Total pages in book: 76
Estimated words: 75699 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 378(@200wpm)___ 303(@250wpm)___ 252(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 75699 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 378(@200wpm)___ 303(@250wpm)___ 252(@300wpm)
“Are you okay, Belinda?” I ask.
She doesn’t respond.
The nanny rises and comes toward me. “You shouldn’t be in here.”
Do I trust the nanny? She’s a young woman—no more than twenty-five or twenty-six years old. I look again to Belinda, and she gives me a slight nod.
I take it at face value. I pull the note out of my pocket and show it to the nanny.
She nods, picks up her purse, pulls out a card, and hands it to me.
“Now go,” she whispers right into my ear. “Quickly, before they miss you.”
Only then do I see the camera mounted at the top of the door. By sheer luck I managed to stay out of its sight. But no doubt they heard the sounds I made.
I’ll stick with my story of getting lost. Even though McAllister told me point-blank the bathroom was off the foyer. Maybe he’ll believe I’m just that stupid.
I’ll have to trust the nanny to take care of it. Maybe there isn’t a sound system. Maybe only a camera. I don’t know.
I can’t worry about it now.
I’m in too deep.
When a child asks me for help, I have to help her.
I should’ve been around to help Mikey and Savannah. Maybe helping Belinda will help me make up for that, help me feel less guilt.
She looks fine and healthy. Not a mark on her. But not all abuse leaves marks. And the most private parts of her are covered.
I don’t dare look at the card the nanny gave me. I’ll deal with that alone. It may be a phone number, a meeting place, only a name. I don’t know.
At the moment I need to get back out to the deck and smoke a Cuban with two men I detest.
At least a delicious Cuban will make it bearable.
Grandfather and McAllister are already lit up and nursing brandies when I appear outside.
“Vinnie,” McAllister says, “sit down right here. I picked out a robust Cohiba for you. Already cut.”
“Obliged,” I say as I take a seat.
I take the lighter he offers and light the cigar, inhaling a bit of the smoke. Cubans are great, no lie about that. There’s nothing like it. This one has a Sumatra wrapper, and it tastes of smoky caramel.
“Brandy?” McAllister asks.
“No, thank you. A lot of work to do when I get back to the office.”
I’ve already had wine and a drink before lunch. But I’d like for Grandfather and McAllister to keep drinking. In vino veritas and all.
So I change my mind. “On second thought, I will have a drink.”
“That’s the ticket, Vinnie.” McAllister pours me a brandy.
I take it, nodding my thanks, and take a small sip.
Except I don’t actually take a sip. I feign it. Let them think I’m drinking. That way they might be a little more loose-tongued.
“So Vinnie, my boy,” McAllister says. “What do you think of my lovely Belinda?”
Oh, God help me. He wants me to assess a child.
“She’s very pretty and quite talented,” I say.
Right. That didn’t make me sound creepy at all.
“She is that,” Grandfather agrees. “She looks a lot like her late mother, may she rest in peace.”
“Yes,” McAllister says. “Sienna was a lovely woman. I miss her every day.” He takes a puff from his cigar. “Already my Belinda is blossoming into a woman.” He elbows me. “She’ll be ready for you soon, son.”
A fresh wave of nausea envelops my throat, and I have to stop myself from coughing from the cigar smoke.
She’s a little girl. No evidence of blossoming whatsoever. At least not from what I can see.
Of course, he is her father. He’s watched her grow up. And even if he hasn’t, he’s probably received reports from her doctors about how she’s developing.
God, I hope that’s the case.
“You all right there, Gallo?” McAllister asks.
I swallow. “Yeah, just inhaled a bit by mistake.”
McAllister exchanges a look with my grandfather, but then they continue to prattle on.
I nod, murmur agreement every now and then as the two of them talk as if they’ve been friends their whole lives. Forget the fact that my father just killed his son.
It’s like that never happened. Like they’re old friends, comrades. And he’s giving his daughter to me.
Hell, if I threatened to take her now, he’d probably allow it.
Maybe that’s what I should do. She obviously wants my help. What better way to help her than to get her out of this damned house?
I will not marry an eleven-year-old. It wouldn’t be legal anyway, even though I know it’s done. And of course I would never touch her. Even if it comes to the forced marriage when she’s eighteen, I still won’t touch her. But I plan to have taken the family down before then.
I’ll have to think of another way to get her out of here.
“I believe she’ll make a lovely wife for you, Vincent,” Grandfather says.