Authors: Gina Ardito
~~~~
Back at the precinct, Shane heaved a deep sigh and stared at
the six manila folders sitting in his inbox, demanding attention. He should let
the whole Berros incident go. After all, what did he plan to do if he were
right? Unless she planned to press charges, he couldn’t help her, couldn’t even
keep the bad guy away. And bitter experience had taught him victims of domestic
abuse rarely pressed charges.
Still, the entire scenario nagged him. The light dimming in
her eyes as she struggled to breathe, the plea in her voice…
I can’t die today. Today’s my birthday.
He chewed on his lip and ran the facts through his mind,
looking for some reasonable explanation for what he’d seen, what he’d sensed.
Knuckles marched in triple time across his desktop, and he
looked up. Through a steam of cinnamon-scented herbal tea, Commander Jake
Stewart frowned down on him.
“Commander.” Shane gestured at the Styrofoam cup in the
man’s hand. “How’s the blood pressure?”
“It might lower considerably if I didn’t have to
second-guess what the hell you’re up to every minute of the day,” he growled.
“You wanna tell me what you expected to find at that nightclub this morning?”
“Not yet. I’m still looking into it.”
“Looking into what?” The commander’s black eyes narrowed
below bushy silver brows. “Sergeant O’Reilly filed the report over an hour ago.
Some chick and her boyfriend had a little too much to drink and wound up in a heated
argument while walking home. She ran off to avoid him, wasn’t watching where
she was going and got hit by a car. We’ve already found the vehicle, abandoned
two blocks from the scene, reported stolen earlier yesterday.”
Gooseflesh pimpled Shane’s forearms. That wasn’t what
happened. Few details in Jake’s explanation matched the details of the scene.
Not the way Shane had seen it. So where did they get this misinformation? There
had been no witnesses.
A chill zipped up his spine. Except Ted Fee-Fi-Fo-Fum. Had
he
concocted this story to cover his ass?
Jake drained the last of his herbal tea in one
swallow, and then grimaced. “Now you tell me why you think a detective of your
caliber needs to go poking around in something so routine a first-day rookie could
handle it while juggling stale doughnuts.”
Hold up. Something was very wrong. Were they even speaking
about the same case? “Did you listen to the 911 tape?”
“Yeah,” Jake replied, crushing the Styrofoam cup in his
fist. “Did you? Because I gotta tell you, Shane, it all fits.”
“You heard Ms. Berros’s conversation with the 911 operator,
and you think ‘it all fits?’”
The commander did a double take. “Ms. Berros didn’t call.
She was unconscious on the ground. The boyfriend, some guy named Ted, called in
from the scene. He was a little disoriented, but not completely incoherent.”
Shane picked up a pen and rolled it between his sweating
palms. What
had
happened? Had everyone gone crazy? Or…just him? No. He
knew what he saw. Maybe Ted had connections in the department. All the more
reason to nail the son-of-a-bitch on something: jaywalking, unpaid parking
tickets, anything.
“There’s something fishy there, Jake. Something about that
guy. I think he’s neck-deep in what happened to this vic. I know it. I can feel
it. I just haven’t put my finger on what
it
is yet.”
“I can’t keep you on a case that doesn’t exist because you
have a feeling. We’re processing the car, and with luck, we’ll come up with an
ID for the driver. You have no reason to be involved in this case. I need you
on other stuff.” Jake’s free hand cupped the desk’s rim as he leaned down, gaze
scrutinizing Shane with the keenness of an MRI. “Are you all right? Does this
have anything to do with Cassia’s death?”
Shane flinched. The concern in his C.O.’s tone pierced his
heart sharper than hollow-point bullets. But he recovered quickly and tossed
back a steady glare. “Not in the way you think, no. Cassia’s circumstances have
made me more aware of the telltale signs of a woman in an abusive situation.
Adara Berros fits the pattern.”
“How so?” Flinging his crushed cup in the nearby
wastebasket, Jake straightened to full height again. “You have any witnesses to
any alleged abuse?”
Shane’s gaze fell to the open folder on his coffee-ringed
blotter. “No.”
“Talk to her friends, coworkers? Anyone who can cite
specific incidents where she’s felt threatened?”
His shoulders slumped. “Not yet.”
While Jake paced the aisle in front of the desk, Shane
watched, breath held. Jake could pull him off the case with a snap of his
fingers, but he prayed the C.O. would grant him a little leeway. If for no
other reason, because of his record and their past experiences.
