Topaz Heat (Christian Romance) (The Jewel Series) (27 page)

Nothing about his appearance would suggest that he would have the murdering and thieving reputation that he had so rightfully earned. He had a small, lean frame. His once dark hair had gray peppered through it, and he had it combed off his forehead greaser-style. At a glance he just looked like an older man, heavy corduroy coat and thick pants blocking the cold winter wind. But as soon as she met his eyes, she felt very real fear. His light brown eyes pierced right through her.

“I’ve seen pictures of you.”

Gianni Castolli laughed, a short, mean bark. “I bet. Plenty of pictures of my boy, too.”

She could see the family resemblance. She imagined that, had he lived, his son would look very much like the older pictures of this man she’d seen. “Yes.”

He looked her up and down, his eyes penetrating, almost as if they could look straight through her. Sarah felt a shiver shake her, but didn’t know if it was his look or the cold.

“Go,” he said to the driver – the same man who had dragged her out of her house. He didn’t hesitate once the command was given to put the sedan into reverse and back out of the driveway. He sped quickly through the neighborhood and turned in the direction of downtown.

As soon as they were on the main road, Gianni looked at her again. “He killed my boy.”

Sarah blew on her hands, then stuck them into the pockets of her scrubs shirt and almost started crying when she felt the slim lines of her phone. There was no way she could dial a number without looking at the screen, but she could answer it when it rang. Her only fear was that the setting was on ring instead of vibrate. She could only pray that she never changed it after her shift the night she was attacked.

“Who?”

Gianni narrowed his eyes. “You know who. He’s going to pay, though.” He leaned close to her, his nose almost touching hers. “She was a waste of breath. Wouldn’t stand by her old man while I went through the mockery of a trial and the disgrace of prison. Ten years I rotted and never a word from her. Good riddance,” he said, and for the first time Sarah saw the insanity in his eyes. “But my boy, now, he was my light. And he killed him. You’re going to help me fix that.”

Sarah prayed she gave no outward indication when her phone vibrated in her hand. She quickly hit the button to activate the phone. “Mr. Castolli,” she said, “Nothing you do is going to bring your son back.”

Another short bark of a laugh. “He owes me for this.”

Sarah pulled her empty hands out of her pockets, and made a show of rubbing her arms, even though the warmth of the car had started to beat back the cold outside. She kept the phone on. “Where are you taking me?”

Instead of answering her, he sat back and looked out the window. “Oh, he’ll pay all right. He’ll pay what he owes.”

DERRICK
turned onto Sarah’s street and nearly collided with the quickly moving sedan. He ripped the wheel to the right and skidded on a patch of ice, but narrowly avoided hitting the neighbor’s car parked across the street.

Something started tingling in his subconscious when he saw the driver’s sunglass adorned face, but he couldn’t see any other details because of the darkly tinted windows.

Once the sedan was gone, he kept driving and pulled into Sarah’s driveway. Tire marks on the snow had that subconscious tingling move from the back of his neck to grow into nerves in his stomach. He raced up the path and onto the front porch, ignoring the footmarks he saw in the snow.

The door stood partially open, the security chain dangling free, cut. Panicked, he pushed the door open and rushed inside. The house was empty. Every room echoed her name as he called for her. The sight of her purse hanging over her coat on the coat stand made the nervous flutterings in his gut turn into full blown panic fists.

He raced back out the door and pulled his phone out of his pocket. “Please God,” he whispered. She answered the call on the first ring, but didn’t say anything. “Sarah?” He said. “Sarah?”

Her muffled voice carried almost clearly through his speaker. “Mr. Castolli,” she said, “Nothing you do is going to bring your son back.”

He raced his Mustang to the exit of the neighborhood and sat there at the main road, trying to decide which way to turn. Closing his eyes, taking a deep breath, he headed in the direction of downtown, and prayed he’d made the right call. He knew he should call the police, but he couldn’t risk disconnecting her call, so he just prayed for her protection and for his wisdom, and darted the race car through the heavy late afternoon traffic.

At a red light, he ripped open his glove compartment and dug around until he found the hands free device for his phone. He plugged it in as he accelerated and surged the car forward, darting in between cars and gunning the powerful motor, intimidating other drivers into moving out of his way. As soon as he had the earpiece in place in his ear, he pushed a button to activate the recording device on the phone, then dug through his pockets and found the business card Sarah had given him after she’d programmed Beaumont’s number into her own phone. He prayed, fervently, that trusting her instincts was the right call as he sent a text to Beaumont, keeping the call to Sarah’s phone engaged, listening to Gianni talking to her about his son.

THE
driver stopped the car in front of a dilapidated building in Roxbury. Despite being mid-afternoon, the street around them appeared deserted. As Sarah stepped from the car, icy wind blew a flyer for a hip-hop show across her foot and sent a shudder through her body. She looked up at the building and said the name of the street out loud. “I think I used to live near here.”

