The Third Sin (18 page)

Blair strode into the room and reached for the diamond. For a moment, Irina wanted to strike her. Why Harold had married her was still a mystery to Irina. Blair was rude and bossy, ten years older than her husband, and divorced. And her daughter was no prize either—a difficult young woman who was out of control as far as Irina could tell.

As calmly as possible, Irina handed the diamond to Blair. “Can't you trust me with it for a minute? The Braganza has been mine for many years,” she said. She heard her voice rising and took a breath, desperate not to lose control in front of Blair.

“I'm sorry, Blair,” Irina continued. “I don't know what came over me. It's been a difficult time for all of us.” She handed Blair the Braganza. “Here. Put the diamond in the safe and tell me how Kirsten is.”

Blair took the stone and quickly restored it to the safe, saying, “She's out of intensive care. She lost a lot of blood but she's young and healthy and will recover. But the doctor said she has to be watched—as usual, it's her eating that is the problem. They won't let her go unless she eats properly—she won't heal well if she's not eating well. And knowing how stubborn Kirsten is, that could take a week or more.” Unsaid was the thought that once Kirsten was out of the hospital, she would likely revert to her usual diet.

Irina shivered. She looked out the window at the trees in Central Park. The leaves were beginning to turn and soon it would be winter, the harsh season that she most disliked. Her mother had died in late fall. Now Wade was dead, murdered in his bed, and Kirsten was in the hospital, recovering from a gunshot wound. It was an unlucky time of year. Who knew what would happen next? She blinked hard. She mustn't cry. She'd cried enough for one lifetime.

“I'm glad Kirsten is recovering,” she said. “I hope the police will soon find out who did this terrible thing to her. When can I visit? I'd like to take her some magazines.”

“That's kind of you. I think Kirsten will be ready for a visit by tomorrow, and looking through fashion magazines will lift her spirits. But I think we should space out visits. We don't want to overtire her.”

Irina thought of the last time she had seen Kirsten, standing at the top of the stairs, trying to see what the police were doing in Wade's apartment. The T-shirt and shorts she slept in had revealed her gaunt body. Blair should have looked after her properly, instead of spending her time dreaming up recipes.

Irina put her hand tentatively on Blair's arm. “Now let's hear the good news. How did Harold find the diamond?”

“He didn't find it,” Blair said simply, then looked away. Watching, Irina wondered if she was about to hear Blair lie, but what she said next had the ring of truth. “Wade gave the diamond to Giorgio for safekeeping and Giorgio returned it to me.”

“Safekeeping? From the family? What do you mean?”

“I gather Wade was suspicious of Bella's family. Jorge has mentioned several times that they have a shady reputation.”

Irina thought back to Douglas's reaction to the announcement of Wade's marriage to Bella. It was two years before his death, soon after his cancer had first been detected, and he had been in no mood to put up with Wade and his problems. Douglas had suspicions about Bella's family and hired a detective to check them out. The detective came up with rumors, but nothing firm. He did confirm that Bella had attended a convent and gone to drama school. And so, despite Douglas's misgivings, the marriage took place.

“Wade should have taken Douglas's advice and had an affair with Bella,” she said. “We all knew she was only interested in his money. And while an affair can be complicated, it has none of the legal problems of a marriage.”

Blair shook her head as if to dismiss all thoughts of Wade and Bella. “I'm too tired to talk. I want a shower and some sleep.” She went to the door, then paused and asked, “Were there any phone calls?”

“Yes,” Irina replied, “Donna Fuller. She said it was urgent and asked you to call her immediately.”

 

Chapter
23

S
ATURDAY, 8:30 A.M.

Irina's apartment

Leaving Irina alone in the den, Blair hoped the older woman would leave the diamond in the safe, then dismissed Irina from her mind. She had to decide what to do about the unexpected message from Donna. Though they were friends, she couldn't forget that Donna was a journalist. She didn't want to return the call when she was this exhausted, but Blair knew it was important not to let too much time pass or Donna would think she was reluctant to talk.

