Fool's Gold: A Kisses and Crimes Novel (16 page)

It talks to me, reassuring me in sweet, beautiful tones until finally I slip into a deep sleep.

DANI

The dream from the city streets returns for another re-run.

A darkened city. A gown made for glitz and glamour ruined beyond repair.

The panic.

I can feel it in the air. All around me. Suffocating me. Dragging me into their dreary depths.

And here they come.

The pursuers. The chasers. The bad men come to take me away.

Only this isn’t a dream; this isn’t a memory.

Not anymore.

The city streets are replaced by white hallways and blue tiles. The pursuers… are scowling nurses in blue scrubs.

When they chase me, this time they catch me. They drag me away from the swinging double doors. They subdue me into a seat decorated with dangling straps.

Because they don’t believe me.

A botched robbery. A jealous ex-lover coming to seek his revenge.

These are the only scenarios people believe.

They don’t believe me when I recount the horror of the taxi driver-kidnapper that picked me up earlier tonight. They don’t believe my account about the band of international assassins that threatened our very lives.

They only believe the horrors they themselves have come to know.

And how could I blame them?

If I wasn’t me… I might not believe it.

Hell, I
was
me and didn’t believe it.

Blood clot, my fucking ass.

I now realize that my memory loss was more psychological than physical, the need to obliterate memories a result of damage more horrible than just a freak bullet could even inflict.

Like the nurses surrounding me in this hospital, I squelched the
real
horrors of the world, tried to combine them in this neat little box so that so my version of madness wouldn’t extend beyond the things I didn’t know.

Truth is… I don’t think I
wanted
to know…

Because to know would make me Dani—a woman who’d seen things
no
person should ever see… and
she
was the last thing that I wanted to be.

I understand
why
the nurses don’t understand me. But it isn’t going to stop me from trying to make them.

I beg out loud.

“Por favor,” I cry in Spanish. “Please let me see him. Who told you not to let me see him?”

One female nurse chimes in.

“The doctor’s working on him right now, Miss. I don’t know what you’re…”

“That’s bullshit!” I scream out loud in tears. “Someone told you not to let me see him. They received specific instructions. I overheard
him
talking about it!”

I point at a shocked male nurse who’s just been caught.

“Miss, we have no idea what you are saying. This is untrue. Now, do you have anywhere to stay or…?”

“I’m not leaving this fucking hospital,” I growl in my chair.

“Miss,” the deceitful male nurse steps forward. “We realize that you’ve just been through a traumatic experience. We understand your hysteria… Would you like us to give you something to help you calm down?”

I sit up.

“Try it and you’ll walk out of your shift with one less ball.”

He looks at a third male nurse who pipes up.

“If you don’t cooperate with us, we will be forced to sedate you. You’re proving to be a danger to yourself
and
to the patients by continuing to run into the E.R.”

He pauses.

“Now, we can call the police or…”

“Call the police,” I declare slowly, though, the thought is daunting. After Annecy, I no longer trust the police. I no longer trust the nurses.

I don’t trust anyone…
but Bishop
.

And he’s one hundred and fifty feet away… fighting for his life.

I stand up once more, and the nurses take stances as if to brace for a battle. I flip my hair over my shoulder and clench my fists.

“Look… I’m going in there whether you like it or not. And I will take out however many of you I have to with my fists.” I look around at them all. “Who wants to be the last one standing?”

“We will strap you down,” the first nurse says.

“I’d like to see you try. It’ll be a cold day in Hell if I give into anyone without a fight, so take your fucking best shot because I…”

And then I feel the pinch.

A sharp pang bites into the side of my neck and I go down, falling in half at the knee. I try to turn around to see what’s caused it, but all I see is the needle.

Bright and gleaming.

Floating over the front of my face.

My fuzzy gaze falls on the man behind it who has somehow turned into a blob of blurs, and I reach out towards him, trying to touch him. But my vision goes black.

And then I collapse.

***

The beeping around me is interminable.

It feels like I am swimming around in a sea of sound, and I can’t seem to do anything to stop it.

I’d open my eyes… but the sky seems bright.

Too
bright.

Even under the protection of my eyelids, I can still sense its gleam and shine. I can still make out its fluorescent glow.

Groggy, I keep my eyes closed for what it feels like forever. Until I can’t take the anticipation anymore and my anxiety gets the best of me.

I open my eyes.

And there, laying beside me, still as stone… is Bishop, looking more serene than I have ever seen him.

Except he’s not serene.

He looks almost dead.

And he’s not laying beside me in the sense that any normal husband and wife would, no.

He’s lying in the bed
next
to mine.

His mouth is frozen, his body motionless. Facing upwards, his chest and arms stiffer than boards, he appears nearly unreal.

I’d try to touch him… but I fear he could be almost made out of wax. And on top of that… my own arms are strapped to the sides of a white-covered bedspread.

I couldn’t reach out to my own husband if I tried.

I open my mouth to scream.

“I wouldn’t do that if I were you.”

I glance at my feet and find a man walking in behind the closed curtain that cordons off Bishop and me from God knows what else. Eyes squinted, my mouth pinched in the corners, I scan the man’s face for signs of the male nurses.

