FACETS (JAKE SCARNE THRILLERS Book 6) (19 page)

“Alana is your daughter! You were a pig then, and you are a pig now.”

Brandeford rocked back as if he’d absorbed a physical blow.

Maura turned on Alana.

“He’s the father you said you never had, you stupid girl. And now you’ve had him in every way possible!”

“Jezus Christus,” Emile Jobert said, and made the sign of the cross.

The other two guards looked at each other and their hands drifted slowly toward their weapons. For a moment, no one said anything. No one moved.

Scarne knew he would remember the frozen tableau on the pool deck for the rest of his life. The holster under his left arm never felt emptier.

“What are you talking about?” Brandeford’s voice was hoarse. “Alana told me her father was an anonymous sperm donor.”

“I only told her that because I didn’t want her looking for you. I left Boston pregnant with your child. I decided to keep the baby, but I certainly didn’t want you to have any part in her life!”

Well, that hasn’t worked out too well, Scarne thought to himself. He looked at Alana, who was staring at Brandeford in horror. She dropped her champagne flute on the deck, where it shattered. Now unearthly pale, she got up and slowly walked into the house. No one made a move to stop her. 

“I swear I didn’t know,” Brandeford said. Now, he was afraid. “I never would have touched her had I known.”

That defense was not going to fly, Scarne knew. Brandeford had kidnapped a girl and held her for ransom. And now it was revealed that he’d been sleeping with his own daughter! The expression on Anastasia’s face had become murderous. He looked like he wanted to launch himself at Brandeford and strangle him with his bare hands. Brandeford was a dead man. Even his guards looked stunned. But what would they do now? Brandeford paid them, so they would presumably be loyal to him. 

“Why don’t we all calm down,” Scarne said. “There is a lot here that has to be worked out.”

And then it suddenly was, but not in the way Scarne hoped, as everything went to hell when Alana suddenly walked back out to the patio.

She was holding a shotgun.

“This is for you, daddy,” she said, coldly.

Brandeford looked into her eyes. He stood up and backed away from his chair, toward the pool and the presumed protection of his bodyguards.

“Alana, please,” he squealed. “I didn’t know. I love you.”

The shotgun blast caught Brandeford fully in the stomach and groin and virtually disemboweled him. He screamed and crumpled backwards into the pool. The Asian bodyguard pulled his gun and instinctively swung it toward Alana. Anastasia’s arm shot toward the man and Scarne caught a flash of steel flying through the air. They should have searched the old assassin for his stiletto, which now stuck out of the gunman’s throat. The man gurgled horribly and his gun boomed twice. The shots went wild as the man fell. Scarne was at Alana’s side in two quick steps and took the shotgun away from her. He pushed her down and turned to face the other bodyguard, whose gun was just clearing his holster. He pumped a new shell into the shotgun’s chamber and fired. He saw the flame of the man’s return fire but did not hear the shot, which was drowned out by the blast of the shotgun.

Scarne felt a searing burn on his left flank as he watched the other man’s head disintegrate in a mist of blood and brain matter. He chambered another shell and swiveled on Jobert, who had not drawn a weapon and now stood with his hands relaxed at his side.

Then, there was silence. The smell of cordite mixed obscenely with the fragrant night air. The blood streaming from the guards trickled into the pool, which was already turning crimson with Brandeford’s. Scarne felt his side. Instinctively, he knew that the sensation he felt when hit, akin to a cigarette burn, indicated that the bullet had only grazed him. Ironically, had the wound been more serious, the initial pain, mitigated by shock, would have been less. But his side was now throbbing. His shirt was sticky and his hand came away bloody. But all that meant was some antibiotics and a few stitches. He was reflecting on his good fortune when he heard Alana’s anguished cry.

“Mother!”

