Dead Spaces: The Big Uneasy 2.0 (17 page)

To Ferris’s surprise, when he spoke it wasn’t about him, them.

“What happened with Hannah’s car?”

“A guy shouldn’t date—”

He had to give Alex credit for persistence. Zach apparently didn’t agree.

“Last time I checked, both of them were of age and living in a free country,” Zach’s tone was so mild Hannah’s eyes widened, then she hurriedly changed it to a “so there” one for Alex. The edges of Zach’s mouth twitched, but he held it together. “And I’m more worried about what happened to her car than who she’s dating.”

There was a bit of “for now” to that, so Ferris didn’t kid himself he was home free—wherever and whatever that meant. He was in deeper than he’d realized and so far it didn’t feel that bad.

“Fine.” Alex gritted out the word. “While I’m still on this case, I’ll need your statement.”

Hannah exchanged what even a guy would call a significant look with Zach. Where had they been when her car was being blown up?

Zach’s face turned grim again. “What caused the explosion?”

“They found the remains of a cheap cell phone,” Ferris said, because for now they were still partners. “Various pieces tested positive for explosive residue at the scene.”

Hannah sat on the edge of her desk. “Someone seriously tried to blow me up?”

“Or it could be a case of someone wiring the wrong car.” Alex took two steps away and then turned back. “Can you think of anyone—” he stopped. “Any cases that might have upset the wrong people?”

“Nothing you don’t know about.” She hesitated, then added with obvious reluctance, “Claude St. Cyr had someone following me this morning.”

Alex stared at her. “And you know this how?”

Hannah licked her lips. “I may have…asked him who hired him.”

“And he just told you?” Alex scoffed.

“Well, I may have mentioned my, um, brothers.” She shrugged. “It used to work in high school. He took off like a scared rabbit. Didn’t even have to threaten the other two—”

“Other two?” Alex didn’t yell, but that didn’t make his tone less ominous.

“Dimitri Afoniki didn’t admit one was his—”

“What?” Alex’s tone got louder.

“…but I’m pretty sure he was in on it and he said Guido had sent the other guy. I know it’s hearsay, but I believed him. That’s what ticked me off—” she stopped, looked at each of them in turn and then shrugged again. “Well, it did tick me off. So I chewed the one out and the others went away.”

“If one of them—” Alex ground his teeth together.

“I don’t think it was one of them. I mean, why follow me if you’re just going to blow me up?”

Ferris straightened. “You think…X?” They’d both felt like some unknown someone was involved somehow.

Zach looked thoughtful. “Doesn’t explain why.”

“Who the—” Alex paused to edit out the string of swear words he obviously needed to set loose, but couldn’t in front of his dad, “is X?”

“Well, that is the question, isn’t it?” Hannah’s gaze lost focus.

Dang the girl was cute when she slipped into what he called her geek zone—as if he heard that, Alex’s gaze shot toward Ferris. Mentally whistling, Ferris looked away. Dating. Zach said they were dating. Hannah hadn’t admitted it yet, but her dad had. Was that good?

“Or would that be the equation?” Hannah murmured.

“What—” This time Alex forced it out between gritted teeth. “—are you talking about?”

“X is always the unknown in an equation, isn’t it? At least it always was in my math classes.”

Alex opened his mouth. Caught a glare from Zach. Then closed it again.

T
he text came
while she was still in the car, still shaken. Had she almost fainted? And what had she given away? Gladys White looked down, her hands clenching at the sight of the text.

Did you see it?

It was true the news was still reporting the doctor as the victim. But she knew the truth, didn’t she?

Appearances can be deceiving. Did I mention how much I dislike failure?

The response took a long time to come. She was sure he did some checking or some thinking. Hopefully both.

I’ll take care of it.

She didn’t bother to respond. She really did dislike failure. First the lawyer, then they wouldn’t give her Harold’s body, now this. She needed something positive. This was a day seriously in need of at least one positive. One couldn’t live forever on the glow of not just fooling Bettino Calvino but removing him from the picture. He’d been so surprised. And then he’d died. She had no idea how lovely it could be to take a life.

Today was supposed to have been, well, not that perfect since she had to farm out the second death. And just because someone had died in the car, well what did she care that? It was just someone who got in her way.

And Dr. Hannah Baker was someone who hadn’t died when they were supposed to. She hadn’t mattered either. She tried to remember why Dunstead thought she was the perfect choice.

She shouldn’t have to deal with details. She was supposed to be the Red Queen. She had minions for the details. She liked that. Minions sounded better than pawns.

Dunstead was supposed to be the minion who got her mob war started by killing Hannah Baker. She frowned, wondering why it had seemed so logical then but was less so now? Something about the Bakers thinking the mob did it? That was it, like that show she saw…she huffed out a sigh. For just a tiny minute, she thought Dunstead had tried to fool her, that wasn’t possible. He wasn’t clever enough for that.