He is neither of them.

But all the same…
I hate him on sight
.

I ball my fingers.

“Who are you?” I whisper, finding my voice shockingly hoarse.

“A friend,” he responds.

“A friend of who?”

“A friend of Bishop’s.”

I scoff.
Harshly.
“The same
friend
who knocked me out?”

He smirks at me—actually
fucking
smirks, and the corner of his eyes crinkle like wrinkles in a fine fabric.

I look closer and notice the salt-colored hair at his temples. He has brown hair that’s neatly coiffed. Contrary to the assembly line of scrubs I’ve been subjected to for the past few hours, he is dressed nothing like the hospital staff.

He’s fitted nicely, decked out in a casual navy tailored suit.

He would be handsome… if I didn’t want to cut him into a million parts.

I hold my breath as he approaches my bed.

“Don’t be afraid,” he says.

I try to laugh. “Of you? I’m not.”

“I knocked you out for your own good...”

“Didn’t you hear what I just said? I’m not afraid.”

“You would have drawn more attention to yourself… and to Bishop.”

The way he ignores my responses is deliberate. I stop replying and wonder just who the hell
this man is
.

His face is vaguely familiar, but I can’t place it. He regards me closely as if he knows me, and he has the wherewithal to call “Bishop” by his last name.

I know in my heart that that can’t be good.

I ask him again. “Who are you?”

“My name is not important, Dani,” he replies, shocking me. “What can I do for you
is
. We’ll get to the name part later. I just want you to know that you and Bishop are safe… and we are taking you back home.”

Back home?

“Back home where?” I croak.

“To New York, of course. The states. I’ll take you back. Get you set up and then I’ll do my best to secure you some protection from now on. Some
real
protection.”

He glances at Bishop, and his silent implication makes me want to slap the salt-and-pepper out of his hair.

How dare he insult Bishop like that?

“Protection?
What kind of fucking protect-?
You know what…?” I interrupt myself. “It doesn’t even matter. I don’t know
who
the fuck you are… and Bishop and I aren’t going any-fucking-where with you. You can bet on that.”

“
Oh, I’m sure I will
. You know I really appreciated your phone call, Dani…
You
were the reason
I
was able to track you here. And if
they
were tracking me—which I’m sure they were—then you two are up shit’s creek without a paddle.”

He leans in.

“I wouldn’t be surprised if they sent one of their own already to bring the both of you in, Dani.”

The way he says my name rings a bell.

“Bishop’s fresh out of surgery, and I don’t think he’ll have much of a say. You, my dear, are also caught in a bind. You can return with me on your own accord… or
they’ll
be here and you can return to the U.S. in handcuffs.”

He taps a finger on the edge of Bishop’s bed.

“So what’s it going to be, Dani?”

Dani, Dani, Dani…

I close my eyes.

Oh, no… Not now.

A flashback hits me hard as hell. Déjà vu on crack speeding into my sluggish brain.

My hand, and my own name, teeters on the edge of an older gentleman’s lips. Gold and pink. Pink and gold.

A party.

And suddenly I can see the man from my Sweet Sixteen as if it were yesterday. He smirks playfully in my direction.

He touches me. And I let him.

I open my eyes.

I look straight at the handsome stranger.

“
You
…” I quietly accuse. “It was
you
… at my Sweet Sixteen. I’d thought you were my father. I’d thought you were… with me…”

He looks at me curiously.

“But you weren’t…” I finish. “You were with Bishop. You
came
with Bishop. I saw you on the street, outside of the party.”

I let the realization slowly sink in without throwing me under. It is all I can do not to cry.

“You’re Bishop’s father.”

The man laughs, and it is a frustratingly musical sound.

“I’m sorry… but Bishop’s father would probably roll over in his grave if he saw what I’m about to do.”

He puts one hand in his pocket.

“You see… when an FBI superior assigns you a case, you’re supposed to follow it to a fucking T, my Dani. You’re not supposed to question it… and you’re not supposed to skip town with your goddamned charge.”

He looks at me, his voice lowering with an intensity that makes me shiver.

“Maybe Bishop just skipped that day of training. I’m Ace Delaney, ma’am.”

His eyes scan over me then float to Bishop. The beeping in the room intensifies by a thousand-fold.

Stolidly and without thought, I search for the machines to shut it off.

I stop searching when I realize that the incessant bleeping is now only in my head.

DANI

Donovan Bishop is a lie.

The name
and
the man.

For ten years, my father trusted him as his protector. For five years, I trusted him as
mine
.

And he was the biggest enemy of them all.

Christian Donovan Bischetti
AKA “Bishop.”

A man known to the Gafanellis as “the Crow.”

A man known to others as “Donovan Bishop.”

Suspected of being the traitor to Robert Fletcher and the alleged right-hand man of Don Gafanelli, he was truly neither.

He was an outsider, a fraud and
a fucking cop
(or rather, FBI agent) who infiltrated into their camp of crime, politics and corruption to bring
all
of them
down.

