“Where is your mom?” I asked him.
Durrell didn’t answer. Instead he whined, the same sound I would’ve made had I been a dog and my stomach was growling.
“You like burgers?” I asked him. His smile grew wider. “All right. Come on. We’ll pig out. At least my mom loaned me a car to drive,” I said. “Looks like yours didn’t care if you ate.”
Durrell ran to the car, barely waiting for me to open the door before he jumped inside and stood on the front seat, waiting. I looked over at Durrell. He was resting his furry chin on the window ledge, sniffing the night air for all he was worth, clearly in doggy ecstasy.
I drove across town, purchased a fast-food feast suitable for four hungry adults, and kept on driving, wandering around town, then out into the county for what must’ve been close to an hour. Durrell was in doggy heaven, eating people food and smelling new smells. I was in my own form of heaven, wolfing down thick burgers and crisp fries and contemplating the eventual return of one Detective Gray Evans. Somehow, the food bolstered my confidence and the thought of spending a large quantity of time with the man no longer frightened me. Eventually, I gave in to the inevitable. I had to go home, call my mother and apologize for doing the unthinkable, missing one of her meals.
I pulled up into the driveway, cut the engine and sat there until Durrell moaned.
“Sorry, buddy,” I said, opening the car door. “It’s called procrastination.” But I was thinking that while I had one painful chore to take care of, I was almost assured of a pleasant reward at some point later in the evening. After all, hadn’t Gray said he’d be stopping by after he’d processed his three mobsters?
I climbed the back steps and let myself into the darkened house. I was halfway across the kitchen before I heard the voices. At first I thought I was hearing things, then wondered if I’d left a TV on somewhere. Almost immediately I came to my senses and realized people were talking and I didn’t recognize any of their voices. The sounds were coming from the basement.
I tiptoed, silent in my bare feet, to the edge of the basement door and stood listening.
“My father’s dead because of you,” a vaguely familiar female voice suddenly said.
“Your father is dead because he did a foolish thing and got caught,” a cool woman’s voice answered. “I had nothing to do with it.”
The younger woman interrupted, but as she did, I recognized her. It was Della, but without her deep Southern drawl. “You set him up. Your husband had my dad killed because of you.”
The other female voice spoke, softer, kinder in tone, as if she was trying to soothe Della, but I couldn’t make out the words. Without thinking, I edged down the steps, sticking close to the far wall and holding my breath in an attempt to hear what was being said.
“Don’t make it worse,” I heard the woman say. “I loved your father and he loved me. He would want you to help me. If I don’t find the video, my husband will. He’ll kill me.”
Della laughed, but it was a harsh sound, and cruel in its anger. “Me help you? Who helped my dad? You could have stopped it. I know you could have stopped it.”
She sounded like a child, lost and overcome with grief.
“Kathy,” the woman said, “I didn’t know. Tony never discussed family business with me. I didn’t know who your father was until two weeks before he died. By then it made no difference who he was—I loved him.”
Kathy… Wasn’t that the name of the person Nick had said was coming for him? I looked at Della and felt the remaining pieces click into place. Della was Kathy.
I moved soundlessly down two more steps until I stood in the darkened shadows of the landing. Three figures, two women and a man, stood below me, two of them holding guns. Della—Kathy—held her gun straight out in front of her, aimed at the woman whose back was to the landing. The male figure stood off to the side, holding his weapon in front of his body, aiming it at Della. Behind them the door to the backyard swung on one hinge, broken into two splintered pieces.
“Mom told me Dad was having an affair, but I didn’t believe her. She wouldn’t leave me alone until I followed him.” Della’s face darkened. “I lied to her. I told her she was wrong. It would have killed her, knowing about you.”
The gun in Della’s hand wavered, then steadied as she supported it with her free hand, training it tighter on the woman across from her.
“Don’t do it, Kathy,” the woman said. “He’ll kill you before you can pull the trigger.”
