“What do you want me to say? Facts are facts.”
Kristjan poked the doctor in the chest. “Those are your facts. Leave it to me to come up with better ones.”
“What do you want me to do with her?” asked the guard who was holding Katrin captive.
“Let her go.” Kristjan tossed Katrin’s dress, purse, and shoes on the floor. “Let them all go. The party’s over.”
The guard released his grip, and Katrin slumped to the floor, her belongings strewn all around her. The doctor hurried down the stairs and joined the crowd of guests rushing for the door.
“I can go to her now?” Hekla asked.
“Come on. I’ll go with you.”
Santana steered Hekla through the throng and accompanied her up the stairs. She tried to be unobtrusive so the squeamish guard she had conned earlier wouldn’t see her and possibly tie her to Mladić’s death. As he, Kristjan, and the other guards huddled to decide their next move, she discreetly snapped a picture of Mladić’s naked body slumped across the bed. His eyes were open and his jaw was slack. He had red marks on his chest, probably caused by someone’s desperate attempt to perform CPR.
“Take her somewhere and help her get dressed,” she said, turning back to Hekla. “I’ll take you home.”
Hekla’s eyes were wide as she cradled Katrin in her arms. “I can’t go home. Not like this. My mother will never let me hear the end of it.”
“Trust me. She’ll be too busy celebrating the fact that you’re still alive to care.”
And if she was lucky, Brooklyn would care more about the woman she was now than the one she used to be.
Chapter Thirty-two
Vilma was being mysterious. More so than usual. Not that Brooklyn minded. After a long stretch of twelve-hour days, she liked having something to look forward to other than the next pitch meeting or conference call.
Vilma asked her to meet her at Brgy for dinner so they could talk. Naturally, Brooklyn had asked her what she wanted to talk about, but Vilma had only told her to be prepared to be surprised. That could mean anything from a kiss-off to a proposal.
God, what would she do if Vilma asked her to marry her? What would she say? It felt too soon to even be considering the question, but it felt right, too. Vilma had spent quality time with her parents and had sat down for dinner with her family more than once and she hadn’t run for the hills yet. Perhaps the future she often dreamed about was closer than she thought.
She was about to shut down her computer and head home to change for dinner when her office phone rang. Her corporate attorney’s name was displayed on the caller ID. “What’s up, Scott? Please tell me you’re calling with good news rather than bad.”
“That depends on your perspective. Are you working on a new search engine?”
“Yes, but it’s still in the developmental stage and isn’t ready to go to market. How did you hear about it?”
“I got a call from a company that’s extremely interested in the finished product. They want to buy it and, if they like what they see, they’re willing to add BDV Enterprises to the deal. I haven’t asked the accounting team to crunch the numbers yet, but I think we should be able to set an asking price of eight figures. Nine if you don’t add any crazy contingencies to the contract.”
“Like insisting on one hundred percent retention of my current employees after I sign on the dotted line?”
“This is business, Brooklyn. Everything is negotiable.”
“Not for me. These people are more than employees. They’re my family. I’m not going to pad my pockets if it means throwing them under the bus in the process. When I think of companies that have the capital to make a deal of that magnitude, two come to mind. But Apple gets three billion dollars a year to use Google as the default search engine for its products and Microsoft created Bing for the same purpose. So who’s left?”
“TechSass.”
Scott named one of the companies that had caught Brooklyn’s eye during the tech conference she had attended in Tokyo. TechSass’s market share was growing by leaps and bounds and their business philosophy mirrored hers. It didn’t hurt that the company’s founder and board members were all female. She had spent several hours chatting with them during the conference. She had taken copious notes on their successes and failures. Apparently, they had been taking notes on her, too.
She liked the idea that her company had drawn the attention of one of the heavyweights in the game, but it saddened her a little, too. She didn’t want to see her company become part of a tech giant. She wanted to build it into one.
“What if I say no?” she asked.
