Die for Me (47 page)

But he didn’t believe in luck. Just intellect, skill, and fate. Only fools believed in luck, and he was no fool. He’d survived on his own wits. And he’d continue to. He thought of Van Zandt, sitting in a jail cell in his expensive suit, and felt intense satisfaction. But there was a little regret, too. It was a shame to waste a business mind like Van Zandt’s. But there were lots of good business minds out there.

He already had one lined up. Van Zandt’s most eager and vicious competitor, still on his way up the ladder. Simon had contacted him with the work he’d done so far and it had taken less than fifteen minutes to agree to terms.
The Inquisitor
would still be released and the furor around Derek’s murder and Van Zandt’s incarceration, not to mention all the murdered victims, would send sales soaring to the moon.

And in the end, he’d still get what he wanted. Exposure. A platform to launch his own career. Notoriety to sell his paintings. He wouldn’t be able to use the name Frasier Lewis anymore, but that was all right. It didn’t matter what name went on his work.
As long as people know it’s mine.

Just one more series of paintings needed to be completed. Van Zandt had been right about the queen. As soon as Simon had seen Sophie Johannsen in full glory he’d known she was exactly what he needed, what he wanted. And he knew himself well enough to know he wouldn’t be able to able to walk away from the game until every piece was perfect. He needed to see Sophie Johannsen die.

Except the woman had proven herself smart and careful. Every moment she was with a cop. But now he knew how to separate her from the herd.

Friday, January 19, 11:30
P.M.

“It’s a nice keep.” Beaming, Sophie nodded at Michael. “These are beautiful blocks.” She and Pierce sat behind a semicircle about four feet in diameter and three feet high constructed of smooth wooden blocks. They’d even included the skinny windows Sophie had informed them were arrow slits for defense against their attackers.

Which had then required a run to the local toy store for a Nerf archery set. At least the books they’d been using the night before were neatly back on Vito’s shelves, so he wouldn’t complain too much that his living room was now a Norman castle.

Sophie rubbed her fingers over one of the blocks and Vito knew she wouldn’t find a single splinter. “They must have cost the Earth.”

Vito’s father pretended nonchalance. “Just some old blocks I had in storage. Dom and Tess got them after school today.” But Vito could see he was beaming, too.

“Dad handmade the blocks for us when we were kids,” Vito said from his recliner, which had been turned into the drawbridge. The rest of the furniture had either been removed or turned over and converted to battlements. “Dad is a master carpenter.”

Sophie’s eyes widened. “Really? Well, then the trebuchet makes sense. Cool.”

“I’m ready,” Connor said, guiding the model into place. Gone was the makeshift wooden-spoon trebuchet they’d fashioned last night, replaced with a scale model that could probably hurl a Thanksgiving turkey. Connor had wanted to try a frozen chicken, but thankfully Sophie had put her foot down on that one.

Vito suspected his father had been working on the model all day, carving it with the whittling knife he was never without. In the old days Michael could have cranked out a model like that in an hour with his woodworking tools, but those had been sold when Michael had been forced to give up his cabinet-making business because of his heart.

“No, you’re not ready,” Sophie told Connor. “You don’t have anything to hurl yet.”

“You need to get this battle on the road,” Vito said dryly. “It’s almost midnight and Pierce and Connor have to go to bed.” Which is where he’d wanted to be all evening.

“Uncle Vito,” Pierce whined. “Tomorrow’s Saturday.” He looked to Sophie hopefully.

“Sorry, kid,” Sophie said. “I have to work tomorrow, too. Tess, Dominic?”

“We’re coming,” Tess called, and she and Dom emerged from the kitchen with Ziploc bags filled with cooked pasta. “I’ve never cooked for a siege before, but here it is.”

A fierce military campaign ensued, each of the boys taking turns manning the trebuchet while Sophie and Michael rebuilt the battlements as needed.

Tess took cover behind Vito’s chair. “Dad hasn’t had so much fun in years.”

“Mom won’t let him,” Vito murmured. “She worries about every breath he takes.”

