The Betrayal (35 page)

“What the fuck have you given her?” he yelled for the second time. Charlie merely smiled. Spying the officer’s gun, Declan snatched it out of the man’s holster and held it against Charlie’s temple.

“I want to know what you fucking gave her!
Answer
me!”

He waited a second…two. Charlie opened his mouth and then paused. Declan cocked the trigger.

“Okay, okay, put the gun down,” Charlie said. “I only gave her insulin.”

The medical staff immediately went into action. “I need blood glucose and insulin levels taken
stat
. Get me fifty milliliters of 50 percent dextrose bolus. We’ll administer it intravenously and thereafter run a 5 percent dextrose infusion. Do we still have a cannula
in situ
?” the doctor asked.

“Yes,” a nurse replied, while another one hurried out to do the doctor’s bidding.

“Good, if we’re going to have any hope of avoiding irreversible brain damage, we need to get that dextrose running ASAP.”

In a blur of noise and movement, fear clutched at Declan’s heart. He made a sound of distress low in his throat. The doctor’s gaze swung over to where Declan stood near the doorway.

“Someone get those men out of here.”

All of a sudden, hands were pushing him out of the room. He stumbled through the doorway, followed closely by Charlie and the officer.

The sound of the shouted orders that reached him from inside Chloe’s room as the team worked over her echoed right down to Declan’s soul. Fear and panic overwhelmed him and liquefied his limbs. He slowly collapsed to the floor.

* * *

Watching her husband bring his press conference to an end, Nellie Sabattini turned off the television and made her way upstairs. With movements that were calm and controlled, she removed her makeup, brushed her teeth and applied her night cream, just like she always did. Slipping into her favorite black satin and lace nightdress, she smoothed it over her still-lithe form and enjoyed the feel of its whisper-softness against her skin.

Despite her age, she’d worked hard to maintain her figure. Even after giving birth to Maria, she’d quickly regained her petite shape with a strict diet and a mountain of rigorous exercise.

Maria. Her baby.
The one thing in her life that mattered.

For years, she’d been unaware that for most married couples, having sex once or twice a month was unusual. She’d been raised in a strict Italian family and was a good Catholic girl. Ronald Sabattini had taken her virginity on their wedding night. It never occurred to her to question the frequency of their couplings.

Once or twice a month soon extended to once or twice every six months. It seemed hardly any time at all had passed and they were lucky to have sex a couple of times a year.

After ten years of marriage, she finally found the courage to talk to her mother about her sex life, or lack thereof. Whilst her mother had expressed surprise, she’d been quick to assure Nellie that all men were different and had urged her to try harder to entice him to her bed.

Nellie had taken the advice to heart. For the next five years, she’d tried everything she could think of to attract her husband’s interest. She read books on sexual positions she wouldn’t even have imagined doing. She bought lingerie, perfume and videos. Nothing worked.

Finally, in desperation, she talked to him. She begged him to tell her what was wrong with her. Why, no matter what she did, he failed to find her desirable.

It was then that he’d told her.

Her marriage was a sham.

Unable to bear the shame of it, Nellie knew she had to hold her head high and soldier on. After all, what else was she to do? Explain to her friends and family that her husband was gay? That he’d been gay all his life?

She’d railed at him, screamed at him, begged him to tell her why he’d married her and he’d shouted back, tears streaming down his face, that he was a good Italian boy from a good Italian family. A family that went to Mass every Sunday of the year and twice on Christmas Day. “Coming out” simply wasn’t an option.

Eventually, they’d called a truce. Nellie had agreed to go along with the subterfuge if he would give her a baby. At thirty-nine, it was never going to be easy and she struggled with the idea of Ronald being able to do what was necessary.

He struggled, too.

A month after she’d suggested it, he came to her with a proposition. There was a clinic in Sydney that specialized in IVF. Would she be interested in having them assist her to get pregnant?

Overjoyed at the prospect that her dream might soon be realized, they attended the clinic and followed the doctor’s instructions. Her age was a disadvantage, but the fact that there was no physical reason she couldn’t carry a baby to term was in their favor. It worked on the second attempt. Her only regret was that she’d left it so late to start.

