Chapter Fifteen
I stood in the middle of James’s studio and stared at a dozen faces that looked like my own. Skimming my hand along a stack of sketchbooks, I made my way to the center table. At some point during the night, he’d moved the canvases, and in its place were three charcoal sticks and a several sheets of paper.
My curiosity piqued, I examined the drawings. Lines, somewhat frantic, swashed back and forth over the top page. The charcoal was heavy and smeared in some areas, while others remained light, the lines hardly drawn at all. It was a lattice of some sort—a series of Xs curved in a wide U-shape.
I picked up the paper and revealed the drawing underneath. The latticework was the same, but this time more fluid, like braided rope folded in a circle. I lifted the second page, and when I saw the last sketch, my heart stalled, tripped a bit, and began pounding.
It was a drawing of an engagement ring. The diamond was large and round, and it stood proudly against a band that was twisted like rope, yet delicate as a vine. My eyes narrowed and my lips parted as I leaned forward to examine it more closely. Not only had I seen this ring before, I’d worn it. Picking up the final drawing, I left James’s studio.
I found him in the kitchen staring into the mostly empty fridge.
“James?” I asked quietly.
He turned, and I glimpsed a rare moment where the worry inside his heart bled into every feature on his face, but with a blink, it was gone. He looked at the paper I held and watched as I placed it on the bare countertop.
“When did you draw this?” I asked to break the silence.
He didn’t say anything as he pulled the sketch toward him. His eyes widened with the lift of his brow before he shrugged. “Last night.”
James’s expression was unreadable, and I didn’t know how to proceed. Should I tell him I’d seen it? Should I tell him who’d given it to me? In the end, I couldn’t.
“Have you drawn it before?” I asked.
“No.” His head tilted and understanding dawned. “But you’ve seen it, haven’t you?”
I didn’t answer. James ran his hand across his cheek and stared at his drawing.
“Why did you draw it?” I asked.
He gave a quick shake of his head. “I don’t know. It just came to me.”
I shifted on my feet and splayed my hands on top of the counter. “The same way I came to you, or was it something else?” I asked. The answer I already knew, but I wanted it confirmed.
He pressed his lips together and considered me for several moments. Placing a scarred finger against the paper, he took a step toward me. “You’ve seen this ring before,” he said. His dark gaze bored into mine and reached a deeper place near my soul. He moved closer but said nothing.
I nodded.
“Did I give it to you?” He took another step toward me. Our hands were an inch apart, and our chests were so close I could feel his heat. Every part of my body hummed and vibrated.
I shook my head. “No.”
James was confused, and I could all but see the questions running through his mind. “Who gave it to you?”
I opened my mouth to answer, and at the same time James blinked and blew out a gust of air. “It was McCormack,” he said, answering his question before I could.
I nodded and cleared my throat. James turned to lean his back against the wall and crossed his thick arms across his chest.
I frowned at the drawing. “Colin gave this to me two years after you were murdered.”
James stood motionless against the wall while his gaze remained fixed on the ring. In the ensuing silence, I had the urge to be as honest with him as I could. Knowing Mack and I shared a history was difficult for me to wrap my thoughts around. I hated to think what must be going on in James’s head. Still, he deserved to know the truth.
“He brought me here to Houston after that night. We had a house. It was a little one story with two bedrooms.” I closed my eyes, seeing the bedroom where Colin asked me to be his wife. “The night he gave me this ring, Colin saw the necklace. I never meant to show it to him.”
“Do you remember what happened to it after that?”
“I don’t know. Colin told me it was valuable, but that was it. He wrapped it back in the handkerchief I’d hidden it in. I haven’t had a drift where it appeared after that moment. It’s as if that was the last time I saw it.”
James sat in contemplative silence. “That night was Colin’s first time to see the diamond?”
I nodded. “That’s right.”
“How had he not seen it before? Y’all had been living together for two years, right?”
“I’d hidden it under a loose floorboard in my room, next to my wardrobe, but I can’t be certain I ever put it back. Colin had seen it, so there probably wasn’t much need to hide it after that, right? And anyway, we know now he knew what he was holding. It wasn’t the first time he’d seen the necklace, like I’d originally thought.”
James lifted his shoulders. “Do you think he would’ve taken it?”
