Red Carpet Christmas

by Patricia Rosemoor

  “Maybe he played the lottery and was hoping his numbers were going to come in,” Simone offered sarcastically.

  “Yeah, right. A sure thing.”

  “More likely a big poker game.”

  “I don’t think that’s what he meant, either. His ship…” Gideon murmured. “Could he have meant that literally?…like the Sicilian Breeze?”

  “What? You think he was going to sell it?”

  Between his several addictions—mistress and yacht included—Al had managed to bankrupt them. If he wasn’t already dead, she would be tempted to strangle the man.

  They started down Clark Street before Simone realized Drew could have returned. She didn’t want Gideon coming back to her place. “So where did you park?”

  “Just ahead at a meter.”

  “Then you won’t mind if we make it a night. I need to do some grocery shopping,” she lied, indicating the spot down the street where the market would be if she could see it through the falling snow.

  “I can take a hint. You don’t want me there when the kid gets back.”

  She didn’t deny it and was relieved that he let the subject drop. Again, the weird feeling—as if she were being watched. When she looked back this time, it was to see a knot of people dance around each other as they came in and out of a store and ended up in a sidewalk jam.

  As they approached Gideon’s car and stopped, something else occurred to her. “‘His women called him Albert,’” she murmured. “That’s what Josie said.”

  “His wife Teresa referred to him as Albert last night,” Gideon said. “No doubt she would be thrilled to know she shares that honor.”

  “With Galen O’Neill, as well.”

  “The woman in charge of the auction?”

  Simone nodded, remembering Galen had called him Albert several times. “The night of party and this morning at the meeting.”

  “Maybe she didn’t know the name had special meaning for him.”

  “Possibly, but what if she did? Galen seems to be full of surprises. She comes off as this timid, quiet woman. But there’s another side to her. Even Cass recognized it.”

  “Hmm. Sounds like we should pay her a visit and find out. Tomorrow morning?”

  Simone nodded. “Tomorrow morning.”

  They made plans to meet away from her home. Simone said she needed to run some errands first. She was sure Gideon recognized the ploy—that eyebrow was a dead giveaway—but he didn’t object and got into his car to go home.

  For some reason, feeling the need to keep up the pretext, Simone crossed the street as if she really were going to the market.

  Gideon was just driving off when the uneasy sensation returned. Pulse fluttering, she tried to tell herself it was nothing. Indeed, a glance behind her revealed nothing. Heads down against the driving snow, people appeared determined to do their Christmas shopping.

  Still, Simone couldn’t shake the vague feeling that someone was watching her, following her.

  If she changed direction and headed for home, she would be inviting whoever it was to follow her. Her stomach knotted. Being alone on a deserted side street wasn’t her smartest option, so she hurried toward the market where there would be plenty of people, lots of light and safety.

  That’s when she heard the footsteps slap-slapping against the pavement behind, as if someone were trying to catch up to her.

  Instinctively, she began to jog.

  The footsteps slapped closer.

  Heart pounding, Simone ran for all she was worth, not stopping until she reached the market’s entryway, where her path was blocked by a homeless man wrangling a shopping cart—trying to get it through the very posts meant to keep the carts from being taken from the area.

  Flipping around to face whoever was behind her, Simone was almost knocked over by a guy in a snow-dusted Santa suit. Without so much as looking her way, he kept going.

  The adrenaline rush bottomed out, and Simone’s legs grew wobbly. The homeless man gave up on the cart and left, so she was able to get inside the market. Trembling, she stood in the window staring out for a moment. Was someone else there? The sensation had swept out of her along with the adrenaline, and she didn’t know if she actually had been in danger or if the creepiness of stumbling over a couple of bodies was just getting to her.

  What now? She still had to get home.

  Not wanting to step foot outside the door just yet—just in case—Simone headed for the upscale café and got herself a chai latte. A neighbor caught up to her in line and wanted the scoop on the murders.

  Normally she would gloss over what she knew and take her leave. But not this time, not when she saw her opportunity to trade some of the sordid details for a safe escort home.

  HIS WINDSHIELD WIPERS couldn’t keep up with the fast-falling snow any more than Gideon could shake the image of Drew that filled his mind as he drove behind a salt truck.

  He had a kid.

  That fact changed everything. He didn’t know quite how, but it did. Something swelled inside him. Love? He didn’t know Drew, so how could he love him? Because Drew was his, he guessed. Drew might not ever know the truth, but Gideon would know and that would have to be enough.

  But would it be?

  Gideon turned off and headed west, replaying all the what-ifs in his mind.

  What if Simone’s father hadn’t murdered Pop?

  What if he and Simone had had a chance to be together?

  To raise their son together?

  Would he be a different man? Gideon couldn’t say. He was who he was. He’d always thought he’d had no regrets.

  But now he knew he had a kid…

  The more he was with Simone, the more he wanted to be with her. But how? If Drew took a good look at him, surely he would know they were related, exactly what she didn’t want. A conundrum, one that took away the possibility of a future with the woman who still made his heart beat faster.

  He should be furious with Simone, maybe hate her for keeping Drew from him and allowing someone else to raise him. But he couldn’t hate Simone, couldn’t continue to be angry. She’d done what she’d done for their son. She’d had her child’s best interests at heart.

