by Cara Summers
“You’ve fallen in love with him.”
Cilla’s stomach dropped as hard and fast as a rock, and panic spewed up to fill the space left behind. “No. Maybe. We haven’t known each other long enough. I like him, of course. But I keep telling myself we’re just having a…thing. It’s just a chemistry thing.”
And she was babbling.
“Uh-huh.”
“He’s… We’re…all wrong.” But the more she spoke, the greater the panic became.
“That’s a sure sign,” Nicola said. “That ‘all wrong’ thing. When I ran into Gabe a few months ago, I thought he was an art thief just like his father. I wanted to arrest him.”
“But you didn’t.”
Nicola grinned at her. “It was a chemistry thing. I decided to jump him instead, and it turned out to be a much better choice. We’re getting married in February on Valentine’s Day.”
Married.
No, she thought. There was no fairy-tale ending for her. She didn’t believe in them. That had always been the dream her mother had chased so unsuccessfully. She opened her mouth to say so, and then shut it as Father Mike Flynn started up the stairs toward them. When he reached them, Nicola leaned in to kiss his cheek. “Father Mike, will you keep Cilla company for a minute? I’m going to run down and get us a plate of food.”
As soon as Nicola was out of earshot, Cilla said, “I hope you’re saying a lot of prayers.”
He reached out and took her hand in both of his. “I’m sure you’ve said quite a few yourself.”
“Yes, but sometimes God doesn’t answer them the way you’d like him to. My aunt Nancy, who was a nun, always said that sometimes, God just says no. But I understand the statue of St. Francis has some pull. You wouldn’t happen to have a direct line to it, would you?”
Father Mike smiled. “I mentioned the situation to him before Gabe picked me up this morning.”
Glancing down, Cilla saw Stan and Glenda Rubin enter the club. They had an entourage with them that included Dean Norris as well as Glenda’s sister and brother-in-law. When he reached Jonah in the reception line, Stan pulled him into a hug and Jonah returned it. The gesture had her thinking of Jonah’s father again.
She turned to Father Mike. “Did Jonah mention to you that he’s trying to track down his father?”
Surprise flickered over the priest’s face. “No.”
“It wasn’t his idea. I nagged him into it. When you’re working on a case like this, you have to pull on every thread, and you have to look at everyone who might have a motivation. Family always pops to the top of the list.”
“Of course,” Father Mike said.
“Knowing what we do now, I think it’s highly unlikely that his father is involved. Jonah hasn’t been able to find any trace of him, not even a death certificate. But he believes that the life Darrell Stone lived in Denver may have been based on an identity he created solely for the purpose of living with his family—for whatever reason. I think he’ll keep looking.”
“I’ve never known Jonah to give up once he sets his mind to something.” Father Mike gave her hands one final squeeze before he released them. “I can see you care a great deal about him. What I can tell you is that the first part of Jonah’s prayer to St. Francis on that long-ago Christmas Eve will be answered.”
He turned then and surveyed the partygoers below them. “If Jonah’s father hadn’t failed to return to his family, Jonah might not be doing the kind of work that he’s doing for boys and girls in Denver and here. When the St. Francis Center for Boys had to close down, he was the one who convinced Gabe and Nash to open a new one to include both boys and girls. They put their own money into it.”
Another group of guests entered the club.
Glancing down, Father Mike clasped her wrist. “Who is that young man shaking Jonah’s hand right now?”
Cilla tensed as her gaze shot to Jonah. “That’s Dean Norris. He’s a protégé of Stan Rubin, the older man talking to Gabe. Stan is Jonah’s new partner for the club he’s opening in San Diego. Why do you ask?”
“Maybe nothing. He took his glasses off to wipe them when he arrived. And for a moment, I thought…”
“What?” Cilla pressed. Below her, Dean took a glass of champagne from a passing waiter. Glenda laughed.
