Hunting for buried treasure suits me just fine, as long as the treasure isn’t my family secret.
***
I arrive back at the store close to rush hour, a cold front whistling wind between the high rises. Hurrying into the building with a shiver, I find Nancy packing up to leave. “I thought I was going to miss you again and Joey has a school event tonight.” With long dark curly hair, she’s a pretty young, twenty-something single mom, always on the run and like me, never dates. She has her schedule and her six-year-old son to think about. I have that reckless note to think about. “I have messages for you and Gio from several customers. Apparently, Gio isn’t returning anyone’s calls.” She sets the messages on the edge of the counter, grabs her bag, and rounds the counter, looking adorable in pleated black slacks paired with a black and white sweater. “I haven’t seen Gio in like two weeks. Is he still not back? That must be some treasure he’s hunting.”
She has no idea. He’s disappeared a few days here and there, but never for weeks. “I’m pretty sure the treasure is a woman,” I tell her.
“Oh. Well, in all of my two years here, that man has always been a player.”
She’s right, he is, but no woman would keep him from contacting me. No hunt would keep him from contacting me.
“Whatever the case,” she adds, “there are a few customers getting upset.”
“I’ll call them. Thank you. And good luck to Joey tonight.”
“Thank you. He’s playing the recorder for the recital. He’s pretty good. I’m hoping he wants to join the band or orchestra. I think it’s character building.”
A topic that is starting to get a little too close to taboo for me, but she’s right. It is. I loved playing the violin as a young girl. I just can’t admit that to anyone, ever. “He’ll be great at whatever he does,” I say instead.
“Thanks, Aria. See you Monday.”
“See you Monday.” I follow her to the door and lock up after her, keying in the alarm.
The minute it’s in place, I rush forward and grab the messages, looking for Sofia, or anyone who might be helpful, but I know all the customers. There’s nothing in those messages that helps. I walk to my small office and set my bag on top of the old wooden desk that takes up almost the entire room. I round the desk and sit down, trying to figure out what to do.
When Mom died, the police were involved, but they knew who killed her. They’d caught it on camera. No one investigated Mom or our family to set off any alerts to the wrong people. Finding a missing person is another story. I set up my MacBook and do some research. The police take a lot of pushing to even help on an adult case such as this one. A PI is a suggested avenue for answers, which I expected.
I’m just going to have to stretch our money and do it. I bring up the bill spreadsheet I keep and decide what to trim and where. I have three thousand I can put down if I skip the mortgage. Another three if I do that again.
I pull up the company bank account just to check my numbers and it’s not good. The figure is half what I’d expected, but now I’m more confused than ever. It’s not all gone. Part of it is gone, which tells me that Gio took it, expecting a payoff big enough to make it up. He left by choice. I’m not sure what to do with that information.
He’s chasing our past, looking for answers, chasing our father’s disappearance, and looking for the formula to create the Stradivarius violin. Clearly, when he told me he’d stopped, he did not and this shouldn’t surprise me. He’s always wanted to find it, to recreate our family legacy.
Did Gio shut me out because of my disapproval and fear? He might have, but for this long?
Not by choice. I don’t believe that for a minute. Not unless he found trouble and he’s trying to shield me until it passes, but there’s no way he’d leave me without that money. He’ll be back before it’s due or he’ll make a deposit to tell me he’s okay.
That’s about two weeks from now. I grab the cookies left over from my encounter with Kace today, and nibble on the delicious treats, comfort food, I welcome as I check the date of the VIP auction. It’s one day before the mortgage is due. That’s too big of a coincidence not to matter. Maybe he’s going to be there. No. If he was on the list, Crystal would have told me, unless of course, he’s using another name. I don’t know how he’d pay for the violin unless he’s found a buyer, which might be Sofia or who knows who else. He’s up to something, I decide, and it’s dangerous enough to believe he might cut me off. And he thought I was too scared to dive into this myself.
