Dark Justice

by Kristi Belcamino

  That wasn’t very reassuring.

  I dialed Dante. He didn’t answer. He was probably on the plane already. I sent a text message. “Detectives want me to come down to station. Help.”

  After I sent it, I worried it made me look guilty. Fuck. I already felt guilty even though I hadn’t done a damn thing but haul my ass out of bed to go talk to some stranger.

  Who ended up murdered before I arrived.

  Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

  I took a long, hot shower and tried to forget about the detective’s message. I replayed the words he used in my mind and analyzed each one.

  Saying, “At your convenience,” made it seem like it wasn’t a big deal. But maybe that was his ploy.

  After my shower, I stood in front of the windows, naked. There were no other adjacent buildings as tall as this one, which meant I wouldn’t be staring at anyone across the way. What this hotel—this suite—needed more than anything were the decks I was planning on adding to every single suite. Having the ability to step outside of your hotel room made all the difference in the world.

  I was itching for fresh air.

  I dressed in some faded, black jeans and an even more faded black T-shirt, slipped on my converse sneakers, and headed downstairs.

  I wore my dark sunglasses and stuck my ear pods in my ears, even though I wasn’t listening to anything. It was my shield against unwanted personal interaction. It always worked. Most of the time, I did it to thwart unwelcome advances from men on airplanes or public transportation, but today I just didn’t want to engage with anyone at all.

  No offense to the nice older woman with the dog who stepped into the elevator on the seventh floor. I gave her a small smile and then stared straight ahead.

  Downstairs, I ordered an espresso and bacon and gruyere egg bites at the café and then headed outside to sit.

  The fog had lifted and there was a small square of sunshine at one of the outside café tables. I plopped down and thought about the murder.

  This was the third person on the board that had been murdered.

  It was crazy that someone was out there killing people because they objected to the Death of Engleberg. But the fact was, death threats had been received.

  And there were no limits to crazy in this world.

  I’d done a little research after the first meeting and saw that Engleberg’s daughters had pleaded for peace when there had been protests at the Chicago opening.

  So…they were out as suspects.

  But who would care enough to murder people to make their point?

  What was the motive?

  Speaking of, if the detectives suspected me, there was motive. Which sucked.

  My cell rang. Unknown caller.

  “Santella.”

  “This is Detective Stone.”

  I didn’t answer. I let him fill the awkward silence.

  “Do you have a few minutes? I have a few more questions for you. I’m at your hotel.”

  I swiveled my head. He was standing on the sidewalk in front of the lobby doors. He looked around and then our eyes met and held. Fuck me.

  He gave a half-hearted wave. “Can I crash your lunch?”

  “It’s breakfast,” I said and hung up.

  He pulled out a chair at my table before I could put my sunglasses back on. Luckily, the sun had shifted, lighting up my face, so I had a good excuse. For some reason, I didn’t want to meet his probing gaze.

  “You know,” he said. “I’ve got a couple discrepancies in the timeline and details of last night.”

  I ignored him and sipped my coffee. It burned my tongue, but I pretended it was fine. I’d let him talk. I’d find out what he had on me. He could talk. I’d stay silent.

  “We checked Maxwell Carlton’s phone, and it didn’t show any calls to you. In fact, it didn’t show any outgoing calls at all last night.”

  “What?” I spit the word out along with a little coffee. I’d vowed not to say a word but it had slipped out.

  He shook his head. “There’s no record of him calling you.”

  I narrowed my eyes. That didn’t make sense.

  “We checked with his wife, and she said he received a call and left unexpectedly without any explanation.”

  He paused, waiting for my answer.

  I wasn’t going to say jack shit.

  Just then a big black car pulled up, and Dante hopped out.

  He must’ve taken an earlier flight. Thank God.

  I stood. “Dante!”

  He turned and saw me. His face lit up in a huge grin. But then he saw the detective at my table, and his smile disappeared.