With a sigh, Father Mike shook his head. “My eyes are playing tricks on me. Looking at those images of Elizabeth Baxter and her brother on the TV screen for so long this morning brought back memories of when she worked at the center. For just a moment, I thought that young man down there resembled her. But I can see now that he doesn’t. I must be getting old.”
At that moment, Dean brushed his hair off his forehead, then glanced up at her and waved.
The feeling tingled up her spine.
For just an instant, she thought she caught a hint of resemblance, too. Not to the image that had been in the old case file, but to one of the photos Ben had shot. Then Dean smiled and the impression faded.
But the feeling didn’t. It only grew as he turned to say something to Stan and then started up the stairs toward her. Jonah was already talking to the next arrivals, so there wasn’t any time to tell him what she was feeling.
“Father Mike,” she spoke in a low voice, “I’m going to get Dean to give you his champagne glass. There’ll be fingerprints on it, so guard it with your life until you can get it to Nicola.”
“Will do,” Father Mike murmured.
“Cilla,” Dean said as he reached her. “I was hoping we’d have a chance to chat. I want to apologize for using you to vent yesterday. I was letting my disappointment take control. I tend to do that a bit too often.”
“No problem. I’d like you to meet Father Mike Flynn. I was just telling him that you’re working with Stan and Jonah on the new club they’re opening in San Diego.”
Dean held out his free hand. “Father Mike.”
The priest grasped it.
While the two men exchanged greetings, she studied Dean. The hair color and eye color were wrong, but when he stood in profile as he did now, her feeling grew even stronger. Elizabeth would be twenty-four now, and that matched her guestimate of how old Dean was. Plus, he’d just been discharged from the military when he’d approached Stan for a job.
But she needed evidence. “Dean, I feel it’s such a shame to waste this music. Will you let Father Mike hold your champagne while you dance with me?”
He turned back to her. “I’d love to.”
She took his arm and urged him onto the dance floor. If he was Robert Baxter, then the best thing she could do was keep him away from Jonah. And the glass might give them the evidence they needed.
She slipped her finger beneath the flower on her shoulder strap and flicked the switch on the little camera and mic.
They were in the center of the dance floor before Dean turned her into his arms. “I wanted to thank you for what you said to me yesterday. When I know I’m right about something, and others just don’t see it, I get impatient.”
She looked up and met his eyes. “You get angry.”
His grin was a bit sheepish. “I do have a temper. And a bit of an ego problem, I admit. But talking with you made me realize that I will see my designs become a reality someday. I just have to be patient.”
And the man dancing with her was patient. He was the same young man who’d come over to introduce himself in the Rubins’ suite. Before he’d become impatient with the children.
“Stan told me that once our San Diego club gets on its feet, he’s going to join Carl Rockwell and Jonah to finance that club in Seattle. Then my designs could come to fruition.”
As he guided her into a turn, Cilla studied his face. There was none of the tension, none of the barely controlled anger radiating off him that she’d noted when he’d talked about his designs before. It was almost as if this young man and the angry one she’d seen yesterday were two different people.
What if they were? As Dean guided her around the dance floor, her feeling gr
ew stronger. Two people. She turned the idea over in her mind. If Robert Baxter was suffering from some personality disorder, it might explain his guidance counselor’s description of him as brilliant at times and childish at others. It might also explain the different reports in his military file. And hadn’t she and Jonah believed from the beginning that they were dealing with two people? One an impulsive risk taker, the other a planner? Not Robert and his uncle, but perhaps two Roberts?
Her experience with multiple personalities was limited to old movies—Sybil starring Sally Field, and The Three Faces of Eve starring Joanne Woodward. But she knew the trick would be to get the other Robert, the angry Robert, to come out.
The music segued into another song.
“One more dance?” she asked. “I know I can’t monopolize your whole evening.”
“I’d love another dance.”
She noted that they were at the far end of the dance floor now, about as far away from Jonah as she could hope for. She’d turned her camera and mic on. As he guided her into a waltz, she tilted her head back and met his eyes. “You must have had a tough time in the military.”
The smile wavered. The hand at her waist and the one holding hers both tightened.
