Neighbors and More (High Rise Series) (11 page)

“But that doesn’t mean Greg killed Steve,” Alexa protested
with a frown.

“If you had seen Greg’s expression and heard how he cursed
Steve you’d agree with me. He didn’t want Steve to come near you.”

“Did you tell this to the detective?” Dante asked.

“Are you crazy? Greg would kill me. He’s already enraged
since you two are flaunting your relationship
without any shame,
as he
said.”

Dante scoffed, but then sobered when he noticed Alexa
flexing her fingers nervously.

“We shouldn’t have crossed him,” she mumbled.

“Alexa, what happened to the assertive pledge you made?”

“Does assertiveness work when you’re dealing with someone
obsessed?”

“I know what you mean,” Dianna said. “I love Greg and admire
him. He’s a powerful man, so sure of himself. I wanted to marry him, but now I
don’t know anymore. If he’s a killer… He scares me.” Her hand shook while she
drank half of her glass of water as if the coolness could quench both her
thirst and her fear.

“Dianna, you were the last to see Steve. You two chatted
while he was in the
Jacuzzi
. How did he look? What did he say?”

“He looked cheerful. Happy. He laughed as he called to me.”
She glanced at Alexa, twitched her mouth, and hesitated. “He said, ‘Thank you
for talking to Alexa. We’re getting married soon.’ Did you really agree to
marry him?”

“No.” Alexa brought both hands to her chest. “No,” she
repeated louder. “Did you say that to the detective?”

“Yes. I was the first one he interviewed. I had to.”

“No wonder Ladd is convinced I agreed to marry Steve.” Her
eyes shot daggers. “I wish…” She didn’t finish her sentence but Dante
understood. If Steve were alive, Alexa would have probably punched him where it
hurt.

 Dianna stood. She was calmer than when she’d arrived. “I
have to go and fix dinner. Please, don’t mention to Greg that I was here. And don’t
repeat Steve’s last words. Greg would go berserk, if he heard that you agreed
to marry Steve.”

“I told you, I didn’t, damn it.”

“Yes. Yes. Still, be careful what you say around Greg. No
need to aggravate him more.”

Alexa punched the arm of the sofa. “Believe me, I’ve known
Greg long enough, certainly better than you have. But thanks for the warning.”

Both Alexa and Dante walked her to the door.

“She doesn’t give a hoot about me. I don’t understand why
she came to accuse Greg?” Alexa pinched her lips as she went to refill her
glass with water. “I don’t see how Greg could have put Valium in the Amaretto.”

“Good question. The carafe belonged to you. You said it was
in your bar. Besides, the analysis showed it wasn’t contaminated with Valium.
Only one glass was. One glass, Alexa. But you said Steve poured in front of
you…” He refused to paint the situation darker, but the thought she was a prime
suspect stabbed his heart.

“Yes,” she murmured in a desolate voice as if a bleak future
shaped in front of her eyes. Her cell phone ring pierced the silence. She
checked the identity of her caller. “It’s Greg.”

“Yes, Greg. What’s up?”

A scowl gathered on her forehead as she listened to her ex
and then answered, “You can offer a ride to Julia and her daughter, and take
Dianna with you, but I’m not riding with them. I’ll see you at the church.
Bye.” She shut her phone and hauled a deep sigh. “The funeral is the day after tomorrow,
at ten.”

“You don’t have to go.”

A sad snort escaped her. “The whole building will point
fingers and accuse me if I don’t show up.”

“Fine. We’ll be there before ten, but tonight I’m staying
with you.”

“Dante, I’m too tired. Please, go back to your apartment.”

Seriously worried about her safety in addition to her mental
state, he shook his head. “I can’t leave you alone in this apartment. It seems
that too many people have access to your key.”

Chapter Eight

Alexa opened tired eyes and peered at the digital clock on
top of her night table. Six-thirty only. Why was she already awake when her
head pounded like a fierce gong?

Scenes from yesterday assailed her, each like a sharp arrow
spearing through her fogged mind. Julia in Tom’s arms at the marina. The lovely
boat ride interrupted by the detective. His search through her intimate
apparels. Dianna’s claim that Steve confided Alexa had agreed to marry him.

Why were they all determined to believe Steve’s lies? When
would this mess end? Could she keep her sanity through it all?

