by Dinah McCall
Dominic set the wine cooler down on the table as he got up, straightening the tail of his sports coat and smoothing down his hair with the palms of both hands as he stood.
“You are sure it was Mercedes Blaine?”
“Yeah, sure I’m sure. She looked just like the woman in the picture, and she had escorts, just like you said she would.”
“How many?”
“Three. Feds, I guess. Two suits and a tough-looking guy who was probably a bodyguard. I didn’t stop to get introductions.”
“Where is your lovely wife?” Dominic asked.
“Outside.”
“Is she coming in?”
Before Donny James could answer, they heard the sound of a car engine starting, then, a few moments later, the sound of tires squealing against pavement. He sighed.
“Doesn’t look like it,” Donny said.
“Pity,” Dominic said, and then shrugged. “Ah, well. All in due time.” He picked up his wine cooler and then headed for the door.
“We’re even now, right?” Donny asked.
Dominic paused and then turned. He looked at Donny James with something close to disdain, then nodded.
“Almost,” he said, then looked at the bodyguard who’d come with him.
Donny’s voice rose to a squeak of disbelief. “Almost? What do you mean, ‘almost’?”
Then he saw the look that passed between Dominic and his man, and knew that his fresh start was over before it had begun.
The muscle pulled a gun from beneath his jacket and calmly attached a silencer to the barrel while Donny began to cry.
“Dominic…please! Don’t do this! You told me this would square us up. You don’t have to kill me. I’ll get the money to you somehow. Just give me a little time.”
Dominic Cosa lifted the wine cooler to his lips and downed the last drops, then blotted his mouth with his handkerchief before answering.
“Begging does not become you,” he said.
Donny went to his knees—not because he thought prayer would help him, but because he was too scared to stand. “Dominic…please. You promised.”
Dominica Cosa smiled and then started to laugh.
“That just shows how stupid you are, Donny James. You can never trust a drug dealer. I lied.”
There was a popping sound, not much louder than the sound of a cork popping from a good bottle of champagne, and then it was over. Donny James was lying on his back with a bullet hole in the middle of his forehead. Most of the back of his head was now missing, but it no longer mattered. Donny wouldn’t be needing it anymore.
Dominic walked out of the house with his driver beside him. He paused at the side of the house, lifted the lid to Donny’s trash can and laid the empty wine cooler bottle on top of several others inside the bag. He wasn’t addicted to the drugs he pedaled, but there were other things that kept him high, one of which was playing games with cops. It gave him a buzz to think of the DNA and fingerprints he was leaving behind, knowing full well that the police would never think that one more empty bottle was more important than all the others inside the trash bin. He shifted the contents slightly so that the bottle was no longer on top, then smiled as he closed the lid.
“It’s good to keep things tidy, isn’t it, Joey?”
“Yes, boss, but what about the woman?”
Dominic squinted thoughtfully. “I think if she’s smart enough to get the hell out of that punk’s life, then she’s smart enough to keep her mouth shut. What do you think?”
“I think you’re the boss, that’s what I think,” the man said.
Dominic’s smile widened as he patted the behemoth’s arm. “That’s what I like to hear. There’s a lot more between your ears than muscle, my man.”
As they reached the car, Dominic paused, staring up and down the street, but he saw nothing and no one that put him on the alert. He smoothed the palms of his hands on either side of his hair and then straightened the front of his jacket.
“Let’s get out of here, Joey. Our work here is done.”
Moments later, they were gone.
After several phone calls back home without an answer, Gloria, who was no fool, feared the worst. And since she would automatically be the number one suspect in the killing of her husband, she went straight to the police and told them everything.
Jonah was sitting beside the pool, watching Macie slice through the crystal clear water with vicious strokes. She’d been like this ever since they’d left Cedars-Sinai. He didn’t know what had transpired between her and her father, and truth was, he didn’t care. What he did know was that Declyn Blaine had recovered consciousness, taken a turn for the better, with a good chance of a complete recovery.
