Perfect Crime (23 page)

Marlayna interrupted, "I really don't think my fiancé should be answering any questions right now." Something in Marlayna's steely gaze dared him to deny the situation.

Defiantly, he asked a question of his own, "Where is Tessa?"

"If you mean Contessa Morgano," he replied, "Most likely making funeral arrangements."

"Funeral?" For a second Scott forgot about the few minutes leading up to the shooting, particular the announcement that Dante was dead but the officer was kind enough to fill in the details—though he shouldn't have been completely surprised.

"Family member – cousin I think." The officer said. "Actually, that why I'm here. We need your statement on the shooting at St. Joseph's."

The smile on his face faded. He'd missed a lot and didn't doubt that even more had happened while he lay bleeding on the floor. Things that would be difficult to explain. "I really don't feel well," Scott said, admitting the truth. "Can all of you come back in an hour or two?"

"You heard him," Dr Arezzo interrupted, "I'll have to ask the two of you to leave." The man dressed in white wasted no time in ushering the officer out of the room. "Mr. Crawford needs rest."

Marlayna was not so quick in leaving. Leaning close to the prone man, she whispered, "Scott darling, did Ric find anything in Dante's car?"

All Scott could do was moan a truthful, "No."

The doctor pressed, "Miss, I'm going to have to insist," motioning for Marlayna to follow. Her loving concern disappeared about as quickly as she did.

Tessa was sure to keep her back to the pair as they entered the corridor. She wasn't completely surprised to see Marlayna; the woman had shown up in stranger places as of late, and yet…

She caught Dr. Arezzo's attention as he turned back down the hall, having escorted the others around the corner. Intercepting her, he said, "You'd better hold off going in there. At least give his fiancée and the cop a few minutes to leave the hospital."

"Fiancée?" Tessa blurted, while turning to stare at the doctor.

"Well, that's who she's been claiming to be since yesterday," he added, his tone softening when he saw her reaction. "Have you changed your mind about going in?"

For almost a full minute she stood, staring down the hall where the other woman had disappeared. "No," Tessa finally answered, "I won't be long."

With self-confidence somewhat faded, Tessa held her breath and stepped inside the room. Scott looked so pale lying amongst the countless tubes and wires. Propped up by pillows, eyes closed, he appeared to be resting comfortably and yet that didn't make her feel any better. Jaw tight, the feisty Italian bit back the curse words that threatened to erupt and instead took the steps needed to stand next to the bed.

Somewhere between their petty fights and the almost candlelight dinners, she'd fallen in love. But those words would never cross her lips. She cared too much to complicate his life any more than it already was. Scott Crawford, investigative reporter, was not for her.

He must have been having another dream. Somewhere on the edge of his subconscious he felt her presence among all the noise. Her fragrance was comforting. Inhaling deeply, Scott tried to vanquish the emotional turmoil, the press of deadlines and the confusion of priorities. She wasn't really there.

Beyond his closed eyes, Tessa reached into her pocket and produced the mini recorder she'd used at the church. For a long moment, she stared at Scott, then, with an exaggerated blink of her ice-blue eyes, she pressed the little black gadget into his palm. "It's up to you what happens now," she whispered.

To Scott, senses fuzzy, his dream took solid form as she touched him. His fingers instinctively latched onto the lifeline, ignoring the vital exchange of information and focusing on touch. It felt so long since he'd connected with her—although it was less than 48 hours—and the cold metal on his palm was not what he wanted to feel.

It's up to you what happens now.

Was it really? He'd never felt much in control. Moving more than a dozen times in childhood and dealing with the underworld, it was difficult to understand who he was, what motivated him, or even begin to build a framework for decisions. Combine that with a need to run from adversity and you had a mixed bag that abhorred control and covered anxiety with attitude.

Look at Marlayna. She could treat him like a puppet because he'd never told her no—never contradicted her. And he would hurt Tess with his own weakness even as he saw how to prevent the damage.

It's up to you what happens now.

Scott didn't want the responsibility. He didn't want to save the world alone. The fingers held under his grasp, tugged to escape. He held on harder—a desperate man clinging to a lifeline, grasping at the side of the pool before going under one last time.

Figuratively pushing against the water that surrounded him, Scott opened his eyes. He lacked the energy to smile, finding only his heart aching with a sigh, "I'm sorry, Tess."

