by Joanne Pence
This woman was alien and familiar at once to him. He saw traces of himself in her, and memories washed over him, overwhelmed him with a child’s joy, a grown man’s sorrow, and a cop’s futility.
All these weeks of confusion, anger, and longing, epitomized in this one moment. And this was all there ever was.
“Don’t do it, Cecily,” he said again. Not Mother, but Cecily now—actress, fugitive, killer. The grief that pierced him was sharper than any knife.
Cecily’s face, her voice, were terrible. “I betrayed Mika! I loved him more than life, but I gave him to this bastard, and I never knew why.”
Angie couldn’t stop her tears. “No, you didn’t! You couldn’t have known. You didn’t know he was working with Partridge. It wasn’t your fault.” She wept for the family broken apart by one man’s heinous mistake and another’s callous indifference, for the innocent lives lost, for the lies and deceit.
Bond sneered. “How touching! So you didn’t come back for your precious son, Cecily. How does that make you feel, Inspector? I hate to break up this reunion, but Miss Amalfi and I are going to walk out of here now. If anyone makes a move, I’ll kill her.”
“You aren’t leaving, Bond!” Cecily said. “Do you really think I can miss at this range? I’ve learned a lot these past years. I’ve worked in ‘security’—I’ve learned how to kill. And you taught me all about being ruthless.”
Angie saw the unyielding determination in Cecily’s eyes and knew she would do as she said. Kill Bond. And she, too, would die. She didn’t want the last sight of her life to be the barrel of a gun, and cast her gaze on Paavo, giving him all the love she felt. In her peripheral vision she saw Cecily’s arm adjust to a firing position. She held her breath.
“No!” Paavo said with a passion that shook his voice. “Don’t you do it! You, Aulis, Jessica, this gutless bastard—all of you deprived me of my parents a long time ago. Don’t you take Angie from me, too! Don’t you make me live alone for the rest of my life, regretting every minute of every day what happened here. Regretting the trust I gave. I can’t, I won’t live without her!”
Something flickered across Cecily’s face, but Angie’s eyes were too filled with tears to see clearly.
A loud report shattered the night.
Angie felt the gun barrel knock hard against her temple, felt shock waves blast through her body. She fell to her knees, her eyes squeezed tight. Not until she heard a thud and metallic clatter did she open them again.
Her gaze flew to Paavo. He stood staring at her, pale as death, without moving, without breathing. Then, when their eyes met, he was suddenly holding her, lifting, moving her away from the open area, his arms wonderfully tight about her, his heart pounding so hard his body shook from it. In a darkly shadowed area, he had her curl up as he hunched low over her, shielding her with his body. Gun raised, he peered into the darkness.
Cecily’s gun was also raised, but toward the foliage beyond the battlement, her eyes searching it as she crouched and stepped slowly backwards toward them.
Angie didn’t understand what had happened. She lifted her head and found Bond. Shock pulsated through her at the open, unseeing eyes, at the blood-soaked mass where the entire side of his head had been blown away.
“Hold your fire. We aren’t after you,” a heavy voice called out. A man came up the stairwell and walked toward them, four others behind him.
As he neared, Angie saw it was the old man she had once met in a restaurant, the flirtatious Nick.
“What’s he doing here?” she whispered to Paavo, sitting up.
“You know him?” Paavo asked.
“Nikolai,” Cecily said. She stepped forward. Gun in hand, Paavo moved to her side, keeping Angie tucked behind him. She grabbed the back of his jacket just to have something secure—Paavo—to hold on to.
“We meet again, Cecily,” Nikolai said. He glanced at Angie peeking around Paavo’s shoulder. “And my devuchka, hello to you. My men saw Tucker Bond get into your car. They followed and called me, but unfortunately, lost you for a while in this infernal complex. I’m sorry.”
Angie was stunned. Even more so when she saw, moving to his side, Stavrogin, holding a rifle. Her fingers gripped Paavo’s jacket even tighter.
“Who are you?” Paavo asked.
“You probably know me as Koba,” the Russian replied.
Cecily placed her hand atop Paavo’s gun and pressed downward. Paavo lowered his arm. Angie realized why. Their weapons were of no use to confront this man. Koba—Nikolai—had a small army to protect him.
