The change in his appearance was startling. Maybe the man had a heart after all, Alex thought. Gone was the fit, handsome man John had been at Will’s funeral three short months ago. This person seemed devoid of energy. He was gaunt, the collar of his shirt too big, and the first sign of sagging jowls made him look suddenly old. His eyes no longer sparkled, but they crinkled at the corners when he broke into a broad smile as he spotted his daughter-in-law.
“Alex,” he said and extended both hands toward her. “It’s been too long. You’re as beautiful as ever.” His greeting was proper, but lacked warmth and she responded in kind. Cancel previous thought. No heart, at least not for me, she told herself. He walked around the table to Diego, who rose, and the men stiffly shook hands. No hugs or slaps on the back for these two.
“It’s wonderful to see you, son.”
“Sir,” said Diego stiffly, but he seemed oblivious to John’s use of that particular word or more likely chose to ignore it. Alex couldn’t and her heart leapt into her throat. Son. Until John uttered that word, she’d never considered that Diego was seated across the table from his biological father. She wondered if John even remembered screwing Giovanna Navarro thirty-four years ago and whether he ever gave any thought to the paternity of the two boys born nine months later.
“So nice of you to join us,” John said in response to Diego’s formal greeting.
Alex saw Diego’s eyes harden and his jaw tense as the hand that had been holding hers clenched into a fist under the table. She knew him well enough to realize that he would resent how John was attempting to turn this get-together into his party, his idea, yet he was able to smoothly respond, “Thank you, sir. I’m glad to be here, too.”
“You’ve known me long enough to drop the ‘sir,’ young man. Call me John. And why aren’t you two drinking? Where’s our waiter?” John was clearly usurping Diego’s role as host again. She gently pried his closed fist open and felt him relax.
“Alex and I waited for you to arrive, of course. And now that you’re here…” Diego gave an imperceptible nod to the waiter who appeared at his elbow as if by magic. Score one for the charming Argentine.
It was fascinating to watch these two bulls snorting and pawing the earth as they each sized up their opponent to determine a strategy before locking horns in battle. The level of testosterone was so potent it was palpable. Alex hoped the hostility wouldn’t escalate beyond an occasional snarl. She needed a drink badly and turned to the waiter.
“Madam?” he asked.
“I’ll have a cobalt cosmopolitan, heavy on the vodka please.”
“Cobalt?” asked Diego conversationally, the hard edge momentarily gone from his voice.
“Yeah. They add blue Curaçao to the standard cosmo so it’s a beautiful azure. And you know I’m a sucker for drinks in stemmed glasses.”
The waiter then turned to John. “And for you, sir?”
“No fancy drinks for me. Double vodka on the rocks. Make it Grey Goose. What are you drinking Navarro?” he asked, a little too loudly.
“In memory of Will,” Diego said pointedly as his eyes bored into John’s, “I’ll have Macallan, the 18-year-old if you have it, or else the 12 will do. Neat, water on the side, please. And you can put this on my account.”
“Of course, Mr. Navarro. Will there be anything else?” asked the waiter. No one answered, so he turned toward the bar to put in the order.
John’s gaze swept the room while they waited silently for their drinks. When he turned his attention back to their table, the defiant glare Diego had aimed at him instantly shifted into a more amiable expression.
The man is a chameleon, Alex thought, observing Diego with fascination. She knew he could be tender or even show vulnerability, but he was also able to mask his emotions well enough to scare her. The smile he turned toward John Cameron betrayed none of the rage that seethed below the surface, but she could feel it as his fingers found hers. His hand felt familiar — like Will’s, she realized — but Diego’s grasp was much stronger and lacked Will’s gentleness. She wiggled her fingers to loosen his grip and saw a look of surprise on his face as he let go. She guessed he hadn’t even realized his hand, conveniently hidden by the tablecloth, had sought hers as if seeking an anchor.
Will’s father seemed oblivious to the tension at their table or maybe he was already too loaded to notice. He downed the double vodka like water, then signaled the waiter for another. It only took a few minutes to run out of polite small talk.
