Kirin looked down at the mongrel book in her hands, “Why would anybody ask about this book?” Janet pulled Kirin in for one last tight hug.
“Read it.” She whispered plainly in Kirin’s ear, then turned and walked through another mahogany door, shutting it behind her with a click.
What the hell? Standing there, mouth open and dumbfounded, she tried to soak it all in. What brand of crazy was this woman? And who in the world would ask about this stupid book? And why did they have to get married so secretly they couldn’t even send a damn note to his daughter?
Alone in his office, she looked around. Not one personal item of her father’s. And not a picture of her anywhere. What a fool. Kirin clamped her eyes shut. No bullshit tears, not for him. The trip was a huge mistake and it ripped open the never-ending scab once again. She pinched the bridge of her nose, considered throwing the book back on the desk and leaving, but as she stared at it, the realization hit, the damn book was all she had left of her family.
Home. Adrenaline kicked in along with a fierce need to hold her boys. She wasn’t anything like her father. She’d never leave them, no matter what the excuse.
Kirin shoved the ragged book inside her purse, grabbed her bag, and ran back through the still open door and onto the elevator. Down thirteen floors, away from the memories, she hit her Uber app and waited with her head swiveling side to side.
One hand fiddled nervously with the zipper on her purse. Back and forth. The sound alone soothed her mind. Stupid trip, stupid book, and stupid hope that somehow this experience might change anything she knew about her father.
A few feet away, a crowd of people gathered at the corner waiting for the light to change. When it did, the crowd all moved together except one man. He stood on the sidewalk and surveyed her. The afternoon sun glared in her eyes and cast a shadow over his face. His stance told her it wasn’t a coincidence.
Her ten-minute timer’s shrill alarm made her bobble and catch her phone. When she glanced back toward where the man had stood, he’d vanished.
A chill ran down her spine.
One thing was clear, someone had followed her.
Chapter Four
Saul Calamia strutted from his blacked-out limousine toward the glass doors of the state-of-the-art hospice center. He cut a look toward his new driver. The kid didn’t open the door fast enough, and he had to stop. The boy stared at his shoes as Saul passed.
The pungent smell, even inside the most expensive nursing home in all the South, made him ill. God, how he’d tried to move his mother to a nicer one in L.A.. One where he wouldn’t have to get on a plane to visit every week. But she wouldn’t hear of it.
Rounding the corner toward her room, his phone buzzed.
“Calamia here,” he barked.
“Mr. Calamia, Joe Johnson returning your call.” Exasperation laced the man’s voice.
Smug bastard. The head of the University of Tennessee never answered when Saul called. Every week, the same conversation. And every week the same answer. This week the man’s mind would be changed. Or else.
“Mr. Johnson, I take it you received my last offer?”
“I did.” Mr. Johnson took a deep breath. “Mr. Calamia, as I’ve stated before we cannot sell the Eugenia Williams’s estate. It was left with strict instructions to be used only by the University.”
Saul stopped short, making his bodyguard sidestep around him.
“Mr. Johnson, my last offer of eight million is more than generous for that crumbling manor. It will need millions more to restore it.”
As Mr. Johnson droned on about the University’s position, a young boy pushing an elderly woman down the hall in her wheelchair gave him an idea.
“Mr. Johnson,” Saul interrupted, “My mother, sir, has terminal cancer. She hopes to see this property restored to its heyday before she dies. Now I have crews standing by, ready to start construction. Think of what the university could do with eight million dollars. Did you get the envelope I sent over? That’s for you, personally.”
Mr. Johnson cleared his throat. “Mr. Calamia, I did receive it, along with a warning from the man who handed it to me. I don’t take kindly to bullies. And there’s no need to pay me. I’ve told you I’ll bring it up at the next board meeting in a week. Understand, their vote is final.”
Damn Nicky. He should have sent the pimply faced kid who couldn’t intimidate a fly.
Saul walked slow and spoke through gritted teeth, “My brother has an odd way of speaking sir, but he means no harm. The money is for your time. I’ll expect a call by Friday.”
