Authors: Dianne Venetta
Suspended in what she knew to be embryonic fluid, the tiny creature looked like every alien claim she’d ever seen, with its oversized head and piercing black beads for eyes. Through translucent skin, she could see arteries and veins, plump with blood. Bones appeared more like filaments lining wormy limbs and tipped with miniature fingers than solid framework.
The microscopic organism was imbedded in the placenta, appearing like a stringy chunk of pumpkin flesh, connected by a bulbous umbilical cord. And it was unbelievable. Incredibly revealing, graphic in detail, she could almost feel the flesh and blood. “How old is that fetus?”
“Nine weeks.”
“
Nine weeks
?” She glanced at her, stunned. “But isn’t that how far a long you are?”
“Yep,” she replied but gave nothing but profile.
“Oh, Jess.” Sam’s heart lurched as she returned her gaze to the screen, suddenly sharing in her despair. She had no idea the fetus was so intricately developed already. But she feared to voice as much had the power to crush. How did one abort a tiny creature they could see?
“First heartbeat’s supposed to be at like, twenty-one days.”
Sam glanced toward her sister. “Are you kidding me? They can’t know something like that.”
“Trust me, they do. Has a spinal cord, too. Brain, you name it.” Her voice dipped. “Everything.”
“Technology is something else, isn’t it...?” Sam said, pulling in a cleansing breath, calming her growing angst.
“Yeah, great.”
But the complete desolation Sam heard in her voice punctured her calm. Her mood hit the floor. This had to be hard on Jess. Seeing these intricate, delicate images. Imagining the very same little being, living inside your body.
Sam shuddered. It was mind-boggling how they could capture the fetus with such clarity and detail,
inconceivable
that it was so highly developed at this stage—but a heartbeat at
twenty-one days
? How was that possible?
And what was she going to do? Sam looked at Jess, her narrow shoulders fragile beneath her grasp. While it was more tadpole than human, this baby was rapidly on its way to becoming a child, a little girl or a boy, an identifiable person Jess could attach her heart to—
A knot lodged in her throat. A child she could love. Time was moving. It didn’t wait for the procrastinators. Jess had yet to tell their parents, she had to discuss it with Luke, and then there remained the issue of paternity. She said he might want to keep the baby.
Photos, time frames, heartbeats, decisions. Panic made a quick surge and Sam felt herself begin to unravel. Imagine what Jess was feeling. She was beginning to lose it and it wasn’t even her body they were talking about!
Yet it might as well be. Calm descended. They were in this together. Abortion. Birth. Marriage.
Children
. She gave a rapid shake to her head. No. This wouldn’t do. “Close the screen.”
Jess ignored her.
“This isn’t helping.”
“It’s giving me clarity.”
Clarity? Sam wondered. It was only confusing
her
. “Have you spoken to Luke?”
“No.”
“Why not?”
“Not ready.”
Sam heaved a sigh and reflexively massaged Jessica’s shoulders. “You can’t run from this.”
“Who says I’m running? I’m playing it smart.”
She balked. “How do you figure?”
“You’re the one who always says, ‘think about the goal.’”
“What? What are you talking about—goal?”
“Ya know...” The mouse in Jessica’s hand ceased its pass through the visuals of pregnancy. “Take other people’s feelings into account before you speak. Think about what you’re going to say, know what you wanna see happen.” She shrugged beneath Sam’s grip. “I don’t want to see Luke hurt, so I’m not telling him unless I have to.”
Perfect. Sam pressed her eyes closed and zipped her mouth shut. Her own advice was coming back to kick her in the butt.
“I’m going to have blood tests run. If he’s the father, no big deal. If he’s not,
then
I’ll tell him.”
Sam opened her eyes, and settled on the crescent-shaped organism floating in a sea of black. And how did she think she was going to secure this blood sample from him without telling him why she needed it? She rested her gaze on the back of Jessica’s head. Did it matter? She was headstrong and confused. She wasn’t thinking logically right now. Sam expelled a sigh. “You’re missing the point, Jess.”
“No, Sam. The point is, I’m pregnant. This is my body.” She thrust a hand toward the monitor. “You see that—that’s what’s happening inside me.
