by Emma Slate
“You know how these things go,” Flynn went on.
“Aye,” I quipped, pulling out a long-sleeved black dress with a modest neckline. The dress was tight, but there was no skin on display. It was the kind of dress that allowed for earrings but no other jewelry.
“Very nice,” he said, though with Flynn’s brogue it sounded like ‘verra nice’.
“Thank you. I was thinking of wearing the sapphires you bought me for my birthday last year.”
He nodded. “I’ll get them out of the vault.”
I headed to the bathroom to finish getting ready. I pulled my auburn tresses back into a low bun and pinned it. I slicked my lips with red lipstick and added some mascara to my lashes. Flynn returned and handed me my earrings.
“Ready?” I asked with a labored sigh, turning away from the mirror.
“You’re beautiful.”
I smiled. “Thank you.”
Grabbing my clutch on our way out, I straightened my spine, resolving that I could play the role of chattel for the evening.
“So, where is this Italian family run restaurant we’re going to?” I wondered after we’d gotten into the Rolls. “Staten Island?”
Flynn laughed. “Get it all out now, love.”
“I’m done,” I assured him.
He took my hand and brought it to his lips. “We’re going to Mulberry and Broome.”
“Mulberry and Broome,” I repeated. My eyes slid to his. “We’re going to Little Italy? There aren’t any good restaurants left in Little Italy!”
“Woman, your snobbery is going to be the death of me.”
“I’m not eating chicken parm,” I stated.
Twenty minutes later, the car pulled to a stop outside of a restaurant. The outdoor cafe was bustling with customers and I saw waiters, middle-aged and older men, catering to them.
Flynn got out first and then helped me out of the car. He put his hand to my waist, and we strode towards the entrance. The hostess at the front of the restaurant told us there was a wait until Flynn gave his name.
She smiled in understanding. “Of course, Mr. Campbell. Please follow me.”
The restaurant was just as busy inside as it was in the café. We passed the kitchen which I had to admit was emitting some delicious aromas. Someone, probably the chef, yelled in Italian. The hostess led us to the back where we were showed to a private room with a booth. I knew instinctively this was where Giovanni Marino, Jr. held private council.
“I’ll tell Mr. Marino you’re here,” the hostess said. She closed the door and Flynn and I were alone. Marino wanted us to have to wait for him. This was a machination meant to put us in our place.
I fit myself into Flynn’s side, reached up to angle his head down so I could whisper in his ear. “Camera.”
Flynn angled his head and nipped at my ear. “I saw.”
If anyone looked at the camera feed, all they’d see were two people who looked like they were about to have sex in a booth. Flynn pulled back, but kept his arm around me while we continued to wait for Marino to make his appearance.
He made us wait twenty minutes.
The door opened and Giovanni Marino, Jr. sauntered in. Whereas Filippi had the stamp of his Sicilian genes, Marino resembled his late father completely. Bulbous nose and fair coloring.
“Campbell,” he stated, holding out his hand. “Sorry to keep you waiting.”
A lazy grin appeared on Flynn’s face as he clasped the other man’s hand. “You should be. I’m starving!”
Marino’s laughter was booming and then he turned his attention to me, his gaze turning appreciative. “A pleasure to meet you, Mrs. Campbell.”
“Barrett,” I corrected as his mouth grazed my knuckles.
“Barrett,” he repeated, his hand dropping mine.
“Is your wife joining us?” Flynn asked.
“Ysabel is at home with our daughter. Gisella got the flu,” he explained.
I didn’t know if it was a lie or not, but I took the comment seriously. “I’m sorry to hear that. I was looking forward to meeting your wife.”
“Another time,” Marino promised.
“Perhaps I should leave you two men to discuss the situation,” I said, trying not to sound like I wanted to bow out. I looked at Flynn and widened my eyes, trying to appear doe-like and demure. It nearly killed me to do it.
It was Marino who replied, “Yes, that might be best.”
He might as well have patted me on the head and dismissed me like a child. I smiled and feigned that I didn’t want to run him through with a fork.