At last, the commander sighed. “I’ll give you twenty-four
hours. That’s it.”
“Thanks, Jake.” He held out a hand.
The commander’s clasp enfolded his fingers tighter than a
vise. “Don’t thank me. Just make sure you find something. And in case you
don’t, keep your mouth shut about what you’re working on.” He turned, but
tossed one last question over his shoulder. “What’s your next step?”
First, he wanted to hear the 911 tape to find out what Jake
had heard, but he wouldn’t admit that. “Stopping at the local florist,” he
replied instead. “I need to pick up a birthday gift.”
Painkillers or no painkillers, he had to talk to Adara
Berros.
Chapter Four
At emergency central, Shane found Becky, one of his favorite
911 operators, grabbing a chocolate bar from the vending machine. “Becks, babe,
I need a favor.”
Battleship Becky, as he called her, unwrapped the candy,
inhaled, and then waved a coral-nailed hand. “Forget it. I’m only here today
because the girls had a slumber party at a friend’s house, and Cherise called
in sick. Last time I did you a favor, I wound up working the twelve-to-eight
shift for a month. I’ve got two kids in elementary school. I can’t leave them
alone at night. And I can’t let them sleep at my mother’s, either.”
Shane flashed a lopsided grin meant to put her at ease. “I
swear, this isn’t like that. I just need a replay of this morning’s 911 calls.”
Becky’s wide forehead creased with lines of doubt. “Any one
in particular?”
“The hit and run on Broadway in Pinewood. Around one o’clock
this morning.”
“Mmmm…” Her mocha face glowed nuclear. “Twelve-fifty-five a.m.
I know. I came in to cover for Cherise, and by golly, my generosity paid off
the minute I put on the headset. First call I took was from a smooth-talker who
phoned in to say his fiancée was involved in a hit and run. I’ve been smiling
ever since—not about that poor girl, but because I got to talk to
silver-tongued Tedior Pha.”
Finally. A last name. Now he was getting somewhere.
“Tedior…Fa?” Not Fe, Fi, Fo, or Fum. Fa.
“Mmm-hmm. P-H-A. Nice guy. Great accent. Made me think of
making love on a desert oasis beneath a blanket of stars.” With her free hand,
she fanned her ample chest.
“You’re kidding me, right?” Shane couldn’t believe his ears.
Becky—good old solid, reliable Battleship Becky—going gooey over some guy’s
voice?
An eerie fog crept around Shane’s flesh. Everyone seemed to
have spoken to this Tedior Pha. Everyone but him, of course. Maybe he should
just surrender. Each question he asked, each step he took into this murky mess
sucked him into a deeper quagmire.
But he couldn’t let go. “Can I hear the recording?”
“Sure.” Becky gestured for him to follow her into the
recording room where all 911 calls were saved on computer. “Hell, I’d love to
hear that sultry voice again anyway. It not only made my morning, it made my
month. Too bad that poor Berros woman’s already snagged him. I would have loved
the opportunity to put a face to his voice. Oh, well. Maybe it’s better this
way. Now I can put whatever face on him I want.” She stopped suddenly, and he
nearly bumped into her. “Hey wait a sec! You were there. You saw him. What did
he look like?”
What had Heather said? “Like Johnny Depp, Brad Pitt, and
Leonardo DiCaprio all rolled into one great big hunky package.”
“Day-um.” Becky smacked her lips. “Who do I have to screw to
get me a piece of that?”
He sighed. “I have absolutely no idea.”
~~~~
Adara awoke, pain-free and refreshed from her pleasant
sojourn in the floral valley. Her memory, however, still needed prodding. She
remembered a male voice whispering in her ear—soft, sweet, and slightly
accented—but nothing he said. As consciousness returned, she clutched the
medallion around her neck, finding comfort and purchase in this last gift from
her mother.
When the veil of sleep finally lifted, she focused on a
blond man, dressed in a white linen suit and salmon-colored shirt, slumbering
in the chair by her side. “Hello?”
His golden eyes opened instantly, warming her insides with
their glow.
“Ah, you’re awake, dear one.” That silky cultured voice she
remembered from her dream rippled down her spine in pulsating waves of heat.
He leaned forward into the light, and she studied his
perfection at close range. Beautiful was the only word that did him justice.