Hope fills me. That VIP auction night is the night. If Gio is safe, I’ll know then.
This is going to be the longest two weeks of my life.
CHAPTER TWELVE
I don’t hear from Ed or Alexander on Sunday.
And considering I really have no idea what trouble brews between them and how it affects what I’m doing, I move on to what I hope will be greener pastures. I spend the day calling clients, creating wishlists for each that I can begin working on. Come midnight, the building creaks with the inhuman sounds of settling but there is nothing else but silence. There was a time when I would lay in my bed and feel the cold emptiness of a life in hiding, of a life with few people I trust, and secretly fill that space with music, with the violin in my headphones.
Tonight, there are no headphones.
I lay on my bed with the letter from Sofia on my chest and Kace’s truly stunning version of “Bitter Sweet Symphony” lifting in the air, seducing me to a heavy, drugged near-slumber. Drifting off and away, I land in the not-so-distant past. To a month ago—
Ed Stewart is standing in our store, eager to pick up a bottle of wine Gio had picked up for him in Washington. I hurry into Gio’s office to grab the bottle and our receipt book. The wine is an easy find, as is the documentation validating it that Gio has in a folder marked with Ed’s name. It’s in the safe behind Gio’s desk. The receipt book not so easy. His desk is a mess, but that’s my brother. All about the treasure, not the paperwork. I sit the wine on the desk and open a drawer only to freeze at the photo of a violin. Panic rushes through me and I grab the stack of papers it covers to find obvious research about the known existing Stradivarius violins.
“What are you doing?”
My gaze shoots to the doorway where my brother is now standing, his dark good looks spoiled by the glower on his handsome face.
“What are you doing?” I demand. “We aren’t supposed to go near that world.”
“Said our mother, who was afraid for her children. We’re not children anymore.”
“We’re alive because we listened to her.”
“I’m tired of running. I’m tired of not being able to use the expertise that makes us money.”
“What are you saying?”
“If I can hunt a great violin and get us a payday, I will. If I can claim our family legacy again, then I will. If we have the formula, if we use it and trademark it, then this is over. We’re safe. It’s safe. We can be who we were born to be.”
I round the desk and stand in front of him, chin tilting up to look at him. “Or we can be dead. You can’t hunt the formula. Promise me. I have to go finish up with Ed. Please promise me.”
“I promise you that right now, I’m just doing research, sis.”
“We need to talk about this.”
“And we will, but it’s time to stop hiding in the shadows. It’s time to take what’s ours. It’s time for us to talk about justice for dad. He deserves justice. He deserves more than our fear. Dad wouldn’t want us to hide. That was all mom. I loved her. I miss her, but that’s no way to live.” He pushes off the door and exits back into the hallway.
I gasp and sit up, my fingers curling around my blankets. He didn’t promise anything. His words were a word circle, one I let myself get lost in, one I might have let him get lost in. That was six weeks ago. He’d traveled often in those six weeks and every time I’d tried to talk to him again, he’d cut me off. But he
got what he wanted. I’m not hiding. I’m all over Riptide, asking questions about that violin, pretending I have a bidder, one that I don’t have. He’s right, though. Damn it, I’m tired of hiding. I want a way out of this. I want our lives back. And I want him back. If he’s not at the VIP auction, I need to hire help, which means I need money.
Motivated now, I throw away the blankets, blinking into the sunlight of a new day that I’m only just now recognizing, the sound of Kace’s music still playing on my phone. I crank up the volume. That music is my heritage. I want to be able to crank it up any time I like, which means I do have to fight.
I head to the shower, and I hum that music under a hot stream of water. Later, when my hair is a silky brown and my makeup is done in pale pinks, I dress for a Monday with the hope that Crystal will call—a black skirt, Coach boots, and a black V-neck sweater.
