She sipped her lemonade and picked at her salad, as if she was too excited to eat. I devoured my lunch, thinking over everything she'd told me. I didn't like the idea of her family using her to influence their business dealings. Tasha was so sweet, so easy to influence. She just wanted to be loved. Dangling the possibility of a happy life for her in order to close a deal, made me think a little less of her family.
It was something I wanted to talk to Mario about. Something I was going to talk to Mario about. I wanted to see how big of a role he’d played in all this. We were getting close, and I felt comfortable enough asking him about it, even though he'd made it clear to me before that his business dealings were his business dealings, and I should let him handle them, and shouldn't interfere.
But this was about my best friend. Nothing was off-limits, as far as I was concerned. Her happiness and welfare – and sobriety – came before anything and everything to me. Even Mario's business interests.
Tasha's cheeks flushed, and a grin spread across her face, as she reached out for my hands. Taking them in her own, she squeezed them tight and gave me a smile.
“I'm sorry, I keep talking about myself,” she said. “Your turn to talk. How'd your date with Mario go?”
“It went well,” I said, taking a drink of my iced tea. “I gather that he really enjoys pampering his women. Or, just trying to impress them.”
“That he does,” she cooed. “You're not wrong about that. He's always been that way. Kind of showy. I call him a peacock – he hates it, so I make sure to say it again, just to get under his skin.”
“You don't think it's weird that I'm dating your uncle?” I asked.
She shrugged. “Not really. He's always had a thing for younger women,” she said. “And considering he's tall, dark, handsome, insanely rich, and has a thing for younger, beautiful, intelligent women, it's no surprise he's attracted to you.”
The color rushed to my cheeks. She was right about him. He really was all those things. And honestly, it took me by surprise that he liked me as much as he did. We weren't ready to call it love yet, but we were getting close. At least, I thought we were. I wasn't sure if I felt that way about him, mainly because I was still getting to know him. There was still so much I didn't know. So much I still wanted to learn.
When we were out on most of our dates, he'd ask me questions and dote upon me, but he never opened up or let me inside his walls very far. He was a very guarded man. He never spoke about himself or his business dealings. In some ways, he was that stereotypical, strong, silent type. Mario simply kept to himself about a lot of things – which made it hard to feel close to him.
Tasha continued, “And you know I'd love it if you became family, Celeste,” she beamed. “Can you imagine me calling you Aunt Celeste?”
She broke out into a fit of laughter, her warmth and merriment so genuine, that it hit my heart hard. I loved hearing her like this. I loved hearing her happy, and I joined along in her laughter.
She was kidding about the whole marriage thing. Thankfully. At least, I was pretty sure she was kidding. The idea of marrying Mario – of being part of her family – didn’t completely sit right with me. I was having a good time, and it was nice being pampered, but I didn't get the feeling he'd make a good husband. There was something about him – maybe it was his broodiness, maybe it was how he refused to include me in anything personal – but something was off. Something sent red flags waving in my head.
I wanted a man who could be open with me. A man who wanted to share everything, every little detail, every irrelevant piece of minutiae of his day. I wanted a man who wanted to actually share our lives, the good, bad, and ugly. I didn't think Mario was capable of that. Even though I was enjoying my time with him, I wanted more for my life than that.
“Don't get ahead of yourself, Tasha,” I said, a nervous laugh bubbling up out of my throat. “I'm in no hurry. I'm young and there's plenty of time still. No need to marry me off just yet.”
“Yeah, that's right. You want to be a career woman,” she said, rolling her eyes playfully. “A successful reporter, finding truth and justice in this world.”
“Damn straight,” I said. “After all, someone has to do it.”
Truth and justice. I wanted it back then, and I want it even more now. I may be confined to a chair, held prisoner by a man who once claimed that he cared about me, but that's not how I intend to die. I am not going to go out strapped to a chair like this. My life has greater meaning. I still have a lot of things to do before my time is done.
Grant is dead, but I know he'd want me to go on. He'd want me to fight. Tasha is dead too, but I knew she'd want me to fight as well. She died so I could live. So I can keep fighting. These people – people I love– gave their life for me, and I have no intention of throwing it all away just yet. I am going to live in a way that makes them proud.
I have to suppress the tears and the rising tide of grief as I think about Grant and Tasha. As I think about how I lost them both – so soon after I found them. It broke my heart into a million little pieces, and I'm not sure how I'm going to piece them all together again. But I can’t afford to think about that right now. I need to compartmentalize everything and stay focused on the task at hand.
My time will come to fight. I know it. And when it does, I'll be ready.
My eyes are heavy with exhaustion, but every time I close them, I see Tasha's body crumpling to the ground. Memories of our life before this mess keep coming back to me too. Memories of Tasha, of when she was alive and happy, keep floating through my mind on an endless loop.
I remember all of the good times we shared together, before Mario took it all away from her.
From us.
All for a piece of land.
I dated a man who killed people. That's bad enough. But he's a man who killed his own niece too. All because of money. My stomach churns at the mere thought of Mario now, and I hate myself for not seeing him for who he really is. For not seeing the monster behind that oh-so-pretty mask he wears.
