Red Carpet Christmas Page 8

  Gideon was in the hallway now. Simone heard feet scuffling. A body bounced off the wall. Simone went after the flashlight that had rolled against the opposite wall. More thumps. Low curses. She wrapped her hand around the flashlight’s long metal housing.

  The light came up, its beam focused on the reception area. All she saw was a flash of movement before realizing Gideon had stumbled back against a chair. By the time he regained his balance, the intruder was out of the office, slamming the door in Gideon’s face.

  “Wait!” she whispered, stopping Gideon as he grasped the door handle. “He might have a weapon!”

  “If it was a he,” Gideon said, not sounding sure. He nodded. “Let’s lock up and get out of here before we have the security guard on us, too.”

  They were out of the office in less than sixty seconds. The corridor was empty. Not having heard the elevator, Simone assumed the intruder had taken the stairs. She didn’t realize she was holding her breath until, upon hitting the Call button, the elevator doors opened immediately and she sucked in two lungfuls of air.

  Knees rubbery, she hit the button to take them down, then, for the first time, took a good look at Gideon.

  His lip was bleeding.

  “You’re hurt,” she murmured, reaching out to touch him.

  He caught her wrist and stopped her. “It’s nothing.”

  Maybe she was being ridiculous, but she couldn’t help the little twist she felt inside at the realization that he’d been hurt because of her. And then the twist turned into a falling sensation. The elevator, she thought vaguely. Of course. The elevator was going down.

  Though her stomach fluttered and her pulse ticked unevenly, she didn’t want to admit it was more than the elevator.

  Gideon held her gaze and moved in on her, and Simone fought the panic that filled her. That look in his eyes…she recognized it. Even as a teenager, he’d known what he’d wanted and he’d wanted her.

  She’d wanted him in return.

  She wanted him now.

  At least, part of her did. The other part was shouting Run! though there was nowhere to go.

  His face inched closer to hers. She trembled. Anticipation warred with dread. One kiss could be deadly, she told herself. She couldn’t trust him.

  But when his mouth touched hers, the metallic taste of blood sparked something so primal and so deep in her that she moaned into his mouth and parted her lips. It was all the invitation he needed to crush her to him and to invade her mouth as if all their years apart hadn’t passed.

  As if she were still a teenager dazed by first love.

  As if he hadn’t betrayed her by taking away her father.

  The reminder of what had come between them chilled her inside.

  Just as the elevator car came to a stop and the doors opened, Simone twisted out of his arms and ran.

  Chapter Seven

  Simone ran away from him and out onto the street, just like that last night seventeen years ago, Gideon thought. He followed swiftly but without breaking gait.

  She glanced back at him only once before shoving through the outside door. Certain she was going to keep running right out of his life again, he was surprised when she stopped in the middle of the sidewalk.

  At her side in no time flat, he gave the surrounding area a once-over for any suspicious characters. Something didn’t feel right, yet the only person he saw on the street was a businessman briskly walking to the corner. Apparently the intruder had fled the scene. Still, it wouldn’t hurt to stay vigilant.

  “You can’t run far enough to hide from me,” he told Simone, “so you might as well not try.”

  “I’m not the expert on running, Joey. That would be you.” Her tone was as flat as her gaze.

  “I’m not Joey Ruscetti any more.” He wasn’t a kid emotionally crippled by having had his father die in his arms, and so afraid for his mother and sister that, after testifying in court, he’d agreed to leave his home forever. “I’m here to stay, Simone, so get used to it.”

  Her features remained blank. She’d wrapped herself in a protective frosty air and for the first time he realized how much she’d changed. No mulish expression. No hot words. No true feelings revealed. The girl he’d known was gone, at least for the moment. She’d learned to hide out in the open—no new identity, no new town, but she was hiding from the past every bit as much as he had for seventeen years.

  The idea that she’d been forced to learn how to protect herself this way made him angry. This was what being a DeNali had done to the bright, smiling young woman who still lived in his dreams.

  Almost forgetting his doubts about Simone—that she might have known her father’s plans that fateful night—he said, “I’ll see you to your car.”

  She nodded and started walking. He stayed alongside her, careful not to touch her, and kept his gaze moving, searching the shadows for anything that didn’t belong. He couldn’t shake the feeling that something was off—that perhaps the intruder was out there, watching. Trusting the instincts that had kept him moving all those years from city to city had been what had kept him alive.

  “I need to be at the club early tomorrow, around noon,” he said. “If you want to give me the materials you copied, I’ll get Gabe right on those security checks.”

  “Fine.”

  When she stopped in front of her car, she pulled the copies from her shoulder bag and held them out to him. He was careful that their fingers didn’t brush during the transfer.

  “So I’ll see you tomorrow?” he asked coolly.

  “The Chicago Philanthropic Club meets tomorrow morning. Cass is going to be there, too, as she requested. After that. Early afternoon.”

  “Good.”

  “Gideon…about the intruder…you said, ‘If it was a he.’ You think it might have been a woman?”

