by Nancy Gideon
"Now, Tessa dear, that is hardly called for," she complained as if shocked. But she released Barbara.
"Oh, I think a lot of things are called for and your indignation is not one of them."
"I have no idea what you're talking about."
"Really? And if we were to go over to that very nice young reporter over there and fill him in on your charitable support of the dying child of a man who smeared my father's name, you don't think he'd find a story if he dug deep enough?"
Martinez no longer bothered to pretend. Her expression was livid. "You don't have anything."
"No? Then why did you send Allen to kill my father? Why did you send him to intimidate me with his fists? Why tear up my mother's house? You know what we have and now we have you."
"What do you want?"
"I want my father's name cleared. And I want Allen."
Martinez's smile was thin and cruel. "In order to clear your father's name, he'd have to be innocent. And that, my dear, I'm afraid is not the case. Are you sure you want to pursue this?"
Tessa glanced at her mother, willing to follow her lead at last. Barbara's gaze was flint on steel.
"Very sure."
"That's unfortunate. I'd hoped we wouldn't have to take this any further."
"I told you she wouldn't go for it."
Tessa's insides turned to glass as she recognized the silky voice. Her pistol weighed down her handbag but she couldn't reach for it. Her best defense was a scream but suddenly her throat was parched and dry with fear. Something sharp pierced her skin beneath her rib cage. She couldn't move, could hardly breathe.
"Hello, Babs. Nice to see you."
Barbara's face turned the color of putty.
"Now, Barbara dear, you'll come with me without a fuss or my associate will carve your daughter up like those little strips of sushi over there. Do you understand?"
She gave a stiff nod, her glazed stare on the hand Allen had tucked in close against her daughter's side.
"You know I'm serious, don't you, Babs?"
Again the jerky nod.
"Ms. D'Angelo, we'll be in touch." Rachel Martinez turned and walked away with Barbara marching stiffly at her side. When they'd cleared the cluster of people in the room, Allen leaned in close so his breath brushed warm and soft against Tessa's cheek. She thought she was going to throw up.
"Now you be a good girl and nothing nasty will happen to that oh, so fine mother of yours. I want you to count to twenty before you even think of taking another breath."
Tessa stood still for ten seconds, twenty. And when she glanced around, she was alone.
* * *
Jack burst into the genteel party where fussy little watercress sandwiches were served up in lieu of real food. One of the servers dressed in white tie and tails thought to intercept him but after one quelling look, he thought better of it.
He saw her standing at the far end of the room. Her back was to him, the ivory skin of her neck and shoulders bared by the sophisticated unswept knot of her hair. She wore a gauzy, floaty dress that would have had him in a lather thinking of her wearing it with nothing underneath had the circumstances been different. He moved quickly, panic and fury powering his strides. As he got closer, he noticed an odd pattern dotting the side of her dress with crimson.
His heart bobbed up into his heart. He could scarcely say her name.
"Tessa."
She turned slowly. Her features were a stiff mask. Her eyes welled with terror.
"Jack, they have my mother."
And then he had her in his arms.
Once they started back to Jack's compound, he listened to her without expressing any judgment. None was needed. Tessa knew what they'd done was foolish and now her mother's life was in jeopardy. She'd felt so confident, so cocky, with the training Jack had given her, but as he'd said, she was far from ready to compete against someone like Chet Allen.
She'd heard his voice and it paralyzed her.
Councilwoman Martinez had waltzed away with her mother and she'd done nothing to intervene.
"Do you have the tape?" Jack asked when she'd finished.
"It's in my bag." Next to her useless pistol. The one she'd been afraid to draw. "I blew it, Jack."
"It doesn't matter, Tessa. We have them. Your father had all the evidence we need for a conviction tucked away in that old gym locker room. He'd sent it to your mother in that last letter from Nam without her knowing what it contained."
"They're going to want it, Jack. They're going to want it in exchange for my mother's release."
