Bed of Bones (A Sloane Monroe Novel, Book Five)

by Cheryl Bradshaw

  I slumped back in the seat. Maybe she was right. If only there was a kill switch, something to put my brain on hold a little longer.

  After a few minutes passed, Maddie began gnawing on the inside of her mouth.

  “What is it?” I asked.

  “Nothing.”

  “It’s something. You’re biting your lip.”

  She sighed. “Out of curiosity, what were you thinking?”

  “I imagine there are a lot of people out there who want Giovanni dead.”

  CHAPTER 4

  The statement was true. You don’t get to the top of the mafia food chain without making a significant number of enemies. Daniela wasn’t snatched for no reason. Whoever took her wanted to send a message. It made me wonder what kind of message the theater bomber was sending, and to whom.

  We arrived back in Park City a little after nine in the morning. As we neared the theater, two patrol cars became five, and then seven. The traffic headed out of town stretched as far as the eye could see. Cars ahead of us were being rerouted through a side street that weaved through a neighborhood in Prospector before spilling out a good distance away from the theater. Everyone was curious, and those who weren’t were packing their bags, returning from whence they came.

  When it was our turn, we weren’t steered in another direction; we were stopped by the last person I wanted to see, Detective Drake Cooper, a man who, in his fifty-seven years of life, had spent half his time mulling over all the ways he’d been screwed over by everyone from the police chief to the checker at the local supermarket, and the other half doing something he actually excelled at: fighting crime. When he spotted my Audi, he flattened his hand in front of him like he was prepared to stop my car with it. He then circled his pointer finger in the air.

  Maddie lowered the car window, but kept her eyes on the road.

  Coop bent his six-foot-five frame down, poking his enlarged head inside. “Good morning to you too.”

  He wasn’t smiling, per his usual.

  “Let us pass, Coop,” I said.

  “Can’t do that, sweetheart.”

  His tone dripped with sarcasm.

  “What’s wrong this time?”

  “Only police personnel can be admitted to the scene. We’re keeping things under wraps—you know the protocol.”

  “What things?”

  “If I told you, it wouldn’t be under wraps now, would it?”

  “The chief called me personally,” I said.

  He rested a hand on his hip, mocking me. “What do you know—he called me personally today too.”

  “Maddie has clearance,” I said.

  “Not on this one, she doesn’t.”

  Without the presence of the chief, we were gridlocked, a fact Coop relished. He thumped on the hood of the car with his fist. “If the chief wants to grant you two access to the scene, it’s on his watch, not mine. Until then, back this thing up.”

  “Can you at least tell me where the chief is?”

  “I’m not your errand boy. Call him yourself.” Just as Maddie placed her finger on the button to put the window up, Coop added, “What are you doing here anyway, Sloane? Shouldn’t you be at the hospital?”

  Maddie smiled. “At least we know where Giovanni is now. Thanks, Coop.”

  He rolled his eyes. She jammed the car into reverse, spun around, and punched the gas, making a spectacle of herself as she peeled out. For a girl like Maddie, there wasn’t any other way.

  “You know,” she began, “Coop’s the type of guy that could turn a sane, rational person into a cold-blooded killer after a single conversation. And yet he saved your life awhile back.” She swayed her head back and forth. “I’ll never understand.”

  I did. It was his job. Nothing personal.

  The chief’s secretary, Mary, called Maddie on her cell phone. Mary said he’d been tied up all day. He asked Mary to arrange a meeting with us at the station later today. Maddie pressed her for more information and learned the joint terrorism task force was assembling a team. Soon they’d be on their way to Park City.

  I tried Lucio again. Still no answer. But now I knew where Giovanni was, and I hoped, alive.

  CHAPTER 5

  Daniela was the first person I spotted after stepping through the revolving door of the Summit Medical Center in Heber. She rose from a chair, embraced me. I said, “How is he? What happened? Why was he even at the…” And then I stopped. One look at her tear-stained face, and I knew she was in no condition to answer my questions.

