Fool's Gold: A Kisses and Crimes Novel (22 page)

It lands with a deafening rumble across the floor.

His voice is the most terrifying thing I’ve ever heard.

“Daniiiiii,” he sings. “Oh, Dani, but you are a pistol.”

“I couldn’t have planned taking down Gafanelli and Bishop any more perfectly. The raid was a success. Your father’s not getting out of here alive… And now I’ll be the most decorated man in the bureau for setting up this little ambush and shooting down two corrupt birds with one big ass stone.”

He pauses, affecting a grandiose tone.

“
The conception,”
he yells loudly,
“of rapid violent and passing love affairs appealed to my imagination. I was not at the age when fidelity is attractive. I knew very little about love.’
”

He laughs, and it is a melodic sound that is so normal, so
seemingly natural
, that it frightens the
shit out of me
.

He just shot a man… and yet he’s quoting passages from the Romance novel “Hello Sadness” I’d been reading as if this were a “buddy book hour.”

His gait is slow. His enunciation is fluid.

And he talks to me with a tenor I have become accustomed to. Each word is laced with a simple phonetic silk.

Delaney.

Despite his madness, his obvious fucking unhinging, his unique charm is still intact. He speaks to me as if it were a regular day.

As if we were having coffee.

As if he doesn’t actually want to send hot lead sailing through my body.

He laughs again.

“Sorry to interrupt your
violent, passionate
love affair, Dani. But crooks, mobsters and traitors like you and Bishop don’t get happy endings, didn’t you know?”

His words sicken me. He “tsk, tsk, tsk’s” from several feet over.

“If only your boyfriend had done his fucking job and killed your crooked fuck of a father…”

He stops, his footsteps turning and heading in a different direction.

“Then Fletcher’s men wouldn’t have tried to kill you. I would have gotten a
nice
big bonus, and your mobster dad could have rotted away in prison, like he was supposed to.”

His voice hovers nearby and it sends a chill up the base of my neck. Knees shaking, fingertips tingling, I force my trembling extremities to drag the rest of my body over to another table.

I check between the bookshelves, looking each way. His voice gives me no clue as to where he is.

It echoes, bouncing off every rack and wall within fifty feet.

With only a vague direction in mind and no goddamned certainty, I peek around another table before crawling quietly past it.

The word “afraid” doesn’t begin to describe how I feel.

I am literally choking on my own terror, and I struggle with every breath to swallow around the heart that’s jumped inside of my throat.

I’m going to die. And it’s going to be alone.

I think of Bishop. And I pray to God that somehow he knows how much I love him.

I hear Delaney turn another corner.

“It’s a shame, really, Dani,” he calls out. “I really wanted this to work out. I spent
years
molding Bishop, training him. His bottom-scraping parents couldn’t have done a better job, and you two should have been
thanking
me for turning those cretins into the mafia.”

He sniffs.

“Bishop was the perfect protégé to add to our side. And your dad got to walk away scot-free.”

He chuckles.

And then lightning slices into the air.

The crack of a thunderous shot splits through the chamber, making me cry out. The shot is closer than I expected, and the minute my voice sounds, I know I’ve made a mistake.

Frantic footsteps quicken in my direction, and I run… just as Delaney turns towards the tiny aisle of tables in which I sit.

He shoots again, sending a bullet barreling through the wood by my head, and my scream attaches itself to the sound of the gunshot.

A decorative tabletop swan explodes like confetti, turning my path into a gruesome parade, and I run through it, dodging, as gunshots whiz overhead like fireworks, exploding my world into a million sounds and colors.

I reach the far corner of the room, catching the sight of the ugly double front doors… when a hot poker sticks its way through my lower calf.

And I am sent crashing towards the carpet.

Airborne, my hands windmill as my elbow hits first, slamming into the carpet below, skidding as I slide over the thick fabric underneath.

My body tumbles to a halt, slamming into a perpendicular chair before stopping completely.

A silent second passes, maybe two, and I groan, grabbing for my leg… The sight of blood soaking the back of my calf sends my senses into shock.

I’d cry… but I don’t have a breath left to give.

I gasp out a choked sob.

And then I hear the sounds of his soles…

From this vantage point, they feel like thunder. The ground shakes with every thud, and I hear the cocking of his pistol, a clicking sound that’s almost as awful as the sound of the shots.

A shot rings out, and I don’t even have the will to look up.

When the footsteps land at eye-level, I don’t even raise my gaze. With my last ounce of will, I decide to strike, choreographing a move that will go directly between the insides of Delaney’s leg.

I flex my fingers, and as I look up at him, Delaney’s eyes turn even icier blue.

In fact, they’re so icy… it’s as if they’re not even his.

I guess because they’re not.

They belong to my father.

And the barrel of his gun—the one abandoned by the now unconscious cop—swings overhead as he stares down at me.

I look past him and see Delaney’s body splayed along the hotel carpeting. His eyes are wide. There’s a bullet hole lying right between his blanked, darkened blue irises.