Now Hannah Baker, well, she looked clever, but was she? What if she began to suspect Harold’s death wasn’t quite natural? Or worse, that Gladys knew something about the bombing of her car? She’d practically given her a memo, but it had startled her so. Her face, her face had been familiar before—where had she seen her before? She frowned, but she was too upset, too angry. So angry she wanted to kill Dunstead, Leblanc and yes, Hannah Baker.

Surely she could still make something good from the day? Turn the negative into a positive?

She still needed Dunstead and he’d promised to take care of the doctor. That left Leblanc. Did she need the lawyer? Surely lawyers arranged for their affairs to be taken care of after they died? They were lawyers. That’s what they did. Arrange things. And perhaps the next person would—get the memo—that it wasn’t wise to cross her? Yes, someone new might be more reasonable about that silly third ring.

Now see, already she felt better. Just needed to decide how. Nothing too complicated. In the books, complicated always went wrong. Hadn’t there been something in that one book? Or maybe it was a television show. She forgot which…as she pondered this, she had another happy thought.

If not tomorrow, then surely the day after, the war would erupt into a lovely bloodbath. If Dunstead did his part. Which he’d better. Not that she could let him live. Already she could see it the city erupting with a great big bloodbath, started by her.
Can you see me now, Great Grandfather? Can you see how like you I am?

L
eblanc had not seen
Cinzia Calvino for some time, though he followed her career as he did with all three families, using tracking software. He needed it. Family members arrived and disappeared with no obvious rhyme or reason. Cinzia was a particularly beautiful woman, lush and tempting to those so inclined.

He had never been tempted to stray, though some of the firm’s female clients had tried to tempt him at various times over the years. Not, he knew, because of his personal appearance. Always they were drawn to what he knew, what he could have told them. Knowing was a strange and dangerous power. He’d always believed his wife didn’t know, but he might be wrong about that, he supposed. He’d been drawn to her because of her stillness, because she wasn’t like any of
them.
Here, at the end, with sharpened clarity, even she seemed changed to him when he called to tell her he would be late. Did she sense he would not be coming home tonight or ever? Would she miss him? Would anyone?

The firm’s affairs would transition almost seamlessly, as they always had. Death, even by misadventure, was a minor annoyance. It was possible that no one within the firm would know what he’d done. On the other side—if there was an other side—he might have some explaining to do to that original client, Zafiro. Almost that thought made him smile. He would like
her
to know, but that might have to wait for the other side as well.

His thoughts circled the question he did not wish to dwell on. How did he feel about dying? The shadow of it was always there, particularly with his clientele. The law covered everything about death, even in some cases, how to do it. It gave no guidance on how to feel. He’d always liked that about the law. Until…

It was a relief when she arrived and he could focus on business. It was, had always been, his anchor, in the constantly shifting seas as lawyer to the mob.

She had not changed so very much from their last meeting, at a holiday party, if his memory served. There was no question she was a Calvino, not with that dark hair. Her physical attributes were considerable and, he knew, somewhat deceptive. She played the bimbo on occasion, but even Bett had underestimated her. It was not the first time Bett underestimated a woman, of course. Eleanor Calvino had even surprised Leblanc.

“How can I help you?” Cinzia said, pausing for just the right amount of time before adding, “That is why you called me, is it not?”

“Yes,” he agreed. There was still time to pull back, but he found that revenge was sweeter than loyalty here at the end of his life. His hand on the envelope he’d prepared, he did give her a chance. “You should tell me no. This is no gift.”

“In our world, few things are.” Cinzia leaned back in the deep chair, crossing her legs, her hands resting lightly on the arms. “And curiosity was ever my curse.”

Leblanc pushed the envelope toward her. “Don’t read it here. And if you change your mind, burn it.”

Her sculpted brows arched. “Anything else?”

“I would appreciate your…protection for my family. My wife and my son.”

The lovely head tilted to the side. “I give you my word I’ll do my best.”

Her best was all he could hope for. It might even be enough. “Then I am content.”

“I could offer you the same…”

He shook his head. “Certain…triggers will go into effect when I am…gone. Otherwise—it is better for the firm, for all of you, if I don’t disappear. But this meeting—” he indicated the envelope she held, “that is for me—if you decide to act on it.”

“Then I will do my best for you,” she said, her tone almost regretful.

“Be careful when you leave,” he warned. “Bett was not careful enough.” It was all he could do for her after handing her a live bomb. Still he walked the line, even though it blurred at the approach of death.