“I doubt you’re the only company on their list. They’ll probably move on to the next entry. Luke Ridley is constantly testing the market. His company is the same size as yours and some of the product offerings are comparable.”
Brooklyn’s competitive instincts kicked in. “Mine are better.”
“Shall I set up a meeting?”
“Not yet. Give me some time to think it over first.”
“I’ll reach out to my point of contact and ask her to circle back in a couple of weeks. Is that good?”
Two weeks was the perfect duration for a vacation, but it didn’t feel like nearly enough time to make a life-altering decision that could affect her future as well as everyone who worked for her.
“No, but I suppose it’ll have to do.”
* * *
Brooklyn stopped by her apartment to shower and change. She ditched her work attire in favor of the little black dress she had worn the night she had met Vilma. She hadn’t worn it since then. Tonight, it felt appropriate somehow. Though she had no idea what Vilma had in store for her, it felt like they were going back to the beginning. When they had spent a night flirting shamelessly with each other without revealing their real names.
Olaf? What had she been thinking? She wished she had come up with something sexier, but she had never been very good at thinking on her feet. She needed time to plan her quips. Too bad snappy comebacks worked best in the moment, not several hours later.
Still, Vilma seemed to care for her despite her faults. Or perhaps it was because of them. Brooklyn still cringed when she thought about the time she had fallen asleep while Vilma was making her dinner. She had tried to sneak out before Vilma could see her, only to be caught red-handed. Thankfully, Vilma had made her feel comfortable rather than embarrassed. She seemed to have a knack for doing that.
From the beginning, she had felt safe in Vilma’s presence. Protected. Like nothing and no one could touch her. AJ had expressed doubts about Vilma. For a while, she had allowed those thoughts to hold sway with her, too. Then she had convinced herself to rely on her own instincts rather than other people’s opinions. She might not know all the aspects of Vilma’s life—all the terrible things she had witnessed while she was growing up—but she knew her heart. There was no doubt about that.
She arrived at Brgy in a daze, her mind swirling with thoughts of what she could do if she accepted TechSass’s offer. After a lifetime of watching her family struggle to make ends meet, neither she nor they would have to worry about money again. If TechSass agreed to her terms, her employees would be cared for, too. Most importantly, she and Vilma would be on relatively equal footing, financially speaking. She could finally quash the lingering feeling that she was out of her element.
When she walked into Brgy, Vilma’s smile was nothing but welcoming. “You look incredible,” Vilma said as she rose from the table she had already claimed.
“So do you.” Vilma was wearing a sleek tailored suit that fit her like a glove. The outfit was striking. Her expression even more so. She was practically glowing. “What’s put that smile on your face?” Brooklyn asked as she spread a napkin in her lap. “Did you make the deal?”
Vilma poured two glasses of arrack. “I did, but that’s not the reason I’m smiling.”
“What is?”
“You are. You make me happy.”
“Not the answer I was
expecting, but I like where this is headed. Please continue.”
Vilma’s eyes twinkled as she smiled. Something was different. There was a lightness about her Brooklyn had never seen before. As if a weight had been lifted off her shoulders. She had been so busy stressing over her own business affairs she hadn’t stopped to think that Vilma might be having similar issues.
“Tell me about Zurich,” she said after they placed their orders. “I want to hear every detail.”
“You didn’t come here to be bored, did you?”
“Trust me. Nothing about you is boring.”
“You might change your mind after the bloom is off the rose. Constant exposure tends to have that effect.”
Vilma reached into the inside pocket of her jacket. Brooklyn’s breath caught when she pulled out a small velvet box. “Is—Is that—” She was so shocked she couldn’t get the words out. Other people had moments like this, not her.
Vilma remained in her seat rather than dropping to one knee. Then she flipped the box open. A key rather than a ring was nestled inside. “A few weeks ago, we agreed to take our relationship to the next level. I don’t know where we’ll eventually end up, but I’m ready to take the next step if you are. Brooklyn DiVincenzo, would you do me the honor of—”
“Santana?”
