* * *
It wasn’t snowy, no woods in sight, but Hannah definitely had miles to go before she could sleep—at least miles of siblings—which had apparently not been Robert Frost’s problem. The lucky man. Amazing how tired one could be when all one had managed to do all day was to not get blown up. And listened to a lot of people marvel at her not getting blown up.
She wanted to go back to her place, but she wasn’t stupid. If someone did want to kill her then going back there was like saying, “Here I am. Kill me dead this time.” Though that option didn’t seem half bad after getting hugged and exclaimed over by twelve siblings, all of whom paused to cast speculative looks at Logan Ferris. She probably needed to Google some quotes on bravery. He deserved them all for standing—well, sitting fast in the face of Zach’s Baker’s dozen. And Zach.
“So, as long as you know your alphabet—” Ferris murmured in her ear during a break in the…wake seemed sort of apropos.
Hannah nodded. For their sins, they were Alex, Benjamin, Calvin, Daniel, Edward, Frank, Gideon, Hannah, Ingrid, Jillian, Katherine, Laura, and Madeline. Not that this naming scheme had stopped Zach from messing up who was who on a regular basis. Mostly he called the boys “bubba” and the girls, well, his dealings with his daughters had always been complicated. They’d all had a short stint as “baby girl,” but it was Maddy who got stuck with it. Except, apparently, in times of dire stress when it spread to other, older daughters. She made a mental note to remember this rare sign of Zach under stress.
Eventually the sibling storm cleared, leaving Alex who still lived at home—though reluctantly—along with Ben and Frank, who both dealt with organized crime at the NOPD and FBI respectively. Reducing the big brother presence by three did not help as much as she’d hoped.
She looked at Alex. “Don’t you have a date or something?”
This hint that he was surplus to requirements either went over his head or was ignored. Maybe he was still hoping to tear a strip off Ferris. On the positive side, Alex was the only one who had pretended to take her statement. Apparently both Ben and Frank were too big with news to remember that key step. Not that she was sorry, though oddly enough it kind of annoyed her, too. It was possible that—as Zach used to say—she wouldn’t be happy if she were hung with a new rope.
“Rumors are flying about who ordered the hit. Who you blame—St. Cyr, Calvino or one of the Afonikis—depends on who you talk to,” Frank was saying in his grim, FBI voice. “Only thing anyone seems to agree on, Mirabelle St. Cyr was hired for the job.”
Ben frowned. “Car bomb isn’t her usual MO.”
“Well, she wouldn’t want her fingerprints on the hit. They have to know we’ll all hunt them to their grave if they hurt one of ours,” Alex asserted.
“Word is they plan to deal with it…internally,” Frank said, “which could mean war.”
“My money is on Claude going down. No one thinks he has the—”
Zach coughed.
“—the guts for it,” Ben amended hastily.
“I think they underestimate Claude,” Hannah said to Ferris. She angled so she could see him without moving too far away. Alex’s eye had finally quit twitching at the sight of him, which either meant progress or he was as tired as she was. She settled against the couch arm and rested her elbow on a raised knee and her chin in the palm of her hand. “He’s hungry for it.”
“You think he’s behind the bomb?” Ferris asked, moving a strand of hair back off her face. His gaze was warm, maybe more than warm.
She didn’t want to talk about any of the bad guys, but she wasn’t sure she wanted to talk about them either, even if all her brothers and her dad weren’t in the room. But she liked the feel of his fingertips brushing against her skin. So, instead of shaking her head, which would break contact, she said, “No, I don’t. I don’t think any of them are behind it.”
His brows arched, so she added, “It doesn’t make any sense for any of them to pi—tick off a bunch of Bakers.” Her tired brain twitched, as if it wanted to connect that thought with something else. She really needed some thinking time. And some sleep.
“X?” he said. “I’ve been digging, but still haven’t uncovered anyone from that time who could have an ax to grind now.”