Me
,” she cried. “No one else! Not you, and not Luke, and I don’t care what
either
of you have to say! This is my problem and my choice and I’ll handle it the way
I
want.”
Jessica burst from the chair and ran out of the room, a wave of soft brown flying behind her.
Sam’s heart split in two. Tears pricked her eyes. Drawn back to the little creature on the screen, mesmerized by its significance, she felt utterly helpless. Peering at the figure, she pondered its size. So small, so complex...
So powerful. That little being had the power to change the course of lives. Irrevocably. The one inside of whom it dwelled and those hovering around her, banished to the outskirts of turmoil. Sam slumped. Staring at the screen, she knew there was nothing she could do. And it killed her.
# # #
“I’m sorry I haven’t been better company.”
“Nonsense,” Vic replied, running his finger over her abdomen, admiring her body in the soft wash of morning light. Overhead, the black ceiling fan spun smooth and silent. “You’re the best company a man could ask for.”
As his finger continued upward, her nipples grew taut.
“Yes, well, my heart wasn’t in it last night,” she confessed. Head cradled against his shoulder, she set her hand to rest against the side of his chest. “I’m sure you could tell.”
He had wondered about that. Normally aggressive and greedy in bed, Sam had been passive, docile, preferring him to take the lead. Like most women he knew.
No big deal.
Relaxed, listening to the Spanish instrumental flowing through her bedroom, he was beginning to get used to her taste in music—actually enjoy it. This one was a combination of acoustic guitar, a strong, passionate rhythm interspersed with beats on a Conga drum accompanied by the occasional vocal, earthy and wanton. A Flamenco, he had learned. One of her favorites.
Fiery, lustful, smoldering with unleashed desire. Vic smiled into her hair as she lay nestled against him, thinking how similar it was to the woman herself. “So what’s up?” he asked.
“It’s Jess,” Sam said, heaving a warm sigh against the skin of his pecs.
“Your sister? What’s wrong now?” he asked, feathering the pad of his finger over the pebbly erection of her nipple. Warm blood migrated south, collecting in a swell between his legs. He might have to run his tongue over that baby.
“She’s pregnant.”
“Whoa,” he said, pulling his hand away.
Flight detoured
.
“It’s actually the reason she came to Miami.”
“Her boyfriend know?”
“Yes,” she said.
“Why does that sound like a problem?”
“Because she’s not telling him the whole story.”
“Is it relevant?”
“The truth is always relevant, Vic.”
“Is it?”
“Always.”
The strumming of guitar accelerated, weaving a blend of hunger and need in the air around them as he heard the underpinnings of a subliminal message.
“But everyone has their secrets, don’t they?”
Vic tensed. “What do you mean?”
“Everyone has something to hide.” Stirring to life beside him, she skimmed short nails across his ribs and said, “It’s a matter of self-preservation.”
“I’m confused.” Vic tried not to sound obvious as he maneuvered in the tight space, but this was getting a little hot. A little
too
hot. Staring up at the ceiling, he said, “At first you sounded like the truth was important.”
“It is.”
“But self-preservation sounds like you’re making an excuse.”
“Not excuse. A statement of fact.”
The music slowed and a male vocalist eased out a guttural cry, like a call for help.
Or surrender
. “You think everyone is hiding something?” Vic asked, losing the calm of post-sex pleasure as it gave way to mounting unease.
“Most everyone, yes, I do.” As if to emphasize her point, Sam curled her fingers over his bicep, and squeezed.
He glanced at the top of her head.
Was she toying with him
? Testing him? Was this some kind of lurid game she was playing?
A sweeping plunge in tune, followed by a rapid succession of claps. Vic dropped his arm by his side and tried to ignore the music. “That’s not a very flattering picture you’re painting of your fellow man. What happened to your talk of, ‘we’re all brothers and sisters, sharing one conscience?’”
“That’s consciousness.”
“
Whatever
. Calling everyone a liar sounds so cynical.”
Sam placed her hand flat on his chest and lifted to rest her chin on top of it. He looked at her and she gazed directly into his eyes. “Aren’t we, Vic? Aren’t we all, on some level?”