  He was beside us in a few seconds.

  The detective stood and introduced himself. Dante said he was my business partner.

  Before the detective sat back down, Dante cleared his throat.

  “Detective, I appreciate your diligence in solving this horrific crime. As an acquaintance of Mr. Carlton, I’m devastated by his death. And as potential future owners of this hotel, the last thing Ms. Santella and I would ever want is for a murder to be associated with our hotel. I’m a practical businessman and, without sounding cold-hearted, this isn’t great for business. I’m sure you understand,” he said coolly. “So, the sooner this is solved, the sooner we can move on and put it past us. With that said, how can I help? If you have any more questions for Ms. Santella, I’d like them asked with her attorney present.”

  Detective Stone seemed a bit unnerved.

  I liked Dante’s play—obviously, as future owners, the last thing we wanted was a murder at our hotel. So, duh, I couldn’t possibly be a suspect.

  But the detective didn’t bite.

  “We have a few discrepancies I’m trying to clear up with your business partner. As I’m sure you’re aware, she was the one who found Mr. Carlton’s body.”

  Dante raised an eyebrow. “Yes?”

  “According to Ms. Santella, Mr. Carlton called and asked her to meet him. But we show no record on his phone of the call. Even though he said he was already on the roof, and we did find his cell phone on his body,” he paused, but didn’t leave room for a response. “In addition, Mr. Carlton’s wife said that he received a call at their home earlier that night and left as if he had been summoned to a meeting.”

  Dante nodded but only said, “How can we help you?”

  The detective stared for a minute and then stood.

  “I’ll let you know.” He slid his card toward Dante and then another one toward me.

  We watched him walk away and waited until the valet had brought his car before we spoke.

  “Motherfuck,” I said.

  “He’s hot for you.”

  I sighed. “And not the kind of hot I want.”

  Dante shook his head. “Definitely not that kind.”

  The way he said it made me look at him. “He’s gay?”

  “Oh yeah.”

  “Not that it matters,” we both said at the same time and laughed. It was a weak laugh, but still a laugh. And it felt good. I hadn’t realized how stressed out I was.

  We stood.

  “I’m going to check in to my room and then make some calls,” Dante said. “Want to meet for dinner.”

  Instantly, I felt guilty even though I knew I shouldn’t.

  “What?” he said, picking up on it.

  “I’m having dinner with James.”

  “Don’t say squat about the murders,” he said. “I know he’s on your side, but just to be safe.”

  “I won’t. The last thing I want to do is talk about that.”

  He laughed. “I bet I know what you want to talk about. Or not talk about I should say.”

  I ignored his innuendo.

  “Breakfast?”

  “Knowing you two, let’s make it lunch.”

  “Stop!”

  I instantly felt better. Dante would fix everything.

  Twenty-Three

  Despite Tony’s generous offer to drive me around, I didn’t want to disturb his
“grandpa time,” so I’d arranged for the long-term rental of a Bugatti. It was also a test run of how rentals would work for my hotel guests one day. I would probably try out a few of the luxury car rental places in the city to see who was best.

  So far, this one wasn’t bad. The car was dropped off in front of the hotel. When I got down there, the valet was waiting for me. As soon as I got behind the wheel and pulled out of the hotel driveway, I knew it was the right call. I’d missed driving high-performance vehicles. For so many years living in Barcelona, I hadn’t needed a car.

  But I loved the feel of a powerful engine purring. I made a note to myself to make a trip down to the Laguna Seca raceway and take a few spins around the track. It was where I’d learned to drive as well as any race car driver—or cop in pursuit. The skill had served me well over the years. Yes, I’d take it to the racetrack and stop by Monterey to visit my parent’s graves. I would also take it to drive to Darling’s house in the next week or so.

  Right now, it would get me to see James.

  I pulled my car up to the address James had given me and peeked out my window at the building before me.

  It was an apartment in the Sunset district.

