“We’ve got eyes on the Saldis, although both Giuseppi and Miceli claim they had nothing to do with this. Giuseppi wants a meet with us,” Stefano added.
“When?” Vittorio would be going to that meeting.
“Next week. His wife is bad, and he asked for more time. So, Wednesday at five o’clock in the hotel conference room. Val will be there. Miceli and his sons as well. We should be able to hear lies, but they won’t know that,” Stefano said.
“Are you certain?” Vittorio asked, keeping his voice low. It wasn’t only Taviano who had a hot temper. “They’re direct descendants from the Saldi line in Sicily. You know that it’s said more than one of our women fell for a Saldi back then.”
“Or was taken,” Stefano said. “Never a rider.”
“The possibility of other gifts is there, Stefano,” Vittorio insisted. “I’m just saying we need to be cautious. Maybe they can hear lies.”
“What about Emme?” Ricco asked. “Will she be at the meeting?”
“I wanted Emmanuelle to stand down, but she said she’s a rider, a member of our family and she knows the Saldis better than any of us. I had to agree with her logic,” Stefano answered.
“If they even smirk at her . . .” Ricco trailed off.
Vittorio looked at his brother and shook his head. “We’ve got to play this one cool. They might try to provoke us using Emmanuelle. If she can take the heat, so can we.”
“Always the voice of reason,” Stefano said. “Let’s hope we listen to you.”
“I’ve got to get back to Grace. I just have this bad feeling,” Vittorio admitted. “Whenever my gut says something’s wrong, it usually is.”
Stefano’s gaze narrowed. “You should have said something.” He was already moving toward the door.
“I thought it was because I was away from her,” Vittorio declared, uncaring what that admission said to his brothers. Both Ricco and Stefano were married to women they were very much in love with. They probably understood, but Vittorio had never expected to find Grace, let alone have a real shot at keeping her.
“Not likely,” Ricco said as they strode through the hall toward the elevator. “I’m feeling a little uneasy myself.”
Ignoring the stares and several cell phones snapping photographs of them, Stefano impatiently tapped his thigh as they waited for the doors to open. “I’ve texted Emme and Mariko as well as the bodyguards. They’re on alert.”
As they stepped into the elevator and the doors began to close, alarms began shrieking throughout the floor. Vittorio slammed his hand on the door, physically preventing it from closing. All three men bailed out, texting Emme and Mariko to make certain they were all right.
No alarms on this floor, Emme mass texted to them.
The nurses and doctors were running for one of the rooms.
“That’s the room Sarto is staying in,” Ricco said.
Stay alert, Vittorio commanded. Could be a distraction.
A nurse rushed from the room and vomited on the floor, a security guard not far behind her. Vittorio, Ricco and Stefano stopped abruptly in the doorway.
“You’re contaminating the scene,” Vittorio said, his voice pitched low, but carrying a firm command. “There’s nothing any of you can do for them. Get out of there now. We’ll need your names for the police.”
Stefano was already calling for them.
Vittorio glanced up at the vent. It appeared to be in place, but that didn’t mean Phillips hadn’t crawled through the air-conditioning system. He could have entered the room any number of ways, as an orderly, a phlebotomist, even as a nurse or doctor. If that had been the case, the police officer would have checked his ID and then followed him into the room. Vittorio could make out the policeman. He was dead, his throat cut, but his body hadn’t been hacked up the way that Ale Sarto’s had been. The Saldi enforcer looked almost as if he’d been skinned alive. A cursory study showed his mouth taped shut and his eyes taped open.
Vittorio glanced at Stefano, who nodded. Immediately, he and Ricco jogged to the stairwell, leaving their older brother to secure the scene and handle the police. Once out of sight of anyone else, they chose shadows that would carry them straight up the stairs to the private wing where Grace’s suite was. The shadow Vittorio chose was considered the proverbial greased lightning.
All three brothers wore their signature three-piece suit. Gray, pin-striped, made of a special material one of the many cousins had invented, the stripes allowing the rider to fade immediately into the shadows, making it more difficult for anyone to see them. More importantly, the suit would come apart with them when they were pulled apart, drawn into the tubes in the shadows.
