Cindi Myers - Rocky Mountain Rescue

“And how are you doing?”

The hardness returned. “If you’re worried I’m all torn up because my husband’s dead, don’t be.”

“So you’re not upset?”

“I’m not. I hated him.”

“Then why did you marry him?”

She shook her head. “You wouldn’t understand.”

“Try me.”

She pressed her lips together in a thin line. He thought she wasn’t going to say anything, but he waited anyway. Had she really hated her husband, or was this a ploy to distance herself further from the Giardinos and their crimes? “My father and his father arranged for us to get married,” she said. “I scarcely even knew him.”

“Come on. This is the twenty-first century. And it’s America, not the old country.”

Her expression clouded. “I told you you wouldn’t understand.”

He let the words hang between them, hoping she’d elaborate, but she did not. She didn’t look away from him either, but kept her gaze steady and challenging, unflinching.

He shifted, and his leg brushed against her arm. She flinched and he moved away. This wasn’t right, him looming over her this way. He pulled up a chair and sat beside her, turned to face her. “I wanted to ask you a few more questions about today,” he said.

“I can’t tell you anything about the Giardinos.”

“You were married to Sam Giardino’s son for four years. You lived in the Giardino family home during all that time. I believe you know more than you think you know. Did people often come to the house to discuss business?”

She remained silent.

He removed a photograph from the folder—an eight-by-ten glossy used by Senator Greg Nordley in his campaign. “Have you seen this man before? At the house or with Sam or Sammy somewhere else?”

She scarcely glanced at the photo. “Where are the other women—Victoria and Elizabeth? Have you asked them these questions?”

The women were at this moment in other interrogation rooms, being questioned by other officers. “They’re safe. And yes, we’re talking to them.”

“They’ll tell you the same thing I will—we don’t know anything. We weren’t allowed to know anything. Women in the Giardino household were like furniture or children—to be seen and not heard.”

“I’m surprised you put up with that kind of treatment.”

Anger flared, putting color in her cheeks and life in her eyes. She looked more striking than ever. “You think I had a choice?”

“You strike me as an outspoken, independent young woman. Not someone who’d let herself be bullied.” When she’d stepped out into the basement, the boy in her arms, she’d looked ready to take him on, despite the fact that she was unarmed.

She looked away, but not before he caught a glimpse of sadness—or was it despair?—in her eyes. “If you lived in a household with men who thought nothing of cutting a man’s face off if he said something they didn’t like, would you be so eager to speak up?”

“Are you saying the Giardinos threatened you?”

“They didn’t think of them as threats. Call them promises.”

“Did they physically abuse you?” His anger was a sharp, heavy blade at the back of his throat, surprising in its intensity.

She shook her head. “It doesn’t matter.”

He shifted, wanting to put some distance between himself and this woman who unsettled him so. She was alternately cold and vulnerable, in turns innocent and calculating. He pretended to consult the file folder, though the words blurred before an image of Stacy, cowering before a faceless thug with a gun.

“Does the name Senator Nordley mean anything to you?” he asked, forcing the disturbing image away.

“He’s a senator from New York. What is this, a civics test?”

“We believe the senator was at the house shortly before we broke in this afternoon.”

“I didn’t see him.”

“Did you see Sam Giardino with anyone in the past few days who was not a regular part of the household?”

“No. I stayed as far away from Sam as I could.”

“Why is that?”

“He and my husband were fighting. I didn’t want to get caught in the cross fire. Literally.”

“What were they fighting about?”

“Control of the family. Sammy wanted his father to give him more say in day-to-day operations, but Sam refused.”

“But Sam was the natural successor to his father, wasn’t he?”

“Supposedly. But Sam used to taunt him. He’d threaten to pass over Sam and hand the reins over to his brother, Sammy’s Uncle Abel.”

Patrick leafed through the folder. He found no mention of anyone named Abel. “Who was Uncle Abel?”

“Sam’s younger brother. He was the black sheep no one ever talked about—because he wouldn’t go into the family business.”

“But Sam threatened to turn things over to him instead of to Sammy?”

“It was just his way of getting back at Sammy. Abel had nothing to do with the business and hadn’t for years.”

“Where is Abel now?”

“He and Sam’s mother—Sammy’s grandmother—live on a ranch somewhere in Colorado.”

The hairs on the back of Patrick’s neck stood up. There was something to this Abel Giardino. Maybe the Colorado connection they’d been looking for. “Did you ever meet Abel?”

“He and the grandmother came to our wedding. He looked like some old cowboy.”

“And the mother?”

“The mother was scarier than either of her sons. She didn’t approve of me and threatened to give me the evil eye if I wasn’t good to her only grandson.” Stacy shuddered, and rubbed her hands up and down her arms. “After meeting her, I know why Sam was so mean.”

“All the more reason for us to offer you protection.”

“I told you, I don’t want your protection!”

At the sound of her raised voice, Carlo stirred and whimpered. She bent over him and made soothing noises. In that instance she transformed from cold and angry to warm and tender. The contrast struck him, made him feel sympathy for her, though he didn’t want to. She was a member of a crime family, probably a criminal herself. She didn’t deserve his sympathy.

When the boy had settled back to sleep, she looked at Patrick again. “Please, just let us leave,” she said.

He stood. “I’ll have someone take you to your hotel.”

He left the room, shutting the door softly behind him. He found Sullivan in his office down the hall. “Have you heard of Abel Giardino?” Patrick asked.

Sullivan shook his head. “Who is he?”

“Sam’s brother. He supposedly was never involved in the family’s crimes. He lives with his mother somewhere in Colorado.”

“Could he be the reason Sam was in the state?”

“It would be worth checking out. Stacy says Sam talked about choosing his brother to succeed him as head of the family, instead of Sam Junior.”

Sullivan made a note. “Did you get anything else out of her?”

“Only that she apparently hated her husband’s guts. And she doesn’t appear to have fond feelings for any of the rest of the family.”

“No confirmation on the senator?”

“She said she hadn’t seen him around.”

“Do you think she’s telling the truth?”

“Hard to say. She’s not one to give anything away. I’ll ask Sergeant Robinson to take her and the boy to the hotel for the night and we’ll try again in the morning.”

He called the sergeant’s extension and gave the officer his orders: take Mrs. Giardino and her son to the hotel they’d selected and stay on guard until someone else came to relieve him.

He returned to his office and sat back in his desk chair. He liked to review a witness’s answers while they were fresh in his mind. He looked for patterns and inconsistencies, for vulnerabilities he could exploit or new information he needed to explore further. Certainly, he wanted to know more about Abel. But he wanted to know more about Stacy, too, and how she fit into this sordid picture of a family of criminals.