"Back then we all slept with each other, you know that, Dave. Sex was as common as eating and sleeping, it was simple recreation. Surely you slept with college girls before you met Nikki? Before you married?"
"Yes, but you and Nikki, it was more between the two of you! Aiden was born a year and a half after Nikki and I were married. I've done the blood tests, Alex, I know for a fact I'm not his father. You are."
66
He saw the instant Valenti believed him, accepted it. The honorable, forthright man he liked to think he was had a bastard son. Valenti said slowly, "I didn't know, never even guessed. You believe I'm lying to you? You think Nikki told me and I decided to ignore it? Well, she didn't, never even hinted, never said a word, even during that brief time we wanted to go away together.
"My God, David, I've always thought Aiden looked like you."
"You know what, you bastard? Nikki did come to love me, I knew it, and so I didn't punish her by forcing you out of our lives. I allowed all of us to become such close friends, your children and mine, like cousins. Two big loving families, and the Richardses too, all the boys playing together. I remember watching them and thanking the Lord they were my sons, mine and Nikki's, together. But of course they weren't. It was a fantasy.
"When she went into the hospital for the last time, I finally believed she loved me. But then there you were not even three days later, sitting beside her, stroking your hands through her hair, what was left of it, whispering to her."
David Hoffman stared down at him, wondered in that moment if he hated Valenti more than he'd loved his wife.
He gave a low laugh, one filled with pain at the sharp memory of her death. "You know what, Alex? When she came back, Savich believed she was trying to protect me, but it was you, always you. Even beyond death, she was trying to protect you, from me. I always came in second. I hated it. But then she spoke to Savich, and gave me a gift, an opportunity, so fitting, so perfect, it was too good to let pass. That's when I decided what I was going to do."
Valenti looked into his friend's eyes, but he simply couldn't accept it. "Are you telling me you sabotaged your own car? That you tried to kill me?"
David Hoffman slowly rose. "Ah, you're looking at me like I'm a monster, Alex. If only you'd died when the Brabus hit that oak tree. I would have given one of the most eloquent eulogies at your lavish funeral, reminded all the mourners of what a wonderful family man you were. And I would have been thanking Nikki for making it all possible. Unfortunately, you survived. I've lost to you yet again."
"There was never anything to lose. You've become obsessed, Dave-"
"Shut up, for once, shut up! There's nothing wrong with me, nothing. Listen to me. I came to tell you it was I who tried to kill you, but I will not try again."
Valenti felt nauseated, from physical pain, from the drugs, from this soul-leaching hatred, this obsession, yes, that's exactly what it was, and surely it was insanity too, and he was the focus of it. Had Nikki really spoken to Savich? Had she really been trying to warn him? He whispered, "You know it will all come out, Dave."
"Eventually, perhaps. Agent Savich suspects some of it. Will he find evidence of what I did? I was very careful, but who knows?
"Now, Alex, I'm asking you not to tell anyone what I've told you. I don't ask it for myself, but for both our families, for Elyssa, for all of your sons, and for your own sake. This is not what either of us want to be remembered for, is it?"
Valenti wondered how his body could keep breathing. He couldn't believe this, just couldn't, and now David wanted him to keep silent? He asked him, "What would happen to you, Dave?"
"Do you know, I've decided to join Nikki. Since I won't try to kill you again, you'll probably live for a good long time and that means I'll have years with her before you show up."
"Why did you tell me in the first place, then?"
"You had to know," Hoffman said. "I wanted to watch your face as I told you why I wanted to kill you, why I've hated you more years than I can remember, wanted you to know the truth about your bastard son.
"You took everything that should have been mine, my wife, even my first-born son. I had to call you friend, had to laugh with you, I had to feign being sorry when misfortune struck you. That's all over now. When I leave this room, I have no desire to ever see you again." He paused, gave a sharp laugh, and added, "Please don't give a eulogy at my memorial."
The vice president looked at him, deep shadows in his eyes, memories ricocheting in his brain, memories and pain and what-would-have-beens. He didn't want to accept what David Hoffman had confessed because it meant so much of what he had cherished for so many years was a lie. Aiden was his son? He could barely get his mind around that fact.
He was tired. He hurt. He wanted Elyssa. She would know what to do. Above all, he was so sad he wanted to weep. He closed his eyes and saw Aiden's face in his mind. Nikki, I'm so sorry.
He heard the door open. "I won't even come to your funeral," he said, and heard the door close. He saw David Hoffman speak briefly to the Secret Service agents, then turn and leave. The tears he refused to shed burned his eyes and his throat. He swallowed, but the damned tears burned hotter. He raised his hand to pick up the glass of water.
"Sir, please give me that glass."
Valenti stared at Sherlock as she walked quickly from the small bathroom, stared at her hand as she quickly picked up the water glass. "You're not a Secret Service agent, are you?"
"No sir, I'm not. I'm FBI. I will ask your nurse to bring you water, all right?"
Sherlock saw realization dawn in his eyes, followed by a look of utter desolation. He looked, she thought, unutterably weary.
Valenti whispered, "He lied."