The thinner, smaller tubes were hard on the body but delivered a rider to their destination much faster. Still, the rider was often disoriented when he arrived at the mouth of the tube. This shadow hit the floor and slid along the wall, connecting with several other shadows that were cast by the overhead lighting and objects in the halls.
Vittorio rode one shadow right to the entrance of Grace’s hospital room. He waited in the mouth of the tube until his body felt his own again and then, looking around to make certain only his bodyguards would be able to see him emerge, he stepped out onto the floor.
Emilio, his cousin and head of security for the Ferraro riders, greeted him with a grim face. “I’ve got Enzo inside, Vittorio.” He looked over Vittorio’s shoulder and nodded at Ricco. “They’re safe for the moment.”
“Watch the vents,” Ricco cautioned. “The bastard came right into the hospital and sliced Sarto to pieces. The door wasn’t locked. Anyone could have walked right in, but Phillips took his time. He didn’t seem to be worried he’d get caught. He’s a cocky little son of a bitch.”
“Don’t trust any doctor, nurse, orderly or technician. He could be a chameleon for all we know, blending in with the hospital staff,” Vittorio added, one hand on the door to Grace’s room. He spread his fingers wide, as if he could physically touch her. He wasn’t looking at Emilio, but rather he looked through the little window toward Grace. She looked to be asleep. Emmanuelle was seated beside her, and her head was on the bed as if she, too, was napping.
Instant alarm skittered down Vittorio’s spine. He slammed his palm hard on the door, swinging it open, shoving it all the way to the doorstop. Mariko was seated in a chair and she barely looked up as he burst into the room, Ricco on his heels.
“He’s venting some kind of gas into the room,” Vittorio said. “Get out of here, Enzo. Mariko. Both of you go now.”
Ricco already had his wife up on her feet and was lifting her into his arms and running out of the room. Emilio caught up Emme and carried her out. Vittorio unhooked the bag of fluids from the stand, set it on Grace’s lap and then she was cradled against him, her head lolling back against his chest as he rushed her out of the room. It was only then that he realized Drago and Demetrio Palagonia had waited for him to get his woman, in spite of the fact that they’d both been exposed to the gas, before they fell into step behind him.
He glanced behind him at them. Their faces were gray, but their hands were steady, weapons out, as they moved with Vittorio, Ricco and Emilio, all three carrying the women.
“We need oxygen,” Vittorio called to the two nurses who manned the private suite around the clock. “Hurry.”
The nurses came running.
“Little bastard,” Vittorio muttered. He set Grace down on another bed inside one of the suites. “All of you need oxygen immediately.” He glanced at the vent and then his brother.
“I’ll take care of it,” Emilio said. “Go. Get that fucking little weasel.”
Vittorio had already covered Grace’s mouth and nose with an oxygen mask. She wasn’t unconscious, but definitely woozy. She kept bringing her good hand to her face and he was afraid she’d try to remove the mask. Mariko was holding her own mask as were the bodyguards, but Emilio was helping Emme. Emmanuelle and Grace had been closest to the vent.
“Let’s g
o,” Ricco said.
Several nurses had responded to the call for help and Enzo, Drago and Demetrio were identifying them, not allowing any male nurses into the room. When Vittorio was certain everyone was safe, he and Ricco hurried back to Grace’s hospital suite. Tomas and Cosimo Abatangelo followed them. The two were cousins and had both been shot a few months earlier, the same time Giovanni had been shot. Both were back to work, and Vittorio didn’t like that already they would be pitting themselves against a madman.
Vittorio pulled the curtains in the room to darken it and then he snapped on lights. Immediately the shadows crawled up the wall to spill into the vent. He stepped into the nearest one and was instantly pulled apart, his body in fragments, molecules racing up the wall, pouring through the slivers of openings into the darkened maze of ducts.