First, she had to be certain she could speak without being overheard. She knew where Irina was and there was no sign of Bella. But …

“Harold?” she called, “are you here?” There was no answer. “Harold,” she called again as she went through the apartment.

On the kitchen table she found a note saying he was restless and had gone for a walk. While she found it surprising that he was not waiting at home for news from the hospital, she was relieved to have the apartment to herself.

The attack on Kirsten must have prompted Donna's call, but it offered Blair the opportunity to make up—which would not be easy after what had gone between them. She hoped their long history of friendship would bring them together.

Anxiety dried her throat; as she went to the refrigerator to get the pitcher of cold water she always kept there, she was interrupted by a familiar voice calling her name.

“I'm in the kitchen,” she said loudly, allowing her anger to show in her voice, and a moment later Giorgio rushed into the room. She held up a hand to keep him from embracing her. “Giorgio, what the hell are you doing here and how did you get in?”

“I want to know how Kirsten is doing. I came in through Wade's apartment—I still have my key.”

The stress of the last hours suddenly became too much and Blair lashed out. “Giorgio, I told you last night you can't walk in on me unannounced. You must phone before you come. I can't deal with you right now.” She turned away.

Giorgio put his hand on her arm. “I heard about the shooting on the news and I've been crazed. The hospital refused to give me information because you listed Harold as Kirsten's father. I left a message on your cell but you didn't call me back and I didn't know where you were. So I came here in the hope of finding someone, anyone who could tell me how my daughter is.”

His distress broke through the haze of exhaustion and worry that enveloped Blair. “I'm sorry. Of course you are concerned. It's just that I'm tired and worried and have a million things on my mind. I need to make an important call right now. Having you show up on top of everything else is more than I can take.”

“Just tell me how Kirsten is and when I can see her. Then I'll leave you.”

“The surgeon assured me the operation on her shoulder was successful. She should be out of intensive care in a few hours. She'll be moved to a private room then. The duty nurse told me that now was a good time to go home and rest.”

“Thank god she's okay.”

“Yes, it looks that way. When I go back, later this morning, I'll add your name to the family list. Then you can check with the hospital about visiting.”

“Has there been any word on who might have done this?”

“No.”

“Is Harold here?”

“No. He's gone for a walk. Now, please let me get back to my call.”

“Can I do anything to help you?”

“No, but thanks.” She looked at him and said nothing more, hoping he would get the hint and leave.

“Let me know if you want friendly company at the hospital. I'm available,” Giorgio said gently.

“Thank you,” Blair said as she walked him to the door. “That's kind.”

He gave her a quick hug and left.

Blair returned to the kitchen and sank into her favorite chair, resting her head on her hands. She hated hospitals with their cluttered, impersonal hallways, the constant hum of machinery, the voices of nurses doing their rounds day and night, and the inescapable smell of bleach.

Seeing Kirsten just out of surgery, barely conscious, reminded her of those unbearable days when she had watched her father die. Consumed with terminal cancer, heavily sedated, tubes and beeping monitors attached everywhere—it had been horrifying. Her father had been a difficult man in many ways, but he didn't deserve that suffering.

Earlier that night, Blair had barely been able to look at her daughter's fragile, painfully thin body, her face almost gray against the white sheets. She had had to lean against the wall to keep from falling.

Torn between the urge to escape and her need to be with Kirsten, Blair had forced herself to follow the gurney down the corridor until it disappeared through the doors to intensive care. Then she had turned away and gone to the nurses' station, where she had requested extra security for her daughter. The hospital had been eager to comply—Kirsten's case was high-profile because of her connection to the network and because she was part of the Bruckheimer family. Wade's murder still dominated the news.

She could not delay calling Donna any longer. Blair's hand shook as she punched in the number.

The phone rang twice, then Donna asked, “Is that you, Blair?”

Blair found herself unable to speak, unable to find the right words to heal the rift between them.

