by Sharon Sala
He noticed the duffel bag was no longer on the desk, which meant she’d already settled in. The thought of her in his home made him happy, and he reluctantly left the room.
About a half an hour later Tonio was back with his wallet and the prescriptions.
“Did I have enough cash to cover the meds or do I owe you?” he asked.
“You had enough with some left over.”
“Thanks again, Uncle Tonio,” Nick said and gave him a quick pat on the shoulder.
“You are most welcome. Call anytime you need me to run another errand. It will give me an excuse to get away from Juana’s constant need to keep me busy.”
Nick grinned. He already knew the story. Juana had read an article about retirees passing away soon after their retirement because of sudden inactivity, and she took it upon herself to make sure her husband was not another statistic.
A car horn sounded.
Tonio frowned.
“Madre de Dios, that woman! I better go.”
Nick walked him to the door and waved as they drove away.
He paused as he turned, looking at his house anew—wondering what Quinn thought about it, hoping it would become the place of peace and shelter to her that it was to him.
Ten
It was midafternoon when Anton leaned across the arm of his seat to look out the window of the plane, admiring the geography of what was below him. Nestled between the vast sea of jungle green and the clear blue of the coastal waters was the whitewashed Moroccan-style palace that was his vacation home. The tear-shaped swimming pool was the centerpiece of an elaborate courtyard surrounded by a lush landscape of palms and the vibrant colors of blooming plants.
Seeing it from this angle always gave him a sense of pride. He’d come from nothing to wielding great wealth and power. The fact that his wealth came from young women caught up in a hell not of their own making didn’t matter to him. Life was for the strong—for the ones who dared.
The plane tilted slightly as Captain Franklin began to circle for landing at the private airstrip, and Anton leaned back in his seat, momentarily closing his eyes.
He was now officially out of the FBI’s reach. His heartbeat accelerated with anticipation as the plane touched down. In his mind, he imagined he could already smell the ocean.
The plane taxied to a full stop.
Captain Franklin came out of the cockpit and lowered the steps onto the tarmac while Linda began gathering up Anton’s things.
He was in a good mood as he began to deplane, and the good mood continued when he saw Jorge Ramirez, the caretaker of his estate, waiting a short distance away with the car.
The sun was brutally hot and, as always, so bright it almost hurt. He adjusted his sunglasses as he started down the steps to the luggage Franklin had placed below.
Jorge was driving toward the plane. He pulled up and got out, moving fast for a man his age as he circled the car to open the door for his boss.
“Welcome, Senor Baba,” Jorge said.
“Thank you, Jorge,” Anton said as he slid into the back seat into air-conditioning comfort.
“Miss Star and the baby do not come this time?” he asked.
Anton frowned.
“No, not this time,” he said.
Franklin loaded the luggage into the trunk, and Linda handed Anton’s briefcase and jacket to Jorge.
Anton rolled down the window.
“Paul! I’ll be here indefinitely. If I need the plane, I will text you.”
“Yes, sir. Thank you, sir,” Franklin said.
Anton saw Linda standing in the doorway of the plane. She smiled and waved.
He rolled up the window as Jorge got into the front seat.
“Do you wish to go directly to the main house, sir?”
“Yes,” Anton said.
The airstrip was a couple hundred yards from the estate, giving Anton time to admire his empire from the ground.
His massive estate was whitewashed yearly to keep the exterior the blinding white color he preferred. It had been built over two hundred years ago, and the first time he’d set foot on the premises it had given him a strange sense of the past, as if he’d been here before, maybe in another lifetime.
He couldn’t help but remember this was also where Sammy was conceived. A slight frown creased his forehead. He still couldn’t quite believe Star had betrayed him this way. It was her fault that he would have to hide here now, her fault that his carefully structured life was beginning a downward spiral.
His eyes narrowed angrily.
To hell with that deceptive bitch. It was time to make new memories.
* * *
Justin had left the house almost an hour earlier to pick up their parents at the airport, which meant they would be here any minute, and Star was worried about how she looked. Last night she’d washed off all the makeup she’d applied to hide her face, and by the time she’d sat down with her egg sandwich she’d already been starting to feel more like herself. But the wild colors she’d chosen for her hair practically screamed at her in the morning when she’d looked in the mirror. The first thing she wanted was to get rid of the hair dye, but showering it out on her own was impossible. She couldn’t take a chance on getting whatever was in that cheap dye into her open wounds. So she took her shampoo and towel and went looking for Donna to ask if she could use the kitchen sink.
“Absolutely!” Donna said. “In fact, you just lean over the sink and I’ll do it for you. How’s that?”
“Much appreciated,” Star said, following Donna into the kitchen.
“Okay... I think that’s got it,” Donna said after the third wash, and she wrapped a big towel around Star’s shoulders to catch the drips as she straightened up.
