“What? That’s stupid. We were over a long time ago. I’m just a friend trying to help her figure some stuff out.”
“Okay, if you say so.”
“It’s true,” he said, knowing that his protestations would make him sound as though he had something to hide. “I want her to be happy.”
“I’m guessing you also want her to think like you do, right? And believe in the same things?”
“Well, sorta,” he said. “I can see where she’s going wrong, and I think I can help her.”
Garth shook his head, a hint of a smile on his face. “See, that’s what I’m talking about, man,” he said. “Smug.”
Zeke stared down at his shoes, replaying the conversations he’d had with Goldie over these last few days, remembering her accusation that he sat on a high horse. Had he shut her down without realizing? Had he judged her as a screwup and assumed he knew all the answers? Garth’s insight was enlightening.
He placed a hand on his colleague’s shoulder. “If someone wanted to stop behaving like a smug idiot, how would you suggest he goes about it?” He smiled sheepishly. “I’m asking for a friend.”
Garth laughed. “I’d advise your friend not to criticize or get mad when she’s trying to explain how she feels. Try to see things from her point of view. She’s got a tough exterior but it’s clearly an act. Inside she’s scared and hurting and all she really wants is for someone to hold her and tell her everything will be fine. People in pain will lash out because they don’t know how to ask for affection.”
This made perfect sense. Goldie had lashed out numerous times since they’d reconnected, but Zeke had naturally assumed it was because she was angry with him. Could she really just be desperately waiting for him to hug her and hold her tight?
“How do you know this kind of stuff?” he asked. “You sound like quite an expert.”
“The Bureau sent me on a psychology course a few years back,” Garth replied. “It taught me a lot about the human condition. We only need food and water to survive, but we need love to thrive. People can eventually die without love.”
“I don’t doubt it,” Zeke said, wondering who filled this particular hole in Goldie’s life. He had a family who made a fuss over him, bought him thoughtful gifts and sent sweet messages inside birthday cards. But he also had access to a greater source of love than even his family. He had God, and he wanted Goldie to feel His presence in her life too.
“If you really want what’s best for Goldie,” Garth said, “let her walk at her own pace.”
Zeke took the words to heart. “I had no clue you were such a fount of wisdom,” he said with admiration.
Garth nodded a greeting as a woman in a red dress walked past, smiling coyly at them. “Yeah, the ladies assume I’m nothing but beefcake, but these waters run deep.”
Zeke burst into laughter while Garth remained deadpan, playing up the serious side of his character.
“Thanks for the advice,” Zeke said, using his thumbs to wipe moisture from beneath his eyes. “It helped a lot.”
“That’s good. I’m glad to be of assistance.”
The door behind them opened and Willy walked into the corridor, closely followed by Mrs. Volto, whose mascara was streaked beneath her eyes. Willy stopped and waited for his client to reach his side, whereupon he slid his arm around her shoulder protectively.
“Our recess is almost at an end.” The case judge came striding along the corridor, his robe swishing through the air. “Mr. Murphy, is Mrs. Volto ready to reconvene?”
Willy gave a swift nod. “We’re ready, Judge Barton.”
The judge clapped his hands and rubbed them together. “Excellent.” Turning to Zeke, he said, “Agent Miller, would you like to lead the way?”
“Yes, sir.”
The judge smiled. “Let’s get this session wrapped up as soon as possible. It’s the hottest day of the year out there, and I have a pool waiting for me at home.”
Zeke’s chest gave an involuntary flutter as he started off down the corridor. With no air-conditioning in Mrs. Volto’s house and all the windows closed, the pool must seem incredibly inviting. But Goldie was smarter than that. She may be reckless but leaving the safety of the house in broad daylight was a step too far, even for her.
Wasn’t it?
* * *
Goldie paced in the kitchen, pressing the cloth to her nape and shoulders, groaning in the heat. The officers were performing a routine patrol, walking the outside perimeter, leaving her locked inside. She felt sorry for them, forced out into the searing heat, wearing full uniform. At least she could wear shorts and a tank top.
She teased aside the blind, taking another look at the pool in the hope that its shimmering coolness might just be enough to drop her body temperature a little.
In the next moment, she leaped back from the window, a hand flying to her mouth. In the pool was a person, facedown on the surface, wearing what looked like a police uniform, a peaked cap floating nearby.
“No!” she shouted, reaching for her cell phone on the counter. “This can’t be happening.”
She rushed as quickly as she could to the patio door, limping on her painful ankle while frantically searching for Karl’s number in her contacts.
“Karl!” she yelled when he answered. “Get an ambulance here now. One of the officers is drowning.”
“What? Who? How?”
She unlocked the door and opened it wide, the heat of the day hitting her like a sauna. “I don’t know who or how, but I have to go drag him out.”
The reply was swift and loud. “No! His colleague can help him. You have to stay inside.”
But she was already running out onto the baking tiles, flitting in bare feet, ignoring the discomfort in her injured foot.
“There’s nobody else around,” she said, sweat beads already snaking down her brow. “Only I can help him right now.”