Including her
… according to Delaney.

After all, she
was
a Gafanelli.

And what did that mean?

It meant that she would be charged as a Gafanelli, put on trial as a Gafanelli and ultimately
convicted
as a Gafanelli.

Stupid fucking Dani. I knew I hated her.

With her attack, her subsequent “disappearing act” and Robert Fletcher’s “betrayal,” the Gafanellis had apparently gone underground—according to Bishop’s now worthless word.

And when she made love to him—
alright, fucked his brains out
—she’d just assumed that he’d told her the whole truth. Everything there was to know.

She’d never guessed that his “truth” was a different version than hers.

She’d once thought that she was the fraud…

Bishop
was really the Fool’s Gold all along.

And now I have to figure a way out of this.
Alone.

Because the man who raised Bishop, the man who handled the federal murder case of his long-deceased parents, was none other than today’s little hospital guest…

Ace Delaney
.

He raised Bishop since Bishop had lost his family at ten, groomed him for a position in the FBI, and, when his young successor hit that eligible age of twenty-three, he had done his part to ensure that his
prized student
would worm his way into the lives of the Gafanelli’s—one of the most dangerous crime families in all of the United States.

The young Bishop had wanted revenge… and Delaney had taken steps to ensure that he got it.

He taught Bishop how to move, act and think. He taught Bishop how to build an airtight case.

And it was all for one purpose: to take down the one man who had murdered Bishop’s parents.

The head honcho. The big boss.

And
my
father.

Don Gafanelli.

Bishop wanted him dead. Or rather,
wants
.

And in my case, it’s starting to seem that whole godammned world wants
me
dead.

Well, at least the parts of the whole world that really matter.

It’s almost like a bad joke.

The FBI, a U.S. senator and your family of criminals walk into a bar… and then they poison your drink and put a bullet in the back of your head just for good measure.

Ta-da!
Cue the laugh track.

And now I navigate through Barcelona’s busy metro lines still in my dirty red party dress with a grand total of three thousand dollars on my person.

Three thousand lousy dollars.

The money that Ace Delaney gave me to
get lost
.

Get lost and never come back.

He treated me like a poisonous seed, one who’d come to corrupt his prized possession—the apple of his eye.

Bishop
. The boy he’d raised when no one else could.

A part of me respected him, if only for Bishop’s sake, but I still couldn’t make up my mind on him.

Showing concern, recounting the entirety of his history with Bishop, he was either telling the truth… or he was a masterful liar.

Either way, Ace Delaney, the man I’d inadvertently invited back into our world, seemed to be concerned with his
own
agenda.

He’d hired Bishop to take down my criminal father… and according to him…
the plan had never stopped
.

According to him
… Bishop had been using me the entire time.

And I’d been the fool.

I take out the money, counting it for the thousandth time.

Could be worse. The only thing worse than a regular fool was a broke one... and at the moment, I was only
half
broke.

Still… I travel as far as my money-stuffed shoes will take me.

Buying replacements at a nearby outdoor market, I change clothes en route to Paris. Before I hop a rail to France, I slip into denim shorts, a white t-shirt and Converses—just like every other American tourist.

I ditch my phone, tossing it in a nearby river.

And then I’m gone.

I send myself smoking on the next high-speed RENFE-SCNF train leaving the station, wondering just how the hell I’m going to pull this off.

How long can I run from the
freaking FBI
?
How far
?

My feet are sore, my nerves are shot and my stomach is rumbling so loudly that it’s probably distracting the other passengers.

I barely have enough money to budget in the purchase of a candy bar.

The daughter of an infamous Mafioso, you couldn’t tell me that money
didn’t
grow on trees, that diamonds weren’t merely trinkets and that birthday gifts didn’t come with stacks of hundred dollar bills.

Spoiled wasn’t the word.

I’d seen the
worst
of humanity… and, because of my family’s lifestyle, benefitted
most
from it.

I
hated
that I hadn’t been strong enough to get out of the life sooner.

I
hated
what my family did… but when you are born into money, it’s a hard thing to walk away from, and I
hated
that I had to nearly
die
to make a change.

I hate that Bishop
was
the change.

I wish that I could despise him. I
wish
that I could want him dead.

But instead I curl my feet towards the edge of my train seat, hugging my knees, thinking of nothing but him.

Wondering how he is,
where
he is, if he’s still alive and knows that I am gone. I even wonder if what happened between us in our time together was real.

Was any of it?

I had wanted him for so long, lusted for him since the minute I was legal. I wanted to believe that he wanted me the same way.

When he touched me, was the lust I saw in his face real? Was the heat, the passion true?

The gritty way he spoke my name. The long kisses. The hard thrusts…

I lose myself in the memory when all of a sudden the train slows down into a station. It gives a few squeaks and puffs and then unceremoniously stops.

Next station: Paris.

Packing up what little I have left, I leave my seat, my head swimming and my heart fluttering. I’m in a city I never thought I’d see again.

Just a stop back on the way to Annecy…

As I exit the train amidst the throng of passengers, I can only imagine the many ways I’m going to get myself killed…