"Oh, yes." She lightly touched her fingertips to his forearm. "It will be all right, sir. I will tell your wife she can see you now, all right?"
Alex Valenti slowly nodded. "Yes, I need to see my wife. Thank you."
Secret Service Agent Alma Stone came into the room, carefully took the glass from Sherlock, fitted a lid tightly over it, and wrote her name, the time, and the date on a card and taped it to the glass.
Sherlock nodded and walked quickly toward the ICU doors. She punched a single number on her cell. "Dillon? It's done. The senator is on his way down. You can take him."
She slipped her cell back into her jacket pocket, next to a small recorder.
Epilogue
GEORGETOWN
Monday evening
"Excellent pizza," Bowie announced when he'd finished off the last slice of deep-dish pepperoni with cheese baked into the crust. He looked over at the remains of Savich's pizza-artichokes, olives, peppers, onions, and just about every other vegetable known to man. He called out, "How about you, kiddo, you full yet?"
Georgie didn't hear him. She was on the floor with Sean and Astro, their slices of pizza cold and forgotten as they took turns designing their own houses on JumpStart World. They were busy arguing over Sean's selection of bright red shag carpeting in his living room.
Sherlock said, "Would you like to try the Big Dog's coffee, Bowie? I have to admit, Starbucks would pay Dillon big bucks for his skill with the coffee bean. Erin, how about you?"
Savich toasted Erin with his teacup. "This is a nice dark oolong, Erin. Would you like to give that a try instead?"
Erin sighed. "Yes, thanks, I guess I'd better go the tea route, otherwise I'll be bouncing off the ceiling half the night. I doubt if either Sean or Georgie will spare us in the morning."
Sherlock said, "Since Georgie's sleeping in Sean's room, maybe they'll play awhile before they drag us out of bed. For you and Bowie-" She paused a moment. "Well, there's a guest bedroom across from Sean's room. And this sofa pulls out into a double bed."
Bowie said easily, "We can decide about that later. Thanks for letting us crash, Sherlock."
They listened a moment to Sean telling Georgie, "I don't think Astro's going to like you having a cat for your pet, Georgie. He might bite it good and you'd be
mad."
"Astro won't try to hurt my cat. Crookshanks is a really big cat. She could bat Astro around, make him sorry he was ever born a little doofus dog."
"Astro's not a doofus! Papa, is Astro a doofus?"
"Not the last time I checked. Best beg Georgie to choose a kitten, though, Sean. That way, Astro will have time to train it."
Sean and Georgie were soon going at it again, this time over kitchen appliances.
Sherlock said, "Sean believes the purpose of a microwave is to present him with popcorn, so you can't do without one of those, Georgie." To Bowie, "You and Erin have had a long day, the flight down with Georgie, the hospital."
"There are more media there than patients," Bowie said, shaking his head, "trying to get in to see the family, the vice president's spokesperson, anyone who will step in front of a camera."
"Actually, it's the A Team," Savich said as he handed Erin a cup of tea and Bowie a cup of coffee that had Bowie smiling blissfully just smelling the aroma. "The B Team is hounding the Hoffman family and staff. This isn't going to blow over for a very long time."
Sherlock raised her cup. "At least our part in it is all over."
Bowie said after a moment, "Erin got to meet Uncle Alex."
"Poor man," Erin said, shaking her head. "I felt so sorry for him, but he was charming to me, said he wished they'd let Georgie in to give him a kiss." She laid her hand on Bowie's thigh. "The Valentis and your family are wonderful, Bowie."
"I think they sort of like you too."
"Ah, Bowie, your mom wants me to have lunch with her tomorrow."
Bowie's fingers froze on his coffee mug. "Lunch, you said? With my mom?"
"Yep. She asked me if I liked French. When I said I only ate fried snails under extreme duress, she heaved a sigh of relief and said she'd much rather eat Mexican."
"My mom isn't what you'd call subtle, Erin. Be prepared for nosy questions. Actually, she asked me if we'd like to spend the night with them. I said we'd already agreed to staying with Savich and Sherlock. I hope she didn't know I lied." He grinned toward Sherlock. "I hadn't asked you guys yet. Thanks again."
"Not a problem," Savich said.
Erin said, "Let me add my thanks. Since Dr. Kender promised me he'll never mention my name again, I guess I'm clear of all this, too. Bowie told me you all had made it official that the Culovort papers came to you anonymously."
"I wouldn't like Georgie to have to visit you in jail," Bowie said. "I hope this will be your last foray into the criminal world."
"Only the straight and narrow for me from now on," Erin said. She drank down the last of her tea, checked her watch. "It's past Georgie's bedtime. Bowie-"
He was frowning. "I forgot to pick up some stuff. Have you got a store nearby?"
While Savich told Bowie where to find the Shop 'N Go, Sherlock said to Erin, "Mr. Maitland seems to think the DOJ will force Laboratoires Ancondor and Schiffer Hartwin to make restitution to the cancer patients who had to switch to Eloxium when the Culovort ran out."
"I don't believe it."
