by Terri Reed
Al sputtered. “I want the best story you’ve ever written on my desk by noon. You got that?”
“Yes, I got it. See you then.” Colleen hung up and slumped in the chair.
The e-mail message light continued to blink, reminding her she had more messages. She opened the next one and sat up straight. This one came from her contact in Italy.
After some digging and some bribing, which she needed to be reimbursed for, thank you very much, she had an address of where Mia Donato resided in Germany. Colleen’s heart sped up.
If she could get this information this easily then so could Escalante. Her mind raced in a dozen directions. She knew Alessandro would move his child, most likely to his villa in Italy, but would they ever be safe? What of Colorado Springs? Was the city safe from Escalante? Why had the madman come back in the first place?
She had to move, do something, or she’d go crazy speculating and worrying. Saving what little she’d written, she took her laptop and went to the police station. Sam and Becca were waiting for her. They both looked tired.
Becca’s long ponytail was a little messy, as if she’d tried to run her fingers through her hair but had forgotten about the band holding it back. She wore the same navy pants and white blouse as she’d had on the day before.
Sam needed a shave and his gray slacks and dark polo shirt were also the ones he’d been wearing when Colleen had seen him at the hospital. Obviously both detectives had spent a sleepless night investigating Escalante’s return.
Colleen took a seat at Sam’s desk, much as she’d done many times before when she’d come as a reporter asking questions about a suspect.
Sam searched her face. “You okay?”
Colleen shrugged. Though her brain felt trapped in a tornado of confusion, her heart was numb. The last time she’d been at the station, Alessandro had shown up. He wouldn’t be showing up this time.
“Thanks for coming in. I wanted to let you know officially you are no longer a suspect in Neil O’Brien’s murder, and I hope we can continue on as if none of this had happened.”
Her mouth quirked. Go back to life before Alessandro? She wasn’t sure she wanted to, because he’d touched her in a way no one else ever had. She had no choice but to go on living. But was surviving each day without him really living?
“Yeah, sure,” she said.
Becca handed her a large clear plastic bag with her mother’s blue scarf folded inside. “Thought you might want this back.”
Colleen stared at the scarf. Dark-red stains marred the fragile silk.
“Toss it,” she said and turned away from the reminder of the violence that had touched her life.
And of the man who’d touched her heart.
“What can you tell us about Escalante?” Sam asked.
Colleen pursed her lips. “I probably can’t tell you anything Alessandro hasn’t already.”
“Escalante survived the plane crash and had plastic surgery. Did you get a look at him?” Becca asked.
Colleen shook her head. “I never saw him. Only Alessandro did.”
“He’s gone back to Italy,” Becca stated.
“Yes, he has,” Colleen agreed glumly. She’d messed everything up with her probing and pressing.
“Do I detect some disappointment there?” Sam asked, his eyes alight with curiosity.
Colleen stood, not wanting to discuss Alessandro with Sam right now. Sam might be a good friend, but her feelings for Alessandro were too new, too confusing and too painful to share. “I’ve got a deadline I need to meet. May I go?”
Sam rose, his brow creased. “Sure. You know you can talk to us, Colleen. If you need anything, we’re here for you.”
She nodded, gave Becca a quick smile and walked out.
She drove to the Sentinel, took her laptop inside and went to her cubicle in the far corner. A withered fern sat sadly on top of the tall metal filing cabinet, its feathery branches drooping over a stack of folders that needed to be filed.
Above the desk a shelf held reference manuals and more file folders. Amid the clutter on the desk a monstrous Rolodex took up a good portion of the work area. Only one picture graced her cubicle. A family photo taken at Christmas a few years earlier.
She cleared away some hand-written notes pertaining to the fire at the hospital and laid her laptop down. She fired the computer up and then stared at what she’d written, formulating in her mind words yet to be typed in.
Words that would reveal Alessandro’s position as an Interpol agent.
Without that bit of information, the story would lack the surefire burst of journalistic oomph that a cover story should have. She reread through what she had written with a heavy heart.
She closed her eyes, asking God for guidance. Memories assailed her. The tender look in Alessandro’s eyes right before he kissed her. The feeling of rightness his embrace had evoked deep in her soul. The laughter and the camaraderie they’d shared over the last few weeks.
I’m fond of you, he’d said when they were out on the balcony. I let my feelings for you cloud my judgment, he’d said in the hospital.
He might not want to face the fact that he cared for her, but she was certain he did. But could he still?
In her mind she saw the angry and near-desperate, fearful expression on his handsome face the last time she’d seen him. His words of justice and the need to protect his child played over in her mind. Your “investigating” has put an innocent child in danger.
She couldn’t undo what had already been done. But she could prevent any further damage.
She knew it went against everything she’d been taught about good investigative journalism, but her feelings for Alessandro outweighed the public’s need for knowledge.
Taking a course of action she’d never thought herself capable of, she pressed her finger on the delete key. The cursor moved rapidly over the letters, wiping them clean.
“What are you doing?” Al Crane’s harsh exclamation momentarily paused Colleen’s finger. With grim determination, she pressed harder on the delete button as if to make it go faster.
