Toxic New Year: The Day That Wouldn't End: The Day That Wouldn't End (Alex Desephano Series Book 4)

by Judith Lucci

  “Nothing. Just want to catch up.” Louis was noncommittal.

  “Sure, well, here’s the last number I have for him, but don’t know if it’s any good. Surprised you don’t have it since you took him away from me, you self-righteous bastard.”

  Here we go again. “Fredrico, I was his Godfather, that’s all. I never took him away. He’s still your son,” Louis said in a reassuring tone.

  “Yeah, right,” Fredrico replied. “You’ll get yours one day, maybe before you know it.”

  Louis wondered if that was a threat and decided it was. He could remember the angry glint in Petrelli’s eyes from years ago. He was a vicious and vulgar man.

  He sighed audibly and said, “Fredrico, just give me the number so I can get back to work,” Louis insisted, exhausted from talking with the gangster.

  Petrelli rattled off the number. Louis wrote it down quickly and repeated it back.

  “Thanks, Fredrico. Appreciate it,” Louis said. “Have a great life,” he added

  A barrage of a cursing and threats followed. Louis was about to hang up when Petrelli hissed, “They gonna kill you, Destephano. Joey and them. Tell my boy I said ‘hey’.”

  Louis hung up and as the phone clicked off, he laid back in his bed. His chest was killing him. He called for the nurse and asked, “Is that policeman still outside my door?”

  “Sure is and I’ve got some pain medicine for you. Your heart’s not cooperating at the moment,” the nurse replied.

  “Yeah, I know. Thanks,” Louis said, as he swallowed the pills and turned over to look out the window. His heart pounded in his chest, and he was frightened for the first time in years.

  Chapter 45

  It had been over thirty hours since the attack at Wyndley Farm. Kathryn and Adam sat in the solarium, and stared at the ice covering the trees that sloped down to the river. Adam clutched his tumbler of Bourbon and Kathryn sipped at her Cabernet. They needed to talk, but Kathryn needed to first summon the energy. They had barely spoken since the blast.

  Kathryn rose from her chair and moved to the French doors. Her eyes looked into the twilight down toward the river where they had found Alex. Thank God for Belle or she’d be dead for sure. She turned back and looked at Adam, who seemed lost in his own thoughts.

  “Adam, how do you think Alex looked this afternoon?”

  Adam didn’t answer, but gave her a soulful look.

  Kathryn tried again. “What did you think after seeing Alex this afternoon?”

  Adam looked at her. “I … I don’t know what to think. I could hardly see her. It didn’t look like my Alex in that bed … all of those tubes and machines. It looked horrible. I was scared. I’ve never seen anyone look like that,” he answered, as he swallowed a sob and tears ran down his face.

  He looked up at her. “Oh Kathryn, will you ever forgive me? All of this is my fault. I’m the reason Alex is in that hospital and your horses are dead. I’m so sorry …” And then Adam Patrick Lee, one of the most powerful men in the world, dissolved into shaking sobs.

  Kathryn rushed toward her husband and put her arms around him. She sat on the ottoman at his feet and held his brown eyes with her blue ones. “No, no, you are not! It is not your fault. You love Alex and would never hurt her. All of us know that. It’s those damned jihadist.”

  “But, that’s my fault. I’m the one who insulted them, or insulted the Koran, last year. That’s why they did this to us. That’s why the Secret Service agent is dead and Alex is lying in a hospital bed, unable to talk or breathe on her own. And Jack, poor Jack, they are telling Monique they may have to cut off his leg. Oh, my God, Kathryn, of course it is my fault.”

  “Adam, you are a United States Congressman and one of the major leaders in the world on the war against terror. Of course they’ve targeted you. You’re easier to get to than the President or some of the other global leaders. This is because of who you are, not because of what you said. Other terror groups, the news media, and other leaders have said worse. Look at what the Pope said last week at his Christmas address,” Kathryn urged him to remember.

  Adam nodded. “Yeah, well, they’d be after him too, but the Vatican is a fortress and he has the Swiss Guard protecting him. We’re vulnerable,” Adam retorted, his voice caustic. “It’s virtually impossible to protect this place.”

