Queen of Spades

by Kristi Belcamino

  Miranda Nelson would not get custody of Dolan if it was the last thing Eva did.

  Eva dug around more. She hacked her way into a work computer. From there, it was fairly simple to access her personal email account.

  There she found photos of the woman having sex with a teenage boy in her office. Eva would bet the boy wasn’t eighteen, and was probably a patient. That alone was enough for Eva to quickly print them out. It was exactly the ammunition she needed. Her job was to make sure the father and stepfather got full custody of the boy—and that the mother never saw Dolan again.

  Eva then logged onto the Dark Web and paid for another hacker to access the “find my phone” feature for Vincenzo’s cell phone. She was counting on him not being as cautious as she was about his cell phone being traced. Within the hour, she had the results.

  The phone pinged in Laguna Beach. She pulled the location up on Maps and then zoomed in the satellite image. It grew dark and Eva made plans to rise early to go visit Dolan’s mother. As much as she wanted to go after Vincenzo then and there, Eva had made a promise to herself. She would make sure Dolan never had to live with his mother.

  Vincenzo would have to wait. She paid the hacker extra to notify her immediately if the phone left the Laguna Beach location.

  The next morning, Eva dressed in black leather pants, knee-high boots, and a black long-sleeve top. She slicked on red lipstick and donned huge, black sunglasses. Before 6:00 a.m., she strode in the front door of the woman’s Beverly Hills house after picking the lock. Her gun was tucked into a shoulder holster and clearly visible. Miranda Nelson was seated at the bar counter in her kitchen sipping on a fruit smoothie and looking at her phone. When Eva stalked in, she damn near fell backward off the bar stool, swearing. “Jesus Christ! Who are you? Edgar!”

  A man in a white shirt and black pants—clearly the help—ran into the kitchen.

  He pulled up short when Eva met his eyes and tapped the gun in its holster.

  “Calm down,” she said. “I just want to talk.”

  The man nodded, eyes wide.

  “Get the fuck out of my house,” Nelson said, backing up against the refrigerator.

  “Sit the fuck down,” Eva said.

  Nelson glared at her, but she sat back down, this time at the kitchen table.

  Eva turned to the man. “You too.” He slid into a seat next to Nelson.

  Eva threw a stapled set of documents and a manila envelope down on the glass table and folded her arms across her chest. “Sign that document. You are agreeing to give up all custody and any visitation rights regarding Dolan.”

  “Jonathan is not even his father!”

  “Sign the goddamn papers, now.”

  Nelson laughed—a panicked, high tinkling sound—and glanced at her companion. “Edgar, would you call the police please?”

  The man squirmed uncomfortably. “Um.”

  “Wait.” Eva’s voice was calm, but she held out her palm toward the man. He froze. Then she turned toward Dolan’s mother. “Before you do that, I think you should look at what’s inside the envelope.”

  The woman’s careful façade cracked slightly. Eva saw fear shoot across her face. She reached down and gingerly picked up the envelope. She turned her back to them and slid the photos out. Eva watched the woman’s back heave violently when she saw the photos.

  Nelson turned to Eva, her face expressionless.

  “Where do I sign?”

  Eva scooped up the signed document, leaving the envelope with photos on the table.

  “Keep those. They’re a reminder to you of what will happen if I ever hear that you’ve contacted Dolan. Ever.”

  Eva turned and walked out.

  Her next stop was the hospital.

  Before getting out of the Camden’s Volvo she pulled her hair into a ponytail and tucked it into a baseball cap, which she pulled down to her eyes. She shrugged on a beat-up army jacket. She watched through the window in the door for a moment.

  Dolan’s father had Elvis Costello glasses and the same lock of hair falling into his eyes as his son, but his hair was black. He looked like he was in his forties. His wiry build reminded Eva of a marathon runner.

  He looked up in surprise when she walked in. Then his eyes narrowed when he saw her holding the stapled documents. “Did my ex-wife send you?”