Saul hung up then texted his attorney, Matthew, to contact the board members and sway them. If they couldn’t be bought, maybe he’d send Nicky their way too.
The moment he stepped into his mother’s room, he transformed. Gone were the pressures of adulthood and the ugliness and death of the business his father forced on him. It was only him and her, and in her eyes he was her hero and still twelve, not sixty.
“Cuore mio!” his mother said in a tiny Italian voice, “Come close, Sauly. I want to speak to you.”
Lately, she’d struggled with flashbacks of life when Saul and Nicky were boys. She blurted out in a loud whisper, “I think your father is kidnapping girls. And maybe...he’s a killer.”
Saul’s face remained unchanged, but his eyes widened. She didn’t seem to notice. “Mama, why would you say that?”
“A woman knows. I’ve got to run to the store. Watch little Nicky and don’t let him torture the cats anymore, okay? Be a good boy. Keep your dream, passeroto. From now on, I don’t want you going anywhere alone with father.”
Saul nodded and glanced at his hands. His father had been dead for years, but truth be told, if cancer hadn’t gotten the bastard first, Nicky would’ve. He’d pressed both boys into service. Nicky had loved the business. Getting paid to “help” young, attractive Mexican girls into the US legally, then selling them to the highest bidder. Double paid. Saul had never wanted any part of it. But he had to admit, the money and the power had made him the man he was today.
She’d mentioned his dream again. Every week lately, she’d spoken of it. He was to be a pilot. Respectable. A white-picket-fence kind of man with plenty of kids and the love of his life beside him. It’d all died when she did. Stupid to think about it now. Who fell in love at nineteen? Nobody. The career he never wanted gave him respect and fortune, two things a silly emotion like love couldn’t buy.
When he looked back at mother, she was asleep. It was excessive even for him to fly six hours for a three-minute conversation with her. When his phone buzzed, he read the incoming text twice, then dialed the number and took it in the hallway.
“Matthew? What the hell was that text about? Why can’t I get into my accounts and get my money?” He growled, low and menacing.
His face turned hot as rage raced through him. After a beat, he spoke, “Oh, he did, did he?” Saul yelled and paced like a caged lion. Sweat beaded at his hairline. “Well, too bad Sonny’s already dead. I might have liked to witness that go down. So, what the hell do we do now, Matthew? Codes? What codes? I don’t have any codes. How could Sonny have hidden my money from me without someone knowing it?”
He stopped pacing and lowered his voice. “His daughter? No, he didn’t speak to her at all. Why would she have anything to do with this? All bullshit, Matthew. The existence of the book was a rumor, nothing more.”
A nurse walked by giving him the stink eye. He spun toward the wall and spoke low, “Well if my codes are in that damn book and she has it, you can bet your sweet ass we’ll get it back. And Matthew, if you’d like a paycheck this week, you’d better find out how to get my fucking money.”
Saul slammed the end button on his phone and stomped back into his mother’s room.
She sat up, staring at him. No doubt she heard every word. A sad look crossed her face.
“Any luck on getting my house?”
How the hell was he going to cough up eight million, when
he didn’t have access to his money?
“We’re close, mama, real close.”
“You know my father was a friend of Mr. Williams. Eugenia was my age but was too snobby to speak to me. My childhood dream was to live in that mansion. I begged my father to buy it before he died. Eugenia left it to the University out of spite. I want to die there, you know, Sauly. And it won’t be long.”
“I’ll get it for you, mama, I promise.” He kissed her on the head, grabbed his jacket and walked down the hall, muttering to himself, “No matter what it takes.”
Chapter Five
Boarding the shiny 747, Kirin found her seat. Her body melded into the uncomfortable chair. She prayed nobody sat next to her. She needed to stretch out and sleep. Something she hadn’t managed in days.
As the other passengers filed in, she clutched her purse with the book inside, hyperaware of everyone around her. Damn that crazy Janet. She’d spooked her and made Kirin suspicious of everyone boarding the plane.