Sherlock grinned. "Mr. Maitland says the French will publicly blame us for the Culovort shortage, but privately, they'll slam Claude Renard really hard. We're talking huge fines here, maybe hefty enough that the industry will stop their corporate shenanigans for a while."
"I doubt it," Erin said, "they'll just get more careful."
When they'd gotten Sean down for the night, a major undertaking since he was so wired, Savich said to Sherlock, "Erin said she'd keep Georgie with her until Sean was out, then move her into his room."
"Probably a good idea. All Sean could talk about was Georgie. He said he might marry her instead of Marty. He's thinking hard about it. I told him Georgie was an older woman, that she might not believe he's serious. He smiled at me and said it was good she was older, that meant she could teach him things. Because he's five years old, I knew he didn't realize that what he'd said would make a mother's hair stand on end."
Savich laughed and moved over to lie against her. She rested her head on his chest, and he stroked his hand over her curly hair, winding the curls around his finger. "It was too close," he said, "just too close. It was like last time when you got shot. You could have died and I wasn't even there."
She lightly butted her head against his chin. "Bowie and Erin came blasting in to save the day. It's over and I'm okay. It's Kesselring who got shot up."
"You were very lucky Jane Ann and Mick were amateurs, and it didn't occur to them to check for an ankle gun. So many things could have happened."
"Isn't that true of just about everything in life? Dillon, we do the best we can, and keep moving forward. It's what we do. It's who we are, both of us."
"How are the cuts on your hands and wrists from sawing away on that duct tape?"
"Just fine." What he needed, she realized, was distraction, and so she slipped her hand down over his stomach. "Just little cuts, Dillon. Nothing more." Another couple of inches and he was thoroughly distracted.
There is a dark wind blowing. The camels shuffle about, pulling on their leads, ducking their heads up and down, making the plaintive sounds camels make when they know something is wrong. The women press close to them even though the camels' breath is foul and their bites sharp. The women don't care because the camels are real and solid in a world that has become something they can no longer understand. They don't know that camels never bite when they are terrified, that they are struck dumb, even their feet stop moving, their humps stop swaying. Terrified camels hunker down. The camels are relieved the women are so close.
The women can't see, can't hear, can only feel the dark wind blowing, stinging their faces, and they know the wind is bringing something very bad. They wait. The camels wait with them. There is nothing else to do. But wait.
"Okay, kiddo," Erin continued in a whisper so as not to wake up Sean and Astro, "that's the beginning of our story. You chew that over before you go to sleep. I expect you to continue the story tomorrow night, all right?"
"Let me do it now, Erin, I know what the dark wind is bringing, let me tell you now."
"Shush, sweetie, you don't want to wake them up, particularly Astro, he'll spend the next hour licking off your face." Erin brushed Georgie's hair off her forehead, leaned down, and kissed her small nose. "No more of our mysterious story tonight, it's time for you to sleep and dream about dancing in Swan Lake and that beautiful second arabesque you're going to hold flawlessly before you fly into a sweeping glissade."
Georgie giggled, then whispered, "But the dark wind blowing, Erin, I know-"
"Tomorrow night, sweetie," Erin whispered back. She leaned down and kissed her forehead, smoothed the covers to her chest, and rose. "Good night, Georgie."
"Good night, Erin. Kiss Daddy for me."
"I will."
Erin watched Georgie close her eyes and shut down.
She walked back downstairs to the Savich living room. The house was quiet, too quiet for her. She thought about the dark wind in her story and wondered if a dark wind was blowing outside. She decided that wouldn't be good because she didn't have any camels. She realized then that her story was excellent fodder for a nightmare. Oh dear. But Georgie had laughed, excited to continue the story. She'd have to be more careful in the future.
She grinned as she looked through the front bay windows over Dillon and Sherlock's lovely lawn, currently covered with piles of raked autumn leaves. A wind was rising, she saw. They'd had no time to bag them up. The dark wind would whip them all over the yard again.
She looked at the houses still lit up across the street. So many families-kids and parents, pets, getting ready for bed. Maybe telling stories to their kids? And she thought of Bowie Richards, FBI Agent Bowie Richards, and of herself, Ms. Erin Pulaski, Polish-Irish-American dance teacher and private investigator, who'd severely crimped the bottom line, for at least a year, of two major drug companies.
She hoped there was a dark wind blowing for those conscienceless men. She hoped i
t would blow on them for the rest of their lives.
She heard a car pull into the driveway. It wasn't the low roar of Dillon's magnificent Porsche, it was the smooth sound of Bowie's rented Taurus. Where was the Shop 'N Go? What had taken him so long?
Life, she thought, waiting for the front door to open, held great promise. Who could have guessed all this would happen when she took the huge, and really stupid, risk of breaking and entering into a CEO's office? Life was amazing. She wouldn't even go to jail. That in itself was amazing enough.
Bowie came in, something in his hand. He closed and locked the front door, set the alarm, and turned to face her. He wouldn't show her what he'd bought, but he was grinning.
Catherine Coulter, Whiplash
(Series: FBI Thriller # 14)
Thank you for reading books on BookFrom.Net Share this book with friends