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But Dad stares straight ahead, his expression filled with disgust.
“If you get out of this alive and I don’t, I’m going to haunt your nightmares,” I seethe. “Me, and this baby. I know Mom already haunts you. She’s in every room of that house. I can’t wait to help her make your life a misery.”
“I sleep just fine, thank you.”
I don’t believe that for a second. “The police had evidence about the Black Orchid Killer but you had it moved. Why did you do that? I know it was you.”
“You have been a busy little bee,” he mutters, his voice dripping with sarcasm.
“I’m better at scheming than you are. I suppose you thought you’d impress the Coldlake Syndicate when you killed Mom. You should have realized that murdering a woman you’re supposed to protect is the last thing that would endear you to them, but it backfired.”
“It doesn’t matter.”
“Why not?”
Dad turns to look at me, his eyes as cold as the day I tried to shoot him by the swimming pool. “Because slitting that woman’s throat is the best thing I ever did.”
I shake my head, tears filling my eyes. “But on my seventeenth birthday.”
“Your mother was getting in the way. I told her my marriage plans for you and she became totally unreasonable. Screaming. Crying. If she were here now, tied to that chair, she’d be in full-blown hysterics.” He glances over me with grudging admiration. “You seem to take after me at least a little.”
I take a shaky breath. “Full-blown hysterics is tempting, considering where we are. Is this the killer’s basement? The Black Orchid Killer?”
Dad turns away again. I can make him talk about Mom, but I can’t make him talk about the killer.
“If the two of you were friends, you’re not anymore. You used him to punish the syndicate, and you used him to try and set a trap. Has he grown tired of being used?”
Nothing.
I try again.
“You and Mr. De Luca impersonated the killer when you faked Nicole’s death. Did that make the killer angry? A man like him must be proud of his murders. His works of art. Has he killed Mr. De Luca? Is that why we can’t find him?”
I suppose Mr. De Luca had his throat slit and he’s buried in a shallow grave for daring to mimic the true killer. Dad doesn’t seem to possess even an ounce of regret over what’s happened to his friend.
“Is the killer someone you’ve known for a long time? Someone you went to university with? Maybe he’s another politician and you’ve got each other’s backs when it comes to covering up crimes. His murders. Your corruption. For a brief moment, I thought the killer was a couple of gangsters from the west of Coldlake. I’ve heard what gangs like to do to their victims. The women are horribly tortured before they’re killed, but it’s not art. It’s not like what your friend does, and besides, you’d never cover up for a street gangster. Not the high and mighty tough-on-crime Mayor of Coldlake.”
“Chiara, have you ever shut up in your entire life?” Dad growls through his teeth.
“I always used to shut up when I was around you. I don’t do that anymore. I never will again.”
I pull against the ropes binding my wrists, but they’re as tight as ever. What is goingon? I’m not in a hurry to be killed but I’d at least like to know who’s keeping us in this basement.
I sit back with an angry cry, and despair sweeps over me. When I’m killed? Whenwe’rekilled. Me and the baby. “Maybe you can persuade him to let me go if you beg for the baby’s life.”
Dad gives a hollow laugh. “I suppose you don’t even know who the father is.”
“Please, Dad,” I beg him, tears spilling down my cheeks. “This baby is your flesh and blood, too.”
Dad’s jaw bunches, but misgiving flickers in his eyes. Like he’s experiencing an emotion he detests. Like compassion.
“If there’s any way out of this, tell me now. You must be able to think of some way of persuading this man. By blackmailing him, maybe. If you tell me who he is then maybe I can help you think of something.”
Dad opens his mouth, and my heart swells—but then he closes it again.
“Dad, we have to put the past behind us. It’s you and me against…” But I trail off as I hear something that makes all the hairs stand up on the back of my neck.
Someone’s coming down the stairs.
