would that person be looking at?
Mark rubbed his bearded chin and pursed his lips in thought. His eyes turned sharp. "Hypothetically speaking, of course?"
"Of course," Damaris said quickly. "I was just, ah, wondering."
"Hypothetically speaking," Mark said, "and if that person had a good lawyer, that lawyer might be able to get in touch with law enforcement and suggest that one of his clients had some inside information on crooked Mob dealings. That lawyer might be then able to cut a deal with a prosecutor in NY to give his client immunity from prosecution in return for testimony."
Damaris blinked. Immunity from prosecution, no matter what Tony told the cops about what I did for him?
It seemed too good to be true. Though agreeing to rat out Tony and Mr. Leonetti carried its own set of risks.
Mark leaned forward and planted his elbows on his desk. "Hypotheticals aside…Damaris, if you know something that might be useful to the investigation, I could contact someone at the FBI's New York office and initiate a conversation."
Damaris was still wondering how Mark, a small-town lawyer, could possibly be in the loop about what the FBI and the NY State AG were investigating, when the answer occurred to her. Dimitri used to live in New York. He probably heard something and passed it along.
If I give Mark the go-ahead, then there's no turning back. I'll be an informant, and Tony and Mr. Leonetti will be gunning for me.
The thought that she might be putting Sophie in even more danger made her quail momentarily.
But she had to do this. It was the only way she was ever going to regain any of her lost self-respect. Or ever be worthy of someone like Dimitri.
"Let's do it," she told Mark, feeling almost as shaky now as she had after the phone call with Tony two hours ago.
"The task force guys are going to want to know what kind of information you have," Mark said.
Some of her revived panic must have showed in her expression, because he quickly added, "You don't have go into specifics—just give me a general idea of what you have to offer."
Damaris hesitated. Her mouth went dry again and her heart resumed pounding like she'd just run up ten flights of stairs. This is it. If I tell him, I'll have to go through with it.
"Tell them that I know that Nick Leonetti didn't die in an accident. Or Paul Gervase. Or Mike Spagnola in Chicago. And I can prove it."
Mark's hazel eyes widened. He leaned forward and planted his elbows on his desk. "You're willing to testify about Mob hits?" He shook his head. "And here I thought you were going to tell me about tax evasion or payroll shenanigans."
"Those too," Damaris said. "Not to mention bribes to some of the precinct cops."
She was still afraid, but she suddenly felt lighter, too.
"Wow," Mark said. "Okay, let me see who I need to talk to."
"I have an idea," Damaris said.
Now that she had well and truly taken the first big step away from Tony's world, she knew who could help her.
"My second dads are both NYPD officers. They're retired now, but maybe they can tell us who to contact on the Organized Crime Task Force."
* * *
"I wish we didn't have to leave," Sophie announced over dinner a few hours later.
In the space of a little over a week, she had acquired a tan and her hair had turned lighter, with sun-streaks of dark gold running through the rich brown. Her shyness seemed to have evaporated in the warm sunshine and pure air of the ranch.
Damaris exchanged a quick look over the table with Dimitri. He nodded.
"Ms. Kiddo, remember how I told you that Dimitri and I got engaged?" Damaris began.
She found herself fiddling nervously with the gorgeous pear-cut diamond ring that Dimitri had given her.
He'd been pressing her to set a date for the wedding, but with the specter of her inevitable confrontation with Tony hanging over her head, she had danced around committing to a particular date.
So far, they were still talking about "sometime before the end of summer," and she could sense his eagerness to pin her down on an actual day and time.
"Yeah?" Sophie, alerted to something in their expressions, put down the container of sour cream she was holding and looked between them.
Dimitri had made fish tacos tonight, using fish he'd caught himself, and lettuce, cilantro, green onions, and tomatoes from Elle's kitchen garden.
"Does that mean we can we stay longer, Mommy? Please?"
Well, that was a good sign for what Damaris wanted to tell her daughter.
"That's what I wanted to talk to you about. How would you feel about living on the ranch permanently?” Damaris asked.
"I'd love it!" Sophie said instantly and grinned from ear-to-ear. "I like it a lot better here than back home. And Matt and Ellie would be living right next door! I could see them all the time!"
"I'm glad to hear that." Damaris couldn't help returning her daughter's smile. "If you're okay living here, then I'll s
ee about getting you registered for fourth grade at Bearpaw Ridge Elementary."
"And we can talk about decorating your room," added Dimitri. "I'm sure you'd like to put a personal touch on it."