  Eva laughed. “Not exactly. But I do have something from her.”

  She handed him the papers. He took them, glowering, and pulled himself upright to read them. She watched as his eyes widened, and the blood drained from his face.

  “Who are you?” he said looking up. His hand was shaking.

  “I’m your new neighbor.”

  His forehead crinkled. “You’re the cop who bought the Hinkley house?”

  Eva didn’t want to lie so she said, “If the Hinkley house is the one right below yours, then yes.” She gestured to a chair. “Do you mind?”

  “No, sorry, please sit.”

  Eva sat down and smiled. “I met Dolan shortly after I moved in. He mentioned you were ill and that he was worried about having to go live with his mother.”

  “He did?” The man looked pained.

  “He also said how much he liked your husband and wanted to stay with him…while you were recovering,” Eva lied smoothly.

  He gave a small smile when Eva mentioned his husband.

  “But I don’t understand,” he said. “She would never sign this willingly. She told me once she’d rather die than give me what I wanted. She doesn’t care about Dolan. She’s poison. I spend every day trying to counteract her abuse. I’ll never forgive myself for being so blind. I was so worried about myself and what coming out would mean for my son that I didn’t see what was right in front of me.”

  “Don’t beat yourself up for another second,” Eva said. “Your son seems very well adjusted and thinks the world of you and your husband. I think he has a very good life ahead of him.”

  “It kills me that she still gets to see him. She is pure venom.”

  Eva stood and looked pointedly at the papers. “Well,” she said, “you don’t have to worry about that anymore. You can concentrate on healing and getting back home to Dolan and your husband.”

  He closed his eyes. His hands had curled into fists.

  His eyes opened. “But what if I don’t? Get better? They took out the tumor yesterday but who knows when another one will grow back? I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said that. You don’t even know me. But it’s so strange. You look so familiar. Are you sure we haven’t met?”

  He searched her face. There was a TV hanging right in front of the bed. He’d obviously had a lot of time to watch the news. She saw when the recognition clicked—his eyes widened and landed on the call button for the nurse. Then his face hardened and he reached for it.

  Eva let out a long breath and spoke quickly. “I didn’t do it. I swear on all that is holy. My only goal—the only reason I still allow myself to walk this earth—is so I can make the killer pay. You have to believe me. I risked everything to help your son. And even if you turn me in, I want you to know that it was worth it.”

  Their eyes met. For a long second, she watched his internal battle. He let go of the call button.

  His body sagged into the bed and he began to cry.

  She went to his side, took his hand in hers, and handed him tissues from the bedside table.

  The mother in Eva emerged, and she wiped his face and stroked his hand, murmuring soothingly, “It’s going to be okay. It’s going to be okay. I promise.”

  “I want to see Dolan grow up.”

  When he stopped crying he swiped at his tears and then gave a strangled laugh.

  “Oh my God. I’m horrified. I don’t even know you. You’re so kind, and you risked everything to help my family and then I lose it. I swear it’s the first time I’ve cried since my diagnosis. I’ve been trying to keep it together—for Dolan and Tim—but I just couldn’t any more. And then you bring me this,” he gestured toward t
he paperwork. “How can I ever thank you?”

  “Seeing your son happy is more than I could ever ask for.”

  A nurse walked in and spluttered, “What is going on? This is not visiting hours.”

  Eva pulled her baseball cap lower and ducked her head, brushing past the woman as she exited.

  Back at her new home, she spent the rest of the day training and meditating, preparing herself for the battle of her life. Her body was only starting to feel normal again. She would not be up to her normal prowess and strength, but there was no time to waste.

  Tonight, well after midnight, she’d leave. Arriving before dawn was always the best way to catch the enemy unawares. She’d learned this in Sicily. Three in the morning might be the witching hour, but four in the morning was the hour of death. At least for the Queen of Spades. She made a mental note to stop and get a deck of playing cards. It’d be nice to leave her calling card so that those back in Sicily knew exactly who had killed their beloved and sacred lo scannacristiana.