“I’m curious about something, John,” Alex said in an abrupt segue from questions about the health of Diego’s parents, her stay in Miami and the Red Sox. “Why were you so anxious to find me? What was so urgent that you had to leave messages for me with Francie?”
“Frankly, Alex, I’m surprised that you didn’t return my calls. That was rude, and you’ve always had good manners,” he said curtly.
“I had other things on my mind,” she bristled. “What did you want from me?”
“Anne and I were simply concerned about our son’s wife, especially when you disappeared so suddenly. I don’t see anything unusual about that,” he replied in all innocence.
“Let’s be honest, John. We both know that you and Anne never approved of our marriage. We all played our parts because of Will. But he’s gone. Why would you care about me now? I don’t buy it.”
“You’re wrong, Alex. Anne and I love you like a daughter…”
“Oh, cut the crap!” she snapped as anger overcame her determination to be civil. She leaned toward him. “I said we don’t have to be polite anymore and I meant it so you can turn off the charm. I’ll ask you again and I’d like an honest answer this time. What was so important that you had to track me down?”
Diego was pleased by the apparent return of Alex’s spirit, but he jumped in anyway. “Tell her, Cameron,” he ordered in a tone used by a man who expects to be obeyed.
The older man fixed his eyes on the table and swirled the ice in his glass with his index finger. The confident bearing that was as much a part of him as his patrician nose collapsed bit by bit into slumped surrender.
“All right...all right. There’s a lot to explain, but not here. Not in a public place.” His speech was slurred.
“Fine.” Diego pushed back his chair and rose to his feet. “We can continue this upstairs in my suite. And don’t worry,” he added snidely, as he put a hand on John’s arm to steady him, “it has a bar.”
Chapter 16
The elevator whisked them to the fifteenth floor and Diego led the way to his spacious corner suite. The room’s mahogany tables, brass accessories and tasseled yellow silk drapes were better suited to an older person, but the hotel was near Alex’s house and met Diego’s needs if not his taste.
John stood at the large windows, apparently transfixed by the view of the Public Garden until his eyes shifted left toward Beacon Hill and home. “I’ve lived in Boston all my life and this is the first time I’ve been in one of this hotel’s rooms,” he mused.
Alex was about to ask which hotels he’d frequented with his lady friends, but controlled the impulse to taunt him. She didn’t like the nasty woman who’d occupied her body the minute she’d spotted John. She even felt a little sorry for him because of the obvious pleasure Diego took in playing cat to John’s mouse.
“Make yourselves at home,” said Diego, extending his arm toward a yellow damask sofa. “Can I get anyone a drink? Something to eat?”
“No, thanks. I’ve had more than enough already, although coffee might be good,” John said as he rubbed his face briskly with his hands.
“I’ll ring for it. You too, Alex?” Diego asked, quirking an eyebrow in her direction.
“Sure, why not?” She was relieved that both men seemed less combative for the moment and that they’d chosen coffee. More alcohol would have amped up the hostility again.
Less than two minutes later there was a knock at the door and a white-gloved, uniformed butler entered.
; “Good afternoon, Mr. Navarro,” he said.
“Hello, Henry,” replied Diego.
The man placed the coffee service on the parlor table, then quickly moved to the room’s bar to set out ice and a variety of soft drinks.
“Shall I pour?” he asked.
“No, we’ll take care of it. Thank you, Henry.”
“Ring if you or your guests require anything else, Mr. Navarro,” he said as he left the suite.
“Your own butler. I’m impressed,” Alex commented.
“Comes with the room,” replied Diego with a shrug. It was obvious that he took such amenities for granted. He poured coffee into two delicate cups and served each of them before filling his own.
She liked watching Diego play the perfect host because she knew that the ruthless side of his personality would return before long, especially if it turned out that John was somehow connected to Will’s death. The way Diego was behaving made her believe that Serge must have told him something that implicated John and she was irritated that he’d decided not to confide in her.