  “We are, but we’ll figure that out. We’ll hire more men, get more security, and rebuild the horse barn. We’ll get this place back to what it was in three months. I promise you,” Kathryn assured him as she ruffled his white hair. “Now, buck up. We’ve got a lot to do, and there’s no time for your pity party.” She kissed him on top of his head.

  Adam was quiet for a moment. “What do you think about Alex? She looked so terrible. I wasn’t even sure it was her in that bed,” he said, his eyes tearing up again.

  Kathryn sat up straight and said firmly, “Alex will be fine in a few weeks. As soon as her breathing is better they’ll take her off the ventilator and we can see more about her head injury.”

  “When will that be?” Adam was uncertain.

  “Soon. She is breathing some now without the ventilator, but she has a lot of pain from her ribs. The doctor said he was going to start weaning her from the ventilator tomorrow. That’s pretty good, I think.” She took a big breath and continued, “Besides, Robert thinks she is OK and I trust him completely.”

  Adam nodded just as Digger entered the solarium.

  “Evening Kathryn, evening Adam. You folks OK?”

  Kathryn nodded, “Pretty good, Digger. What’s going on out there?”

  “Well, Mary is fixing some dinner and it’ll be ready shortly. Dr. Bonnet called, and he and Dr. Desmonde are staying overnight in Richmond again.”

  “I was sure they would. I don’t expect they’ll be back for a few days,” Kathryn replied.

  Digger stood there and nodded. He looked uncomfortable.

  After a few seconds Adam asked, “Digger, want a drink. You look like you could use one.”

  Digger shook his head and remained silent.

  “What is it, Digger? What are you not telling us,” Kathryn asked anxiously.

  Digger stared at the floor, his eyes focused on the marble tile. I hate telling these people more bad things. They are the salt of the earth and don’t deserve this. He hesitated, and looked at the elderly couple. “I found Joe, but it was too late. He was down in the woods near the creek. The blast must have carried him about 100 yards.”

  Kathryn made a mournful sound. She stood and went to hug Digger. Digger and Joe had been the best of friends. “I’m so sorry, Digger. He was the very best and we’ll all miss him.”

  Adam shook his head and walked over to the bar. He poured himself another drink and made a drink for Digger. He put one arm around Digger and said, “Here man, you need this.”

  Digger took the drink and said, “There’s a little more. Stoner and John Cole will probably get with you later.”

  “What, what else in hell could there be,” Adam snapped.

  Digger ignored him and spoke to Kathryn. “They found the blue pickup truck with the body of a Middle-Eastern man in it … dead, his neck broken.”

  “Go on,” Adam responded, as he listened intently.

  Facial recognition identified him as Yassar Ahmid, a mid-level operative with Al Qaeda. The FBI has tracked him entering the country on December 27th through New York.”

  Kathryn interrupted. “I’m confused. Who killed him?

  Digger shrugged his shoulders. “That’s the trillion dollar question, Kathryn. We don’t know for sure. There’s more.”

  The two looked at him expectantly, waiting for whatever was coming next.

  “The metal shed where we store hay, the one opposite the dancing tent, you know where I mean …?

  “Hell, yes. Of course we know, Digger,” Adam barked impatiently. “Now, what else?”

  “Someone, I’m guessing Yassar, the dead man, drove a semi into it, probably the night of Jack and Monique
’s wedding. The cameras were down for about ninety minutes. The truck is loaded with explosives.” Digger stopped, as he allowed what he’d said to sink in.

  “A semi loaded with explosives. That’s, that …,” Adam’s face paled as he stammered his words, unable to finish his sentence. “That would have blown us to infinity.”

  Digger nodded. “Yeah, that’s enough explosives to destroy the tent, the house, essentially every place where there were people yesterday, and destroy a large portion of your land.”

  “But why didn’t it …,” Adam managed to ask.

  Digger shook his head. “We don’t know. Either it just didn’t go off, or we had a guardian angel watching out for us.”

  “What does Stoner think,” Adam demanded, his face beet red with rage.

  “Stoner and Cole have an idea who worked with the terrorists, an American, the person who was able to breach the security system.”

  “An American. Who the hell is it,” Adam barked.

  Digger stole a look at Kathryn. She was seated and listening intently. Digger knew Adam was holding back on a barrage of expletives. Kathryn was incensed when he cursed. Digger responded, choosing his words carefully, “I don’t know, but I am sure they will be meeting with you later.”