There was a part of him that wished the old bastard had died. Felicity was dead, and while he didn’t want to think about it, Evan might be, as well. Logically he accepted the fact that it was Miguel Calderone who had given the order to destroy Jonah’s life, but he couldn’t see the justice in Declyn being the only person to survive, when it was his lie that had put everyone else in danger.
However, he’d kept those thoughts to himself and waited for Macie to comment on her father’s recovery. Instead she’d come out of the critical care unit as if she were being chased. He’d started to ask her what was wrong, but the expression on her face was enough to make him keep his questions to himself. He didn’t know what had gone on inside that room, but he was guessing it hadn’t been good.
So now he sat in the midst of opulence and luxury, watching a leggy redhead working out her frustrations in the water, and tried not to think of more interesting ways in which they could pass the time. The minuscule two-piece swimsuit she was wearing left little to his imagination, which was already in high gear. He watched her reach the end of the pool, then turn and kick off as ably as an Olympic swimmer, and thought about joining her. He thought about swimming alongside her and wondered if the anger in her strokes would heat the water as quickly as it heated his blood. He thought about pulling her out of the water and letting her work out her frustrations on him—in his bed. Even if she was a Blaine.
Instead he sat without moving, watching without talking, studying the woman she’d become, and knew the world as he’d known it was unraveling. Being forced to sit on the sidelines while others solved his problems rankled.
He didn’t know Macie had stopped swimming until he saw her coming toward him. Her body was as sleek as the Thoroughbred she was, and lust hit him like a fist to the gut. He needed to move, but he couldn’t—or wouldn’t. A part of him wanted the confrontation he felt coming. Then she was standing in front of him—so close that the water on her body was dripping onto his legs.
“Don’t you want to know what he said?” Macie asked.
Jonah took a slow breath and then stood, willing himself to look only at her face. He could smell the chlorine from the pool on her hair and body. He looked straight into her eyes and saw his reflection. Without thinking, he reached for her.
“He told me I wasn’t welcome here,” she said. “He told me to go home.” Then she grabbed a beach towel from the back of a chair and began toweling herself off with vicious swipes. “He knows Felicity is dead.” Then she turned away, and as she did, her shoulders slumped in defeat. “He told me to get out of his house.”
Jonah sighed. So much for keeping his hands off her body, but after what she’d just said, he couldn’t go where he wanted to go.
“Come here,” he said softly, then wrapped his arms around her and pulled her close against him. The water from her body soaked the front of his shirt and pants, but it didn’t matter. Nothing mattered but holding Macie.
She leaned against him, taking strength from the tenderness in his touch.
“He can’t make you leave.”
“I know, but it still hurt to hear it said.”
“He’s a bastard, and don’t expect me to apologize for saying that,” Jonah muttered.
Macie managed a small chuckle. “No apology expected
.” Then she turned in his arms until they were facing. “I’m getting you all wet.”
“I can think of worse things,” he said gruffly.
Macie looked up, her gaze lingering on his mouth longer than what would be considered polite.
“Jonah, I—”
Before she could continue, Ruger strode out of the house and onto the terrace.
“There you are,” he said. “I’ve been looking for you two. We’ve got a problem.”
Macie turned abruptly. “What? Have you heard from the kidnappers? Is it about Evan?”
“No. It’s about you,” Ruger said, then looked at Jonah. “Tell me exactly what happened at the hospital today.”
For a moment Jonah went blank; then it hit him.
“It was that thing in the lobby, wasn’t it? I knew something was hinky with that.”
“What thing in the lobby?” Macie asked.
“Miss Blaine, I need to see the contents of your purse.”
“But I—”
Jonah took her by the elbow and hurried her into the house.
“Don’t argue, Macie, just hurry.”
