Riptide (21 page)

Jason Cardiff had known at that time he was dealing with a very different sort of man than anyone he had grown up with or dealt with on Wall Street, but he was still unprepared for the look he saw now in Daniel Cunningham’s eyes.

Jason Cardiff was afraid. “Soon. You’ll see.”

Daniel Cunningham stared at him, considering things. And when Jason had almost given up hope, he backed off. “Okay,” he said. “We’ll see.”

Jason couldn’t shake the feeling it hadn’t really put things to rest, other than put a damper on the party, which had been winding down since its high on the pool steps.

Sometime after one, Jason Cardiff told them all to leave.

Bobby Baldwin and his dealer friend had gone home after realizing the group by the pool was not performing for their benefit.

Lisa left without a peep, despite the fact she’d been begging since Christina left to stay overnight so she could sleep in the master bedroom to the sound of the ocean waves.

Getting fucked up the ass by two men cured her of that desire.

Now they were gone, and Jason Cardiff sat by his pool, alone with his rubber dick and his porn magazines and a new round of barking from his neighbor’s backyard.

And, suddenly, he was no longer alone.

A movement by the back gate caught Jason’s eye.

In an instant, it swung open.

Daniel Cunningham stepped into the yard.

Jason Cardiff frowned. “What the fuck?”

Closing the gate behind him, Cunningham moved swiftly across the yard, moving soundlessly in his bare feet.

He reached the patio before Jason had time to move.

“What the fuck?” Jason sat up.

Cunningham padded around the edge of the pool, his glance taking it all in. The empty champagne bottle, the porn magazine, and the rolled-up dollar bill.

In the dim patio lights, Jason could see the sneer on Cunningham’s face. “Still up, I see.”

Jason didn’t like any of this. He stood. The movement required effort. “What do you want?”

“My money.” Cunningham’s face lacked the “can-do” expression he’d shown months back when Jason first proposed his plan. In fact, Cunningham’s face didn’t look human. When he spoke, Jason was aware that his voice sounded plaintive, which was dangerous with a thug like Cunningham. “I told you, I’ll pay you when things shake out.”

Cunningham moved closer. “Things need to shake out right now.”

Jason tried to ignore the tingle of fear that settled in around the base of his spine. He felt naked now, helpless in his swim trunks.

Cunningham was now fully dressed except for his bare feet.

“I can’t pay you tonight,” Jason said. “I don’t have cash.” It was a lie. He had a wad of five-hundred-dollar and thousand-dollar bills upstairs in his closet safe, fifty thousand dollars in all, which was exactly double the amount they had agreed on.

Cunningham saw through it and shook his head.

Jason’s thoughts turned to the panic button they had installed just outside the pool house entrance, behind a boxwood topiary in a cement urn. Without meaning to, he glanced that way.

Cunningham had applied wet plaster around that button.

He looked that way now, too. “The price just went up,” he said softly.

“No.” Jason kept his voice level. “We had a deal. You’ll get your money in a couple of weeks, like we said.”

“I want more.” Daniel Cunningham took another step closer. “And I want it now.”

Jason Cardiff inched back a step. Immediately, he realized his mistake.

Sensing weakness, Daniel Cunningham moved in like a leopard at a kill. “I gave you what you wanted. On time.”

“So what?” Jason Cardiff shrugged in an attempt to cover his fear, which was growing. “I said I’ll pay you the money we agreed to, and I will.”

Daniel Cunningham’s eyes glinted like light flashing on the barrel of a gun. “That price is no good. I want more.”

“Bullshit.” Jason Cardiff scowled. “Leave now, and
you’ll be lucky to get the money we agreed on. Nobody talks to me this way in my own backyard, and definitely not a two-bit piece of shit like you.”

But something was wrong. Daniel Cunningham refused to budge. “No,” he said. “New terms.”

The wind, which had been building steadily all night, suddenly let up. In the silence of that moment, a wave crashed onto shore, landing harder and louder than the others.

There was an instant of pure silence, as though the ocean had blown its wad and was holding its breath.

And then all hell broke loose. There was a ground-shaking rumble as the rogue wave devoured everything in its path.

Daniel Cunningham smiled.

