No One Left To Tell no-2

by Jordan Dane

  "How utterly gracious of you, Nicky. Your charm knows no bounds." She claimed an ornately carved and gilded armchair with vivid yellow brocade, set beside the fire. Fiona appreciated the symbolism. She'd always been the moth flitting too near the flame. "But it appears you didn't take the hint. I didn't want any visitors."

  "I thought you'd make an exception for me, Fiona. Since we are such old and dear friends."

  He stalled just long enough to make his point. Nicky never said anything without careful consideration and orchestration. Yet perhaps his ego far outweighed his discretion. As she thought back over what he had just revealed, a new question summoned her curiosity. For now, she would bide her time, watching him.

  Following her toward the fire, he stood with his hand on the mantel, staring into its flames. A warm glow radiated upon him, outlining a handsome face ablaze in gold. His admirable good looks had seasoned well with age. She'd trailed her fingers along that strong jawline, known the softness of those full lips, and lost her soul to those eyes. That's why his offense provoked her, compounded by his deceit. It had been an act of betrayal to what remained in her memory of Nicky.

  "Why are you here, Nicholas?" Fiona hoped the use of his formal first name would remind him. She only used it in anger. "And why would you plant the tracking device on my jet ahead of time, unless you knew I'd be taking a hasty trip abroad? Did you play some part in the abruptness of my departure?"

  Seeing the slight flicker to his eyes, she knew she'd been right. He had arranged for the murder of a man. But why? How had love twisted into such a vile thing?

  In disbelief, she waited for his response to her challenge. But as expected, his break in composure had been instantaneous, gone as quickly as it appeared. Slowly, his expression morphed into a sneer as his eyes shifted toward her.

  "My, aren't you the clever one?" He smiled, with all the seductiveness of a snake coiled in high grass. "Are you insinuating I had anything to do with your most recent misfortune, my dear?"

  "And what might that be, Nicky? Misfortune? I wouldn't exactly characterize my life as unfortunate." She stiffened, raising her chin in feigned arrogance and pride. "Quite the contrary."

  His jaw tightened as he backed from the fire. Finding a chair opposite her, he sat and leaned an elbow onto an armrest. Resting his chin on his fist, he stared, unreadable. A faint pull at the corner of his mouth reminded her how much he enjoyed a good verbal joust—but not if his opponent held the upper hand.

  "Perhaps you can live with your sins better than most." His hurtful words hung in the air for her to examine at length.

  The simple observation gnarled her stomach, entangling it with the bitter truth. What did he know? How could he—? Uncertainty prickled the skin of her face, forcing an unsettling blink to her eyelids. She conceded his clever insight. Her lungs burned from lack of air. She reminded herself to breathe—just breathe.

  At that instant, the bittersweet image of him as a lover invaded her mind without mercy. He'd been kind and generous once. Remorse over what might have been tugged at her heart. Though hardness tinged his eyes now, she still remembered love brimming in his gaze as they lay beneath white linens, his skin flush with satiation.

  "Some things are not easily forgotten, Nicky."

  A knot wedged in her throat. She didn't know what to add, to make him understand. Even if she told him everything, nothing would be gained by it. Too much had happened—far too many secrets. Despite the vast wealth between them, neither of them could turn back the clock and reclaim a life that could have been.

  "It appears you've changed, Fie." The severity of his expression softened, reflecting the regret she felt. "You used to avoid unpleasantness. Now you indulge in it. Money and power have seduced you."

  Oh, how he'd misread her. Her eyes blurred, drowning in tears. The sting of his accusation hit her hard, like an unexpected slap to the face. Futilely, she held back her emotion. But a tear betrayed her, exposing her weakness.

  And Nicky witnessed her defeat.

  A tear rolled down her face, its path glistening at the fire's edge. In his lifetime, her beauty had struck him many times. One of the more memorable being the day she'd willingly surrendered her virtue to him, a precious gift given only once. But none of these instances, grouped in aggregate, moved him as greatly as this moment. Such power reigned in the grace of a single tear.

  He felt defeated before he'd even begun.