  He shrugged. “It could have been anyone.” He didn’t really know. “I tried tackling whoever it was, but I couldn’t get hold of the person. I felt as if I were grabbing a slippery pillow rather than a solid body.”

  Simone frowned. “How odd.”

  No kidding. “You’d better get home and get some rest. You need to be clearheaded tomorrow. On your game. And you want to get home before your kid realizes you’re gone, right?”

  Simone’s eyes widened and her lips parted; something came through that frozen exterior. An emotion he couldn’t define slipped out from behind her mask. She looked as if she wanted to say something to him, but then she shifted back into neutral.

  “Good night, Gideon.”

  She slid into the driver’s seat. He waited until she’d started the car and pulled away from the curb before he jogged in the other direction to his own vehicle.

  The street was deserted and quiet now. Just him and the rumble of a rapid transit train on the elevated structure a block to the west. Still, the hair at the back of his neck bristled. Was it really a warning or was he projecting? But how could he not when someone had broken into the dead man’s office while they were in the midst of their own search?

  Who was the intruder and what had he—or she—been looking for?

  The questions were multiplying.

  They played through his mind as he drove home and as he sat in the dark, drink in hand, staring out his windows at fresh snow drifting down through the night sky.

  BEFORE HE COULD get out of the car, a blue flash froze him to his seat. Another flash. No sound. His father fell into the snow. Still holding his gun in one hand, DeNali lit a cigarette with the other and slid into his vehicle.

  Heart pounding, he threw open the door. “Pop!” he yelled, his feet chunking into the drift.

  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 dark blood in the snow before him.

  “Pop!” he cried, his voice breaking as he turned his father onto his back. His father had been shot in the gut and the chest. “Can you he
ar 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. More dark fluid bubbled up from stiff lips.

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

  “DeNali…”

  He continued rocking, knowing it was already too late…

  Gideon woke with a start, his heart pounding. Again the dream. Only natural considering how much time he was spending with Simone.

  How could he not be reminded of his father’s murder?

  Rising from the chair, he stared out into the night and wished he could somehow change what happened all those years ago.

  “I’M HAPPY to say this year’s Red Carpet Christmas cleared a bit over one hundred and fifty-three thousand dollars,” Lulu Hutton pronounced on Monday morning as the Chicago Philanthropic Club meeting came to order. “Our most successful fund-raiser ever.”

  “Successful if you don’t count the dead body,” a woman sitting near Simone whispered to her friend.

  To Simone’s horror, the other woman snickered. About to say something, she was stopped by a soothing pat on her arm. She glanced at Cass, sitting next to her. The club’s hostess had amazingly transformed herself to blend in with the society women surrounding them. She’d tamed her wild mahogany hair into a twist at the nape of her neck and had donned a conservative dark green suede suit.

  Simone smiled at her and tuned out the distasteful exchange so she could concentrate on the president’s remarks.

  “Here is a breakdown of how the money came in—entries, auction items, donations,” Lulu said, distributing a handout. “The second page shows the intended disbursement between the charities we picked for grants.”

  As usual, the meeting was held over a buffet brunch in a private dining room of a restaurant on the Magnificent Mile. The head of each committee responsible for a grant gave club members an update on her group’s specific charity. The report on Umbrella House was left for last since the chairwoman of that committee— Nikki Albright—hadn’t shown.

  “Still no Nikki?” Lulu said, her smile at war with her annoyed tone.

  “Nikki doesn’t know the meaning of time,” one of the women muttered.

  “She’ll be late for her own funeral,” said another.

  The reference made Simone shudder.

  Rather than wait any longer, Lulu asked another member of the committee to give an update instead.

  After the report, Lulu said, “I’m sure you’ve all noted we have a guest with us today.” She indicated that Cass should stand. “Cassandra Freed, the woman who was responsible for our having Club Undercover for the annual fund-raiser.”

  A round of applause drew a smile from Cass. “I was happy to do it,” she said. “Anything for a good cause.”

  “Cassandra has applied for membership, so please get to know her a bit better this morning.”

  As club members gathered in small groups to say hello and the buffet line opened, Simone watched Cass work the room. She was magic. Somehow she managed to engage even the stuffiest of matrons in conversation. Was this the real Cass? Simone wondered. Or simply a great act?

  Wondering if Cass was getting any of those vibes she’d mentioned, Simone watched her intently until Galen O’Neill said, “A membership in this club certainly is an unusual choice for someone like her.”

  Simone didn’t let her irritation show. “Yes, giving of one’s time is more difficult when one needs to work for a living.”

  “I meant she’s not our sort,” Galen went on, apparently not getting Simone’s meaning. “What could she possibly have in common with anyone here?”

  “The desire to do good?” Simone suggested, wondering about Galen’s motivation.

  The woman’s smile grew tight and again Simone thought there was perhaps more to her than met the eye.

  “You don’t seem your usual self today,” Galen said. “But I imagine you must be a wreck, what with the authorities breathing down your neck about poor Albert’s murder. Too bad you picked up that dagger and got your fingerprints all over it.”

