Maybe it was just a strange coincidence that Greg was here, maybe it wasn’t. Either way, Rafael wanted to talk to him and find out what the hell Nacho was involved in. Picking up his pace, Rafael headed after the kid, making sure to keep his distance, as he was too tall to blend in well with the crowd.
He needn’t have worried. The kid walked with his head down, looking neither left nor right. He was paying attention only to his destination, and Rafael had the feeling he could walk right up to him and the kid wouldn’t even notice.
A couple of minutes later, Greg stopped at a local restaurant, and Rafael sped up so he could see if he was meeting someone. Nothing could have prepared him for what he saw when he ducked into the restaurant. Ignoring the hostess, he watched as Greg walked straight up to a table where Richard Stanley was sitting.
What the hell were Greg and Richard doing together? There was no legitimate reason they should be sitting at a table halfway between the Tenderloin and Nob Hill, in neutral territory where nobody should have recognized either of them.
Yet there they were. And when a third person joined the table—coming from what Rafael assumed was the restroom—the puzzle pieces finally fell into place. The second person he’d seen in the car, the same one he’d seen with Nacho in the taco shop last week, the one who was doing the gangster version of a handshake with Greg right now, was Richard’s son. Rafael had met him at Richard’s annual Christmas party last year, the same party he was supposed to be going to tonight.
If he remembered correctly, the kid’s name was Thomas, and he was a chem major at Stanford. Rafael hadn’t liked him the one time he met him—he’d been too spoiled, too insolent to impress him. He remembered thinking at the time that Richard needed to watch him. Wealthy and bored was not a good combination, especially when a youth had the sense of entitlement that this one had.
He recalled Thomas had reminded him too much of Jacquelyn and as he watched the three together, he couldn’t help thinking that his instincts had been right on. This kid was trouble with a capital T, and it was obvious his father had finally figured that out.
Richard was uncomfortable, based on the stiff set of his body and the deep lines of his face. Thomas, however, seemed perfectly at home. He sprawled out in the booth, taking up more room than the other two men combined, and acting completely unconcerned. He was the only one who didn’t look worried and Rafael hazarded a guess that his father had bought him out of more trouble in his life than any three people deserved.
Trouble like drugs.
Trouble like…murder?
Not wanting to let them out of his sight, but also not wanting to risk spooking them, Rafael ducked into a chair in the restaurant’s waiting area that was out of Richard’s line of sight, but still provided him a decent view of the table. Taking out his cell phone, he snapped a couple shots of Thomas, and then dialed Jose back.
“I thought you were on the way?” Jose barked into the phone.
“Yeah, well, I think I just stumbled on something a whole lot bigger than Nacho.” Then he told Jose what he was looking at. The cop and his partner were out the door and on their way before Rafael had finished speaking.
That son of a bitch, was all Rafael could think as he stared at Richard. He’d been the one to stick Diego with a divorce attorney for a lawyer. Vivian had done a great job, but Richard couldn’t have known that at the time. Rafael had called him for help and the bastard had been sabotaging him all along.
When Rafael had read the article the paper had run about Vivian a few days before, it had never occurred to him that Richard had had a personal agenda in assigning her to the case. That he’d been expecting her to fail.
But she hadn’t, and the better she did with the case, the more dangerous Richard became. Getting Diego’s case sent to juvenile court had obviously been the last blow. Richard had panicked at the thought of Diego getting off—which might force the cops to look for another suspect—and had Vivian shot.
Hell, yeah, the puzzle pieces were fitting together left and right, and the picture they made wasn’t a pretty one. Rafael’s best guess was that Thomas had a nice little side business going on—one that included supplying drugs. Whether he or his friends cooked them up in their chemistry lab he didn’t know—and honestly didn’t care.
But it was obvious, even from across the room, that the kid was a user. His eyes were so bloodshot Rafael could see them from where he was sitting. The way he kept wiping his nose and the weird little facial tic he had going on had him guessing that Thomas’s trip to the bathroom had been to do a line or two of the hard stuff. Not enough to get high, but just enough to take the edge off.