With one look at Flynn, I nodded and then headed out of the door, closing it softly behind me. Half of me was grateful that I had a reprieve, the other part of me was angry that I didn’t get to sit in and listen to the ‘big, bad men’ talk.
The Rolls was still parked outside the front of the restaurant. The driver nimbly hopped out of the front seat and came around to open the door for me. “You’re back sooner than I expected.”
“Change of plans,” I explained easily. I climbed into the car, wondering what I was going to do to pass the time until Flynn was done.
“Home?” the driver asked once he was back in the front seat.
“I guess.” The car started. “Wait, no. Take me to Krasnyy, please.”
I didn’t want to go back to The Rex to sit and wait for news. I’d have a cocktail and eat some dinner. I sent Sasha a text asking if he was around and then I thought to text Quinn. She answered that she was already there with her best friend, and just like that I had the promise of a girls' night out.
Krasnyy wasn’t yet busy. It was a lounge that catered to the late night crowd and I knew in a few hours, it would be packed with people. I found Quinn sitting at the bar, looking regal and completely done up. Her black hair cascaded down her back and she wore a strapless black dress that highlighted her creamy Irish skin. A blonde woman sat next to her and though she was also dressed to go out, she looked more girl next door than vamp.
“Barrett!” Quinn greeted, throwing an arm around my shoulder. “Meet my best friend from Boston. Shannon, Barrett, Barrett, Shannon.”
“Nice to meet you,” the blonde said with a genuine smile.
“Glad to meet you,” I said.
“Let’s get a table,” Quinn suggested.
“You guys go ahead. I’ll grab a drink and then meet you over there.”
After I got my vodka gimlet, I headed towards the back of the lounge and found Quinn and Shannon at the corner booth. I slid in next to Quinn and set my drink down.
“Where’s Sasha?” I asked. “Or did you ban him from hanging out with you guys?”
“He had other plans tonight,” Quinn said. “Don’t know what, didn’t ask.”
Yeah, I knew how that went. I turned to Shannon. “You’re visiting from Boston?”
She smiled and shook her head, her sleek blonde ponytail swinging. “No. I moved to New York about six months ago.”
“Oh,” I said in confusion. “But Quinn said Boston, so I assumed—”
“We grew up together,” Quinn jumped in to explain. “Shannon and I have known each other since we were five.”
Conversation began to flow. I could tell they’d already been here for a few cocktails because Quinn was looser than I’d ever seen her. She smiled easily and her laugh was genuine. I knew what it was like to have a friend who you had real history with. I felt a pang of guilt when I thought of Ash.
“Where’s Flynn tonight?” Quinn asked when Shannon was in the bathroom.
I knew Flynn and Sasha had spoken of the dinner Flynn was having with Marino, but I didn’t know if Sasha had told Quinn.
“Business dinner,” I said.
“I know about Marino.”
I let out a breath of air. “Good. Marino’s wife stayed home at the last moment, so I didn’t stay.”
“Probably better,” she said. “The last thing you’d want is to be sitting there while men discussed women like horses or whores.
”
“It’s like you know me,” I teased. I glanced at my phone that was resting in my lap. It had been silent. No texts or calls from Flynn, so I knew he was still with Marino. I was getting antsy.
“I’m back,” Shannon said. “What did I miss?”
“A guy at the bar staring at Barrett,” Quinn quipped.
“What?” I asked distractedly.
“Never mind,” Quinn said with a laugh.
My phone buzzed, but it wasn’t Flynn. It was Brad Shapiro, head of security at The Rex. A sense of dread turned my stomach. Brad never called me.
The lounge had grown busier and louder and I knew I wouldn’t be able to hear a thing. “Excuse me, guys, I need to take this.”
Phone and clutch in my hands, I scooted out of the booth and headed for the exit, answering the call. “Hold on, Brad.”
Once I was outside, I went around the corner away from the lounge, tucking myself between a wall and a metal fire escape.
