Edge of Sight

by Roxanne St Claire

  He put his head on her pillow, cool against his scar, his face in her gloriously thick hair. Wordlessly, he curled his arm around her waist, betting everything he had that he could do this.

  Right at that moment, she was everything he had.

  “This is all?”

  “Not quite. I need to trust you not to turn around.”

  For a moment, she didn’t say anything; then she just nodded, taking one of his hands around her waist, curling her fingers into his and placing their joined fists right over her heart.

  The way they’d always slept together.

  He counted the beats, listened to her breath, and waited until her body relaxed into sleep. When he was sure, he unlatched their hands and reached up to slide off his protective patch.

  Finally, the moment of pure heaven. He laid his face against her hair and let the softness soothe his burning scar, the ecstasy of it almost making him want to cry out. It felt so good. So, so sweet and comforting and good.

  She could turn at any second. She could turn and wake and see everything that he had to hide from her. And how bad would that be?

  Bad.

  But for the rest of this night, he finally, finally had no pain, none at all.

  CHAPTER 11

  When Sam came down the steps after showering and dressing the next morning, Zach was on his cell phone, a serious look on his face as he listened to the caller.

  Somehow she just knew that the sexy, sweet intimacy they’d shared last night had disappeared with the sun. It made her ache all over again, the way she had a few minutes ago, when she’d awakened, and he was gone.

  He put the phone against his neck and mouthed, “There’s coffee if you want it.”

  She got a cup, avoided the temptation to peek through the blinds he’d closed drum-tight, and did a quick scan for more critters or evidence of them. Giving him privacy for what seemed like a serious conversation, she stayed in the kitchen, sipping coffee, trying to remember the last time she’d slept so soundly.

  It would be so easy to fall back under Zach’s spell. Could she possibly give him her body and not her heart?

  She was rationalizing, of course. Making excuses for… the inevitable. One more night and—

  “We have to go.”

  He stood in the doorway, as dark and dangerous as he was last night when he whispered in her ear and made her lose every shred of control. He wore a black T-shirt, the thorny edges of his tattoo poking out from the sleeve, faded jeans, black boots that looked tailor-made to kick some ass.

  “Where? Why?”

  “Vivi’s, and I don’t know why.”

  “Is she okay? Is it safe to leave?”

  “I can get us in and out safely, yes. She needs me and I’m not leaving you alone.”

  “What’s the matter with her?”

  He lifted a shoulder. “She needs me.” As though that required no explanation.

  They were back in Brookline in less than twenty minutes, parked in a spot behind the building she didn’t even know existed when she lived there, in the back and up the stairs in a matter of minutes.

  Just as Zach lifted his hand to knock on 414, voices rose from inside, followed by a female laugh and a man’s deep tone. He froze, inching back.

  “Who is that?” Sam asked.

  “Chessie. Marc.” He stood still for a moment, listening to a slower, older voice, the words impossible to make out, but Sam recognized the speaker.

  “And Uncle Nino,” she said. “What are they all doing here?”

  “I don’t know,” he said gruffly, rapping hard. Instantly the apartment went quiet.

  “Feels like a surprise party,” Sam suggested.

  “Or a fucking intervention.”

  Vivi opened the door, holding Fat Tony in her arms. “Hey,” she said, lifting up on bare toes to kiss Zach’s cheek and usher Sam in with her free hand. “Come on in.”

  “Why is everyone here?” he asked.

  “It’s a staff meeting.”

  “What?”

  As they came around the end of the hall to the living room, several familiar faces came into view. Uncle Nino sitting at the table in the dining area, an unfinished jigsaw puzzle in front of him. Chessie and Marc sat side by side on the sofa, a newspaper open on the coffee table, a laptop perched on Chessie’s knees.

  “Welcome to the first meeting of the Guardian Angelinos,” Vivi announced, her eyes bright with excitement. “I told them everything,” she said to Zach and Sam. “The murder, the witness, the whole deal. And most important, I told them about our company and they’re all in, Zach. All three of them.”