“Well, Mom’s not here. I sent her and Tino to the all-night Wal-Mart with a long grocery list. You guys don’t exactly keep a well-stocked kitchen, and I’m going to be cooking lots of meals to put in the freezer for when Molly comes home from the hospital.” She shrugged. “Mom needed to feel useful, so she’s happy. Dad’s happy. The kids are ecstatic. You look happy, too, Vito.”

Vito looked up at her. “I am.”

Tess sat on the arm of his chair. “I’m glad. I like your Sophie, Vito.”

His Sophie was currently ducking a bag of cooked pasta. “So do I.” He realized both he and Sophie had achieved something for the other’s family tonight. It was a solid beginning to a relationship Vito intended to nurture for a long, long time.

“This is a good start,” Tess murmured, “to a nice life. You deserve that.” Then Tess squealed along with Sophie when one of the bags hurled from the trebuchet slammed into the ceiling and broke on impact, sending sticky pasta flying everywhere.

Vito grimaced. “This is never gonna come off my walls and ceiling, is it?”

Tess chuckled. “I see a lot of pasta-covered walls in your future, Vito.”

Sophie and Michael were laughing like loons and Vito had to laugh, too. Finally Sophie stood, picking pasta from her hair. “On that note, it’s bedtime. No,” she said when Pierce whined. “Generals don’t whine, they march. Now go downstairs, quietly. Don’t wake Gus.” When the boys were gone, Sophie looked at Vito. “Bucket and rags?”

“Back porch,” he said and got up from the chair. “Sit down, Pop. You look tired.”

Michael did, which showed he was worn out. But he still laughed. “That was fun. We should do this every Friday night. You’ve set a precedent, Vito.”

Vito sighed. “Pasta on my walls and doughnuts for my team. Dom, Tess, help me pick up these blocks.” They’d stacked them along the wall when Vito realized Sophie wasn’t back with the bucket. His pulse started to race. He’d let her out of his sight. Just to his back porch, but out of his sight. “I’ll be back,” he said tightly.

Then breathed again when he got out to the back porch where Sophie was standing next to Dante, who sat on the overturned bucket, looking sullen.

“Seems to me you just hurt yourself,” she was saying. “You missed all the fun.”

“Nobody wants me in there,” he muttered. “So why should I give you the bucket?”

“One, because I’m an adult and it’s respectful. Two, because your uncle is probably getting antsy right now, seeing the pasta congealing on his walls. Three, because I’m getting ready to push you off the bucket and take it, and I don’t want to do that.”

Dante narrowed his eyes. “You wouldn’t.”

“You watch me,” she said. “You’re being a real brat, Dante, sulking out here.”

Dante lurched to his feet and kicked at the bucket. “Stupid old bucket and stupid game and stupid family. Everybody hates me anyway. I don’t need them.”

Sophie grabbed the bucket and started to leave, then sighed. “Your family isn’t stupid, they’re pretty special. And everybody needs a family. And nobody hates you.”

“Everybody looks at me like I’m scum or something. Just ’cause I broke the meter.”

“Well, I’m just an outsider looking in, but it seems to me that nobody’s mad because you broke the meter. I mean, you didn’t mean to any more than you meant to hurt your mother. You . . . didn’t mean to hurt your mother, did you, Dante?”

Dante shook his head, still sullenly. Then his shoulders sagged and Vito heard him sniffle. “No. But my mom’s going to hate me.” He started to cry in earnest, and Sophie put her arm around his shoulders. “I almost killed her and she’s going to hate me.”

“No, she won’t,” Sophie murmured. “Dante, you know what I think? I think they’re all disappointed because when they asked if you did it, you lied. Maybe it’s time you started making up for the bad thing you really meant to do and let go of the thing that you didn’t.” Vito watched her shoulders stiffen, then heard her chuckle softly. “Touché to me. You planning to stay out here all night, Dante?”

Dante scrubbed his face. “Maybe.”

“Well, then I recommend you get a blanket, ’cause it’s gonna be a cold night.” She turned and started when she saw Vito watching. She lifted the bucket. “I’m going to clean.”

“Thank God.”