  “They damn well better be. We’ve got to get this bastard, this traitor,” Adam blustered. He looked at Kathryn and said, “I’m going to my study.”

  Kathryn nodded but said nothing, still upset about Joe’s death. I knew he was gone, but I guess I’d just hoped he was somewhere warm around the farm. Digger didn’t say how he died, but I think he must have frozen to death. Kathryn blinked back the tears just as Mary appeared in the solarium with a decanter of Sherry.

  Kathryn gave her a grateful smile and said, “Perfect, I need that. This wine isn’t strong enough. Will you join me, Mary?”

  Mary nodded and picked up a glass. She filled it with the amber colored liquid and handed it to Kathryn, then filled a second one for herself. She proposed a toast, “To Joe,” and the women paused for a second and drank greedily. The amber liquid was smooth and it moved down into Kathryn’s gut, but it didn’t warm her soul.

  Chapter 46

  Jacob Stark paused for a moment, and sat on a bench overlooking the mighty Mississippi River. The wind gnawed at his bones, but he didn’t care. It made him feel alive again, for the first time since Helen died. He’d been numb for the past four days, ever since she’d passed away, and any feeling, pain or otherwise, was an improvement.

  He watched several tug boats as they passed by. He’d been fascinated by tugs since he was a kid. It inspired him to see such a small vessel pull an enormous cruise ship or a flotilla of barges. It was just plain cool.

  Stark sat there for a couple more minutes, contemplating his future. He had to find a safe place for Haley and her grandmother. He knew it was only a matter of time before jihad would come for them, and him. Soon they’d know that Yassar was dead, and they’d figure out that Stark had negated the second blast, ostensibly the blast designed to kill most of the guests and the first responders. He had to find new digs. He checked his watch. It was close to time to meet Shooter.

  As he walked the final block to the bar, the gray, depressing mist coming off of the river glued itself to his body. He was damp and tired when he entered, but was cheered immediately by the happy, welcoming face of Shooter Petrelli.

  Shooter’s eye lit up when he saw his old buddy. He stood, all six feet-six inches, and enveloped Jake in an enormous hug. Jacob hugged him back, hungry for personal touch.

  “Jacob Stark, you old son of a dog, you look awful! Let me get you a drink and get some color in those cheeks.”

  Stark didn’t protest and within seconds, the bar-keep placed a double Jack on the rocks in front of him. The two friends moved to Shooter’s table at the back of the bar and settled in for a long talk.

  After several hours of old stories and memories, Stark gave Shooter a searching look. “I’m in trouble, old buddy, and I need to disappear. Need to go as dark as one can possibly go. Also need a place for Haley and her grandmother, so they’ll be safe.”

  Shooter was quiet for a couple of minutes, thinking. “Want to tell me who’s after you,” he finally asked.

  Stark raised his eyebrows, gave a short laugh and said, “Better question is who isn’t after me. I can tell you that Al Qaeda isn’t happy with me and is hunting for me. There’s others too, but they’re the worst.” I’m really more concerned about Stoner and his gang, but I’m not ready to share that yet.

  Shooter shook his head, “Those bastards. I think we can keep you safe from them.”

  Stark gave Shooter a half smile. “Good to hear. I was thinking maybe I could spend some time on the oil rigs. There’s a lot of transients there and I could just slip in.”

  Shooter nodded, “Yeah, you could. It’s a rough place, but what about Haley and her grandma?”

  Stark shook his head. “I don’t know about that yet. I’ll think about that. Got any ideas?”

  A slow smile spread over Shooter’s face and once again he was aglow. “Yeah, just got a call this afternoon. From my godfather. He needs personal protection.”

  Stark was confused. “You mean like a bodyguard?”

  “That’s exactly what I mean,” Shooter confirmed.

  Stark scratched his head and considered it. “Well, I’ve never done it before. I think I could handle it.”

  “I’m sure you can, no question in my mind,” Shooter assured him.

  “Who’s after him? Who am I protecting him from,” Stark asked, intrigued.

  “The Mafia, the Cosa Nostra. Both New York and New Orleans families.”

  “What? You mean they still exist?” Stark was incredulous.