  He puffed out a disgusted breath. “Christ, Vivi, you told me there was some kind of emergency.”

  “There is,” Chessie said. “The Internet just went down.”

  “I’m serious.” Fury vibrated off him as he looked from one to the other, his gaze settling on Marc. “Don’t you have a business to run?”

  “I have staff, and this is more important.”

  “And more interesting,” Chessie said.

  From his seat by the window, Nino cleared his throat and snapped a puzzle piece in place. “Hear them out, ragazzino. In my opinion, this is urgent.”

  Zach crossed his arms and shifted his attention to Vivi. “What’s urgent?”

  “What’s going on is a major turn in the case,” she said.

  “We have a case?”

  “Yes, we do.” She looked at Chessie. “Is the Net back up yet? I want to show the story to them.”

  “Hang on, I’m working on it.”

  Sam slid into the space next to Chessie, sharing a quick smile and looking over her shoulder at the computer.

  “Do it fast,” Vivi said. “I want Sam and Zach to understand why I brought you all in for the first company meeting.”

  “Vivi, there is no company other than what exists in your imagination,” Zach said, obviously fighting for patience. “I’m going to keep an eye on Sam and kill anyone who comes near her until someone is arrested for the murder of Joshua Sterling. You are going to be on your unstoppable quest for information to help us get there. Beyond that, there is no… company. Even the name is so ridiculous I can’t say it.”

  “The Guardian Angelinos?” Chessie lifted her hands from the keyboard long enough to do a little double air punch. “I love it. Can I do the logo, too? I’m a hell of a hacker, but I’m really working on my graphic skills.”

  “A logo is awesome, Chess.” Vivi beamed. “Thank you.”

  “You’ll need an office,” Nino said, eyeballing his puzzle. “I bet your uncle could be persuaded to do something with that high-priced real estate he’s been sitting on in Back Bay since he retired.”

  “Uncle Jim’s old law offices!” Vivi practically shrieked. “How sweet would that be?”

  “You need a company car,” Marc said. “I have a client who owns a Ford dealer—”

  “Hold it.” Zach held up his hands, color rising in his face. “There’s no logo, no offices, no company car. And no… Guardian Angelinos.” It obviously pained him to say the words. “And there’s no—”

  “Internet!” Chessie exclaimed. “I got it. Come here and read this, Zach.”

  But Sam was already reading, the familiar logo of the Boston Bullet at the top of the story. Her gaze dropped to the picture of Teddy Brindell, and her heart stopped.

  “He works at Paupiette’s,” she said.

  Chessie angled the computer screen so Zach could see, too. “Not anymore,” Zach said quietly, putting a hand on Sam’s arm. “Did you know him very well?”

  Man Brutally Slain in South Dorchester.

  The headline swam before her as she automatically reached up and took the hand Zach was offering. “Oh, this is horrible.”

  “It gets worse,” Vivi said, all the enthusiasm gone from her voice now. “And, honestly, this is why I called everyone together, Zach. This really is a big case, and we really do need more than just you and me to attack it.”

&n
bsp; “How does it get worse?” Sam asked. How could it?

  “I spoke with Teddy Brindell the night he was killed. I mean, like minutes before he was killed, if that report is accurate. The last two words he said to me were Taylor Sly.”

  “Taylor Sly?” Marc leaned forward. “Boston’s most secret madame?”

  “I thought she was a former model,” Sam said. “Who owns a modeling agency.”

  “The FBI thinks that’s a cover, but we were never able to crack her.”

  “She was in the restaurant the night of the murder,” Sam said. “I saw Joshua Sterling talking to her when I went to get the wine.”

  “What did this Brindell guy tell you about her?” Zach asked Vivi.

  “Nothing. He just said her name like she was the key to the whole murder. And now he’s dead.” For a moment, the room went silent as the facts gelled.

  “Did anyone hear him say that? See you talking to him?” he asked.

  “I don’t know. It was late, outside of the Colonnade, near the cab stand. I don’t remember anyone being around, but I wasn’t really focused on anyone but Teddy. I was on my board. I skated back to the restaurant to see if anyone else was coming out, then got a cab home.”