“Hey,” I said, my heart beginning to pound. “Can you hear me?”
“Yeah,” Brad said. “I tried calling Flynn but his phone is off. You need to get back to The Rex.”
“Why?”
“Lila St. James.”
The name whipped through my ears and my vision narrowed in rage. “She’s there?”
“She’s here,” Brad said, his tone bleak. “And she’s dead.”
Part III
Prologue
I should’ve known it would come to this.
All roads led here, but four years ago, when I met Flynn Campbell, I had no way of knowing this was how it was going to play out.
“Barrett,” the brown-haired man greeted, his smile wide and insincere. “So good to see you.”
“Where is she?” I demanded, forcing myself to remain calm when all I wanted to do was unleash the beast, unleash the monster and let blood spray.
“She’s here,” he said with a negligent shrug. “And still in one piece.” He chuckled. “For now.”
“Who are you? What have you become?”
He raised an eyebrow. “I could ask you the same question. Wife to a known criminal. Mother to his children.” He sneered in disgust. “I’m ashamed of you.”
“Me?” I laughed, the sound shrill, empty, cold. “I can still look in the mirror. What about you?”
“I finally have what I want,” he said. “You. Here.”
“I didn’t come for you,” I lied. “I came for her.”
Cocking his head to one side, he studied me like an animal in a zoo. “I never understood that about you. Your intense, unwavering loyalty.”
“You never understood a lot of things about me.”
He rolled his eyes, looking bored. “Should we get on with this?”
“You let her go. Now. You have what you want. You got me here. Let her go,” I repeated.
He studied me for a moment. “Are you afraid?”
“To die?” I asked. “No.”
“Most people would be afraid.”
I smiled, showing a lot of teeth. “I’m not most people.”
Chapter 34
Five days ago Lila St. James was found dead in a Rex Hotel suite.
Four days ago the news that Flynn’s pregnant mistress was found dead hit the tabloids.
Three days ago Duncan came clean to Ash, telling her it was his baby Lila carried.
Two days ago Ash stopped taking my calls.
Yesterday Duncan showed up in New York, looking distraught, lost, and miserable.
Today.
Today Flynn was arrested for the murder of Lila St. James. I watched as the cops cuffed him. The paparazzi that had been camped out on the sidewalk just outside The Rex Hotel ever since the news of Lila’s death broke flashed their cameras. I blocked them out. I blocked everything out except for Flynn’s blue gaze that never left mine.
He mouthed something at me before ducking his head to be put into the squad car.
“What did he say?” I asked Duncan who stood at my side.
“‘Tha gràdh agam ort’,” Duncan said. “I love you. Gaelic.”
“We should go back inside,” I said.
“Probably,” he agreed. We turned back to find sanctuary in The Rex, but not before I faced the paparazzi. I didn’t say a word, but my smile was wide and a touch devilish. The cameras snapped like crazy and hopefully that would confuse the hell out of the media for the time being.
Before Duncan and I even made it to the private elevator, I had my cell phone out and I was calling Allen Masterson. He was one of the best criminal defense lawyers in the country. He was good at intimidation and had worked his magic when Fred Winters had detained me.
I snorted in ironic, black humor. By all accounts, I should’ve gone down for Dolinsky’s death. I had killed him. It had been the truth. And now, Flynn might go down for a murder he didn’t commit.
The elevator doors opened into the penthouse suite as I hung up with Masterson. There was nothing more I could do at the moment. I had Dex Hollingsworth hacking into the NYPD database for the autopsy report.
“Does Flynn have an alibi for the night Lila died?” Duncan asked me, taking a seat in a chair.
I curled up onto the couch, exhaustion and adrenaline warring within me. “Yes.”
That night, Flynn had been with me for a few hours, but I’d left him with Marino. When Flynn returned to The Rex at dawn the next day, he’d come in the back way, his white dress shirt splattered with blood. I hadn’t asked questions, but Flynn had told me that they’d found Filippi. I didn’t know if Filippi was dead or alive, but knowing Flynn, knowing his protective streak, he would want Filippi dead—even if that meant never finding out who wanted to take down his empire.