  As hard as it was to swallow, she had Drew’s best interest at heart now.

  So he would deal with it. Somehow. Somehow he would convince himself that Drew was better off without him. That Simone was, too.

  But first, he had to make sure that she didn’t go to jail for a murder she didn’t commit.

  WHEN SIMONE FINALLY made it home safely—no more weird feelings of being watched or followed—she waved goodbye to her neighbor and bounded up the steps. The living room lights shone brightly and glowed invitingly against the snow-covered grounds. Through her front window, Simone spotted the silhouette of a man with his arm around her son’s shoulders. Michael must have stopped by again. She looked around for Ulf, but her brother’s bodyguard was nowhere in sight.

  Thankful that she hadn’t let Gideon see her home, Simone bounded up the front steps and unlocked the door. But when she threw it open, she was in for a shock.

  The man with Drew was Sam Albright.

  Noting her entry, he smiled at her and patted Drew on the shoulder before withdrawing his arm.

  “Drew?”

  “Hey, Mom!” Drew popped up off the sofa. “Mr. Albright said he needed to talk to you and I figured you would be back soon.”

  Simone’s heart pounded. Drew knew better than to let anyone but Michael or one of his own friends into the house when she wasn’t home. Knowing that Albright had gotten away with having relations with a teenage boy, she was hard-pressed to keep her cool.

  “Sam.” She acknowledged the man in a politely neutral voice before turning her attention back to her son, who seemed perfectly at ease with the man. Relaxing, she asked, “Is your homework done?”

  He shrugged. “Mostly.”

  “Please go finish. It’s getting late.”

  Rolling his eyes, he muttered, “Fine.
” Then rushed up the stairs saying, “’Night, Mr. Albright.”

  “’Night, son,” Albright said with a familiar wave.

  Unable to get rid of the edgy feeling the dead woman’s husband gave her—he’d never been in her home before, so why now?—Simone put on a smile and asked, “What can I do for you, Sam?”

  Albright’s eyes narrowed on her. “You can stay the hell out of my business!”

  Reacting to his rancor, Simone gasped, “Pardon me?” and changed her mind about wanting Gideon kept out of her home. At this moment, she wished he were here.

  “I know it was you who sicced the cops on me,” he snarled. The vehemence of his remark shook loose a lock of blond hair. He smoothed it back into place as he stood and continued his harangue. “You were the only one close enough to overhear what Nikki and I said to each other at the fund-raiser.”

  Simone thought quickly. She’d never said anything to Norelli or Walker. She had told Gideon, Logan and Cass what she’d heard. Logan was a detective. Had he shared that information with the official task force?

  “Look, Sam, I have nothing against you—”

  “You just want to protect your own pretty butt!” he growled, stepping closer.

  Simone backed up and, feeling threatened, wildly thought about what she could use to defend herself. The only thing she could come up with was a pointy ornament lying in a box near the tree.

  “This is uncalled for.”

  “I know Nikki accused you of killing Al Cecchi. And now she’s dead and, surprise, you’re the one who found the body. So what are you trying to do by giving the cops background on me? You think that’s going to get you off the hook?”

  “I didn’t kill Al,” Simone said calmly. “I didn’t kill Nikki. I simply had the bad luck to be in the wrong place at the wrong time.”

  “So you say.”

  “And so the authorities will prove when they come up with the real killers.”

  Or killer, singular, whichever the case might be. It was likely both Al and Nikki were victims of the same person.

  Simone’s heart pumped double time as she considered Sam Albright. What if he was the killer? What if she was his next intended victim?

  “Let’s get this straight, Sam. I didn’t talk about you to the detectives in charge of the case. But a little research on their part would pull up your legal connec tion to Al Cecchi. Your arrest was a matter of record, after all.” Seeing his face darkening at the reminder, Simone said, “You need to leave, Sam. Now!”

  “I’m going. And you keep out of my business or you’ll be sorry,” he warned as he moved toward the door.

  “You mean dead?” she asked, daring to put her fear into words.

  He stopped short and faced her. “Take it any way you want, Simone. Keep in mind dead might not be the worse thing that can happen.”

  “What could be worse?”

  “A person can be destroyed in many ways.” Albright’s grin was almost a leer when he said, “Something happening to one’s kid, for example.”

  Simone gasped. Albright was threatening her with Drew! Nothing could make her angrier.

  Without thinking, she said, “I would be careful if I were you, Sam. My brother wouldn’t take kindly to anything happening to Drew or me.”

  “I’m supposed to be afraid of your brother?”

  “If you aren’t, you ought to be.” Anger made her reckless. “Maybe you’ve heard of him—Michael DeNali?”

  The color drained from Albright’s face, but his expression intensified. She’d used her brother’s name—something she’d vowed never to do. Simone swallowed hard, but nothing in the world would make her take it back, not where Drew was involved. She would do anything to see that her child was safe.

  Obviously understanding the threat, Albright walked out without another word, leaving Simone shaking.

  She locked the door behind him, then checked the back door, as well. For the first time since she’d moved into this neighborhood, she didn’t feel safe. Evil could strike anywhere, and tonight, she’d felt its presence.