The night Maria was born was the happiest of her life. The tiny fingers, the delicate hands, the mop of curly, black hair. Everything about her baby was perfect. She fell in love with her daughter and stayed that way. Maria had been the reason she stayed. For forty-two years, she’d stayed.

She’d stayed by his side. She’d stayed in his house. She’d stayed silent…

But no more… It was over.

He’d crossed a line. Maintaining his cover as a loving husband and father was one thing. The betrayal and murder of innocent people was something else.

She wanted no part of it.

* * *

It was late when Ronald switched the light off in his study and made his way upstairs. The light beneath his wife’s bedroom door had been extinguished and a sigh of relief escaped his lips. He could do without further interrogation tonight. It was their wedding anniversary and he’d promised to take her out to dinner, but with all that had happened and with Chloe in the hospital, it hadn’t worked out.

He continued down the hall to his room. Reaching his bedroom, he pushed open the door and felt his way along the wall for the light switch. Flicking it on, he turned toward the king-sized bed and started in surprise.

“What the hell are you doing in here?”

His wife remained silent and didn’t move from her cross-legged position on his bed. He frowned and looked at her more closely. The lacy negligee barely covered her bountiful breasts. The indefinable expression in her eyes made him nervous.

“This is ridiculous,” he blustered. “You haven’t been in my bedroom for more than twenty years. What do you think you’re doing?”

He strode toward his lavish walk-in closet and shrugged out of his jacket.

“I wouldn’t do that if I were you.”

He turned to face her, another angry retort on his lips. The words died in his mouth. Shock coursed through him.

The gun in Nellie’s hand was steady and pointed directly at his heart.

“W-what are you doing? You can’t be serious.” He loathed the fear in his voice but was powerless to prevent it.

“Forty-two years, Ronald. I gave you forty-two years. And this is how you repay me? This is how you repay my sacrifice? With lies and treachery and deceit and betrayal and such monstrous acts of immorality I can barely even conceive of.”

She climbed off the bed and walked toward him. The hand holding the gun didn’t waver.

“You arranged to have your niece
murdered
. Your own flesh and blood! And for what? So that you could maintain this elaborate façade and continue to fulfil your own selfish needs?”

Panic nipped at the edges of his consciousness. He eased toward the door. She shook her head and Ronald found himself mimicking the action.

“No, Nellie. No. You have it all wrong.”

“I don’t think so, Ronald. For once in my life, I have it absolutely right.”

She stood so close to him, he could see the flecks in her eyes. Her pupils were dilated and her breath came as fast as his. A pulse fluttered in the side of her neck. He did his best to stem the panic that threatened just below the surface.

“Give me the gun, Nellie. Give me the gun.” He stretched out his hand toward her, hating to see how badly it trembled.

She looked at him with disgust and raised the gun. “Happy Anniversary.”

The shot caught him squarely in the chest. Blood bloomed instantly, staining the pristine whiteness of his shirt.

Nellie gaped in shock and turned to gaze in the direction of the doorway. She shrunk back against the bed in fear at the sight of an unfamiliar man.

“W-who? Who are y-you?” she stammered.

* * *

Eric Stoltenberg stared in fascination at the smoke that rose lazily from the end of the pistol. He still couldn’t believe he’d done it. The pounding of footsteps in the hall drew his attention and he watched in bemusement as the room filled with heavily armed police officers, all shouting at once.

Someone knocked him to the ground and he fell hard. The gun was kicked out of his hand. Moments later, his arms were wrenched behind his back and handcuffs bit into his wrists. He watched it all in a daze, almost as if it was happening to someone else. The woman on the bed was hysterical. He wished someone would tell her to be quiet.

His gaze fixed on the Minister, where he lay motionless on the floor. In the noise and confusion, it appeared he’d been forgotten. Eric stared at the man he’d loved and noticed the slightest rise and fall of the Minister’s chest.

Pain tore through him and he gasped at the agony it left in its wake.