“Goldie.” Karl was speaking slowly and deliberately. “I’m ordering you to remain inside. Help is on the way.”
As she neared the pool, she could see the man more clearly, definitely wearing the jacket of a police officer.
“He’s drowning, sir. And I won’t stand by and watch it happen.”
She tossed the cell aside, raced toward the water and used her good foot to launch herself into the pool. She dived headfirst, the coolness of the water folding around her, exquisite on her skin.
Yet there was no time to enjoy the sensation because the floating man needed her help. She reached out to take hold of him, grabbing his jacket and yanking it toward her. The figure was light and easily moved as it rolled over in the water. That’s when she realized that the form was simply a torso. No arms, no legs, no head.
“What is this?” she said to herself in confusion, pulling at the jacket, tugging it open to reveal a smooth fabric interior. “Is this a dummy?”
She gasped in horror, acknowledging she had been duped. This wasn’t a police officer. It was a dressmaker’s dummy.
“Oh no.” She scrambled for the side. “I gotta get out of here.”
The first bullet slammed into the dummy, splitting the chest wide open to allow the foam innards to spill out. Goldie now had no time to reach the side. She had to go under.
“Stay out of sight,” she yelled to the officers, as she saw them run along the path that led from the front of the house. “There’s a sniper.”
Taking a huge gulp of air, she dived to the bottom of the pool, where she sat cross-legged on the tiles, her mind racing with possibilities, trying to come up with an escape strategy. There had to be a way out of this. There had to be.
But multiple streaks were entering the water, creating what looked like small airplane vapor trails. They traveled around four or five feet into the water before slowing to a halt. Then she saw the bullets slowly drift and sink, before hearing them make a
distinct and chilling clink on the fiberglass bottom.
Her chest tight, she desperately wanted to inhale, but clamped a hand across her mouth and concentrated on staying alert. The bullets continued to snake through the water, tiny missiles seeking her out, but their penetration was limited to around five feet. If she remained deeper than that, she would be safe. Squeezing her eyes shut, she silently spoke to God.
Please, she begged. I know I don’t deserve Your mercy, but don’t let my life end this way.
She sat dead still, opening her eyes to watch the bullets enter the pool, high speed at first, their energy being slowly absorbed by the density of the water. In any other setting, the scene might even be described as beautiful, the tiny pockets of air dancing and popping before her. Yet these mesmerizing trails were deadly, just one of them able to rip her flesh apart.
Bright stars swirled before her eyes. She needed to breathe. The constriction in her chest was agonizing, and her entire body cried out for air. She had to take a chance. Making her way to the surface, she reached up with her hands, ready to break through, but a pain in her bicep threw her off guard and off trajectory. Rolling in the water, she was aware of thin ribbons of blood twirling around her. A bullet had grazed her skin, creating an angry red laceration.
Her head was growing dizzier by the second, making her limbs heavy and her vision blurred. As Zeke’s face settled in her mind, she became aware that she was falling, cushioned by the water, descending to a watery grave.
SEVEN
Zeke watched Mrs. Volto answer questions on the stand, a tissue in one hand and a glass of water in the other. Occasionally, she would pause for breath or to take a sip of water before continuing her testimony. Zeke had to admit that she was an incredibly convincing and sympathetic witness, the straining fabric across her baby bump lending her a distinct vulnerability. She had also been careful to wear little makeup and style her hair modestly, lest the jurors judge her as a privileged and extravagant wife of a gangster. Willy had advised his client with a shrewd and clever eye for detail, and he had a front row seat to watch the action unfold, as the two opposing counsels slugged it out in the courtroom.
“Is it true, Mrs. Volto,” the prosecutor said, walking toward the stand, “that you were placed under immense pressure by your husband to keep his crimes secret from the authorities?”
She dabbed the tissue on her nose and sniffed. “Yes.”
“Did Mr. Volto ever use violence against you to ensure your compliance?”
“Yes.”
“Can you elaborate, please?” The prosecutor touched the wooden surround of the witness box. “I understand that this subject is a painful business, but please try to tell us in your own words exactly what forms of abuse you suffered at the hands of Leonardo Volto.”
From his position standing at the side of the court, Zeke glanced at Mr. Volto, whose face was scarlet with apparent fury, fists clenched on the table in front of him. His lawyer leaned across and whispered in his ear, most likely warning his client against showing any form of aggression. It was not a good look to a jury.
“Leonardo would often slap me or pull my hair or punch my stomach.” She placed a hand on her bump and rubbed. “That’s why I have to do everything possible to save this little one from being hurt. Leo said that if I ever betrayed him, he would cut me into a thousand pieces and mail them to my father, even while I’m carrying his child.”
Audible gasps could be heard around the room, this revelation shocking even the hardiest of courtroom personnel. But Zeke was more surprised than most, because Mrs. Volto had steadfastly maintained that her husband would never hurt their baby. She had either lied previously or she was lying now.
“Thank you, Mrs. Volto,” the prosecutor said, retaking his seat, deciding to end on this bombshell. “I have no further questions.”
Mr. Volto’s defense attorney leaped to his feet. “Mrs. Volto,” he began, making his way out from behind the counsel table. “I’m a little confused.”