Scarne turned. Alana was cradling Maura Dallas in her arms. A red stain was spreading across the older woman’s white blouse at her left breast. Scarne’s mind flashed back to another woman, another bloodied breast. He went over to the two women. One look at Maura’s sightless eyes told him she was dead. He looked over at Anastasia and shook his head. They both heard an animal sound. It was the guard with the knife in his throat. He was lying on his back, still alive, and had the presence of mind to press his wound, with the stiletto still protruding, to stanch the flow of blood. The dagger had apparently not pierced the man’s jugular. Not that it mattered. Anastasia calmly walked over and picked up the man’s gun, which had fired the errant bullet that struck Maura Dallas. He looked down at the man, who raised one hand in supplication. Anastasia shot him through the forehead. He bent down and retrieved his stiletto, wiped it on the dead man’s shirt, and slid it back up in his sleeve. Then he walked over to Jobert and raised the gun. The man looked more resigned than frightened.

“Vincent, no!”

It was Alana. She eased her mother’s body to the deck and walked over to Anastasia. She faced him, her back to the guard.

“I am head of the family now,” she said. “You will do as I say.”

There was steel in her voice. She turned to Jobert.

“Do you want a job, Emile?”

CHAPTER 25 - BONUS

“It was surreal,” Scarne said.

It was three days later and he was sitting in his office with Noah Sealth and Evelyn Warr. All were drinking Irish whiskey. The sun was just setting, but outside it was abnormally dark for the hour, thanks to the black clouds of a just-ending thunderstorm. The frequent flashes of lightning and rolls of thunder added drama to a story that did not need any. When Scarne finished telling it, Noah and Evelyn sat stunned.

“Do you think it will hold?” Sealth said, finally.

“I don’t see why not.”

Scarne had described the aftermath of the carnage at the villa. Alana Dallas had taken complete charge. She explained, in a matter-of-fact tone that brooked no opposition, that Emile, the surviving and very lucky bodyguard, was born and raised in Sint Maarten, and knew just about everyone on both sides of the island. As a former policeman, he could help stage the crime scene so that it looked as if Brandeford and his guards had a falling out fatal to the three of them. He could also provide details of the alleged bad blood that precipitated it.

There would be hard questions, but Jobert could prove he did not fire his gun, or any gun. It was ghastly work, but by the time he, Anastasia and Scarne were through, the fingerprints on guns and the stiletto, which had been carefully replaced in the dead guard’s throat, would match only those of the three dead men. Anastasia had been fond of that stiletto. It held many memories for him. But, in the end, he had been convinced that it had to remain at the crime scene.

“Alana promised him a new one,” Scarne said dryly.

He explained that Emile, being the smartest of the bodyguards and a local, had been Alana and Brandeford’s bag man, responsible for paying the bribes to officials, including those at the airport. With him on their side, they could all leave Sint Maarten without questions — and with Maura’s body.

“What about that French detective you hired?” Sealth asked. “He leads you to Brandeford and the girl, and then there is a slaughter. He surely won’t buy any story about a shootout among Brandeford and his guards, and you and the girl disappearing.”

“Bastian half suspects that this was an intelligence or terrorism operation. He would probably keep his mouth shut in any case, and, besides, Jobert will give him some diamonds to insure his silence. If there is any blowback on Bastian because he was asking questions about Brandeford, he will claim a mysterious American, that’s me, hired him to find Brandeford, who owed him a large gambling debt. Brandeford was known as a gambler. If anyone remembers me from the casino, that will seem natural. Don’t forget, we’re dealing with a police force that is not that sophisticated in a region where bad actors often meet untimely deaths. Jobert says no one will cry over the bodyguards, who were petty criminals when he recruited them. And if anyone digs into Brandeford’s past they will learn about a man who lived under an assumed name in the States because he was thrown out of Harvard on a drug rap.”

“Which he didn’t deserve,” Evelyn said.

“He deserved all the rest,” Scarne said.

The rest of the story was almost as bizarre. Alana told Anastasia to call a mob friend of the Dallassios in New Orleans. Money was paid. Strings were pulled. The Dallassio jet landed at a small private strip the mobster used for his drug smuggling and was met by a Lincoln Town Car, from which emerged two tough-looking men and a doctor. The doctor, who knew to keep his mouth shut, patched Scarne up in the back seat of the car and gave him a shot of antibiotics. After the jet was refueled, Alana Dallas and Vincent Anastasia came over to the car.

