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Twenty-Nine
Abby lookedat the city lights, thinking of Max, hoping he felt her love. She was stretched out on a lounge chair, a full glass of wine next to her on the terrace. She’d thought it might settle her nerves, but the first sip immediately soured in herstomach.
She hadn’t bothered trying to watch a movie or read a book. She knew instinctively there would be nopoint.
All she could think about wasMax.
She’d grabbed the blanket off the couch and headed for the terrace, as close as she could get to him without beingdowntown.
She thought of her father, wondered if he was out there somewhere, if he could see or feelher.
“Watch out for him, Dad,” shemurmured.
She’d never been sure she believed in life after death — in anything after death. Life itself had been too much of a struggle to lose any sleep over what happened when it wasover.
But since her father’s death she’d found comfort in thinking he continued somehow. Maybe not in thewoo-wooghost way some people believed, but in the form of energy, his soul or consciousness or whatever the spiritual school du jourpreached.
Sometimes she was sure she heard his voice — that combination of gruffness and tenderness that in the months he’d been sober had replaced his drunken bite — calling her name. Other times, it was more a feeling, like being in the same house with someone who was in the other room. You couldn’t see them, you might not even be able to hear them, but you knew they were there, could feel their presence like a current ofenergy.
It suddenly hadn’t seemed so crazy to think he was out there, although she was willing to admit it might be wishfulthinking.
She was startled by the ring of her phone. Her heart beat faster as she reached for it, a response that wasn’t helped when she saw the name on thescreen.
AngelVitale.
Was Angel calling to tell her something had gone wrong? Was that how things worked in the Syndicate? Instead of uniformed officers at the door or official-sounding voices on the other end of the phone, you got a call from the wife of NicoVitale?
“Hello."
“Abby, hi,” Angel said. She hurried to continue. “Please don’t worry. I’m just calling to check onyou.”
Abby exhaled. “Thank god. I saw your name and…” She couldn’t finish the thought. It felt too much like acurse.
“I’m sorry.” Sympathy shaded Angel’s voice. “I hesitated to call for that reason, but I thought you might need afriend.”
“I could definitely use a friend,” Abby said, leaning back against the loungechair.
“You’ve had a rough few weeks,” Angel said. “A rough fewmonths.”
Abby sighed. “I guessso.”
“I was so sorry to hear about your dad.” Angel hesitated. “I lost mine in a similar way. It was…” Abby heard her inhale on the other end of the line. “It washard.”
“Your father was killed?” Abby couldn’t help the morbid curiosity that sprang to life in her mind. Had the death of Angel’s father been related to theSyndicate?
“He was,” she said quietly. “And the circumstances were… difficult. It took me a long time to reconcile everything. To find some kind ofpeace.”
“Peace seems a long way off right now,” Abbyadmitted.
“And that’s fine,” Angel said firmly. “There’s no time limit on grief. It’s important to really process those feelings, I think, not to gloss over them because you feel pressured to moveon.”
Abby knew all about feeling pressured to move on, had spent most of her life trying to move on. Maybe if she hadn’t — if she’d taken the time to confront her feelings about her past, to confront her father before it was too late — she would be sleeping better at nightnow.
“You’re right,” Abby said. “I’m really going to try and dothat.”
“How are you holding up tonight?” Angelasked.
Abby swallowed the bile that threatened to rise in her throat as she thought about Max, at this very moment on his way into the Tangier to face down Jason and hisguards.
