The Fifth Avenue Series Boxed Set (32 page)

“What does your heart tell you?”

“Don’t play games with me, Dad.”

“I’m not playing games with you.”

“Then just answer the question.”

“Not until you answer mine.”

At that moment, she felt a bitterness toward her father she hadn’t felt before—and it frightened her.
 
She thought of the argument they had the other morning and realized they no longer were as close as they once were.
 
Something had shifted.
 
She knew she could stop this, but she wouldn’t.
 
Celina had to know the truth, no matter what she might lose because of it.

“All right,” she said.
 
“My heart says there is no way you could have done this.”

“Then why are we here?”

“Because the rest of me feels differently.”

“Well,” George said.
 
“I’m sorry to hear that.”
 
He finished his drink and stood.
 
“I’ll see you tomorrow, Celina.”

“Where are you going?”

“Back home to your mother.”

“But you haven’t answered my question.”

“And I don’t intend to.
 
It’s ludicrous.”

“Then answer this for me, Dad.
 
If you had nothing to do with what happened to Eric, who did you call that day in your study?”

George looked down at her.
 
Celina met his gaze with her own.
 
She wouldn’t look away.

“You want to know who I phoned that day in my study?”

“Yes.
 
I want to know.”

George placed his hands on the table and leaned forward.
 
His face was only inches from hers when he spoke.
 
“I phoned a friend of mine who’s going to see to it that Eric Parker never works in this town again.
 
That’s what I did to Eric, Celina.
 
I destroyed his professional career.
 
Nothing else.”
 
He straightened.
 
“Satisfied?”

She knew he was telling her the truth.
 
She could see it on his face.

George turned to leave.
 

“Wait,” Celina said.
 
“There’s something I have to tell you.
 
Something that’s important.”

“What is it?”

“It’s about Leana.”

There was a guarded look in his eyes.
 
“What about Leana?”

“She was there last night.
 
I saw her in the crowd.”

George looked around them, likely to see if anyone was listening.
 
He reclaimed his seat.
 
“Go on,” he said.

“She was with two men.
 
I noticed her after they wheeled Eric out of Redman Place.”

“Did she see you?”

“I called out her name to make sure of it.”

“What did she do?”

“She spoke to the men beside her, they looked at me and hurried her away from the crowd.
 
When they lifted Eric into that ambulance, I swear to God she was smiling.”

George reached for his empty glass of Scotch and wished it was full.
 
“What did the men look like?”

Celina read his mind.
 
“They looked like friends of Mario De Cicco’s to me.”

“Do you think she’s seeing him again?”

“I wouldn’t put anything past Leana.”

“Neither would I.”
 
He pushed back his chair.

“There’s more,” Celina said.
 
“This morning, I spoke to the doormen who were on duty last night.”

“And?”

“Each of them mentioned talking with Leana.
 
My guess is that she distracted them so her friends could get to Eric.”
 
There was a silence.
 
“I didn’t want to tell you any of this, but I thought you should know.
 
If one of those doormen tells the police that Leana was there during the time of the attack, she could get into serious trouble—especially if Eric learns she was there.
 
There’s no telling what he’d do if he makes that connection.”

“What makes you think he hasn’t already?”

George stood and turned to leave, but then he stopped and faced his daughter.
 
“I’m going to be honest with you, Celina.
 
One thing still bothers me.”

“What’s that?”

“The fact that you knew all this and still thought I was responsible for what happened to Eric.”

*
  
*
  
*

Later, in his office at Redman Place, George spoke separately to the same three doormen Leana spoke to the night Eric was beaten.

One was French, the other two Hispanics.
 
The message he gave each was the same—George had friends at the Department of Immigration.
 
If even one of them mentioned to the police that they spoke to Leana the night of the beating, he would see to it that all were deported to their respective countries the following week.

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

For three days there was nothing but darkness and haze and a terrible, unrelenting pain that came in waves and consumed him.
 
From time to time, during those moments when the haze lifted slightly, he became aware of sounds—a door swinging open, men talking, a woman sobbing.
 
And then darkness.

He dreamed.

He was in his bedroom, making love to Diana and suddenly there was no longer a sheet covering them.
 