“One thing that puzzles me,” Hannah said, a bit dreamily, “is why Zafiro didn’t have an heir instead of the three wise geezers. Seems like picking three gung-ho bad guys was a bad idea from the get-go. Was bound to go bad for someone.” Her gaze narrowed. “I’ll bet it was Afoniki who came up with the idea. He’s still the chill one.” And the lone survivor. “And while none of them managed to have a direct heir, they each found a relative to take over.” And that’s one of the questions she forgot to ask Charlie. Did the fake Ken mean anything? Or was that what he meant? That none of them were real heirs to anything they had?
“Maybe he didn’t have a male heir,” Ferris said, his voice a bit on the sleepy side, too. “It happens. Ask Henry the Eighth.”
“Ask him what?” Zach unexpectedly joined the conversation.
“I was wondering why Zafiro didn’t have an heir?” Hannah explained. “Was he ever married?”
“His wife died. In childbirth, I think.” Zach’s face shadowed. “I sort of remember something about some miscarriages.”
“And he never remarried?” Ferris asked.
Calvino had never remarried, but the reason seemed a bit obvious now. He wasn’t sure he could legally remarry, though that was kind of funny to think about. A wise guy worried about legalities. But she bet he did. He’d want kids legal. No questions. Afoniki had never married and St. Cyr had been—what—too afraid to kill his wife?
Zach shook his head. “No. There were women…” He stopped and looked at his daughter.
Hannah tried to look innocent. Probably failed. Then her thoughts drifted on. Would Zafiro have done the same thing? Run off a wife? Or even banished one—and a daughter? In that time, to him, it would have mattered. In places in the world it still did. Henry the Eighth hadn’t started out lopping off heads. He’d just wanted a son. And eventually gotten enough absolute power to keep trying.
Zafiro had power in spades, enough to divide three ways, but not enough to get him that son…
She spoke her last thought, “Even now it’s the boys that get all the goodies.” Did it bother Cinzia Calvino and Mirabelle St. Cyr? “Surely they both left the girls something?”
“They had things set up so there was no probate,” Ferris said. “Guess neither of them liked prying eyes on their stuff even after death.”
Hannah had to ask, “Is Mirabelle really a hit woman?”
Ferris shrugged. “That’s what they say.”
“And the other one, Cinzia, isn’t it?”
“No one is quite sure what her deal is,” Ferris said, “at least not anyone willing to tell me anything.”
Hannah smiled a bit absently. She wished she weren’t under house arrest. She had an itch for some girl talk. She even knew it was kind of whacked to think about it. Particularly with her people skills. But a couple of Mafia princesses weren’t like real people anyway. Did they hang out together or compete? Was there a school for Mafia princesses? She couldn’t do it, of course. It was crazy, but it would be kind of interesting, especially now that she’d met the boys.
The silence finally penetrated Hannah’s thoughts. She looked up. Found all three brothers looking down at her, their brows all raised interrogatively. She looked at Zach. “Those are some powerful genes you passed on.”
That popped his brows up, boosting the likeness through the stratosphere.
“What?” she asked.
Next to her, Ferris choked.
“We want to talk about how to keep you safe,” Alex said.
Not highest ranking, but oldest, so he got to talk first. He was already on the defensive, expecting her to be difficult, she noted. Flattering.
“If I hide out, the killer will just go to ground until we all get tired of
me hiding out,” Hannah pointed out. She’d been mulling this problem, too, in between Mafia princesses and unchecked power. While she didn’t mind Ferris guarding her, more than a few hours with her brothers and she’d be begging to get blown up.
“And what was the result of this thinking?” Frank cut in before Alex could.
Was there a bit of sneer in there?
“I could ride along with Alex and—” she had to gulp to get it out. It was the second time she attempted his name, first time in public, but if she didn’t do it, she’d undo everything she may have accomplished with Zach’s help, “Logan on their shift tomorrow. Might be interesting to see the other side of my corpses, so to speak.” And Ferris and Alex wouldn’t be alone together until Alex had time to cool off. Assuming he could.
Alex, Ben and Frank exchanged “Is she crazy?” looks. But before they could say it, Zach spoke.
“I think it’s a good idea.”
