Heart of a Killer

by Yolanda Wallace

  “And if neither of those things happens?”

  “That’s the possibility I’ve spent the last week trying not to consider. I want to be with you, but I don’t want to force you into a situation you might not be comfortable with.”

  Vilma moved closer. “We promised to take things slowly, didn’t we?” she asked once their heads were on the same pillow. “So let’s take this the same way. Instead of meeting all of your family at once, which sounds like it could be a bit overwhelming for both of us, why don’t I start with your parents?”

  “Like have dinner or something?”

  “No, that’s too formal. It would feel more like an audition than a meal. What do they like to do for fun?”

  “They have six kids. What do you think?”

  “Besides that.” Despite the serious conversation they were having, Vilma still managed to laugh. Surely that had to be a good sign.

  “When my siblings and I were younger, my dad would take us fishing. We’d grab our poles and a bucket of bait and head to Prospect Park Lake in Brooklyn or, if we were feeling really adventurous, trek over to Central Park. My dad would grill whatever we caught for dinner and whoever snagged the biggest fish got to sit at the head of the table. My mother loved those trips because she had the house to herself all day and didn’t have to cook that night.”

  “What happened? Why did you stop?”

  “The usual. My siblings and I grew up. My sisters discovered boys, my brothers and I discovered girls, and none of us had time for anything other than the pursuit of same.”

  “Then that’s what we’ll do.”

  “Chase girls?”

  “No, go fishing. I’ll rent a cabin in the Catskills, arrange transportation for your parents, and make sure the refrigerator’s stocked in case the fish aren’t biting. We can drive up Friday afternoon and make a weekend out of it while we get to know each other better. How does that sound?”

  “It sounds amazing.”

  “Great.” Vilma grabbed her phone off the nightstand. “I’ll text my travel agent and ask her to set it up.”

  “Later.” Brooklyn pulled the phone out of Vilma’s hands and tossed it aside. “First, I want to make you come for the third time.”

  Vilma’s eyes slid shut as Brooklyn’s mouth closed around her warm, wet center. “Fourth,” she said with a contented sigh, “but who’s counting?”

  * * *

  Santana was nervous. The thought of taking on Jusuf Mladić and his personal army no longer kept her up at night, but the idea of spending time under the same roof as Brooklyn and her parents had her stomach tied up in knots. What had she been thinking when she suggested the idea? That’s right. She hadn’t been thinking at all. She had been acting on impulse. Something she had been trained not to do.

  The rules she lived by, she had come to realize, didn’t apply when it came to Brooklyn DiVincenzo. If they did, she would be going for a run in ’Ohe Sojukokoro right now instead of shopping for groceries in a tiny town with breathtaking views but spotty cell phone service.

  The Catskill Mountains were less than a three-hour drive from New York City, but in most respects the two locales felt like they were a world apart. Gone was the hustle and bustle of crowded Manhattan. Towering mountains replaced the statuesque skyscrapers, and rustic cabins dotted the landscape instead of chic high-rises.

  Santana loved the energy of New York City. The Catskills were known for picturesque hiking trails and ski resorts as well as the rich selection of wildlife located in the nearby forest preserve, which meant that for the next two days, she would have to settle for crickets as background noise instead of car horns.

  “We won’t be here very long,” Brooklyn said as she navigated the grocery store’s narrow aisles. “Two bottles of wine should be enough, don’t you think?”

  “You’d better toss in one more just in case.” Because if the weekend went sideways, she might end up downing one bottle herself. “Do you think there’s a liquor store around here?”

  “Probably, but we don’t need to drive around town looking for it. I have a bottle of Japanese whiskey in my suitcase.”

  “I think I love you.”

  “I bet you say that to all the girls.”

  “Just the ones who pack premium spirits in their overnight bags.”

  “I had to hedge my bets somehow. As much as I’m looking forward to this weekend, I don’t expect it to be easy.” Brooklyn carefully placed the additional bottle of wine in their shopping cart, then gave her a quick kiss. “Thank you for doing this.”