When Nancy arrives at ten, I’m already downstairs in my office making calls, trying to find a new bottle of wine for Ed. She pokes her head in the door. “I’m so sorry. My little one is sick. He apparently started throwing up the minute I left him this morning.”
“No problem. Take off.” And then because I’m worried about her safety, I say. “Take off the rest of the week with pay.”
“Are you sure?”
“I am.”
Her brows pucker. “But—why?”
“Because family matters. Go. Head out. Lock up behind you.”
“Thank you. I—just thank you, Aria, for always being so kind.” She disappears and I hang onto those words “so kind.” I want to be seen as kind, but what else am I? What have I let myself become beyond a shadow of all my hopes and dreams? Hopes and dreams I don’t even remember now.
Shaking off those thoughts, I focus on my goal: money to hire a PI.
I get to work.
Hours later, I have a few leads on bottles Ed might want, but nothing high-dollar enough to achieve the financial support I need. I’m about to start working on another project for a different client when Crystal calls. “Hey, you. I got your security reports back. You are officially all clear. Want to stop by right after closing and pick up your action package?”
“Yes, I’m eager, What time?”
“Six-thirty?” she suggests. “Is that too late?”
“No. Perfect. See you then.”
We disconnect and hope fills me. Riptide is where I need to be, it’s where I’ll find my answers and my brother. I feel it in my bones.
***
It’s a chilly evening with temperatures in the forties when I arrive at Riptide’s door. On this evening, I’m bundled up in a black thrift store Coach trench coat. Apparently, someone had decided Coach was beneath them and thank God for it because this coat was a steal and it’s darn sure not beneath me.
The guard opens the door for me and kindly takes said coat to hang it up. I’ve just handed it off when Crystal, dressed in a black sweater dress, rushes in my direction. “Mark headed to a meeting with Chris for a charity project and he forgot a document that he needs. He’s swinging around to the curb to grab it. Give me five. You know where my office is, right? Or if you like coffee, the breakroom is right by the room we were in for the auction the other night. I just made a fresh pot.”
“I’d love some coffee,” I say, “and feel no pressure. I’m in no rush.”
“Thank you, Aria.” She squeezes my arm and grabs her coat before heading outside.
I walk to the auction area Crystal directed me toward and easily find the breakroom. I’ve just stepped inside when the sound of a few violin notes fills the air. I freeze with the certainty that Kace is here, perhaps lingering from a rehearsal with Chris. He begins to play “Carmina Burana,” which is a famous composition most people have heard but don’t know by name. It’s brilliant, intense, emotional. My father loved it and just hearing it tightens my chest. The connection to my past is too intense to ignore.
I follow the hot and cold notes of a perfectly played violin and enter the auction room to find him standing on stage. Dressed in black jeans, a black T-shirt, boots, and a black beanie, he is every bit his rock star image, but it’s not his physical looks that make him a star. I stand there in the doorway and watch the way his face dances with emotion as he plays, the way his hands control his instrument to match those emotions.
The chairs are gone now, and I can’t help myself. Daringly, I walk to the center of the empty room, smack in the middle, and watch him play, savoring the dramatic way he drives every note, the expression on his handsome face that says he feels every note. And I feel them with him. I feel them right down to my very soul where the violin still lives, where my father still lives, where my mother now lives with him. My lashes lower and I can see myself standing in his shop back in Italy, laughing as he blasted this song and pretended to play it on an invisible violin. My mother is there, too, and it’s her he plays for, her he dances around for. Her he kisses, when he lowers that imaginary instrument.
The song ends in a swell of emotion for me and I struggle to regain my composure. Slowly, my lashes lift and to my shock, Kace is standing in front of me. I blink into his intense, probing stare, stunned at how close he is to me, a sway from our bodies aligning. “What does it mean to you?” he asks.
“You are so very gifted, Kace. The way you feel every note is mesmerizing and contagious.”