The anxiety in Jonah’s voice hastened her steps. By the time they reached the second floor, she was running. Her purse was on the floor, near her chair and reading lamp. She picked it up and quickly dumped the contents onto the bed.
Ruger began sorting through the items one at a time.
“What are you…?”
Jonah put her hand over Macie’s mouth and quietly shook his head, then leaned down and whispered against her ear.
“Don’t ask, just follow my lead.”
Macie’s heart was hammering against her chest as she nodded.
“What time will Rosa be serving dinner?” Jonah asked.
Macie clasped her hands against her belly, staring at the federal agent as he began taking apart everything in her purse.
“Miss Blaine?”
Jonah’s hand slid beneath the heavy weight of her wet hair and gently squeezed her neck. She tore her gaze away from Ruger and looked up.
“I’m sorry…what did you say?”
“I asked what time Rosa will be serving dinner.”
“Oh. Right. Seven o’clock, unless you’d like me to have her hold it. If you’re not ready, I can give her a call.”
“No, that will be fine with me. I’ll notify the others and meet you downstairs.”
“Yes…all right,” Macie said, and wondered why they were playing this game.
Jonah made a big deal out of opening and then closing the door. To anyone who might be listening, they would now think Macie Blaine was alone.
Immediately he went to the bed and began helping Ruger sort through the remaining items. Macie stood to one side, watching in disbelief. Moments later Jonah picked up a ballpoint pen and started to unscrew it. Before he could take it apart, Macie grabbed his arm and shook her head, mouthing the words, “It’s not mine.”
Jonah looked at Ruger, who hesitated, then nodded. Carefully, Jonah unscrewed the pen and started to pull it apart. The tiny listening device that fell out onto the bedspread was smaller than a pencil eraser.
Macie’s lips parted, then went slack.
Jonah watched the color fade from her face and knew she was going to be sick. She beat him to the bathroom by seconds. He held her while she threw up, then wiped her face with a wet cloth. When they came out of the bathroom, Ruger was gone.
“What’s happening?” Macie whispered.
“Someone bugged you. Probably the man who came up behind you in the lobby.”
“My God,” Macie said, and dropped onto the side of the bed. “Why me? What do I have to do with this?”
“Probably nothing, but knowing Calderone like I do, he’s just covering all the bases.”
At that point Ruger came back into the room.
“How did you know about the bug?” Jonah asked.
Ruger glanced at Macie, as if deciding how much he was going to say. Macie caught the look and frowned.
“I have a right to know what’s going on,” she said. “Granted, I have no experience in this kind of terrorism, and I’ve been scared and sick to my stomach every day since this mess started, but I’m tougher than I look. So spit it out. Who bugged me and why?”
Ruger looked at Jonah.
“Tell her,” Jonah said.
“Okay, but we don’t know much. What we do know is the guy who put the bug in your purse was named Donny James. According to his wife, who was the woman who dropped her purse to create the diversion, he owed a lot of money to a drug dealer. The story was that if he did this little job, the dealer would wipe out Donny’s debt. Donny’s wife didn’t have a lot of choice in the matter but went along with it just the same. However, when they got home, she says the dealer’s car was parked in front of their house. She panicked and left the premises, then later tried to call their house. Trouble was, Donny didn’t answer. Fearing the worst, she went to the police, knowing that if Donny turned up dead and she went missing, she would be the first one to blame. She’s also in fear for her own life, since she knows about the deal that was made between Donny and his dealer.”
“Damn,” Jonah muttered. “But what does this have to do with Macie? Why would some L.A. drug dealer want to bug her…unless…Ruger, what’s the dealer’s name?”
“Dominic Cosa.”
Jonah flinched. “A tall, skinny Latino with a bad complexion…always smoothing down his hair with his hands?”
“I don’t know about the hair bit, but according to his rap sheet, he’s six feet, two inches, and one eighty, with a pockmarked complexion.”
Jonah slapped the bedpost with the flat of his hand and then cursed.
