Dead Spaces: The Big Uneasy 2.0 (18 page)

His mouth snapped shut.

“I won’t let her go outside,” Ferris said.

Not that it helped, but it was a good try. “He’ll cool off eventually,” Hannah said, leaning against the wall by the back door. She was too tired to parse anything, so hoped he wouldn’t go all “we need to talk” on her.

He didn’t.

“I’ll see you tomorrow,” he said. The kiss was brief, but very nice. She waited until she heard his engine fire and then headed through the kitchen and living room without stopping, except to kiss Zach on the cheek. They were her brothers, not her keepers. It might have depressed her to be back in the room she’d shared with her sisters, but she’d lost the ability to feel anything halfway through the living room. She’d walked the miles, even without a wood, and now she got to sleep.

T
hough she’d rather expected
it, Cinzia was still surprised when Aleksi Afoniki let her in. And not just in the house. She was ushered into his bedroom. Granted, he held a weapon and pointed it at her, but that was just common sense, even though she’d been patted down by his staff. Twice.

She held her hands up. “I can keep them up if that would make you feel better.”

Something that might have been a grin twisted his ravaged face. It wouldn’t be long. She guessed that he held on by sheer will. He gestured to a chair pulled close—but not too close—to his massive four-poster bed. She sank into it, with just a hint of sexual provocation. He couldn’t and she wouldn’t, but it was a sign of respect. And a gleam in his eyes told her he got it. Slowly, carefully, she lowered her arms to the chair sides, keeping them in clear sight. She hadn’t come to kill him, but he wouldn’t know that.

“Well?”

She found she couldn’t start, not with her hands gripping the chair arms. “It’s oddly hard for me to talk without my hands. I am Italian. If I keep them in sight, may I?”

His chuckle set off a paroxysm of coughing.

“Shall I get you help?”

He gestured toward the glass of water, and she jumped up, held it to his lips until the coughing eased. She made no effort to take the gun, though she could have. Besides, it was not the gun she wanted. When he was calm again, she retreated to her chair.

“Well?” he asked again.

She didn’t need her hands after all. Her lips curved into a smile she knew was sexy, provocative and confiding.

“I’ve come to ask you for your ring, Aleksi.”

“Ask?” he said with a scoffing sound that almost made him start coughing again.

“Yes, ask.” She paused to let him see the deep sincerity in her eyes. She knew, it was a new look for them both. “Whoever killed Bett and Phin was after their rings. You know what that means. If you give it to me…”

She shrugged, well aware it made her breasts move interestingly. Though not enough to kill him. She wanted him alive when she left. Besides, he was smart enough to read the writing on the wall.

“And what does it mean?” he asked, as if stalling for time to think.

“Why, not just check, but checkmate. And so much frustration for someone.”

“How do I know you don’t already have the other two? That it was not you who killed Bett?”

“Well, you don’t, I suppose. Except, if I had, you’d already be dead. I’m asking, not taking.”

“Who told you?”

“A…reliable source who also desires a checkmate. And no I didn’t kill him either.”

“He is dead?” The heavy brows creased.

“I fear if not already, then soon. This enemy—no, he didn’t tell me who—is quite determined.” She smiled again. “But I think they might, just possibly forget to watch a…pawn?”

That pleased him, though she felt the sting of the self label.

“Bett underestimated you.” And then, “Dimitri could do worse.”

“And I could do…better.” He’d had his chance. She couldn’t become another Helenne pining for a man who didn’t want her. “I’m not Helenne,” she said, just in case he didn’t get the point.

His smile almost…almost…made him look human. He tugged at the ring, then thrust his hand toward her. “Take it.”

D
unstead shut
off his phone and tossed it on the bed beside him. Looked glumly around the shabby room of the crappy hotel, cut lose a string of curses. He was tired of living like this, tired of doing the dirty work for folks who lived better’n him. Take that old broad, living in that fancy house, giving him orders like she knew what to do. Bet money she was using television to plan her moves. She was as whacked as her ideas.