  A knot jolted my stomach. The look on her face was one of loss. It couldn’t be true. It just couldn’t. I wanted to grab her, shake her. Scream.

  Please let him be alive!

  Instead, I held her and whispered, “Are you okay?”

  She shook her head.

  “What can I do to help?” I asked.

  “Nothing.” She picked a hair band out of her back pocket and whipped her long, dark locks into a loose bun. “How could this happen—to him of all people?”

  Did she mean it? Surely, she had some indication of the kind of danger the family business put him in.

  She aimed a polished, black fingernail at me. “I’m going to find whoever did this and make him understand what happens when you mess with a Luciana.”

  Spoken like a true Mafioso. I glanced at Maddie, who had spent the last two minutes beating the life out of the plastic panel on the soda vending machine with her clenched fist. She put the money in, the machine spit it back out. After several failed attempts, Maddie placed the dollar on her pants, ironing it flat. She prayed out loud to anyone listening for it to work and stuck the dollar back in so delicately, for a moment it was like the machine was a life-size version of the game Operation. This time, it didn’t just spill back out, it shot out. She threw her hands in the air and glanced at Daniela. “I guess I didn’t want soda after all. I’m going to find a cup of coffee. Want to join me?”

  Except for engaging in idle chit chat at one or two of Giovanni’s dinner parties, Maddie and Daniela hadn’t spent much time around one another. In any other instance, Daniela would have refused the offer. But crisis mode changed people, often times opening the dusty, closed windows we all hide behind.

  Daniela nodded. I tried not to show my astonishment.

  Maddie passed me and whispered, “I’ll stay with her. Go find him.”

  A game of hide-and-go-seek commenced wherein I dodged the hospital staff, snooping inside the staggered patient rooms as I made my way down the hall. I’d successfully crossed half a dozen off my list when someone tugged on the sleeve of my sweater. I stiffened.

  “Going somewhere?”

  The masculine voice was a familiar one. I turned, venting a sigh of relief.

  “Carlo, I was hoping to see you here,” I said. “Did you fly in to help with the investigation?”

  Carlo had wavy, black hair, just like Giovanni, a strong but slender build, and the kind of tanned skin women went to the beach all summer long for. With his FBI status, I hoped he could provide me with some answers.

  “It’s not my department, but I’ve found a way to get involved. I will find out who did this to my brother.”

  I didn’t doubt it.

  “If you want to see Giovanni, I can take you to him,” he continued.

  “So, he’s…alive?”

  Carlo nodded. “Although, he hasn’t been himself since I arrived.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “He’s unnerved,” he said. “Shaken up.”

  “It’s understandable after what he just experienced.”

  “All these years he’s convinced himself he was untouchable. Invincible. Now he knows he isn’t. That…changes a person. Whatever he says to you, try to understand he’s processing a lot right now. It may take some time before he finds clarity.”

  I wasn’t sure what Carlo was trying to say, or not say. His tone conveyed a warning of some kind, like Giovanni was a loose cannon, prepped and ready to fire. Part of me couldn’t
help feeling like it was exactly what we needed as a couple.

  He tapped his expensive, leather shoe on the floor. “This can’t get out…it just can’t.”

  “What can’t?”

  I didn’t know what I expected to accomplish with my question. Carlo was a Luciana. It wasn’t like he would open up to me either.

  In true brotherly fashion, he shifted the conversation. “I heard you two have been having some difficulties lately, but Giovanni didn’t go into detail.”

  I wasn’t about to either. In true girlfriend fashion, I changed the subject myself. “How badly is he hurt?”

  He stepped back, a look of shock on his face. “You don’t know?”

  “No.”

  “What do you know?” he asked.

  “I was told there was an explosion at one of the theaters in town—not much more. I tried calling Lucio several times. He never answered.”

  Carlo rested a hand on my shoulder. “Sloane, Lucio is dead.”

  Dead? I didn’t want to believe it. Over the last year, I’d become fond of his oversized shadow tailing me wherever I went.