A mild, regular sound emanated from her right. She turned
and swallowed a gasp.

Wearing only shorts, Dante slept on the other side of her
huge king-size bed, deliciously cute with his lips partly open over a soft
snore and his forehead mussed with strands of dark hair. A slice of morning
hazed through the shades, brushing his sleeping face with a touch of sunshine. His
masculine scent wrapped her like a warm mantle. The temptation to kiss him sent
hot tingles all the way to her belly, but she reconsidered.

Dear Dante, once more he’d shown a noble streak of his
character last night. The man, who had lavished her with passionate kisses during
the day, had controlled his lust and held her like a tender friend. Whispering
soothing words, he’d kept her cuddled in his arms for a long time, massaging
her back, and stroking her shoulders. When she drifted, he’d probably rolled to
the other side and slept.

Wide-awake now, she swiftly slipped out of bed and padded to
her dresser to choose a bikini. Her hand rested on the side drawer where she
usually left the pieces of jewelry she’d worn the day before. “Don’t leave it
around,” the detective had told yesterday, after he’d ogled her jewelry boxes. The
same advice Greg often gave her. Her mind dazed by the previous days’ events,
she’d forgotten to lock her gems in the secret safe no one knew about, except
Greg.

Careful not to wake Dante, she gathered her precious
trinkets, and stuffed them in a velvet pouch embroidered with her initials.
Carrying her bikini and the pouch to her dressing area, she closed the door
behind her.

After her divorce, she’d personally repainted her bedroom
and dressing closet, using the same pattern of light and dark pink, irregular
stripes. Without hesitation, she reached between her gray coat and the brown
one, and pressed upon the dark hot-pink spot that hid a tiny button.

A small door swiveled open to reveal her secret safe. She
entered the combination, pulled the heavy door, and deposited the pouch, then
closed her secret cache.  

Reassured that she had regained enough self-control to hide
her assets, she peeled off her long pajamas to slip into a bikini and covered
it with a beach dress, the terrycloth cool against her skin.

Ready to exert herself with a swim in the fresh ocean water,
she indulged into a long gaze at Dante’s naked torso and chiseled features, and
blew him a kiss.

Her flip-flop slippers dangling from her hand, she tiptoed
out of the room, and grabbed her keys from the horseshoe hook hanging on the
corridor wall. After shoving her phone into her pocket and wearing her slippers,
she silently walked out of the apartment and rode the empty elevator to the
basement garage leading to the beach terrace.

A moment later, she took off her dress, stuffed her keys into
its pocket, and left it on a chair with her flip-flops. She had often swum in
the early morning and delighted at seeing both the terrace and the beach deserted.
A little paradise that belonged only to her—at least until the crowd of
sunbathers invaded the sand. The ocean scent she grew up with beckoned with a
sure promise of relaxation.

Not wasting time, she dove into the crystal clear ocean,
swam vigorously away from the shore, came back, and repeated the strenuous
exercise several times. Finally tired from the effort, she eased on her back
and floated. Arms spread and eyes closed, she welcomed the early morning peace and
the comforting din of the light surf.

Things would get better soon. Focusing on happy moments with
Dante, she coached herself to relax and unwind. A picture of Dante, holding her
and kissing her, popped into her mind, bringing a surge of cheerful tingles to
her stomach and a wave of tenderness to her heart. Rejuvenated, she smiled,
ready to tackle the day with renewed energy.

Time to go back
. She opened her eyes and startled at
the sight of a masked face bending over her.

No
. A hand slammed her mouth shut. Her cry didn’t
reach her lips. An arm coiled around her neck.
Help
. Her scream clogged
her throat. Hoping to free herself, she clutched her attacker’s head with both
hands and clawed at his face. Only to feel a ski mask under her fingers. So he
came prepared to kill and escape, unrecognized.

Help
. “Don’t kill me,” she pleaded against the palm
gagging her. Incoherent sounds reached her ears. No one could hear her. No one
would come.

He pushed her down, under water.

Save yourself, girl
.

She wriggled and spun. Like an android out of control, she
kicked and punched in all directions, hitting him in the groin. The man
released her throat. She propelled herself up and managed to surface.

“You bitch,” he groaned. Grabbing her hair, he yanked hard, submerged
her again, and dragged her lower and lower.