No one spoke until John slowly raised his head and fixed his bloodshot eyes directly on Alex. He struggled to take a deep breath and ran a trembling hand through his salt-and-pepper hair. His right eyelid twitched and he rubbed it irritably.
“Alex, you know that I loved Will more than words can say,” he paused, waiting for a response.
“Of course.”
“You know that I’d never do anything to hurt him, right?” Another pause.
“Yes,” she finally replied softly, afraid of what was coming next. She waited patiently for him to continue. So did Diego, showing remarkable restraint — for him. It was obvious that what John was about to tell them was important, something that couldn’t be taken back once it was uttered.
He fidgeted nervously with the alligator strap of his wristwatch then jingled the change in his pocket. Diego and Alex remained silent. Tears filled John’s eyes and ran down his face as he shook his head from side to side and moaned softly.
“Act like a man, you pathetic son of a bitch!” Diego shouted as he abruptly rose from his chair and stalked around the room like a caged animal before turning to face John. “I have no more patience for you, old man. Do you know anything about Will’s murder? Do you?” He grabbed John by the lapels and pulled him to his feet. He didn’t resist and was like a rag doll in the younger man’s grip. Their faces were mere inches apart.
“Tell me Cameron. Now!” Diego’s voice carried enough menace to raise goose bumps on Alex’s arms. After another minute of silence John’s lips moved, but no sound emerged.
“What? What did you say?” Alex asked.
“Yes! Whatever you’re thinking is right! Yes! He’s dead because of me! I killed my son!” he shouted before his knees buckled and he collapsed onto the couch. “It should have been me. I was the one who betrayed them, why didn’t they kill me?” he whimpered.
His words triggered an earthquake in the precarious wall Alex had begun to assemble around her sorrow. As it tumbled brick by brick, her strength dissolved like ice in a blast furnace.
Diego didn’t move. He only nodded as if John’s admission confirmed something he already knew. He looked from John to Alex and back again. His arm pulsed with the need to smash John’s face, but Alex looked like she’d been sucker punched in the stomach. One glance at her made his choice simple — she needed him and he’d vowed to take care of her. He pressed her trembling body to his as if a human tourniquet could staunch her pain and mend the jagged hole that had reopened in her heart.
“I can’t stand that you’re hurting again,” he murmured as he kissed her hair and stroked her back. His body infused her with warmth, but scant comfort. In addition to the shock of John’s admission, she was furious with the man who was holding her for not preparing her for what he seemed to know was coming.
John continued to ramble and Alex tried to listen through a scrim that shifted from solid to transparent and back again, so that only a word here or there made its way to her ears. How was she supposed to deal with this? The urge to escape that had hit her the day of Will’s funeral returned full force, but she was too drained to move.
“It’s my fault. Anne was right. She hates me and wants me dead and so should you. I never should have…why did I…oh, Christ,” he babbled.
Diego let go of Alex and walked purposefully to the bar where he poured whiskey into two glasses. He handed one to her and kept one for himself.
“Drink it, Alessandra.”
“I don’t like whiskey.”
“Drink it!” he said in a ‘don’t argue with me’ tone that she recognized although he’d never directed it toward her before. He strode to the bedroom and returned with a down comforter that he wrapped around her. Her silk blouse provided little warmth and Diego was too agitated to stay still, so the blanket and Scotch would have to supply the heat his body had given her a minute ago.
Alex sipped the strong amber liquid and watched the two men warily — one straining with the effort to contain his seething rage, the other slumped in defeat before the first blow landed.
“Stop muttering. Precisely how were you involved in Will’s murder?” Diego spat the words.
“They said I betrayed them, broke a blood vow. They sent me a letter that said Will was the first, that no one in my family was safe, even Alex. And the pictures! Oh, the awful pictures. I don’t know why they killed him instead of me. It makes no sense. It should have been me, but they said I’d suffer more this way.”
“What vow are you talking about? What letter? What pictures? And who is this ‘they’ you keep mentioning? Goddamn it Cameron, pull yourself together and tell us what you know! What — did — you — do?”