“Hey, we need that story! I’ve saved you space.”
Keeping her finger on the key, she swirled in the chair to face her boss. “This story isn’t one that needs to be published.”
“Don’t get a crisis of conscience now. There’s no time.” Al’s bushy eyebrows furrowed over his stormy eyes.
At peace with her decision, Colleen grinned. “Not a crisis of conscience. I’m protecting someone I love.”
The unexpected admission startled her. Yet saying what she felt in her heart lifted her spirit. A heady, liberating joy solidified her decision. She would do whatever it took to win Alessandro’s heart.
“Love?” Al nearly shrieked. “What’s love got to do with the news? You better have a story for me within the hour or you’ll be demoted to garden parties and weddings.”
Glancing at the screen, Colleen felt satisfaction at seeing her byline and the title of her story disappear. She closed down the computer and stood. “I’ve got to run.”
Al sputtered. “You’re leaving? And going where?”
A delightful giddiness filled her soul. “Italy.” She moved past Al.
He stomped along with her. “What could possibly be in Italy that’s more important than having a featured cover story?”
At the doors leading outside, she paused, and with what she was sure was a blinding smile said, “The man I love.”
FOURTEEN
“Stay there, Papa. I’ll get my dolly.”
Alessandro watched his five-year-old daughter, Mia, run up the wide, ornate mahogany staircase of his villa. Her little spindly legs and long flowing dark curls were so endearing.
A lump formed in his throat and an ache tightened his chest. He’d been so focused on justice that he’d missed his little girl growing up. When had she learned to speak so well? The last time he’d seen her, she’d barely been able to string two words together.
His fr
iends with whom she’d been living had done such a good job of caring for Mia. Would he be able to do the same?
The Heinens were a good-hearted, childless German couple employed often by Interpol to take in and protect witnesses. They’d agreed to have Mia come live with them, telling everyone she was a distant niece.
Alessandro had felt secure in knowing the couple would protect his daughter with their lives as well as love her.
Greta Heinen had fawned over Mia the moment she’d laid eyes on her. Alessandro would be forever grateful that Greta and Karl Heinen had kept Alessandro’s existence alive in his child’s heart.
With each visit to his daughter and her caretakers, Alessandro came away with a better knowledge of parenting and his desire to be with his daughter grew.
What had Colleen said to him? What could be more important than your daughter? Your responsibility is to your child.
Guilt squeezed in on him. He’d lost so much time with Mia. He hadn’t been there for the important firsts of babyhood. Her first tooth, her first word. The day she took her first step.
As he waited for his little girl to return, he vowed he’d not miss any more of her childhood.
But what of Escalante? He was still at large.
Alessandro had made a vow over his dead wife’s grave to bring justice to those responsible for her death. Justice to the man behind the drug cartel that had supplied his wife with the poison she’d used to kill herself.
Your wife chose to abuse her body with drugs. No one forced her.
Alessandro closed his eyes against the truth of Colleen’s words. No one had spoon-fed Paola the drugs; she’d taken them of her own volition. But the scourge of cocaine and other drugs was the insidious way it lured the body into needing more and still more until the mind could no longer control the body’s desperate hunger for the drug.
And the person responsible for perpetuating that need had to pay.
How could Alessandro ignore that? Especially now that Escalante knew about Mia.
Since that night a week ago when Escalante had escaped capture, Alessandro had lived on heightened alert, sure that at any moment the madman would appear like some evil specter to fulfill his threat to hurt Mia. The trip back to Europe had been torture, as he feared each minute that Escalante would reach Mia first.
Falcon, who unbelievably had turned out to be his Aunt Lidia, had kept him apprised of developments in Colorado Springs. The drug warehouse had been dismantled, many of Escalante’s henchmen taken into custody. Sam and Becca were following new leads on Neil O’Brien’s murder as well as other incidents they now believed involved Escalante. The dots were starting to connect.
Dahlia had not resurfaced, nor had Escalante.
Alessandro had sat with an Interpol sketch artist and had sent along a rough drawing of the new Escalante to the Colorado Springs police. He’d also taken every precaution when he’d removed Mia from his friends’ home and brought her to live in his villa in Fabriano. Armed guards walked the perimeter, security cameras and motion detectors covered the entrances and windows. Yet he still worried.
Mia ran back down the stairs and skidded to a halt in front of him. “See, Papa?” She held up a blond-haired doll with long dark lashes framing blue eyes.
His heart squeezed at the resemblance to a certain blue-eyed blonde who had worked her way through his defenses. He missed Colleen. Missed her tough-as-nails attitude and the gentle caring woman beneath.
He missed the way she gave as good as she got and made no apologies for it. He missed her smile and her sharp wit. He didn’t want to miss her and would have to learn to live with the ache of not having her in his life.
“Isn’t she beautiful, Papa?” Mia danced from foot to foot.
Tenderness and pride blossomed in his heart for his little girl. She’d adjusted to the move very well and had freely given him her love. “Sì, bellissima. As are you.”
He bent to kiss her thin cheek. She giggled and twirled away, an active motion that seemed typical for a child of five, but that bore the traces of the legacy her mother’s drug use had left her with. The doctors said it was attention-deficit/hyperactivity disorder, brought on by Paola’s use of cocaine while carrying Mia. A condition little Mia would have to deal with for her whole life.