The airliner doors closed, and no more passengers filed in. She took over the seat next to her. After takeoff she stretched her legs out. With her purse tucked close to her chest and her eyes squeezed shut, she tried to stop the questions racing through her mind. She needed sleep. Ordering her exhausted mind to shut down, she drifted off.
~*~
Concord Park was a lush, wooded forest filled with winding hiking trails, busy tennis courts, dirt baseball fields, and a bustling lake. She and Jack took the boys to play there every weekend until he’d been too sick to go.
Their favorite spot was down a winding gravel road leading to an open grassy area with picnic tables and a small playground.
Below the playground, a small marina sat with a quaint, little country restaurant inside. They served Southern-comfort food like pinto beans and cornbread, gravy and biscuits, fried chicken and meatloaf with macaroni and cheese.
They’d celebrated her graduation from nursing school there, right before she’d agreed to marry him.
The restaurant had floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the glimmering lake. It gave a panoramic view of the boats coming in from their long day of playing on the water. The sun sank slowly, dipping into the water and casting long shadows across the grass.
Kirin sat atop one of the picnic tables overlooking the lake. Will and Little Jack played on the slide. Turning, she smiled. Jack sat next to her. His curly mop, in need of a haircut as always, hung down on his forehead. Their shoulders touched as he sported his easy-going smile. His long legs stretched out past hers and the wind caught in his curls when he spoke.
“Love,” he whispered, “it’s time to let go.”
“Can’t,” she said, “I still miss you.”
He wrapped long, muscular arms around her and for a moment she swore she could feel them. His sparkling green eyes, the same color as Little Jack’s pleaded with her.
“You need to be happy, our boys need to see you living life again.”
He kissed her forehead, hopped down off the top of the picnic table, and jogged down the hill to play with the boys. The sun had all but set and as Jack lifted them into the air one by one, their giggles rippled on the wind toward her. She smiled, feeling at peace.
She didn’t want to wake. Her stomach nudged her when the flight attendant asked the row ahead of her if they wanted food.
Food. Kirin pushed herself to sit tall. It was late in the flight and the stupid-expensive crackers and water she’d eaten in the airport left her with a rumbling stomach.
“Ma’am, would you care for a drink and a snack?”
“Yes, please. Could I have tomato juice and pretzels?”
“Sure thing, sweetie.”
While asleep, her purse with the book inside, had slid on to the floor. She snatched it up like it had gold bars inside. She glanced around, feeling paranoid and silly, then flung it into the empty seat next to her. She practically inhaled the drink and snack. Weird dream, yet somehow comforting. Most likely it meant she’d lost her mind. She’d pick it apart later. Or the better option, ignore it completely.
Kirin finished her snack, threw away the garbage and checked her phone for messages. Two unread texts came through before boarding the plane. One came from Rosa saying she and the boys were busy making a cake to celebrate her return.
The second text read, “Private Number.”
Give back the book and no harm will come to your boys.
She read it three times.
Blonde hairs on her arms stood at attention. She felt exposed as if all eyes stared at her and vulnerable, as if she rode a roller coaster unharnessed. She laid the phone in her lap and crossed her arms protectively. Eyes darted from passenger to passenger as if someone on the plane sent it. Her hands trembled. Fear turned to rage.
She pressed the bridge of her nose. A headache along with a protective, mental list began to grow; 1. Arm the security on the house every day, 2. Bring one of Jack’s guns up from the safe room and hide it in the kitchen, and 3. Call Will’s school and remind them she, Rosa, Aunt Kathy, and Uncle Dean were the only people authorized to pick him up.
Her mind spun out of control. How did they get her number? She’d take it to the police. Surely, they could figure this out.
Locking her phone, she slid it inside her bag. She couldn’t get answers until they landed anyway. If she let it, her mind would run wild and she’d be a paranoid mess by the time they landed.
Jaw locked tight, she glared out the window at the blanket of soft clouds below. Her eyes darted to her purse holding the book. She needed to dig into it. Now. Damn her father. Why would he put this burden on her when he had to know it’d lead to trouble?
