by Wendy Tyson
Apparently Vaughn had the same thought. He stayed silent, too—although he radiated an angry energy that Allison could practically feel in the charged air around them.
“So why are you here then, Detective?” Allison asked quietly. She kept her gaze locked on Razinski’s, even when he tried to look away. “If this all amounts to nothing more than one crazy family’s antics, or a series of coincidences, why drive all the way to New York? It’s not even your jurisdiction.”
“Paperwork. Follow-up. Administrative stuff.”
His eyes shifted to the left and Allison knew he was lying. But why? And why bother to orchestrate this meeting?
Razinski said, “You’d better learn to live with coincidence, Ms. Campbell. Because there is an awful lot of coincidence surrounding your name.” He looked pointedly at Vaughn. “And around your colleague here.”
Allison tightened her grip on Vaughn’s knee, both to quiet him and to control her own blossoming irritation.
“You think we have something to do with this?”
Razinski continued looking at Vaughn. “I think you should go home and let the professionals handle things.”
“Is that a threat, Detective?” Allison’s eyes narrowed. How dare he insinuate that he would focus on First Impressions, on Vaughn, if they didn’t back down?
Razinski gave her a hollow smile. “It’s not a threat, Allison. Your boy here has a past. Juvenile records might be sealed, but some of what he did happened when he was eighteen, nineteen. Did he tell you that?”
“I know what he did.”
“Drug deals, theft, more than kid stuff. He may be all cleaned up now, but it doesn’t take much for a jury to remember. Prosecutors have a knack for making sure the media digs.”
Razinski didn’t look like a man who relished bullying. In fact, he spoke with an almost apologetic tone. Nevertheless, Allison shook her head back and forth, anger giving way to rage. “More threats. Our involvement wouldn’t bother you so much, Detective Razinski, if this was as simple as you’d like us to believe. But it’s not, is it? And somehow our presence is complicating things.”
“Only for the family. Let them be, Allison. You, of all people, should understand how hard this must be.”
Allison took a long, hard look at the detective. Was he simply saying that she, as an image consultant, should bow to etiquette and leave the Benini family alone? Or had he done some digging on her, too? Did he know about her own family’s past, her work with another teen, so long ago? Her dealings with the McBride family? Were his words a veiled threat, or was she seeing conspiracies where there were none?
Allison thought of Francesca, her determination to lead the family business back to health. No, she wasn’t imagining conspiracies. Something was as fishy as a back alley in Chinatown.
Allison said, “Certain family members should be prime suspects.”
“What proof do you have that the Benini family has done anything wrong?”
Allison opened her mouth to answer, then shut it just as quickly. For what real proof did she have? None.
“Just as I thought.” Razinski stood. He studied Allison for a long second before turning his attention to Vaughn. “You should heed my warning, Mr. Vaughn,” he said, his tone stern. “A man like you has a lot to lose. Stay out of this one. Go home.” He pushed his chair backward, causing the legs to squeal violently against the flooring. The women at the table nearby turned around. Razinski didn’t seem to notice, but when he spoke again, his voice was kinder. “Go home and return to your brother and your life.”
After he left, Allison and Vaughn lingered. Allison’s head hurt, the pain behind her temples quickly spreading to the rest of her skull and extending its grip around her neck. She pulled Excedrin out of her bag—all she had with her—and popped two capsules with the remainder of her coffee. She hoped the medicine would quell the coming storm.
“Razinski did his homework,” Vaughn said.
“He’s dealing with a disappearance and possibly a murder. Of course he did his homework.”
Vaughn shook his head. “Doesn’t add up, Allison, and you know that. Razinski acts like there really is nothing to investigate. But then he digs into our backgrounds?” Another head shake. “I want to hate the guy, but I really don’t think Razinski’s a bad cop. He’s caught up in something bigger than him. Someone is pulling his puppet strings.”