“Justin picked a winner with you,” Star said. “You’ve been so patient with all of this chaos coming into your lives.”
“You’re my sister. It’s my pleasure,” Donna said.
Star swallowed past the lump in her throat.
“I still appreciate it,” Star said.
Donna towel-dried Star’s hair and then began trying to finger-comb it into place.
“Want me to even up your haircut? I’m pretty good with a pair of scissors,” she offered.
“That would be great,” Star said, relieved she wouldn’t have to wait for the damage she’d done to grow out. “At least make me presentable for my parents.”
Donna pulled out a kitchen chair.
“Sit here. I’ll go get my scissors and cape.”
Star sat as Donna left on the run and came back the same way.
“You have the real deal,” Star said, eyeing the haircutting scissors and black plastic cape.
“Told you I was pretty good,” Donna said. “I made extra money for nursing school by cutting hair for interns and nurses at discount rates.”
She fastened the cape around Star’s neck, combed through her hair and then began telling stories about nursing school as she cut and clipped and the intern who passed out on top of a body during an autopsy. By the time she was through she had Star laughing. She handed Star a mirror and then stood back to await her opinion.
“What do you think?” Donna asked.
“It’s perfect,” Star said, and it was—a perfect pixie cut for the shape of her face. “I’m going to get dressed now. It’s secondhand chic, but I bought it fair and square with the money I stole off my guard when I rolled him.”
Donna’s eyes widened. Then a big smile spread across her face as she burst into laughter.
“You have just knocked Scarlett O’Hara off my personal pedestal as favorite heroine. Starla Davis...modern-day warrior. Has a nice ring to it, don’t you think?”
Star grinned and was surprised that she could smile about all this.
<
br /> “Not bad at all. I’m going to get dressed. Yell at me if they get here while I’m gone,” she said and went to change.
Less than fifteen minutes later Star heard Donna call out.
“They’re coming up the drive!”
With one last glance in the mirror, she had to accept she’d done the best she could with what was left of her, and she hurried out of her room to see her family.
She made it as far as the living room, before her nerves stopped her in her tracks. Her heart was pounding so hard she felt faint. Donna gave her a thumbs-up as she walked past Star for the front door to let them in, but Star couldn’t move. This was her dream. It was happening, finally, and yet she couldn’t move for fear she’d wake up and find out it wasn’t real.
She heard footsteps and voices outside the door and reached for the back of the sofa to steady herself.
The door swung inward. Justin was carrying luggage, and she could hear her daddy’s voice behind him.
The lump in her throat became a sob.
She got a glimpse of her mother’s face, and then everything became a blur of joyful cries and arms reaching toward her.
All of a sudden Justin leaped between them.
“Wait! Mom! Dad! You can’t hug her!” he said. “She’s hurt!”
The horror on their faces broke Star’s heart.
“I don’t care if it hurts,” she said and walked into her mother’s arms and cried.
John couldn’t bear it. The two women he loved most in the world were in tears. No way in hell was he just going to stand there. He pulled them close and cried with them.
* * *
The Davises talked all the way through the dinner hour and late into the evening before Star’s stamina eventually gave out. Everything she’d told them about her recent life had been glossed over or edited down. She could never give voice to all of it. It was enough that she’d survived it.
Her father had been mostly quiet. She guessed it was because he felt guilty that he hadn’t been able to find her—he’d hinted at it throughout the evening.
It wasn’t until Justin and Donna got up to go make coffee that John moved to a seat on the sofa beside his daughter. Tears welled as he forced himself to meet her gaze.
“I’m...I’m so sorry,” he said, his voice catching in his throat.
“You have nothing to be sorry for,” Star said.
“I quit believing,” he said.
“Oh, Daddy, so did I.”
“We thought you were dead.”
Star shrugged. “There were many times I wished it...until Sammy. After that, my sole purpose was to stay alive for him.”
Connie scooted closer.
“How do we get him back?” Connie asked.
“He’s in FBI custody. I have to let them know where I am, and they will bring him to me.”
“What about this man... Anton Baba? How can we keep you safe? What if he’s trying to find you right now?” John asked.
Star’s cheeks reddened in anger.
“I’ll testify against him—that’s what the FBI has wanted all along. They’ll bury him so deep in a federal prison that he’ll never see the light of day again. And then I will take my son and live happily ever after.”
* * *
Nick was at the door paying for the pizza and salads he’d ordered for lunch when a black SUV pulled up in the driveway beside the pizza delivery car.
The hair rose on the back of his neck as he recognized the two men who got out.
Son of a bitch. What are they doing here?
He gave the delivery boy a generous tip, and even though the Feds were halfway to his house, Nick closed the door and took the food into the kitchen, fully aware he’d literally and symbolically shut the door in their faces. He was on the way back to the living room when the doorbell rang. He swung the door inward, then stood blocking their entrance.