Couldn’t believe she bought his line about how killin’ a Baker would launch this mafia war she wanted so bad. She’d made his payback so easy. He frowned. Why? That was question bugging him. Why would she want it, need it so bad? Lady like that? Had nothing to do with any of ‘em. Had money or she couldn’t afford him. Nice house. Fancy car with someone to drive her around. What was her beef? Had one of ‘em killed her old man? If he was a betting man, which he was, he’d bet she wasn’t that sad her old man was gone. Seemed to like mourning, draping herself with black like that and dabbing at tears she weren’t shedding.

Funeral was tomorrow. Maybe he’d pay his respects. She’d hate that, but weren’t nothing she could do bout it. And, meantime, maybe he’d snoop around some. He’d always liked secrets, knowing ‘em and—if the price wasn’t right—sharing ‘em. And he knew who would be very interested in knowing who was trying to gin up a war. Just a matter of deciding who’d be most interested. Almost, almost he was willing to give it to them all.

Old broad was smug, so sure she was in charge. Be interesting to see how she handled them coming after her. Maybe his old man was kinda right, about loyalty—at least sometimes, for the right price—

He frowned. Now why did thinking about his old man give him the itch? He didn’t like thinking about him but made himself do it. This once.

“They’re lucky, boy, real lucky that Zafiro don’t got no one to avenge him. Now there was a man who knew how to reward those with him and get those not.”

Dunstead shook his head angrily. Zafiro was long dead and so was his old man, but it was uncommon weird to be thinking ‘bout him now. Almost made him feel bad, thinking about going to the wise boys, but his old man also used to tell him you worked with what ya got.

Well, what he had was the right to change the deal to one better for himself. The doc would be on guard and so would a passel of Bakers. Only what if they was looking the wrong way? Protecting the wrong person?

H
annah wasn’t
sure whether she felt relieved or disappointed that her ride-along wouldn’t be in a squad car. Zach had been out of a squad by the time she was born, so she’d never actually ridden in one. Though she had sat in one the other day, but that wasn’t exactly the same thing as racing through the streets with the siren blaring and the lights flashing. She’d always wanted to ride in a fire engine, too. And a real train. And a helicopter—

“Are you getting in or not?” Alex’s voice broke in.

Distracted from what was shaping up to be a sort of bucket list, Hannah studied him for a moment before answering. There were signs he’d gotten some sleep, too. His frustration level was down to mildly annoyed, and he’d only grunted at Ferris when he showed up with their wheels.

“I’m getting in,” she said, suiting action to words. She snapped her seatbelt and then allowed her gaze to connect with Ferris’ in the rear view mirror. He looked slightly less rested than Alex and broke eye contact as Alex slid behind the wheel. It was possible he had buyer’s remorse. Getting out of a relationship with a Baker might be as hard, or harder, than getting into one. She’d observed, on more than one occasion, that her brothers lost almost all reason and accountability where their sisters were concerned. It was sweet but death to her social life. Of course, so was working in the morgue, without the sweet part. On the other hand, the morgue paid her bills, something her brothers did not.

“Frank left you a file,” Ferris said. “It’s there on the seat.” He flashed her a quick smile, then faced forward again.

“Thanks.” It couldn’t be the complete file. Frank must have taken out, or not copied, the gruesome stuff. That was also sweet, and she didn’t really mind. If she still had a job at the end of her sudden leave, then there’d be plenty of gruesome waiting for her. She was more interested in the photos and personal details anyway. Not that she could have explained to anyone what it was she hoped to find. It was a feeling that didn’t even deserve to be called a gut instinct yet. Maybe never would. There were notes about the wife and miscarriages. Most interesting part, though, was that she’d disappeared, not died in childbirth, after the baby died. How had the rumor got started? She turned back to the photos. They were old, but still better than the ones Ferris had gotten for her. His frontal and mandible were very Slavic, more so as he aged, she noted.

Felt that twitch. Frustrating she couldn’t seem to connect any dots. An autopsy could be frustrating, but it was still—mostly—about a single body. This was like having a jumble of bodies and trying to match legs and heads to the right torsos.

