Vicki Pettersson - The Given

“Leave it!” Sal had ordered, when Evie tried to reach for it.

If there was any moment that Evie’s smooth, lying facade had faltered, that was it. “But—”

“I said leave it. Let the kiddie molester be buried with his toys.”

And with the city’s most powerful don’s eyes on her, Evie had no choice but to leave the doll with Grif.

Remembering it all, Grif laughed lightly now. “You came so close . . . those diamonds in the doll, that doll in your grasp. You could have had it all . . . but you were just so damned greedy.”

“That’s right, Griffin. I wanted it all . . . but who was going to give it to me? You? ” Her laugh was a bark of incredulity, a slap in the face. “You with your big plans and your fancy words and your empty promises.”

“I never lied to you,” Grif said.

“You promised me treasure, and all I got was fool’s gold!”

Her words stole the breath from his body. Grif fought not to cringe, but he couldn’t help the way his eyes dropped to the ring, his wedding band, still hanging from her neck. At least he knew now why he had never worn it in the Everlast. Evie had slipped it from his finger before his final breath.

“Oh, did you want this back?” Evie asked, catching the direction of his stare. She lifted his ring with her free hand, and yanked the chain from her neck. Then she threw it across the car so that it clattered into the footwell at his feet. “I was going to hock it along with mine, but I figured I should at least get something from that fucking marriage.”

“I loved you,” Grif said, unable to help himself.

For some reason, that infuriated Evie. She shivered, though she couldn’t be cold. Her anger scorched. “Love doesn’t pay the bills, Griffin!” she yelled back. “Love doesn’t give you any of the things that make this life comfortable or worth living, but you fucking got me, didn’t you?”

“Got you?” He blinked.

“You had style and that mystery about you. Big P.I. about town. Shit-hot in your fedora, gazing at me with those big blues. All the girls wanted you, and I deserved what everyone else wanted. Well . . . I sure got it that time. And it almost cost me my future.”

Cost her her future?

Evie shrugged, oblivious to the irony. “Still, you were useful. You taught me the lengths people would go to for someone they loved. It wasn’t until I met you that I truly understood Sal and Theresa.”

The DiMartinos.

Evie’s mouth thinned, her gaze gone distant as she recalled the first man she’d lost. “Theresa knew she was dying even in ’fifty-five but she was determined to hang on to her love with Sal. Still hell-bent on protecting him, even from beyond the grave. I mean . . . can you imagine loving someone that much?”

Grif just thought, Fifty years.

“She declared social war on me, and Vegas was a small town back then. You remember.” She huffed, still indignant. “When the wife of the most notorious don in Vegas shows you the door, you go, but I swore the day I wiped the desert’s dust from my feet that I would circle back ’round. And next time? She’d never see me coming.”

“Barbara.” It was the name of the woman whose photo he’d never seen. Whom he thought he’d never met.

Barbara McCoy back in 1955 . . . Barbara DiMartino later, when she had the man and the power she’d always coveted. But for two short years in between?

Evelyn Shaw. His wife. His Evie.

“Sal didn’t recognize you when you were . . . when we were . . .”

“Married to you?” she finally finished for him, then scoffed. “Of course, he did. I wanted him to. While his wife lay useless in her sickbed, he needed to see what another man had, and what he was missing.”

Evie— Barbara —needed to lurk in the front of his mind so that he would want her—and only her—when Theresa was finally gone.

And when Grif was gone, too.

“Wait . . . are you only now getting all this?” She looked astounded, eyes flaring before she blinked. Then, heedless of the road before her, she threw back her head and roared. Driving one-handed, she clutched her belly and wiped her eyes. Finally, when the laughter had died in all but Grif’s head, she scoffed. “And you call yourself a P.I.”

Not anymore he didn’t, Grif thought, and turned away.

A coyote.

Kit heard its howl on the cold night wind as soon as Justin silenced the engine, and she leaned forward to glance past the windshield and up at the sky. A full moon, too.

“It’s an omen,” Kit whispered, and her voice sounded displaced in the dark, so that even she felt shivers race up her spine. Zicaro and Justin ignored her, but she was trapped and weaponless. Talking was the only defense she had.

“The Paiutes who originally settled this territory called coyotes the ‘trickster gods.’ They told stories of their playfulness and humor, but also their mischievousness. It was said that they represented the earth, its need for balance, and that coyotes could sense it when someone had laid a trap. Basically, if the coyote howls, it bodes ill for those intent on mischief or injury.”

“Would you shut up?” Justin finally snapped. His jaw had been getting tighter and tighter as he tried to ignore her, staring at some app on his smart phone instead. “We’re not interested in your fairy tales. No one believes that shit anymore, anyway.”

But if he weren’t interested, Kit reasoned with a stiff shrug, then he wouldn’t be reacting so poorly.

“Maybe not,” she sniffed, “but even the sound of them should worry you. It’s winter and they’re desperate.”

“Coyotes don’t attack people,” Justin said.

“But they’ve been edging closer to town lately. Reports have them toppling garbage cans and snatching domesticated pets from backyards. We just did a story on it.”

“So they’re hungry?” Justin asked, finally glancing up from the phone.

“Very,” answered Kit confidently.

“Then we’ll let you lead the way,” Justin said with a smile, causing Zicaro to chuckle. Yet, despite his words, neither man made an effort to move from the car.

Kit looked back and forth from one to the other, then barked out her own short laugh when neither of them would meet her eye. “You have no idea where it is, do you?”

They’d found access to the Black Mountains from the southeast side, but had stopped the car only halfway to the top. They should have been up there digging, but something had them stumped.

“Sal DiMartino left markers,” Zicaro finally admitted, “but only his closest lieutenants knew what they looked like.”

Kit thought about that for a moment, then scoffed as realization dawned. “You need Barbara. That’s why we’re waiting here in the dark.”

They’d let Barbara find the exact site, and then they’d ambush her, taking the contents of the grave for themselves.

“How do you even know she’s coming?” Kit asked.

“Because I’ve studied Barbara DiMartino for years. I know her better than anyone else. I know what she’ll do probably before she even does.”

“We also put a tracer on that pretty little car of yours,” Justin said, and smiled as he held up his smart phone. It revealed a moving red dot along with their green one. The red was growing closer by the second.

“How did she get my—” But Kit’s question stuttered off and curled into the darkness.

Grif. He’d finally found Barbara . . . and just like Al Zicaro, she’d been ready for him.

“Close now,” Justin interrupted, watching his screen.

“How close?” Zicaro asked, leaning over Kit.

“No more than five.” Justin clicked his phone off. “We should go up.”

“Five minutes in this cold? That’s plenty of time for the coyotes to get to us,” Kit tried, but Justin was already out of the car, and Kit heard the trunk open just as Zicaro leaned close to her face.