Heart of a Killer

by Yolanda Wallace

  She continued to add ingredients to the skillet until each element was properly cooked. Then she grabbed two plates and spooned food onto them.

  Vilma reached into the refrigerator and pulled out a bottle of champagne. “A dish that smells that good deserves a mimosa, don’t you think?”

  Brooklyn watched as Vilma expertly popped the cork on the bottle of champagne and poured some of the contents into a pair of crystal flutes before topping off the champagne with orange juice.

  Vilma moaned when she took the first bite. “Now I’m glad you fell asleep last night. This puts my efforts to shame.”

  “I doubt that, but thank you for the compliment.”

  Brooklyn was pleased to see that something so simple had appealed to someone with Vilma’s refined tastes. As she ate a dish from her past, she felt like she was being offered a glimpse into the future. Was this the only breakfast she and Vilma would share, or the first of many?

  “Do you have anything planned for today?”

  The question took Brooklyn by surprise because it made it seem as if Vilma couldn’t wait to get rid of her. Had she misjudged their rapport? Here she was planning their next encounter while Vilma was anxious for this one to be over.

  “Nothing major.” Brooklyn moved her food around her plate to hide her disappointment. “What about you?”

  Vilma set her fork down, a common precursor for ending a conversation rather than continuing one. “Actually, I was hoping to spend the day with you. Are you up for an adventure?”

  “I feel like I’ve been on one since the night we met.”

  “Then today sounds like a perfect opportunity to decide where we should go next.”

  And Brooklyn couldn’t wait to get started.

  Chapter Twelve

  The facial recognition scans Santana had run the day before hadn’t been of much help. Even though she now had a name for each person who had appeared at Charlotte Evans’s gravesite, none of the attendees had stood out to her as the person who had arranged the hit. They were just the usual assortment of friends, relatives, coworkers, and current and former lovers. She had been up until four a.m. running thorough background checks on each of them, hoping she would spot something she had missed during her preliminary search. Again, she had come up empty.

  The unsatisfying results didn’t dent her desire to solve the mystery, though. Instead of giving up, she was determined to try even harder. To dig even deeper into both Brooklyn’s—and Charlotte’s—personal and professional lives. Now that she had looked into the people who had attended Charlotte’s funeral, she needed to research the associates who hadn’t. Scheduling conflicts might have kept some of them away, but so could a guilty conscience.

  “What would you like to do today?” Brooklyn asked as they cleared the breakfast plates off the table.

  “If you don’t mind, I’d like to see your office.”

  The plate Brooklyn was holding slipped in her hands. Santana lunged to catch it, but Brooklyn tightened her grip before it managed to fall from her grasp. “Sorry about that. I’m not usually such a klutz.” Brooklyn turned toward the sink, though not fast enough to prevent Santana from seeing the stricken expression on her face. “Why do you want to see my office?”

  “Hearing you describe your company has me intrigued. I would love to tour the facility so I can see where the magic happens.”

  Brooklyn rinsed the plate and handed it to Santana so she could load it in the dishwasher.

  “You’re shaking.” Santana placed her hands on Brooklyn’s shoulders to steady her. “What’s wrong?”

  “I haven’t been back to my office since the shooting,” Brooklyn said, her voice quavering. “As far as I know, no one has. Tomorrow’s our first official day back at work. Everything was cleaned up days ago so the place no longer looks like a crime scene, but I don’t know if I’ll be able to walk through the doors and pretend nothing has changed.”

  “No one expects you to do that, but your employees will be counting on you to lead them. They’ll be waiting to take their cues from you. If you fall apart, how long do you think it will take for them to follow suit?”

  Santana let her hands drop. This situation was new to her. She was used to inflicting pain and occasionally providing pleasure, not offering comfort.

  “Returning to a place filled with so many memories, both good and bad, is bound to be difficult,” she said, “but you need to face your fears rather than run from them.” And she needed to take a look at Brooklyn’s office up close rather than through a rifle scope.

