He steered her toward the darkest corner. “You know everybody. Everybody trusts you. And you’re big, wonderful Rafe Di Luca’s girlfriend. We were listening to your calls ’specially.”
He was right. She had been stupid.
But that champagne bottle . . . it was still on the floor, waiting to blow. Thank God for Chan’s suggestion. Perhaps the distraction would be enough.
No . . . the distraction would be enough. She would make it enough.
“If I turn off the lights and lock you in here, it’s going to be a long time before anyone finds you.” Josh giggled. “You’d probably run in circles for hours, bang on the door, and cry like a baby. So it would be a kindness if I break both your legs first. Right?” She felt his lips move against her ear.
“No.”
He bit the shell of her ear. Broke the skin.
She screamed again.
“Right?” He jerked on her arm, twisted her elbow, bringing the pain in her shoulder to an exquisite agony.
Tears poured down her face.
A voice spoke from the door. Rafe’s voice. “Let her go.”
Josh and Brooke both jumped.
Josh released her. He spun her around, pulled her back against him.
Rafe’s face swam before Brooke’s blurry gaze. Thank God. Oh, thank God.
Josh jammed something small and cold against her forehead. “I’ll kill her,” he said.
A gun.
Of course. What else? He had a gun.
“And add murder to your crimes?” Rafe’s voice was warmly reasonable. Even better, he held a pistol pointed in their direction. “That would be stupid. Josh, you’re not stupid.”
The bottle Brooke had placed by the doorway. Champagne. Why wouldn’t it blow?
“What difference does one more body make? You know I killed Hernández.” Josh’s voice lost its manic edge, became petulant and whiny.
“There’s only one way out of this cellar. You can’t escape. You know you can’t.” Now Rafe sounded harder, more authoritative. “Give up.”
“I’ll use her to get me out.” Josh squeezed her throat with the bar of his arm. “You’ll do anything for her. I know you will.”
Champagne. Was it not going to work?
“Yes, I’ll do anything to save Brooke,” Rafe said.
“Good to hear,” she croaked.
He paid no attention. “But law enforcement has been called. Do you imagine—”
Boom! The detonation from the corridor was small but loud.
Rafe started.
Josh recoiled.
Brooke rammed her elbow into Josh’s ribs, stomped on his toe, spun, and dropped to the floor.
Shots blasted, echoed, died.
Josh shrieked and fell backward.
She crawled, desperately, blindly, wanting away from him.
Voices shouted.
Lights flashed on, bright lights. Spotlights on Josh’s writhing form.
Someone swooped her up—Rafe, it was Rafe; she knew it was Rafe—and ran down the long, dim corridor toward the hotel level.
She was safe now. She knew she was safe.
And she passed out.
“It’s only minor injuries when they happen to someone else.” Nonna leaned over Brooke’s hospital bed and smiled into Brooke’s right eye.
The other eye was swollen shut.
Her nose hurt.
Her shoulder ached.
Her head . . . her head throbbed with the beat of a thousand arrhythmic drums.
“They’re keeping her overnight because they’re worried about a concussion.” Her mother’s voice spoke from off to Brooke’s left. “And because she’s in shock.”
“Rafe?” Brooke mumbled. They were keeping her all night. She was in the hospital. The doctors must have ordered drugs, because she could hardly talk. And she was so tired.
“Rafe’s fine,” Nonna said proudly. “Not a scratch on him.”
“Madelyn’s fine, too,” her mother said. “Rafe said you thought Josh had captured her, but she apparently saw DuPey on the hotel grounds, decided to tell the truth about the Flores murder and to do it before she lost her nerve, and while you were searching for her in the cellar, she was in police custody.”
“She wasn’t hurt at all?” Somewhere in the deep reaches of her mind, Brooke was glad. So glad.
“She really is fine. Josh Hoffman wasn’t so lucky.” Her mother’s voice again, rich with satisfaction. “Rafe’s shot went through his spleen. They operated, saved his life, but he’ll be lucky if he ever walks again.”
Where’s Rafe?