Not that I could have known – though some people will undoubtedly argue that I should have.
I wish I had.
Maybe then, Tasha and Grant would still be alive today.
Chapter Sixteen
Grant
“Welcome back,” a male voice says to me.
I open my eyes – sort of – and wince. The sudden, harsh flare of the overhead fluorescent lights sends a shooting pain through my skull. A moment later, the world is plunged into – not really darkness – but a far more tolerable dimness. I see a large, broad-shouldered silhouette standing near the light switch.
“Thank you,” I croak out, my voice dry and raspy. The silhouette is moving towards me. I recognize his face. In my delirium, I think for a moment – Sam?
But it’s not Sam.
Special Agent Derek Hartford walks to the table beside the bed I'm in and pours me a glass of water. Gingerly, my body racked with pain, I manage to struggle into a sitting position and take the glass, swallowing down half of it. I relish the feel of the cool liquid as it slides down my throat. I honestly can't think of a cup of water that's ever felt or tasted better to me in my life.
“Thank you,” I repeat, this time my voice a little less raspy sounding.
“How are you feeling?”
“Like a sack of hammered dog shit.”
He lets out a wry chuckle. “Well, at least it matches how you look.”
“Gee, thanks.”
I look down at myself, and then around the room, trying to put it all together. My brain is in a haze, and my thoughts all jumbled and mixed up. Little, if anything, makes the slightest lick of sense.
“Where am I?” I ask.
“What, all the machines and that shitty little gown you're wearing don't give it away?”
Hospital. I'm in the hospital. That realization triggers a string of memories, as well as a burst of pain inside me. I grimace and try to shift my body into a less painful position –
without much luck. Everything that could possibly hurt right now is in agony.
I remember everything, though. Mario's guys. I remember the chase. I remember the crash. But, most of all, I remember them taking Celeste. That memory detonates an emotional bomb inside of me.
“How'd I get here?” I ask.
“Local cops found you,” he says. “You're lucky they did. They got a call about a high-speed chase through town. Know anything about that?”
“Yeah, Mario's guys found us,” I say. “Ran us off the road, and I guess we ended up in a ditch. They took her, man. They took Celeste.”
“I know,” he says. “I figured they did when she wasn't here. Do you know her condition? You were in pretty bad shape when they found you. I can't imagine –”
I shake my head. “All I remember is them saying they wanted to get her back to Mario, and that he could call their doctor to patch her up,” I say. “I'm hoping if she just needed to be patched up, she wasn't as bad off as me.”
“I hope so too,” he says. “There seemed to be less blood on the passenger side of the vehicle – though, there was still quite a bit.”
“We need to find her, man.”
“Relax,” he says. “The locals are already looking.”
“Yeah, like they'll do any good.”
I start to sit up, but Hartford gently pushes me back down onto the bed. He's a big man. Maybe an inch or two shorter than me, but thick through the chest and arms. He works out regularly and takes care of himself, staying in peak physical shape. He's got dark hair with a touch of gray at the temples, cut Marine short, dark eyes that miss nothing, and tawny colored skin. He's an intimidating presence, to be sure.
If I weren't weakened by the accident, my entire body in pain, I wouldn't hesitate to wrestle my way past him and out of the bed. Right now, I feel like a child being manhandled by his father.
“I need to find her, Derek,” I say.
“And we will,” he replies. “Right now, you need rest.”
I lean back against the pillows and let out a long, frustrated breath. I feel like I have no energy. No strength. The longer I lay here, the more time they have to hide Celeste. As that thought crosses my mind, another equally disturbing one replaces it.
“How long have I been here, man?”
“A few days,” he says. “You've been out cold.”
My eyes spring open and an electric bolt of fear tears through my spine. A few days? They have that much of a head start on us? I struggle but manage to sit up again. One thing I learned in the Corps was how to manage my pain. And although I hurt worse right now than I ever have in my life, I know I need to suck it up and deal with it.
“I need to get out of here,” I say. “We need to find Celeste, Derek. If I've been out a few days already, who knows where the fuck they've taken her?”
“Settle down,” he says. “I doubt she was in any condition to travel anytime soon. You should have seen your truck, man. It looked like it was dropped off the Empire State Building, then sent through a shredder. It was an absolute mess. If I had to lay money on it, I'd say she's still somewhere local. I doubt they would have risked moving her.”
“You're making an awful lot of assumptions,” I say.
“Call them more – educated guesses,” he replies. “I've seen this kind of thing before, believe it or not. They can't take her to a hospital. Depending on how badly she was injured, they'd need to bring one of their mob doctors here to patch her up. She'll need a little time to recover. So, you can afford to rest up a little. Besides, the locals are already out searching.”
“Yeah, well, I don't have a whole lot of faith in them, man,” I say. “They can barely find their own asses with both hands. I highly doubt they're going to find her. If they're even actually looking.”
“I know you have a thing against local cops, and don't trust them,” he says. “And I'm not saying you don't have valid reasons. You do. But, not all of the locals are like that. There's some good people in the department.”