  Simone didn’t think Galen sounded at all sympa thetic. “I’m sure they’ll find the fingerprints of anyone who touched it that night.”

  Galen blanched and moved on, leaving Simone again wondering if the auction chairwoman had hidden depths.

  Galen wasn’t the only one interested in the murder. Several other women spoke to her, supposedly to commiserate, but Simone was sure they were simply looking for something juicy to pass on.

  “Your attention, please,” Lulu said as soon as everyone was seated. “I hope each and every one of you will show your sympathy and support to Teresa Cecchi, who, of course is in mourning and couldn’t be with us today. The club is sending a lovely bouquet of flowers for her husband’s wake, which will be held the next two evenings, with the church service and a funeral the following morning.”

  As the club president read off the names and addresses of funeral parlor, church and cemetery, Simone looked around for reactions, but didn’t note anyone looking particularly guilty. Though she would rather be anyplace other than at an event honoring the man who’d stolen the money she and Drew should have had, when another member asked if she would be at the wake, Simone knew the smart thing to say was, “Of course. Teresa needs all the support she can get from us.”

  Whether or not she could carry through with that promise was another matter.

  The end of the meeting couldn’t come soon enough for Simone. She and Cass were in a taxi on the way to the club before Simone asked Cass if she’d picked up anything interesting.

  “Mostly that Al Cecchi wasn’t Mr. Popular.”

  “You didn’t get vibes off anyone?”

  “From one person,” Cass admitted. “The auction chairwoman, Galen O’Neill.”

  Simone could believe it. Galen hadn’t liked Cass being there. “Don’t let Galen get to you—”

  “She doesn’t. I’m not talking about the negative energy she was sending my way. It was something darker.”

  “I felt that the night of the party,” Simone admitted. “Like there was more to her than met the eye.”

  Cass nodded. “When the announcement about the wake and funeral was being made, I sensed intense emotions—I simply couldn’t define them.”

  “Maybe she was remembering him threatening her.”

  “Maybe.” But Cass didn’t sound as if she believed that. “To tell you the truth, I was hoping for more.”

  “Maybe if Nikki Albright had shown…”

  “The woman who accused you?”

  “That would be the one.” Simone still wondered about Nikki’s running into the club hallway so conveniently to accuse her of murder.

  Cass asked, “So how do I get an introduction?”

  Simone realized they weren’t far from Nikki’s town house. “How about I get you one. Right now.”

  “Maybe you ought to call first.”

  “No need. Her place is just ahead in River North—it’s on our way.”

  A few minutes later, they got out of a taxi directly across from Nikki’s building. Her unit was at the end of the block of attached brick and greystone row houses. There were no trees or grass, and living quarters were stuck right at the edge of the downtown area. Yet three kids of different ages—siblings from the looks of them—were throwing snowballs at each other on the sidewalk in front.

  Too close to the busy street, Simone thought, motherly instincts kicking in as she and Cass passed them and took the steps up to the high stoop.

  Nikki didn’t answer her bell.

  “Looks like she’s not home,” Cass said.

  “Or she’s avoiding.” Irritated, Simone opened the storm door to knock on the entry door itself, but when her knuckles hit the wooden panel, it creaked inward.

  “What the…” Simone met Cass’s gaze, which had gon
e wide-eyed. “Nikki!”

  No answering shout.

  Uneasy, Simone pushed the door open a bit wider for a view of the foyer and noticed mail strewn on the floor. A small thing to be amiss, yet her heart skipped a beat.

  “What now?” Cass murmured.

  Probably the smart thing to do would be to turn around and go away. Pretend they had never been here. But what if something was wrong? What if Nikki needed help?

  Taking a deep breath, Simone said, “We go in.”

  “That’s called breaking and entering.”

  “No, not technically. Not the breaking part, anyway. The door is unlocked.”

  “But we don’t have a concrete reason to believe that anything is actually wrong,” Cass argued. “Or a reason to be here, for that matter.”

  How could they just leave without knowing that Nikki was all right?

  Simone got creative. “How about…I want to make sure the desk got here safely.”

  “So you’re just going to walk in?”

  “Do you want to call the police?” The thought made her stomach knot.

  Cass shook her head.

  Knowing they could put themselves through hell with the authorities for nothing, Simone said, “Neither do I.”

  Sensing Cass really didn’t want to do this, she remembered the hostess’s stance about why Team Undercover was willing to help her—saying something about doing time for a crime not committed.

  Maybe Cass had.

  “Why don’t you wait here, then? I’ll just be a minute.”

  “Simone, this isn’t a good idea.”

  Of course it wasn’t, but…

  Meaning to reassure Cass, she lost the words when she took a good look at the other woman—pale, distressed.

  “What?” Simone demanded.

  “I—I’m not sure, but something’s really not right.”

  “You think I’m in danger?”

  Cass frowned. “No, not you.”

  If Cass was having some kind of psychic experience, she certainly wasn’t being specific. Simone was torn, but the idea that another human being might need help won out.

  “Look, I’ll just be a minute. You have your cell phone, right? If you hear or see anything weird, call 911.”