But drug use wasn’t enough. The million-dollar question was had he killed Esme? That his dad had worked to make sure Diego went down for the murder seemed to indicate that he had.
Why? Had her brothers gotten greedy on their portion of the profits? Maybe, but that just didn’t ring true for Rafael. Rich kids like Thomas dabbled in this stuff because they thought it made them look cool, because they liked the adrenaline and the risk. Rafael hadn’t met very many who had the guts to do murder because they were gypped a few dollars, especially since it was so rarely about the money to begin with.
Then why? Why kill Esme? Why—
“Rafa!” Jose and his partner, Sam, came through the door in an authoritative whirl. “What the hell’s going on?”
“I’m not sure,” he told them honestly. “But the blond kid over there was in the car with Nacho when he shot Vivian.”
“Are you positive?”
“I am. His name is Thomas Stanley and his father sits on my board. It’s why the kid looked so familiar to me when I saw him in the taco shop.”
Jose muttered something under his breath, and though Rafael didn’t catch the whole thing he was pretty sure it was something about rich kids and the mess they liked to make. It was nice to know he wasn’t the only one feeling that way today.
But Thomas was more observant than they’d given him credit for, and the second Jose started across the restaurant’s dining room, the kid bolted. Someone screamed, but it was over in a second, when Jose’s partner, Sam, tackled the kid. Soon Thomas was being hauled out in handcuffs, while Richard and Greg got a police escort out of the restaurant. Richard was screaming to everyone who would listen about police brutality and who he was going to sue, and not even the five hundred bucks’ worth of crank they pulled out of his son’s pocket shut him up.
Rafael watched the whole scene with a kind of horrified bemusement. Then turned and walked toward the BART station as he wondered where they all were supposed to go from here.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
WHEN RAFAEL FINALLY GOT back to the center, he found Diego sitting in the hallway outside his apartment. His back was braced against Rafael’s door and he had a gun in his hands.
Adrenaline hit Rafael like a runaway bus as he registered what he was seeing. But he kept his voice calm, his gaze level as he said, “Are you all right, Diego? We’ve been looking all over for you.”
Diego’s face was tearstained as he looked up. “I couldn’t stay in that room anymore, staring at the ceiling. I was going crazy. All I could think about was Esme and the baby and how much I missed them.” He raised the hand with the gun and used the sleeve of his jacket to wipe his nose while Rafael had a quiet heart attack.
“What am I going to do without them?”
A million words came to mind, thousands of trite phrases that didn’t mean anything. Looking at Diego, Rafael knew he couldn’t use any of them. Sinking down on his haunches next to him, he said the only thing he knew was true. “I don’t know, but we’ll find a way.”
“It hurts, Rafa. Like there’s this great big hole inside of me. Like, without Esme and the baby, I’m just a useless waste of space, like my dad.”
“That’s not true.”
“Sure it is.” He wiped his nose again. “Look at the mess I’m in. You and Vivian are working so hard to save me, and I don’t
even know if I want to be saved. What have I got to look forward to? Twenty-five years in jail instead of life? Or am I just going to waste away like my father—become a total pendejo that no one gives a shit about?
“He’s drunk all the time, doesn’t get out of bed most days. He didn’t even come to her funeral!”
“I know, Diego.” Rafael took a deep breath, tried to figure out the best way to reach the kid. “But things have changed since you left the hospital. A lot has happened. Vivian got your case transferred—”
“I don’t care!” He lifted the gun nearer to his head “Don’t you get it? I want to die.”
“I know you do.” Sweat slipped down Rafael’s back and he started to shake as the muzzle of the gun got closer to Diego’s temple. He wanted to reach out and grab it, to yank it away, but he was afraid to set Diego off.