He could see in her eyes her own need to escape. The rest of the words fell off with a simple plea, "Please, don't go."

Tessa looked down at her fingers tangled in his. His touch was warm and the hold was comfortable; she let them linger just a little longer.

If it were a late-night movie, she might have tenderly held a finger to his lips, hushing his fears. However, the truth of the matter was, she wasn't ready to let go just yet. The time would come soon enough. "You may think differently after you hear what's on this tape."

She thought she felt his grip weaken, she couldn't be sure. But not taking the chance of feeling the sting of rejection, Tessa pulled away first. "I shouldn't stay long," she uttered, the strain of the moment evident in her voice and most likely in her eyes. Sleep had not come easy since the night of the shooting. "You have a life you need to get on with, and…"

"You've changed your hair."

"Put it back the way it was."

"I remember. Dante showed me a picture—long time ago." He closed his eyes, but his grip on her hand didn't weaken even though she tried to pull away. "So, what happened?"

She could say many things. Recount her journey from what she wanted to be, back to the pressure of family. She could explain why Tessa Morgan no longer existed. But instead, she explained everything away with, "Ric shot you."

Scott shifted his gaze, as though trying to see through and beyond. He tried to sit up, but couldn't against the pull of the tubes and the tape. "That's not really what I'm asking about."

"Oh, no," a low voice of concern interrupted from near the door.

Turning towards the startling intrusion, Tessa saw a quickly advancing Luca, his traditional priestly garb replaced with dark denims and a button-down shirt. Are you daft, little sister?" he shook his head in sympathy. "When I say, stay away, it doesn't mean run to his side…I told you I was keeping an eye on him. That should have been enough."

The revealed kinship should have surprised Scott, but it only served to set another piece into the puzzle. Ric had mentioned something about Dante, Tessa and the priest having their own secret code; it wasn't to keep secrets from the "family" as he had suggested, but rather from their father.

Every Italian Mama wants a priest in the family.

And that memory placed another piece; that was the reason for the Bible quote on the stained glass window given to the church. Donatello was aware of their childhood game; the gist of the quotation now made sense: "I called my son."

"No wonder he sent the window to you," Scott muttered to Luca. "He was telling you he knew the game—and that it was over."

Luca shrugged a shoulder. "It wasn't a game. Dante understood that a corporation can do much a syndicate can. And no one has to go to jail."

Tessa whispered, "No one has to die."

Her older brother added, "Unfortunately, the people Dante chose to take with him, were not all on the same page."

"What a fool I've been." Normally he was a good judge of character, reading people, his livelihood. But for one moment, doubt pierced his heart. "You knew all along what Dante was up to."

"Not all along. Though, I'm surprised he didn't tell you." She couldn't help the jibe, "You were close enough to know about his car, and what info he carried back and forth."

"Data you gave him," Scott said, "and here I thought Ric was the one in the know. Should have just changed my sources."

Her voice shook with continued self-doubt, "Didn't you?"

Luca took a step forward, offering a glare to meet Scott's. "Don't look at her like that. The only thing she's guilty of is keeping both of you alive."

"I hope you can understand."

Could he? Could he really? He'd spent half a year trying to figure out the scandal. One foot in. One foot out. He'd wasted his time, people were dead, and he could never share what he knew. If he did, Tessa might wind up in jail for obstructing justice – or worse.

Tessa stated the obvious, "You can never really leave family. There are just different shades of respectable."

He couldn't look at her. His thumb sat on the play button of the recorder, but he didn't press it. "What's on here?"

"The ending to your story."

Palm up, he waited for her to take the recorder from his hand—half hoping that she wouldn't take it back. When she stayed where she was, he forced himself to ask, "Why are you giving me this?"

"Your prints will be on a certain gun. More than one shot was fired. This might keep you out of jail."

"And send you instead? You're not one of them Tessa."

"Contessa." Looking down on him with a cold sort of sadness that he'd seen only once before, she uttered, "I'm sorry, Scott. Really, I am. I wish…"

"You'd better go." He couldn't look at the woman she had become. He wasn't sure he could ever look at her again. She wasn't Contessa—but she wasn't Tessa, either. His Tessa was gone.

And he had only himself to blame as he said, "Goodbye."

*  *  *  

THE END