Alana got into the back seat with Scarne and handed him a small blue felt pouch.

“Vincent told me that my mother hired you because you had a history with Alana Loeb, the woman I was named after. Is that true?”

“Yes.”

“Now is not the time, but when you are ready I would like to hear about it.”

Scarne was silent.

“Vinnie also said people think you are the best at what you do.”

“I don’t know about that. I seem to get shot a lot.”

She leaned across to him and kissed him long and hard.

“I told you, Jake, I like older men. And I’m no longer young, am I?”

“No, kid. You are not. Take care of yourself.”

“Do you think all this will fuck me up?”

“Only if you let it, Alana. You are beautiful and smart. And a woman, which means you are tougher than any man. Go home and bury your mother. She loved you. Vinnie loves you.”

“I’m going to be a criminal. You’re not bothered about that?”

“Some of my best friends are crooks. Doesn’t mean you have to be a bad person. You can be hard without being cruel. Listen to Vinnie.”

“Vinnie won’t be around forever.”

“I think you may have found your next Vinnie.”

“Jobert?”

“He’s solid.”

They could hear the Dallassio jet’s engines revving up.

Anastasia walked over to the car.

“Alana, we have to go.”

“I think I’m going to see you again, Jake Scarne. Don’t get too old.”

Scarne laughed as she got out of the car and walked toward the jet.

Anastasia reached in and shook Scarne’s hand.

“The stiletto was inspired, Vinnie” Scarne said.

“Thank God for amateur pat downs,” Anastasia said.

As the car pulled away, Scarne could hear the roar of the jet’s two engines as it took off for San Francisco. Then he was driven to Louis Armstrong New Orleans International Airport in Jefferson Parish, where he was given a first-class ticket for a flight to New York.  

“Emile the bodyguard played his role perfectly. There was hardly a mention in the media. Bad for tourism when three guys get whacked, so the local authorities played it down. Alana gave him a handful of diamonds to use as bribes, with the promise of more if he pulled it off. And she promised him a bigger job in San Francisco when it all blows over. As for her mother, the story is that Maura Dallas died at home of a cerebral hemorrhage. It’s rare, but not unheard of in a woman of her age.”

“She had a bullet in her chest,” Evelyn pointed out. “Wouldn’t someone notice?”

“Anastasia told me that the family owns a string of funeral homes, with some pet morticians who can cover up anything.”

“That works for Dudley, too,” Sealth commented.

“You bet,” Scarne said. “But Dudley doesn’t also own a hospital with a couple of doctors who will fudge a death certificate. Yet, anyway. The Dallassio family does.”

“It sounds like Alana has it all figured out,” Sealth said. There was admiration in his voice. “One tough cookie.”

“I feel sorry for her,” Evelyn said. “She’s only what, 21, a kid really. Kidnapped. Imprisoned. She slept with her own father, then killed him.” Evelyn visibly shuddered. “And then saw a massacre in which her mother was also killed. God, how can she survive that in any normal way?”

“Alana’s not normal,” Scarne said. “She has seen more in her 21 years than most people see in 40. I wouldn’t feel sorry for her. She’s found her niche in life. With Vincent Anastasia completing her education, she will be a force to be reckoned with.”

He reached in his pocket. He took out the blue felt pouch Alana Dallas had given him. He tilted it out on his desk and a dozen five-carat diamonds spilled out. Even in the low light of the office, they sparkled brilliantly. He heard Evelyn catch her breath.

“Jesus,” Sealth said.

“Each of you take one,” Scarne said.

“You can’t be serious,” Evelyn said.

“I’m dead serious. You’ve both earned it.”

“I don’t know squat about diamonds,” Sealth said.

“I do,” Evelyn said quickly. “I’ll pick for Juliette and me.”

Scarne laughed as Evelyn bent to her task. A moment later, after examining all the stones, she chose two. Even at a distance, Scarne could tell they were the pick of the litter, or he corrected himself mentally, of the glitter.

“I would love either of these,” Eveyn said. “But I want to be fair to Juliette.” She turned her back to Sealth. When she turned around, she held out two fists. “Pick one.”