He reaches up and strokes the dampness from my cheeks, and that song, his song, is a sultry, alluring drug I can’t begin to explain. I’m weak for this man and the memories his song has stirred. “This isn’t about me,” he says. “It’s about you. About what the sound of a violin means to you.”
He’s both right and wrong. He’s a messenger, the gifted artist that returned me to the past, to my father, to the father we as a family deserted, and in that, this is about him. It’s also about me and my decisions. Gio was right. Our father, our family, deserves more than our fear.
“Aria,” Kace prods softly.
I refocus on him, on this moment, not the many that have passed me by, moments that perhaps I should never have let pass me by. “You took me on a journey, Kace. It was a journey I needed to take. So thank you. I can’t be the first to say that to you.”
“And yet yours is the only one I want to understand.”
“Why? Mine is just another story.”
“No,” he replies. “It’s not that simple.”
I could read into that statement and see an enemy, see the danger, and before today, I would have. I’m exhausted by the fight or flight reaction that is my every moment. My every moment before this moment. Right here, right now, standing with Kace, I refuse to create feelings he doesn’t stir in me naturally.
But he knows I know music. He knows my powerful connection to the violin. I feel that shared joy swell between us. And in music, the connection I have felt to this man from the moment we met is too present to ignore—the air thickens with it, pulses with it, the pull between us heavy and hard. I can almost feel us leaning into each other without ever moving. But then footsteps sound, high heels clacking on tile, and the moment is gone. I take a step back, but Kace does not.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Kace and I stand there staring at each other, a pulse, much like a drawn-out musical note holding us there, almost spellbound.
“Aria?”
At Crystal’s voice, I turn to face her. “Hi,” I say, trying not to sound breathless, but I’m pretty sure I fail. “Ready?” I ask.
“I am.” She glances between me and Kace, a curious look on her heart-shaped face. “Are you?”
“Yes. Of course,” I say, but Kace hasn’t moved and I can feel the pull of his presence that I cannot ignore.
Aware of Crystal watching us, of her interest in whatever this is between us, I still dare to glance back at him, to meet his deep blue stare, which—Lord help me—sends a rush of heat low in my belly. “Thank you for allowing me to enjoy your music.”
His lips part slightl
y as if he might say something, but instead he gives a tiny bow of his head, which effectively blocks his expression. I want to see his expression, to read him, to understand what is happening between me and this man, but it’s too late. He’s already turned away, walking toward the stage, his broad shoulders squared.
Disappointed, I turn away too and close the space between me and Crystal. She backs up to allow me to exit with her into the hallway, where we fall into step together. “Okay, wow. The air literally crackled between you two. What was that?”
Her reaction confirms that I’m not losing my mind. There is something going on between me and Kace. Or I think there is. As with every encounter with that man, I’m walking away with no idea if I will ever see him again.
“Aria?” she prods.
“I heard him playing and the song took me on a walk down memory lane, something old and familiar. I couldn’t resist going to watch him perform.” I give an awkward laugh. “His rendition made me cry. He’s just so good, you know?”
“I do know,” she says, “but that, whatever that was, that I just walked in on—well, that was interesting.” She spares me a proper reply I don’t have, pausing at her office door. “Kace and I are meeting Chris, his wife Sara, and Mark for drinks at the bar next door in about an hour. Why don’t you and I head over there and go over the paperwork and just chat?”
“I’d like that,” I say, and the idea that I will soon encounter Kace again is a bit too thrilling for my own good. He’s too close to my world and my family history for comfort, but when I’m with him, I don’t seem to care.
***
Fifteen minutes later, I’m sitting across from Crystal in a dimly lit, cozy little spot, with what seems like hundreds of dangling red bulbs hanging from the ceiling, and cushy red booths for seating. “They have the best s’mores martinis,” Crystal announces. “You have to try one.”
I hold up a hand. “I’m not a good drinker. I’ll embarrass myself. Who knows what I’ll say with a martini down me.”
A Reckless Note Page 6