“I thought you were a better man than to work with a piece of shit like Tucker Bond,” Cecily said to Nikolai, her chin jutting arrogantly.
He gave a loud laugh. “Perhaps now, older and hopefully wiser, I am.” Then his eyes turned sorrowful. “We were all so young then, my Cilochka. Some terrible things happened. We made a mistake with the Finns, with your husband. I’m sorry for that.”
She continued to glare at him with disgust.
“It was because of the Soviets,” he continued. “How I hated them! After they imprisoned our people, we couldn’t think straight. When Bond told us where to find Mika, we went and killed him.”
“I knew it,” she whispered.
“I didn’t learn until later, after other things happened, how we had been deceived. Bond was a whore. He’d work with anyone he could use—the Soviet government, the mafiya, Partridge. And for us, it was helpful to have an FBI insider on our payroll.”
“Yet you killed him?” Cecily couldn’t hide her confusion.
“He was out of control and needed to be stopped. We couldn’t afford Bond standing trial.” Nikolai shrugged. “Such is life.”
Cecily drew herself up tall. “So it is.” She faced him squarely. “I suspect you want to shoot me, too, now. It doesn’t matter, Nikolai. I’ve lived too long, anyway. But you said you regret what happened in the past. I have a way to ease that regret—let my son and his friend go. They aren’t a part of this.”
He turned the thin slits of his eyes toward Paavo and Angie.
“Just me, that’s enough,” Cecily said.
“Don’t,” Paavo said to her softly. She refused to look at him. All her attention was on Nikolai, her expression uncompromising.
“Let them go,” she said.
“Your son is very stubborn, Cecily. I had Stavrogin warn him to back off, but he wouldn’t listen. And he’s a cop.” Nikolai gazed at Paavo, then a long moment at Angie. “All right. He can go—and the young lady, too.”
Cecily shut her eyes, but only for an instant.
Nikolai looked from mother to son. Then his gaze met Cecily’s and his expression hardened. “We will not meet again, Mrs. Turunen. The scorecard is even between us. I think I’ve grown far too old and fat and sentimental for all this. I will let you go as well, even though you know too much about my operation, and you’ve killed too many of my men. It’s true Bond sent them after your son and his friend, but some of my associates do not take kindly to having our men…intercepted, shall we say?” He smiled at Cecily’s silence, one professional to another. “Exactly. I will hold them off for forty-eight hours. Enough time, I’m sure, for you to disappear again. And my present to Miss Amalfi for the fright we caused her today.”
With that, he turned and left.
In the distance came the sound of police sirens.
Cecily faced Paavo then, without a word. Her large green eyes seemed to soften, and he knew he’d never forget the way she looked at him at that moment. He understood that too much had happened, too much death and murder, and she had no choice but to leave now, just as she had so many years ago.
Emotions so strong, so unexpected and turbulent, filled him. She had walked out on him when he was a boy, and hadn’t been there all the times he had felt sad and lonely and needed her so much it seemed the center of his being was nothing but a huge, empty hole. She had grown old without him, just as he had lost his youth without her, but now he understood why
she’d done it, and that made all the difference.
A moment passed, and then she straightened her spine and raised her chin. He saw that she kept herself under even tighter rein than he, that she had learned the hard way to be self-contained, and that if she was to survive, she had to continue to be stronger and tougher and more alone than he could imagine. Her look said everything and his heart filled with feelings long denied, filled until he thought it would burst. She nodded—once—then turned and walked away.
His arms closed around Angie, gathering her to him, needing her, her love, her warmth, her essence, kissing her and touching her as if to make sure she was really there and all in one piece. He tasted her tears, felt them against his face, and they cut through all his defenses. He shattered inside and tears stung his eyes.
She returned his kisses and caresses, trying to soothe him. His voice was broken and tear filled. “I was so scared…. I can’t, I don’t know if I could have stopped her…. God, Angie, I don’t know…I don’t think I could have shot—”
“Hush, Paavo.” She placed her fingers against his lips, stopping such words, words no son should ever have to say. “You couldn’t have hurt her, Paavo. You couldn’t have. She’s your mother.”
