From Barcelona, with Love (32 page)

“Grab her,” he told Gus. “Tell her it's an emergency. Get her out of here and away from him.”

Gus was six-five and big with it. A couple of strides and he'd inserted himself between Carole Brightwater and Peretti.

“Emergency … danger…” he said to her, in a surprisingly soft voice for such a large man. He scooped up Carole's shopping totes and her Birkin bag, put a hand under her elbow, lifted her out of her seat, fast-walked her to the waiting chauffered town car, pushed her inside, slammed her door, and got in next to the driver who immediately took off.

Peretti's hand, clasped to a bottle of ice-cold Peroni beer, was still in the halfway position to his mouth. Stunned, he put it quickly down and scanned the neighboring tables, eyes narrowing as he looked at the tall bald guy in the aviators and floral Tommy Bahama shirt. The guy was cool, busy on his cell, not a care in the world.

He had no idea what had just happened, but he didn't like it. He got up to leave.

In fact Lev was on the phone summoning another of his men on the Brightwater detail, the one sitting at the very last table at the sidewalk café.

“Follow him,” was all he said. Then he got on the phone and tried Mac Reilly again.

 

Chapter 49

Barcelona

There was a smile
on Sunny's face as she snuggled up to Mac. She was vindicated. For once he had not answered that troublesome phone, for once he had said the hell with the rest of the world, this is about us. For once it was only them. Somehow now, though, that bothered her. It just wasn't
normal.

She sat up in bed and turned to look at him. His eyes were closed.

“My future wife,” he murmured, grabbing her. “Just promise you'll never,
ever
leave me.”

The phone buzzed again. He opened an eye and looked at her. She lay back, and put a pillow over her face. “So okay, answer it,” she said.

Her voice was muffled and Mac laughed. He didn't bother to check, he knew who it was.

“Lev,” he said.

He was wrong. It was a woman's voice, quiet. “Mr. Reilly?”

“Yes,” he said.

“This is Bibi Fortunata.”

Mac was silent, floored for once.

Sunny had the pillow over her face but of course she was listening. She heard the long silence. It took something drastic to shut Mac Reilly up, and she sat up and stared at him.

He stared back at her, then he said very gently, as though speaking to someone who might be ill, or frightened, or possibly both, “Bibi. I'm so glad to hear from you. I know your daughter, and I have to tell you she misses you and loves you very much.”

Bug-eyed, Sunny knelt on the bed, clutching the pillow to her chest.

“Paloma is the reason I'm finally making contact,” Bibi said. “Rodolfo Hernandez said you were looking for me. He told me Peretti is trying to get custody of Paloma, and he wants to get his hands on the de Ravel businesses, take charge of Paloma's share.”

“I'm here to prevent that happening,” Mac said. “But I can do it if you are willing to give up your anonymity and face the past.”

There was a long silence, then Bibi said, “I'm scared. I know the police will dig up that tragedy and maybe this time they'll arrest me for the murders, and Paloma's life will be ruined all over again.”

“Not if I have anything to do with it, it won't. Bibi, I must talk to you about Peretti, about exactly what happened the night of the killings. I'll meet you anywhere, just name a place. You can trust me,” he added.

She hesitated only for a moment, then, “The Ramblas house,” she said. “In one hour.”

“I'll be there. And you can't know how glad I am to hear from you,” Mac said.

“To know I'm alive, you mean?”

“If only for your daughter's sake, yes.”

She said, “I'm asking you,
begging
you, please, not to tell Paloma. Not yet.”

“I definitely won't tell her,” Mac said. “That's her mother's job.”

He said he would see her in an hour, then turned and looked at Sunny.

She was still kneeling on the bed, jaw dropped, eyes bulging. He held up his hand, palm out. “Please, please don't say ‘oh my God.'”

“Oh my God,”
she said. “It was
her.
The famous long-lost Bibi.”

“Alive and kicking and worried about Peretti and her daughter.”

“I don't blame her.”

Sunny was already off the bed, picking up their cast-off clothing as she headed for the shower. “When are we leaving?”

“Immediately.”