“But you can’t. Who’s going to remember Esme if you die? Who’s going to bring flowers to her grave?”
“You can.”
“Diego, if you kill yourself, I guarantee you I will not be in any condition to bring anyone flowers.”
Diego gave him a bemused look. “What does that mean?”
“You matter to me. You think if you off yourself I’m just going to go on my merry way and live my life?”
“You don’t understand what it’s like.”
“So tell me about it. Tell me what it’s like.”
“It hurts so bad. I wake up every morning and the pain is worse than the day before. It just keeps getting worse and worse, like a cup that never fills up. I want it to go away. I just want it to end.”
Tears were rolling down his face, but Diego didn’t seem to notice. He just kept talking, breaking Rafael’s heart with every word he said. “Sometimes I dream that she’s still alive, you know. I hear the baby crying—I swear to God, Rafa, I hear him in my sleep, and when I wake up, just for a minute I think it’s going to be okay. And then I remember…”
“It’s going to be okay, Diego.”
“How? How’s it going to be okay when Esme’s gone? I’ve got nobody, I’ve got nothing. She made me something, made me feel like I finally belonged to someone. Made me feel like I had a family.
“Now I’m back to the way things were before her, only it’s worse. Because now I know what it can be like. Now I know what I should have. I don’t want to live like this. I’m sorry, Rafa, but I don’t.” He put the gun against his temple.
“Diego, no! You matter to me.”
“I’m sorry about the mess, Rafa.” His hand trembled as he started to cock the gun. “Sorry about everythi—
Desperate and half convinced he was going to be too late, Rafael lashed out and hit Diego’s hand with every ounce of strength he could muster. The gun flew out of his grip and hit the wall hard before falling to the floor between them.
Rafael grabbed it, shoved it far behind him.
Diego looked at him, bewildered, as the tears flowed freely down his face. “What’d you did that for, Rafa? Why’d you do that?”
“Because you’re my family, Diego. And I’m not letting you go.” He pulled the kid into his arms and held him while he sobbed.
Long minutes passed as Diego held on to him as if he was the only thing keeping the kid grounded, and Rafael held on just as tightly. He’d almost lost this kid who was like a son to him. Almost had to watch him die after Vivian had fought for him to live.
Rafael’s heart was still beating triple time. The way he was feeling, Diego would be lucky if he let him go before his thirtieth birthday.
Eventually, though, the crying stopped and the boy raised tear-swollen eyes to Rafael. “I just miss her, you know? I really, really miss her.”
“Of course you do. And with everything that’s been going on, you’ve barely had a chance to mourn her. But that’s going to change now.”
“How?”
Rafael climbed to his feet, extended a hand to Diego, then pulled him up. Picking up the gun, he emptied it of bullets before opening the door to his apartment. “Come on in, and I’ll tell you what I know.”
VIVIAN STARED AT HER mother, sure that she had heard her wrong. “You did what?”
“I had Rafael investigated. I’ve only got the preliminary report in, but it’s a doozy.”
It had only been twelve hours since her mother had met Rafael, and most of the time she’d spent sitting next to Vivian’s hospital bed. And while her mother had brought her back to her apartment—at her insistence—two hours earlier, Lillian had continued to hover so closely that Vivian was beginning to wish that the doctor hadn’t reduced her pain meds. A little drug-induced oblivion would come in handy about now.
“You’ve been with me all afternoon. When on earth could you have done it? Why did you do it?”
“I called a friend who uses private detectives regularly. You remember Mitzy Graham, don’t you? Anyway, she put me in touch with her guy, who—for a substantial fee—went to work right away. He’s not done, by a long shot, but already he’s gotten the goods.”
Gotten the goods? Vivian stared at her mother in disbelief. Who talked like that? She tried to stand so that they could be on more equal ground, but her leg ached too badly to support her. “Why would you do that?”
“Because the man looks like a dirtbag, Vivian. I mean really, an earring? Long hair? And I swear I saw a glimpse of a tattoo.”