  “I know.”

  Brooklyn leaned against the sink as if she thought her legs were about to give way. Santana took a step toward her but didn’t reach for her again. Brooklyn had experienced a terrible trauma, as had so many others like her, but she could tell Brooklyn was strong enough to withstand it. A fact she hoped Brooklyn realized as well.

  “I’ve been telling myself that for days,” Brooklyn said with a sigh, “but I kept coming up with excuses to prevent myself from doing so. To be honest, that’s one of the reasons I called you yesterday.”

  “To help you face your fears?”

  “In a way.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  “Probably because I’m not making much sense. Let me back up.” Brooklyn took a breath and started over. “When I was in high school, I invented an alter ego to help me do all the things I’d convinced myself I couldn’t accomplish on my own. Someone who’s confident, fearless, and has her shit together instead of being a raging bundle of insecurities who would rather speak in code than emoticons. Whenever I was nervous or anxious—whenever I wanted to ask someone for a date or ace a presentation in class, for example—I pretended to be Brooke Vincent instead of Brooklyn DiVincenzo. I still do that now. It wasn’t me who talked the loan officer at my bank into giving me the money I needed to start my company. It was Brooke. It isn’t me who gives TED talks. It’s Brooke. It wasn’t me who shepherded my friends and employees through the hardest week of our lives. It was Brooke. Sometimes, I’m tempted to buy one of those What Would Jesus Do T-shirts and customize it so it reads WWBD instead.”

  “What Would Brooke Do? I like it.”

  “Yesterday, I got tired of being Brooke. I wanted to be Brooklyn again. The way I was with Charlie. The way I was with you.”

  She placed her hand over Santana’s heart. The gesture was so unexpected Santana almost pulled away. The tenderness of Brooklyn’s touch, however, kept her rooted in place.

  “I know we haven’t known each other very long,” Brooklyn said, “but I don’t feel like I have to pretend with you. I can be myself.”

  “A lovable snowman whose best friend freezes everything she touches?”

  Brooklyn’s dazzling smile took Santana’s breath away. Seeing it was like watching the sun break through the clouds after a storm.

  “I would say you found me out, but I think you’ve known exactly who I am from the beginning. Not literally, of course. Why would you? I’m nobody. Yet, from the moment you looked at me, you seemed to see the real me instead of the image I often project. And, for some reason, you appeared to like me anyway. Call me selfish, but I wanted more of that. I wanted more of you.”

  Santana felt herself drifting farther and farther into uncharted territory. The urge to return to safer ground was almost overwhelming. Almost, but not quite. For some reason, the prospect of sex without a meaningful connection except the physical didn’t hold the same appeal it had a few days ago. And an idea she had once refused to consider—allowing a woman to touch her soul instead of just her body—was starting to take root.

  She preferred to think things through rather than act on impulse. If she had followed her instincts, she would have closed the distance between herself and Brooklyn and taken Brooklyn’s face in her hands. After taking a moment to breathe her in, she would have kissed her. Gently at first. Then, as Brooklyn started to respond, with a greater sense of urgency. They would have spent the rest of
the day in bed. Exploring each other’s bodies with their lips, tongues, and hands. And afterward? What then? Would she send Brooklyn away like she had all the others who had preceded her or, unthinkably, would she beg her to stay? The realization that she had no idea how she would handle that situation prompted her to follow her head instead of her heart.

  “I’ll make a deal with you,” she said. “Despite present circumstances, your office sounds like your happy place. I’ll show you mine if you show me yours.”

  Brooklyn’s smile broadened. “What are we waiting for?”

  Chapter Thirteen

  While Vilma tipped the driver of the town car that had brought them from her apartment, Brooklyn tried to keep from falling apart. Her office and the building that housed it had once felt like home to her. A few days ago, that home had been invaded by a nameless, faceless intruder who hadn’t even bothered to cross the threshold. Cosmetically, everything looked pretty much the same, but it definitely didn’t feel that way.