She turned and gave him a radiant smile. “Chief Assistant Private Eye reporting for work. Oh my God, I can't believe this just happened,” she added, as Mac checked his messages.

He got the one from Lev, in Turin, frowning, just as the phone rang again.

“About fuckin' time you answered,” Lev said. “Things are happening you need to know about.”

“I just got your message.”

“Well, here's another, so listen up good. Last night a woman's body was fished out of the river here. She has been identified as Teresa Peretti.”

“As in ‘Peretti'?”

“The same. Not only that, buddy, she is Bruno Peretti's wife.”

“Ex-wife.”

“There was no divorce. She was a devout Catholic.”

Mac restrained himself from saying “oh my God.” “She jump? Or was she pushed?”

“Who knows? You wanna bet on Peretti? Not only that, my friend, after I saw him in the café today I had him followed. He got on a flight for Barcelona. You'd better keep an eye on Paloma, this man's dangerous.”

“How could he expect to get away with killing the ex?”

“Trouble is, mad men have no moral standards,” Lev said, grinning despite the circumstances. “Because he's friggin crazy, that's why. There's no police involved; a poor woman jumps in the river and ends it all. Who really cares?”

“And an undivorced wife would mean he was not legally married to Bibi.”

“A bigamist.”

“And therefore could not legally adopt Paloma. By the way, Bibi just called,” he added casually.

“And you answered,” Lev said. Mac could tell he was laughing. “So now you've got your hands full. Bibi's back from the dead. For the moment,” he added, thinking of Peretti. “So where do we go from here?”

“I'm willing to bet he's on his way to grab Paloma. He's still her stepfather and he can still do it.”

“Better take care,” Lev said. “Call me.”

 

Chapter 50

Sunny had been
standing by the bathroom door, listening to Mac's end of the conversation. “What?” she said, when he'd finished.

He quickly brought her up to date on the Turin happenings, and the dead wife. “Peretti's on his way to get Paloma,” he said. “And he can still do it. We have to get her out of the bodega, hide her somewhere.”

“We'll go get her then,” Sunny said.

“I have to meet Bibi in” —he checked his watch—“forty minutes. Sunny,
you
are gonna have to go and get her.”

Sunny thought for a quick minute, about returning to the bodega and Lorenza.

Mac read her thoughts. “This is not about you and Lorenza. It's not about me. It's about that child.”

“Why can't Lorenza just get her out of there, take her somewhere…”

Even as she said it, Sunny knew that was not fair to Lorenza. Mac was in charge of Paloma's safety. The responsibility was his, and therefore now hers as well.

“Chief Assistant PI,” she said. “Okay, I'll do it. But I'm taking Allie with me. Moral support,” she added.

Mac went over and kissed her. “I trust only you, Sunny. You can do this. Just get that girl and go anywhere but here. Then call me.”

“Why not just call the police?”

“I can't, yet, because of Bibi. I promised to do nothing until we talk.”

“So, do I tell Lorenza about her?”

“Absolutely not. I'll call and let her know you are on your way, and so is Peretti, and she's to hand Paloma over to you for safekeeping. Okay?”

Sunny wished he didn't have to call Lorenza, but she got on the phone to Allie and said she needed her. And that Mac needed Ron to accompany him on an important mission.

“How important?” Allie asked. Having just gotten out of the shower, she was comfortable in a bathrobe, hair pulled back, and looking forward to a room-service grilled chicken sandwich—with fries—and a glass of wine, and she wasn't exactly eager to get on the road again.

“You and I have to go to the bodega,” Sunny said.

“Shit,” Allie said, stunned.

“To get Paloma,” Sunny told her. “Peretti's on his way. We're the rescue detail.”

“What about the great detective?” Allie's doorbell rang. It must be her sandwich. Ron went to let in the room-service waiter, who then rattled around, setting up the table, as Ron's phone rang.

“The great detective has a secret rendezvous. He's calling Ron right now. He needs him.”

“I'm beginning to wonder what you two would do without us,” Allie said, but she could tell from Sunny's voice it was urgent. “I'm bringing my sandwich,” she said. “We can eat it in the car.”