  “Hold that thought until the weekend’s over. If it goes well, then you can thank me all you want.”

  “And if it doesn’t?”

  “One of us will have to come up with an appropriate punishment.”

  “When you put it that way, part of me hopes this weekend sucks.”

  “Have you already selected your preferred form of discipline?”

  Brooklyn bit her lower lip. A move that was as beguiling as it was sexy. “I guess we’ll find out in a couple of days, won’t we?”

  Santana followed Brooklyn to the produce section. She didn’t know if this would turn out to be the best weekend of her life or the worst. There was no question, however, that it would definitely feel like the longest.

  Brooklyn stood in front of a pile of lemons and began methodically squeezing each one as she tried to find the perfect specimen.

  “Is it wrong of me to say you are seriously turning me on right now?” Santana asked.

  Brooklyn held a lemon in each hand, subtly but intentionally drawing Santana’s gaze to her breasts. “I was planning on squeezing these over the fish tonight, but perhaps I should save one for later.”

  “Or we could buy some of these instead.” Santana reached past her and grabbed a couple of oranges. “Then we can have fresh-squeezed orange juice for breakfast. Or did you have something else in mind?”

  Brooklyn did that sexy lip-biting thing again. “I’ll never tell.”

  “Do we have everything we need?”

  Brooklyn took a quick look at the contents of their cart. “I think so. Why?”

  “The driver should be here in about an hour. That gives us just enough time to unpack the groceries, call dibs on the best room, and christen the bed before your parents arrive.”

  Brooklyn tossed the lemons in the cart without seeming to care where they landed. “Like I said, I like the way you think.”

  Chapter Twenty-eight

  The cabin Vilma had rented was located near the base of Slide Mountain, the highest point in the Catskills. A two-mile hiking trail meandered through the woods outside and a huge lake was located less than fifty feet away. Brooklyn could already picture herself sitting by the water with a cup of coffee in her hands as she watched the sun rise the following morning.

  The front part of the cabin was open concept, allowing inhabitants to easily carry on a conversation while they watched TV in the living room or prepared a meal on the gas stove in the kitchen. The stainless steel grill on the back deck was also gas-powered, adding to the cabin’s rustic feel. There was nothing rustic about the two bedrooms, however. Each featured king-sized beds, ample storage space, private bathrooms, and unobstructed views of the lake. Plus they were located far enough apart that privacy shouldn’t be an issue.

  “You’ve got to give me your travel agent’s contact information,” Brooklyn said. “If she can set up something like this on the spur of the moment, I’d love to see what she’s capable of when she has more time to prepare.”

  She pulled her damp hair into a ponytail. She and Vilma had taken a shower together after they finished making love, but their leisurely pace hadn’t left her enough time to dry her hair before her parents’ expected arrival.

  Her heart skipped a beat when she heard a car’s tires crunch on the gravel in the driveway outside. She peered through the blinds on the front window and spotted her parents climbing out of a black luxury sedan.

  “Ar
e you ready for this?” she asked as Vilma joined her by the window.

  “No, but let’s do it anyway.”

  “Are you always this fearless?”

  “No, I just bluff really well.”

  “Remind me never to play poker with you.”

  She took Vilma’s hand in hers so they could present a united front when they opened the door. Outside, her parents were arguing over whether they should tip the driver.

  “Didn’t you hear him?” her father asked. “You were standing right next to me when he told us the fare and incidentals are already paid for.”

  “I don’t care what he said.” Her mother gave her father a not-so-gentle nudge with her elbow. “Give him a little something anyway.”

  As her father reluctantly reached for his wallet, Brooklyn tried to hide her mortification. The weekend could only get better from here, she told herself, because it certainly couldn’t get much worse.

  The driver took her parents’ bags from the trunk and, using Vilma’s directions, carried them into the house.

  “How was your drive?” Brooklyn asked after she gave each of her parents a hug.