  “What cab company did Teddy use?” Chessie asked, already clicking onto a search engine. “Metro? Boston?”

  “Checker,” Vivi said. “I’m positive.”

  “I’ll find out what Checker drivers were at the Colonnade that night.”

  “The police will do that,” Zach said.

  “And you think they’ll be telling us what they find out?” Marc shot back. “The fact is, whoever killed Brindell…”

  “Could want Sam, too.” Zach squeezed her hand. “Because maybe that camera didn’t get your picture. Maybe the killer is systematically taking out every single person who worked there that night.”

  Sam’s whole body went icy. “No,” she said softly, shaking her head.

  “I have an appointment with Taylor Sly later today,” Vivi said. “She thinks I could be a model. I think she could be a lead. If Sterling talked to her that night, then she might know why someone wanted him killed. No one at all seems to be able to come up with a motive.”

  “A model, huh?” Chessie looked dubious. “Maybe she wants to turn you into a prostitute.”

  “Whatever she wants,” Zach said, “I don’t think you should go alone. Marc?”

  He nodded. “I’m already planning to go.”

  “In the meantime, I’m going to do some digging around on her and this Brindell guy,” Chessie said. “I’ve already found out he lived in Chestnut Hill.”

  “That was in the article,” Zach said.

  “And had sixty-eight dollars in his checking account.” She gave him a smug smile. “That was so not in the article.”

  “Do you remember anything about him and this Taylor Sly that night?” Vivi asked Sam. “Did he wait on her? Talk to her?”

  Sam frowned, remembering the scene. “She was sitting at table nine, by the back wall, with a man who I’m pretty sure I’ve seen her with before. They were my table, drinking… a Cakebread chardonnay and they had salmon… I think. Teddy had the front section that night, so…” She closed her eyes, picturing the scene at the restaurant before she’d gone down for the wine. Joshua Sterling crossed the dining room, she’d seen that when Keegan walked in, and reached out to greet Taylor Sly. “And Joshua definitely talked to her. I saw that, and I told the police I saw that.”

  “When you saw that,” Vivi prodded, “was Teddy in the kitchen?”

  Was he? Was he one of the servers helping with the wine for the upstairs party? Damn, this was the problem. Memory was so selective.

  “I don’t remember,” she said honestly. “I was never that friendly with him, and I avoided him, mostly.” Her gaze dropped back to the computer screen where Chessie had brought up the article again. “The police say his murder was a gang slaying, so that’s not anything like the professional who killed Sterling.”

  “What the police say and what the police have are not always the same thing,” Zach said. “Who knows that better than you?”

  Sam’s phone beeped with an incoming call, and she slipped it out of her bag.

  “Speaking of the police…” She read the ID, the possibility of what this meant tightening a band across her chest. “It’s Detective Larkin, one of the leads on the case.”

  She stood to answer it, walking into the hallway while the others talked in hushed tones behind her.

  “Hello, Detective.”

  “Sam, why aren’t you at home?”

  Her heart flipped. “Because I don’t want to get killed like Teddy Brindell.”

  “You saw that, huh?”

  “Do you think it’s related?” she asked, imagining the slightly rumpled detective, balding, blue-eyed, so much softer than his counterpart, O’Hara.

  “We have to consider every possibility,” he said, “but this was clearly a gang-related incident in a very tough neighborhood.”

  “What about the shooting in my neighborhood last night?” she asked. “Was that gang-related?”

  For a moment, he was silent. “Sam, there was no shooting in Somerville last night.”

  Like hell there wasn’t. “What do you need, Detective?”

  “We’re ready to do a lineup.”

  Oh, God. How long had she been dreading those words? “No more pictures?”

  “Not this time. We’ve got the real thing, Sam, and that’s critical in a case like this. Frankly, I think we’re going to get lucky.”

  Not if she picked the wrong guy. Again.

  “Can you be here in half an hour? Or would you like someone to come and get you?”