Della never took her eyes from the other woman’s face, never lost sight of her target. “Tell him go ahead—shoot. Do you really think I wouldn’t squeeze one off in time?”
It was like a bad movie. I stood there, trying to piece it together, waiting for them to tell me more. Kathy/Della’s dad was the FBI agent? That hardly seemed possible. The woman across from her was Tony Lombardo’s wife? What in the hell was going on?
“I have no choice, Kathy,” Mrs. Lombardo said. “Tony’ll kill me if he finds out. I can’t let the police have that video.”
“Then they won’t be able to put your husband in jail,” Della said. “If they arrest Tony, he won’t be able to kill you.”
Mrs. Lombardo laughed. “You don’t know the Lombardo family. He won’t spend one hour in jail.”
They don’t know, I thought. They don’t know the police already have the tape.
“How did you find out about the tape?”
Mrs. Lombardo laughed softly. “That stupid girl tried to get me to buy them from her.”
“Connie?” Della asked.
“She wanted to beat her incompetent boyfriend to it. She was greedy. She wanted money from me and from Tony. I just got to her first, that’s all.”
As my eyes adjusted to the light I could see the scene below me more clearly. Tony Lombardo’s wife stood just beneath the landing. She was as tall as Della, but with long, jet-black hair, just like in the film.
Della was crying silently, tears running down her cheeks. The gun trembled slightly in her hands, the only other sign of her thin edge of control.
I held my breath, waiting to see what would happen next. I looked at the three below me and didn’t like the odds. I’d been lucky to get this far without them seeing me.
“Sophie?”
Above me I heard the front door open and the sound of my brother’s voice. I sank back against the wall, watching the others.
Mrs. Lombardo’s accomplice swore. “I thought you said nobody was home.”
“Shut up!” Della ordered. “Maybe they won’t come down here.”
“Hey, Sophie!” Darlene was with him. My heart began to beat faster and my throat went dry.
Their footsteps were moving right toward the open basement door. I knew the only light in the house came from the cellar below me. Before I could react, Joey stood at the top of the stairs, and then he was moving.
“Joey! No!” I screamed, and lunged forward.
“Shoot!” Mrs. Lombardo cried.
Joey saw me but didn’t listen. He glimpsed my face and reacted, moving quickly forward. I glanced down, saw the man below us raise his gun, saw Della lunge forward, and jumped to push Joey back.
I was too late. As I reached for him there was a deafening roar, a flash, and the acrid scent of gunpowder filled the air. Joey was blown back away from me, hitting the wall as his shoulder exploded into a red splotch that quickly grew bigger.
There was another gunshot. The basement was plunged into darkness and below me I heard the sounds of running footsteps, grunting, and then silence.
“Darlene! Call 9-1-1!” I yelled, not knowing where she was or even if she was nearby.
“I tried,” she whispered. She was beside me in the darkness, the scent of patchouli filling the air as she felt Joey’s chest with her fingers, moving surely toward the site of his wound. “The phone lines are dead. I didn’t bring my cell phone.”
I heard scurrying below us, the sound of scraping feet and rapid movement. I heard a woman cry out,
as if in pain.
“Darlene,” I murmured urgently, “we have to get help. My cell phone’s out in the car. I’ll stay here with Joey. Go get the phone and call the police.”
“Sophie, I can’t.”
“Darlene, do it!”
“No, it’s not that. Sophie, they hit an artery. If I let go, he’ll die. I can’t switch with you. You have to go.”
I ran back up the few steps to the kitchen, hoping I could call the police and get back to Joey and Darlene before anyone else got to them. I ran out of the house, into the backyard, and toward the car.
A movement to my left caught my attention. She ran almost silently, rounding the back of the garage and dashing across the yard toward the alley and freedom. Without thinking, I threw myself into her path. We collided with a painful crunch of bone on bone, and fell to the ground.
The woman beneath me yelled out in fury and pushed me, struggling to escape. It was Tony Lombardo’s wife, fighting like an animal to get away from me.