Kirin grabbed the sweater she’d brought in case the plane was chilly and draped it over her chest. Glancing around to ensure nobody saw, she took out the book and placed it on her lap, the sweater covering half of the book. Kirin looked at the passengers in front of her, then back down to the book. She opened the cover slow as if a rabbit could jump out.
A woman, a row over sneezed and she froze.
Good gravy get a grip, Kirin.
Folding over the first few yellowed pages, nothing seemed out of the ordinary. Her mind drifted to the safe room as she turned the pages. For the first time since they built the house it gave her a sense of security.
Her gaze fell toward the book she was only beginning to loathe. Maybe she’d leave it down there too.
A few rows back, a passenger dropped a large hardback novel on the aisle floor. Even with the engine noise, the loud crack caused passengers to turn, disturbed from their quiet conversations or sleep.
She gripped tight to the book and turned. An elderly, white-bearded man shook his head, then leaned over and winced as he retrieved his book. As he bent, she caught a quick look at the man directly behind him.
Eyes locked.
And for a long few seconds, she couldn’t look away. As the plane banked to the left to begin its final descent, he turned his head to look out the window, cutting his glaring eyes away from her at the last second.
As the sunlight skittered across his face, a sparkling scar running down his right cheek confirmed her suspicions.
Leaving no doubt who sent the threatening text.
Chapter Six
Turning slow toward the front of the plane, Kirin shoved the book in her purse and zipped it securely. She wrapped the strap tight around her arm twice and stared straight ahead. As the flight touched down and came to a halt at McGhee Tyson, the passengers rose to gather their belongings.
She stood with knees wobbling, and tied her sweater around her waist, then secured her crossbody purse tight. Her eyes darted and searched but found nothing. He had to be there. She hadn’t dreamt it. Back and forth through the throngs of passengers, she examined each row. He’d somehow vanished. She waited for her turn to exit the plane.
Shaking, she ambled toward the front of the plane and onto the narrow, uphill jetway leading the passengers toward the airport.
> People bottlenecked behind an old woman using a walker. Passengers grumbled behind her. She glanced ahead over the top of the woman’s white tuft of hair. Nothing.
A soft alarm rang out. A blue-suited airport worker raised a narrow garage door and passengers grabbed rolling packs off a cart.
All the bags looked similar, black, overstuffed rectangles, each with four dirty wheels. Hers had a pink, polka-dotted ribbon tied to the handle. Easy to spot.
Kirin grabbed hers, lifted the handle and locked it. Glancing back down the jetway, two wrinkled-suited men exited the plane below. Her stomach took a nosedive.
One of the suited men towered over the crowd. He had to be over six feet tall, yet baby-faced with fawn colored stubble. He was the larger of the two men, but not nearly as intimidating as the shorter man. Dumpy, heavy set with salt and pepper hair, the second man’s hollow eyes showed zero emotion, only determination. She stopped at the top and squinted down the jetway toward the plane, trying to get a better look.
Yep. A visible scar on the right side of his face.
Neither man carried bags. They strolled around the slower moving passengers, heading right for her. Their eyes all the while focused on their target.
She darted around the woman with the walker. Swiftly, down the wide, glossy airport hallway she scurried toward the exit and security, as fast as her hazardous heels could take her.
Both feet ached. She maneuvered around slower moving passengers saying, “Excuse me” as she darted in and out of foot traffic like a Frogger game. The look of sheer hatred on the scarred one’s face when she glanced back, told her she hadn’t imagined it.
He wore a permanent, pissed off frown. The baby-faced man looked apologetic. Both men speed walked and were gaining on her.
Kirin used her free hand to gather her skirt. She sped to a jog. Her head swiveled from side to side. No place to hide. Her only choices were the bathroom—where she’d be trapped, a Starbucks kiosk and the tiny store with only a handful of shelves.
Entangling: Book One of the Kirin Lane Series Page 5