Her lashes flickered at this and she nodded, looking thoughtful. She rose in one, fluid motion and picked up her purse from the small table next to the chair. She tucked the envelope inside it, then looked over her shoulder at him. Her lips parted, but she just nodded again and left.

Leblanc watched her go, content he’d picked better than he’d expected. She was smart enough to know that neither goodbye or God speed were appropriate. The devil take you? That was, he supposed, already the plan.

I
t wasn’t snowy
, no woods in sight, but Hannah definitely had miles to go before she could sleep—at least miles of siblings—which had apparently not been Robert Frost’s problem. The lucky man. Amazing how tired one could be when all one had managed to do all day was to
not
get blown up. And listened to a lot of people marvel at her not getting blown up.

She wanted to go back to her place, but she wasn’t stupid. If someone did want to kill her then going back there was like saying, “Here I am. Kill me dead this time.” Though that option didn’t seem half bad after getting hugged and exclaimed over by twelve siblings, all of whom paused to cast speculative looks at Logan Ferris. She probably needed to Google some quotes on bravery. He deserved them all for standing—well, sitting fast in the face of Zach’s Baker’s dozen. And Zach.

“So, as long as you know your alphabet—” Ferris murmured in her ear during a break in the…wake seemed sort of apropos.

Hannah nodded. For their sins, they were Alex, Benjamin, Calvin, Daniel, Edward, Frank, Gideon, Hannah, Ingrid, Jillian, Katherine, Laura, and Madeline. Not that this naming scheme had stopped Zach from messing up who was who on a regular basis. Mostly he called the boys “bubba” and the girls, well, his dealings with his daughters had always been complicated. They’d all had a short stint as “baby girl,” but it was Maddy who got stuck with it. Except, apparently, in times of dire stress when it spread to other, older daughters. She made a mental note to remember this rare sign of Zach under stress.

Eventually the sibling storm cleared, leaving Alex who still lived at home—though reluctantly—along with Ben and Frank, who both dealt with organized crime at the NOPD and FBI respectively. Reducing the big brother presence by three did not help as much as she’d hoped.

She looked at Alex. “Don’t you have a date or something?”

This hint that he was surplus to requirements either went over his head or was ignored. Maybe he was still hoping to tear a strip off Ferris. On the positive side, Alex was the only one who had pretended to take her statement. Apparently both Ben and Frank were too big with news to remember that key step. Not that she was sorry, though oddly enough it kind of annoyed her, too. It was possible that—as Zach used to say—she wouldn’t be happy if she were hung with a new rope.

“Rumors are flying about who ordered the hit. Who you blame—St. Cyr, Calvino or one of the Afonikis—depends on who you talk to,” Frank was saying in his grim, FBI voice. “Only thing anyone seems to agree on, Mirabelle St. Cyr was hired for the job.”

Ben frowned. “Car bomb isn’t her usual MO.”

“Well, she wouldn’t want her fingerprints on the hit. They have to know we’ll all hunt them to their grave if they hurt one of ours,” Alex asserted.

“Word is they plan to deal with it…internally,” Frank said, “which could mean war.”

“My money is on Claude going down. No one thinks he has the—”

Zach coughed.

“—the guts for it,” Ben amended hastily.

“I think they underestimate Claude,” Hannah said to Ferris. She angled so she could see him without moving too far away. Alex’s eye had finally quit twitching at the sight of him, which either meant progress or he was as tired as she was. She settled against the couch arm and rested her elbow on a raised knee and her chin in the palm of her hand. “He’s hungry for it.”

“You think he’s behind the bomb?” Ferris asked, moving a strand of hair back off her face. His gaze was warm, maybe more than warm.

She didn’t want to talk about any of the bad guys, but she wasn’t sure she wanted to talk about
them
either, even if all her brothers and her dad weren’t in the room. But she liked the feel of his fingertips brushing against her skin. So, instead of shaking her head, which would break contact, she said, “No, I don’t. I don’t think any of them are behind it.”

His brows arched, so she added, “It doesn’t make any sense for any of them to pi—tick off a bunch of Bakers.” Her tired brain twitched, as if it wanted to connect that thought with something else. She really needed some thinking time. And some sleep.

“X?” he said. “I’ve been digging, but still haven’t uncovered anyone from that time who could have an ax to grind now.”

“One thing that puzzles me,” Hannah said, a bit dreamily, “is why Zafiro didn’t have an heir instead of the three wise geezers. Seems like picking three gung-ho bad guys was a bad idea from the get-go. Was bound to go bad for someone.” Her gaze narrowed. “I’ll bet it was Afoniki who came up with the idea. He’s still the chill one.” And the lone survivor. “And while none of them managed to have a direct heir, they each found a relative to take over.” And that’s one of the questions she forgot to ask Charlie. Did the fake Ken mean anything? Or was that what he meant? That none of them were real heirs to anything they had?