Alex could see that the tenuous grip Diego had on his temper was fraying. If he decided to throw John through the window she’d do nothing to stop him, but not before he told them everything he knew about Will’s murder. She watched as Diego breathed deeply to calm himself as he removed his cufflinks and carefully rolled his shirtsleeves to just below the elbow. His muscular forearms twitched with tension.
“I’ll only ask you one more time,” Diego hissed menacingly as he tipped John’s chin up with one finger, forcing the older man to look at him. When John simply shook his head from side to side, Diego lost his fragile hold on rational thought.
“¡No tienes cojones! ¡Qué maldito puta mierda!” His anger erupted into a torrent of Spanish expletives. His full lips narrowed as he bared his teeth like a wild animal poised to attack. The spacious suite suddenly seemed too small to contain the emotions swirling within its walls.
Alex understood the gist of Diego’s swearing and wasn’t alarmed until the last, uttered slowly, deliberately and with icy menace: “Voy a matarle.” I’m going to kill you.
John shrank back and watched Diego warily. Even if he didn’t understand the words, the threat was clear. Alex’s nostrils picked up the unpleasant tang of her father-in-law’s sweat. Deodorant’s not working, she thought nonsensically.
“Cálmate, Diego. No vale la pena. Cálmate…por favor. Te suplico.” Alex hoped that by using Spanish to beg him to calm down, she might get through to him before he acted. She wanted to go to him, but feared that John might bolt if she left his side. She’d have to hope that Diego would exhaust himself and behave rationally once the whirlwind swirling through him abated. The curses now centered on John’s mother and graphic sex acts done to her and by her, but they were uttered less vehemently.
When Diego’s tirade began, Alex had put her arm around John’s shaking shoulders to gentle him, as if he were a skittish horse. It took a Herculean effort for her to embrace this man, but she would deal with Satan himself if it pointed them toward Will’s murderer. A moment later, she abruptly pushed him away, kicked off her shoes and began her own pacing. He would have to fend for himself like everyone else. She whirled toward him and glared. “You! Don’t move!” Her face flushed as anger surged through her.
> Diego watched her warily as she pivoted to face him. “And you, you son of a bitch, you sit down too. And stop that fucking cursing.” Diego’s mouth opened, but he didn’t move. “Now!” she snapped. He wasn’t used to taking orders and certainly not from a woman. His dark eyes sparked with anger, but he sullenly obeyed. He grabbed a mahogany chair from the dining room table with one hand and swung it around as if it weighed nothing. He straddled the chair and lowered his forehead onto his arms where they rested atop the chair’s back. Alex couldn’t see his face, only the heavy curtain of black hair that fell forward as he bowed his head.
“You both listen to me and listen good,” she began, furious that two grown men were behaving like little boys. “We are not leaving this room until each of you tells me everything that you know — or suspect — about Will’s death. The lies and secrets end here. I don’t care if we stay here for a week.” Tears of anger and frustration welled in her eyes. She turned toward the window and hugged herself, hoping to hide what these two macho oafs would surely interpret as weakness.
“Alessandra,” began Diego.
“Don’t you Alessandra me! Shut up! Just shut up, you condescending jerk,” she replied irritably, brushing tears away. The suite seemed to have everything but a box of tissues, so she brusquely grabbed the handkerchief Diego offered.
“As simply as you can, tell me what you had to do with Will’s murder,” Alex asked John after she composed herself and once again joined him on the sofa.
“I’ll try Alex. I’m sorry that I’ve upset you.” He patted her hand, but she pulled it away.
“Apology accepted. Go on.”
He began to speak haltingly in a flat voice as his trembling hands absentmindedly rubbed his thighs.
“Okay…it all began in Scotland centuries ago. I thought I could finally end it, that Will wouldn’t have to know, that he wouldn’t have to inherit the burden that my father handed to me, as his father passed it to him.”
The face he turned toward Alex was ashen and he stretched his hands toward her, palms up, like a supplicant. As he reached for her she recoiled.
Legacy of the Highlands Page 13