I considered that for a moment. “No. When Roselli came to our home in Houston, Colin was just as surprised to find him there as I was. I don’t think he wanted us found.”
“Then the necklace could still be there. Do you remember anything about the house? Anything that would help us find it?”
Find the house? I hadn’t thought about it before, but James could be right. The necklace could still be there, hidden away under the floorboards. The twinge of excitement was promptly dampened by another thought.
I shook my head. “It’s been a hundred years. The house may not be standing, but even if it was, I haven’t seen anything but a couple of rooms inside.”
Frustration overwhelmed me. I pushed away from the counter and paced the kitchen.
“I wish there were someone we could talk to.” I plunked my hands on my hips. “Someone that was alive during that time that would know. Someone that could point us in the right direction.” James’s forehead wrinkled and his eyes shifted to focus on something in the living room behind me. “Ridiculous, I know.”
James shook his head and with his eyes still averted said, “Maybe not.”
He disappeared down the hallway, and not a minute later, he strode back into the kitchen and held a photograph in front of me.
“What is this?” I asked.
I pulled the photo from his fingertips and stared at the image. It was of a building sitting at the end of a long pier that jutted into the ocean. “That’s the Valentine Room,” he said.
Three figures stood in the foreground. “That’s Nino and Valentina, but I don’t know who this is. I’ve never seen him before.” I pointed at the unknown man standing next to Valentina. His hands were in his pockets, and his face was narrow and cold.
“That’s Nickolas Bastone,” he said.
“I’ve never heard of him.”
“He was Valentina’s husband.”
My eyes lifted in surprise. “Really? When?”
“They married in August of 1922, according to the announcement in the paper.”
My brow furrowed, and I shook my head. “Thomas was killed in June of that year. That would mean she married him two months later?”
“You forget,” James said. “According to the papers, Thomas was only missing. His body was never found.”
“Then why, if she had hope Thomas was alive, would she marry someone else? Last she knew, he had her necklace. Do you think she thought he ran off with it? And then she married this guy? Why?”
James motioned to the picture. “Look closer. What else do you see?”
I studied their faces and shrugged. It wasn’t until my gaze traveled down toward the bottom of the picture that I saw her. A little girl hiding behind Valentina’s leg.
“There’s a girl.” Her face was partially obscured by her mother’s dress, and the rest was covered by strands of long, dark hair blowing in the wind. “Who is she?”
James moved to my side so we could both see the photo. “That’s Evelyn Bastone, Valentina’s daughter.”
“Daughter?” I asked. “When was she born?”
“That’s the crazy thing.” James handed me a second paper, an article stating that Valentina and Nickolas had welcomed the birth of a daughter. The article was dated February of 1923.
“They didn’t wait long,” I mumbled to James. He lowered his head—looking at me from under his lashes, and the pieces clicked into place.
“Think about it,” James said. “Valentina and Nickolas were married in August. Six months later they have a baby?”
I knew what he was getting at, but I couldn’t help but state the obvious. “The baby could’ve been premature.”
“That or Valentina was already pregnant when she married Nickolas.”
I studied what I could of the little girls face. “So, if Evelyn isn’t Nickolas’s daughter, then she’s…”
James raised a single brow and rocked back on his heels. “That’s Thomas Bellingham’s little girl.” My mind buzzed, trying to sort through the implications. “It’d be a good reason to run. To sell a necklace for money. To leave your family behind. Especially if that family didn’t approve of Thomas.”
I set the photograph down. “But why wouldn’t Nino want Valentina to marry Thomas? I mean, the Bellingham family was well respected and successful. Who wouldn’t want that for their daughter?”
“My guess would be Nino. The Roselli family was one of the leading crime families in Galveston during their time.”
“A crime family? Like the mafia? Come on,” I said rolling my eyes and imagining every mobster movie ever made. “This is Texas, not Chicago.”
“I’m serious. The Valentine Room, from all the accounts written about it, was a private club that was also an illegal casino. Thomas, and his pristine image, certainly didn’t fit in with Nino’s crowd. Maybe after meeting Thomas, Valentina decided she wanted a different kind of life. If that was the case, they’d have to escape.”
“We’re jumping to a lot of conclusions, but if you’re right…” My heart pounded with the possibilities. “Could she even be alive? How old would she be? Near one hundred, at least.”
“She’s ninety-five.”