“Rafael doesn’t have a tattoo.”
“Still, only teenagers and rock stars can get away with looking like he does, and believe me, Rafael Cardoza is neither.”
“Would it be better if he looked like Brandon?” The words were out before she could stop them, and as her mother flinched, Vivian wished she could take them back. But damn it, her parents had all but handpicked Brandon for Merry, and he’d turned out to be a misogynistic, wife-beating rapist who drove her sister to suicide. How dare her mother complain about who Vivian chose?
“Don’t you see, Vivian? Brandon had everything going for him and still he turned out to be dangerous. I don’t want the same thing to happen to you that happened to your sister, and this Rafael seems to be cut from the same cloth.
“He’s a convicted rapist, Vivian. He spent five years in jail for raping Jacquelyn Wesley—”
“Stop right there.”
“You’re too young to remember it, but I do. I used to play bridge with Jacquelyn’s mother. That girl was brutalized. She walked around looking like a punching bag for weeks—black eyes, broken nose, the whole works.”
“I said stop, Mother!”
“Denying it won’t help.” Her mother held out a folder. “It’s all right there for you to see.”
“I already know about it. He told me everything before things ever got serious between us.”
“And you stayed with him?” Her mother was scandalized, not just pretending this time, but completely, totally horrified. “Why would you do that?”
“Because he told me he didn’t do it and I believe him.” It was the first time Vivian had said the words, the first time she’d allowed herself to totally believe them, and they felt good. There was no way Rafael was a rapist, no way he was anything like her sister’s husband or any of the men Vivian saw or heard about down at the shelter.
He was big and gruff and had a temper, but he’d never once hurt her. He’d gone out of his way to keep her safe, to take care of her, and the man she knew—caring, compassionate, spending every penny he had to run a center for kids who didn’t have anyone else to stick up for them—could never deliberately violate a woman the way her mother was saying Jacquelyn had been violated.
“That’s the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever heard, Vivian.” Her mother’s voice continued to drone on. “Brandon was a good liar, too, despite growing up with all the advantages money could buy. This Rafael has almost nothing.”
“Get out, Mom.”
“What did you say?”
“I said get out. Get out, get out, get out!” Sitting here listening to her mother of all people talkin
g about Brandon, when she’d been the one who had most stridently defended him, was almost more than Vivian could bear. After everything Brandon had done, to hear her mother say that Rafael was worse, was something Vivian absolutely couldn’t tolerate.
“Did you hear me, Mother?”
Lillian was sitting on the couch with her mouth open as if she couldn’t possibly comprehend what her daughter had said.
“Be reasonable, Vivian. You’re injured. How will you take care of yourself?”
“I’m injured, not paralyzed. I’ll figure things out.” She sounded brave, and Vivian wasn’t sure how honest she was being, but she’d be damned if she showed her insecurities to her mother. Lillian needed to go and she needed to go now, or Vivian just might call Security and make her go, which should make for a particularly warm Black-and-White Ball on New Year’s Eve.
“I can’t believe you’re doing this!”
“I can’t believe you so grossly invaded my privacy and Rafael’s.”
“I wanted to help you, Vivian.”
“You didn’t do it to help me. You did it to hurt me—to drive me away from someone I care about because he isn’t good enough for you. But I’m not Merry, Mother. You can’t run my life the way you tried to run hers.”
“I was only trying to help.”
“You were trying to control me. You don’t like Rafael because of how he looks, so you did your best to discredit him. But if he’d looked like Brandon, if he’d been a good little banker, you would have given me your blessing and not cared if Rafael was the biggest bastard on earth.”
She paused, got her breath back. Then said quietly, “Please go.”
Her words must have finally sunk in because Lillian gathered her purse and headed for the front door.
“Take the report, too. I don’t need it.”
“Be reasonable, Vivian.” The face Lillian turned on her was imploring, but Vivian hardened her heart to it.