I don’t remember having any conscious thought, but rather I saw my brother, covered in blood, shock registering on his face as the lights went out and we were plunged into darkness. It was that vision of Joey that I was fighting for, that urge to keep this woman from getting away with hurting my brother that propelled me into action. I grabbed her long black hair, wrapped it around my hand and pulled as hard as I could.
She screamed and brought both hands up, wrapping them around my neck and squeezing with a surprisingly strong grip. She had six inches and at least forty pounds on me, but I was trained to take her. It required almost no effort to flip her over onto the hard ground and pin her beneath me. I felt the air whoosh out of her lungs, felt her fingers loosen from my throat, and was rewarded with a squeal of pain as I kneed her in the stomach.
She wasn’t finished. I started to move back, ready to bring her up off the ground when she took me off guard, spitting in my face, unleashing a maelstrom of kicks and wrenching one hand free to grip my own hair, jerking my head back painfully.
I dug my fingers into her face and pushed her backward, breaking her grip with my forearm. I heard her scream as we fell to the ground, but something inside me had snapped and I no longer mistook her pain for capitulation. Suddenly she was gone, lifted off my body and flung aside like a rag doll. I gasped, taking in cool air and seeing the world slowly stop spinning as my eyes focused on Gray’s concerned face.
People were running around us and past us. I choked, trying to find words, but unable to do more than gag and cough.
“Don’t talk,” Gray said. “You’re okay. The neighbors called 9-1-1.”
“Get the others,” I gasped.
I struggled to sit up and found I couldn’t move. Gray’s arms were pinning me to the ground.
“Get off me, you idiot! Joey’s inside. He’s hurt. There’s a guy with a gun…”
Gray nodded and started to move, but as he did I saw Tony Lombardo’s wife move her hand. A tiny silver handgun gleamed in the reflection of the light over the garage.
I shoved the unwitting Gray, hard, and launched myself with a strength I didn’t know I had. The gun flashed as I made contact with her body. She flew backward once more, the shot going wild as she was thrown.
This time I wasn’t taking chances. I drew back my fist and slammed it into her face with everything I had, trying to punch through her. The force lifted her back and then she was down, unconscious, on the ground in front of me.
“Inside!” Gray directed someone.
Sirens again wailed to a halt in front of my house, as the welcome help continued to arrive. A drop hit my arm, then another hit my leg as the first few splashes of a summer shower began to move across the neighborhood.
As Mrs. Lombardo began to move and moan, Gray pulled her arms behind her back and handcuffed her. Her face was swollen and dirt-streaked and she seemed disoriented. She stared past us, out into the darkness, shoulders slumped in the posture of defeat.
“Joey!” I struggled to my feet, dizzy with the effort, and tried to run toward the house. I managed a fast limping pace, wincing as I climbed the back steps and entered the house. Someone had turned on the lights and the glare blinded me momentarily.
When I found my brother he was unconscious, tended to by Darlene and a tall, raw-boned female officer. The two of them leaned over Joey as the officer opened a portable first-aid kit and began pulling on gloves.
“I can take care of him until the ambulance gets here,” Darlene said quickly. “I’m a professional therapist.”
The young officer looked up at her, continued to pull on her gloves and gave her a quick smile. “I’m sure you can,” she said, “but I’m a professional EMT. I need to get him prepped for an IV. Why don’t you to keep the pressure on the wound site. Can you do that?”
Darlene nodded, her face almost as pale as Joey’s. One tear escaped from the corner of her eye, but she didn’t seem to notice. Her entire attention was on our brother.
“Goddess,” I heard her whisper, “please help us. Please?”
The redhead glanced up sharply. “Goddess?” she echoed softly. She continued to work, rolling up Joey’s sleeve and swabbing the crook of his arm with an alcohol soaked piece of gauze.
“Yeah,” Darlene said. “God is a woman.”
“God is every woman,” the young officer said.