“What do you mean? And how did you even know I was in the military?”
“Glenda mentioned your military background to me when you were presenting your ideas for Jonah’s approval. And I just meant that having a hair-trigger temper must have been a problem for you when you were in the service.”
“It wasn’t.” The smile was completely gone now, and his tone was defensive. “I was written up for bravery several times. Anger in the army can be channeled toward the enemy. Plus, my commanding officer often complimented me on my ideas on mission strategy.”
There was tension radiating off him now, so Cilla decided to go for broke. She sent up a quick prayer that her mic and camera were working and that at least one of her men in Jonah’s apartment was paying attention.
“What if I told you that I know who you really are?” she asked.
He missed a step but quickly recovered. “I’m Dean Norris.”
“No.” She smiled, kept her tone reasonable, friendly. “You’re Robert Baxter and your twin sister, Elizabeth, committed suicide here in San Francisco six years ago on Christmas Eve. You want to avenge her death.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
But he did. She saw the flicker of fear in his eyes and the flash of fury before he could mask either. She decided to push again.
“Yes, you do. I worked on Elizabeth’s case when she died. I’ve been looking into it again. You and your sister were close. When you left her to go into the army, she must have been very lonely. She wrote you letters, but I bet you didn’t have time to answer all of them. You have to feel some responsibility that she turned to Eastern religions and some cockeyed theory of reincarnation.”
He squeezed her wrist so hard that Cilla was surprised she didn’t hear bones snap.
“It wasn’t cockeyed if Elizabeth believed in it. And I wasn’t the person who caused her to commit suicide.” The words were a hiss. The breath he drew in was ragged as he blinked his eyes. “She died to be with Jonah Stone.”
Cilla felt the hard poke just above her waist.
“You’re making me change my plans again and you’ll pay. I have a gun in my pocket. You’ll do as I say or I’ll shoot the people around us.”
The look in his eyes told her that he wasn’t kidding. She’d gotten just what she’d wanted. The angry childish Robert had come out to play.
He smiled. “And then I’ll shoot you. It’s not my favorite plan, but Jonah will come, and I’ll kill him a day early.”
Terror buzzed in her head, but she ignored it. She had to get him away from the crowd. “What do you want me to do?”
“We’ll just walk toward the staircase. Jonah is still greeting guests at the bottom.”
She swallowed hard and thought. “No. You’re not thinking, because you’re angry.” Her mistake for bringing out the childish Robert. Now she needed the brilliant Robert. “Gabe Wilder, his best friend, is with him. Detective Finelli is in the dining room. They won’t let you take him.”
He hesitated.
“There’s a staircase to the kitchen just a few feet from here. You can take a breath. Think.” She had to get him away from the guests, away from Jonah. “If you take me to the staircase, Jonah will come to you.”
“Yes. Good.” He drew in a breath and let it out. “Go.”
THE LINE OF ARRIVALS was finally thinning. Jonah continued to smile and chat, but the feeling was growing that something was going to happen. Soon.
And he was missing something. He’d looked every guest in the eye, shaken every hand. If one of them was Robert Baxter, he hadn’t been able to either see it or sense it.
He let his gaze sweep the dining room, then the bar. But all he could see was people enjoying themselves at a party. Stan Rubin caught his eye and lifted a glass. He wanted to talk after the holidays about financing another club in the Seattle area. It would be an opportunity for Dean Norris to try his hand at design. Glenda was laughing at something her sister was saying.
But Dean Norris wasn’t with them. Something akin to panic worked its way up his spine. He glanced around the bar again. No sign of Norris there or in the dining room.
His gut tensed. Norris had the wrong coloring, the wrong hair, but he was the right age, and he’d been in the military. Why hadn’t he thought of that before? Sweat pearled on his forehead as he turned to Gabe. “Where’s Cilla?”
“Same place she was when you asked a few minutes ago. Top of the stairs with Nicola and Father Mike.”
