Chapter Nineteen

Sunday knew that the last two weeks in the beauty of Tuscany would be a time she never, ever forgot. In every way, it had been perfect, and now that they were back in Colorado, she felt a new strength in her. This was her home, this was her family, and she would fight until her last breath to keep them.

A week after their return, Berry had started her new school and was loving it. River was back working in his studio, and Sunday was continuing her work on Ludo’s diaries. As she worked one morning, she heard Carmen calling her and River.

“You have a visitor,” she said in a low voice. “It’s that man who came with Angelina. He says he wants to talk to both of you. I can ask him to leave, if you want.”

River shook his head. “No, I want to hear what he’s got to say.”

Brian Scanlan shook both of their hands. “Mr. Giotto, Ms. Kemp, thank you for seeing me.”

“What can we do for you, Mr. Scanlan?” River’s voice was even but Sunday could feel the tension rolling off of him.

“I wanted to come see you, to tell you that I am deeply sorry for bringing Angelina here. I had no idea of your shared history, and I also wanted you to know that I have broken off our engagement.”

“What you do with your life is none of our concern, Mr. Scanlan.”

“Brian, please. And all I’m saying is, you shouldn’t worry that she will be in town. I personally took her to the airport last night. It’s just, I myself will be in town for the foreseeable future.” He smiled. “I cannot resist a business opportunity and the resort here is remarkable but underrun. I hope to restore it.”

Sunday was watching him. “Mr. Scanlan, may I ask you a question?”

“Of course.”

“It’s just … I was an investigative journalist in New York for a few years and yet I have never heard of you. How is that?”

Brian Scanlan smiled. “You would probably have heard of my father, Dimitri Lascus. Lascus Property?”

Sunday was surprised. “Of course … I met him on a few occasions. He’s your father?”

Brian nodded. “You’re wondering about the name? Truth is, I was born out of wedlock, and I had never met my father until a few years ago. He took me under his wing and I worked anonymously for him, undercover, so that I would not be treated as if I had only acquired my position by dint of nepotism. It was my idea, and I think he respected me more for it. A year ago, he returned and passed his business to me on one condition. I rename the business in my name. He felt I had earned it.”

Sunday nodded, slightly taken aback by his honesty. She looked at River and saw he was less impressed with their visitor.

“So you’ve broken things off with Angelina?”

“I have. I can’t believe I was taken in by her.” He shook his head. “Maybe I was too focused on the business and was taken in by her beauty.” His blue eyes were serious as he looked at River. “I just didn’t want to be tainted by association, is all. If the deal on the ski resort goes through, then I’ll be spending some time here, and I didn’t want to start off on a bad footing.”

“Fine.” River stood up and offered Scanlan his hand. “You made the right decision for yourself as well as us. She’s a vicious, soul-sucking aberration of a human.”

Scanlan half-smiled. “I guess that’s just about the worst recommendation a person can have. I wish I had known at the beginning.” He looked at Sunday and smiled at her. “We can’t all have your luck, Mr. Giotto.”

After he’d gone, Sunday waited for River to say something but he seemed preoccupied. She went to him and he wrapped his arms around her. After a time, he mumbled something into her hair.

“I’m sorry, baby, I didn’t get that.”

He released her and looked down at her, his eyes troubled. “My dad’s diaries … I know what you told Angelina, but …”

“I lied to her. I haven’t read anything that would indicate that he knew about the abuse. In fact, he rarely talks about her at all. He talks about your mother, and you, and Luke, actually. He liked Luke a lot.”

River’s shoulders relaxed. “He did. You know what? I feel as if Luke and I have drifted apart, and a lot of that has had to do with my sight. He thinks I blame him because he can’t do anything. I don’t.”

“Tell him that,” Sunday said, glad of the change of subject. “We should get him to come over for dinner. Daisy too,” she added and River grinned.

“Are you matchmaking? Because last I heard, Daisy was dating your surfer friend.”

She wrinkled her nose. “Something about that guy …”

“I’m surprised. You seemed to like him okay when you first met.”

“Ha, ha, jealous boy.” They both laughed, but Sunday shrugged. “I guess, given everything, I just don’t trust him. He might be fine, innocent as the day is long, but he’s a stranger to town and he arrived just before the note.”

“So did Scanlan. What do you think of him?”

Sunday considered. “Obviously, points against him for being with the skank in the first place, and yes, I think it’s a little weird he’s suddenly interested in buying the ski resort, but I’m not a property developer. He seemed genuine just now.”

“I thought so, too, except …”

“Except?”

River shook his head. “I don’t know. There’s just something …” He sighed. “It’s probably just the fact he was with her. I don’t have a reasonable head on when it comes to Angelina Marshall.”

“Baby, that’s understandable.” She hugged him. “Anyway, let’s change the subject. We’ve talked enough about Brian Scanlan and that woman.”

Brian threw his jacket over the chair, ignoring Angelina. She was smoking, her lunch left uneaten on the table. “Did you see them?”

“I did. They think you’ve gone back to New York.”

“I might as well, rather than be stuck here in this damn motel room. You might have booked me a decent hotel.”

