When Wishes Collide (2 page)

Oh, God!

Will was alone in the kitchen
.

She ran through the back door, praying that the shots had come from somewhere else. The kitchen was empty.

"Will," she screamed.

No answer
.

Running into the dining room, her worst fear came true. Will lay on the floor near the bar, blood pooling around his head.

"No!" she screamed, dropping to her knees.

His open eyes stared back at her, but there was no longer any life in them.

"You can't be dead," she said, shaking her head in denial. "You can't be. You have to wake up. This is just a bad dream. You're all right."
 
She put her hands on his face. His skin was still warm. She needed to do something, CPR, call 9-1-1, but even as she pressed her hands against his chest, she knew it wasn't going to matter.

Will was dead
.

Sirens split the air, and then cops were coming in the door, pulling her away from Will, asking her questions, setting up crime scene tape, and all she could do was stare at the man who had been her best friend, her lover, and if she'd never left the restaurant, maybe her fiancé.

August …

Seven weeks had passed since the robbery at Vincenzo's had left Will dead and destroyed her life. Adrianna had run through all the stages of grief -- shock, denial, pain, guilt, anger, bewilderment, and depression. Now she was supposed to be able to move on with her life, but so far she hadn't been able to do anything but cower in her apartment, watch daytime talk shows, attempt to find some sort of interest in knitting and avoid her kitchen and anything that had to do with cooking. Cooking had once been her therapy, but every time she saw the gleaming steel of her appliances, she was reminded of Will, of Vincenzo's, of a life that had been so good but had gone so wrong.

She'd hoped the police would find Will's killer or killers and that justice would bring closure, but that had yet to occur. There were no witnesses. Vincenzo's had had no security cameras operating. They'd planned to put in cameras during a future remodel. The only motivation for the robbery seemed to be money. The police believed that Will had surprised the thieves and possibly attempted to stop them, resulting in his getting shot.

It was difficult to come to terms with a murder so random, so impulsive, so impersonal. But there didn't seem to be any other explanation, not that any other explanation would have changed the results. Will was dead. She'd lost a friend, and the world had lost a really good person.

Adrianna drew in a quick breath as she stepped out of her apartment building into the sunshine. Being outside made her feel shaky and uncertain. She'd gotten used to the shadowy interior of her one bedroom apartment, and she rarely ventured out unless she absolutely had to.

Today, she absolutely had to …

Stephan Ricci wanted to talk to her about her job, her future, and she couldn't put him off any longer. Stephan had reopened Vincenzo's three weeks after the shooting. He'd told her that he'd added new security measures and had made cosmetic improvements to the restaurant so that it wouldn't feel the same to either the staff or the customers. But she doubted a coat of paint and new furniture would erase her memories.

It was different for the others. They hadn't been there that night. It was easier for them to return to work. They hadn't witnessed the tragedy first hand. They hadn't ended up with Will's blood all over their clothes. She shuddered at that thought and wondered if she'd ever be able to remember Will without remembering him staring up at her with unseeing eyes.

Stop it, she told herself. Stop going back there.

As she walked down the sidewalk, she tried to think of something else. Her apartment building was only a few blocks from Vincenzo's, and ordinarily she enjoyed the walk to work. North Beach was known as San Francisco's Little Italy, and there were plenty of red-checked Italian cafés and old world delicatessens. There were also coffee houses that didn't just serve up lattes but also hosted poetry nights, folk singers and jazz musicians. There was plenty of nightlife in this part of town.

There was also lots of shopping. Vintage clothing stores sat next to art galleries, and upscale boutiques competed with cozy bookstores selling books about the history of the city, the tale of immigrants, the rush for gold, the first stories of the Barbary Coast. Adrianna loved feeling like she was connected to a rich and vibrant past. She didn't have family connections, but she was part of a city neighborhood that was very special.

The warm summer weather, the strolling tourists, the kids eating ice cream by the park, the clang of a nearby cable car reminded her of a life she'd been missing. She just needed to find a way to stop being afraid. Fear was something she'd grown up with, and she'd thought she'd put that feeling of uncertainty behind her, but one random act of violence had reminded her that she could never truly be safe or in control of her destiny. Life was about chance.

The irony was that the worst night of her life was being followed by the invitation to accept her dream job. Stephan wanted her to be the executive chef of Vincenzo's. She'd spent the last ten years working toward this exact goal. How could she say no? On the other hand, how could she go back into the restaurant, look at the floor, and not see Will's blood? How could she enter the kitchen and not hear Will tell her that he wanted to talk to her about something important? How could she go into the break room and not see his jacket or the blue velvet ring box?

She didn't know what had happened to the ring. Will's parents had driven down from Marin and taken charge of clearing out his personal belongings from both the restaurant and his apartment. They'd never mentioned the ring to her, but then they didn't seem to know anything about her relationship with Will. She'd tried to express her sorrow to Will's mother, but the woman had been cold and distant, and uninterested in her condolences.

When she had asked about the funeral, his mother had told her there wouldn't be one, that Will would be cremated and his ashes would be spread at sea. She'd known Will had not been close with his parents, but she'd never realized the extent of their estrangement. Not that it mattered anymore.

Squaring her shoulders, she forced herself to keep walking. She wasn't sure she could make it all the way inside the restaurant, but she was hoping to make it to the front door.