I let out a sharp gust of air. “So she’s alive?”
James nodded. “She lives in Galveston.”
His words hung between us, and excitement spun in the air.
“We need to talk to her,” I said, unable to hide the hope in my voice.
James nodded and grabbed his keys. “Let’s go.”
We were sitting in James’s truck, now idling in front of my apartment building. “I won’t be long.” I fiddled with my keys, more nervous than I cared to admit.
“Do you want me to go up with you?” he asked.
The idea was appealing, but I knew there was a good chance Gracie would be inside. I didn’t need James there to complicate the conversation. “No. Just wait here.”
I opened the truck door, and as I was about to slide out, James touched my elbow and pulled me toward him. Our lips met in a kiss, and my arms wrapped around his shoulders.
James pulled back and held my face in his hands. “Don’t be long.”
I nodded and pulled myself out of his embrace. I ran to my building and took the stairs two at a time. Inside, I headed for my closet, where I retrieved a small backpack and a change of clothes. I was sliding my legs into a pair of jeans when Gracie’s voice filled the room.
“Where’re you going?” she asked.
I jumped and swung toward her. Her eyes were swollen like she’d been crying. I didn’t want to think about why, so I concentrated on pulling up my zipper and buttoning my jeans. “I have something I need to take care of,” I told her as I unfolded a sweater and slipped it on.
“What, exactly?” she asked as she stared at the backpack at my feet.
“I don’t want to bother you with it. It’s not a big deal.” I stepped around her and sat on the edge of my bed while pulling on a pair of socks.
“You wouldn’t be bothering me. I’m actually very curious to know.”
I stared at my feet and guilt rose up. I hated lying to her, but more than that, I hated fighting with her. “I can’t, Grace. You just have to trust me.”
“You haven’t been home.” She lifted her hands as if trying to grasp the words she couldn’t speak. “Mack showed up here asking if I’d heard from you. He told me you were in some kind of car accident, that they’d found your car, but not you.” Tears slipped from her eyes. “What’s going on?”
I focused on my boots and didn’t say anything. Not because I didn’t think she didn’t deserve an answer, but because she did, and I didn’t know what to tell her.
“Will you at least look at me?” She asked, her voice rising at the end with frustration.
I met her gaze but stayed seated.
“I’ve been sitting here thinking the worst. I thought you died.” Grace moved to stand in front of me, her hands out and pleading. I stared at her perfectly manicured nails and wished more than anything I could tell her what was going on, but knowing about my drift would put her in danger, and I wouldn’t do that to her. “Do you have nothing to say to me?” she asked. “You’re my best friend.”
She sat and her hip grazed mine. I laced my other boot and stood—unable to be so close and not offer her comfort.
“Soon,” I said. “All this will be over, and I’ll tell you everything.”
I zipped my backpack and slung it over my shoulder shaking off the surge of tears building at the backs of my eyes.
“Do you promise?” she asked as she looked from my backpack to my face.
“I promise.” Gracie looked apprehensive, as though she wasn’t sure she trusted me. “I know you’re worried, and to tell you the truth”—I paused and cleared my throat—“I’m scared.” I don’t know why I said it, and once it was out, I immediately regretted it.
Gracie’s eyes widened. “Then stay. Talk to me.”
“I can’t, even if I wanted to.” I glanced at the door and she sighed.
She bit down on her cheek. “Is James here?”
“He’s waiting downstairs.”
I couldn’t tell if that made her feel worse or better. Either way, she gave a small nod and looked up at me. “Just remember your promise.”
Before I could react, she pulled me into an embrace. I hugged her tight and left the apartment. I was two steps into the hall when a door opened and Mack stepped out. His cell phone was at his ear, and purple shadows ringed his eyes.
“She’s here… Yes, I have eyes on her now… I’ll find out,” he said into the receiver before ending the call and shoving his cell into his pocket. Mack’s body was rigid, and while his hands were relaxed at his side, I could see the vibrating tension that kept every muscle in his body tight, ready to spring.
“You’re back.” He looked me up and down and gave a fleeting glance to my bag. “Or are you leaving?” His eyes sparkled with something like anger.
I could leave now, get in James’s truck, and forget about him, but my feet remained still, and an urge to confront him billowed around me as I hiked my backpack higher onto my shoulder.