Drums fired across the background as the music escalated in rhythm, the lead vocalist shouting a series of catcalls to the dancers as Vic’s nerves fired and sputtered. “Aren’t we all what—cynical or lying?”
She paused. “Aren’t we all engaging in deception of one form or another?”
Alarm scored through him. Vic rolled his head back and brought a hand to his forehead, clipping forefinger and thumb to either side. “Do you have a confession, Ms. Rawlings?” he asked, trying to turn the spotlight back on her.
“Do you?”
Unease settled in.
Neither spoke as the rhythmic melody filled the space between them, continuing its rapid rate as the musicians maintained full intensity. The strumming and singing crested before ceasing in one fell swoop.
Sam lifted up from his grasp.
Vic cursed his luck. Time to launch Plan B. “Hey...” he stammered and grabbed onto her elbow. “Where ya going?”
“I’m thirsty.”
“Thirsty?”
“Thirsty,” she said, “as in parched, dehydrated.” She eyed him as though he were an open book. Pages which she had tired of reading. “You know, as in one too many martinis last night?”
Damn, but he couldn’t read her. Throat suddenly dry, Vic could use some water himself. But still, is that what she really meant? Was she really thirsty?
Or did she simply want away from him?
Sam lowered to within inches of him, and nearly nose-to-nose, she smiled. “I won’t be long.” She pecked a kiss to his lips and he let go of her arm. Reluctantly he watched her roll off the bed, gaze glued to her butt as she trotted out of the room.
Damn
. Vic raked both hands up and down his face. Damn, damn, damn. Plowing his hands over top his head, he sunk them into the pillow. Overwhelmed by his sudden solitude, he stared at the ceiling fan above, sleek, black, and whirring on high.
Now what?
Sam walked into her kitchen, intuition screaming. Vic was hiding something there was not a doubt in her mind. And she didn’t like to be played, especially by someone she cared about.
Ambivalence tore through her.
But what the hell was it
? She wrapped her arms around her naked body, warding off the sudden chill. She cared about the man, trusted him…
Or did she? Sinking further into her thoughts, she leaned her hip against the counter, the cold stone penetrating to her spine. Something was going on. There had to be a connection between Vic and Scaliano. Her gaze shot to the bedroom door. He was obsessed with the man, like he had a stake in the outcome.
A shiver scurried around her shoulders and down her back. Sam squeezed her arms tighter.
What was she missing
?
Chapter Twenty
“What have you got for me, Mare?”
Lifting the file from her lap, Maria crossed one hose-free leg over the other and settled into the upholstered chair across her desk. With her hair pulled back in a clip behind her head, shiny silver hoops at her ears and slender reading glasses perched on the end of her nose, Maria looked the urban professional today, conservative in her modest suit-dress.
Fuchsia, but professional.
Dropping her gaze to the neatly printed pages, she bounced it back to Sam. “Your instincts are good. Trouble follows this man like the grim reaper.”
“Really...” Confirming her office door was closed completely, Sam maneuvered further into her leather chair and draped her full attention around the intriguing statement. “How so?”
“Other than the California deaths we already know about, Mr. Scaliano has been associated with three more.”
“Three? Diego told me about the Chicago and Dallas cases, but he didn’t mention a third.”
Black eyes sparked. “Philadelphia.”
Sam’s interest lit like a match. “Philadelphia?”
“Yes, but this one wasn’t at a health club.”
“No?”
She gave a terse shake to her head. “No,” she informed. “A hotel.”
“Hotel?” Sam allowed the information to sink in. She and Diego had directed their discovery in-house and learned everything there was to know about Perry, including Scaliano’s time there but hotel? “When did he work there?”
“Fifteen years ago.”
“And what happened?”
“Not sure, exactly.”
“What do you mean, not sure?”
“His name came up in connection with the Regency Hotel in Philadelphia. I looked into it and discovered he served as General Manager for about two years. During that time, records show there was a lawsuit against the hotel, but no details. All I could learn was a local politician and his family had a celebration event after a big rally and his kid died.”
Sam’s heart felt the crush. “That’s a tough one.”
“I ran a search of the local papers, but couldn’t come up with much more. Like the story was buried, or something,” she said with a quick shake to her head, her earrings flapping.