Allison thought about the difference between the Razinski she’d met originally and this Razinski. Vaughn was right. The guy seemed squirrelly, edgy even. That was not the calm detective they’d met immediately after Francesca’s disappearance. His behavior today did seem odd.
“When I think puppet,” Allison said, “the first thing that comes to mind is Mob.”
“Which would explain a lot of things, including the detective’s behavior.” Vaughn rubbed his eyes.
“Problem is, we’re drowning in facts with no clear connection between them, especially if you throw Tammy into the mix.”
Vaughn nodded. “But if someone’s pressuring Razinski, then the most likely candidate is organized crime. Who else has that much clout and span of control?”
“Politicians? Government?”
“Simplest answer, Allison. Mafia.”
Twenty-Eight
Allison was tired of driving back and forth between the Finger Lakes region of New York and her home in Villanova, so she and Vaughn found an inn near Ithaca. Ironically, it looked much like the Benini estate, with its neo-Gothic façade and sprawling interior, only newer and full of charm, no shadows. Allison paid for two rooms, thanked the very young and very pretty receptionist, and led the way down an interior hallway toward the guest suites. She wanted a hot bath and some time to think.
Not just about the Benini family, but also about Jason.
He was going to be irate. He wanted her home and out of this mess now. Hadn’t he said as much? She’d had the window in her home repaired immediately, but if he found out about that, too, there really would be hell to pay. She couldn’t blame him. Last year, her foray into detective work had nearly ended her life. He was still smarting from that. But what was she supposed to do now? Throw up her hands and let Vaughn take the fall for something he didn’t do—if it came to that? Take the risk that something could happen to two of her clients?
Stop it, Allison, she thought. You’re a big girl. You can make your own decisions. And Jason is not your husband anymore.
Ah, but he wants to be, she thought. And maybe I want him to be, too.
She placed the electronic key against the key pad and opened the door into a well-appointed suite. A bedroom flanked a small sitting room and full bath, both adorned in saturated shades of plum, khaki and green. Allison dropped her small bag on the desk and then headed for the bathroom. There, she turned on the water and started filling the oversized tub.
In the bedroom, she slipped off the jeans and simple brown t-shirt she’d purchased at Target, the most convenient shop they’d found. Naked, she was padding her way back toward the bathroom when her cell rang. Thinking it was Jason, she braced herself and grabbed the device. Denise Carr’s number flashed on her phone.
Anxious for news, Allison said, “Hello?”
“This is Tammy’s manager. Denise Carr. I’m just checking in to see whether you’ve heard anything.”
Disappointed, Allison said, “No. Nothing. I was hoping...I was hoping perhaps you had something to share.”
“We haven’t found her, if that’s what you mean.” Denise’s voice was a nasally mix of disappointment and frustration. “Are you in your office?”
“No, I’m up north. But if she’d tried to reach me, I would have known.”
Denise paused. “If you hear anything, Allison, anything at all, I hope you’ll call me. This is serious. No one blames you, of course, but the family...well, the family is broken up. If Tammy did run aw
ay, she owes it to her parents to come back. They’re worried sick. We all are.”
“Of course,” Allison said, and hung up. But her mind was already elsewhere.
She turned off the spigot and sank down into a hot froth of bathwater, relishing the warmth that enveloped her skin. She thought about Tammy Edwards, the girl’s ties to Kai Berger and Scott Berger. The Edwards’ reaction to the mention of a boyfriend.
Denise said that Mrs. Edwards was bereft, worried sick. That wasn’t how Jane Edwards seemed just a few days ago. Was Denise being honest?
Allison heard a knock at her door. Reluctantly, she climbed out of the tub, dried off quickly, and slipped into the white bathrobe thoughtfully placed on a hook in the bathroom.
“Coming!” she yelled. She wrapped the robe tight across her naked chest and did her best to wipe the water from her eyes.
She opened the door, expecting Vaughn. But it was Alex Benini who stood in the hallway.