“What?” he snapped.
Agents Gleason and Powers blinked. So, they hadn’t misread the fact that he’d shut the door on them. It was not the greeting they were expecting.
“May we come in?” Gleason asked.
“Why?” Nick asked.
“Is Quinn O’Meara with you?”
“Yes.”
“Well, that’s good news,” Gleason said.
“Why?” Nick asked again.
“Because it turns out her testimony will help us build a stronger case against Baba after all.”
“Shit,” Nick muttered.
“Now may we come in?”
“She’s asleep. I was just about to wake her up for lunch. You have five minutes with her, and then you will leave, understand?”
Gleason nodded.
Nick stepped aside to let them in, then led them to the living room.
“Have a seat. I’ll go get her.”
“Thank you for—”
Nick walked off, leaving Gleason talking to himself.
Powers looked at his partner and grinned.
“Pissed off, isn’t he?”
Gleason dropped into the closest chair and wiped a hand across his face.
“So am I, but pissed at the way this whole thing was handled. There’s nothing to do but admit we made most of this worse by ineffective response time and poor judgment.”
Powers sat down in the chair beside him.
“That and the fact that the director chewed the hide off our asses,” he said.
Gleason rolled his eyes.
“Yeah, there’s that, too,” he said, realizing this visit might be more difficult than he had assumed.
* * *
Nick pushed the door inward just enough to see if Quinn was still asleep and saw her sitting on the side of the bed, quietly staring out the window. Her expression was pensive and a little sad. He wondered what she was thinking about, but unfortunately, this was not the time to ask. He knocked softly on the door and then pushed it ajar.
“Okay if I come in?” he asked, as she turned toward the door.
“Of course,” she said and patted the side of the bed.
He sat down beside her and gave her a brief hug.
“Are you ready for company?”
She frowned.
“Who?”
“The same Feds who came to the hospital,” Nick said.
“What do they want now?” she asked.
“To tie you down as a witness, but I’ll let them explain the details.”
“I thought they’d blown off what I said.”
He shrugged.
“Obviously something’s come up. Are you ready now, or do you want me to tell them you’ll be there shortly?”
“No, I’m ready now. The sooner I get it over with, the better I’ll be.”
“I already told them they only have five minutes. We have pizza waiting.”
Her eyes widened in delight.
“Yum!”
He leaned in and brushed a kiss across her forehead.
“What was that for?” she asked.
“For my selfish pleasure,” he said.
She shook her head, but was secretly pleased. Cradling her arm, she stood, then straightened the tail of her shirt and finger-combed her hair.
“Let’s go do this,” she said, taking comfort in the warmth of his hand against her back as they left the room.
Both of the agents stood when Quinn walked in.
“Miss O’Meara. Thank you for taking the time to speak with us,” Gleason began.
Quinn looked back at Nick.
“I didn’t know I had an option.”
He grinned.
Gleason was just remembering that the last time he’d seen her she’d ordered both of them out of her ro
om.
“So sit,” she said shortly and eased herself down on the sofa, then pulled Nick down beside her.
“I know you didn’t come to inquire about my health, so what do you want?” Quinn asked.
“I’m sorry we got off on the wrong foot the other day,” Gleason said.
“Cut to the chase, please. I don’t mean to be rude, but you showed up out of the blue, and I’m not a fan of cold pizza.”
“Point taken,” Gleason said. “You mentioned the car that followed you into Vegas from the murder site had a shaky headlight and a windshield that appeared to be missing?”
“Yes.”
“A vehicle matching that description turned up in an impound yard. We discovered it belonged to Anton Baba and had Dev Bosky’s fingerprints all over it.”
“Who’s Dev Bosky?” she asked.
“The man who tried to kill you in the hospital, which means he was also the one who shot you in the back,” Nick said.
Her eyes widened. She was beginning to connect the dots.
“So the fact that I can testify to one of Baba’s hired guns being at the scene of the murder has made me valuable enough that you now give a shit if someone tries to murder me again.”
Gleason sighed.
“Yes, ma’am, we give a shit. So will you agree to testify if the need arises?”
Quinn glanced at Nick, but he wasn’t trying to inject his opinion, for which she was grateful. This was her life, her decision. It just made her happy to know he was beside her.
“Where is Star Davis? What about her testimony?” she asked.
“We don’t know where she is,” Gleason said.
Nick frowned.
“Do you think Baba got to her again?”
“We don’t know,” Gleason said. “We don’t know where he is, either.”
“You mean he skipped out on you?” Nick asked.
“It appears so,” Gleason said.
Quinn shook her head in disbelief.
“So far, my faith in the justice system is right where it was when I was seventeen. However, I don’t need or want to hear any more. I’ll testify.”
Gleason decided to leave on a positive note.
“Thank you. We’ll be in touch.”