I stare up at my dad’s own blue irises, halfway expecting to receive
mine
next.

And instead I receive an extended hand.

Grabbing my trembling fingers, he slips his solid arms beneath mine to support my entire weight.

My name is a sigh of relief on his lips when he places me cautiously back on my hurting feet.

“Dani…” He looks into my eyes. “I almost thought I was too fucking late.”

I laugh nervously. “Thank God you weren’t. That was one helluva shot…”

I hesitate.

“…
Dad
.”

He smiles.

“Don’t thank me,” he shakes his head. “Thank the man who
took
the shot.”

I almost didn’t notice him. I look to my dad’s left. and there he is…

My dark knight.

His tuxedo blood-stained, his beautiful face masking his obvious pain, he looks at me with adoration in his golden eyes, and grins.

A bullet-hole visible above the lapel of his jacket, I can tell he’s taken another shot to the shoulder,
rendering shrugging completely useless
, and I have to resist the urge to run to him.

Because he and I are still in danger.

The dread I feel for him has not subsided.

I came here to make amends between him and my father. And now…
I don’t think I’ll ever get the chance
.

I look back into my father’s steely irises and fear the worst.

And suddenly, the door bursts open.

Bishop balks.

“
Jax!”

“What are you two standing around for?” he wheezes out of breath in his well-tailored black suit. “I got my own exit.”

He storms into the room.

“Let’s get the fuck out!”

Bishop starts to walk to him and falters. He places a hand on his hurt shoulder, and Jax rushes in to help, supporting him with his large broad shoulders.

Bishop looks at me expectedly, and as I stare at the love of my life, I feel this inexplicable need to tell him
right now
.

I’m too emotional to say the words.

His hazel eyes are hazy, glassy with unshed tears, and so are mine, when I mouth those three little words.

“
I love you
,” I tell him.

And at that moment I release that last syllable, I pick up something in my ear I never expected to hear.

“Go,” my father whispers in my ear. “
Go to your husband
. Don’t worry about me, Dani…”

He gives me a meaningful look.

“You’ll never have to worry about me
again
, sweetheart.”

And I realize that this is his wedding present.

He knows. He must know everything.

He’s essentially telling me that he won’t pursue us, that he’ll never think to bother us again. But it also means that I’ll probably never see him again… and I weep for the Dani I used to be.

A lone tear drops from my eye.

I throw my arms around the man I used to know.

“I love you, daddy.”

“And I, you, Daniela.”

And with that, he lets me go.

The final vision I have of my father is standing alone in a now tattered, small, empty Regency ballroom. His hair is dark. His shaved face is bare.

And there’s a hint of pride in his stalwart stare.

I watch him,
watching
me, until the double door finally closes on our steady glare.

I grab onto one of Jax’s shoulders.

“
Jesus, Mary and Joseph
,” he exhales, supporting an injured Bishop and me. “I’ve got the two of you, hobbling, on each shoulder.”

He looks between the both of us.

“What is this,
the Special Olympics version of The Godfather
?”

Bishop grunts, stifling a laugh.

“Just get us out of here, Reed.”

“You’ve got it,” he says, leading us to a secret staircase. “You have no
idea
how many Fed favors I had to call in for this one. You two fucking owe me.”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah,” Bishop groans. “Put it on my tab.”

Five flights of stairs, under the radar of a million uniformed men, we make it out of the Regency hotel alive.

Barely
.

An idling black town car waits for us on the edge of a cordoned off side street and the three of us literally hop in. We fall all over ourselves, bleeding and groaning and grunting as we shut ourselves in.

We fasten our seatbelts, if we can, and finally looks towards our silent driver.

One of the last people I expected to see.

“Pain in the as—
Penelope?
” Bishop stops short.

“Oh, great,” she groans from the front seat. “More
awful
‘P’ nicknames. First, ‘Penis.’ Now,
this
.”

She puts the car in Drive.

“You’re lucky I was back in New York when I got your call.”

She grips the steering wheel with two hands.

“Now, buckle up, you band of miscreants.
Our next stop
… is fucking Hong Kong.”

“Or a clinic… preferably in
the next state
,” I pipe in.

And with that, we leave with New York City in our rearview mirror.

But I keep a piece of it with me—in my heart—always.

I keep Penelope and Jackson, my childhood, and
most
of my memories.

And I keep the most important thing in the world…

Me.

And every time I forget what matters, every time I think I may overlook who I am, I look back at Bishop’s note.

The one he wrote to me. The one he tried to keep me from seeing in Paris.

The one I stole
from him
…
even though he doesn’t know it.

I’d like to think of myself as “
keepsaking
” the note as opposed to stealing it.

I
keep
it for my
sake
.

I keep it for the sake of a love that has rescued me.

A love that has rescued the person I was
and
the person I’m becoming.

The
wife
I’m becoming.

The
woman
I’m becoming…