"Russell's already turned it over to the police. As soon as they can find a judge to sign it, there'll be a warrant out for Martinez and Allen."
Tessa turned to him, features stark with anguish. "But what about my mother? They'll kill her unless they think we have something to barter with."
"We don't need to tell them we don't, do we?"
"Jack, this isn't a game."
"It is to Allen. He's the one we've got to worry about, not Martinez. Martinez isn't a killer. She's a politician."
"But she had Allen kill my father."
"Maybe. Maybe Allen was just improvising."
"Jack, I'm scared."
"I won't tell you not to be. But we'll get through this. You have to trust me."
"I do."
They pulled into the driveway. Jack cut the engine and for a long moment they both sat there, staring straight ahead. Then Jack reached for her hand. She slipped hers inside and let his engulf it with warmth and strength.
The late afternoon was unseasonably warm. Rose sat out on the porch with one of her schoolbooks on her folded knees. Tinker lay stretched out beside her, soaking up the sunlight. They both looked up in welcome.
To Tessa, it was like coming home.
To Jack, it was like having a family waiting.
Dinner was quick and silent. Tessa sat tensely, watching the cell phone lying next to her plate, willing it to ring. Anticipation was eating her alive. Wondering what her mother was thinking, feeling, was an exquisite torture to endure while she sat here safe and secure in Jack's fortress.
What had they been thinking to attempt such a thing on their own?
She helped Constanza clear the table and sat with Rose to hear her read out loud. She moved on autopilot until Jack intercepted her in the hall and steered her to his upstairs room. There, he turned her toward the shower and wrenched on the faucet until steam hung in the air. He stripped her out of her frilly party dress and frillier underthings then directed her under the hot spray. After a few minutes he reached in to turn the water off and was ready with a fluffy towel to buff her dry and then to simply hold her.
He'd turned down the bed. She slipped under the covers, shivering until he joined her, bare skin to bare skin. He made love to her until passion thawed the panic, until her breathing raced and she cried out his name in wondrous release. And then she curled close in his embrace while he held her tight, his expression fierce and unreadable. His fingertips grazed the tiny nick in her side where he had pressed on a bandage. It was a small cut but the fear it inspired stabbed clear to the heart and soul of both of them.
They spoke for a short while of what tomorrow would bring and, too soon, Tessa was slumbering fitfully while Jack lay wide awake and worried.
How was he going to keep her safe?
* * *
Morning came with the vibration of Tessa's phone. She'd placed it under her pillow before closing her eyes. Carefully, so as not to wake Jack, she slid out of bed and padded into the bathroom before answering the call.
"Yes?"
"You know what we want."
"Yes, I do."
"Where was it?"
"In a locker at the gym you used to go to."
Allen's laugh was low and admiring. "Clever. Bring it if you want to see your mother alive again."
"To my father's office in an hour. Don't you hurt her."
But the line was already dead.
Cold w
ith fear and tight with dread, she dressed, tucking Betsy into the waistband of her jeans. She scribbled a quick note and placed it on her pillow before slipping from the room. She didn't look at Jack. She couldn't and still have the courage to do what she had to do. He would understand why she didn't say goodbye.
* * *
A half hour later Jack opened his eyes to see Rose at his bedside.
"Hey, monkey, what are you doing in here?" Then the fogginess left him and he realized he was alone under his covers. Tinker was sleeping on the pillow Tessa had used. A slip of paper was wedged underneath him.
"Miss Tessa told me to come and wake you after she'd gone."
Jack sat up, remembering to clutch the covers to conceal his nakedness. "She's gone?"
"Sí." The girl's features puckered with concern, sensing something was very wrong. "Is she coming back?"
"If I have anything to say about it."
"She took your truck."
"That's all right. I've got my bike. Scoot on out of here so I can get dressed."
As she turned, Jack caught her wrist. He wasn't sure he had the right words so he just spoke straight from the heart. "You know I love you, don't you, Rose?"
She stared at him, startled.
"You do know that, right?"