The moment he was inside, still moving fast, although the light throwing shadows was lessening so his speed diminished somewhat, he saw the cylinder. Carbon monoxide. That explained why those across the large hospital room weren’t as affected as Emme and Grace had been. He was certain the others would have headaches, but they hadn’t gotten near the dose the two women sitting under the vent had. Haydon must have managed to shut down the alarm as well, or it would have been blaring.
Staying in the tube, so he wouldn’t have to crawl on his hands and knees, Vittorio examined the shaft and the cylinder with the hose. Phillips had set it several feet inside the vent, most likely so it would slowly do its work without tipping anyone off. Vittorio was certain when he looked in the vent in the hospital room Sarto had been in, he’d find a similar canister.
There was no way Phillips was still in the ducts. He would have entered Sarto’s room through the door, pretending to be a nurse or technician. The policeman had followed him in and Phillips had slit his throat. Sarto was groggy from the gas and probably hadn’t cried out or tried to ring for help. Phillips had calmly gone about his business, torturing the enforcer, and then walked out. There would have been blood. Lots of it. He could have washed up in the bathroom and changed his clothes if he’d brought more. Phillips was a planner. He’d planned for every possibility.
Just to be safe, Vittorio flashed the specially prepared light they all carried to cast more shadows and followed the ducting all the way out. Phillips hadn’t bothered to screw the vent closed at the other end, he’d just pushed it out, leaving it ajar, held by one screw. Vittorio went back through the vent to the room and then emerged just in front of Tomas.
“Where’s your brother?” Cosimo demanded.
Ricco had entered the vent just as Vittorio did but had gone down to the second floor to make certain Phillips wasn’t hiding in the vent gleefully watching the crime scene people process his gruesome kills, or worse, watching Grace and his family in the room opposite the suite.
“He’s checking things out. He’ll be back soon.” Vittorio glanced at his watch. He’d give his brother a couple of minutes and then he’d go looking for him. It wasn’t as if Phillips could spot Ricco, but they always preferred to look out for one another at all times.
Just as Vittorio was about to reenter the duct, Ricco emerged. He shook his head. “He’s long gone, Vittorio. Let’s get our women out of here. I’d like to see the bastard break into my house, or yours. He won’t get three feet into a duct or the attic without us knowing.”
Vittorio wanted to bring Grace home. She was alert now, although still on heavy pain medication. The surgeon said she’d need to be for a week or two more. She was managing, always trying to extend the time in between taking them, but Vittorio continued to coax her to do as the doctor advised.
Grace was sitting up in the hospital bed, the oxygen mask still on her, when he walked into the room. Instantly, her gaze jumped to his face. She’d been anxious, he could see the worry, the alarm on her face. Her eyes shifted to Ricco, checking to make certain he was unhurt, and then she was fixed on Vittorio.
He sent her a reassuring smile and crossed to the bed, stopping briefly to drop a kiss on his sister’s forehead. She looked up at him, still pale, shaking her head.
“I can’t believe I fell for that,” Emmanuelle said. “Gas. She even warned us he liked entering houses and living in attics. He travels through the pipes and ducts just like a rat. I got a headache and I’m not prone to them. That should have tipped me off.” She sent a quick smile in Grace’s direction. “I was enjoying getting to know your fiancée.”
Grace gave a little groan as she pulled off the mask. “Stop calling me that. It’s bad enough that the nurses do. They give me thumbs-up signs and make crazy faces behind Vittorio’s back. They’re all madly in love with him.”
Vittorio leaned in and kissed her chin and then her temple before taking the mask out of her hand and replacing it on her face. “That was a scare we all could have done without. You took a few years off my life.” He nudged her until she moved over, and he immediately sat next to her, taking her hand. “You are my fiancée, so of course my family will refer to you as such.”
She pulled her hand away, took off the mask again, narrowing her eyes. “Ha. Ha. Ha. You’re beginning to believe all the lies you’ve told everyone.” She looked beyond him to his family members. They were all exchanging smiles. “It isn’t funny. You know the press will have a field day, reporting Vittorio is engaged. His women friends are all in mourning right now, or plotting along with Haydon to do me in.”