“Please, Blair, talk to me,” pleaded Donna. “I'm desperately worried about Kirsten. I've always thought of her as more than my goddaughter. I love her as if she were my own child and I can't believe she was put in harm's way working for me. This terrible thing has happened to her and I can't tell you how much…” Donna broke off. Blair could hear tears in her voice and felt her own throat growing tighter.

“Donna, Donna…” Blair began, “I understand, and I appreciate…” She paused to try to control herself. “Oh, Donna, we'll get through this, like always.”

Donna's reply came with a burst of sobs. “I won't let you go through this alone. I'm coming right over, Blair.”

The last thing she wanted was Donna in the apartment right now. “No, no, Donna,” she said quickly. “You can't. I just got here from the hospital. I want to shower and change and then I'm heading right back to Kirsten. I promise I'll call you later today.”

Donna had recovered her composure; she spoke now with her usual take-charge attitude. “No, Blair. I don't want you to be alone right now. We can discuss what has to be done for Kirsten and then go to the hospital together. Why don't you come to me? My driver and I will pick you up in twenty minutes. You can shower and change at my apartment and if you want, you can have something to eat while we talk.”

Blair sighed in resignation. “Okay, Donna, since you seem so settled on it.”

As she packed a change of clothes, Blair wondered—not for the first time—why she always gave in to Donna. It went back to when they first met. Donna graduated summa cum laude from journalism school and had been hired as an assistant producer at the network. As a promising newcomer, she was assigned to work with Blair's father, then the head of the news division.

Already planning on having her own cooking show someday, Blair had convinced her father to take her on as an intern as well, so she could start to get television experience. Not wanting to be accused of nepotism, her father went out of his way to be demanding of her. During those difficult days, Blair and Donna became close friends and Blair often turned to the other woman for help and sympathy, just as she was doing today.

When Blair stepped off the elevator into the lobby, the doorman nodded and opened the door, then gestured to the limousine waiting at the curb. The driver got out and swung open the car's back door, revealing Donna waiting inside. Donna held out her hand to Blair.

“Oh, Blair,” she said, “I've missed you so much.”

Blair sat beside her and tilted a cheek toward her friend, waiting for the obligatory kiss that would signal forgiveness, but Donna held her by the shoulders. “We can solve any problems between us. You mean so much to me. When I thought I had lost you, I didn't know what to do.”

Blair shook herself free. “After what happened to Kirsten, nothing else matters in the slightest. As long as she pulls through, I don't care about anything, past or present.”

That seemed to placate Donna and the two women spent the short ride to Donna's apartment in silence.

Moments later, Donna was leading Blair into the guest room. “I know Kirsten will be okay. Now, after you've had a shower, some food, and a little rest, we'll go over everything together. And when she's fully recovered, I'll get the best plastic surgeon to repair any scar,” Donna stated briskly.

“Thank you,” Blair said quietly. She set her bag on the bed and walked into the bathroom. “I'll take a quick shower and then head right back to the hospital.”

Donna wouldn't hear of it. “You must get a little rest first.”

“I'm worried sick about Kirsten, and I want to be there when she wakes up,” Blair said. Looking at the firm expression on Donna's face, she knew she had to give in or face another battle. “Okay, a few minutes of rest before I go.”

There was no use arguing with Donna. There never was.

The only time Blair had beaten Donna was yesterday, when she threatened to go public with the scandalous photos of a nude Donna Fuller unless Donna killed the diamond story.

Donna had begged her not to, citing freedom of the press and journalistic ethics. But for once, Blair had stood firm. And Donna had backed down.

 

Chapter
24

S
ATURDAY, 10:45 A.M.

Donna's apartment

The hot, pinpoint shower was so relaxing that Blair had felt tempted to stay under it forever. But she'd resisted and now welcomed the delicious coolness of the linen sheets on the bed in Donna's guest room. Though she'd known Donna for decades, she'd never stayed overnight in her friend's apartment.