Slowly she nodded, tears bright in her eyes.
"When I get back, we need to sit down for a talk. I've got some things I have to tell you."
Again, the nod. She couldn't seem to speak through the emotion clogging her chest so she turned and raced out of the room.
After she'd gone, Jack reached for the piece of paper and read the short statement. He crumpled the paper and prayed for the first time in decades for the strength not to let her down. Her three words meant everything to him.
I trust you.
* * *
Chapter 17
« ^ »
The streets were empty. Even the most zealous workaholics took Sunday morning off.
Tessa used her key to enter the Parker-Thompkins Building from the parking garage. Normally she would have rejoiced to find a space right near the door. This morning it brought her one step closer to a trap about to be sprung.
The interior of the building was silent. Its floors gleamed, the cleaning crew having huffed them to a high shine the night before. Her reflections stretched out in front of her, a figure moving quickly, cautiously, on orange alert toward the main lobby and the elevators. She didn't draw her gun. There was no point until she got where she was going. No one was going to harm her until they had the evidence safe in hand. Then she knew what would happen.
Then they would kill both her and her mother. No witnesses. Dead men—or women—tell no tales.
The lobby yawned dark and cavernous with only the cursory lights burning and the sun not yet up to dazzle through the smoked front glass.
"Good morning, Ms. D'Angelo. You're in early."
A man in an office security uniform stepped out from behind the counter. It was neither Maurice nor Gary but some big hulk with a too wide smile.
"Good morning. Catching the worm, as it were. Where's Steve? I thought he usually worked the weekend shift."
"He's out of town. An aunt's funeral," he told her, managing to curb his grin long enough to appear sorrowful for the fictitious Steve. "My name's Bart. I just started a couple of weeks ago. I recognize you from the TV. It don't do you justice." Again, the huge grin, this time just a wolfish baring of teeth.
"Thank you," she murmured as if she really thought it was a compliment. "I need to go up to fourteen. There are some things I need in my father's office."
"No problem."
While the fake guard faced the elevator to unlock the panel, Tessa faced the lobby camera and held her fingers up. Nine then one then one. At least that would record she wasn't going of her own free will if they happened to leave the tape behind to document her voluntary ride upstairs.
"Have a nice day, Ms. D'Angelo," Bart said with a grin.
"I plan to, Bart."
The door swished closed between them.
The ride up seemed to take forever. It gave her too much time to consider what she was doing. This time, her father's honor wasn't the driving force but rather her mother's life.
He's not innocent, Martinez had said. Whatever his sins, she would face them. He'd planned to reveal them to her on the day he died. If he'd been ready to tell her then, he wouldn't mind her knowing now. She prepared herself mentally and emotionally for anything, for blackmail, for involvement in drug trafficking, for turning a blind eye to wrongdoing. Whatever it was, she would accept it and see Robert D'Angelo as no less a man because of it. Not because he would expect it of her and she didn't want to let him down, but because she was strong enough to handle the truth—that her father was just a man who maybe had feet of clay instead of flawless marble.
She wouldn't think of her mother, of what she'd been through, of the apologies she'd planned when they were reunited, of the future she anticipated getting to know the woman Barbara D'Angelo really was. She couldn't turn back the clock and become the innocent Rose beneath the drape of her mother's arm, but she could become a daughter, a contemporary, a friend. There would be time for those things. She had to believe it and not let her fears distract her.
Get ready. She braced herself as the doors opened on fourteen.
The hall was empty. By now, they knew she was on her way. Bart, or whatever his name was, would have signaled them from the lobby. No use trying to be discreet then. She strode toward the door to 1410 and swung it open.
Four men lounged in the outer office. She didn't think for a minute that they were temps from the secretarial pool. They looked mean and lean, and the business they were in didn't involve knowing how to type. Or to fix the heating and air-conditioning as their faux uniforms would suggest.
"Where's Martinez?" she asked the closest lump of hired muscle.