“Who would have thought that fool was smart enough to fool my grandson and paralyze the hotel’s security system?” Nonna asked.
“Not me,” her mother said.
Not me, either, Brooke wanted to say. But her mouth wouldn’t work, and somehow both of her eyes were closed.
Someone patted her hand, and Nonna said, “Go to sleep, dear. Sleep is the best thing for you now.”
Chapter 48
When Kayla Garcia pushed Brooke’s wheelchair out the hospital doors, Brooke smiled with relief and delight.
Victor was waiting to drive her to Bella Terra. Victor, dapper and handsome, looking none the worse for his experience with an American jail.
“I’m so glad to see you,” she said.
“And I to see you.” He helped her out of her wheelchair into the backseat, gave her a bottle of cold water to drink, an ice pack for her forehead, and a broad-brimmed hat. He went around to the driver’s seat, buckled himself in, and said, “I’ll have you back to Bella Terra in fifteen minutes. Noah’s waiting to take you to your cottage. I know that’s where you want to be. Only in your own home can you truly recuperate.”
“Thank you, Victor. You’re very sweet.” She smiled and refrained from asking the one question that haunted her—Where’s Rafe?
Other than a big, ugly headache, Brooke didn’t remember much about her hospital stay. But she did clearly remember Nonna assuring her, Rafe’s fine. Not a scratch on him.
Even under the influence of major meds, Brooke had been delighted and relieved.
Now . . . not so much, especially since from the moment he’d dropped her at the emergency room, she hadn’t heard his voice. Which meant . . . which meant he was busy with other things. Important things.
Clearly, she was not an important thing.
Victor put the car in gear and glanced in the mirror. “Everyone at Bella Terra wanted to line up to welcome you back, but I told them you wouldn’t be well enough to handle it. I did discourage them, although I fear you’ll still have to run a small gauntlet. Noah has promised them that as soon as you’re healed, we’ll have a party in your honor.”
“Everyone is very sweet.” She was tired. And lonely. In pain. And depressed.
“Everyone knows the whole story now. Noah told us—”
Noah. Not Rafe.
“—about how Josh hacked into the computers and that’s why he was able to commit those crimes without being caught. He was insane, I think. What did he have to gain?”
Obviously Noah hadn’t told everyone about Massimo’s bottle of wine. Wise man. All the horrible things that had happened—Hernández’s murder, the destruction of the wine bar, yesterday’s horror in the cellar—were the fault of that damned bottle. The bottle, and Joseph Bianchin. “So as soon as DuPey discovered Josh was behind the crimes, he let you out of jail?” she asked Victor.
He didn’t smile. Not quite. But he seemed warmly pleased when he said, “Actually, Miss Francesca Pastore came to the jail and testified as to my whereabouts that evening. I was not in the bar, as I had previously claimed, but with her.” He lifted one finger off the wheel. “Although not in any biblical sense. We were simply talking.”
“Of course.” Brooke didn’t quite smile, either.
“I am telling the truth,” Victor said.
In deference to his dignity, she banished every remnant of her amusement. “Of course,”
she said again, very seriously.
“Miss Pastore is the one who sent you the hat. She said you’d like to protect your injuries from the sun.”
“She’s very thoughtful.” Although what Brooke really wanted was to hide her misery behind a pair of sunglasses. But with the bridge of her nose so swollen, that wasn’t possible. Not that it mattered who saw her.
Rafe wasn’t here.
Victor drove the car up to Bella Terra’s main entrance, and as he had predicted, the staff awaited her arrival.
Ebrillwen, looking a little less haughty since her refusal to accompany Brooke underground.
Madelyn, apparently out on bail and looking tremulously happy.
Zachary and a cadre of his gardeners, smiling broadly.
Tom Chan, leaning on his cane, frowning at Brooke’s red, puffy features.
Brooke donned the hat and stepped out of the car, feeling less like a heroine and more like a fool for love—again.
The little crowd didn’t seem to care. They broke into applause.
She waved formally, little flips of the hand like the queen of England, and as they chuckled, Victor helped her climb into the waiting golf cart beside Noah.