She lifted her brows. “And I’m going to press charges against Lena.”

“Thank God.”

She walked past him and murmured, “Then . . . minks.”

He grinned at her back. “Thank God.”

Saturday, January 20, 7:45
A.M.

“You’re here early.”

Sophie spun around in the warehouse, her breath in her throat and her hand over her mouth. For a moment she stared at Theo Four, her heart pounding in her chest.

“You’ve suddenly become extremely interested in our little museum, Sophie. Why?”

Sophie got control of her breathing and took a step back. Vito had walked her into the Albright a half hour before. Officer Lyons had already been waiting inside, let in by Ted the Third and Patty Ann, who’d been polishing glass cases. Sophie hadn’t realized Theo was in the museum as well. “What do you mean?”

“A few days ago you hated doing the tours and you treated my father like he was an idiot. Now you’re here early and you stay late. You’ve been unpacking crates and developing new tours that make my father happy and have my mother counting the money that’s going to be coming in. I want to know what changed.”

Sophie’s heart was still knocking in her chest. Simon Vartanian was still out there, and she really didn’t know anything about Theo Albright. Except that he was a big guy, over six-two. She took another step back, grateful that Lyons was only a scream away.

“Maybe I decided to start earning my paycheck, although I’d ask you the same question. A few days ago, you were making yourself scarce. Now you’re here, every time I turn around. Why?”

Theo’s expression darkened. “Because I’m watching you.”

Sophie blinked. “Watching
me
? Why?”

“Because unlike my father, I’m not an idiot who trusts for no reason.” He turned on his heel and walked away, leaving Sophie staring at his back, her mouth open.

She shook her head. She was being ridiculous, being scared of Theo. But what did she really know about the Albrights?
Sophie, come on.
Simon was thirty years old and his father had been a judge. Theo was barely eighteen and his father was the grandson of an archeologist. She was truly being ridiculous. Theo was just a weird kid. Still . . .

She found the ax Theo had used to open crates for her before and set it where she could reach it quickly. Even with Officer Lyons on guard, it wouldn’t hurt to be prepared.

Atlanta, Georgia, Saturday, January 20, 8:45
A.M.

“Daniel. Look. It’s from Mom.”

Daniel looked up from the mail he was sorting to find Susannah focused on a piece of paper that he instantly recognized as stationery from the hotel where his parents had stayed. “She wrote us? And sent it to herself? Why?”

Susannah nodded. “She says that she also sent you a letter.” She sorted through her stack and found it, handing it over to him. She held hers to her nose as Daniel opened his. “It smells like her perfume.”

Daniel swallowed. “I always liked that perfume.” He scanned the letter and his heart sank even as he appreciated the missing pieces his mother had settled into place. “She knew Dad was lying about finding Simon for her but didn’t have the strength to follow him everywhere.”

“Are they the same letter?” Susannah asked.

They put them side by side. “Appears so. I guess she was taking no chances.”

“She sat in that hotel for two days, Daniel, while she waited for Dad to come back.”

“I guess he’d gone to see Simon,” Daniel murmured.

“But I was only two hours away.” There was hurt in Susannah’s voice. “She sat there in pain and alone for two days and never called me.”

“Simon was her favorite, from the time we were little. I don’t know why it still hurts that she saw it as a black-and-white thing. Love us or love Simon.”

“Up to the end she hoped he would be good.” Susannah put the letter down hard on the table. “And she trusted him.” Tears sprang to her eyes. “She knew Dad was missing and still went to meet Simon.”

Daniel blew out a breath. “And he killed her.”
If you’re reading this, then I’m probably dead. If you’re reading this, you can be satisfied that you were right about your brother.
“She met him and he broke her neck and threw her in an unmarked field.” He looked at Susannah, unable to control the bitterness. “And part of me thinks she got what she deserved.”

Susannah looked down. “I thought it, too. That’s why she sent these letters to herself. If her time with Simon was just an innocent visit, she would have exposed her true fears about her golden child’s character for nothing. If she sent it to us, we’d know. If she sent it to herself, she could scoop them back up before anyone was the wiser.”