"Can I get some horse posters? And a bald eagle poster? And my microscope from home?" Sophie asked eagerly.
Damaris flicked a smug eyebrow in Dimitri's direction. He'd tried to argue with her when she'd put the kibosh on his plan to give Sophie a pretty princess room.
"Sure thing, kiddo," she said. "And maybe you can ask Santa for a camera with a zoom lens for wildlife photos.”
"That would be cool!" Sophie agreed eagerly. Then she bit her lower lip and looked down at her plate thoughtfully for a long moment. "Hey, Mitya, since I'm going to be living here on the ranch, do you think I could keep having riding lessons? Matt and even the little kids—they all know how to ride way better than I do."
"They've had more practice," Dimitri said, smiling. "But from I can see, you're catching up fast. Maybe you should ask Santa for a pony—there are a couple of vacant stalls in the barn, so I don't think Dane would mind. And Oreo would probably like a friend."
Sophie's mouth dropped open. "A pony of my very own? Really?"
All thoughts of protesting Dimitri's generosity fled when Damaris saw the disbelieving joy on her daughter's face.
Dimitri raised a cautionary finger. "If you stick with the riding lessons and if you prove that you're responsible enough to care for a pony. That means feeding, watering, grooming, mucking out its stall…all of the not-fun stuff that comes with the commitment to care for a living creature."
"Oh, I will!" Sophie said eagerly.
Dimitri crossed his arms and looked skeptical. "Your mom tells me that you've never had a pet. So let's wait and see. There are six months to go before Christmas. I'll talk to Dane about having you help Matt take care of Oreo."
"Oh, that would be great!" Sophie's eyes were shining behind her glasses.
"Maybe it's great now," Dimitri said soberly. "But it's not going to be so much fun once school starts and you have to get up extra early to take care of Oreo. And it might be raining. Or snowing."
"I don't care!" Sophie declared passionately. "I love Oreo! And I'll take good care of him, I promise!"
Dimitri looked at Damaris. "Well, what do you think?"
She smiled fondly at them both. "I think that sounds like a great idea. I know Sophie's very responsible—"
Her daughter beamed proudly at that.
"—but I also think that you're right, Dimitri. A pony is a big commitment, and a trial period would be a good thing. You know kiddo, it's possible to really like something that someone else has but not want to have one of your own full-time."
"But I do want a pony!" Sophie declared, and Damaris saw newly forged steel in her eyes. "And I'll prove to you that I can take care of Oreo even better than Matt can!"
"Challenge accepted," Dimitri said solemnly, but Damaris could see the good humor in his gray eyes.
A timer dinged, and Dimitri rose to go over to the kitchen.
"I think we probably need to let this sit for fifteen or twenty minutes and let this cool down from volcanic lava to tasty warm goodness," Dimitri said as he pulled his homemade dessert out of the oven.
It was a berry cobbler with deep purple syrup bubbling up between the tiny gaps in the nicely browned streusel topping.
Damaris looked at the kitchen clock. "You know, I really should give my second dads a call before it gets too late in New York. I want to make sure that they come for the wedding."
She had been wanting to call them since her consultation with Mark, but a combination of a guilty conscience over ghosting them three years ago and apprehension about revealing her connection to Tony Rizzo had led her to procrastinate.
Now it was nearly ten p.m. in New York, and neither of them were night owls.
"You mean the wedding that we haven't actually set a date for yet?" teased Dimitri, placing the glass casserole dish with the cobbler down on the shiny white quartz countertop.
"Hey, we've only been engaged for a week!" Damaris protested, laughing. "You just move fast, that's all."
"I had to move fast because of your two-week vacation plans," Dimitri reminded her. Then he smiled smugly and made a show of polishing his nails against his crisp white shirt. "Let's just say that I find deadlines motivating."
"Sometimes you scare me," Damaris said, rolling her eyes. She hated deadlines with a fiery passion. "Well, I think I'm ready to talk about setting a wedding date now."
It was true. Maybe talking to Mark hadn't solved all her problems, but he had definitely offered a happier end than she had any right to expect.
"How does Labor Day Weekend sound?" she continued.
By then, you'll probably know the truth about who I really am and what I've done. And then he could choose to step away, if he wanted, though it would break her heart and probably devastate Sophie as well.