  There was not a parking spot for miles around. I’d started looking as soon as I pulled onto his street. But as I sat there, the garage door rolled open, and I saw James sitting there with a grin. He gestured for me to pull in.

  I rolled down the window as I got beside him. “Hey, sailor.”

  “Park in spot twenty-three.”

  “See you in a sec.”

  He was waiting by an elevator in one corner.

  I walked over and leaned down to kiss his cheek. He turned his head and our lips met.

  I didn’t pull back. I felt his arms reach for me and pull me down. His hands were in my hair, and in the darkness of the garage, we made out like teenagers.

  When I finally had the willpower to pull back, he gave me a naughty grin.

  “Oh, James, you are trouble.”

  “Look who’s talking.”

  “Am I really a suspect?”

  He frowned. “I’m working on it. It makes no sense. I’ll figure it out. Let’s just forget about it for a few hours and catch up on the past ten years.”

  “Sounds good,” I said and instantly felt better. If James wasn’t worried about it, I wasn’t. He pushed the button to summon the elevator. Then he tugged on my hand and pulled me down, kissing me again.

  We both jumped when the elevator dinged and the door slid open.

  “Jesus. I thought I’d have more willpower,” he said as he wheeled his chair into the elevator. “I’m sorry, Gia. We can’t do this.”

  “I know,” I said. “We can’t.”

  “Have to stop,” he said.

  “Absolutely.”

  I was flustered and ready to rip off his clothes.

  “I’m serious, Gia. I’m seeing someone.”

  “Does Madame Butterfly know we’re having dinner.”

  The elevator doors whooshed open onto his floor.

  “She trusts me. She knows we used to date,” he said.

  “Used to date? Talk about reducing us to nothing.”

  “I didn’t mean that.”

  “You told her? About us?”

  “You know me, Gia. I’m brutally honest and upfront about everything.”

  “To a fault.”

  “Hey, hey, now,” he said, spinning the wheels on his wheelchair to maneuver himself in front of his door. “We don’t need to start that.”

  “Am I wrong?”

  “Damn, you are as spicy as ever. I thought age would’ve mellowed you.”

  “Hardly.”

  He laughed. “So, good to see you, darling.”

  My heart melted right then. Calling me darling instantly turned me to mush.

  A few seconds later, he opened the door to his condo, and I followed him into a well-lit space with steel and black leather furnishings. Uber masculine. Like James.

  A table was already set. Something was simmering on the stove and the apartment smelled divine.

  “I don’t remember you being a gourmet chef, but I think even Dante would be jealous at how this place smells,” I said.

  He was already at the stove. I noticed that all his counters were lowered so he could work with ease. He was stirring this and flipping that.

  “Can I help?”

  He looked over his shoulder. “Yes, pour us some of that red.”

  I grabbed the bottle. “Yummy. You don’t have to tell me twice.”

  Before I took a sip, I brought a glass over to James and set it on the counter.

  “That looks amazing.”

  “Get!” he said and shooed me away.

  “Fine.” I said in a huffy voice and then walked around his place, checking it out. “Where’s your bathroom.”

  He told me. I peeked into the bedrooms as I passed. Both sterile with few personal touches. Much like the rest of his place.

  When I came out, the table was set with dishes of food.

  “Sit,” he said. “I’ll be right back.”

  He headed down the hall. On my way to the table, I paused at a small table. It had a picture of him with his wife and daughter.

  I picked it up.

  I stared at it, my heart breaking for James. I looked around the rest of the room. That photo was the only indication that she’d ever existed. I shook my head.

  That’s when I noticed it was quiet. I turned and James was behind me.

  He gave me a smile.

  “She was the love of my life, Gia.”

  “I know,” I said solemnly.

  “You hungry?” he said in a chipper voice as I followed him to the table.

  “Starved.” In more ways than one.

  “Dig in.”