Blue eyes seemed to study her and found her understanding, her acceptance, and her love. He sagged against her. With both a smile and also tears in his voice, he whispered, “Yes, she is my mother.”
Angie held him close and kissed him lightly and sweetly at first, until the fire between them ignited, and her kiss grew into a tongue-touching, body-pressing, rapture-building, heart-filling kind of kiss, one that went on and on and showed him fully how happy she was to be alive, happy to be with him, and euphoric over his words about her, about the two of them together. That was what mattered. That was everything.
Forty-eight hours, Nikolai had said. She and Paavo would clean off the sweat and smell of death at the hotel, check out of it, and then she would go with him back to the little house on Filbert Street. Cecily knew where it was, and it was in a safe, secluded location. She and Paavo would wait there. They had forty-eight hours. She’ll come, Angie told herself. I’m sure she’ll come….
Chapter 38
A week later, Paavo sat on the edge of Aulis’s hospital bed, Angie on a chair at his side. Two days earlier, the old man had come out of his twilight sleep, and with each passing hour had grown stronger and more lucid. His vital signs were excellent, and the prognosis was for a full recovery.
Propped up with pillows, Aulis was eager to hear what had happened since he’d lost consciousness. The doctors had finally given Paavo and Angie the okay to relate the whole story. What they told him, though, was a simple, sanitized version, leaving out most of the dangerous parts.
But Paavo did tell him he had learned about his past.
“I’m glad you finally know the truth,” Aulis said. “So many times I wanted to tell you, but I was afraid for you, and of what you might want to do if you learned. I think Cecily’s way of handling this was right. If the people who were involved were still so dangerous thirty years later, her instincts to save her children were good ones. I’m glad she got to see what a fine man you turned out to be. You do Mika proud. It’s like having him back again.”
“Thank you,” Paavo said, touched by the words about his father.
“The irony of it all,” Angie added, “is that we had to make Tucker Bond a hero by saying he’d died trying to rescue me from kidnappers. His shooting has now been added to the long list of Koba’s crimes. To blame the Russian Mafia was, unfortunately, the simplest explanation for his murder, and Partridge’s, and all the earlier gunplay.”
“I suppose it doesn’t do much good for anyone to point out what really happened,” Aulis said.
“None at all,” Paavo replied.
“It’s grim.” Aulis shook his head, and they all silently thought about the strangeness that had transpired.
“What isn’t grim is that Angie has a new business,” Paavo said, trying to make the mood upbeat again. “She’s on television!”
“Really?” Aulis smiled. “Well, she’s pretty enough, that’s for sure. She could be Vanna White if she wanted to.”
“She’s doing even better.” Paavo gave her hand a quick squeeze. “Video restaurant reviews.”
Angie felt a little sick inside. It was a subject she’d carefully avoided, and had hoped Paavo had forgotten about. No such luck.
“Ah! I’ve never heard of anything like that.” Aulis’s voice was so filled with enthusiasm, she would have gladly crawled under the bed.
“That’s the idea,” Paavo said. “Angie came up with it all by herself. It’s a winner.”
“Paavo…” She looked from one man to the other. “I’m afraid that idea didn’t work out. I’m going to have to drop it.”
“You are? Why?”
“Well…” How could she tell him? She drew in her breath. “After I did my first review on TV, I was hit with four lawsuits. One was brought by the restaurant owner, who claimed I had no right to show the interior of his business on television.” Her throat became dry. “Another was from the cook, saying I had slandered him.” Beads of perspiration broke out on her forehead. “Another came from the waiter. He said he should have been paid standard actor’s rates because he’s a member of some actors’ guild waiting for a big break. And the last”—the room began to spin—“the last plaintiff is a customer, who’s suing for alienation of affection because my camcorder caught him at the restaurant with a woman who wasn’t his wife. Now his wife wants a divorce, and he says it’s all my fault!”
Paavo sucked in his breath.
As Angie drank some water to compose herself, the old man chuckled. “Well, at least, child,” he said to Angie, “you did get back your Christmas present, didn’t you?”
