Page 27 of Deadly Target
It wasn’t often he admitted defeat, but when it came to Tracee, he’d already slotted her into the lost cause category.
“Oh, I see.” She looked truly surprised. Probably was, considering she knew he was a total workaholic. But also, somewhere deep inside, her ego probably convinced her he could never care for anyone else as much as he did her. “That’s great. I’m happy for you.”
Her acting skills couldn’t carry her this time. She stepped back and gave him a sad smile. “Anyone I know?”
“No.” He wasn’t about to discuss Olivia with her. “She’s devoted to the job like I am. We make a good team.”
Tracee nodded, avoiding his eyes as she tried to make a clean escape. “I hope it works out for you. You deserve some happiness.”
“Thank you.” He felt like a heel, even though he didn’t know why. She’d shown up unexpectedly and tried to manipulate him. “Tracee?”
Her driver opened the door for her and she glanced back, placing a hand on it, hope in her eyes. “Yes?”
“Take care of yourself.”
Her smile faltered. Without another word, she slipped into the limo.
He didn’t wait on the sidewalk for it to drive away. He’d cared deeply for her once, but she’d cared more about getting high. He knew it was an addiction, but he couldn’t play second fiddle to cocaine, and he’d tried his best to help her find meaning to her life that didn’t involve escaping reality. She had advantages other people who resorted to drugs never had. She had fame and fortune, opportunities, friends and contacts who could help her whenever she needed it. A lot of time and frustration had passed, but he’d realized cocaine was a crutch, a way for her to play the victim. He hoped one day someone could help her, but bottom-line, she had to help herself.
On the cardiac floor, he located Cooper’s room. Roman was inside, discussing theories with him and Celina. Celina looked almost as bad as Cooper. Dark shadows hung under her eyes, her normally tawny skin was sallow.
She got up and motioned Victor to her chair. “I’m going to take a bathroom break. Back in a few minutes.”
Cooper was half sitting in the hospital bed, his brow furrowed with a mixture of anger and stress. A morphine drip was taped to his arm, but he wasn’t using the little button to medicate himself. “Roman told me about the backpack link to the bomb. I need to get my files from the office, see if I can figure out which one of the Kings is directly involved.”
Victor appreciated his commitment, and understood his drive to be involved in the case. Revenge was an intense motivator, but rarely an effective one, regardless of what Hollywood liked to advocate. “Roman and I are headed to the safe house to meet up with Thomas and Ronni. Thomas has already been digging into your files, so far to no avail, but I’ll crosscheck all of the taskforce cases in the past year with the FBI database intel on the Suarez gang. Your job is to stay here and follow doctor’s orders.”
Cooper started to argue. No surprise there. Victor held up a hand. “Save your breath, take some morphine. This isn’t just about you, Cooper. Nothing is anymore. You have a wife and daughter, and they need you. If nothing else, you need to do what I say in order to help Celina and Via. They need you healthy.Ineed you healthy. We will hunt down whoever shot you. We will find the bomber as well. You are no good to any of us, if you end up dead, especially if it’s due to your bullheadedness.”
Celina rushed in, holding up her phone so Cooper could see it. “Sophia called. Via wants to see her Daddy!”
The little girl’s face was on the screen and Victor heard her giggle and say something. She was still too young to actually make sense, but her baby talk was enough to light up Cooper’s expression. “There’s my girl!”
As Celina leaned over the bed and the two of them FaceTimed with their daughter, Roman and Victor waved a silent goodbye and left the room.
Outside in the hall, an orderly rushed by, followed by a nurse. Roman and Victor moved aside before loitering a few rooms down.
“If I didn’t know better,” Roman said, “I would swear you had that planned down to the very second.”
“What do you mean?”
“It was like you scripted the whole thing. You were talking about his family and, bam, a second later the kid is on the phone, wanting to see him. I knew you had skills, Director, but that’s pretty damn impressive. Not to mention the fact Tracee Tyson shows up here to say hi? Damn.”
Sometimes the universe worked in his favor, keeping the others looking up to him. He clapped Roman on the shoulder as they headed for the elevator. “That’s how we do it at the FBI. You ever decide to jump ship, I’ve got a place for you on my teams.”
* * *
At seven thatevening in Oceanside, Olivia walked through the back door of Alfonso’s house and drew up short as the scent of homemade Italian gravy hit her. Americans called it spaghetti sauce.
She closed her eyes and breathed deep. It was the same every time, the scent transporting her back to her childhood with her mother and grandmother fussing around the kitchen all day long, the gravy warming in a big stock pot. Rainy days when she would come home from school to be enveloped by her grandmother’s loving arms and fresh cookies. Holidays, where fifty people would be crammed into their house, the food and drinks flowing as easily as the laughter.
“Did you bring the wine, doll?” Alfonso called from the kitchen.
She carried in the two bottles she’d picked up at the local liquor store, one Merlot and a Cabernet, setting them on the counter. Alfie wore his usual dark dress pants and button-down shirt with an apron that said “Kiss the cook. I’m Italian.”
He was generously handsome. Dark hair, dark eyes, a sculpted Italian nose. He worked out regularly and filled his shirt to the max, his body moving with easy grace around the kitchen.
Alfie was her age, and they’d both grown up with hitmen for fathers. Alfie had gone to law school, gotten married, and had a daughter, but had ended up back in the “family” after his wife died in an unfortunate car accident involving a drunk semi driver delivering fresh produce to a major grocery store chain. He claimed to have returned to the Fifty-seven Gang because Frankie Molina had kept him from wallowing in severe depression after his wife’s death. Supposedly, Frankie had made him realize how much his daughter needed him.