He did, and she handed him his diamond.

“You two should get out of here,” Scarne said. “It’s getting late.”

“You should go home, too, Jake,” Evelyn said.

“I will. I just have to make a call.”

Then he remembered something. Noah was already out the door when he summoned Evelyn back.

“I’m sorry, Ev, I’ve been so wrapped up in this case I forgot to ask you how, you know, the test went.”

“You mean the biopsy?”

“Yes.”

Evelyn smiled, and held up her new diamond.

“My luck has been splendid, recently. The biopsy was negative. It was only a cyst, probably smaller than this rock. You are a dear for worrying. Now, go home!”

She left. Scarne picked up his phone. Regina Russell answered on the third ring.

“I was afraid you were still out of town,” Scarne said.

“Just got back.”

“I’d like to see you.”

Russell heard something in his voice.

“Are you all right, Jake?”

“I found Alana Dallas.”

“My God! Is she OK?”

“In a manner of speaking. But she’s not the Alana Dallas you knew. And she won’t be coming back to school.”

There was a long pause.

“Come to my apartment,” Regina said. “I’ll cook for us. And you can tell me all about it.”

Scarne hung up. He fingered the stones still in front of him, thinking about the bloodbath at the villa. Of the beautiful Maura Dallas with a dark stain spreading on her blouse, her head cradled in her daughter’s arms. He thought of Alana’s tears dripping onto the dead woman’s face. Tears that disappeared when Alana began giving orders. Tears that she would probably never shed again. He thought of the infinity pool, stained crimson with so much blood, some of which was his, that one side of it appeared to have a red waterfall.

Evelyn knocked on his door jamb.

“We’re heading out, Jake.”

He looked up. She studied his face.

“What’s the matter, Jake?”

Scarne picked up one of the shining jewels and held it up.

“If anything deserves the title,” he said, “these stones do.”

“What title?”

“Blood diamonds,” Scarne murmured, and turned to open his safe. 

THE END

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FACETS

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ADDENDUM

Many of those who have read Lawrence De Maria’s first thriller, SOUND OF BLOOD, have commented on its strong female characters, particularly the mysterious and amoral Alana Loeb, who seduces and entrances private investigator Jake Scarne, even as he uncovers her schemes.

When we first meet her in SOUND OF BLOOD, Alana is a mature woman in her 30’s who men hate to love, but do. Brilliant, a superb athlete and stunningly beautiful, she is also an expert in the erotic arts. Men on both sides of the law cannot resist her, but she boasts that she will never fall in love – a condition that, to her, implies loss of control.

Alana Loeb is the real power behind the throne of the vast Ballantrae financial empire, and runs it with a cruel efficiency. Given her wealth, position and ambition, she is one of the most dangerous women in the country.

But Loeb didn’t start out that way. As implied in FACETS, her life took a brutal and tragic turn before she was sent to Notre Dame des Monts and befriended Maura Dallas.

That earlier trauma, in South America, created the woman she became: the powerful and corrupt executive who oversaw a huge financial empire.

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The following prologue (slightly abridged) is from SOUND OF BLOOD.

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Alana Loeb grew up privileged, loved without reservation by her widowed mother and paternal grandfather on a sprawling vineyard outside the city of Mendoza 600 miles west of Buenos Aires. The province, also named Mendoza, generates almost three-quarters of Argentina’s annual wine production.

Long-limbed and coltish, Alana was an enchanting combination of spirited country girl and, thanks to the nuns at Saint Adair Scots School for Girls, an incipient and beautiful lady of the manor. When not in school or charming tourists at the winery, she could usually be found in jeans tearing around the countryside on Mirari, her wild mare, or on skis at Las Lenas Mountain with cousins and friends. Utterly fearless, her spectacular tumbles in both pursuits terrorized her mother and delighted her grandfather, who saw in the not-so-fragile blonde beauty the possible realization of the dreams he’d once held for his dead son, his only child. (But Joseph Loeb was secretly grateful that Alana was also showing a growing affinity for golf.)