  His tone was gentle, and she was so glad this wasn’t his partner, who’d be barking at her by now. “I can be there and I have a ride,” she said, looking up as Zach stepped into the hallway. “We have to go to the South End police station. For a lineup.”

  He nodded, his look just sympathetic enough that it squeezed her heart a little. He understood just how hard this was going to be.

  “Oh, and, Sam?” Larkin said. “You remember that you are not to speak of this case to anyone, right?”

  “Right.”

  “Then who are you talking to?” Now there was a sharp edge in his voice.

  She wet her lips and scanned her brain for an answer. “My bodyguard,” she finally said. “I had to hire a professional, Detective.” Since the police won’t do the job of protecting me.

  “All right, but please. You are operating under a gag. The utmost confidentiality is critical in this case.”

  “I understand.” In the next room, the conversation rose, breaking the very rule she was promising to keep. She stepped farther away and cupped the phone. “I’ll see you soon, Detective.” She hung up and looked at Zach. “It’s official. You’re a professional bodyguard.”

  “So it seems.” He lifted his T-shirt to reveal a cool, sleek pistol. “Marc hooked me up with hardware.”

  Behind him, Uncle Nino came out into the hallway, his gaze on Zach. “Listen to me.” His voice was soft, but rich with the tone of an order. “This is a good thing. It keeps the family together, using skills God gave all of you. I want you to do this, ragazzino.” He put his hands on Zach’s face. “You need this.”

  “I don’t need anything, Nino,” he said, backing away from the old man’s touch. “But Sam needs help, so I’m doing what I have to do. Beyond that, I don’t want anything to do with this family… business.”

  Nino shook his head and shifted his attention to Sam. “Talk sense into him, Samantha. And I’ll have some dinner ready for you two tonight. It’s the least I can do for…” He gave a wide grin. “The Guardian Angelinos. What else do you need at that house?”

  “Mousetraps.” They both said it at the same time.

  Nino chuckled. “And here I thought our little company was trying to trap a rat.”

  How did she end up back in this room?


  Okay, not the same room, but the same situation. This was a different precinct, different cops, but once again, Sam found herself facing a police lineup. Once again, she held a man’s future in her hands.

  Last week, when they brought her in, she’d only had to look at pictures on a computer, and Detective Larkin even said that was just about the only way identification was done these days. But, for some reason, they were doing a lineup.

  Maybe it was a psychological test. Maybe they wanted her to crack.

  The computer IDs were so much less personal, and a total waste of time, since none of the photos looked remotely like the man she had seen in the wine cellar.

  But this, this was personal. A man, not a picture, who had a life, a heart, a family, hopes and dreams, and maybe even a job he wanted to keep. Or he could be a professional killer who deserved the worst punishment the legal system could muster.

  How could she be sure?

  The easiest thing, the chickenshit obvious thing to do, was to just say “None of them are the man who shot Joshua Sterling.”

  But she couldn’t be sure. What if one of them had? What if she thought one of them had, and she was wrong?

  She’d read so much about eyewitnesses in the years that she’d worked to help get Billy cleared. Through the Innocence Mission, she’d become an expert on the reliability—or not—of an eyewitness. She’d gone from being a woman whose worst personal trait was never believing she could be wrong to being one who second-guessed far too many things.

  So many elements affected what witnesses thought they saw, including what was told to them afterward, how traumatizing the event they witnessed was. Something as mundane as a chemical change in the brain caused by what someone ate that day could impair and affect memory.

  Not what they saw. What they remembered. Two very different things.

  And every day that slipped by since Joshua Sterling was killed, she remembered less.

  “Are you ready, Ms. Fairchild?” Detective Larkin was still in his good-cop mode, using a gentle voice on Sam.

  But Quentin O’Hara was also in the room, and his very presence made her nervous. Detective O’Hara was tall, imposing, classic black Irish, with blue eyes and jet-black hair. He rarely smiled, and when he did, the expression was rich with double, triple, quadruple meaning. She didn’t know what he was thinking, and everything about him put her on edge.