His features, while clearly masculine, exuded an aura of femininity too strong
to deny. Gorgeous thick lashes framed perfect almond eyes. The clear skin of
his face extended to a swanlike neck. Smooth hands with tapered fingers and
clear oval nails perched atop the chair’s arms. Instinctively she hid her own
fingernails, ragged and bitten, inside the folds of the bed sheet.
Smiling, he lifted her hand from its hiding place. His
fingertips brushed across the back and connected with the plastic I.V. tube
inserted into her vein. The smile dipped. “We must be rid of this device before
it mars your perfection.”
Alarmed, she pulled away. The tubing snapped against her
knuckles, sending pain sizzling through her hand.
“Do not fear, my darling. I will let your doctor remove the
offensive item. I shall not say a word. When he arrives, he will see you have
no further use for it. He already removed that abominable thing from your
throat, thanks to Hygeia’s assistance.” His eyes blazed a trail to the cast
encasing her left leg. Those thick lashes fluttered, throwing spidery shadows
against his high cheekbones. “And soon, we shall make certain he eliminates
this horrid binding. You have no need of such entrapments.”
Adara’s mind wrestled in molasses. Who was this man? Why was
he here? What did he want from her? How had she wound up lying in a hospital
bed with tubes in her arms and her leg in a cast?
“I see you have many questions burning inside your head,
dear one. Now that I have rested, ask me what you wish to know.”
When Adara’s gaze locked on the stranger’s beautiful face,
shudders jolted her legs like a nest of jellyfish. Or were they spasms? She
couldn’t tell. “Who are you?” she asked as she straightened her arms against
her to keep her tremors in check.
“For now, you may call me Ted, if you like.”
For now? If she liked? Too confused to pursue that line of
questioning, she let the statement slide. For now. “Where did you come from?”
“The small village of Kouklia near Paphos in Cyprus.”
Gee, could his answers be any more obtuse? Frustration
itched below her skin, but she pressed on. “How did I wind up here?”
“You were in an accident.” He bent forward, golden gaze
bathing her in warmth. “Do you remember?”
Squeezing her eyes shut, she tried to think back. What had
she done today? Yesterday? What did she remember? Drinks with her girlfriends
last night at the Silk Club. Then what? Nothing. No matter how she
concentrated, she remembered nothing after sipping the last of her third
margarita and heading to the ladies room. She couldn’t even recall leaving the
club.
The beautiful stranger named Ted patted her hand as if
showing affection to a pet. “Do not tax yourself, dear one. No doubt, your
memory refuses to recall the details. I’ve been assured trauma victims rarely
remember what happened to them. It matters little. You were fortunate I was
there when you needed me.”
Her eyes flew open, and she forgot struggling to remember.
“You were there? At the accident?”
“Indeed.” He nodded, and then shrugged delicate shoulders.
“I’d actually gone to the club to see you and followed you out when you left.”
Her muzzy brain struggled to catch up. “You went to the Silk
Club to see me? Why?”
“Your Aunt Persephone sent me.”
“Aunt Persephone,” she murmured and rubbed an index finger
over the scratchy bedsheet.
“Do you remember her?”
Vaguely. Once again, she clutched her medallion. The cool
gold brought her mother’s face into her memory and with it, that odd expression
of pride Mom had worn at presenting Adara to Aunt Persephone. Daddy’s relative
had visited from Greece when Adara was about six or seven. All she really
remembered about the woman herself was her singsong voice and the warm scent of
lilacs. “Why would Aunt Persephone send you here?”
His glittering smile rivaled models’ in toothpaste ads.
“Because she is your guardian now. With your mother’s death, it is Persephone’s
responsibility to care for you until you marry. Then your husband shall care
for you.”
Yeah, right. When pigs fly. Like bubbles in soda, a series
of giggles rose in her throat, but she swallowed them down with a gulp. “What
year are you people living in? This may come as a shock to you and dear old
Aunt Persephone, but I’m not a child. I’m a full grown woman, responsible for
myself.”
“Perhaps you are correct.” His hot gaze raked over her frame
in the hospital bed, and she yanked the sheets up higher. His smile only
broadened. “Persephone considers your charge an honor. In turning over the care
of such a precious jewel to her, your mother placed a great deal of faith in
your aunt. It is not a responsibility Persephone takes lightly. She understands
you may scoff at tradition, which requires you to have a guardian until you
marry. That is why she has sent me.”