Vilma turned at the sound of an inquisitive voice. Brooklyn looked up to see a slight man in his late fifties standing next to their table. The man was dressed like a busboy—black tennis shoes, black pants, and a white T-shirt—and had a large plastic bucket tucked under one arm.
“It really is you.” His slight shoulders were rounded. Like he had spent his life fending off a series of disappointments. “I saw you when you walked in, but it took me this long to convince myself I wasn’t seeing things.”
Vilma didn’t say anything. Brooklyn couldn’t read the expression on her face, but it didn’t seem to be one of recognition.
The man moved closer. “It’s me. Benjie. I’m living here now. My friend Danilo helped me get a work visa. He’s letting me stay at his place until I get on my feet. At this rate, that could take a while. You seem to have done well for yourself, though.”
The pride on his face was almost paternal. Brooklyn knew it couldn’t be because Vilma had said her father was American, and, by his own admission, Benjie had only recently arrived.
“Nice threads.” He jerked a thumb in Brooklyn’s direction. “She’s not half-bad either. I should introduce myself.” He wiped his hand on his shirt, then held it out to Brooklyn. “I’m Benjie. Benjie Aquino. I taught Santana everything she knows. How to lie, how to cheat, and how to steal. She was a quick study, too. I guess you could call her my apprentice. I used to call her LC, short for Little Criminal, but she’s definitely a big fish now.”
He turned back to Vilma. Except why did he keep calling her Santana?
“I never thought I would see you again.” Vilma’s continued silence seemed to unnerve him. “I know this must be a shock. It is for me, too. When Winslow took you, I—” He stopped and shook his head. “It doesn’t matter now. I didn’t mean to disturb you. I just wanted to say hello.”
He turned to leave but lingered when Vilma called his name. She drew him into a tight hug and whispered something in his ear. Brooklyn heard the words but couldn’t understand them. Waray, Vilma had called it the first time they had come here. One of the nearly two hundred languages native to the Philippines.
Vilma reached into her pocket and slipped a wad of bills into Benjie’s hand. There were tears in his eyes as he walked away. Vilma’s, too.
“You know him?” Brooklyn asked.
Part of her had hoped he was confused. That he had simply mistaken Vilma for someone else and she had given him money to help him maintain his delusion. That way, she wouldn’t have to accept the fact that the things Benjie had said about Vilma and her past were true. The look on Vilma’s face paired with the aura of defeat in her body language said otherwise.
“Yes.” When Vilma looked at her, the light had gone out of her eyes. “And it’s time you got to know me, too.”
Chapter Thirty-three
Santana didn’t want to do this. She didn’t want to hurt Brooklyn, or watch the relationship they were building crumble before her eyes. As hard as she had tried to outrun the truth, it had finally caught up to her. If she didn’t keep pace, she would get trampled in its wake.
“Who was that man?” Brooklyn asked after they got to her apartment.
“His name is Benjie Aquino. I met him when I was just a kid. I was poor, and he taught me how to make money. Real money, not the scraps I could earn picking through garbage at the landfill. I didn’t care that his methods weren’t legal. I just wanted to put a smile on my mother’s face and find a way to do my part so she wouldn’t have to work her fingers to the bone trying to keep food on the table and a roof over our heads. She didn’t approve of what I was doing, we argued about it, and she kicked me out.”
“He’s the reason for your estrangement?”
“No, the fault is mine. Benjie was kind enough to take me in, but he didn’t force me to stay with him. I did that on my own.”
“Little Criminal. Isn’t that what he called you?”
Santana briefly closed her eyes. Before tonight, she hadn’t heard that nickname in years. Benjie used to say it with such pride she eventually took pride in it, too. Now it only served as a painful reminder of a life she used to live—and one she might be about to lose.
“I’m not that person anymore.”
“Who are you then?” Brooklyn asked as the tears she had been holding back finally began to fall. “Is Vilma Bautista even your real name?”