Mia tried to ring the last contact, a journalist who’d written about the Tarasoff take down. His name was Michael Jiff and he was not answering at the number Svengetti had given her. She left her cell number on his voicemail and sat in the truck, neck against the head rest, contemplating her next move. It was early evening, and while the sun was still shining, it wouldn’t be long before the shadows would lengthen. She didn’t relish a drive home in the dark.
Mia knew she needed to talk to Allison and Vaughn. It was imperative that they trade notes, because she was certain that wherever they were, they were collecting information just as she was. She hoped something she’d discovered would mesh up with their findings. Because right now she had a whole lot of so what.
Mia dialed Jason’s number. He picked up right away.
“Where the hell are you?” he said.
“Nice way to greet your mother.”
“I swear, Mom, I think you’ve all gone insane. I stopped by your house after work. Your neighbor was there, feeding Buddy. She seemed to think you were going to be away overnight.”
“Thank goodness for Mrs. Crumbly.”
“Well, are you? Going to be out all night?”
Mia laughed. “Since when are you so worried about me?”
“Since you also decided to play detective. And don’t tell me that’s not what you’re doing. Are you with my w—”
But Mia heard it. He’d started to say wife and stopped himself. Like that, the old heartache returned. Jason was still madly in love with Allison, and while Mia had forgiven Allison for the divorce, she was all too aware of the hurting the younger woman could put on her son if this relationship went south.
Her voice softer, Mia said, “I’m not with Allison. I have no idea where she is.”
Mia heard her son’s breathing, slow and steady, calming himself the way he’d done as a child. But he isn’t a child, Mia reminded herself. He’s an adult who needs to take care of himself—and manage his own relationships.
“Look,” Mia said. “Allison is with Vaughn. I’m not sure what they’re up to, but she’ll be fine. You need to trust her, Jason. She can take care of herself.”
“Like she did last spring?”
“Need I remind you that she came out of that fine? And people were jailed because of her efforts—and an innocent kid avoided prison. Stop thinking of Allison as something fragile that needs protecting. If she feels compelled to be part of this, then you need to support her.”
Jason was silent for a moment. When he spoke, he sounded resigned. “What do you suggest?”
“Run whatever reports she needs. Take care of Brutus. Be there to talk through the facts. This is serious, not just for her, but for Vaughn. I’m terrified for him. And so is Allison.”
Jason let out a sound like a low moan. “I don’t want to lose her again.”
“I know, baby,” Mia said. “So don’t.”
It was a full minute before either of them said anything else. Outside, the temperature had cooled and the sun extended orange tentacles toward the horizon. The Scranton streets were pockmarked with bumps and bruises, and a haze of misty humidity wafted from the pavement. Mia turned her attention from the city to the paper on her lap. She glanced at Michael Jiff’s number.
She said, “Are you at a computer, Jason?”
“I’m at Allison’s house.”
“Can you do me a favor? Run a name for me?”
“You still haven’t told me where you are.”
“I’m in Scranton, following up on something. I should be home tomorrow.”
She heard another deep breath. With a sigh, Jason said, “What’s the name?”
“Michael Jiff. He’s a journalist.”
“Okay, give me five. I’ll call you back.”
Mia hung up and waited. But it was only a minute or two before Jason rang her mobile.
“This guy has a ton of stuff on the Internet. What do you need?”
“His address.”
“You can’t just pop in on a guy like that.” The suspicion had crept back into Jason’s voice.
“Jason, you need to trust me, too. I did have a career handling people.” When he didn’t respond, she said, “An address, please.”
Mia could hear Jason typing. “I have no idea if it’s right, but I’m emailing it as we speak.”
“Thanks, Jason,” Mia said. “I love you.”
“I love you, too.” Another bout of silence. “Trust, huh?”
“Trust.”
Jason sighed. “When you love someone, trust can feel an awful lot like letting go.”