  “Hell yes. Where you been, man? Iceland,” Shooter said in jest.

  “I just thought they were gone. I rarely hear stuff about them. I thought they pretty much died with Kennedy,” Stark said with a hint of disbelief.

  Shooter laughed heartily, his smile spread from ear to ear. “Trust me, they’re alive and well. Just have some new business interests now. But you haven’t heard the best part yet.”

  “Which is?” Jacob was interested, no question.

  “This guy is rich. He’s got his own plane, and you’ll be living in the French Alps. Haley can come and be with you!”

  Jacob was overcome with tears. He looked at Shooter and said, “You’re a lifesaver, dude, I didn’t know what I was gonna do. I owe you man.” He held out his hand.

  Shooter seized his hand and pulled it up to a right angle to arm wrestle. It was an old habit. Whoever won paid for the next round of drinks.

  “When do I leave,” Jake asked with a grunt. Shooter was strong. He hadn’t lost his touch.

  “Soon, man, you’re going to New York first because he’s been really sick … they’ve been poisoning him … and as soon as he’s able, you’ll leave for France,” Shooter said through gritted teeth as he smashed Stark’s arm on the table. “I win, you buy!” Shooter’s smile was triumphant.

  “Bull, I was listening too hard, paying attention, trying to concentrate, or I’d have beaten you,” Stark said as he signaled for the waiter.

  Shooter laughed. “Yeah, sure, I bet. Admit it Stark, I’m the mightier of the two of us.”

  “Maybe so,” Stark admitted. “But I’m the smartest,” he added, his mood lighter than it had been in weeks.

  Shooter nodded. “That’s good. Listen up, dude, because you’re having your first class in Mafia 101,”

  “I’m all ears,” Stark said as he leaned forward, poised to absorb every word.

  Chapter 47

  It had been three months since the horrific attack at Wyndley Farm, and Alex was back in New Orleans. She swiveled around in her desk chair and gazed out of the window. It was a beautiful day in early April and the azaleas were in full bloom, as were the purple and yellow irises outside her office window. Alex felt good …, and alive.

  Her head
was clear and fortunately, her hearing had returned to almost normal since the impact of the blast. Her ribs barely hurt anymore, and she could take a deep breath without any pain. She hadn’t had a headache in over two weeks, so that was good as well. All in all, she had recovered remarkably since the blast.

  I don’t understand how there can be so much beauty and hate in the same world. It’s hard to believe that in only a few months’ time terrorists tried to destroy New Orleans and Grandfather’s estate in Virginia. Alex shook her head. These are useless thoughts, she reminded herself. I’ve got to get back to work. America 2; Jihad 0!

  She shrugged her shoulders, and glanced over at the pile of potential malpractice actions against Crescent City Medical Center. It seemed that changes in healthcare reimbursement had made her job ten times worse, and the complaints were far greater and much more serious. She retrieved one of the files from the top of the pile, grabbed her yellow legal pad and a pencil, and started outlining the case, but her heart wasn’t in it.

  After an hour or so Alex pushed the medical record and legal pad aside. She rubbed her eyes and massaged her temples. She was feeling fatigued. I need to get out of here for a while. Actually, I really need to laugh. She rose from her chair and opened the door to the outer office where her very competent and beautiful, Cajun, bombshell blonde secretary, Bridgett, sat, typing furiously on her computer, and chewing gum at the same rate her fingers moved across the keyboard.

  Alex smiled to herself as Bridgett's long, hot pink nails danced across the computer keys. She’s just amazing, I never seen anyone type that fast. She has to be typing at least 150 words a minute. She shook her head in disbelief and interrupted, “Bridgett, what are you working on? I’m hungry and I want to go to lunch. What do you say?”

  Bridgett’s intense blue eyes twinkled as she stared up at her boss. Her blonde, curly hair cascaded down her back and long tendrils framed her face. Alex was struck by her beauty. Her good looks were powerful, but the most beautiful part of Bridgett was her personality and her desire to help others. She’d been a great friend and confidant, and an invaluable asset for the four years she’d worked for Alex. Even though they were boss and secretary, they were the best of friends. And to make the relationship even more perfect, each knew their role and their relationship at the office never impacted their relationship as friends.