  “What—how? He was there?”

  “Lucio was sitting next to Giovanni when the explosion happened. To be honest, it’s been hard getting more information out of my brother other than small, insignificant details. I’m hoping you’ll be more successful.”

  We continued down the hall. “What can you tell me?”

  “I can share what little we know so far. Witnesses who were there at the time confirmed the explosion happened right as the movie was starting, during the opening credits, before the opening scene.”

  “Do you know what types of explosives were used?”

  He nodded.

  “Fragments from pressure-cooker bombs were found near the stage.”

  “Bombs plural—as in more than one?”

  “It’s possible there were as many as three. Hard to say for sure right now. They’re still gathering evidence.”

  “Have you pinpointed the exact location of the blast?” I asked.

  “There was a table set up for the director and a few of the actors to take questions after the movie was over. It was blown to bits. Chief Sheppard thinks the bombs were hidden underneath. The table was in plain sight, but it was covered with a black cloth that went all the way to the floor. There was no reason for anyone to sit there until after the film was over.”

  “Any idea how the bombs were set off?”

  “All we know is that they were close-controlled.”

  “I’m sorry…what?”

  “Whatever device was used, it had to be relatively close to the theater in order to achieve the desired effect.”

  “I see,” I said.

  Carlo stopped. He faced me. “You don’t have any idea what I’m talking about, do you?”

  “Not really. I’ve never dealt with a bomb before.”

  He cupped one hand about six inches over the other like he was creating an invisible replication of the explosive device. “Shrapnel is placed inside of the pressure cooker. A lot of times they use a combination of gunpowder and nails, anything made of metal that is capable of inflicting the maximum amount of injuries. All of it is stuffed inside the pressure cooker and secured with a tight-fitting lid. The idea is that when it explodes, it will cause mass injury and death to as many people as possible. Because most people were sitting at the time of the explosion, the majority of injuries we’re seeing are from the waist up.”

  “Any idea how many fatalities?”

  “We don’t have an exact body count yet. Three confirmed dead. They’re still trying to account for everyone who was there at the time.”

  “I’m sorry about Lucio.”

  He shrugged. “I knew him, but not like my brother did. He’s lost friends before, but not like this.”

  “I’m just glad Giovanni is alive.”

  Carlo turned and pointed. Positioned on both sides of the door to Giovanni’s room were two men I didn’t recognize. Both dressed in black, both bald, both looking like bouncers at a high-end nightclub. Carlo behaved as if the men weren’t even there. The men stood, stiff like statues—one looked left, the other right. Neither looked at me. Carlo slanted his head toward the door then stepped back.

  “You’re not coming in?” I asked.

  “I think it’s best you see him alone. I’ll be here if you need me.”

  I nodded and walked inside, pushing the door closed behind me like the room contained a baby I didn’t want to wake. I was skittish, but I didn’t know why. For a time I stood still, wondering what I would encounter when I regained my nerve long enough to round the corner.

  What would he look like?

  How bad was he hurt?

  I stepped forward, the heel of my boot clacked along the vinyl floor, giving me away.

  A hand reached out, firm and masculine, reeling the curtain back. “Nurse, I need you to bring me—”

  “No, Giovanni. It’s me.”

  He looked like he wanted to shield himself behind the curtain again.

  “Sloane…I…you shouldn’t be here.”

  Shouldn’t be here?

  I had every right to be there.

  Most of Giovanni’s body was covered with a thin, blue blanket, but his arms were exposed. They were hacked up, cut like someone had taken a blunt razor blade, slashing him numerous times. Positioned over his left eye was a thick piece of gauze with some clear tape over it. I walked to his side, choking back the tears. I didn’t want to stare. I tried to look away, focus on anything else, but I couldn’t. “Your eye, is it—”

  Not one to mince words, he captured my hand inside his. “Gone, yes. I didn’t want you to see me this way.”

  “What…happened?”

  “It doesn’t matter now,” he replied.

  “It does to me.”