“Where you could be recognized? Here, it’s cash only and they leave you alone.”

Angelina made a disgusted noise and Brian couldn’t really blame her. The motel room was gross, the bedspread probably seething with bacteria. But it was the only way to keep her close and unseen. He had no intention of letting her go back to New York; she was too much of a loose cannon for that. Besides, while he was dangling the promise of River over her, she would do what he wanted.

“So,” she said now, crushing her cigarette out. “You still panting for that little whore? What do you think will happen? Why on earth would anyone leave River Giotto for you?”

Brian smiled, not rising to the bait. “Really, Angelina, what makes you think I’m going to give her a choice in the matter?”

He met her gaze and was gratified to see her shiver. Yes, she got it. He was the one with all the power here. A lack of conscience would do that.

“And what will you do to her when she fights you?” Angelina looked hopeful and Scanlan decided to throw her a bone.

“Sunday will learn to do as I want, when I want, how I want, or her life will be ended in the most painful way you can imagine. Slowly. Intimately.”

That got Angelina. She smiled, cat-like, and sidled over to him. “Tell me,” she said huskily, rubbing her groin against him. “Describe how you’ll kill her.”

Brian smiled and for the next few minutes, as he described the death he had planned for Sunday, he fucked Angelina, coldly, clinically. Not that she cared. She was too turned on by his bloodlust.

“Tell me,” she said, afterward, as they tidied themselves up, “why her? When did you see her? When did you decide you wanted her?”

Brian rolled his eyes. “Are you really interested? Why? When did you decide you were going to rape and abuse River Giotto?”

“On my wedding day,” she smiled nastily. “He was—he is—so beautiful. Who wouldn’t want him? Those eyes, those dark lashes, that body. His mouth. Christ, the first time I made him go down on me …”

“Made.” Brian looked disgusted and Angelina laughed.

“You have the nerve to judge me when you’ve just finished describing what you’re going to do to Sunday?”

He didn’t answer her but waited and Angelina sighed. “So, come on. Why Mar—Sunday? Why her?”

For a moment, he hesitated. Did he really want to share that first sighting of Sunday, Marley, as she was then? That time in the university library?

He’d gone there to find someone to kill. Another girl to kill. That was his thing and his father had known it—and encouraged it. “Just make sure you’re never found out.”

That was the real reason his father would not give him his name. But Brian was never caught. He never raped his victims; that wasn’t what he wanted from them. He just wanted to see them bleed.

But when he had seen Sunday, he knew he wanted more. He wanted her skin next to his, to see her mouth open in an ecstatic gasp as he made love to her; he wanted her to bend to his will in everything. He wanted to own her.

The fact was she had graduated only a few days after he’d first seen her and then she had disappeared. At that time, he hadn’t had the resources to find her and had not wanted to ask his father for help. His father, even more twisted than he was, would have wanted to know why he hadn’t simply killed the girl. He wouldn’t have understood Brian’s need to possess her.

So he had returned to his old ways until that one day when she had appeared as a reporter on his television. Then it had begun. She had been quickly promoted to anchor and then his campaign had begun. Flowers to the studio. Following her home. Interfering with her life in small, but subtle ways. The day he had seen her with that idiot Cory … God, his rage had been all consuming. He had gone home to his apartment, not even bothering to switch on the light. The neighbors had made a complaint about the noise coming from his place. Fuck them. It had taken all his control to stop from killing her then.

Later, when he’d come into his money, he’d used it to keep track of her entire life. He had people break into her apartment, setting up cameras everywhere. There was nowhere she was safe from him. He’d hired someone to apply for a job as a runner at the news station so he would know her every movement. The runner had been the one to tell him when and where she would be that night that he’d sent his man to kill Cory.

When the man had called him to tell him that he had shot Sunday too, Brian had howled down the phone. He’d snuck into the hospital, knowing that if she died, that was it. He would have no reason to live.

He still remembered the night he’d managed to get into her room, telling the night nurse that he was her cousin. The first time he had touched her hand, stroked her face as she slept. She had nearly died, they’d told him, but she was hanging in there. He’d had a half hour with her before he’d heard voices in the hallway and had made his escape, but it had been enough to know she was going to live.

Over the next year, he had bided his time, watching her recovery. He had not been surprised that, during her time at home, she had become suspicious, paranoid, even, and when she’d found his cameras, he’d mourned the loss of the uninhibited view of her life. She’d returned to work nine months after the shooting and he’d, again, thought he had all the time in the world.

Until Marley Locke had disappeared forever. It still haunted him that the only reason he had found her was some random hookup with Angelina Marshall. To Brian, it was just another sign that he and Sunday would be together. Should be together.

And soon, they would be, living together as man and wife on his island in the Caribbean. She would bear his children and love him and them like no other woman could. She would be his entirely, giving him her body, her soul, her heart. She would never mention River Giotto or his daughter again, or any other man. She would belong solely to him and he would decide whether she woke up every day, whether she breathed in and out, and for how long.

And if she disagreed, he would make her suffer the torments of the damned before he killed her.