Before he could react, before he could even think, there was a hand on the back of his neck and he was being pulled, lifted, thrown.
 
At the same instant his head struck the bureau, he heard Diana scream.
 
There were two distinct slaps, followed by a muffled cry.
 
And then nothing as she fell silent.

Eric struggled to his feet, groped for a light switch, turned it on.
 
There were two men, both in black.
 
One had a handful of Diana’s hair and was dragging her from the room.
 
Blood seeped from her forehead and mouth, staining her skin.
 
She was unconscious.

Eric looked to his right.
 
The other man was coming at him.
 
He was tall and solid and walked without hesitation or hurry.
 
In his hand, Eric saw his own baseball bat—the one he kept in the front hall, the one he used on Sunday afternoons in the Park, the one he once hit a grand slam with.
 
Leana was at that game.
 
She had sat beneath the shade of an elm, cheering along with the rest of the crowd.

Leana….

He took a step back, stumbled to the floor and watched the baseball bat descend to bash in the side of his head.
 
He lifted a hand to shield his face, but the attacker instead swung lower and the bat struck Eric’s leg, splintering the bone.

Eric screamed.
 
He turned onto his side, clawed at the carpet, tried to move, tried to run, but it was useless—the pain was overwhelming.

He looked down at his leg and saw that it was horribly twisted.
 
A broken bone jetted from the torn flesh.
 
A wave of nausea seized him.
 
Bile rose in his mouth and he gagged.
 
The man tossed the bat aside, grabbed Eric by the head and started clubbing his face with his fist.
 
Each blow sent Eric into an abyss that was deeper than any nightmare he had ever fallen in.

But even in sleep, Eric knew this nightmare had been reality.
 
When he woke on the fourth day, the hospital room was in shadow.
 
He became aware of sounds again.
 
He heard the faint hum of an air conditioner, the familiar tapping of rain against a window he couldn’t see.
 
He turned his head.

Tried to turn his head.

The action sent sharp knives of pain throughout his body.
 
He moaned.

Across the room, someone, a woman:
 
“Eric?”

His lips parted.
 
They felt as dry and as swollen as his tongue and throat.
 
It took everything he had to force out one word:
 
“Celina?”

“No,” the voice said.
 
“It’s Diana.”

She came across the room and sat in the white vinyl chair that was beside his bed.
 
After pressing a button to alert the nurse, she reached for his hand and held it in her own. “You’re going to be all right,” she said. “You’re in for a rough ride, but you’re awake now and you’re going to be all right.”

He tried to speak again, but Diana put a finger to his lips.
 
“Try not to talk or move. You’ve had an operation on your leg.
 
It’s in a cast now, but the doctors say you’ll eventually be fine.
 
All you have to do is rest and concentrate on getting better.
 
I’ll take care of everything else.”

The nurse stepped into the room.
 
Diana turned to her.
 
“He’s awake,” she said.
 
“And he’s in pain.
 
Can you get something for him?”

The woman stepped over to the bed and checked Eric’s chart.
 
“I’m sorry,” she said. “He isn’t due for another shot until four.”

“I don’t care if he isn’t due for another shot until next week,” Diana said evenly.
 
“He’s in pain.
 
Part of your job is pain management.
 
Now, either you move your ass and manage that pain, or I’ll get your supervisor.”
 
She cocked her head.
 
“You won’t want that to happen.”

The nurse said she’d speak to the doctor and left the room.

Diana turned back to Eric and saw that he was looking at her intently. “I’ll be all right,” she said.
 
“It’s just a black eye and a scrape on the forehead.
 
I’ve been dealt worse blows than this in my life.”

Eric wondered if that was true.
 
Although he had known Diana for years, he knew surprisingly little about her.
 
He knew she came from a small city in Maine, knew her father died at an early age, knew what a struggle it had been for her to complete college and earn her law degree.
 
Beyond that, it was as if she was just another one of the many faceless people he had met in his life.
 
Only this faceless person was in love with him and now caring for him.
 
He wondered if she sensed that he didn’t love her, that he never had and never would, that the only reason he stepped into her life was because he was lonely and wanted to make Celina jealous.