  After we ate steak with a parsley-flaked butter sauce and creamy garlic mashed potatoes and delicate asparagus, I sat back, moaning with pleasure.

  “Good God that was good.”

  “I was not messing around.”

  “I guess not.”

  “Let’s go out on the deck with our wine,” he said.

  I followed him out. The view on his small deck was of the street below. But I didn’t care about a view.

  I sat in an Adirondack chair, and James sat beside me. There was a salty breeze coming in from the Pacific and, as the sun dipped lower on the horizon, I felt a chill run through me.

  James, ever attentive, noticed.

  “You okay?”

  “I can’t believe I’m a murder suspect.”

  “Gia, I can’t talk about it.”

  I turned to him in surprise. “You’re kidding, right?”

  He sighed loudly. “If you want my help. If you want me to work to prove you didn’t do it, we can’t discuss it. I promised the chief.”

  “Of course you did.”

  One thing about James. He’d uphold the letter of the law even if it meant he was going to prison for life. That had been, and always would be, the thing that kept us apart. I didn’t see things as black and white as he did.

  “I’m not going to change you now,” I said, lightly. “Just make sure you prove my innocence. This is starting to become a pain in the ass.”

  He seemed relieved I let it go.

  “Let’s go in. I’ll turn on the fire,” he said.

  Inside, the flames on the gas stove leaped to life, shooting warmth out into the room. James went around dimming lights and lighting candles. “Go pick some music out,” he said over his shoulder.

  He had two crates full of vinyl records next to a turntable. I wanted something sultry, moody. I put on “Waiting Game” by Banks. He crooked a finger at me slowly with a sensual grin.

  I caught my breath. His eyes locked on mine. We both knew it was a foregone conclusion what would happen next.

  But I was nervous. It had been a long time.

  And I didn’t want to fall for him again. That was dangerous. And could only end badly.


  Twenty-Four

  I was on his lap when the doorbell rang.

  What the fuck?

  I jumped up and pulled my top back up over my naked breasts.

  James looked guiltily down at the tent in his pants and quickly pulled a pillow onto his lap.

  I was sitting on a barstool, sipping wine when he opened the door.

  Nicoletta was standing there.

  Her pink lips opened into a big O.

  “Shoot,” she said. “I forgot tonight was your dinner—catching up on old times.”

  She started to back up.

  James reached for her hand.

  “Come on in. It’s fine.”

  I hid my anger. It was not fucking fine.

  I hopped up and grabbed my bag.

  “I was just leaving,” I said. I leaned down and gave James a kiss on the cheek. “Thanks for dinner, sailor.”

  Then I was gone.

  I tried not to peel out of the garage, knowing that bitch was upstairs feeling smug as fuck.

  Furious, I drove around not wanting to go back to my hotel room.

  I’d honestly thought that I would be staying all night with James. I had made up this scenario in my head where we woke together and made love and then I would make him breakfast…

  I cringed thinking of this.

  I’d made up this romantic scenario in my head. And why?

  I hated to admit it, but I was lonely.

  So fucking lonely.

  And I’d looked to James, subconsciously, to fill that void.

  It wasn’t fair to him. It wasn’t fair to me.

  Frustrated, sad, and forlorn, I did what I always did when I felt this way—I headed to the closest bar. I valet parked and scooted up to the crowded bar. The bartender was busy at the other end. A guy to my right with a big bushy beard said, “I got this” after I’d attempted and failed to order two different times.

  “Yo, Connie!” he said with a New York accent.

  The waitress, a skinny woman with flushed cheeks and thin hair scraped back in a ponytail was in front of us.

  “I’ll take another lager and whatever this one wants.”

  I ordered a tequila, and when it arrived I toasted the bearded guy. “Thank you.”

  “No problem. You looked like you needed that.”

  “Amen, brother,” I said. I wondered if my mascara was smeared. I’m not going to lie, a few tears slipped out when I was driving away from James’s apartment.