Anger surfaced, riding Alessandro with recriminations of guilt for not having protected Mia from the moment of her conception. It didn’t matter that he hadn’t known that Paola was carrying his child when she left. He should have done something to stop his wife’s drug use.
Logically, he realized the futile thought for what it was, his own need to be in control. He hadn’t been able to control Paola. She’d made her own choices, just as Colleen had reminded him.
“Come, Mia, it’s time for supper,” he called to the little dynamo now running circles in the parlor.
She raced past him to the dining table and climbed into the high-backed seat. With her legs swinging and her birdlike elbows resting on the large dark cherry table, she looked small and vulnerable.
A giant mass of parental anxiety contracted painfully in his chest. He’d do anything for his child, protect her with his life. They were family and he intended that they should live as one.
He went to the chair at the head of the table. Minutes ticked by without his staff’s appearance with the meal. Odd. Mia chatted incessantly about her doll. Alessandro made the appropriate responses, but his senses were telling him something was amiss.
“Scusa, Mia. I’ll see what keeps Signora Catania,” he said as he rose from the table.
He strode to the kitchen, expecting to see his housekeeper and cook, the plump Mrs. Catania, bustling about the state-of-the-art kitchen.
The room was empty.
The counters cluttered with the makings of a meal interrupted sent a shiver of apprehension down his spine. The back door was ajar. The alarms weren’t set until late at night because too many people needed to come and go from the house.
Now, he realized the foolishness of that course of action. He’d left them vulnerable. He reached for the 9mm weapon holstered at his ankle.
He stalked outside to the patio garden. He waited a heartbeat, expecting a guard to appear, but none came.
He whirled around and ran back to the dining room. Mia was gone from her chair.
“Mia!” he bellowed. Fear raced through his veins.
He ran to the entryway and flung open the front door. On the stoop one of his guards lay unconscious. Quickly, Alessandro checked the man’s pulse. Alive.
Alessandro’s blooded pounded in his ears as terror gripped his heart.
“Mia!” he yelled out into the night. Please, God, don’t let anything happen to her.
A noise drew him toward the parlor.
The room appeared unoccupied. The ceiling-to-floor curtain fluttered. Calming his breath, Alessandro approached the curtain from the side.
Grasping the gold fabric, he yanked the material aside as he aimed his weapon, his finger pressing on the trigger in anticipation of an attack.
Mia giggled. “You found me!” she singsonged.
A rush of relief staggered him. Lowering his weapon, he dropped to his knees.
“Thank You, Lord above,” he said aloud and drew her to him. “Sweeting, you must not scare Papa like that. Why did you leave the table?”
She stared up at him with wide brown eyes. “You left me alone. I thought we were playing hide and seek.” Her lip pushed out. “You didn’t count.”
Taking deep breaths, he pushed to his feet with Mia in his arms. “Come, sweeting, we will play hide and seek for real.”
He hurried over to the stairs, careful to avert her face from the sight of the guard lying in the open doorway.
“Hide your eyes, sweeting. Count to twenty,” he said as he set her on the stair.
Burying her head on her folded arms, she complied.
Alessandro moved to the door and dragged the unconscious guard inside to the parlor. He shut and locked th
e door before returning to Mia. He scooped her up into his arms.
“Papa! I’m not done counting,” she squealed.
“That’s all right, bella,” he said as he carried her to his office. Behind a false wall, he had a hidden room that he used for Interpol business. Every instinct in him screamed to secure her in the room and then go looking for the bad guys.
Your responsibility is to your child. Not to some job.
He would stay with Mia.
Once they were safely inside the square windowless room, he contacted headquarters using a special line he’d had installed that didn’t connect to the main phone lines of the house. His superiors at Interpol assured him they’d send backup.
He checked the camera monitors. Nothing moved around the perimeter of the house. He could only pray the other guards and Signora Catania had fared as well as the guard he’d found at the entry door.
He sat on the brown leather couch with Mia on his lap. “We must be very quiet so we aren’t found.”
Wide-eyed, Mia nodded and snuggled into the crook of his arm. “Who’s looking for us, Papa?”
“Bad people, sweeting.”
She frowned.
“No worries, sweeting. I’ll protect you.” He kissed her forehead and she relaxed with a sigh.
This was what he’d been afraid of. That his life as an Interpol agent would endanger his child. That was why he’d kept her existence a secret. A secret exposed by Colleen’s investigating.
But could he really place all the blame at Colleen’s feet? If he’d trusted her with the knowledge of who he was and what he was after from the beginning, perhaps the situation would have turned out differently.
He rocked Mia and softly sang a song he remembered from childhood. She fell asleep with her head on his shoulder. He hugged her close, loving the feel of her in his arms. His heart swelled with love. And time ticked by.
A movement on the monitor showing the front of the villa froze his veins. It couldn’t be!
Moving as swiftly as possible, he gently laid Mia on the soft leather cushion. She murmured a sleepy protest, then snuggled into the corner. Her breathing evened out.