She leaned back and tried to mentally mind map, letting the ideas float around and possibly connect on their own, but Alex’s voice cut into her drifting thoughts.

“Any sign of unusual interest in us?”

Hannah looked at Alex, then at Ferris. Realized that Ferris was scanning, discreetly, but definitely scanning for interest ahead, to the sides and behind.

“Nothing yet.”

She hated this. It didn’t even make crazy sense. Was that her problem? Too logical? She sorted the crazy stuff out of the more logical actions and studied them. Inside her own head she could look her own crazy ideas in the eye without flinching. No one could see them but her. So in addition to the very weird attempt to blow her up, she had…

The bizarre attempt to
not
kill Guido Calvino.

The execution of the four boys who had failed to
not
kill Guido Calvino.

Two missing wives, one of whom was definitely not dead. The other who probably was but might have left behind a child?

The problem was, she could postulate a living heir for Zafiro and even make the case for this heir seeking revenge against the three wise geezers, but she couldn’t figure out how that person learned they
were
the heir. No one in this file or in her world seemed to believe there was one.

Okay, it was possible that Zafiro also knew his wife wasn’t dead, so why not seek out his heir—the baby was a girl? That girl could have had had a son, but by then Zafiro was probably dead. And everyone—even the cops—agreed he’d planned for one of the wise geezers to take over his empire. So he’d…given up on a male heir?

The rings? Supposing there was a lost heir, the “X” she and Ferris had been postulating. Why the rings? Zafiro made them first. Was there another message associated with the three rings? But again, how would an heir find out? And why now?

Okay, she had a sort of idea about that. Zafiro had expected one of the wise boys to take over. What if there was some sort of trigger in place for when that person died? But that brought her back to how had X found out?

The radio came to life, changing their direction, from squad headquarters to crime scene. When Alex heard the name, he exchanged a look with Ferris and then said, “Repeat the vic’s name please?” It didn’t change, so he shook his head.

“Who is Raymond Leblanc?” Hannah asked.

“If it’s who I think it is,” Alex amended, “he’s only
the
lawyer to the mob.”

Hannah opened her mouth. Closed it. Pulled out her phone and Googled him. He wasn’t just the lawyer to the mob, he was the main guy in the firm, the oldest living. Until now. And, according to their website, the firm went back. Way back. Way, way back. She grabbed the file, and there it was.

Leblanc and Fontenot.

Less partners back then, but fewer bad guys to manage. And a possible path to knowledge for an X. It was an interesting thesis. Felt right, but had one big problem. Not an inch of proof or an inkling of who.

Okay, that was two problems, but who was counting?

S
he was not
, Cinzia believed, easy to shock. But old Leblanc’s envelope had been, yeah, shocking was the only word for it. And, she was rather surprised she’d got out of Afoniki’s place alive. If Dimitri had known, she wouldn’t have. But she’d made sure he was out before she paid her call. Of course, he’d learn she visited, but the why? Well, that was up to the old man whether he told Dimitri or not. She had a feeling he’d keep his ring hand hidden until he couldn’t.

And if he died in his bed, would Dimitri remember and put it together? Depended on how long it took. She shrugged. What would be, would be. Always had. Always would. Until it wasn’t anymore.

Securing the ring was all Leblanc had asked her to do, though he must have known he’d told her enough to make her hungry for more. She was a Calvino, after all, even if she was a girl. A Calvino with a measure of honor. She’d put a guard on Leblanc’s family. He hadn’t gone home last night, but his death—if he was dead—hadn’t been reported yet. She felt a little sad for him, a little amazed for her—and yes, a little annoyed at what he’d unleashed on them all. It was, perhaps, a good thing he was dead. Because if she’d known what was in that envelope?

She would not have left the lawyer’s office without a name.

No name. No description. Didn’t know if it was a man or woman.