"She's not here for this meeting. Mr. Allen's inside, waiting." His beefy hand gestured toward the closed door of her father's office.
So Martinez didn't think them important enough to waste her Sunday morning. She'd be busy appearing humble and repentant at Mass, someplace highly visible so she couldn't be linked to the ugliness Allen had planned for them.
Tessa crossed the office without giving the men a second look. They weren't the ones who worried her. Allen was. She opened the door and stepped inside. At first it appeared as if the room was empty. Then slowly her father's big leather chair revolved.
"Good morning, Ms. D'Angelo. Nice to see you again."
From the stories she'd heard, Tessa expected to find a cross between Hannibal Lecter and the reptilian villain from Platoon. Chet Allen was surprisingly nonthreatening with his pleasant angular features and welcoming smile. Until she looked into his eyes. They were pale and empty windows to a contrastingly black soul.
"Where's my mother?" she demanded without preamble.
"All in due time. We have some business to discuss first."
"We don't discuss anything until I know she's all right."
"She's fine. Babs isn't as delicate as she looks."
Tougher than she looks. Like mother, like daughter. "And I'm supposed to take your word for it?"
He shrugged. "Bart has her down in the lobby. He'll bring her up when I call."
"Call him now or this conversation is over."
"You're a real bulldog. Just like Robby." He punched a few numbers on the intercom. He was wearing thin surgical gloves. A careful man. "Bart, bring Mrs. D'Angelo up, would you please?"
Tessa stood just inside the door, her heart pounding, her hands damp. The proximity to this monster made her nauseous. But she'd remain alert. Their lives depended on it.
"Where's your friend, the intrepid Mr. Chaney?"
She was careful not to betray her surprise that he knew Jack's name. He obviously didn't know much more than that or they would have been paid a visit at Jack's residence.
"When I left him this
morning, he was still sleeping."
"Am I to expect him at any minute then?"
"He doesn't know I'm here. If he did, he'd want to do something about it and I'm not willing to risk my mother's life."
"How practical of you. And smart. Mr. Chaney has a bit of a hero complex. I must admit, he has given us a run for our money. He certainly knows how to cover his tracks. Martinez actually considered going after his father but I convinced her that Babs was the easier target. Chaney had too many unknown variables, but you, Ms. D'Angelo, are a predictable quantity, just like Robby. Besides, I'd rather deal with you for old times' sake. Call me a sentimental fool."
He was nobody's fool. Tessa stood, teeth clenched to keep them from chattering while she stared directly into the face of her father's killer.
"Have a seat, Tessa. We might as well get acquainted while we wait for good old Babs."
"I know enough about you already. A little polite conversation isn't likely to change my opinion."
He laughed out loud, a pleasant sound belied by the flat quality of his stare.
"Isn't there anything you want to ask me, little Tessa? Anything at all?"
He was taunting her. She knew better than to take the bait but the need to know, the need to expunge the demons of doubt, had her plunging ahead, feeding the killer's thirst for entertainment at her family's expense.
"How was my father involved with Martinez?"
"You go right for the big one, don't you? Right for the throat. Good for you. If you actually have the evidence you say you do, you should know all that. You do have it, don't you? I'd hate for this reunion to be an exercise in futility."
"I know you were running drugs through Martinez's humanitarian front in Asia. My father had pictures of you meeting with her and transferring product into the trucks that supposedly were carrying medical supplies. My guess is that's the over-the-counter pain reliever that made Martinez her first fortune."
"You'd be right. A sweet, sweet deal until Saint Robert stumbled onto it."
"Then he wasn't your partner?"
Another jovial laugh. "Not hardly. It didn't fit in with his prospectus for the future. He had it all planned out even then, returning home to his beautiful, now pregnant wife, finishing a law degree on his GI bill. Using his military records as a stepping stone to politics. Only I managed to muck that up for him a bit. He didn't come back to the States to the hero's welcome he'd expected. He had a blotch on his record that made using it for promotional gain a gamble instead of a shoe-in."