“I don’t have any female friends,” Vittorio denied, once more replacing her mask. “I have only you. And we’ll be a lot friendlier once you’re healed, so behave yourself. I’m looking forward to that.”
He enjoyed seeing the color sweep into her face. He grinned at her, liking that she relaxed, and that even now, under these circumstances, she still could tease him. She didn’t even pull her hand away when he took it again, this time bringing her fingers to his mouth.
“Detectives on their way up,” Ricco warned in a low voice, looking down at the text on his phone. “Stefano has sent for Vinci. He’s on the way.”
Vittorio didn’t pull his phone out to see the mass text Stefano sent them all. “Vinci is our lawyer, Grace.” He kept his voice gentle, holding her gaze. “Let me talk to them, and just follow my lead. If they question you and you’re uncomfortable, look to me and I’ll handle it.”
He hated watching the smile leave her eyes and her body grow tense. She’d withdrawn, the way she did when she felt vulnerable.
Grace nodded, and he moved to place himself squarely between her and the door. As he did, Art Maverick and Jason Bradshaw entered. The two detectives were well known to the Ferraros. They had started out certain the Ferraros were a crime family, just as the Saldis were, but now, having investigated them on more than one occasion, they weren’t so certain.
Ricco greeted the two men, his body slightly in front of his wife. “I didn’t expect to see you with all the business going down on the second floor. We called in the fact that someone tried to kill Grace and Emme with some kind of gas, but we’re all safe. You have a crime scene down there.”
Grace’s hand jerked in his. Vittorio immediately turned his full attention on her. His thumb slid over the back of her hand and he pressed her palm tightly to his thigh. He hadn’t had the chance to gently tell her what had happened to Ale Sarto. She was intelligent, and she knew that whatever had brought the police detectives to the second floor probably wasn’t a coincidence with Haydon’s strike at her.
“Grace and Emme need care,” he said. “Perhaps we should take this into another room.”
“We need to speak to Ms. Murphy,” Art said.
Vittorio frowned. “You are aware she was shot and the surgery was . . . complicated. She’s in pain and another attempt has been made on her life. She has to use oxygen in order to counteract the gas. This isn’t a good time.”
“Vittorio.” Jason Bradshaw gave a little sigh. “We wouldn’t bother her if it wasn’t important. I believe you were on the second floor in a meeting with your brothers
when the bodies were discovered. We were told Stefano cleared the crime scene and held everyone who had gone into the room. You and Ricco raced upstairs to make certain Ms. Murphy and your sister were okay. Clearly, they weren’t. We have to do everything we can to catch this man.”
“I can tell you Haydon Phillips is a serial killer and he’s been killing for years. Unfortunately, there’s no proof.”
Art’s gaze jumped to Grace’s face. He looked like what he was, a shrewd, intelligent man capable of putting pieces of a puzzle together very fast. “I need to know everything you know.” He directed his statement to Grace, deliberately bypassing Vittorio, who he knew to be immovable. “We have to stop him, Ms. Murphy, and I don’t believe we can do that without your help.”
Vittorio felt tremors running through Grace’s body as she nodded. Her gaze clung almost desperately to his. Now she knew Haydon had killed someone on the second floor of the hospital. Not only had he attacked her, but also Emme, Mariko and their bodyguards. He’d done so in broad daylight. Very gently, Vittorio gathered her closer, shifting her body so he could keep her injured shoulder and arm away from everyone while he positioned himself between her and the detectives. He was the one to remove the mask for her, retaining possession of her hand.
“She’ll need to use the oxygen after five minutes,” Vittorio said. “I’ve texted her doctor to see if that will be problematic. If it is, she’s back on it.” He glanced at his younger sister to make certain she was continuing to use the oxygen.
Emme winked at him but kept her head turned away from the two detectives. She didn’t want to answer questions or talk to them. Both men were waiting for Vittorio to give them the okay to question Grace. Grace actually shifted closer to him. He knew she wasn’t aware of it, but the tremors had increased.
“Someone murdered Ale Sarto, and the policeman guarding him. Sarto was tortured before he was killed. It was very ugly.”
Shadow Warrior Page 8