  She looked up at the office windows high overhead. A new pane of glass had been installed in place of the one that had been pierced by a large caliber bullet. It was so clean it gleamed, making it stand out from the weathered panes on either side of it. Brooklyn tore her eyes away from the window as images of Charlie’s bloody corpse flashed through her mind.

  Tempted to run away, she retreated a step. Then she felt Vilma’s hand press against the small of her back. Grounding her. Giving her the courage she needed to face what she had been trying to avoid.

  “This is an unusual building,” Vilma said. “How did you locate it?”

  “I don’t own it—I rent the suite of offices on the tenth floor—but I consider it something of a family heirloom. It was originally built as a piano factory. If you look carefully, you can still make out the name painted on the brick.” She pointed at the faded lettering on the pocked walls. “My grandfather worked here for almost fifty years. He started when he was a teenager and stayed on until it was time for him to retire.”

  “What did he do?”

  “He was a tuner. It was his job to manipulate the pins on the wires until each key reached the correct pitch. I would have lost my mind after less than a day of being bombarded by all those discordant notes, but he loved it. He and my grandmother would have the funniest arguments sometimes. When he didn’t respond after she asked him to do something around the house, she would stand over him in his easy chair and say, ‘You can tell the difference between a flat and a sharp, but you can’t hear me when I tell you to take out the trash?’”

  “They sound adorable.”

  “They are. They’re the ideal couple, too. They’ve been together so long I can’t imagine one without the other. To this day, my grandfather takes my nonna’s hand every time they cross the street.” She smiled to herself as she thought of them making their way through life. A bit slower than they once did but still together. “I had forgotten about that story. Thanks for reminding me of it.”

  “You’re welcome.”

  Brooklyn felt a sense of peace wash over her as she looked into Vilma’s eyes. She couldn’t tell if the feeling had transpired because of Vilma’s presence or the memory she had prompted her to recall.

  “Shall we go inside?” she asked.

  “After you.”

  Brooklyn used her key fob to gain access to the building, then pointed at the list of names printed on a sign in the lobby.

  “Several companies are located in the building and there’s a coffee shop here on the first floor, so on the rare days I get an actual lunch break, I don’t have far to go to find a good place to eat.”

  “How long have you been in business?” Vilma asked as they boarded the elevator.

  “Officially? Five years.”

  “And unofficially?”

  Brooklyn thought back. “I wrote my first program when I was eight. I sold it shortly after that. I only made five dollars for the sale. At the time, it seemed like a fortune. I framed it like most businesses do when they make their first buck, but I ended up spending it when I had to break into my piggy bank in order to buy a handheld game console I had my eye on but my parents refused to pay for.”

  “Now you create your own games.”

  “Among other things, though I’m planning on making some changes to my business model. I have you to thank for that, by the way.”

  “How so?”

  “Last night, you said many companies do several things well, but the best focus on doing one thing great. Tomorrow, I’m going to challenge my staff—and myself—to do something great.”

  Vilma’s smile seemed to hold a hint of pride. “I look forward to hearing about your future projects.”

  “When the time comes, I’ll prepare a formal prospectus for you. Unless you’d prefer a more personal approach.”

  “Give me a call when you have something concrete and we’ll decide how to proceed.”

  Brooklyn wondered if she needed to write a prospectus for the two of them as well because she was currently at a loss. When they were standing in Vilma’s kitchen a few minutes ago, she had been certain Vilma was about to kiss her. Vilma had come close, but not close enough. Had she backed off out of respect for her grief, or was there another reason she had chosen to exercise restraint?

  When the elevator reached the tenth floor, Brooklyn unlocked the office doors and turned on the lights.

  “This is it. Let me take you on a tour. I like to think of the space as a miniature version of the sprawling campuses favored by companies like Google and YouTube. Same principle but less square footage. The research and development team works here,” she said as Vilma trailed her around the room. “The programmers congregate here, the production team works in this area, and the marketing team works pretty much wherever they can find inspiration.”