“Okay.” Jason tried not to sound like he was giving in. “I’ll give you fifteen.”

Cunningham snorted. “The new price is a hundred thousand.”

Jason Cardiff blinked, trying to make sense of what Cunningham had just said.

“One hundred thousand dollars,” Cunningham repeated.

“Fuck you.” Jason Cardiff straightened up to his full height. He had several inches on Cunningham, but even in his disoriented state, he was no match, and he knew it. Cardiff’s years on Wall Street had taught him one important lesson, and that was cut your losses and move on as quickly as possible. Every instinct he had told him this meeting needed to end. “Get out of my yard.” For good measure, and because he’d had a lifetime of coddling to give him a false sense of self-importance, he added, “you fucking low-life loser.”

It was a critical mistake.

Daniel Cunningham moved, fast as a shadow, to block Jason Cardiff’s path to the house. “Pay up. Now. Before I raise the price again.”

Jason Cardiff stared. It took him a minute to find words, and when he did, they came in angry little bursts. “What the fuck,” he said with a brittle laugh, “makes you think I’m going to give you a hundred thousand dollars?”

“Because.” Cunningham’s reply came in short little bursts to match Jason’s. “There’s another DVD now, one I shot tonight.”

“What?” The wind turned colder on Jason’s bare skin, and he shivered. “Fuck you,” he said, frowning. But he had a feeling Cunningham wasn’t bluffing.

“No, fuck you,” Cunningham sneered. “I filmed you tonight, and I think your wife is gonna like it. Watching her husband fuck his girlfriend up the ass.”

Jason knew instantly it was the truth. Cunningham had been gone a long time in the pool house, supposedly mixing drinks and cutting lines. In reality, he’d been setting his digital camcorder with its zoom lens on autofocus. “You greedy bastard,” Jason said, shaking his head in disbelief.

“I’m a businessman,” Cunningham said in that same taunting tone. “Trying to make a living, that’s all.”

“You’re a lying, cheating scum,” Jason shot back.

“Some of us”—Cunningham waved his hand to take in the house, the yard and the pool with its imported Italian tiles—“didn’t inherit all this. You did nothing to deserve it.” His voice was bitter.

Jason Cardiff had heard enough. “Fuck you,” he snarled, taking a swing at Cunningham.

Cunningham easily dodged the blow. “Pay me.” He grinned, enjoying this. “Before I double the price.”

Jason Cardiff drew his arm back for another swing, but Cunningham easily sidestepped the blow.

They had edged much closer to the deep end of the pool.

Cardiff’s voice was ragged with rage, louder now. “I don’t give a shit what you have.”

Cunningham’s smile broadened. “Your wife will like it. And so will her lawyer.”

Rage boiled up inside Jason Cardiff, mixing with the alcohol and drugs in his system, clouding his judgment. “You piece of shit. You were nothing but a house painter, till I cut you a deal.” He inched closer to Cunningham. “And now the deal’s off.” He glared. “I hired you to catch her cheating. I got the DVD inside. And now I don’t need you. The deal’s off.”

Daniel Cunningham’s eyes glinted in a way that made Jason Cardiff wish he had kept the back gate locked.

“I got a new deal,” Cunningham said, his voice dangerous and low. “With your wife.” His lips curled around the word “wife.” “I’ll get a piece of everything that’s yours, Cardiff.”

Rage made Jason Cardiff bold, foolhardy. He took a giant step toward Cunningham. “You stay the fuck away from my wife.”

Cunningham laughed. “That’s a switch, isn’t it? You hired me to fuck her, remember?”

Jason took another swing and missed again. He swore and wheeled around for another shot.

Cunningham continued to taunt him, enjoying it now. “Hey, Cardiff, your wife got off on it. She told me it’s the best cock she’s ever seen. And she’s seen a lot.”

Jason Cardiff lunged at Cunningham and missed. “I’m calling the cops.”

Lightning quick on his feet, Cunningham skipped closer to the pool’s edge. “Your wife won’t like that. She’s in love with me.”

Jason Cardiff was angry now. “If you think my stupid, drunk wife would go for a low-life piece of shit like you, you are out of your fucking mind.” He had the satisfaction of seeing his words hit home.