  “Fantastic,” her mother said. “He was really good to us. That’s why I told Sal to slip him a little something to show how much we appreciated his efforts.” She perked up when the driver emerged from the cabin. “Good-bye, Tim. Have a nice drive back to the city.”

  “Thank you, ma’am. Enjoy your weekend.”

  “Oh, I’m sure we will.”

  “I think your mother has a bit of a crush,” Vilma whispered.

  “You think?” Brooklyn whispered back. “My dad used to be the jealous type when he was younger, but he’s gotten much more laid-back over the years. At this point, my mom’s constant flirting with cab drivers, airport security guards, or practically any man in uniform is more of a source of amusement than a point of contention.”

  “What’s her pet peeve about him?”

  Brooklyn thought for a moment. Her parents bickered over many things, but only one subject truly got her mother riled up. “Even though he knows it’s against every rule of style, both written and understood, he insists on wearing black socks with his sandals whenever he goes to the beach.”

  “That’s an image I won’t be able to shake any time soon.”

  “Try therapy. It’s worked wonders for me.”

  Tim tipped his cap. “Ladies. Sir. I’ll be back Sunday afternoon at four.”

  “Sounds good, Tim.” Brooklyn’s father motioned toward the pocket where Tim had stashed the ten-dollar tip he had given him a few minutes earlier. “Don’t spend all that in one place now.”

  “I’ll try not to, sir.”

  Tim climbed into the car. When he turned the key in the ignition, Vilma looked like she was tempted to hitch a ride with him. Brooklyn couldn’t blame her. She had told her parents to be themselves this weekend, but she hadn’t expected them to take her quite so literally.

  As the four of them watched Tim drive off, Brooklyn’s mother glanced from Brooklyn to Vilma and back again. “Are you going to introduce us to your friend, or are you going to make us do it ourselves?”

  “Mom, Pop, I’d like you to meet Vilma Bautista. Vilma, Salvatore and Concetta DiVincenzo.”

  “Call me Connie.”

  “And I’m Sal.”

  Vilma stepped forward and shook both their hands. “It’s a pleasure to meet you both. Brooklyn and I are so glad you could join us. Would you like us to show you around?”

  “All you have to do is tell me where to find the bathroom and the kitchen,” Brooklyn’s father said before he turned and pointed to the lake. “Because I can tell you now I’ll be spending the rest of my time right over there.”

  “He’s been as excited as a kid in a candy store ever since you suggested this trip, Brooklyn.”

  “I wish I could take the credit, but this weekend was Vilma’s idea.”

  “Was it now? That was sweet of you, Vilma.” Brooklyn’s mother seemed suitably impressed as she gave Brooklyn’s father another shot to the ribs. “Why can’t you be spontaneous sometime, Sal?”

  “I gave up on trying to surprise you a long time ago.”

  “That’s true. He can’t keep a secret to save his life. I always told him if he ever decided to have an affair, I would know about it before he did.”

  “It doesn’t pay to stray. That’s always been my motto. Actually, the people who stray usually end up paying through the nose, but that’s neither here nor there.” Brooklyn’s father grabbed one of the fishing rods leaning against the side of the cabin and gave it a quick once-over. “Fluorocarbon lines rather than monofilament. Nice. Fluorocarbon lines are harder and thinner than monofilament ones, yet they have the same breaking strength.”

  “You sound like the host of a wildlife show,” Brooklyn’s mother said.

  “I just know quality when I see it. Do you have any cold beers running around here, Vilma?”

  “Yes, sir. Brooklyn made sure to stock the refrigerator with your favorite brand.”

  “Then what are you waiting for, kid? Pack a cooler, grab a pole, and let’s go fishing.”

  “Now?” Brooklyn’s mother asked. “I was hoping the four of us could sit down and have a nice chat.”

  “You and I have been sitting for almost three hours and the four of us have all weekend to talk. Besides, if you want to have fresh fish for dinner tonight instead of the store-bought kind, Vilma and I need to catch it first.”

  “You two have fun getting your hooks wet. Brooklyn and I will have just as good a time wetting our whistles instead. You did remember to buy wine, didn’t you, honey?”