It was a beautiful Thursday afternoon, no fog on the horizon, just a few wispy clouds to mar the light blue sky. As she headed down the hill, she could see the Golden Gate Bridge and the colorful sails on the boats dotting the bay. Turning the corner, she walked toward a beautiful cobblestone square where four streets met.

Vincenzo's was on the far corner, across from St. Margaret's Church and the Fountain of Wishes, a popular North Beach destination. The fountain was owned by the church and had been built more than a hundred years earlier. It had survived the earthquake of 1906, and had been part of neighborhood lore for as long as anyone could remember. Throwing a coin in the water was supposed to bring luck and good fortune.

Over the years, numerous people had come forward sharing miracle stories of wishes that had been granted. She'd never been a big believer in wishes – maybe because none of her wishes had ever come true. Her prayers had also gone unanswered. She'd learned early on in life that she was on her own, that the only one she could depend on was herself.

For the most part, she'd been strong. But today, she felt weak, uncertain … and she had to find a way to shake it off. Cooking was her livelihood. It was all she knew how to do. Her savings was running down fast. She needed to get over her fear of going back into a kitchen.

On impulse, she walked across the square, pausing by the fountain. She could really use some help from the universe right about now. She opened her purse and pulled a quarter out of her wallet. The practical side of herself told her that quarter could buy her seven minutes on a parking meter, which might be a better investment then throwing twenty-five cents away on a foolish wish.
 

While she was considering her options, her gaze caught on two girls on the other side of the fountain. Her pulse began to race. They looked like two of the kids she'd met up with in the alley behind the restaurant the night Will had been shot. Since then she had wondered many times if things would have been different if she hadn't taken the pizza out to the kids, if she hadn't stopped to question them, if she hadn't been avoiding what she thought might be a proposal. Would she have been able to save Will, or would she be dead, too?

The girls looked just as ragged as she remembered. She wondered what had happened to the boy who had been with them – Ben.
 
And had they gone hungry without her leftover offerings?

She felt a wave of guilt that she hadn't thought more about their welfare.

She walked around the fountain. The youngest girl looked up, and her blue eyes widened in recognition. She said something to the other girl, who quickly glanced her way. Then they both turned and ran.

"Wait," she called, breaking into a jog as they sprinted across the square and darted through an alley.

It suddenly seemed imperative that she catch up to them. She needed to fix something, to save someone, because she hadn't been able to save Will. Maybe if she could help these children…

Five minutes later, she realized the girls were gone. They'd vanished down one of the many narrow alleys that ran through this part of town. Turning, she walked slowly back to the square.

The sunlight was streaming through the spray of water coming off the fountain, beckoning her forward. She still had the quarter clenched in her hand. She just needed a wish – the right wish – one that would really make a difference.

She was stalling again, anything to postpone going into Vincenzo's, but at least she was getting closer…

* * *

Another August, and he was no closer to finding his daughter. Wyatt Randall stared at the calendar on his computer. Two years had passed since he'd seen Stephanie, and he still had no idea where she was. Familiar frustration sent a wave of anger through his body. He was an inspector with the San Francisco Police Department. He located missing persons and solved crimes for a living. He was damn good at his job. He'd closed more cases than anyone else. But he couldn't close the one case that meant the most to him. And he was starting to think he might never find his daughter again.

He didn't want to give up, but time kept marching on. He picked up the photograph that he kept on his desk. Stephanie's blue eyes stared back at him. The picture had been taken on her sixth birthday. They'd gone to the beach, barbecued hot dogs and roasted marshmallows. For that day they'd been happy. It made him feel marginally better now to see the smile on her lips as she waved her marshmallow at the camera, the color in her sunburned cheeks, the traces of sand in her hair left over from when they'd made sand angels. What a great afternoon that had been. He'd never imagined it might be the last they would have together.

Stephanie had his eyes, the same direct, intense expression. Looking at her was like looking in a mirror, but she didn't have his dark hair, she was blonde like her mother.
 
 

Her mother …

Fury ripped through him as he thought of his ex-wife. It was Jennifer who had stolen Stephanie from him, who had violated the custody agreement, who had turned his life into a living hell. Crazy, messed up Jennifer, who had somehow believed their daughter was better off with her. The only thing that had kept him from losing his mind completely was the knowledge that Jennifer loved Stephanie. He had to hope that she was being a good mother, that she'd found a way to shake the drugs and the bad friends, but he couldn't count on that being true. And he would never be able to relax until he had Stephanie back in his arms.

Most of his friends and family had given up. They tried to pretend otherwise, but he knew the truth. It had been two very long years of false leads, dead ends and crushing disappointment. Stephanie's disappearance had once triggered Amber alerts, search parties and news media coverage. For months they'd set a place for her at family dinners. His mother had bought presents for every occasion, stashing them in a closet for
some day
. But
some day
seemed to be getting further and further away. He set the photo down on his desk, silently promising his daughter that he would never give up, no matter how long it took.

Even as he made the promise, his gaze tripped over the stack of file folders on his desk. There were other missing kids, other victims, other people who needed his attention. As much as he wanted to devote himself full time to the search for his daughter, he also had to make a living. He'd spent the first year of Stephanie's disappearance crisscrossing the country, following endless clues that had ultimately gone nowhere. Eventually, he'd had to go back to work, if for no other purpose than to make enough money to keep a private investigator working on the case. Unfortunately, that investigator had also come up with nothing and had moved on to other clients. Two years of work and he was back at square one, as lost as he'd been that very first afternoon.

"Wyatt, I have something you should see," Josh Burton said, waving him over.