Red Carpet Christmas Page 4

  Her son was stirring from his nest on the couch. “I was trying to wait up for you, but I fell asleep.”

  His eyes were droopy, his hair bed-head spiked. The sight warmed Simone, but her chest tightened. “Honey, you don’t have to wait up for me. Worrying is my job.”

  “Dad would have done it.”

  “You have to be at work at six in the morning.”

  Simone was proud of the boy who’d insisted on getting a job to help pay expenses. She’d wanted to refuse to let him do it, but then realized he was growing up and that assuming responsibility would be good for him. He was a busboy for a busy eatery on Clark Street. He worked two weekend morning shifts and two week-night shifts and still had time to do his homework and hang out with his friends. She let him give her half his pay from each check—he’d wanted to give it all to her—and put it into an account for him. She’d told him to spend the rest of the money on himself, but she knew he was hoarding it.

  Drew was so much like David.

  Even though he was Gideon’s son.

  “WHAT TIES do you have to Simone Burke?”

  “Who said I had ties?” Even now Gideon didn’t feel comfortable shedding his disguise and being forthcoming, not even with a member of Team Undercover.

  “Why else would you want to help her?” asked Blade, who leaned against a wall, arms crossed over his broad chest.

  “Maybe I just think Simone is innocent.”

  Team Undercover had gathered in his office shortly after Detective John Logan had arrived. Though he was full of them now. The presence of Logan—former employee of Gideon’s—had raised some questions with the detective in charge of the case, but Logan had covered by saying the owner was a friend and he was there only as an observer.

  Only a few people knew of the team’s existence.

  “C’mon, Gideon,” Cass said. “We’ve all trusted you with our pasts. When are you going to trust us with yours? I sensed the connection.”

  Gideon shrugged, unwilling to spill all. “You always sense connections.”

  “Only when they’re real. How long have you known Simone Burke? When I introduced you, the air between you was so thick I could cut it.”

  “Simple attraction.”

  “Not so simple,” Cass countered.

  “Let’s say it is.”

  Gideon could tell Cass wanted to argue with him, but for once she backed down.

  Cass sighed and said, “All right. Simone Burke is no murderer—that much I know.”

  “And that’s all anyone has to know.”

  “Then who did murder Cecchi?” Gabe asked.

  “The question Team Undercover is going to answer,” Gideon said.

  But there wasn’t much they could do until he got Simone’s approval.

  A BLANKET OF SNOW drifted down from the night sky. His thoughts filled with Simone, he drove home from the basketball game. He’d wanted to be with her, but she’d said not tonight. She’d acted as if she’d had something important on her mind. She’d even said she needed to talk to him privately, but in the end she’d clammed up. Not enough time, she’d said after checking her watch. She’d kissed him hard and fast and had been out of the car before he’d been able to get his hands on her.

  So he wondered all the way home: was she finally going to tell him that she was ready for a permanent commitment?

  If his buddies knew how much he wanted to hear those words pass her lips, they would laugh at him. Love is for fools. Get what you can and go on to the next girl. That’s what they would say.

  He shook his head. He didn’t want another girl. Simone was the only one for him.

  But what if it wasn’t that? What if she wanted to tell him something he didn’t want to hear? Like they couldn’t go on seeing one another?

  Chest tight, stomach knotted, he worried she might break up to try to be noble. In the process of applying to colleges, he was dragging his heels, and she knew it. He didn’t want to leave Chicago, not if it meant being separated from the girl he loved.

  He turned down his street, tight with white-shrouded cars, near-impassable with snow that hadn’t yet been plowed or salted. No parking on the Gold Coast. Big surprise. Luckily his family had an old carriage house out back big enough for three cars.

  He saw a car—one he didn’t recognize—sitting in front of his garage. The motor was running, but it wasn’t moving.

  He remained at the mouth of the alley, waiting. If the other car was stuck, that was it. He’d have to back out and find some other place to park.

  Even as he thought it, he saw movement. He wiped the inside of the foggy windshield for a clearer view and realized his father was out there by the garage talking with another man in an overcoat and wide-brimmed hat. The man turned his head slightly and his dark-framed glasses caught the light.

  Richard DeNali. What was Simone’s father doing here?

  Joey gripped the steering wheel and wondered if he should back out of the alley. What if they had business? Pop kept business and family separate. No bodyguards, though. Maybe the business was personal. Him and Simone.

  What if that’s what she’d been trying to tell him—that her father was doing something to stop them from seeing each other? Their fathers had been rivals for years.

  He began to sweat, but decided he wouldn’t run away like some kid. At seventeen, he was a man and would take responsibility for his actions. And for his future.

  Before he could get out of the car, a blue flash startled him and froze him to his seat. Another flash. No sound. His father swayed forward and fell into the snow. Still holding his gun, DeNali put a cigarette in his mouth and lit it one-handed before getting into the dark sedan.

  Heart pounding, Joey threw open the door and lunged out. “Pop!” he yelled, his feet chunking into the drift, then slipping and sliding on the ice beneath the new snow.

  The dark car pulled down the alley.