Daniel Cunningham raised a fist, ready to throw a punch. And then stopped himself. “Oh, you’re wrong about that,” he said, shifting gears. “She wants me. And in fact, I’ll bet she wants you gone.”

Cunningham’s words contained a terrible possibility. Jason Cardiff simply could not grasp the full implication of Cunningham’s words. So he pushed it from his mind in what was to be his final, critical mistake. Instead, he acted like the spoiled, arrogant man he was. “You,” Jason said, jabbing his finger in the air and looking down his nose at Cunningham, “are a worthless piece of shit. You are nothing more than the hired help, do you realize that?” He paused to take a breath. “You’re a dick for hire, Cunningham. Do you know how low that is?” Cardiff laughed, warming to his subject. “You’re a male prostitute.”

In the next instant, Jason Cardiff at least had the satisfaction of watching his words hit home.

Daniel Cunningham’s face twisted with anger. “I’ll tell you what, I’ll take everything that’s yours.” He lunged at Cardiff.

Cardiff ducked. Scrambling to maintain his balance, he landed in a crouch mere inches from the pool’s edge.

With lightning speed, Cunningham repositioned himself, landing on the balls of his feet in the classic warrior stance.

What happened next required very little effort on Cunningham’s part.

Daniel Cunningham took one giant step in the direction of Jason Cardiff’s retreating back. Cunningham lunged, arms outstretched with palms open and facing out, landing dead center of Jason’s swim trunks. Cunningham pushed.

Jason Cardiff landed in the pool with a splash.

Daniel Cunningham watched and laughed.

His derision turned to incredulity, however, as Jason Cardiff sank.

Everything that followed happened in slow motion.

Jason Cardiff cartwheeled to the bottom, his mouth open in a silent scream.

Daniel Cunningham watched.

Their eyes met briefly.

Jason Cardiff’s were round with panic. He fought mightily for the surface, clawing his way until he broke free at last, sputtering and coughing.

Daniel Cunningham stood, uncertain, careful to stay out of reach.

Tilting his head back, eyes wide with terror, Cardiff took in gulps of air with ragged sucking noises. “Help,” he managed.

Daniel Cunningham did not move.

Cardiff sank below the surface once more.

Cunningham stayed where he was.

Jason Cardiff used the last of his strength to propel himself to the surface once more. Having a pool in the Hamptons was status quo, but he rarely used it. Chris
tina was the swimmer. He got his head above water and managed another breath.

Staring, Daniel Cunningham moved back.

“Help,” Jason Cardiff begged. “Help.”

Daniel Cunningham did not move.

Jason Cardiff’s mouth stayed open in a futile attempt to get air as he slipped below the surface. He took in water instead. He tried to spit it out but could not.

Water filled his nostrils and his mouth. He pushed his arms and legs in one last desperate attempt to reach the surface, but he failed. Winded, he pulled the water deeper into his lungs and began to choke.

It was like the time when he was a boy at Candlewood Lake but worse.

This time, Jason Cardiff felt himself slipping away beyond help, and he knew these were the final moments of his life. Memories of his past did not come tumbling back, regressing him through his life of privilege.

Rather, he watched the colors flashing by of the halogen lights they had installed last spring, winking at him in red and yellow and blue and green as he slid past.

And the shadowy figure standing high above at the water’s edge, laughing down at him as Jason Cardiff sank to his death.

A
steady rain lashed Jonah’s Path, carried on a wind that blew in fits and starts.

Perfect weather for a funeral.

The smattering of people who came back after the church service walked through the near-empty house, pretending not to notice they were outnumbered five to one by catering and household staff.

Biz Brooks, who it turned out was also a widow, stood on the porch with elderly Lois from AA. Oblivious to the rain, they pointed and gestured at various shrubs and grasses and God knows what. Christina had no idea what the attraction was. It had all been designed by a landscape architect whose hourly rate, Jason had fumed, was about the same as that of an attorney.

Señora Rosa and Marisol were in the kitchen, overseeing trays of food that would go uneaten.

Señora Rosa shook her head sadly as though she had just lost her best friend.

Marisol tsk-tsked under her breath, sneaking smug glances at Christina when she thought the new boss wasn’t looking.