*   *   *

Fifteen minutes later
they were sitting in the back of the black limo, doing just that.

“I hadn't realized how hungry I was,” Sunny said, taking a huge bite. “I'm starving.”

“So what were you two doing all this time, anyway?” Allie asked with a knowing grin.

“Mac's been talking to Bibi,” Sunny said, casually, and Allie almost choked on the chicken.

“You're kidding me,” she said. “
Bibi
?”

Sunny put a warning finger to her lips, even though the window between them and the driver was closed.

“He's gone to meet her and he's asked Ron to go with him.”

“You mean Ron knew and didn't tell me?”

“No, no…” Sunny filled her in on what was going on. “We can't say anything to Lorenza,” she added. “And especially we can't tell Paloma, not until Bibi is reunited with her.”

“Bibi wants that?”

Sunny shrugged, she didn't know. “That's what Mac is talking to her about. She's still scared she'll be arrested for those murders, still afraid for Paloma. She doesn't want her to suffer anymore.”

“That kid has surely suffered enough.”

Allie took another bite of the sandwich. It didn't taste that good anymore. “And anyhow, what about Lorenza?”

“Mac told me he would call her, tell her just to hand the kid over to us, it was urgent, and that we would take care of her.”

“Let's hope she agreed,” Allie said, thinking not only of Paloma, but of Sunny, about to face her rival again.

“It doesn't matter,” Sunny said, reading her mind. “It's not about me and Lorenza and Mac. It's about that child.”

Allie squeezed her knee affectionately. “You're a good kid yourself, y'know that?”

“I'm the Assistant Private Investigator,” Sunny said, and despite everything, they burst out laughing.

 

Chapter 51

Bodega de Ravel

Lorenza had the door open
before the limo even stopped, which meant Sunny was able to get a good look at her rival. Lorenza was wearing white, chiffon, for God's sake; long and soft and flowing and about as feminine as you could get. Her hair lifted in the breeze as she waited on the steps for them to get out of the car. Even from this distance Sunny could tell she was perfectly made-up, perfectly groomed.

“Fucking perfect,” Allie muttered. “Don't you hate it when the hostess says just show up casual and then she's in silver and sparkles?”

“Give her a break,” Sunny muttered back. “The only sparkles are the diamonds.” And they were, big beautiful diamonds. In her ears.

Watching Sunny climb from the car, Lorenza put a hand to her neck, feeling for the pearls, but she had chosen not to wear them tonight. They were Juan Pedro's pearls and this was not about Juan Pedro and her. She missed them, though. And quite suddenly, with a stab of grief, she also missed her husband. There had been other lovers. Not “lovers” exactly … well, there were some she'd thought perhaps she'd been in love with, for a while, and who she still thought of with affection and still counted as friends. But ultimately it ended because either she was too selfish, or too full of her memories, or too much her own woman, and she had always been the one to move on. Except with Mac.

“Welcome to my home again,” she said, holding out her arms so Sunny had no choice but to air-kiss her.

Sunny remembered the perfume. Versace. She'd always thought it a cheap scent.

“Mac called to say you were on your way.” Lorenza embraced Allie too, and Allie thought, even close up, Lorenza looked stunning. She smoothed back her own long blond hair, remembering her scrubbed-clean un-made-up face, not even her eyebrows for heaven's sakes, and blondes always needed their eyebrows.

“This is not about us, or Mac,” Sunny said, standing in the big hall with the big round table with its big urn of fresh flowers and the scent of beeswax and jasmine and smoke from a long-dead winter fire. “It's all about Paloma.”

Lorenza looked at her. Jeans, of course. American women always wore jeans. An apple green cashmere cardigan, buttoned to the neck. A beautiful mouth, slicked with a bright red lipstick, she thought jealously, only a woman as sexually lovely as Sunny Alvarez could wear successfully. And a pink heart-shaped diamond on her engagement finger.

She said, “I know. Mac told me it was urgent.” Suddenly afraid, she reached for Sunny's hand. “Is she in danger?”

“Not yet. But we must act quickly.”

Lorenza said, “I told her to pack a small bag, said she should wait in her room till I come and get her.”