  Her vengeance had been postponed for far too long.

  After drinking a green smoothie for dinner, Eva decided to turn in early. Back in Sicily, when her life depended on waking up at a certain time, she had programmed herself to sleep—and rise—on command. Even though it was still light out, she was sound asleep by seven, knowing she would pop up effortlessly at two.

  Twenty-Four

  1990s

  Los Angeles - Sicily

  “I want to come home.”

  At his own words, relief flooded his body. Although he had spent most of his life aching to murder a Santella, he’d realized the night before that he could have it all. He would do as The Arm wished and secure his future as a made man—a man of honor—in Sicily. He would have Eva taken out in prison. He’d already made the arrangements with the Latino gang that ruled the California prisons. They’d promised that before the light left Eva’s eyes, she would know that she was dying for the death of his father, Carlo Canucci, and his bride, Malena.

  “My heart aches for Sicily,” he said.

  The Arm grunted. “You are a true Mafioso, my son. And you shall be home soon.”

  “Tonight,” Vincenzo said. “It is all in place. There is a red-eye flight out of LAX. I’d like to be on it.” He spoke and then held his breath for a second waiting for a reply.

  “It shall be done.”

  Vincenzo was filled with relief. “Thank you.”

  “Do not fail in this last, most crucial step in your mission.”

  The Arm hung up.

  Vincenzo felt a chill race through him. If he did fail, he knew the consequences.

  But failure was not an option.

  He was the most accomplished assassin in all of Italy.

  Vincenzo pulled on plastic gloves. He had a long night ahead of him before he boarded that flight to Sicily. The living was easy there. His expertise was saved only for the most important jobs. The rest of the time he could live the hedonistic lifestyle he had missed so much the past year.

  He wanted his wife, Concetta’s, warm, soft bosom to curl up against at night. He wanted the pasta fagioli that she made best and just for him. He wanted to see the sparkle in his mama’s eyes when she handed him a hunk of bread to “test” the Sunday sauce.

  He yearned to be back to a life where he could lie on the beach in the sun with his children. Mamma mia, he missed his children so much. Seeing their little faces on a screen was not enough. Carlo was seven now—a little man who worked hard to help his mother while his father was gone. And his oldest daughter, Malena, was turning thirteen this year. And little Rosa…his baby. The love of his life. She was now four. He’d missed so much of her life this past year, so many important milestones. It brought a tear to his eye.

  “I do it all for you,” he said, picking up the photograph of his family he kept near his bed and gently placing it in a duffel bag with the rest of his belongings.

  He wanted his life back. Soon. He just needed to catch that plane.

  Two hours later, he surveyed his work.

  A bottle of chianti was set on the table with two wine glasses.

  It needs one final touch, he thought. He carefully extracted two plastic baggies from his duffel bag. Each contained strands of long, dark hair. One of them contained a small clump of hair with flesh still attached to the follicles. He set this bag on the kitchen counter. He’d save that for later. He would smear it in blood and put it in her hand.

  He opened the second baggie and, using tweezers, plucked out individual strands of long hair. These he placed in strategic places—one on the back of an upholstered chair; one on the bathroom sink; one on a pillow in the bedroom.

  Then he picked up his duffel bag and put it in the corner by the back door along with a bag of trash. He would have to keep the gloves on. It might tip her off, but it was a chance he’d have to take. He straightened the wine glasses on the table and dimmed the lights.

  At that moment, the first of the fireworks erupted, celebrating the tail end of the regatta out in the dark ocean before them. The display filled the trailer with multi-colored lights and nearly drowned out the knock at the door. He glanced at his watch. Perfect. Plastering a smile on his face, he opened the door.

  “Krystal! I’m so glad you could make it. You’re right on time. The Regatta celebration has just begun.”