“What?” Ruger asked.
“His mother and Calderone’s mother are sisters.”
“You know that for a fact?” Ruger asked.
“I ate with the man. I watched him get drunk with Calderone. I saw him walk away from Calderone’s party with a young prostitute and later come back alone. One of the shepherds on the Calderone estate found her body the next morning. He’s bad news, and he’d do anything Calderone asked.”
“What are we going to do?” Macie asked.
“Pretend we don’t know about the pen. It was a stupid move on Calderone’s part. Women change purses all the time, and pens quit writing. When they don’t get anything further on their wire, they’ll figure it out for themselves.”
Before Macie could comment further, the telephone rang. She thought about just letting it ring, but there was always the chance the kidnappers would call.
“Hello?”
“May I speak to Mercedes Blaine?”
“This is she.”
“Miss Blaine, this is the Deloach Crematorium. Your sister’s ashes are ready to pick up.”
“Yes, all right,” Macie said. “But I can’t do it today.”
“That’s fine. Just come by at your convenience. Someone will be here to help you. And may I say again, we are so sorry for your loss.”
Macie’s stomach was in knots. She needed him to stop talking now. This was more than she could take.
“Thank you,” she said, and hung up the phone.
“Who was that?” Jonah asked.
Macie turned around. She had picked up the beach towel that she’d carried upstairs with her and was clutching it against her belly, as if to keep her from coming apart. Water was still dripping from her hair and onto the carpet.
“The crematorium. Felicity’s ashes are ready to be picked up.” She took a deep breath, willing herself to stay steady. “I would appreciate it if you two would leave now.”
Ruger eyed Jonah and then was gone, but Jonah hesitated.
“Are you sure you don’t want me to—”
“Get out,” Macie said, but when he didn’t move, her voice rose. “For God’s sake, Jonah, what do you want? Do you want to see me beg? I need to be alone.”
“No, that’s not what you need,” he said. “But I’m leaving
just the same.”
He left, quietly shutting the door behind him, and the moment he was gone, Macie knew he was right. She didn’t want to be alone. She wanted Jonah. But that wasn’t going to happen. Ever.
6
The wheel inside the hamster cage was spinning wildly as Arnold, the fat, brown and white rodent, ran and ran on his way to nowhere.
It was an odd pet for a man who traveled like the Snowman traveled, but as a child, he’d always wanted one, although his parents had refused. Even though he was nearing forty-seven, he took perverse pleasure in the fact that he could now do what he damn well pleased.
The home where Arnold, the hamster, resided bordered on understated elegance, although his cage was fairly mundane. The interior decorator had been leaning toward a Mediterranean influence with both furniture and accessories, and he’d almost made it, but for the garish piece of sculpture in the foyer that the Snowman had insisted on displaying. It was a replica of a huge gargoyle with bulging eyes, gaping nostrils and fangs for teeth. The designer had been appalled by the request and begged him to desist, but the Snowman had been adamant, claiming it represented good luck, that it would protect him and his home from evil spirits, so the piece of statuary had stayed.
The irony of it was that, as the Snowman well knew, his own evil was far worse than any imagined spirit that might exist. When the phone beside the hamster cage began to ring, it startled the hamster to the point that it fell off the wheel. Distracted by the sudden change of scenery, it scurried to the feed bowl and began to eat, while, outside, its owner was busy climbing out of his pool to answer the call.
Water dripped from his finely honed body as he crossed the terrace to the wet bar. A towel was lying on the bar, and he picked it up first, briefly drying his face and hands before answering the call.
“Yes?”
“Snowman…”
The man tensed.
“Yes?”
“You have a package on your front step.”
He hung up the phone without saying another word, slipped into a pair of espadrilles so as not to leave wet footprints on the floor and strode through the house. As promised, there was a large packet on the step. He picked it up and then went back into the house, quickly shutting the door before the woman across the street had time to wave hello.