Hannah gave him a look. Of course he liked it. Kept him from being tied down at home with her. The crafty old devil. Left him free to sneak off for more Charlie time.
After some grumbling, the brothers agreed to give it a try, if she stayed out of sight during calls. Naturally she hadn’t thought of this herself. And yes, she’d wear a vest. Huge sigh.
“Oh, and Frank?” He turned with justifiable wariness. “Any chance you could get me a look at what you guys have on Zafiro? I mean, he’s old news, right?”
“Why?”
“Curiosity.” Mostly. “It’s an idea I have about those sheets of code,” she added. She knew which of his buttons to push.
He didn’t look happy, but he nodded. “I’ll see what I can do.”
“Tomorrow? So I’ll have something to read while I’m riding around?”
“I’ll see what I can do,” he repeated.
“I better get moving,” Ferris said, giving her an apologetic look, “or I’ll be too tired to ride around.”
“I’ll walk you out,” Hannah said, getting up with him. Alex’s mouth opened and she held up a hand, “Don’t say it, or I’ll dog you and Nell for the next year. And you know I know how.”
His mouth snapped shut.
“I won’t let her go outside,” Ferris said.
Not that it helped, but it was a good try. “He’ll cool off eventually,” Hannah said, leaning against the wall by the back door. She was too tired to parse anything, so hoped he wouldn’t go all “we need to talk” on her.
He didn’t.
“I’ll see you tomorrow,” he said. The kiss was brief, but very nice. She waited until she heard his engine fire and then headed through the kitchen and living room without stopping, except to kiss Zach on the cheek. They were her brothers, not her keepers. It might have depressed her to be back in the room she’d shared with her sisters, but she’d lost the ability to feel anything halfway through the living room. She’d walked the miles, even without a wood, and now she got to sleep.
* * *
Though she’d rather expected it, Cinzia was still surprised when Aleksi Afoniki let her in. And not just in the house. She was ushered into his bedroom. Granted, he held a weapon and pointed it at her, but that was just common sense, even though she’d been patted down by his staff. Twice.
She held her hands up. “I can keep them up if that would make you feel better.”
Something that might have been a grin twisted his ravaged face. It wouldn’t be long. She guessed that he held on by sheer will. He gestured to a chair pulled close—but not too close—to his massive four-poster bed. She sank into it, with just a hint of sexual provocation. He couldn’t and she wouldn’t, but it was a sign of respect. And a gleam in his eyes told her he got it. Slowly, carefully, she lowered her arms to the chair sides, keeping them in clear sight. She hadn’t come to kill him, but he wouldn’t know that.
“Well?”
She found she couldn’t start, not with her hands gripping the chair arms. “It’s oddly hard for me to talk without my hands. I am Italian. If I keep them in sight, may I?”
His chuckle set off a paroxysm of coughing.
“Shall I get you help?”
He gestured toward the glass of water, and she jumped up, held it to his lips until the coughing eased. She made no effort to take the gun, though she could have. Besides, it was not the gun she wanted. When he was calm again, she retreated to her chair.
“Well?” he asked again.
She didn’t need her hands after all. Her lips curved into a smile she knew was sexy, provocative and confiding.
“I’ve come to ask you for your ring, Aleksi.”
“Ask?” he said with a scoffing sound that almost made him start coughing again.
“Yes, ask.” She paused to let him see the deep sincerity in her eyes. She knew, it was a new look for them both. “Whoever killed Bett and Phin was after their rings. You know what that means. If you give it to me…”
She shrugged, well aware it made her breasts move interestingly. Though not enough to kill him. She wanted him alive when she left. Besides, he was smart enough to read the writing on the wall.
“And what does it mean?” he asked, as if stalling for time to think.
“Why, not just check, but checkmate. And so much frustration for someone.”
“How do I know you don’t already have the other two? That it was not you who killed Bett?”
“Well, you don’t, I suppose. Except, if I had, you’d already be dead. I’m asking, not taking.”
“Who told you?”
“A…reliable source who also desires a checkmate. And no I didn’t kill him either.”
“He is dead?” The heavy brows creased.