He’d failed.

After everything he’d done, after the anguish he’d put himself through. The countless hours he’d debated the best course of action and had at last arrived at a decision…

The proof of his failure lay a few yards away. Despite the hole in the Minister’s chest and the volumes of blood that had pooled beneath him, the man was still alive.

A cry of desolation forced its way up his throat. He opened his mouth to give it life and then he noticed it. A smile broke across his face. He blinked hard and opened his eyes, just to be sure. His smile widened.

The Minister’s chest had stilled.

CHAPTER 33

Chloe struggled to a sitting position and reached for her crutches. More than six weeks had passed since the accident and most of her injuries had healed. The bruises had faded, her shoulder had repaired itself, her ribs had knit.

The only issue she had was with her leg, which was still encased in plaster from thigh to ankle. Whilst the doctors were happy with the way her bones were healing, the compound fracture had been severe and had required multiple screws and pins to hold the damaged bones together. She was still unable to bare weight on it and expected it to be that way for at least another fortnight.

Not that she was complaining. She was lucky to be alive. The police had impounded her little Honda as evidence. When she was finally allowed to inspect it, she’d barely recognized the pile of twisted metal that had once been her car. She was more than aware a few broken bones were a small price to pay.

Chloe made her way into the kitchen of Declan’s apartment and reached for a bowl from the cupboard. Balancing on her crutches, she opened the refrigerator and pulled out the milk. Declan appeared from the direction of the bathroom, naked from the waist up, a towel draped low around his hips. When he spied her, he frowned and hurried toward her.

“What are you doing? I can help you. You shouldn’t be doing that.” He took the bowl and bottle of milk out of her hand and placed them on the counter. Turning back to her, he shook his head.

“I know how frustrating this is for you, sweetheart, not being able to do things for yourself. But, it will only be for a little while longer, I promise. Until then, you need to call on me. I’m more than happy to help.”

Chloe nodded. “I know, but you were in the shower and I was only trying to get breakfast.” Frustration surged through her. “I feel so useless,” she added, hoping he’d understand.

Moving closer, he put his arms around her and drew her against him. She took her weight on her good leg and leaned into him.

“I know. I can’t imagine how exasperated you must feel. I think I would just about go crazy if I was on crutches for that long, but you need to be patient and allow your body to heal, like the doctor said.” He pressed a kiss against her hair, as if to soften his words.

“Easy for you to say,” Chloe grumbled against his naked chest. She breathed in deeply, loving the warm, spicy scent of him. She turned her face slightly and her lips grazed his nipple. She caught his sudden intake of breath.

Feeling naughty, she swiped her tongue over the sensitive nub. His arms tightened around her.

“Chloe.” His voice held a warning.

She looked up at him and smiled, her eyes wide with innocence. “Yes?”

Declan shook his head at her. “Don’t “yes” me. You know exactly what I’m talking about.”

She battered her lashes. “
Do
I?” Her hand stole across his chest and then moved lower to caress the taut muscles of his belly. His skin contracted beneath her fingers. He stumbled a little and leaned back against the counter, his arms still secure around her.

“If you play with fire, you might get burned,” he said.

“
Mm
, I see,” she replied and sent him a smoldering look. “Who knows, it might be worth it?”

She tilted her head back and met his gaze, almost gasping at the desire that burned in their depths. With her weight on her good leg, she reached up and traced the fullness of his lips. His mouth parted on a heavy sigh.

“Chloe…” Again, his voice held a warning.

“
Shh
,” she whispered, sliding a hand from his cheek back down to his chest. “What are you afraid of?”

“You’re still hurt. What if I—?”

She leaned into him and reached up with both hands. Tugging his head down to hers, she murmured against his lips, “You talk too much.”

With that, she kissed him. Lightly at first and then, as he responded to her touch, she increased the pressure. She probed with her tongue and moaned aloud when he opened his mouth and granted her access.

Her hands once again were drawn to his chest and she explored the warmth of his skin. The lightest scattering of chest hair tickled her nose as she pressed her face against him and breathed deeply.