  Twenty-Five

  1990s

  Los Angeles

  From the vista point on the highway, Eva could look out over the trailer park just north of Laguna Seca.

  The nearly full moon made the soft swell of waves in the distance sparkle.

  A bright night was both an advantage and a hindrance. She could creep around without a flashlight, but it also heightened the risk of someone seeing her.

  It was also eerily quiet. The only sounds were the lapping of the waves on the beach below and the occasional car passing behind her on Highway 1.

  Driving her vehicle down the gravel road to the trailer park would be too loud. She needed stealth. She would have to walk. The thick, gripping treads on her boots would make it easy to scale the hillside that dropped down into the development. It was steep, but if she grabbed branches and bushes, she could steady herself. The thin leather gloves she wore to hide her fingerprints would protect her hands against scrapes and cuts.

  Before she locked her car, she patted herself down, feeling her weapons for reassurance. She had two long swords crisscrossing in the harness at her back. A thigh sheath held her favorite dagger. Another holster held her Glock snug up against her ribcage, and a smaller Ruger was tucked into its holster in the leg of her boot.

  Traversing the hill was somewhat unwieldy with her swords, but she knew she might need them. Vincenzo may very well have been trained in Gladiatura Moderna. But she was fairly certain she was better.

  However, one gunshot would end any battle on that front. Her hope was to take him out with a blade and prevent the attention gunfire would bring.

  Once she was on the level ground close to the line of trailers, she counted down from the one closest to where the road ended at a visitor parking lot. From there, a road behind the trailers led to several small driveways, each running parallel to the trailer it serviced and each dead-ending as it met the base of the cliff. Her eyes were trained on the seventeenth trailer in from the parking lot.

  Keeping behind the trailers and to the east of the long driveway, she made her way toward the trailer. As she did, she kept one eye trained on the mobile homes she passed. One had a light on, but she couldn’t see inside. Another window was tinted blue from a TV screen, and she heard the muted laughter of a sitcom.

  But as she drew closer, she verified that the seventeenth mobile home was dark.

  Unlike some of the other trailers that had vehicles parked in front of them or under a carport, this trailer’s small parking spot was empty.

  Eva’s heart thudded. This could mean everything. Or nothing.

  Twenty-Six

  1990s


  Los Angeles

  He watched with binoculars as she crept around to the front of the trailer. He started the ignition on his beat-up Land Rover and pulled onto the highway as he punched the numbers on the disposable phone.

  “911. What is your emergency?”

  He spoke through the mask, which disguised his voice. “Eva White is at the Rocky Point Trailer park in Laguna Beach. Number 17.”

  Twenty-Seven

  1990s

  Los Angeles

  Eva crept toward the closest window, but as she neared she saw it had a thick curtain obscuring any view or interior light.

  She followed the small stone path leading to the front of the trailer, which faced the ocean. The curtains here were wide open, and as Eva looked inside, she gasped and drew back in horror. The room—a combination dining room and kitchen—was filled with the soft glow of candlelight, but the flickering candles revealed a macabre scene. At first, Eva couldn’t make sense of what she was looking at. Then it suddenly clicked.

  The body of a woman, missing most of her face and head, was slumped in a café table chair. Behind her, bits of brain and hair and flesh were plastered on the trailer wall.

  Eva yanked on the sliding glass door, though she knew it was too late.

  And although she thought she knew who the woman was, she pushed that thought aside. Vincenzo could still be here waiting for her. There was no time to do anything but hunt. Her fingers looped through the opening to the sliding glass door.

  As the door slid open, she reached for her gun, letting it lead as she stepped past the body and searched the rest of the trailer. The place was empty. In the small bedroom, the bed was neatly made. The bathroom was spotless. Another candle left eerie shadows on the wall. Eva ventured back into the living room and kitchen area. As she did, she came up behind the woman’s destroyed head. Lying beside the body was Krystal’s ubiquitous red Kelly handbag.