The question rings through her head, echoing. An image of herself behind the prosecution table flashes through her mind. She shakes her head, but the snapshots keep coming. Randall is replaced by the guy with the spider web tattoo on his neck. She is questioning him. Gina closes her eyes trying to focus, unable to as the steady thud of her internal pulse begins to race, keeping time in her head, once again as strong and audible as a drum.
“That’s it, close your eyes, Gina,” Aubrey coaches as she busily tears the sleeve off her blouse, wrapping it around Gina’s arm, attempting to fully cover the exposed flesh and blood. “Just breathe.”
Gina obeys, inhaling, a task that seems to take forever, filling her lungs. The expansion of her ribcage nearly causing her pain, the surging of her muscle fibers begins with each extra oxygen molecule delivered to them via her air and blood exchange. The images continue to flood her memory. She is crawling from a bed, the sheets and her body covered in blood. She feels limp and lifeless. It takes every ounce of her strength to get to the foot of the bed, where she plummets off onto the floor weeping at the sight of a man and a little boy.
“You can’t come back here,” Judge Carter’s directions to Dr. Godfrey sound hollow and detached as Gina hears them ripple through the air, temporarily interrupting her memory. Dr. Godfrey is met by the bailiff at the gate to the prosecution table, leaving Tony unaccompanied. “Detective,” Judge Carter turns her attention to him as he slips through the gate on the defense end. Judge Carter bangs her gavel repetitively, as the courtroom chatter rises once again. “Detective, take your seat.”
“DeLuca,” Tony speaks her name gently, approaching her. The guards to each side of her brace themselves, tightening their grip around her shoulders as her resistance grows with each lub dub of her heart. “Stay with me,” Tony coaxes, his hands firm and familiar, placed on each side of her hips.
With the touch of his hand, the snapshots begin again. The man and little boy lay on the floor of the bedroom, heads side by side, their feet at opposite ends. The boy’s hand lies still, firmly tucked inside his father’s. The blood from their bodies pools around them, forming an all-encompassing circle.
Aubrey stands in front of Gina, having fully covered the blood from her arm. Gina opens her eyes, attempting to stop the images of the man and the little boy. Her eyes instinctively dart around Aubrey, swiftly falling on Randall. Once she zeroes in on him, the outer silhouette of her iris begins to sparkle emerald green.
“Gina,” Aubrey beckons. “Detective,” she calls to Tony, readily bracing herself in front of Gina.
“DeLuca,” Tony keeps his voice soothing and low. “Not here.” He steps even closer to her until his firm, perpetually swollen chest rests against her back. Gina’s eyelids settle, as lash meets lash with his closeness. One more image of the man and the little boy is delivered as she sees herself, her head nestled beside theirs, her hand under the boy’s, cupping it tightly against his father’s. Her final tears shed into the mixture of blood cascading over the wooden floor.
She opens her eyes, empty and hollow now. Solitary tears, one from each eye, mimic those of her memory, trailing down the side of her face. Aubrey quickly and gently extinguishes them. The tiny sparkle on the outer rim of Gina’s large, almond-shaped green eyes flickers, much like a light bulb dimming out.
“Court dismissed,” Judge Carter sputters, fully perturbed and exhausted. “Show’s over. Everybody out. I should hold the lot of you in contempt.”
“Good enough,” Mr. McVain agrees, packing up his briefcase, leading the white coats and Dr. Ryan out of the room.
“Guards,” Judge Carter addresses the men continuing to hold Gina. “Take her back to County.”
“My client’s sincerest apologies, Your Honor,” Aubrey offers.
Judge Carter nods her head dismissively, simply ready to be free of the chaotic courtroom. “Detective,” she calls to Tony.
Oh great, he mutters to himself. Here we go.
“Can I trust you to take Mr. Barnes to the station?” she asks. Tony looks at her perplexed. “I want him booked to the fullest extent for assault of an attorney and disruption of a court of law.”
“Yes, Ma’am,” Tony happily confirms, making a beeline for Randall.
The guards finish re-shackling Gina, escorting her to the side door.