She relaxed against the seat, her body sore and bruised, her spirit . . . just as bruised. She wanted to get away, as Victor said, to get home. There she could hide like a wounded animal, lick her wounds, prepare herself to face the world . . . alone again.
“Stop!” Francesca called.
Brooke sighed.
Stepping close, Francesca took Brooke’s chin in gentle hands. She removed the hat, turned Brooke’s face toward the sun and examined her, then pronounced, “You’ll heal well. No permanent damage.”
Oh, yeah? Too bad I got entangled with your son again. But all Brooke said was, “Thank you, Francesca. That’s a comfort to know.”
Francesca’s blue eyes shone with compassion.
That woman knew exactly the desolation Brooke suffered.
But Brooke couldn’t handle kindness right now; she was about one stiff upper lip from bursting into tears. With another regal wave, she told Noah, “Let’s go.”
Noah drove toward her cottage. He seemed oblivious to her distress as he filled her in on their preparations. “Chef has stocked your refrigerator. Your mother’s coming in this afternoon to check on you. You’ll be safe, of course, now that Josh is in the hospital and under guard.”
“Unless Joseph Bianchin has hired more thugs.”
Noah’s reassuring expression grew grim. “On my rather strong suggestion, Bianchin has left the area, at least temporarily. We’ll hear about it if he returns. He has also assured me the problems are over.”
Brooke didn’t quite know what to think. “What did you say to him?”
Noah cast her a glance quite unlike the genial resort host she thought she knew. “I suggested that Nonna was beloved by ninety percent of this town, and if it became common knowledge that he had hurt her, he’d be hard-pressed to buy a tank of gas or get a tooth filled.” While Brooke digested Noah’s unexpected show of muscle, Noah added, “He’s got other homes in other locations. Let him go elsewhere to live and die—preferably die, and preferably soon.”
“Yes. I wish he would die, and this stupid Italian feud with him. All this fuss about a bottle of wine . . . Did you ask him why now?”
“He said family honor, and that Massimo’s bottle was his birthright.” Noah shook his head. “Yes, you’re right. Stupid Italian feud—but we’re known for them, aren’t we?”
“All right. Thank you. I feel safe.” She didn’t think twice before adding, “At least until I leave.”
Noah pulled up in front of her cottage and turned to face her. “Until you leave? Are you going on vacation?”
“No, this is my official two weeks’ notice.” She took the plunge, cut the ties, shook the dust from her shoes. “I’m quitting and moving to Sweden.”
“Sweden? You’ve got a job in Sweden?” Noah’s astonishment was both satisfying and irritating.
“Am I really so boring that you have to act like a single act of spontaneity means I’ve lost my mind?” she snapped.
He hesitated.
“Never mind. Don’t answer that.” She took a breath. “I don’t have a job yet, but I will have.” Of that she had no doubt.
“But why . . . ?”
“Why am I leaving? Or why Sweden?”
She had seldom seen Noah floundering, but he was floundering now. “Yes. Both.”
“Except for college, I’ve lived in Bella Terra since I was eleven.” She had been safe. Secure. “It’s time I explored the world.” The safety had been an illusion. She knew that now. And it was time she lived like a single woman, free of responsibilities. “And as for Sweden—it’s different from here. I like that.”
“Very different.” Noah seemed to be picking his words. “You’ll need more than one coat.”
“I like to shop.”
Finally Noah got around to asking the question he’d clearly wanted to ask right away. “What does Rafe say about this?”
“I really don’t know; nor do I care.” Although she didn’t realize it, her eyes were flashing.
Undeterred, Noah pressed on. “Does he even know?”
“You mean, did I tell him before he left for his next job?” She flounced out of the golf cart. “No. I was unconscious. Now if you’ll excuse me, I need to go pack.” She didn’t look around as Noah drove away.
Let him go off and call Rafe and tell him good old reliable Brooke was leaving.
Rafe wouldn’t care.
No one was irreplaceable. She knew it. She knew that in two weeks she’d be gone, and in another two weeks Victor would have successfully stepped into her shoes and no one would even care or remember.