Jonah whirled around and saw Nicola talking to Father Mike. No sign of Cilla. Fear hit him like a punch to the gut. “She’s not there. Dean Norris has her.”
He no sooner had the words out when Gabe put a hand to his ear. “Gibbons and Santos confirm that. She has her mic and camera on. They’re in the back staircase.”
Jonah was halfway up the stairs before Gabe grabbed his arm and stopped him. Gabe held out a small ear-piece. “Listen. She knows what she’s doing. If you rush into that stairwell, he’ll panic and shoot her.”
While Jonah put the piece on, Gabe used a small mic to talk to his men.
17
AS THEY STEPPED THROUGH the doors to the service staircase, Cilla said a little prayer that they wouldn’t run into any of the waiters. One of the Roberts had an iron grip on her upper arm and she could feel the barrel of the gun pressing into her side.
The kitchen would be crowded. Before she let him lead her into it, she wanted to make sure she had the more rational Robert with her. So she stopped short on the steps.
“Keep going.” He jabbed the gun into her back.
“Take a minute,” she said. “Think it through. Killing Jonah can’t be all you wanted out of this.”
She had to stall, give Gabe a chance to get their men in place. “You didn’t join Stanley Rubins’s company and wait a year just to get revenge on Jonah. You must have wanted more.”
For three beats he didn’t say anything. He wasn’t moving, either. But his grip on her upper arm didn’t loosen.
“What was your original plan?” she asked.
“I wanted to become what Jonah is and take everything that he’s built for himself. When he’s dead, I’ll convince Stanley to buy his places. One day I’ll run them. I’ll have it all and Jonah Stone will finally be with Elizabeth.”
“You could still have it all. Think about designing that new club in Seattle. Maybe you can still figure out a way to get everything you want. I’m the only person who’s standing in your way. You don’t have to kill anyone else. You don’t have to expose yourself.”
She paused, hoping that Gabe would figure out what she was going to do.
“There’s an exit door in the kitchen that leads to the alley,” she said.
“Yes. We’ll go into th
e kitchen and out through the back exit.”
She started to move even before he prodded her with the gun. The kitchen when they entered it was crowded and noisy. Pans clattered, steam hissed, a chef called out orders in some kind of chef talk. She took as much time as she could to weave her way through the waiters and cook staff.
She caught a glimpse of Finelli, a loaded tray in his hands. But there was no sign of Jonah or Gabe. Hopefully, they’d be in the alley already.
She reached for the door handle and fumbled with it. He released her upper arm just long enough to pull the heavy door open. And she had just enough time to get her gun out of her wristlet purse before they stepped outside. She held it down, flat at her side.
The night air was cold, the mist like icy fingers on her bare skin. The sky was dark, the illumination from a streetlight dim, and there was no sign of life as they moved quickly along the back of the building. In the distance the sounds of traffic were not loud enough to drown out their footsteps.
They were nearly at the mouth of the alley, close to a couple of large Dumpsters, when he pulled her to a stop. “I’m going to have to shoot you now so I can get back to the party. If my uncle had completed his mission successfully, I would have taken more time with you.”
“You’ve had quite enough time with her,” Jonah said from behind them.
Cilla jerked free of Robert’s grip, dropped to the ground and rolled. Several gunshots sounded. One of the bullets came close enough to singe her ear. By the time she got her own gun trained on Robert, he was on his knees gripping his now weaponless hand. It was bleeding. Jonah, Gabe, Finelli and Nicola had him surrounded, their guns drawn.
Beyond them, she saw others pour through the kitchen door into the alley—Virgil was in the lead with Father Mike and Carl Rockwell behind him.
“We got him covered,” Gabe said to Jonah. “Why don’t you help the lady up?”
Jonah picked her up and held her hard against him. She’d barely gotten her arms around him when he drew back far enough to look into her eyes. He’d nearly lost her. Again.
Grabbing her shoulders, he gave her a hard shake. “Dammit, Cilla, we had a deal. We were partners, and you decided to take on that lunatic by yourself.”
