Speak Easy (Speak Easy 1)

Without another word, he picked up the jewelry box, turned on his heel and stormed out the front door.

#

Upstairs, I sat still as stone on my bed and tried to think through this new twist. Daddy is missing? Where the hell is he? And if he showed up here, what would I do? It would look like I’d lied to Enzo, and then he wouldn’t hold up his end of our deal—to leave my family alone. Tipping over, I lay my head on my pillow and curled into a ball. His scent still lingered in my bedroom, and I inhaled deeply.

What am I doing with him?

Despite our inability to keep our hands to ourselves, the two of us would always be suspicious of each other. His passion for me was matched by his need for power and a capacity for violence. I was torn between not wanting to betray a friend and protecting my family against further harm—not to mention my all-consuming attraction to him. But our desire could not dissolve our distrust, and our distrust poisoned our desire.

We were toxic from start to finish.

#

Somehow I must have fallen asleep, because I woke with a start when I heard the shatter of breaking glass. Heart pounding, I bolted out of bed and dashed to the dresser, yanked open my underwear drawer and pulled out the gun. I’d never fired a gun before but my hands instinctively closed around the hilt, one finger on the trigger. I froze at my bedroom door, listening for an intruder.

Nothing.

I counted to ten, my heart thumping in my throat, and ventured through the doorway.

Nothing.

Holding my breath, I took the steps down slowly, both hands on the gun. The light was still on in the front hall. I looked left toward the kitchen and saw nothing amiss, and to my right the front door was still shut tight. Straight ahead, the front room was dark, but as I entered it, the hairs on the back of my neck stood up.

One front windowpane was busted, and a brick lay on the floor between the sofa and the coffee table. Looking wildly around the room, pointing the gun in every direction, I listened for the hiss of a fuse, recalling what Enzo had said about explosives. But I heard nothing except crickets through the broken window. Lowering the gun, I turned my attention to the brick, which had a piece of paper tied to it with twine. I set the gun down on the table and sat on the couch. Pulling the paper free, I read it.

It was Daddy’s writing.

Bring the money to the boat house at midnite tonite or they will kill me

What time was it? I scrambled to my feet and raced into the kitchen to check the clock. It was almost eleven. Terror squeezed my lungs, and I put my hand over my stomach. Breathe, I reminded myself. In and out. Make a plan.

I had the money. I had no car, but I could go down to the boathouse on foot, although it would take me about half an hour. The bigger problem was that I didn’t have Joey to go with me, and I had no idea who I’d encounter there. Whoever it was had Daddy for sure—I knew by his chicken scratch handwriting and the way he spelled midnite and tonite.

Midnight. Tonight.

I had one hour.

I raced up the stairs, ripped off my robe and threw on a chemise and dark blue dress. My hair had dried before I had a chance to even comb it, so I hid it under an oversized cloche. Forgoing stockings, I stepped into my shoes and shoved the money inside a large purse.

Right next to the pistol.

#

By the time I reached the boathouse drive, my hip was aching, my feet hurt, and my dress was sticking to my skin. I peered through the dense shrubs and undergrowth, reluctant to leave the comforting glow of the lights on Jefferson behind. But I had no choice. Carefully I made my way down the dirt road, trying to avoid turning my ankle in a rut, and jumping at every snapped twig.

When the boathouse came into view, lit only by a crescent moon, I stopped. A breeze rustled the trees around me, cooling my skin. I saw no cars. Heard no human voices. Closing my eyes, I exhaled and waited for my hammering pulse to slow down. I wondered how many of them were in the boathouse, and whether Daddy was with them too. How had they gotten here—by boat? I couldn’t see the dock from where I stood, and I’d have to get past the boathouse to check. A few more minutes ticked by while I put off stepping from the trees and facing whoever waited for me inside.

Enough stalling. It’s got to be close to midnight.

Squaring my shoulders, I left my hiding spot and headed toward the boathouse door with one hand in my purse, my fingers on the reassuring metal of the gun.

I was three feet from the door when a shadow came at me from the direction of the dock. My hand closed around the gun just has a heavy object slammed against my left temple.

The shadow eclipsed the moon, and everything went dark.

#

As the fog lifted, a man in a burlap sack mask with eyeholes stood over me, coiling a rope. When I could see, I realized I was lying down in the bottom of a boat, my wrists tied together in front. Lifting my arms, I touched my sore temple with the back of one hand. The pain reverberated throughout my skull. My hat was gone, but it had probably saved my skin from breaking open. I attempted to sit up, but my head throbbed, making me woozy and nauseous. I fell right back down again, moaning in pain.