  His eyes flicked to the license plate—RDN 1—before he dropped to the ground next to his father who lay still on his side, a pool of blood making a widening circle in the snow.

  “Pop!” he cried as he turned his father onto his back. His father had been shot in the gut and the chest. “Can you hear me? Please say you can hear me!”

  His father’s eyes opened and slowly focused. “Joey…”

  “I’ll get help, Pop, I’ll get someone.”

  But his father gripped his wrist to stop him. Rather than getting to his feet, Joey slid an arm under the broad back and lifted. His father coughed. Dark fluid bubbled up from stiff lips.

  He rocked his father against him, crying, “What, Pop? What is it?”

  “DeNali…”

  And then his father went limp with a sigh.

  “Pop, no!” he cried. “Help! Mario! Dominick! I need help!”

  Sounds assaulted him—a door opening, voices, a scream—as he continued rocking his father, knowing it was already too late.

  Gideon awoke in a sweat and cursed.

  He hadn’t had the nightmare in years. All it had taken was contact with Simone to bring it all back.

  Rising naked from the bed, he moved to the windows and looked out. Fresh snow blanketed the area. This night was so like that one long ago.

  What had Simone meant to tell him before leaving the car? Had she known her father meant to kill his?

  He’d never been able to ask her. She’d refused to see him and then had simply disappeared.

  But if she had known…

  Gideon’s chest tightened.

  Another question that needed answering.

  Chapter Four

  The lion roared from his perch on one of the heated rocks in the yard outside the Lion House.

  Simone wondered if he was expressing his approval of the million holiday lights illuminating the zoo or if he was protesting the lateness of the hour and the gathering crowd. For several weeks between Thanksgiving and New Year’s Day, the Lincoln Park Zoo was open at night, offering special activities for the h
olidays. The evening’s entertainment was just beginning. Loudspeakers blared Christmas music, with intermittent announcements about various family activities.

  Brushing the snowflakes from the sleeve of her deep green coat, Simone checked her watch and wondered again why Gideon had insisted on seeing her today. As soon as possible. Having tried to put out of mind what had happened the night before—including her run-in with a man she never thought she’d see again—she’d spent as normal a day as possible, which meant meeting with other members of the Women’s Board of the Chicago Philanthropic Club here this afternoon as scheduled. She’d tried to use that as an excuse as to why she couldn’t meet with Gideon. He’d circumvented her by insisting he would simply come to her.

  Despite the boisterous guests and the old-fashioned Christmas tune blaring from the speakers, Simone was tense, wary and itching to leave. Drew would be working tonight, giving her a good opportunity to get some Christmas shopping done. Not that she was particularly in the mood, but she’d do anything to keep her mind occupied.

  Damn what Gideon wanted! She’d just decided to leave when she heard his voice close behind her.

  “I wasn’t sure you would be here,” Gideon said.

  Her heart thudded as she felt his heat press against her back through her wool coat. Her stomach knotted and her chest pulled tight; she fought the reactions he’d always wrenched from her.

  “I don’t know why I am still here,” she admitted.

  “Maybe you never got over me.”

  That whipped her around, and she glared up into Gideon’s face. “Maybe your head is too big for a hat and that’s why you’re not wearing one!”

  He was wearing a long black wool coat with a slash of crimson at his throat, but his head was bare. Snowflakes drifted through the haze of lights to halo his dark hair. Despite the smile that quivered along his lips, there was no mistaking the powerful intensity radiating from him, making her take a step back.

  “At least you don’t deny it,” he said.

  “What is it, Gideon?” she snapped. “What do you want from me?”

  Silence hung between them for a few seconds. Simone held her breath, waiting.

  And then he said, “To help you.”

  “Help me what?”

  “Prove your innocence.”

  “In this country, someone is innocent until proven guilty.” Although injustice could be done, as she well remembered.

  “That doesn’t stop the state attorney’s office from building a case against you.”

  “Just because I was angry that Al Cecchi owed me money—”

  “Owed you a fortune, you mean. You argued with him just before he was murdered. What about the dagger, Simone? If they run your fingerprints, will they get a match?”

  The dagger…damn! She’d almost forgotten.

  If only she hadn’t picked up the murder weapon when it had fallen off the auction table. She clenched her jaw. How had Gideon known about that? Or was he on a fishing expedition? Last night, when she’d told him she hadn’t murdered Al, he’d said he believed her. But did he really?

  “I don’t have time for this.”

  She started to swing past him but he stretched his arm to block her, stopping her cold.

  “Make time. Do you have a lawyer?”

  The best criminal lawyer she’d known—the only one she’d trusted—had been her late husband, David. “I don’t need a lawyer.” At least she hoped she didn’t, Simone thought, pushing past him.

  “Get one,” he said, moving closer. Too close to her for her peace of mind.

  Simone didn’t answer. She walked away. Past the ice sculpture area. Past the person in the giant penguin costume. Past the holiday train taking little kids around the zoo. All the while, Gideon remained a step behind her. Was he going to follow her the few blocks home?

  Bizarrely, it almost seemed as if they were on a bad date. She couldn’t shake the feeling, the absurd sense of connection that didn’t exist anymore.