  “What about HR and accounting and finance? Do you have teams for those functions as well?”

  “I’m in charge of personnel, and an outside firm handles the accounting duties. I have a good head for numbers, but I’d rather leave some things to the experts.”

  Vilma whistled as she turned in a slow circle. Her gaze seemed to linger on Charlie’s desk, but surely that had to be either a coincidence or a trick of Brooklyn’s imagination. How could Vilma possibly know which workspace was Charlie’s when she had never visited the company before?

  “Impressive,” Vilma said. “Which work space is yours?”

  “I’m in here.”

  She led Vilma to her office. A whiteboard filled with notes for potential projects covered one wall. The other walls were decorated with framed quotes attributed to some of her favorite tech wizards and business leaders. Most of the shelves on a bookcase to the right of her desk were filled with an array of business manuals. The top shelf, though, contained her collection of shot glasses from some of her favorite dive bars.

  “Not what you were expecting?” she asked when she saw the quizzical look on Vilma’s face.

  “I’m just wondering where Brooke ends and Brooklyn begins.”

  “Yeah, sometimes I wonder that, too.”

  “Hey, boss.”

  Brooklyn turned to find AJ standing in her doorway. She had been so engrossed in her conversation with Vilma she hadn’t heard AJ enter the office. “Hey, yourself. I didn’t know you were planning on coming in today.”

  AJ indicated the computer bag slung over her shoulder. “I wanted to put some finishing touches on my presentation before our meeting tomorrow and the internet’s a lot faster here than it is in my apartment. I’m also a sucker for dual monitors.”

  “So am I. I keep meaning to do a similar setup at home, but if I did, I’d probably never leave my apartment.”

  “You and me both.”

  AJ glanced at Vilma, which reminded Brooklyn she hadn’t bothered to introduce them to each other.

  “Pardon my manners. Vilma, this is AJ Gojowczyk, one of my programmers. AJ, this is Vilma Bautista, a venture capitalist I met while I was in Toky
o.”

  “Pleased to meet you,” AJ said as she and Vilma shook hands.

  “Likewise.”

  “Are you looking to invest in BDV?”

  “I’m always on the lookout for an attractive arrangement, business or otherwise.”

  “Aren’t we all?” AJ turned back to Brooklyn. “If I had known you were having a business meeting, I never would have poked my head in the door. I didn’t mean to interrupt you. I just wanted to let you know I was here. I’ll get out of your hair.”

  “We’ll talk in the morning, yeah?” Brooklyn asked.

  “I’ve been practicing my talking points all day. Prepare to be dazzled.”

  “I consider myself warned.” Brooklyn briefly rested her hand on AJ’s arm the way she always did when she was trying to be reassuring. Soon, though, AJ wouldn’t need such gestures because she definitely seemed to be coming into her own. “Make sure to lock up when you leave.”

  “Will do.”

  “She seems…eager,” Vilma said after AJ sat at her desk, put her ear buds in, and went to work.

  “She was Charlie’s protégée. Now I suppose she’s mine. Charlie was expecting big things out of her, and I can understand why. She’s smart, talented, and driven to succeed. If she wanted to, she could be sitting in this chair in a few years instead of me.”

  “Does she want to?”

  “I think she’d rather be the power behind the throne than the person sitting on it.”

  “Uneasy lies the head that wears the crown. Isn’t that how the saying goes?”

  “It sounds vaguely familiar.”

  “Is there anyone who would like to take your crown?”

  “You sound like Detective Barnett. One of the first questions he asked me was if Charlie had any enemies. She didn’t, and as far as I know, neither do I. Tech is a competitive industry, but my rivalries are friendly rather than cutthroat. We fight each other for business deals during the day, but we’re able to share a few laughs over drinks at night. Luke Ridley is a prime example. He and I constantly butt heads when it comes to the way we do business, but our personal relationship has always been solid.”