“No, my name is Santana. Santana Masters.”
“Santana. That fits.” The sadness in Brooklyn’s smile broke Santana’s heart.
“What do you mean?”
“The first time you invited me here—the night I invited myself here, really—you stood next to that window and formally introduced yourself to me. We’d been playing the cutesy nickname thing for a while, and I was so excited to hear what your real name was. When you told me, my initial thought was your name didn’t seem to fit. I didn’t know how right I was. You’ve been lying to me from the beginning. From the night we met until this moment, none of it has been real.”
“It’s been real to me. I love you, Brooklyn, and I know you love me, too.”
“Love you? I don’t even know you. Logic says you’re not a venture capitalist either. What’s your actual profession?”
Santana hesitated. This was the part she had been hoping to avoid. “I don’t have one. I suppose you could say I’m retired.”
“That implies that you once did something for a living. What might that something be?”
“You wouldn’t believe me if I told you.”
“I fell for your lies, didn’t I? Why should it be so hard for me to believe the truth?”
Santana got up and poured two double shots of whiskey, even though chances were high she might end up wearing one of them. She set one glass in front of Brooklyn, then resumed her seat opposite her.
“Please stop dragging this out. Just tell me what is it that—”
“I was an assassin, okay?” Santana said in a rush. “I killed people for a living.”
“People like who?” Brooklyn’s voice was so quiet Santana had to strain to hear her. “People like Charlie?”
“I was there the night she died, but I wasn’t the one who pulled the trigger. I had been ordered to, but when the time came, I couldn’t pull the trigger.”
Brooklyn rocked back as if she had been struck. “Ordered to? You sound like you didn’t have a choice.”
“Because I didn’t. Not if I wanted my mother to live. I didn’t choose this line of work. I was forced to do it to keep my mother safe.”
“So, what? Someone threatened to kill her if you didn’t do what they say?”
“Yes, his name is Winslow Townsend. He took me against my wi
ll and slowly bent me to his. Everything you see around you is his, not mine. For all intents and purposes, I was one of his possessions, too, but that’s over now. I know the things I’m saying sound far-fetched, but I swear every word is true.”
“Truth,” Brooklyn said bitterly. “Are you even remotely familiar with the term? God, I feel like such a fool.”
Santana reached out to comfort her, but Brooklyn shrank from her attempted embrace.
“Don’t touch me!” Brooklyn said.
It wasn’t the rebuff that hurt the most. It was the fear she saw in Brooklyn’s eyes. She would have felt better if she had seen hate reflected there instead. Then she would have felt like she still had a chance, not like she had lost Brooklyn for good.
“I didn’t do it, Brooklyn. I didn’t kill Charlie.”
“But you said you were there that night. Did you see who did?”
“From a distance, yes, but I didn’t get a good look at the shooter’s face. I couldn’t pick them out of a lineup.”
“Can’t or won’t?”
“What do you mean?”
“There’s allegedly loyalty amongst thieves. Does that code apply to killers, too?”
“I’m not a killer,” Santana said fiercely. “Not anymore. I did what I had to do to survive. To—”
“Keep your mother safe. I heard you the first time, though I’m still not quite sure if I believe you. If you didn’t kill Charlie, why did you stick around? So you could take pleasure in everyone’s collective grief like some sort of sadist?”
“I wanted to make sure no one in your inner circle posed a threat to you. I wanted to make sure you weren’t in danger, too.”
“How were you supposed to do that?” Before Santana could respond, Brooklyn answered her own question. “You followed me, didn’t you? That was you I saw in the cemetery. The one with the lavender flowers.”
Santana nodded in affirmation.
“Why aren’t I surprised to hear you lied about that, too?” Brooklyn’s tears began to stream even faster. “Where were you last week? You obviously weren’t closing some nonexistent deal in Zurich. So where were you?”
Heart of a Killer Page 24