  She wrung her hands, allowing her frailty to show for the first time since he'd entered the room. Many times, he'd rehearsed this conversation in his mind, yet none of it went as planned. He hadn't counted on his reaction at seeing her for the first time since she was nineteen years old. And if it were possible, she was more beautiful now than he remembered.

  Dismissing such sentiment, he pressed with the cruelty he'd honed over the years, cultivated by her denial of his affections. He wanted desperately to regain control—at her expense.

  "Is that regret I see in your eyes, Fiona, or pure, unadulterated guilt? How do you live with the harsh reality of having hired the assassination of your dearly departed husband, Charles? Was the money that important to you?"

  Shock jarred her. Through the tears, resentment leached to the surface—all at his hand.

  "I have no idea what you're talking about." Her words denied him, but the sternness and the staunch resolve in her tone spoke volumes. She knew exactly what he implied. "And why now? Why are you just now coming forward after all this time? It's been twenty-five years since Charles died."

  "Was killed, Fiona. Charles was murdered. A sniper bullet, as I recall. I suppose you'd blame the hazards of the job. Being the head of a crime family has its disadvantages. For my part, let's just say I'm weary of the competition."

  He was too clever to spell everything out for her. He'd tolerated their head-to-head arms-trading endeavors up till now. But when he'd used a freelancing Mickey Blair for another job, he'd learned the man had worked as Dunhill Security for more than twenty-five years, a curious fact for a hired assassin. The link to Fiona was too tantalizing to pass up. After a discreet background check, he put two and two together. Now, with the truth painfully obvious in her eyes, he knew he'd been right about Fiona's guilt. His gamble had paid off.

  But to use Christian Delacorte, Fiona's charity case, as a pawn in their chess match—his part had been masterfully played. She'd given a life to Delacorte, keeping him apart from her criminal endeavors, perhaps buying the love of a troubled child to create some semblance of family. Irony of ironies. His rival would be imploded from within—at the hands of an innocent.

  Checkmate, Fiona!

  Defeat was manifest in her eyes. A culmination to his wicked scheme. The pinnacle of his success. So why did he not feel victorious?

  "So this has all been about business, even after all these years?" She raised up, moving to the edge of her seat. His silence was her only reply. Then Fiona did something he hadn't expected.

  She knelt at his feet.

  Her hand softly touched his as she gazed at him, weariness etched in her face. The emerald-green of her eyes brimmed in misery. Her voice was only a whisper.

  "I never stopped loving you, Nicky. You know how Charles was. He would have killed you if he'd found out about us. I couldn't let that happen." With fresh tears, she urged him to understand, clutching his hand. "It would have meant a war between the families—a vendetta. No one wins, and so many would have died needlessly. Charles wasn't a man to be trusted. If you only knew—"

  "I know about trust broken, Fiona. We could have—" No use rehashing the past. He let the words flounder in his throat, replacing them with the question he truly wanted to ask. "If you still love me, why didn't you say anything before now?"

  She pulled her hand from his and swallowed hard. Fiona couldn't look him in the eye. She was hiding something.

  "You claim to love me, yet you keep your secrets. Why?" he pleaded, hearing the heartache in his voice, despising the weakness she provoked.
"Why?"

  "Some decisions are better left in the past, not dredged up for the world to see. It's not just about you and me anymore."

  What did she mean?

  For him, it had always been about her. He hadn't been the same since the first time he saw her all those many years ago. His successes, his competitiveness, all of it had been posturing for her. He'd never married, hoping she'd surrender to him. With her rejection even now, so much had been for naught. Yet the ultimate question still lay before him. Would he knowingly destroy her now? Could he kill the last vestiges of the young, idealistic man he used to be when he was with her?

  "And some decisions are a result of the past, a past unwilling to stay buried," he contradicted.

  Nicholas stood and gazed upon her, a lump rising in his throat. Crumpled at his feet, she looked broken. Her youthful innocence was gone, displaced by an agonizing love that had somehow endured. But he knew all about that.

  In their youth, love had burned hot like a flame, wildly flickering and dancing for all to see. When she married another man, he believed that fire to be snuffed for good. Yet unexpectedly, today, he found the red glow of a fiery ember in her eyes, still raging against all odds. It caught him by complete surprise.