  “Of course. I figured you’d disown me if I didn’t.”

  “I knew I raised you right. Now how about that tour you promised me? I need to visit the powder room. I’m sure your dad does, too, since he can’t make it for more than a few hours without having to pee. I’m surprised he didn’t ask Tim to stop at every gas station we passed during our drive up here. I swear he’s worse than the grandkids sometimes.”

  Brooklyn jumped in before her mother could steer the conversation into even more of a scatological direction. “Follow me.”

  She led her mother inside and showed her around the cabin. While her parents took a quick bathroom break before they began their respective adventures, she joined Vilma in the kitchen.

  “Do you think they’re separating us on purpose?” Vilma asked as she packed six cans of beer and half a bag of ice into a Styrofoam cooler they had picked up at the grocery store.

  “The phrase ‘divide and conquer’ does come to mind.” After several minutes of searching, Brooklyn finally located a corkscrew and opened a bottle of red wine. “Good luck,” she said as she poured two glasses. “Because I have a feeling the fish you and my dad are hoping to catch won’t be the only things that get grilled tonight.”

  * * *

  Santana watched the bright yellow fishing line drift across the crystal clear water. She kept her thumb on the reel so she could feel the vibration if a fish decided to take the bait. She was starting to wonder if the worms the guy at the bait shop had sold her were defective. She and Mr. DiVincenzo had been fishing for almost half an hour and had yet to get so much as a nibble. At least the beer was cold and the conversation sparse. She was finally discovering what the phrase “comfortable silence” was all about.

  “Careful,” he said as he set his beer in the cup holder built into his collapsible fishing chair. He had brought it, his lucky fishing hat, and a pair of rubber waders with him. “If the current takes your line too close to that downed tree over there, your hook might get caught up in the roots. You weren’t planning on going swimming today, were you? Even in the middle of summer, lake water’s cold enough to make your ass pucker.”

  “Good to know. Thank you, sir.” Santana dutifully reeled in her line and cast it out again. She liked the whir the reel made as it spun on its axis.

  Mr. DiVincenzo looked exactly as she
had imagined him. Tall and handsome with thick, dark hair liberally streaked with gray. His beefy arms were corded with muscle, and his round belly and hearty laugh indicated his appetite for food was equal to his appetite for life. She had just met him and she already liked him. Brooklyn’s mother, too. Brooklyn looked so much like both of them there was no mistaking her parentage. Santana could tell where Brooklyn got her striking good looks as well as her often biting sense of humor.

  The jury was still out on whether Brooklyn’s parents were as fond of her as she was of them. She expected to hear the verdict by the time they parted ways on Sunday. When it came down, she hoped it would be in her favor.

  “We’re all adults here,” Mr. DiVincenzo said. “You don’t have to keep calling me ‘sir’ or ‘Mr. DiVincenzo.’ I’m just Sal, okay?”

  She recalled having a similar conversation with Harry. It felt weird taking part in it from the opposite perspective.

  “Sorry, sir, but I can’t do that. Where I was raised, it’s disrespectful to call someone who’s older than you are by their first name unless you call them Uncle or Auntie at the same time.”

  He chuckled. “It would feel weird for you to call me Uncle when I might end up being your father-in-law one day, wouldn’t it?”

  “Yes, sir, I guess it would.”

  “So bite the bullet and call me Sal, okay?”

  “I’ll do my best.”

  “That’s all we can do.” He tilted his floppy hat, which was so threadbare in spots she could practically see through it. “Brooklyn says you’re originally from the Philippines. Is that true?”

  “Yes, I was born in Manila.”

  “Her grandfather on her mother’s side was stationed in the Philippines during World War II. He said it was a beautiful country when enemy soldiers weren’t shooting at him. He always longed to go back but never made it. Is it as nice there as he made it out to be?”

  “It depends on where you go. Parts of the country are so beautiful there are no words to describe them. Other parts of it leave you speechless, too, but for much different reasons.”