  Except for Drew.

  Suddenly it occurred to her that if Gideon knew everything else about her life, he might know that he was Drew’s biological father, as well.

  Fear froze her in front of the plate glass wall where a handful of people watched polar bears frolicking in ice-cold water. She saw Gideon’s reflection next to hers in the window and tried to read him.

  Did he know? Is that what this interference in her life was about?

  When the other spectators drifted away, Simone said, “You’ve got a lot of nerve, walking back into my life and telling me what to do.”

  “You’re going to fault me because I don’t want to see you go to prison for a murder you didn’t commit?”

  “Feeling guilty, are we?” Her chest squeezed tight. “Thinking of my father and the way you lied on the stand to put him away?”

  “I didn’t lie and I don’t have any reason to feel guilty.”

  She wanted to believe him…and she wanted to believe her father, as well. Only one of them had been telling the truth during the trial.

  And to her.

  So if he wasn’t feeling guilty…

  “Then why?”

  “Because I once loved you, Simone.”

  Her breath left her in a whoosh and her pulse rushed through her so fast the sound filled her ears. She hadn’t expected that.

  I once loved you…

  How could he be saying that when he had betrayed her, making sure her father would rot in prison the rest of his life?

  She faced him directly and asked, “Are you sure you don’t have some ulterior motive for wanting to help me? Maybe you think I won’t tell Michael where to find you.”

  The way Gideon looked at her made Simone’s stomach knot. His expression was a combination of anger, disappointment and something more elusive.

  “Would you really sic your brother on me?”

  Of course she wouldn’t, but Simone didn’t say so. Let him think what he wanted of her. Although she knew it was wrong—even though he deserved to sweat—she knew it also gave her a tiny margin of protection from him.

  “Just to be perfectly clear,” Gideon stepped closer, crowding her personal space, “I’m not afraid of Michael. I despise what the man represents. I know he can be dangerous, but so can I.”

  Convinced of that, Simone stepped back again.

  Dangerous. What did he mean?

  Had he joined the dark forces that ran things under the civilized veneer of the city? But he’d said he despised what Michael represented…

  “You really think you can prove I’m innocent?” she asked. “How?”

  “By finding the real murderer, Simone.”

  “What? You’re a P.I. on the side when you’re not running the club?”

  “So to speak. I have connections.”

  “Connections.” She imagined he did. She imagined all kinds of things about this man called Gideon, who’d placed himself right under Michael’s nose. “What does that mean? What kind of connections? Who—”

  “Interested parties who want to see justice done.”

  Vigilantes?

  Simone thought about it for a moment and decided that the description fit him in an odd way. Years ago, he’d needed someone to pay for his father’s murder and he’d picked her father, Frank Ruscetti’s rival. He’d done what he’d needed to make “justice” happen.

  “Why does it sound like there have been others before me?” Simone asked.

  “Because there have been. A few.”

  “Murder?”

  “Remember the Elise Mitchell case?”

  “I read about it. The woman was sent to prison for killing her husband. She escaped to protect her child and managed to draw out the real murderer.”

  “With our help. Her current husband is a detective, an unofficial member of our team. And more recently, an ex-priest named Dermot O’Rourke was framed for murder and we helped clear his name, as well.”

  “Are your results always this good?”


  “Perfect record.”

  While Simone’s curiosity grew, she fought with herself. Not that she was so fond of the justice system, not after her father had been incarcerated for something he said he didn’t do. All Gideon’s fault. Letting him get too close wouldn’t be smart. It wouldn’t be good for her or for Drew. Her son had been given no reason to doubt that David was his father. What if Gideon figured out the deception and told Drew the truth?—that David hadn’t even been related to him? It would break Drew’s heart. She couldn’t do that to him.

  “If you won’t say yes for yourself, do it for your son,” he said.

  “What?” It was as if Gideon was inside her head and privy to those thoughts. Her heart threatened to pound right out of her chest. Surely he hadn’t found out about Drew.

  “If you go to jail, what will happen to him?”

  “Michael—”

  “Yeah, Michael,” Gideon said. “Is that what you want?”

  “Michael loves Drew—”

  “And he’ll be happy to corrupt the kid, turn him into an imitation of himself. You know I’m right.”

  That Gideon was right ate at Simone. Michael’s influence on Drew was the very thing she feared most. She was caught in a conundrum. She didn’t want Gideon’s help because it might hurt her son; not taking his help—her landing in prison—might hurt Drew even more.

  “All right.” Her words were as wooden as her thoughts. Trapped. She was trapped and not even in a jail cell. “Help me clear my name.”

  And then get out of my life before you ruin it again.

  GIDEON HAD generously offered Simone help and then he’d had to convince her to take it. How absurd, he thought.

  Why should he care whether or not Simone Burke wanted his help?

  Wanted him?

  Did she equate the two?

  Did he?

  As they stopped near the birds of prey exhibit, lights twinkling around Simone made her look like some Christmas fairy dressed in green. It almost hurt physically to look at her angelic face, to remember what they’d once had…what he’d lost…what could have been.