  “I don’t want you involved in this.”

  “It’s too late. I’m here, and I am.”

  “I’ve spoken to Carlo. I’ve asked him to take you out of here—somewhere safe.”

  Funny, Carlo hadn’t mentioned it to me.

  I released his hand, drew a chair from the corner of the room, and sat next to the bed. “Why? What’s happening?”

  “I can explain more later. Right now you need to trust me.”

  “I won’t be shipped off to some random location, especially when I don’t understand why I’m going there in the first place.”

  “There’s no point in arguing with me,” he said.

  “I’m not—we’re talking.”

  “I must insist, Sloane. You will go. The arrangements are being made now. You’ll leave tonight.”

  I will go?

  It’s what I’d always run from in the past—overbearing, controlling men. I thought he was different. I thought he understood. “I care about you, but I don’t and I won’t take orders from you, or anyone.”

  “I can’t protect you—not in here, not like this!”

  He slammed a fist down on a wooden table beside him. A metal tray launched off the edge, clanking as it touched the ground. I reached down, picked it up, moved it to a safer location. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Carlo peer around the corner while Giovanni wasn’t looking. I cracked a smile, indicated I was fine. He backed away.

  Finally, a taste of what it was like when Giovanni became angry. Up until now he’d always been so composed, civilized. I sat down again. “What do I need protecting from? Can you at least give me a name?”

  He transferred his gaze to a blank wall.

  Silence. Always silence.

  “You can’t even answer one question, can you?” I asked. “You just expect me to leave because you want me to—I’m not one of your lackeys.”

  I leaned forward in the chair, encircled my hands around the nape of my neck, and focused on the faded, grey flecks in the tiles below. The floor looked like it hadn’t been replaced for several decades, if ever. How many had sat before me in the exact same spot I was sitting now, pray
ing for a loved one, clinging to faith, hoping for a miracle?

  “I wouldn’t ask you to go if it wasn’t necessary,” he said.

  “You didn’t ask. You told me. Why is it necessary?”

  “I’ve always respected your judgment in the past. Now you need to respect mine.”

  Hospitals scared me, but not as much as the icy chill I felt at this moment. He’d never been so cold before. “I’m…not…going…anywhere without an explanation.”

  Judging by the look on his face, I prepared for a second explosion of major proportions. I wanted to meet his hardened glare, but I couldn’t. Not because of his anger—because of my guilt. It wasn’t easy sitting in front of him, seeing him tired and sluggish, like a…regular person. Gone was the debonair suit, the fifty-thousand-dollar watch, the kind, gentle man I’d come to know. Sitting in front of me was a man consumed by hate.

  This was his other side.

  The one I’d never seen.

  The one I always thought I needed to see.

  Except now I wished I hadn’t.

  CHAPTER 6

  It was over three full minutes before Giovanni spoke again. I knew the exact timing because, while I waited, I watched the seconds tick by on a worn, chipped, metal clock dangling from a rusty nail on the wall in front of me. Every so often, I snuck a peek, watching him wrestle inwardly with his feelings, his face expressing a strange combination of sorrow, anger, hurt, and rage. I watched and waited, hoping in the end, the man who addressed me next would be a lot more Dr. Jekyll than Mr. Hyde.

  He sat up straighter, ogling me with a one-eyed stare down. His face had softened, a little. Part of me wanted to embrace him, but the thought of his possible rejection kept me glued to the chair.

  “Before we met,” he said, “I hadn’t been in a serious relationship in six years. Because of what I do for a living, which I trust you know, I didn’t believe I could be with a woman and keep her safe. Every woman I’ve ever known, aside from my mother, needed saving, until I met you. Strong, independent, and as tough as nails—at least when you want to be. In many ways, I’d met my equal. In others, I’d met my opposite. The combination of the two fueled my attraction when we first met. I admire your desire for justice. You always want to do what’s right. It hasn’t been easy, watching you struggle within yourself over the life I lead. At times, it’s pained you—the secrets, the life I never shared.”