“Well, yes and no,” she said, feeling a little better. “Paavo realized that the brooch must have gone to the forger, Jakob Platnikov. Platnikov had a granddaughter who liked it and had put it in her back-pack to show a girlfriend in school, knowing her grandfather usually didn’t work on jewelry until evening. But when she came home he was dead. Paavo explained to the girl that the brooch was very valuable and had to go back to its owner. Even though she’d kept it hidden from others who asked about it, she gave it to him.”
“So you do have it?” Aulis asked.
“No. Its rightful owner, we learned, was the Hermitage in Saint Petersburg. A friend, a retired museum curator, helped us send it back to them with a letter saying it was being returned compliments of Mika Turunen and Sami Vansha.”
“Ah, that’s good. Very good.” Aulis shut his eyes as she spoke, and now, even though he commented and wore a smile on his face, she could see how tired he had grown. Soon his breathing deepened, and he was asleep.
Paavo caught Angie’s eye and motioned toward the door. She nodded, stood, and moved quietly toward it. Paavo stopped in the doorway and took her hand. At the same time, he gazed back at Aulis. He loved these two, and felt their love for him. And for the first time in his adult life, he was able to accept the love they had to give. It was such a cliché, he wanted to laugh at himself, and yet, knowing who his parents were and why they had left him meant more to him than he could ever have imagined.
He felt as if he had needed to get over that hurdle before he could know where his heart was. And now he knew. It was with the people who mattered more than anything else in his life—with Angie, with Aulis, and with the mother who loved him, wherever she might be…
From the kitchen of Angelina Amalfia
ANGIE’S PASTA WITH PROSCIUTTO AND SUN-DRIED TOMATOES
This is one of Paavo’s favorite dishes. The mincing and chopping take a little time, but the actual cooking goes very fast.
¼ cup butter or margarine
¼ cup olive oil
4 garlic cloves, minced
½ tsp. crushed red pepper
¼ lb. thinly sliced prosciutto, cut into thin strips
> ½ cup drained sun-dried tomatoes, chopped
¼ cup fresh basil, chopped
¼ cup fresh Italian parsley, chopped
1 spring onion. chopped
1 lb. angel-hair pasta
Parmesan cheese
Cook angel-hair pasta (about 7 minutes) and drain thoroughly.
Put butter and oil in a large skillet, and melt them over a medium-low heat. Add the garlic and red pepper and cook until the garlic is golden (1–2 minutes), stirring frequently. Next add the prosciutto, tomatoes, basil, parsley, and onion. Heat thoroughly (4–5 minutes).
Place pasta in a large serving dish. Pour sauce over pasta and toss, mixing sauce throughout.
Serve with Parmesan cheese.
ANGIE’S AMARETTO-PECAN BREAD PUDDING
This is another of boyfriend Paavo’s favorites. It’s not traditional bread pudding, but is similar to Mexican-style capirotada, with a hint of Italy. It’s one of Angie’s specialties.
12 slices French bread, crusts removed
2 teaspoons butter
1 ½ cups sugar
1 ½ cups water
1 cup apple juice
2 tablespoons butter
½ cup raisins
1 teaspoon vanilla
1 ½ teaspoons Amaretto (or omit Amaretto and use an extra ½ tsp. vanilla here)
6 oz. soft cream cheese
¾ cup pecan pieces
1 teaspoon cinnamon
Whipped cream or nondairy (Cool Whip-type) topping
Preheat oven to 350 degrees. Butter a 9-by-13-inch baking dish (use the 2 tsp. of butter here). Tear bread into bite-sized pieces and place it in the buttered baking dish. Toast in the oven for ten minutes.
While bread is toasting, put the sugar in a large saucepan. Over medium high heat, stir the sugar continuously while it melts. When it is melted (it will turn a light caramel color), stand back from the saucepan as much as possible and add the water and apple juice to the sugar. Watch out—when the cold liquid hits the melted sugar, the caramel will splatter, bubble up, and most of it will solidify. Keep it on the heat and soon the caramel will liquefy again. Keep stirring. Add the butter and raisins. When the caramel is completely liquefied, remove the saucepan from the heat. Stir in the vanilla and Amaretto.