"Labor Day sounds perfect," Dimitri said immediately, then added, "If you don't mind having the wedding here on the ranch, that is. All of the other venues around here are probably booked out already, and we'd better tell Elle ASAP in case someone's already reserved the riverside meadow for that weekend."
"I'd love to get married here at the ranch," Damaris said with complete honesty.
"We need to talk to Annabeth, too, if we want her to bake our cake."
"Mmm, Annabeth's cakes, what a great idea," Damaris said.
"And let's throw an engagement party over July Fourth weekend," Dimitri continued. "It's been a while since we had any big parties at the ranch. We could invite all of the Swansons' friends and neighbors to come meet you, since they've all heard about you already." Dimitri flashed her a wicked grin.
"I'd like to invite some people for the party and the wedding," Damaris said, though she felt a little uncomfortable about being the center of attention. "Maybe they could stay here at the ranch? If Elle has any vacancies …there shouldn't be too many—just Dan and James, and maybe a couple of friends."
"If Elle doesn't have room in her rentals, I have a spare bedroom, and I know Ash, Dane, Mark, and Evan have room, too."
"It would just be three or four people, not a crowd or anything," Damaris assured him.
"No other family?" Dimitri asked, looking surprised.
Damaris shook her head. "I've got some cousins and stuff, but you gotta remember, they're the relatives who didn't lift a finger to help me after my parents were killed. I grew up in a group home and the foster care system after that…"
Dimitri stared at her in disbelief. "No one offered to take you in?"
Then he growled, a deep sound that shivered through Damaris's bones. His anger on her behalf was a salve on an old, never-quite-healed wound.
"I don't hate them or anything," she added. "They probably had their reasons. I just have zero interest in having a relationship with them."
"Understandable," Dimitri said with a regretful shake of his head. "Regrettable, but totally understandable. Well, now you've got a family here, and the Swansons' motto is 'We take care of our own.'"
"Funny, that was my second dads' motto, too," Damaris said, with a smile. "They're retired NYPD officers."
"I've been wondering: why do you call them your second dads?" Dimitri asked.
"Because they're the closest family I have," Damaris answered. "When they became my foster parents, they told me that they didn't want to take the place of my real dad. But they treated me like I was their biological daughter, so I started thinking of them as my 'second dads.' I don't think my first dad would have minded. Speaking of which…now that we've set a date, I want to call them and invite them to the wedding."
She raised her phone apologetically and slipped out the French doors onto the deep porch that wrapped halfway around the house. She knew she'd have to watch her words carefully…she might have the illusion of privacy, but she'd also spent enough time around Dimitri now to remember he had super-senses.
/>
As she stood on the porch and scrolled through her contacts for Dan's and Jim's landline number, she realized that she was almost as apprehensive about making this call as she had been about calling Tony this afternoon.
Three years. Had it really been that long since she had broken off contact with the only real family she’d had since her parents died?
And are they even going to want to answer the phone when they see my Caller ID come up?
Only one way to find out.
Chapter 18 – Second Dads
The phone rang once, then someone picked up.
"Damaris? Is that you?" demanded a gravelly voice that Damaris recognized as retired NYPD sergeant Dan Bianchi.
Damaris felt her heart leap with joy at hearing his voice.
"H-hi," she managed, though her throat felt tight. "I know it's been a really long time, and I'm so sorry about that."
"It's great to hear from you, doll. I really missed ya. Hold on a sec, will ya?" A pause, then she heard Dan calling, "Jim! Jim! Our girl's on the line!"
Damaris heard a click as someone else picked up.
"Damaris? Honey? Is that really you?" asked Jim O'Donnell's deep, mellow voice.
"Hi, Jim," she managed. "How are you guys doing?"
"We're great!" Dan said, sounding excited. "Especially now that we've heard from you!"
"Damn, girl, why you been such a stranger lately?" Jim demanded.
"I'm sorry," Damaris said again. "I've missed you guys so much, but I've been in a bad place for the past couple of years."
"You shoulda come to us," Jim said. "Let us help you."
"Yeah," said Dan.
"I didn't want to get you involved," Damaris explained, and then, before they could start lecturing her, she said, "But I've got some great news. I'm engaged. He's a volunteer firefighter who lives in a small town in Idaho."
"No shit?" Jim and Dan said simultaneously.
"How'd you meet?" asked Jim.
"Idaho?" Dan asked at the same time, sounding incredulous. "Don't tell me you snagged that hunky cowboy in the photo you texted us?"
Blaze (Bearpaw Ridge Firefighters Book 8) Page 16