Authors: Stephen Frey
CHAPTER 19
SANDSTON, VIRGINIA
“Raul was a good man,” Mitch said quietly from behind Sofia Acosta. The service was over, and they were the only two people remaining in the small chapel. Everyone else had filed out solemnly a few minutes ago. “I miss the old sport very much.”
“My husband was a
great
man,” Sofia murmured, touching the coffin as she fought her emotions. “I don’t know what I’ll do without him.”
“You’ll pull yourself together and keep going.” Mitch limped up beside her. “You’re a strong person. I sense that about you, Sofia.”
“How?” she snapped. “How do you sense that about me? How do you know
anything
about me?”
She was grieving so he took no offense at the tone or question. “I’m good at sizing people up,” he answered. “When I was in the military, I knew in the first few minutes of meeting a man if I’d have confidence fighting beside him in combat, if I could count on him to back me up, not to run even if we were getting pounded by the enemy. I was always right, too. And, let me tell you. I would have fought beside you with supreme confidence.” Mitch reached down and took her soft hand in his. “The way you stayed strong while you gave the eulogy was absolutely inspiring. There were no dry eyes in the chapel, including mine.” He squeezed her slender fingers gently. “It’s a survival spirit. Some have it, some don’t. I’ve seen tiny men who’ve been blown apart make it back from the edge because they have that spirit. I’ve seen big, strapping guys who weren’t hurt that badly changed forever because they don’t have it.” Mitch tapped his hip and then pointed down at the prosthetic hidden beneath his suit pants. “
I’ve
been wounded pretty badly. I know what that survival spirit’s all about. You have that same spirit, Sofia.”
“That’s nice,” she whispered, muting a sob. “Thanks, Mitch.”
“Of course, I—” Mitch interrupted himself as Sofia’s son Daniel came back into the chapel, head down, shoulders slumped. He was a tall, strapping boy for his age—and the spitting image of Acosta.
Sofia whispered something to him in Spanish, and he turned around and walked back out.
“I have to stay strong,” she spoke up when Daniel was gone. “I don’t have any choice. I must have that survival spirit because I must survive. I have two children. They’re depending on me, completely,
just me
now.”
“What will you do?”
“What do you mean?”
“Will you stay in Richmond? Will you go back to New York City?”
“I . . . I don’t know yet. Why?”
“Just wondered.”
Mitch reached out and turned her so they were facing each other. “If you stay here and you ever need anything, you call me.” He put a finger beneath her chin and lifted gently. “I mean it, too. I’m not just saying it. It’s the least I can do for you and the old sport.”
Her chin trembled on his finger, and she moved away a little. “I’m sorry I snapped at you.”
“No worries.”
Mitch didn’t like the way Sofia wouldn’t look him in the eye when he’d lifted her chin—she’d been obvious in her effort to avoid his gaze—and he was a man who drew important conclusions from things others might find insignificant. He’d learned that from his uncle. Judge Eldridge was always scouring the details for clues.
And, at this point, Mitch was turning very paranoid, especially after his interaction with Raul the other night. He recognized his paranoia, but he couldn’t fight it. He knew Raul had been more than a little suspicious of the big house, the cars, and everything else and how that could all be funded on a government salary. Maybe Raul had followed him into the warehouse district to Salvatore Celino’s long black limousine. Raul had been meeting with Judge Eldridge behind closed doors lately. Maybe he’d told Eldridge what he suspected.
Mitch’s gaze stayed on Sofia. Maybe Raul had told his wife what he suspected, too. That possibility was even more likely. He knew full well how close Raul and Sofia were—much more than most couples.
He intended on finding out exactly what she knew. If it was too much, he’d make another request of Salvatore—this time it would involve murder. “Will you be home tonight?”
This time Sofia’s eyes raced to his, then flickered away just as fast. “Why?”
“I figured I’d give you a call. You know, just to see how you are.”