I looked over the edge of the banister at the scene in the basement. Mrs. Lombardo’s accomplice lay sprawled on the floor, a pool of dark red blood surrounding his inert body. No one seemed to be paying any attention to him; instead two officers were stooped over Kathy/Della, talking in low tones. I saw her legs move as she struggled to sit up, helped by the two policemen.
“Oh, man,” she murmured, seeing the dead guy in front of her. “I guess I killed him, huh?”
Her gun lay on the floor a few feet away and I saw her glance at it, then turn away. Behind me at the top of the stairs, I heard the sound of more people arriving, EMTs with a gurney.
I moved, wanting to get out of the way. Detective Wendell Arrow was just arriving, stepping through the broken pieces of the cellar door and reaching the spot where Della stood, staring at her victim.
She looked up at Wendell, her eyes huge in her pale face and said, “I did it. He was gonna shoot Sophie if I didn’t.”
Wendell looked up toward the steps, saw me and moved on to where Darlene was trying to help the medics load our brother onto the stretcher.
Darlene turned, as if she felt his presence, her face crumpling with grief as she began to cry. Wendell looked stricken. He moved, taking the steps two at a time and passing me in his haste to reach my sister.
The young redheaded officer beside Darlene turned, saw Wendell and began to speak. “He’ll be all right. He got hit in the shoulder.”
Darlene and Wendell came together and he took her in his arms. He looked over Darlene’s shoulder at the woman in uniform.
“I didn’t know you were back on active duty.”
From my vantage point on the stairs just below them I could see the girl smile. “I’ve been out of the hospital for a week,” she said. “I was going crazy just sitting around.”
Darlene raised her head from Wendell’s shoulder and looked at the redhead. The stairs were well lit now and it was easy to read the young officer’s name tag. R. Arrow, it said.
“Darlene, this is Becky, my daughter.”
Darlene wiped at her eyes, rubbing them as if not quite believing what she was seeing.
“Hey,” she said weakly.
“Pleased to meet you,” Becky said. “Dad’s told me a lot about you.”
Darlene stood there for a moment, frowning. “He did?”
The EMTs had Joey at the top of the stairs and I moved, edging my way past the trio and following Joey’s stretcher.
“I’ll ride with him,” I murmured to Darlene as I passed her. “Meet me over there.”
Darlene seemed to snap back, sealing her tearful emotions away and beco
ming stronger. “I’ve got to go,” she said to the father and daughter. “It was nice meeting you.”
She turned to me. “Let’s go.”
Wendell and his daughter, Kathy/Della and the Lombardos were all forgotten as we climbed into the back of Joey’s ambulance and made the quick trip to Craven County Medical Center. Halfway there, Joey regained consciousness and moaned.
“Marone a mia,” he whispered. “The fun never ends with you two.” He gasped.
“Shh,” I whispered.
Joey swore in Italian. Darlene looked down at him. “That’s physically impossible,” she said mildly.
Joey groaned again and gave up, closing his eyes and drifting off as we pulled into the hospital driveway.
Chapter 17
Joey was on his way to surgery when Gray arrived with Kathy/Della. He beckoned to me from the curtained entrance of her cubicle.
“The doctor’s checking her over before I take her to the station,” he said, reaching out to touch my arm. “How’re you holding up?”
“Awful,” I said. I felt globally miserable. My brother was on his way to surgery and even though everyone hastened to reassure me that it wasn’t my fault, I still felt responsible.
Gray didn’t try to say all the words I’d already heard. Instead he gestured toward the cubicle. “She wants to talk to you,” he said. “She said she’d only talk to you. Do you mind?”
“Kathy?”
Gray nodded and said, “Her real name is Kathy Moon Garrison. You know who she is, right?”
The bits of overheard conversation flooded back into my head and I nodded. “Is she really the undercover agent’s daughter?”
Gray sighed. “Yes. She was a freshman at Temple when her father died, a drama major. She dropped out and the word was she was planning on entering the police academy in the fall.”
“How old is she, Gray?”
He shrugged. “Near as I can figure, she’s about twenty, but she won’t give me anything until she sees you.”
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