“Viva Vigilare! Viva Vigilare!” chants erupt sporadically throughout the courtroom.
Judge Carter smacks her gavel, finally cracking the handle. “Get out of my courtroom.” She throws her hands up in the air, motioning for the bailiff. He helps her down from her podium and accompanies her through the exit.
Chapter 14
She, who knows not of her power, purpose nor her gift,
Unaccepting of such burden,
Surely awaits the spell to lift.
Visions, confusion, her flesh bleeds of crimson red,
Eyes sparkle emerald green,
Voices, heartbeats, sounds of raging thunder in her head.
Involuntary of her body, instinct leads the way,
Akin to the lone wolf,
Trudging bravely into evil, is she predator or prey?
If all things happen for a reason, the sunshine, rain and snow,
If the ones she loved lie dead,
When will it, too, be her time to go?
A mission left unfinished, two wrongs for a right?
The chosen one emerges,
A Vigilare, the keeper of the night.
MIDNIGHT. VANGUARD COUNTY Jail. Gina lies on her back on the dingy mattress free of a sheet, her eyes focused on the ceiling. Her dinner, from six hours earlier, remains fully intact on its tray in front of the sliding barred door. Footsteps saunter down the hallway, stopping in front of her cell.
“Didn't care for dinner?” The voice certainly not the one she expected.
A slight grin immediately forms on her lips. “How’d you get in here? Wait,” she quiets his reply. “Let me guess...your charm,” she says, playfully rolling her eyes as she sits up on the edge of the bed. “Ah man,” she chirps, her taste buds poked and watering.
“From Aniello’s,” Tony says, carrying a pizza under one arm, a six-pack of lager under the other. “Pizza Margaret,” he famously fumbles the name with a wide smile. “Your favorite.”
“Margherita,” she snickers. “Pizza Margherita, Gronkowski.” His last name rolling off her tongue, something routine and familiar, provides her with comfort. “Just exactly how do you propose we do this?” she asks, walking to the cell door, assuming he will have to sit outside the door as she sits on the inside.
Dangling a key in front of her, he grins, shrugging his shoulders. “Night guard at the front, she and I were in the same academy. We used to...”
Gina holds up her hand. “I don’t care to know what you used to do.”
“Jealous?” he inquires playfully.
“What if I am?” she spars back.
He shakes his head, chuckling. The turn of the key offers up a cha-chink as the lock is released. Internally, Gina feels quite excited by both the prospect of the pizza as well as human interaction, especially with Tony. Externally, she maintains, controlling the urge to throw her arms around his neck as he slides the door back and steps over the threshold. Tony is thankful his arms are full of pizza and beer, or he may not have the willpower to refrain from throwing them around her. She sits on the concrete in front of the bed, crossing her legs, one into the other. Tony does the same, setting the large, flat cardboard box down between them. For the moment, neither one speaks, exchanging glances and preparing for a much-needed meal, simply enjoying the comfort of being together again, even if not as partners. Tony flips the box open, divvying out two slices of pizza while Gina pops the tops of two beers.
“Hmm,” she sounds as the first bite of pizza hits her palate, her eyes open momentarily. “Spit it out,” she says, identifying the urgency in Tony’s face.
He wipes his hands in his napkin, washing a bite of pizza down
with some lager. “The elevator. Randall Barnes,” he speaks in clues first. “Your DNA was never found at that scene, right?”
“Right. But it wasn’t found at a few of the other scenes either. Apparently, when, and if I’m Vigilare, I’m pretty crafty.” She smiles weakly.
“Dr. Ryan. Her DNA was found on a strand of hair from the elevator.”
“What?”
“Yep. I turned her in to CSI then as a suspect. It’s public record. No favors.” He grins.
“Her hair could’ve been on Randall, from the incident in her office,” Gina defends.
“Could’ve,” Tony agrees. “But, maybe not.”
Gina starts on her second piece of pizza, finally finding some comfort in food after being exposed to three-squares of slop while incarcerated. “You still think she’s involved somehow.” Gina shakes her head. “You were in the courtroom today. There’s one major suspect in this case, and you’re looking at her. Hell, you’re one of the only people to witness me in Vigilare-mode and live to tell about it.” Guilt and shame audible in her confession. She looks around the cell, and at Tony. “Aren’t you scared? Of me?”