RICHMOND, VIRGINIA (WEST END)
Racine raised the full glass of vodka to his lips as he sat in the 750, listening to the Grateful Dead on the BMW’s stereo. He loved this old music almost as much as he loved this car. He and Tess had listened to the Dead all the time in high school, this song in particular. So why was he torturing himself by bringing back all those memories?
He took another healthy swallow of Grey Goose as he gazed ahead into the dimly lit garage, at the ghostly silhouettes of bikes, yard tools, and patio furniture.
Claire was right. Tess
was
a damn bitch, and he
was
being too nice about everything. She’d been screwing the tennis pro for almost a year. And she’d told him in the most cowardly way of all—with a note. She hadn’t the courage or the courtesy to face him.
“Christ,” he hissed as he eased back onto the leather headrest. “How did I get myself into this?”
Two mortgages, fifteen hundred dollars a month for the 750, twelve hundred a month for Tess’s Escalade, tuition payments, what he owed on the kitchen, and a Niagara Falls cascade of everyday expenses were crushing him. But he hadn’t taken salary in three months so he could pay his programmers. He had a thousand dollars to his name. And the bill collectors were calling constantly. Personal bankruptcy was a week away—at most.
He’d been living the life while Excel Games exploded on an early-stage rocket ride. Everyone in Richmond wanted his time—bankers, politicians, reporters. But suddenly there’d been an issue with EG’s software—as well as the ominous appearance of a Silicon Valley competitor with huge backing from several major venture capital firms. Excel Games had dominated a specific sector of the lucrative online fantasy-league gaming space, but was suddenly being muscled out. That quickly he and Bart had gone from hanging onto the reins as their thoroughbred galloped around the track with no other horses even in the race, to barely making payroll every two weeks.
He loved the way this car smelled of rich leather, and he hated thinking about a flatbed truck pulling into his driveway to repossess it. Almost as much as he hated thinking about his beautiful West End home being sold at auction—and Claire having to leave it.
He’d actually called his old boss at Proctor & Gamble yesterday, just to see what was what. The prick was in the same old boring job, doing the same old boring crap, and he’d laughed aloud when Racine had brought up the subject of job availability. Then the line had gone dead. The same old job and the same old crap—the lucky bastard.
Racine finished what was left of the Grey Goose, as his phone chimed with an incoming text.
His pulse raced when he saw the sender: Tess. Maybe she was flying back to Richmond tomorrow, and everything would be all right again. Maybe she’d come to her senses.
“Please, God,” he whispered. “Please.”
Words on a screen betrayed him—as they had when the man from China had sent his message.
Racine clenched his jaw as he read her message.
I’m starting divorce proceedings. I’ll be asking the court for full custody, and I’ll get it. Claire will be better off with me in California. I’m sorry, David, but this is for the best. Claire loves me more. That’s just the way it is with a mother and daughter.
Racine dropped the phone, put his head back, and shut his eyes tightly—trying desperately to fight back the tears.
There was still one alternative, one chance to save everything. But it would involve a
huge
sacrifice. He would be forced to say good-bye to Claire completely for two years.
SANDSTON, VIRGINIA
Sofia stood still behind the floor-length drapes in the darkened living room of her three-bedroom ranch house. She couldn’t hear Mitch’s steps moving across the room’s thick carpet, but she could hear his breathing.
He’d knocked twice on the front door, then, shockingly, let himself in when she hadn’t answered.
After the first knock, she’d glanced out her bedroom window and recognized him standing on the stoop in the dim rays of the closest streetlight. She’d had a bad feeling about their conversation in the chapel after Raul’s funeral service, especially when he’d asked if she was going to be here tonight. It was as if Mitch knew Raul was suspicious of him, as if Mitch knew Raul had followed him on several occasions into downtown Richmond to that limousine.
So when she’d seen Mitch on the stoop, she’d panicked.
She’d torn down the stairs, intending to race out the back. But then she’d heard the front door open and been terrified he’d catch her before she could get to the kitchen. So she’d hidden here, behind the drapes in the pitch-dark living room.
Mitch’s breath was getting louder and louder. He was coming closer. It felt as if he was just on the other side of the drapes now.