Bed of Bones (A Sloane Monroe Novel, Book Five) (7 page)

“How did she meet Giovanni?”

“The premiere after party was at his home. I received an important call and had to leave. I asked Giovanni to keep an eye on her for me.”

“So they aren’t—and they never…”

“No, Sloane. They’re just friends.”

As if on cue, my body relaxed. “Do you have a timeline for Melody last night?”

He reached into his pocket, handed me a slip of paper. “It’s not much, but it’s the best I can do right now.”

I unfolded it, looking over the notes he jotted down. None of it seemed new or useful, a fact I’m sure he already knew.

“Why weren’t you with her?” I asked.

“At the movie premiere?”

I nodded.

“I was supposed to be. I had some family business. It couldn’t wait.”

It never could.

“Take me through what you know about Melody’s whereabouts that night.”

“Before the film started she went on stage and introduced the movie,” he said. “Giovanni said she seemed happy and calm, excited for the film to debut. After her speech, she was supposed to return to her seat, but she never did.

“How did she exit the stage?”

“There’s a passageway on both sides. It’s used to shuttle people back and forth without being seen. My brother watched her exit. Minutes later the place blew.”

“How much time had passed? Did he say?”

“His best estimate, not more than ten minutes. He assumed she’d gone to the ladies’ room, but when the film came on and they dimmed the lights, she still hadn’t made it back to her seat. Her assistant said something to him about Melody going to her car, saying she should have returned already. He sensed something was wrong and sent Lucio to find her.”

“Is that how Lucio—”

“He stood up the very moment the bombs detonated. A piece of shrapnel severed his jugular vein. The coroner said he went into some kind of hypovolemic shock and bled out.”

“Hypo what?”

“It’s when your heart doesn’t pump enough blood through your body. Your organs fail, and, well, to put it plainly, you die.”

We sat, somber, in silent reverence for the dead. Not just for Lucio, but for all who’d lost their lives. Every second that ticked by ignited my resolve to find out not only what happened to Melody and the others, but why.

“What I am about to say is confidential,” he said. “Just between us for now. Understand?”

I nodded.

“Melody is the FBI’s prime suspect.”

“Why? Just because no one can find her?”

“There’s no body, and the building has no surveillance cameras. It’s like she walked off the stage last night and disappeared.”

“It doesn’t prove anything,” I said.

“You have to admit, if anyone else came to you with this, you’d suspect her too. I know she’s innocent, but until I can prove it, I’d rather my affiliation with her not be brought into the open.”

“I understand,” I said. “I just have one more question.”

“Go on.”

“When was the last time you two spoke?”

“A few months ago.”

“What was her demeanor like—happy, sad, agitated in some way?”

“Nothing she said gave me cause for concern. She acted normal, happy, herself. My opinion? Whoever bombed that building took her. What I don’t know is why.”

I intended to find out.

CHAPTER 13

A soft hush lingered in the morning air. I wasn’t used to the eerie silence. Not here. Not in a town so jubilant and bright. The festive spirit had been snuffed out, replaced with a feeling of fear, helplessness. The question on everyone’s minds: Will it happen again?

The grocery store was deserted except for a handful of people wheeling rickety carts through the aisles. I used the self-checkout, swiped a full-size bag of crunchy Cheetos through the scanner, and paid. Then I walked next door and sat down.

Carlo took a manly gulp of his specialty coffee and leaned in.

“How’s Shelby?”

“Sleeping,” I said.

“Still not going to tell me who she is?”

I didn’t respond.

“All right. You want to tell me why you asked me here?”

“I thought a lot about what you said last night,” I said.

“And?”

“I’ll find Melody Sinclair on one condition.”

“I thought you agreed to it last night.”

“I never said I would,” I said flatly.

He crossed a shoe over one knee. “I don’t care what your fee is, I’ll pay it.”

“I don’t want money. You’re Giovanni’s brother—I’d never ask.”

“You want something, or I wouldn’t be here. Am I right?”

“I need answers, Carlo. Whatever is going on with your family, I have a right to know.”

“You don’t
need
answers, you
want
them. There’s a difference.”

He ran a hand through his thick, perfectly brushed hair.