Don’t panic. Think. Quickly
. She’d always been a good
swimmer, winning competitions. She couldn’t let a killer drown her. Holding her
breath as she’d learned during her underwater ballet lessons, she let herself
sink to the bottom and remained motionless, playing dead and praying that her ploy
would fool him. The man kicked her back with his foot one last time and swam
away.

Thank God, it worked.
Gathering her failing strength,
she crawled at the bottom of the ocean, counting the seconds, afraid to emerge.
Her lungs ached, about to burst with her effort. Yet she retained her breath
and kept counting. Hundred, hundred and one, hundred and... Unable to stay
under water any longer, she surfaced and gasped for air. Would he come back and
attack her again?

Rattling from the shore, a rumbling noise hammered her brain.
Her heart pounded.
Don’t wait like a lamb. Open your eyes. Do it.
She
forced herself to look at the beach.

On the right, a man in black shorts strode away from her
building, away from the bulldozer that cleaned the sand every morning. She
needed help. The driver could save her. She swam and staggered to the shore, tottered,
and stumbled in front of the oncoming vehicle. “Help, help.”

The driver cut the engine and jumped out his bulldozer.
“Ma’m, are you sick?”

“Yes,” she hiccupped. “Take me... Blue Waves.”

He helped her up and supported her across the width of the
beach to the terrace.

“Alexa.” Dante’s shout was the sweetest sound she’d ever
heard. He ran toward her, pulled her in his arms. “What happened?”

“The lady was swimming and felt sick,” the driver explained.
“She collapsed in front of my bulldozer and asked for help.”

“Thank you. I’ll take care of her.” Dante put an arm under
her knees and carried her to the terrace.

****

Scrutinizing her face, Dante set her on a chair and bent
over her. “You got sick? Stomach sick?” She looked deathly pale, with wet hair
plastered all over her cheeks. Scrunched eyes attested to her pain. Yet she
didn’t utter a sound. “Alexa, tell me what happened.”

“Drowned,” she whispered. “He tried... kill me.” Her words
were barely audible.

“Someone tried to drown you?” Had he heard correctly? Dread
pooled in his stomach.

She grasped her chest and curled up on her chair. Short frayed
breaths escaped her open mouth.

A spasm tingled at the base of his neck. “
Dio
, you
can hardly breathe. I’m calling an ambulance and the police.”

“No. no.” Shaking her head frantically, she grabbed his arm.
“No.
You
...take me...hospital,” she spat, and then gulped air. “Not
others.”

Dante scooped her into his arms and rushed to the garage and
his car. Her panic squeezed his gut. Guilt overwhelmed him. A killer had tried
to drown her while Dante slept comfortably in her bed. Who and why?

He revved his engine and drove out of their building. No
traffic clogged the streets at this early hour. He immediately sped above the limit.
A moment later, a police car signaled to stop. “Officer, we need help. The lady
almost drowned. She has chest pain. I’m taking her to the hospital,” Dante
recited.

“Follow me. We’ll go to Holy Cross,” the policeman said.

The siren blared in the silence as they zoomed to the
hospital. By the time, Dante stopped in front of the ER entrance, the cop had
already notified the reception, and a volunteer pushed a wheelchair to the car.
Dante climbed out of his
BMW
, opened the door for Alexa. She collapsed in
the awaiting wheelchair.

“The officer already told us she has chest pain.” The orderly
wheeled her through an automatic door. “I’ll park the car and join you in a
sec,” Dante called.

When he entered the ER, the nurse at the front desk directed
him to one of the examination rooms. Raw emotions boiled inside him. His breath
hitched at the sight of Alexa in a hospital gown, eyes closed and deathly pale,
with an oxygen tube inserted in her nose and her golden brown hair mussed over
the pillow. A fragile patient so different from the sophisticated young woman
he’d known so far. A nurse was sticking electrode patches on her body while
another took her blood pressure.

“She said she spent some time under water, holding her
breath. No wonder, she has chest pain. Why did you do that, Alexa?” the nurse
asked. Tears streamed down Alexa’s cheeks, but she didn’t answer. “Was it a
game or something more serious?” Bewildered the nurse frowned while shaking her
head. “Your BP is too high. Understandable if you’re very nervous.”