  "And you're wrong, Fie. It has always been about you and me."

  Stepping around her, he walked away, unable to look back. Instead, he focused on his hollow footsteps. The sound nearly drowned out the regret heard in her choking sobs. The splendor of the grand chateau drifted by in a blur. He felt numb.

  He couldn't turn around. If he had, he might never want to leave.

  "He's asking for you. ICU room eight." Yolanda smiled weakly. Raven could tell the woman was exhausted. "He doesn't have the strength for a long visit, but I'm afraid you're going to have to be the judge of that. He's so stubborn."

  Raven stood, rushing to Tony's wife with open arms. Closing her eyes, she held the woman firmly in her embrace, willing her strength. "How are you holding up?"

  When they parted, Yolanda shrugged without complaint. "I'm gonna take his parents to the chapel, maybe get some coffee in the cafeteria." Unspoken emotion lay just beneath the surface of her words. "Come find me if—"

  "I will." Quick to speak up, Raven didn't allow her to finish the thought.

  Before leaving, Yolanda stepped toward Christian, who'd risen from the sofa when she entered the waiting room.

  "He wants to see you, too, Christian." With a smile, she reached for his hand and kissed it.

  "Me?" Delacorte questioned.

  "Yes, you. I'm sure he'd like to thank you for bringing his parents to Chicago. I could tell your generosity surprised him."

  "No doubt." Christian nodded, directing a sheepish look toward Raven. He looked unworthy, like an instigator of a prank that turned out to be mistaken for an act of kindness. But she knew better.

  After Yolanda left the room, Raven turned toward Christian. "You heard the man. He wants to see us both." She swept her arm to the ICU room door, encouraging him.

  Reluctantly, he stood his ground, stuffing his hands into his jeans pockets. "You go. He doesn't need to thank me for anything."

  The aw-shucks routine was adorable, but Raven understood her partner. "Oh, believe me. I know that man in there. He has more to say than just thanks. Trust me on that one."

  Christian narrowed his eyes at her, then slowly nodded again. She knew he was bracing himself for an audience with the ingratiating cop who'd attempted to serve him lousy coffee while setting him up for a subtle interrogation—all in the name of law and order.

  "Lead the way." He sighed.

  A flood of memories filled Raven's mind as she walked slowly down the sterile corridor of the ICU. Medical science blended its own pungent concoction of vague medicinal odors and pine cleaner, with a dash of human secretions laced in anxiety and hope. She avoided a curious glance into open doorways, not wanting to invade the privacy of the seriously ill who shared her partner's plight.

  Room number 8 was the fourth door to the right, the only room with an attendant dressed in blue seated outside. Raven kept her eyes focused on the sympathetic gaze from a young police officer stationed at Tony's door, who stood as she neared. She acknowledged his service with a nod, the first shift of the twenty-four-hour police protection for the Rodriguez family. The assignment of the young officer meant her days of freedom were numbered. Soon, she'd be hampered with an entourage of her own. The thought saddened her, but nothing prepared her for what followed, seeing Tony for the first time after his assault.

  Standing at the threshold of her partner's room, Raven shuddered, a faint gasp fresh from her lips. She'd never seen him so weak—and lost. Tubes and machinery sustained him. Tony looked so frail and thin, his skin pale from blood loss. It was as if the muscles of his body had atrophied overnight. With his eyes closed, he had the appearance of a corpse, except for the steady beep of his heart monitor.

  Christian sensed her shock and grasped her shoulder, saying, "He's alive, and on the right side of the dirt. That counts for something."

  At the sound of Christian's voice, Tony opened his eyes with a sluggish effort. In his condition, it took him a moment to place Raven's face. But once he had, a weak smile crossed his lips.

  His lips moved to say her name, but opted for a simpler version. "Mac."

  "The doctor said you were lucky. You're gonna be okay."

  Pulling up a chair next to his bed, she gently squeezed his hand, knowing precious little of his medical condition. With effort, Tony filled his lungs with a shallow and unsteady pant. The man knew the difference between wishful thinking and the truth, possessing surefire radar to detect bullshit. But it didn't stop her from trying.