Vaughn heard the knocking. He’d been sitting on the bed in his room, staring at the wall. Worrying. Damn, what a waste of fucking time worrying was. He was starting to feel trapped, imprisoned in his own head. He needed to think. And it was so hard to think with all this adrenaline pulsing through his body.
So when he heard the insistent knocking out in the hallway, he sprang up, hands clenched. He leaned against the door, listening. He heard voices—one of which was unmistakably Allison’s. Vaughn opened the door to his room in time to see a man walking into Allison’s suite. Jason? He couldn’t tell.
Better safe than sorry, and all that clichéd horseshit.
Vaughn grabbed his key off the dresser and made his way down the hall toward Allison’s room. Outside her door, he leaned in, listening for voices. Hearing nothing, he raised his hand and knocked. His body felt coiled like a snake ready to spring. When no one answered, he knocked harder. He was starting to feel a little foolish, afraid it was Jason and he and Allison were...otherwise engaged.
But then he heard murmurs. Allison’s voice said, “We’re fine, Vaughn.”
“Who’s in there with you?”
She hesitated. “Alex Benini.”
“I want to see you.”
“I said we’re fine.”
“Just let me see you, Allison, and I’ll leave you alone.” He didn’t want to admit it, but he was worried.
His brow felt moist with sweat, his pulse raced.
Were Allison and Alex Benini together? He hoped to hell not.
That would be too much. The Allison he knew wouldn’t cheat on Jason. The Allison he knew wouldn’t get physical with a kidnapping suspect. And in Vaughn’s mind, all of the Beninis were suspects. Even Francesca.
“Allison!”
The door slammed open. Alex Benini stood in front of Vaughn, head cocked to the side, eyebrows raised in exasperation. But Vaughn didn’t want to see Alex, he wanted to see Allison. And there she was on the bed, legs curled under her, a book spread open on her lap.
“Did he hurt you?” Vaughn asked.
Allison shook her head. “Relax, Vaughn. No one has hurt anyone.”
“Then what are you doing?” He shot a look of suspicion Alex’s way.
Allison glanced at Alex, who nodded. She said
, “This is Gina Benini’s diary. Alex brought it for me to read.”
Confused, Vaughn said, “How did you know we were here?”
“Dom is having you followed.” Alex said it so matter-of-factly that Vaughn couldn’t react. Alex looked at Allison and Vaughn saw longing reflected on his face. Longing for Allison? Or longing for help?
“Let me come to your room later, Vaughn,” Allison said.
“Do you hear this guy, Allison? They’re having us followed. Two people are dead and one woman is missing. Missing, Allison. And you’re in here alone with him.” Vaughn stopped himself. He knew he was letting his anger and fear—yes, fear, although he hated to admit it—get to him. He needed the mask of calm that he wore every fucking day, now more than ever.
“Vaughn, I’m fine.” Allison spoke slowly, signaling her displeasure at his outburst. “If I don’t get back to you in an hour, you have my permission to burst back into my room.” She smiled, softening her tone. “Okay?”
Vaughn stole one more look at Alex. The guy’s face was as neutral as Switzerland, but as Vaughn walked out of Allison’s suite, he could have sworn he caught the tiniest bit of a smirk. Bastard, Vaughn thought. Two can play at that game.
Twenty-Nine
Alex closed the door. He stood with his back against the wood, a half smile playing on those lips. Allison wasn’t immune to the wanting in his eyes, but despite what Vaughn might think—and she sure as hell saw the concern on Vaughn’s face—she had no intention of allowing anything physical between Alex and her.
She saw Alex Benini’s appeal. But she wasn’t interested.
Alex had come in here full of explanations and apologies. Dom was having her followed while she was up here, he’d explained in a rush, for her benefit as well as his own. It would be harder to point fingers at First Impressions if their whereabouts were accounted for, he’d said. She would have been more angry if she hadn’t half expected it.
And then Alex pulled out the diary.