He chuckles. “No, DeLuca, I’m not scared of you. If you were a threat, you would’ve taken me out that night at Randall’s. You didn’t. Aubrey, Tessa, me...you or Vigilare,” he shrugs his shoulders, continuing, “knows the difference between good and evil, somehow. I think it’s that eye thing you do.” He throws his napkin into the cardboard box, a sign of bowing out of the eating arena, opening one more bottle of lager, his dessert. “Besides, there has to be a logical explanation for this Vigilare thing. And she...you...it...whatever.” He shakes his head. “Has to be a direct extension of you. And I know that’s good and just. You have to trust yourself, Gina.”
“But, if I’m Vigilare,” she says, still half disbelieving, “and I killed all those people, don’t you think I deserve to be punished?” She pushes her food away, instantly devoid of an appetite.
He gently tugs at the collar of her standard issue, navy blue prison top. “I think you have done the city a favor. Look at all the people at City Hall, and this afternoon in the courtroom. ‘Viva Vigilare, Viva Vigilare,’” he whispers the catch phrase, a grin forming at the corners of his mouth. “They need someone to believe in. And quit saying if. There are no ifs, DeLuca, you’re Vigilare.”
“Now you sound like Dr. Godfrey,” she dismisses, pulling away from him.
“Where’s your sling, anyway?” he asks, noticing the arm sling has been removed from her right shoulder.
“I’ve been healed up for days. Aubrey thought it would look good in court. Empathy,” she says with a slight roll of her eyes.
“Healed?”
She nods her head. “Wouldn’t believe it, if I didn’t see if for myself. Barely even a scar left.”
“Speaking of, Aubrey. What in hell caused you to choose her as your counsel? Can I see?” He positions his hands over her shoulder, anxiously.
She turns her head to the side as he slides the rather loose shirt collar down over her right shoulder. “She asked if she could represent me. A favor, she said. I didn’t have a whole lot of options. Who else is going to represent me, with my DNA at eight of the fifteen homicides?” She shrugs her shoulders. “I like her. A little inexperienced, but her heart’s in the right place.”
“I guess,” he agrees. “Just wish you had someone a little more accomplished. Ruthless,” he adds.
“Like Mr. McVain,” she huffs, disapprovingly.
“Pompous ass. But he’s good at what he does,” Tony grudgingly acknowledges. “You upping your workout?” he asks, the sensuous swell in her arms and chest quite prominent.
“What else do I have to do in here?” She swallows the urge to emit a pleasurable sound effect as Tony traces his hand lightly over her shoulder, searching for evidence of the gunshot wound. “Lower,” she directs. “Besides, if I have to be a superhero, I need to be up for the job, right?” She chuckles.
“Good to hear you laugh,” he says, tracing the small exit wound scar before turning her slightly to check out the entry site.
She pulls her hair out of his way, wisping it over her left shoulder, exposing the right side of her neck and back. He studies her seriously, his closeness a bit unnerving.
“I think I might wake up sick, on my death bed tomorrow morning,” he says.
“You can’t get out of it, Gronkowski.”
“I know. I just don’t think I’m going to help your case any. No matter what I say, McVain is going to twist it to his favor.”
“Let him twist it. All you have to do is tell the truth,” she says, her voice low and relaxed, trailing off her words. Her head ducks to her chin, eyes closed as Tony inspects her flesh. The heat from his hands, his cool expiration causes her skin to tingle, displaying goosebumps along her spine and up her neck.
“This is amazing,” he says, his fingers tracing the even smaller entry wound over her shoulder. “Nobody heals this fast. Let me guess, Vigilares do.”
“So says Dr. Godfrey. Something with the blood,” she mumbles, distracted by his touch.
He encircles his arms around her waist, pulling her back into his chest. “Are you scared?” he asks, referencing her feelings on the trial, possible conviction and sentencing. He trails the curve of her neck with his lips, unable to resist the urge any longer.