The driver pulled a heavy key out of his pocket and opened the old door. “Memory lane. It’s a blast.” Gianni grabbed her arm again and half dragged her into the building. The smell in the lobby made her knees weaken slightly. The smell of stale urine and God knew what else battled for the most prominent odor. Ripped carpet, trash, even a dead cat, lay on the empty floor. A broken chair lay against a far wall, and the frame of what was once a couch lay teetered back in front of a built-in desk.

This obviously had once been a hotel of some sort, but Sarah could only imagine the class of clientele based on the decor and the location. Before her ninth birthday, there was no telling how many similar buildings she’d lived in with her mother and her sisters. Now that she could remember her past, having actual memories to remind her of the salvation the Thomas’ gave her made her appreciate them all the more.

The driver kept his glasses on, even in the dim interior of the building. He led the way to the stairwell in the back of the lobby, and Sarah walked between him and Gianni up three flights of precarious stairs. Halfway up the third flight, her foot went through the stair.

“Ouch!” She said loudly. The driver immediately stopped and turned around. Gianni gripped her arm and pushed her forward. “Wait,” she said, “my shoe is caught.”

Her comfortable slip-on nurse’s shoe came off as the driver pulled her forward. “My shoe!” She said.

“You won’t be needing it,” Gianni said as she reached the landing of the fourth floor. Once they opened the access to the floor from the stairwell, she could feel the warmth coming from one of the rooms, spilling into the hallway. The unnamed driver pushed her into the room.

A man stood with his back to the door looking out the far window. He wore a tweed overcoat, leather shoes, but no hat. A kerosene heater sat in the middle of the room. Something about the warmth made the smell worse. Sarah swallowed against a gag reflex as the man turned around.

“I’ve met you here per your request, Gianni, but my reluctance is still very much present.”

She immediately recognized him. She had never met him, but his son could have been carved out of the same mold. Nick Wilson, Senior’s eyes widened when he saw her, then immediately flew to Gianni.

“What is she doing here?”

“She knows all about you. We have to get rid of her.”

“All about me?” He looked at her again and stepped forward. White hair framed a tanned face, ice blue eyes penetrated hers. He stood a full foot taller than her, and as he approached, she resented having to look up at him. “What do you know about me?”

Praying her phone was still engaged, she raised her chin defiantly and started making a few calculated guesses. “I know you’re Detective Nick Wilson’s father. I know you’re the head of one of the wealthiest families in the greater Boston area. I’m guessing that your wealth was accrued through some less than respectable methods, considering your association with Mr. Castolli here.”

Gianni Castolli barked a short laugh. “She’s smart, this one. Told you.”

Wilson reached forward with a hand gloved in brown leather and grabbed Sarah’s chin, forcing her to maintain eye contact. He moved her face back and forth and visually inspected her forehead. “Matty here did a good job on your head.” She could hear the shuffle of the driver’s feet but he didn’t speak. “Obviously, you didn’t get the hint as I intended it.”

Refusing to be intimidated, she kept talking. “Maybe if you hadn’t killed Ginger Castolli, things would have eventually died down.”

“She could tie my Nicky to your boyfriend. All it would take would be some green waved in her face and she would have spouted anything to anyone.” He squeezed her jaw hard enough to bruise before pushing her away. As she lost her balance, she felt Matty take her arm again. “As will you. DiNunzio needs to take the fall for all of it.” He looked at Gianni. “What I don’t understand is what she’s doing here. Matty should have just taken care of her at her place and let her little boyfriend find the body.”

“You killed my boy.”

Wilson raised an eyebrow. “I beg your pardon?”

“You killed my boy then sent me to prison to rot while you took the money I made you and lived high and mighty.”

“So what?” Wilson stepped forward, pushing Sarah aside as he did so. “What are you going to do about it? Threaten me?” He waved a hand at Matty. “Kill them both.”

Gianni pulled the gun out of his pocket and pointed it at Wilson. “Oh no you don’t. This is going to end here.”

IF
Derrick hadn’t had the ear piece in his ear, he would have missed Sarah saying the name of the street. He pulled over and sent Beaumont another text message, and as he did, received one from him. Carefully pushing buttons to keep from disconnecting the call with Sarah, he read Beaumont’s reply to the first message and his immediate reply to the location.

He knew he was only a block away, so he left the Mustang parked and, grabbing a small knife and a screw driver out of his tool box in the trunk, he dashed around a couple of parked cars and into an alley that would take him to the street Sarah mentioned. But it would put him about midway down the street, and he wondered once he got there, which direction to take.

He emerged out of the alley, listening to Wilson’s father greet Sarah and felt strangely sick. This man, who had spent many a night in the New York Viscolli hotel, was obviously a ring leader of Castolli’s empire. But, how had he gone undiscovered? Then it occurred to Derrick. His son had been the one to bust Castolli. And, obviously, Castolli had been promised either money or survival if he kept his mouth shut about Wilson’s part in the syndicate.