“I fear if not already, then soon. This enemy—no, he didn’t tell me who—is quite determined.” She smiled again. “But I think they might, just possibly forget to watch a…pawn?”
That pleased him, though she felt the sting of the self label.
“Bett underestimated you.” And then, “Dimitri could do worse.”
“And I could do…better.” He’d had his chance. She couldn’t become another Helenne pining for a man who didn’t want her. “I’m not Helenne,” she said, just in case he didn’t get the point.
His smile almost…almost…made him look human. He tugged at the ring, then thrust his hand toward her. “Take it.”
Fourteen
Dunstead shut off his phone and tossed it on the bed beside him. Looked glumly around the shabby room of the crappy hotel, cut lose a string of curses. He was tired of living like this, tired of doing the dirty work for folks who lived better’n him. Take that old broad, living in that fancy house, giving him orders like she knew what to do. Bet money she was using television to plan her moves. She was as whacked as her ideas.
Couldn’t believe she bought his line about how killin’ a Baker would launch this mafia war she wanted so bad. She’d made his payback so easy. He frowned. Why? That was question bugging him. Why would she want it, need it so bad? Lady like that? Had nothing to do with any of ‘em. Had money or she couldn’t afford him. Nice house. Fancy car with someone to drive her around. What was her beef? Had one of ‘em killed her old man? If he was a betting man, which he was, he’d bet she wasn’t that sad her old man was gone. Seemed to like mourning, draping herself with black like that and dabbing at tears she weren’t shedding.
Funeral was tomorrow. Maybe he’d pay his respects. She’d hate that, but weren’t nothing she could do bout it. And, meantime, maybe he’d snoop around some. He’d always liked secrets, knowing ‘em and—if the price wasn’t right—sharing ‘em. And he knew who would be very interested in knowing who was trying to gin up a war. Just a matter of deciding who’d be most interested. Almost, almost he was willing to give it to them all.
Old broad was smug, so sure she was in charge. Be interesting to see how she handled them coming after her. Maybe his old man was kinda right, about loyalty—at least sometimes, for the right price—
He frowned. Now why did think
ing about his old man give him the itch? He didn’t like thinking about him but made himself do it. This once.
“They’re lucky, boy, real lucky that Zafiro don’t got no one to avenge him. Now there was a man who knew how to reward those with him and get those not.”
Dunstead shook his head angrily. Zafiro was long dead and so was his old man, but it was uncommon weird to be thinking ‘bout him now. Almost made him feel bad, thinking about going to the wise boys, but his old man also used to tell him you worked with what ya got.
Well, what he had was the right to change the deal to one better for himself. The doc would be on guard and so would a passel of Bakers. Only what if they was looking the wrong way? Protecting the wrong person?
* * *
Hannah wasn’t sure whether she felt relieved or disappointed that her ride-along wouldn’t be in a squad car. Zach had been out of a squad by the time she was born, so she’d never actually ridden in one. Though she had sat in one the other day, but that wasn’t exactly the same thing as racing through the streets with the siren blaring and the lights flashing. She’d always wanted to ride in a fire engine, too. And a real train. And a helicopter—
“Are you getting in or not?” Alex’s voice broke in.
Distracted from what was shaping up to be a sort of bucket list, Hannah studied him for a moment before answering. There were signs he’d gotten some sleep, too. His frustration level was down to mildly annoyed, and he’d only grunted at Ferris when he showed up with their wheels.
“I’m getting in,” she said, suiting action to words. She snapped her seatbelt and then allowed her gaze to connect with Ferris’ in the rear view mirror. He looked slightly less rested than Alex and broke eye contact as Alex slid behind the wheel. It was possible he had buyer’s remorse. Getting out of a relationship with a Baker might be as hard, or harder, than getting into one. She’d observed, on more than one occasion, that her brothers lost almost all reason and accountability where their sisters were concerned. It was sweet but death to her social life. Of course, so was working in the morgue, without the sweet part. On the other hand, the morgue paid her bills, something her brothers did not.
Dead Spaces: The Big Uneasy 2.0 Page 17