“Maybe he didn’t have a male heir,” Ferris said, his voice a bit on the sleepy side, too. “It happens. Ask Henry the Eighth.”

“Ask him what?” Zach unexpectedly joined the conversation.

“I was wondering why Zafiro didn’t have an heir?” Hannah explained. “Was he ever married?”

“His wife died. In childbirth, I think.” Zach’s face shadowed. “I sort of remember something about some miscarriages.”

“And he never remarried?” Ferris asked.

Calvino had never remarried, but the reason seemed a bit obvious now. He wasn’t sure he could legally remarry, though that was kind of funny to think about. A wise guy worried about legalities. But she bet he did. He’d want kids legal. No questions. Afoniki had never married and St. Cyr had been—what—too afraid to kill his wife?

Zach shook his head. “No. There were women…” He stopped and looked at his daughter.

Hannah tried to look innocent. Probably failed. Then her thoughts drifted on. Would Zafiro have done the same thing? Run off a wife? Or even banished one—and a daughter? In that time, to him, it would have mattered. In places in the world it still did. Henry the Eighth hadn’t started out lopping off heads. He’d just wanted a son. And eventually gotten enough absolute power to keep trying.

Zafiro had power in spades, enough to divide three ways, but not enough to get him that son…

She spoke her last thought, “Even now it’s the boys that get all the goodies.” Did it bother Cinzia Calvino and Mirabelle St. Cyr? “Surely they both left the girls something?”

“They had things set up so there was no probate,” Ferris said. “Guess neither of them liked prying eyes on their stuff even after death.”

Hannah had to ask, “Is Mirabelle really a hit woman?”

Ferris shrugged. “That’s what they say.”

“And the other one, Cinzia, isn’t it?”

“No one is quite sure what her deal is,” Ferris said, “at least not anyone willing to tell me anything.”

Hannah smiled a bit absently. She wished she weren’t under house arrest. She had an itch for some girl talk. She even knew it was kind of whacked to think about it. Particularly with her people skills. But a couple of Mafia princesses weren’t like real people anyway. Did they hang out together or compete? Was there a school for Mafia princesses? She couldn’t do it, of course. It was crazy, but it would be kind of interesting, especially now that she’d met the boys.

The silence finally penetrated Hannah’s thoughts. She looked up. Found all three brothers looking down at her, their brows all raised interrogatively. She looked at Zach. “Those are some powerful genes you passed on.”

That popped his brows up, boosting the likeness through the stratosphere.

“What?” she asked.

Next to her, Ferris choked.

“We want to talk about how to keep you safe,” Alex said.

Not highest ranking, but oldest, so he got to talk first. He was already on the defensive, expecting her to be difficult, she noted. Flattering.

“If I hide out, the killer will just go to ground until we all get tired of me hiding out,” Hannah pointed out. She’d been mulling this problem, too, in between Mafia princesses and unchecked power. While she didn’t mind Ferris guarding her, more than a few hours with her brothers and she’d be begging to get blown up.

“And what was the result of this thinking?” Frank cut in before Alex could.

Was there a bit of sneer in there?

“I could ride along with Alex and—” she had to gulp to get it out. It was the second time she attempted his name, first time in public, but if she didn’t do it, she’d undo everything she may have accomplished with Zach’s help, “Logan on their shift tomorrow. Might be interesting to see the other side of my corpses, so to speak.” And Ferris and Alex wouldn’t be alone together until Alex had time to cool off. Assuming he could.

Alex, Ben and Frank exchanged “Is she crazy?” looks. But before they could say it, Zach spoke.

“I think it’s a good idea.”

Hannah gave him a look. Of course he liked it. Kept him from being tied down at home with her. The crafty old devil. Left him free to sneak off for more Charlie time.

After some grumbling, the brothers agreed to give it a try, if she stayed out of sight during calls. Naturally she hadn’t thought of this herself. And yes, she’d wear a vest. Huge sigh.

“Oh, and Frank?” He turned with justifiable wariness. “Any chance you could get me a look at what you guys have on Zafiro? I mean, he’s old news, right?”

“Why?”

“Curiosity.” Mostly. “It’s an idea I have about those sheets of code,” she added. She knew which of his buttons to push.

He didn’t look happy, but he nodded. “I’ll see what I can do.”

“Tomorrow? So I’ll have something to read while I’m riding around?”

“I’ll see what I can do,” he repeated.

“I better get moving,” Ferris said, giving her an apologetic look, “or I’ll be too tired to ride around.”

“I’ll walk you out,” Hannah said, getting up with him. Alex’s mouth opened and she held up a hand, “Don’t say it, or I’ll dog you and Nell for the next year. And you know I know how.”