Mrs. Volto raised her eyebrows. “That can happen sometimes as we get older.”
Laughter fluttered through the court and the attorney smiled defensively, waiting for the snickering to die away.
“Mr. Volto has wanted to become a father for a good many years, and his dream has finally come true.” He gestured toward his client. “Now why on earth would Mr. Volto want to cut you into a thousand pieces if it would harm his precious baby?”
Mrs. Volto said nothing.
“He is either an abusive and wicked man, or he is a doting father,” the attorney said. “Which is it?”
“He is an abuser,” she said defiantly.
The defense counsel returned to his desk to read some notes, taking his time.
“I don’t think your baby is in any danger at all, Mrs. Volto,” he said dramatically. “I think your main concern is finding a way to hold on to the money that your successful husband has amassed through his business dealings, not to mention the mansion with its gated drive and private pool.”
At the mention of the pool, Zeke was reminded of his earlier fear about how far Goldie was prepared to go in order to escape the unbearable heat, and he steadied himself against the wall, a sudden and unwelcome sense of dread sinking into his belly. Danger seemed to be closing around him, and his body automatically went on high alert, scanning the room for signs of threat. He found none. This threat clearly wasn’t in his vicinity.
“I need my house and money to enable me to provide for my child,” Mrs. Volto said, wiping her streaky eyes. “I’m doing this for my baby.”
The attorney smiled slyly. “Oh, please spare us the false emotion, Mrs. Volto. You turned on your husband because of your own selfish greed. And if you’re prepared to lie in court about my client’s alleged abusive behavior, what else are you lying about?”
Zeke didn’t hear the answer because he suddenly became preoccupied with Goldie’s safety. He knew that she was hotheaded and stubborn. What if she had ignored his advice about remaining inside? What if the dire heat had forced her to seek respite in the pool? But she wouldn’t do that, would she?
Yes, she would.
Signaling a comfort break to Garth, who was overseeing proceedings on the opposite side of the courtroom, Zeke pulled out his cell phone and rushed into the corridor.
His heart was telling him that Goldie needed an answer to a prayer.
* * *
Goldie felt herself being tugged and jolted, her body as limp as a rag doll. She was on the verge of opening her mouth and inhaling water, but someone was pulling her toward the surface, holding her face upward, telling her to breathe.
She coughed and spluttered, urgently gasping for lifesaving air, while Officer Moss guided her to the edge of the pool. With a huge groan, he pushed her onto the warm tiles, where she lay like a wet fish, exhausted, in the shadow of a black wall on wheels.
She pointed at it. “What is this?”
“It’s a portable ballistic shield, and it’s entirely bulletproof,” Officer Moss said, hauling himself out of the water to crouch next to her. “I got it from the panic room.”
“How did you know it was there?”
“I got a call from Agent Miller while I panicked about how I could get out here and help you. I explained that you were trapped in the pool, and he told me exactly what to do.” He raised his eyes skyward. “It’s a good thing he called, because that sniper isn’t going away any time soon and the backup officers can’t get into the yard without coming under attack.”
As if to prove his point, bullets pinged off the black metal, and Goldie shifted herself closer to the safety of the panel, which was just wide enough to cover them both. She waited for a lull in the fire before speaking again.
“Where’s Diaz?”
“He put on a bulletproof vest and jumped the barbed wire fence to go look for the shooter. I hope he’s okay.
I told him not to go, but he said he wanted to take him down before you got hurt.”
Goldie checked her wound, saw blood mingling with the water on her skin to trickle down her arm and onto her hand. Despite the intense heat, her body was shivering, and she desperately wanted Zeke there with her. His safe arms were suddenly all she could think of.
“Let’s go.” Officer Moss stood in a hunched posture and positioned himself flat against the panel, holding on to a handle in the center. “All we need to do is stay behind this shield while we wheel it back to the house. Slow and steady. Can you do that? Is your ankle strong enough?”
Still with Zeke’s face in her mind, Goldie forced her shaking legs to stand. She had found some inner strength.
“Right at this moment,” she said, “I can do anything.”
* * *
Zeke rushed into the house, calling Goldie’s name. Since his phone call with Officer Moss earlier that day, he had been unable to think of anyone other than her. Karl had updated him on the situation during a court break, letting him know that Goldie was safe, but the hours had dragged into infinity, right up until the moment the jury retired for the day.
“I’m here, I’m fine.” Goldie was standing at the top of the stairs, wearing shorts and a T-shirt, a white bandage wound around her arm. “I just got a little graze from a bullet.”
Karl appeared in the hallway, cheeks flushed with either stress or heat. Or both.
“The central air unit has been tampered with,” he said. “A technician is outside right now, working on the broken unit.”
“Who did it?” Zeke asked. “And why?”
“I can only assume that the intention was to force Goldie outside to escape the heat inside,” he replied. “And when that didn’t work, a tailor’s dummy from the garage was thrown into the pool wearing a police jacket to make it appear as though one of the officers was facedown in the water.”
“How could somebody get hold of a police uniform?”
Hunted by the Mob Page 11