Christina made a mental note to fire Marisol’s ass as soon as this was over.

Matt Wallace sat with Jake on a couch, sipping coffee.

Tyler had gone directly to his room and stayed there.

Nobody went near the pool.

The only one of Christina’s in-laws who came was Jason’s sister, Pamela Cardiff Lofting, who made it clear she was here solely to keep tabs on Tyler. “Perhaps I’d better go upstairs and check on him,” she said after ten minutes had passed.

Christina blocked her path. “Where are your parents? Why didn’t anybody else in your family show up?”

“Oh, Christina.” Pamela shook her head slowly, curling her lips up sadly into something that was half smile and half sneer.

It was a look Christina knew well.

Pamela Cardiff Lofting sighed. “You’re not the only one hurting today.”

Christina wondered how that triple strand of Mikimoto pearls would look if it were knotted up tight around Pamela’s skinny neck. “What the hell does that mean?”

Pamela flinched. She took a big sip of her Bloody Mary to collect herself. “I’m sorry,” she said, tapping the side of her glass with a fingernail. “Are you okay with this?”

The meaty aroma of tomato mixed with horseradish from Pamela’s drink was boring a hole into Christina’s brain. “Don’t give it a thought,” Christina said evenly.

“Are you sure?” Pamela raised her glass, practically fanning the fumes into Christina’s face.

The back of Christina’s throat itched. “Look, I saw the obit from the
New York Times
. What the hell do you people think you’re doing, planning a separate memorial for Jason?” She tried not to sputter. “Without even asking me?”

One of Pamela’s eyebrows lifted lazily, all innocence. “As I said earlier, Christina, you are not the only one who grieves.”

Christina’s voice was climbing into the anger zone, but she didn’t care. “And as I said earlier, Pamela, what the hell does that mean?”

“Our family needs closure.”

Christina stared. “Closure?”

“We need to say good-bye to Jason in our own way, in the place that holds meaning for us. Towne Church in Manhattan. The church that meant so much to Jason and means so much to our family.”

Our family. Christina frowned. “So, you planned a memorial service to make yourselves feel better even though you knew it would hurt his wife and son?”

“Our family needs closure,” Pamela repeated with a sniff.

Christina inched forward, her hand itching to wipe that smug look off Pamela’s face.

Sensing it, Pamela’s eyes widened in alarm. “Christina, get control of yourself,” she chided.

But, Christina noticed, she backed away pretty fast in her heels,

Pamela’s eyes darted, birdlike, around the room in search of help. She found it, settling on a spot just behind Christina’s shoulder. “Oh, hello,” she breathed, her relief palpable. “Please join us. I don’t believe we’ve met.”

“Nope. I don’t believe we have. I’m Matt Wallace. I’m sorry to meet you on such a sad occasion.” Matt positioned himself at Christina’s side and gave Pamela’s hand a warm shake. He directed his next question at Christina. “How are you holding up?”

“Okay,” she murmured.

“Liar,” Matt said in a low voice.

Christina felt tension drain from the air. Even Pamela looked more relaxed.

“How did you know my brother?” She directed her question at Matt, evidently deciding he’d be a safe bet for small talk.

And she was right. Christina watched Matt as the pair chatted, remembering the good looks he had possessed when he was young. Not flashy-movie-star handsome, more like a star athlete on a box of Wheaties. His looks had mellowed, not diminished, with time. And he oozed sincerity.

Pamela Cardiff Lofting, incredibly, felt it, too. “I’m glad I met you,” she said, excusing herself and going off like a lamb without a peep.

Leaving Christina alone with Matt. “So.” He looked at her, really looked at her. “You holding up okay?”

It was impossible to lie to a guy like him. “It’s all too weird,” she said with a shake of her head. “Bizarre.”

“No argument there,” Matt said with a quick nod. “When I saw you at the AA meeting yesterday, I knew you were going through a bad time.” He smiled. “Nobody just wanders into AA, I guess.”

You can say that again, Christina thought.

“I figured you had just left rehab,” he continued, “but I had no idea about everything else.”