She stomped up the porch stairs.
Wrong thing to do. The painkillers weren’t quite good enough, because her muscles and joints hurt, the trip from the hospital to her cottage had wearied her, and she wanted a nap.
She fit the key card in the lock, turned the knob, and as she opened the door, Jenna ran up the path, bounded onto the porch and trilled, “Brooke! My gosh, I’m so glad you’re back in one piece!”
Brooke turned to face her former classmate and the current Bella Terra spa manager.
They were about the same height, the same weight. They were both in great shape, were both successful women.
But Jenna was blond, curvaceous, with boobs so pointy no guy in the world ever noticed her face. She used her sexuality like a weapon, and even now she made Brooke feel like a troll.
Here was yet another reason to be glad she was leaving. If she had to face another day being the dark-haired bitch boss to Jenna’s blond perkiness, she would throw up.
“What can I do for you?” Brooke was pleased to note that she sounded none too welcoming.
Jenna lifted a bottle of champagne. “I came to help you celebrate your victory over that big, bad Josh Hoffman.” She widened her blue eyes. “Who knew he was such a felon?”
“Really. Who knew,” Brooke said flatly. “I appreciate the gesture, but I’m on pain meds. I can’t drink.”
“It’s okay!” Jenna pushed past Brooke and into the house. “I can!”
“Of course you can. And really, what else matters?” Brooke followed her in and let the door slam behind her. “I’m busy right now, packing.” Might as well give Jenna first shot at the gossip. After all, no one would enjoy it more. “I just gave Noah my two weeks’ notice. If you hurry, you could be the first one to apply for my job.” That should send Jenna rushing out the door.
Brooke headed for the bedroom.
“I don’t think I could get it.” Jenna didn’t sound nearly as animated as she had been, and the champagne gave a solid thump as she placed it on the coffee table. “You see, you’re not the only one who’s leaving.”
That stopped Brooke in her tracks. She turned on her heel. “You’re leaving Bella Terra? Why?”
“Because if I st
ay”—Jenna stood tall, her fists on her hips—“the police will arrest me.”
Brooke stared at that cold, angry, resentful face—and she got it. She got it, but she didn’t, couldn’t believe it.
“Don’t you want to know why they’re going to arrest me?” Jenna mocked.
Brooke sorted through the facts she knew. “For hacking into Bella Terra’s security system?” Because no one had believed Josh had the brains to do that, and in school, Jenna had always been great at logic and math—and computers. “As an accessory to murder?” Because Josh might have wielded the actual garrote, but Jenna was cunning, intelligent, and ruthless. “For trying to steal a valuable bottle of wine and for trying to kill me?”
“Josh tried to kill you.” Jenna smiled with frank gratification, pulled a tiny pistol from her pocket, and pointed it at Brooke. “I’m the one who’s actually going to do it.”
Chapter 49
Rafe got back to Bella Valley and went right to the hospital, only to be told Brooke had checked out less than an hour before.
Good. That meant her injuries weren’t serious enough to require further treatment. Yet he knew she’d still be bruised and shaken.
In fact, he was depending on it, since he had no doubts she’d be angry and hurt that he’d left her at the hospital without a word. This way, she couldn’t run away when he locked the two of them in her cottage so they could have a conversation about their past, their present, and their future. He’d put it off long enough, and when he’d seen her yesterday, bleeding and in the hands of a killer . . . he shuddered.
Yes, he wanted to talk to Brooke in her own cottage without the medical staff coming in and out, her mother glaring, and his grandmother hovering, prompting him to get it right at last.
He would get it right. This time he would.
As he pulled into the Bella Terra parking lot, his cell phone, his wonderful, unhacked cell phone, rang. He picked up and grinned at the youthful, worried face that popped up on the monitor. “Darren, my man, we got our perp.”
“You got the killer?” Darren’s hair looked as if he’d been pulling at it.
“Yesterday.” Rafe got out of the car. “Sorry I didn’t call sooner, but another job came through and it involved military security clearance, so I’ve been in the cone of silence for twenty-four hours. I’m now thoroughly debriefed.”