“We found your car. Do you have any idea how many people are out looking for you right now? What the hell happened last night?” he asked, stepping to my side. There was an edge to his voice, and the worry that tugged at the corner of his eyes planted a seed of doubt in my mind. Roselli could’ve lied about knowing Mack. I wouldn’t put it past him. But the truth was, I couldn’t trust Mack, either. He’d lied more times than I cared to count; he could easily be lying to me about his relationship with Roselli.
“I find it hard to believe you don’t already know, considering the type of friends you keep.”
He had the decency to look confused, but when I turned to leave, he stopped me by placing a heavy hand on my shoulder.
“Do you even understand what it is that I do? What I’m trying to do for you?”
“After last night, I’m not sure of anything.”
His grip loosened but didn’t leave my shoulder. “I’m an agent with the FBI. It’s my job to protect you, to keep you safe, and when I don’t know where you’ve gone—”
I laughed. “Keep me safe? Seriously? You’ve got a lot of nerve.” I jerked my shoulder from under his grip and backed up a step. Fury heated my insides until I felt like would explode from the pressure.
Mack shook his head, and his lips twisted with indecision. He took a step in my direction, and as soon as soon as he did, I countered with a backward step.
“Look, Abby, if this is about last night, I’m sorry for what I said. I shouldn’t have let my feelings—”
“I couldn’t care less about your feelings.”
Mack’s eyebrows shot up. “Okay.” He tapped his fingers against his hips. “Can we talk, at least? Inside?” He motioned to his apartment.
“No. I have nothing to say to you that can’t be said out here.”
Mack’s chest swelled and pressed against his shirt, his hands flexed at his sides, and he expelled a breath of frustration.
“Why’re you so angry with me? I’ve done nothing wrong, and yet you’re standing here like I’m the enemy.”
“Nothing wrong, huh?” Mack didn’t react. “You promised to tell me everything. You lied. I don’t know why I’m surprised, though. It should’ve been a foregone conclusion.”
“I’ve told you everything you need to know.”
“Right.” I debated walking away, but I was struck with the sudden desire to see his face when I confronted him. “So, your relationship with Roselli, that was something I didn’t need to know?” Something flickered in his eyes. “That’s right, he told me you were friends.”
“He’s no friend of mine.”
“I don’t believe you,” I spat while my heart thundered in my chest.
“Why?” His voice, deep and loud, reverberated against the concrete walls.
Anger, white and hot, bored through me and anchored my feet to the floor. “He knew where to find me. He knows about my drift. If you didn’t tell him, then please explain to me how he found out.”
Mack grabbed at the auburn scruff that covered his face.
I grunted. “That’s what I thought.”
“Roselli’s men got to you?”
“Are you serious? No, not his men—him, as in Nino Roselli.”
“No,” Mack shook his head. “No, Nino hasn’t left his ranch since his daughter died.”
“Well, he was there. As if you didn’t already know.”
“I don’t know what you think is going on between me and Nino Roselli, but whatever it is, you’re wrong. He’s manipulating you. He wants you to doubt me, to hate me. The further you are from me, the more vulnerable you become, and if he knows about your drift, then—”
“My dislike for you has nothing to do with Roselli. You managed that all on your own.” I swung myself around and was about to jog down the stairs when Mack spoke.
“So that’s it? You’re going to run instead of hearing me out.”
“There’s nothing you can say.”
A door opened, and Mack’s next-door neighbor peered outside. “Is everything okay out here?”
“Fine,” we answered in unison.
“Then do you mind keeping it down?” I glanced at the man and gave him an apologetic nod. The man closed his door, and Mack and I stood in uncomfortable silence.
“Come inside. You heard Roselli tell you his side. Give me the chance to tell you mine.” Mack’s palms turned upward to the ceiling before falling to his sides. He grimaced as if there was something difficult he was trying to swallow. “Whatever he’s told you, he’s twisted it to benefit him. I’m trying to help you. You have to know that.”
His eyes were pleading—no—begging me to hear him out, and it was that look that tugged at my chest. I’d seen it before, and while I knew I had no reason to trust him, something told me I should.
“You have five minutes. Nothing more.” There was relief there—genuine relief—but whether it was because I’d agreed to hear him out, or that I’d been gullible enough to fall for his lies, I wouldn’t know. At least, not until it was too late.