By “everything else,” he meant her husband’s sudden death and—if you believed the tabloids—pending divorce and feuding in-laws. “I suppose it’s all part of the process,” she said, parroting another AA slogan. She sounded bitter and she knew it but was beyond caring.

Matt caught one of her hands in his and squeezed. “Listen to me, Chrissie.”

Chrissie. Just hearing him say it made her hand turn warm inside his.

He bent his head low near hers, his gaze full of concern.

Snarky comments she could take. But kindness was too much. Hot tears sprang to Christina’s eyes. “What?” She worked at stopping her lower lip from quivering.

“You’re going to be okay.” He pressed both hands around hers, giving them a sort of hug inside his.

She remembered now that hugs had been Matt’s specialty, big bear hugs that went on forever. The memory sent more tears spilling down her cheeks. Christina hated to cry.

Matt squeezed her shoulder. “Look, Chrissie, I’m really sorry about Jason’s death. I don’t know what you’re going through, but I want you to know I’m here for you.”

His eyes were the same as she remembered. Kind, matter-of-fact, and with a hint of a twinkle waiting to happen. “Thanks,” she murmured.

He gave her hand another squeeze. “This will pass. So long as you don’t drink, things will get better.”

Christina cringed. Would he be there for her if he knew how much she’d drunk last night? “Maybe.” She sighed.

“Every day is a new day, and you can start over anytime.” Matt’s eyes were brimming with the sincerity she had once found boring.

But that was because she had wanted the thrill and excitement of a drinking life, Christina realized with a pang.

Matt Wallace had wanted to set the world on fire and be the first member of his family to earn a college degree even though he was proud of his father, who’d emigrated
from Ireland and served proudly as a firefighter on Staten Island. Christina found herself wondering now whether he had ever found the true partner he had once told her he sought. She shook her head sadly. “Matt, I don’t think I handle things as well as you do.”

He didn’t rush to tell her she was mistaken, or worse, spout off some dopey AA bumper-sticker slogan.

It would have been easy to write him off if he had.

Keeping her hand tight inside his, he gave her shoulder another squeeze. “Give it your best shot, Chrissie.” He winked. “I think you’ll do fine.”

Nobody had placed any bets on Christina, not since she could remember. Touched by the warmth in Matt’s eyes, Christina managed a brave smile. A tiny spark of hope sputtered to life inside her. Maybe she could turn things around. Maybe she could turn into the mother she wanted to be. Maybe.

A loud familiar rumbling came up the drive, louder and louder.

Christina froze. This couldn’t be happening. But it was.

The sound reverberated over the wind and the rain, then stopped, close to the front door.

Oh, no.

Pamela had a clear view of outside. Her voice rang out, overly loud, echoing through the near-empty room. “How fortunate, Christina, that you have special friends to help you through this terrible time.”

Emphasis on “special friends.” The words buzzed around like angry horseflies.

Matt Wallace tightened his grip on Christina’s shoulder. “What?”

Pamela Cardiff Lofting was perched in her tiny black
pumps, glaring at the front door. Her birdlike eyes flashed like two angry exclamation points.

“Wouldn’t my brother be pleased?”

Pamela’s tone was acid.

There were footsteps and voices on the porch.

One voice was deeper than the others.

“Oh, no,” Christina murmured, shrinking against Matt for support.

He gave her a questioning frown, but there was no time to explain. She wished she could disappear.

Lois entered first, looked ruffled for once. “Maybe I should be going,” she said to no one in particular.

Biz Brooks followed. “It’s this way,” she said over her shoulder, brushing raindrops from her hair, which didn’t need tidying. “Everyone’s inside because of the rain.” Her voice died when she saw everyone staring.

“I know the way,” said a male voice from the porch.

Christina closed her eyes and prayed everyone would disappear.

No such luck.

Pamela Cardiff Lofting was visibly shaking, shifting her weight from one dainty black slingback to the other. “I don’t believe this,” she exploded.

Neither could anyone else, based on the hush that fell over the room.

Señora Rosa and her niece came to the kitchen doorway.
“Dios mío!”
Señora Rosa whispered, clutching her crucifix.

A deep voice boomed across the threshold and ricocheted around the room, too loud. “Sorry I’m late.”

Daniel Cunningham had arrived.