“I do something for you, you do something for me,” I said. “And don’t lead me astray. Give it to me straight. I can handle it.”

“You don’t understand what you’re asking.”

“Yes, I do. And if you knew all the assumptions I’ve made over the last year on my own, you’d tell me just to keep me from poking my head in places you don’t want it to be.”

He took another swig of coffee.

“Do we have a deal?” I asked.

“Do I have a choice?”

I interpreted this as a yes.

“What’s Giovanni’s role in the family business? Does he run it? What about you—what’s yours? And is there any chance, even a slight one, that Giovanni was the target yesterday? Is any of this somehow related to your family?”

He jerked the chair backward and stood, wrapping a firm grip around my arm. He pulled up, yanking me out of my seat, pulling me close, his coffee-flavored breath filling my ear. “Keep your voice down. Not another word.”

A man dressed in a plaid flannel shirt with a long, thick beard glanced in my direction, his eyes focused on the firm grip Carlo had on me. “Unhand the lady.”

Carlo spoke through gritted teeth. “Stay out of it.”

With his back to the man, Carlo didn’t see him rise, but he heard the man’s chair as it dragged across the floor, the grating sound like fingernails on a chalkboard.

In a standing position, Plaid Shirt Guy had twice the girth and was a foot taller. He thumbed in Carlo’s direction. “Ma’am, is this guy bothering you?”

“I…he’s…no. I’m fine. Thank you.”

“You sure?”

I glared at Carlo.

He released my arm.

Plaid Shirt Guy looked at Carlo then the door. Carlo got the idea. He walked away, turning before he stepped outside. “Are you coming?”

My heart thumped wildly. I didn’t move. I didn’t speak. I just stood there. The door slammed shut. I still hadn’t moved. Plaid Shirt Guy muttered something. A question. But my focus wasn’t on him—my phone was vibrating. I reached over, grabbing it off the table. I had one text message from Carlo in capital letters: DO YOU WANT ANSWERS OR DON’T YOU?

I stepped outside. Droplets of water fell from a tumultuous sky, pelting my face. A black Porsche skidded to a stop beside me. The passenger door opened. Carlo said, “Get in.”

A wave of nausea ripped through my body.

Have I crossed the line? Have I pushed too far? What’s happening now?

“Where are we going?”

“Sloane, you’re trembling and you’re soaking wet. Get in the car. There’s nothing to fear. You know me.”

I knew he was Giovanni’s brother. I knew he was FBI. But did I
know
him? Really?

I didn’t.

I got in anyway.

CHAPTER 14

“I always wondered if this conversation would come about,” Daniela said. “Only I thought you’d be having it with Giovanni and not with me.”

The two of us sat next to each other on a sofa in Giovanni’s office. Daniela crossed one leg over the other, resting a hand on top of her knee. An emerald ring was looped through a silver chain around her neck. It sparkled like it had just been shined. I hadn’t picked up on it the day before at the hospital. I was sure it was just one of many things I’d missed.

“I’m guessing Carlo dropped me off so we could talk, so why am I here?”

She strained a smile, fidgeted with a crystal button that had popped out of the hole on her blouse. “They know who you are, what you do for a living.”

“
They
—who? The Mob?”

There it was. I’d said it.

She met my gaze and smiled. “Cosa Nostra. Yes.”

Finally. The truth.

“All right,
they
know who I am. So what?”

“Personal relationships—they complicate things.”

“In what way? Giovanni has always kept his business dealings from me.”

“It’s not just a business. It’s
everything
. Lately he’s been preoccupied—becoming soft. He’s not himself.”

“You say it like it’s a bad thing.”

“It can be.”

Her voice was flat, monotone.

“From what Carlo told me, you sound a lot like your father.”

“I sound like someone who cares about your life,” she said.

“Meaning?”

“My family’s concerns about you are twofold. You’re much more than the average private investigator. The longer you’ve been with Giovanni, the more questions you ask. You’ve been digging, looking into our family background.”

“How did you—?”

She swished a hand through the air. “It’s not important.”

“Giovanni was right, wasn’t he? I am in danger.”