  "They were m-mercs, Raven. Laser scopes." His voice nothing but raspy air, dry and faint. "Connected to Bl-Blair. Be careful."

  She had kept the break-in at her house a secret from him and Yolanda. They both had enough to deal with. Tony's dark eyes already communicated his concern for her safety. Even with his life still at risk, he worried for her. God, how she loved this man!

  "Listen to me, Tony Rodriguez. You've only got one job while you're here. And that is to stay alive. You hear me? Prove to that bastard that he can't keep a macho man like you down. A Tex-Mex is hard to kill." She smiled through the tears filling her eyes, choking back the lump in her throat. She tightened her grip on his cold fingers. "I love you, Tony."

  Leaning closer, she kissed his cheek. One of her tears doused his skin, mingling with his own. She brushed it away with a thumb.

  "Te quiero, m-mi h-hermana." He returned the sentiment in Spanish, adding an endearment she'd come to recognize—my sister.

  Tony was family now. And her family needed protection.

  Wiping the tears from her face, she steeled herself for a fight. Under the cover of darkness, Blair's killer was a coward, resorting to an assault on an unsuspecting off-duty police officer in clear sight of his family. Unfortunately, in this quietly raging society, retribution against the police had become prevalent, and often for minor offenses such as traffic citations. How screwed up do you have to be to kill over a parking ticket?

  Tony looked tired, barely able to keep his eyes open. But she knew he wasn't done.

  "In case anything happens—" He swallowed and tightened his grip on her hand, fighting back a deepening shroud of pain in his eyes. "Please take c-care of m-my family. Yolie is strong, but—"

  Raven opened her mouth to reject his withering hope, but now wasn't the time to deny him anything. Even though she refused to believe he might die, something as small as an errant blood clot could seal his fate, a familiar complication for gunshot wounds.

  Clenching her jaw, she assured him, "You know I will."

  A weak smile faded from his face. She knew her promise gave him comfort. Staring into his eyes, she let the contented silence build between them. Without words, Tony was preparing her for the worst.

  "Oh, no, you don't." She nearly choked on the realiza
tion. "You're giving me that all-knowing Yoda stare, the one that says I shouldn't question my training officer." Despite the humor in her words and a crooked half smile, a tear contradicted her message. "You taught me everything, Tony. And I know you're just too damned ornery to die. I got my stubborn streak from you."

  "Not so, Grasshopper. You c-came by that honestly— from your old m-man." The old Tony glimmered just beneath the surface of his pain, too frail to emerge. "Is Christian here? I'd like ... to t-talk to him, alone."

  Faced with reality, she discovered her partner was breakable after all. But leaving him to the care of others went against the woman she was, and her training. Tony released his grip from her fingers, letting go.

  "He's here, Tony." Glancing over her shoulder, she nodded her encouragement for Delacorte to take her place. She ran fingers down Christian's arm as he stood by her side. Even in Tony's weakened condition, he hadn't missed Raven's subtle gesture of affection.

  Her partner rarely missed a thing.

  "This your idea of vacation time?" Once they were alone, Christian sat beside Tony's bed, lightly touching the man's arm to make a connection.

  "Raven will tell you. I d-do anything for a little attention." Even in jest, Tony covered his pain, garnering his strength. "Thanks for m-my parents."

  "You getting better is thanks enough. And your mom promised to make me some habanero hot sauce that'll rip my head off. That's all the gratitude I can handle." Christian stood to leave, but Tony grabbed his arm.

  "The act of k-kindness toward my f-family, you seem like a good man." With his eyes, he beckoned for Christian to lean closer, the man's voice barely above a whisper. "She won't back down from this. I know how she is. These men are organized and d-dangerous. Please t-take care of her, of Raven."

  Sitting down, Christian nodded. "I plan to do just that. At least until you're back on your feet." Christian tilted his head, patiently waiting for relief to show on Tony's face. "I agree with you. She needs someone to watch her back. Any bastard that would do what they did to you and your family deserves—" He stopped midsentence.