“You'll forgive me if I'm not willing to put Celeste's life in their hands,” I say.
“You don't have a choice, man,” he says. “You need to be in this bed. Healing. Let the professionals do their job, Grant.”
“I have no faith that they can do their jobs, Derek,” I say. “I need to get out of here and start looking myself.”
“Grant, I don't think –”
“I mean no disrespect, Derek,” I say. “But I really don't care what you think. I'm going.”
I push the call button for the nurse, and struggle to swing my legs over the edge of the bed. Every single inch of my body screams in pain, like it's on fire, burning from the inside out. A nurse comes in, sees me trying to get to my feet, and frowns. She rushes over and tries to push me back down into a sitting position, but I'm having none of it.
“Mr. Williams, you really need to lay back down,” she says. “You need some rest.”
I manage to get to my feet, though my legs are unsteady. My head spins a bit, and I feel like I might puke all over the tile flooring. I fight through it, taking several long, deep breaths. The nurse keeps admonishing me to sit back down, but I ignore her. Slowly, I feel a little more steady on my feet. I stand up a little straighter and feel my legs grow less wobbly underneath me.
The pain is still a steady, white hot throb running from my head to my feet, but there's not much that can be done about it. All I can do is suck it up.
“See,” I say. “I'm fine.”
“Yeah, you look like shit,” Hartford says.
I catch sight of myself in a mirror. I'm drawn, pale, and a thin, greasy sheen of sweat covers my face. But I'm on my feet. The hard part is over.
“I really would advise you to get back in that bed, Mr. Williams,” the nurse says.
“I need a painkiller,” I say. “Something that won't fuck with my head. I need to be able to focus.”
“Mr. Williams –”
“Meds,” I snap. “I need something to dull the pain. I'm checking myself out.”
“I strongly advise against it,” she says. “You've been through a lot and –”
“Not your call to make,” I say. “Now, are you going to give me something for the pain or am I walking out of here like this?”
She clucks at me but turns and leaves the room – and I have no idea if she's going to get me any meds or not. Hartford just shakes his head and chuckles.
“I forget what a stubborn ass you can be sometimes,” he says.
“Yeah, that I am,” I reply. “I'm not going to sit in that bed though – not when they have Celeste and are doing God knows what to her.”
“Look at it this way,” Hartford says. “If Francelli wanted her dead, he would have just put two in her head already. We would've found her body by now. He obviously wants her alive for some reason. He wants her for something.”
“Like what?”
He shrugs. “You tell me.”
“And how in the hell am I supposed to know?”
“Not sure. But that is the million-dollar question,” he says, and then seems to have a thought. “Do you know what it was Francelli and Sam were talking about?”
I shake my head. “Celeste wasn't sure,” I say. “She didn't hear their conversation. Why, what are you thinking?”
“Nothing concrete,” he says. “It just seems like an odd coincidence. And I hate coincidences.”
“What do you mean?”
“Think about it. Celeste saw Francelli talking to Sam. Then Sam winds up dead,” he says. “They almost killed Celeste – and would have, if not for you. You're Sam's business partner – something I'm sure Francelli now knows – and they take Celeste, but don't kill her. He wants something from you.”
“Like what?”
“I can't answer that,” he says. “I'm sure it's whatever he wanted from Sam.”
“I don't know what that is,” I say. “And I still refuse to believe Sam had anything to do with this guy. Sam was not th
e kind of guy who got involved with the mob. He just wouldn't. I know that for a fact. He was a straight up guy.”
“I know, Grant, but the fact of the matter is that Mario has killed people to get whatever it is he wants. And he wants it from you.”
“Well, we need to ask Mario then,” I say. “Because I don't have a fuckin' clue. But I'm not going to sit around and not look for her.”
“I'm beginning to see that.”
“I'd really like your help. Could use it,” I say. “But I understand if you don't want to be involved.”
The nurse comes back into the room with a small bottle and a clipboard in her hands. She looks at Hartford and her eyes narrow, as if he's the bad influence. She then turns her eyes to me, a disapproving frown creasing her lips.
“I really need to advise you against this, Mr. Williams.”
“I appreciate your concern,” I say. “But there are some things I need to do, and I'm afraid they can't wait.”
She lets out a disapproving sigh. “I need you to sign these forms then,” she says, and hands me the bottle. “And follow the instructions on that bottle. They should take the edge off without impairing you.”
“Thank you,” I say.
“Don't thank me,” she says. “I don't approve of this at all.”
“Don't worry,” Hartford says. “He's used to hearing that.”
She rolls her eyes and takes the clipboard back after I sign the paperwork. The nurse turns and huffs out of the room, clearly not amused by any of this. Hartford had done me a solid by bringing some of my clothes from my place, so I get dressed – though, not very easily. Every movement still hurts like hell, but I manage. After that, I pop a couple of the pills. I'm as ready to go as I'll ever be.
“So?” I ask. “Are you in?”
He nods. “Yeah. I can't let you do something this stupid on your own.”
“Great. Thank you,” I reply. “Where do we start?”
“Actually, I have an idea.”
Unexpected Daddies Page 67