She shook her head. “No one has any wish to harm you. My father is aware there was a time when you saved my life. My mother is dead. I am his only daughter. He’s grateful.”

“Your brothers refuse to tell me about your family. Why are you?”

She leaned back, folded her arms. “Several months ago Giovanni went to see my father. He wanted out. He felt he’d put in his time over the years, and, if you want my opinion, I believe it happened because he felt you slipping away.”

I had no idea.

“How did your father react?” I asked.

“You don’t make a deal with the devil and walk away.”

She was right. You don’t walk. You
run
.

“Are you comparing your own father to the devil?”

She snickered like I’d just made a silly joke. “I love my father, but he isn’t the kind of person you trifle with.”

“I take it he wasn’t keen on Giovanni’s request.”

“He said no. In fact his exact words were he’d ‘have to be dead before I’ll allow you to step down.’ Giovanni was outraged, as you can imagine. He threatened my father. When he left, my father sent some guys to Park City to find out what had changed, why my brother was acting like a different person. That’s when they learned about you. Before then, they had no idea you existed.”

The room was cool, but a hot, tingling sensation tore through my body. They’d seen me—they’d seen us—together. They’d followed me. For how long, I didn’t know. I didn’t want to know. The thought of outsiders spying on me, capturing intimate, private moments of my life took me back to a memory of Sam Reids, the man who murdered my sister—a serial killer, and my stalker. It was a mental place I didn’t ever want to go again.

“The men you say came here, was this a few months ago, around the time you disappeared?”

She nodded.

“Giovanni found out they were here, of course, only he didn’t know why. When they found the answers they were looking for, they left. And I did too.”

“Your father’s men took you?”

“Not exactly. I went with them.”

“Wait—what? Giovanni said you’d been kidnapped.”

The way she smiled while recalling the events surrounding her now “alleged” kidnapping rubbed me in all the wrong ways. It was like she relished it—the attention—the chase. Growing up she may have been a shiny beam in her daddy’s eye, but I was willing to bet her brothers were awarded most of the attention. After all, they were daddy’s little protégés.

“At first, I suppose I can understand why my brothers thought I’d been taken,” she said. “I didn’t say goodbye. Giovanni came home, and I was gone.”

“Why didn’t you say something? Why put him through what you did?”

“I was with my father in New York City, and he didn’t want them to know where I’d gone. Not at first. I thought I had time, at least a few days before my brothers came looking for me. But once Giovanni detected I was gone, he began searching.” She looked away. “It was stupid of me, I know.”

“And when they found you—what then?”

“My father handled it. He said he was just an old man who missed his daughter, wanted her back home. He tried to convince them they worried for nothing. Carlo believed him, but then, he always does. Giovanni didn’t. He’d tried several times to get in touch with my father. My father didn’t answer. It was unlike him.”

“I don’t understand. Why all the secrecy? Why couldn’t you be honest about why you left?”

“Neither one of them would have sanctioned it, if they knew the real reason I was there.”

“Which was?” I asked.

“I volunteered.”

“To what—work for your father?”

“In a way. After you left the hospital yesterday, I spoke with Giovanni. I know he thinks the explosion was a personal attack on him, that somehow he’s being shown what happens when you try to leave the family. He’s wrong. Whoever is behind this cruel, sadistic act, it isn’t affiliated with us.”

“You told him, right?”

“I…not yet. Carlo brought you here today for a reason.” She paused then said, “I’m taking Giovanni’s place, Sloane.”

Now I understood why I hadn’t seen Daniela wearing the necklace before. I understood why Giovanni had a thick, white area on one of his fingers, and why she wore it as a necklace instead of a ring. It was too large to fit on her finger. The signet ring had been his. And she’d decided it was rightfully hers.

“You’re taking his place? You can do that? You’re a—”

“Woman? Things have changed. My father needs someone he trusts, a person who will get the job done. While I was gone I was being groomed. Tested. My father wanted to be sure I could handle the responsibility.”

I couldn’t believe what I was hearing.

“Why would you want this life for yourself?” I asked.

“Do you remember the night you rescued me in Salt Lake City after Parker Stanton tried to force himself on me, as he had with so many other women in the past?”