  Sam Albright had always seemed the most civilized of men, well-respected by his contemporaries…but apparently that was a veneer. Dark forces brewed beneath his carefully groomed surface.

  Cass had said the identity of the murderer was “hidden”—could this be what she had meant—that it was the last person one would ever suspect?

  If so, then Sam Albright went straight to the top of her list of suspects.

  HEART POUNDING, he lunged out of the car. “Pop!”

  The dark car pulled down the alley.

  The license plate—RDN 1.

  “Pop!” he cried, his voice breaking as he turned his father onto his back. He’d been shot in the gut and the chest. “Can you hear me? Please say you can hear me!”

  His father’s eyes opened and slowly focused. “Joey…”

  “I’ll get help, Pop, I’ll get someone.”

  But his father gripped his wrist to stop him.

  “DeNali…”

  The first streaks of dawn lightened the sky when Gideon woke from the dream cursing. Why the hell had he replayed the memory again? The scenario revisited him nightly, as it had for months after the deadly event itself.

  Back then, he’d tried avoiding the dream by avoiding sleep. He’d walked around too stunned to do more than acknowledge it. Eventually, the details had faded and then had slipped away. Now the dream was back, conjured, no doubt, by his renewed feelings for Simone. While he still mourned his father, he wasn’t a kid anymore. He could face what had happened. That didn’t mean he wanted to be haunted by the memory every night for the rest of his life!

  If he could ever talk to someone about what had happened, it would be now. Not with Simone, though. He couldn’t discuss what he’d seen with her. That would be like opening a wound and pouring in salt.

  But he could talk to Cass.

  Gideon never asked anyone for help. The very idea made him uncomfortable. But Cassandra Freed wasn’t like other people. She had something extra—a developed sixth sense that she tried to hide. Maybe that was exactly what he needed to help him banish the nightmare for good.

  Chapter Eleven

  “I had an unexpected visitor when I arrived home last night,” Simone told Gideon as they set off for their late-morning call on Galen O’Neill. She’d decided her imagination had been working overtime in her run down Clark Street, so she was keeping that to herself. “Sam Albright.”

  “What did he want?”

  “To put the fear of God into me,” she said, shuddering as she remembered the threat. “He figured I talked about the conversation that I overheard between him and Nikki. I never so much as mentioned his name to either of the detectives.” She gave Gideon a searching look.

  “If you’re thinking one of my team did…” He shook his head.

  “Not even Logan?”

  “Logan would have told you first so you would be forewarned in case the information came back on you. Anyone could have overheard the threat that night, Simone. You just happened to be in Albright’s line of sight.”

  “And now so is Drew.”

  Gideon jerked. “What do you mean?” he asked, his grip on the steering wheel becoming white-knuckled.

  “Sam Albright threatened him. He said something happening to one’s kid could be worse than death.”

  Gideon swore and she knew the reason Sam Albright had needed Al Cecchi’s legal expertise in the first place was clear in his mind.

  “I think it’s time I met Sam Albright and we had a little chat.”

  “No! You’ll be exposing yourself to trouble.”

  “Better me than Drew.”

  Appreciating the fact that he would put himself in jeopardy in order to protect their son, she said, “I made him think twice about his threat.”

  Without hesitating, Gideon murmured, “Michael.”

  Simone nodded. Still not proud of the fact, she nevertheless continued to believe her doing somet
hing so out of character—something she’d sworn only a few days ago she would never do—had been justified. Terrifying how life—and good intentions—could change so quickly.

  The DePaul area wasn’t far from where Gideon had picked her up, and just moments later they were on Galen’s street, looking for parking, not a terrible feat at this time of day. Simone had called the auction chairwoman to make certain she would be home. She’d used the pretext of wanting to drop off some tear sheets of one of the society columns.

  Red Carpet Christmas and the silent auction had been featured…and so had been the murder. No way had the reporter been willing to forgo the juicy details.

  Leaving the vehicle, Gideon and Simone approached the brick and limestone building whose door and first floor windows were decked out for the season in pine wreaths and red velvet ribbon. Gideon opened the black wrought iron gate for her and Simone slipped inside what she knew to be a landscaped garden area most of the year, though it was currently hidden under a foot of snow. It wasn’t until she was down the walk and halfway up the stairs that she noticed the door and stopped dead.

  “Uh-oh.” Her breath caught in her throat and she choked out, “Door’s open.”

  Gideon brushed into her before stopping. “You were expected,” he offered.

  But he didn’t sound convincing.

  Simone’s heart banged against her ribs, and for once Gideon had nothing to do with it or her racing pulse. The scene reminiscent of her visit to Nikki Albright made her want to spin around and run away. But surely Galen was all right—surely she was simply suffering from frayed nerves.

  When she knocked on the door and called inside, there was no answering greeting. All too familiar, indeed. Simone flashed Gideon a look of horror. This couldn’t be happening to her again…

  “Wait here.” He gave her shoulders a quick squeeze before swinging the door open wide. “I’ll go in.”

  “Should I call 911?” she asked, slipping the cell phone from her pocket.