Flynn would find a way. We always found a way.
“I’m going to have to release a statement to the press,” I said, putting a hand to my head.
“Is that a good idea?” Duncan asked.
I glared at him. “You want to talk to me about good ideas?”
“Barrett—”
“My best friend isn’t talking to me. And I don’t even blame her!” I snapped, my emotions finally spiraling out of control. I’d tried to keep them locked up, but it was too much. There was nowhere for them to go except out.
Duncan’s face was bleak, but he didn’t even try to curb my anger or the insults I hurled at him. Ash wasn’t speaking to me; she wasn’t even in a place where she could hear my sincerest apology about keeping Duncan’s infidelity from her. I’d left countless messages, telling her that when she was ready, I’d be here. Even if that meant she yelled and screamed and called me bad words. She was Ash and I was Barrett, and we’d get through this.
I hoped.
“I’m sorry,” Duncan said, his voice low and raspy.
“Is she still in Dornoch?” I asked.
“No. She took Carys and went to Switzerland. Apparently her parents have a house there.”
Not so much a house as a ski lodge. Ash had taken me there one winter break in college. That sweet memory was a painful reminder that I might have destroyed a long-time friendship.
“Will she come back?” Duncan asked.
“I don’t know,” I said truthfully. “The people closest to her lied to her, kept her in the dark. Would you forgive that?”
Duncan didn’t answer. He didn’t have to.
My cell phone rang and my heart leapt with hope that it was Allen Masterson and there was news about Flynn. But it wasn’t him; it was Dex.
“Hey,” I said into the phone.
“Hey, can you come down to my room? I think I found something.”
“Be right there,” I said, hanging up. I looked at Duncan. “Dex has some info.”
Duncan shot up from his chair and we left the suite. Dex was staying a few floors below and when we got to his door, I knocked. When he didn’t answer right away, I knocked again and called out his name. He finally answered, eyes bloodshot. There was a palpable nervous energy about him.
>
As Duncan and I stepped into the room, I noticed the two dozen or so empty Red Bull cans. “Please tell me you’ve slept.”
He shook his head, the ends of his blond hair looking electrified. “I never sleep when I’m on a job. I’ll stay awake and then crash later.” Dex’s eyes darted to Duncan.
“Right,” I said. “Sorry. Duncan, Dex, Dex, Duncan.”
“You’re the baby daddy,” Dex said, causing Duncan to wince.
Though Duncan was reeling from Ash walking out on him, I could only imagine how he felt about the death of his unborn child. Though he’d had no real relationship with the mother, it still must’ve been devastating. A child was a child, right?
“I’ve got Lila’s autopsy report,” Dex said, taking a seat at the desk chair and pressing a few buttons on his high-tech laptop. “I’m still waiting on the toxicology report results, so we won’t truly know what caused Lila’s death until then. Though I’m inclined to believe it was pills since there was an empty bottle on the bedside table.”
“How did you know that?” I wondered.
“I got pictures of the death scene. Something was kind of nagging at me,” Dex said, his right leg bouncing. “Everything was staged to look like a suicide. But I don’t buy it.”
“Neither do I,” I agreed.
“She was sixteen weeks pregnant,” Dex went on. “They did a blood test on the fetus. Lila’s blood type was O, the baby’s blood type was O.”
I frowned, not knowing where Dex was going with this. Looking over at Duncan, I saw that he was just as confused as I was.
“Okay. Mom and baby both are type O,” I repeated.
Dex nodded, suddenly looking very excited. He stared at Duncan. “I did a little digging into your medical files.”
“Mine? Why?” Duncan asked.
“Because nothing was making sense to me. Know what I found?”
We shook our heads.
“Your blood type is AB. That’s the rarest blood type, and it means you aren’t the father. You can’t be. It’s impossible.”
My mind began to whirl.
“The father is A, B, or O. It’s the only way for the kid to be O,” Dex went on.