And yet, maybe Cinzia did know it was a woman. Bett would not have feared a woman. He’d been a chauvinist to the end. Yes, it had to be a woman. That was the only thing that explained Bett’s far-too-easy execution.

Both Leblanc and Afoniki had been certain they were going to die. But without the last ring, the woman would not get anything else. According to the information from Leblanc, this Zafiro heir needed all three rings to unlock the whatever it was that would deliver the empire back to the heir. As Leblanc had written, it was a checkmate as long as she never learned who did have the third ring. It was possible that Aleksi would spill it, but she’d told him just enough to make him dig in his heels. No, he wouldn’t tell. And in time, this enemy would have to appear and act. Or give up.

Cinzia could have gotten the other rings—with the name—which is why Leblanc had withheld it. He wanted the status quo to return. For his firm. For his family. Of course, she couldn’t appear in the office to claim the prize without some explaining, so perhaps Leblanc had been wiser than she first thought.

She frowned, staring into space without seeing the opulent bedroom that was not truly hers in this house that was now Guido’s. Perhaps she could achieve much the same result without the other rings? Was that why Leblanc had mentioned that Afoniki, her uncle Bett and St. Cyr had added to the ring’s engravings? It might just be a “little something” for her trouble. Or it could be more. It did make a girl think. Nor did she plan to stop looking for the other rings. Because everything had a solution, if one thought long enough.

It wasn’t that she disliked her cousin. Guido wasn’t bad for what he was. But she was rather tired of being seen as someone who only brought her ability to marry someone powerful—even someone as yummy as Dimitri—to the family equation. And no, wouldn’t touch Claude with a barge pole, thank you very much.

One couldn’t lobby for female equality with a bunch of, well, murderers and thieves.

But if one’s timing were right, one might, just might be able to teach them about girl power by other means.

D
imitri felt
it oddly appropriate that they’d chosen to meet by one of the recently exhumed crypts. The Calvino one, of course, since he was meeting Guido. Since they were likely plotting against Claude, it wouldn’t be wise to meet by the St. Cyr crypt. Enough of a risk asking for the meeting, but the one thing Dimitri was good at, it was feeling the cold wind of trouble approaching. He did not know if Claude had that skill, did not care, but Guido, well, in an odd way they’d grown up—not next to each other—but parallel. Like shooting stars moving at the same pace and on the same trajectory.

Perhaps it was the strange, and life-long, balancing act of Bett and Aleksi that had formed their almost friendly rivalry. Neither knew exactly what they—or the other—would do when the final curtain went down, but for now, a living Aleksi held them both in check. This might be the last time such a meeting could take place if the surprisingly effective assassin of Bett struck one last time.

Dimitri noted that Guido brought more bodyguards than usual this time but, like him, had to take the last steps without them. What was said here was for their ears only. And the bodyguards were more for what might be out there. Neither was fool enough to start shooting within sight of their guys.

It was quiet, hot and as musty as he remembered, though minus the smell of gun powder. Guido stopped a few feet away. There was trust and there was
trust.
Neither of them ever had
trust.
He knew Guido well enough to know he wouldn’t start the conversation. Someone, probably Bett, had told him there was power in silence.

“Do you think it’s Claude?” he asked.

Guido didn’t complain about the lack of greeting. Just shook his head. “Doesn’t feel like him.”

Dimitri nodded at this. “Someone new?”

He half nodded, but with a grimace. “Feels off though.”

“Random. Disconnected. With the occasional flash of competence.” That sounded better than successful, since the “bright” moment seemed to be Bett’s killing.

“How is Aleksi?” Guido’s expression didn’t change.

“Watching his flank.” And every other approach angle. He hadn’t seen him for days. No fear from the old man, but definitely a sense of waiting.

“How can someone be so good and so bad?”

Dimitri shrugged. One of his men signaled. After a nod from Guido, he let the man approach. What he whispered sent his brows shooting up. He sent the man back to his place before saying, “Raymond Leblanc’s been murdered.”

Guido stilled, like an animal scenting danger. Like Dimitri, he knew there was only one reason they could think of for silencing the old man.