“A little,” she whispers, leaning into his frame. “Okay, maybe a lot.” He pulls her closer, his chin now gently resting on her shoulder. “On three different levels,” she adds.
“Scared of going to prison?” he guesses.
“Uh-huh. That’s the lowest level. Least of my worries. If it happens, it happens. Nothing I can do about it, only adapt,” she says very matter-of-factly.
“The Can-Do kid, huh,” he chuckles, lacing his hands in hers around the front of her waist, squeezing gently. “What’s next?”
“This Vigilare thing. If that’s who I am, or what I am...some of the time, why can’t I recall? It’s like I’m one of those people who sleep walks or wanders away from home and has no recollection of how they got there or who they are. Maybe it’s like Alzheimer’s or something.”
“Ah, you’re reaching, DeLuca,” he confirms what she already knows. “You may just have to embrace it. Ya know, the more you accept it, maybe the more control you’ll have over it?”
“What changed your mind? About the Vigilare thing. I thought you were calling all kinds of bullshit on the idea.”
“I don’t know. Maybe the lore, the edginess. Maybe the kid in me. Maybe the fact it’s you.” He chuckles. “Or maybe some unrequited sexual fantasy.”
“Gronkowski,” she elbows him.
“Uh,” he groans with the jab. “Seriously, you were sexy as hell, that night...all black-oped out, sparring with me, rolling around on the floor...hmm.”
“Whatever.” She giggles, pushing away from him unsuccessfully, as he pulls her back against him, tighter still.
“So, what’s the last level? The thing that scares you most?” he prods.
His heart beats prominently through his chest, lub dub…lub dub…lub dub, against her back, calling her attention to the fact that a handsome, warm-blooded, fully functional, capable man is holding her. If she goes to prison, or is some Vigilare freak of nature, will she ever be able to experience a man again? She exhales slowly, inhaling sharply, preparing to speak, but the words won’t come.
“This?” he fills the silence.
She nods sharply, finally pulling away from him. She stands, taking several safe steps in the opposite direction before turning around to face him. Her eyes a mixture of apprehension and desire, send a surge of initiative right through Tony’s core. He picks up the pizza box and the six-pack holder, replacing the open slots with empties upon standing.
“Give me a day to make something happen, and we’ll remedy that fear,” he says with full intent, dismissing himself from her cell, leaving the door wide open.
She w
atches him walk away, pushing her weight into the sliding door until the ominous lock sounds, Clink.
Chapter 15
VANGUARD COURTHOUSE. NEXT day. The proceedings are well underway for the final witnesses. The courtroom hosts the same crowd as the day before, with a few minor exceptions. Judge Carter happily eyes her new gavel, a gift from Detective Gronkowski, a peace offering for the late afternoon events of yesterday, causing her to crack her mallet while re-establishing order. A keen, yet brave attempt at wooing the unwooable Judge Maybelline Carter, the gavel elicits a distasteful response from Mr. McVain, compelling Gina to smile, shaking her head, wondering when Gronkowski would advance to politics, seeing as how he had schmoozing down to a science.
Mr. McVain circles the witness bench in front of Tony, well into his line of tedious and repetitive questioning. “Could you summarize your relationship with Ms. DeLuca?”
“We’re partners,” Tony responds, yet another short answer, further irritating Mr. McVain.
“Were partners,” Mr. McVain corrects.
“You ever worked in law enforcement?”
“No. And I’ll thank you to allow me to ask the questions, Detective.”
“You entrust your life to someone, your partner, there is no past tense. Of course, that’s a matter of honor and pride.” Tony grins. “Something I wouldn’t expect you to know anything about.”
“Could we skip the insults and stay on track.” Mr. McVain loosens his tie, unbuttoning the stifling top button of his perfectly pressed suit shirt, the tensed interplay between him and Tony causing his blood to warm. “Are you denying any relationship outside of work with Ms. DeLuca?” he presses.
“You mean, are we an item? Do we get hot and heavy under the sheets?” He wets his lips, running his fingers through his hair. “God, I wish!” His frank answer evokes a few blushed faces and quiet chuckles throughout the courtroom.
Vigilare Page 17
