Sprinkled in Malice Read online

  He stopped when he saw Ally's expression. She was an attractive redhead, tall and slender with haunting gray eyes that resembled cold, hard steel at the moment. She pressed her lips together tightly. "I have my own car. Perhaps I'll stay at my mother's house tonight." She turned on her heel and hurried toward the exit door.

  Wearily, I sank back down in the chair as Brian rushed out the door after her. Great. Not this again. I didn't have the strength to deal with their lovers' quarrel at the moment. A memory stirred in my brain from a few months back when Brian had confessed his feelings to me. "I love Ally, but I'm not in love with her." He'd gone on to say that he still hadn't been able to forget about me. Why did life have to be so complicated all the time?

  I was somewhat comforted by what Ally had told me about Mike. Stable was a good thing—or at least I thought so. It was the only shred of hope I could cling to. I folded my hands in my lap, closed my eyes, and sent up another silent prayer to God—I'd lost track of how many I'd already said tonight.

  The door to the emergency room opened, and my entire family descended upon me. My grandmother was the first person to reach me. She sat down next to me, and I forgot my resolve to be strong, immediately breaking down in her arms.

  "Grandma, he has to be okay. He has too much to live for," I wept.

  My grandmother held me against her, patting my back and saying soothing words of comfort. The dread lifted a bit from my chest, and I could breathe again. In some ways, Grandma Rosa was my own personal fortune cookie. Her predictions always came true, but unlike the cookies, her messages were never negative.

  "He will live, cara mia," she promised. "He will live because of his love for you."

  CHAPTER FOUR

  The minutes on the round, black-and-white wall clock ticked by at an excruciating pace. Brian and Ally had been gone for at least an hour, and I doubted either one would return. Thankfully I had my family to lean on. My father had just returned with Johnny. They'd gone to the gas station to get my car and had brought it back to the hospital's lot. Grandma Rosa sat next to me, holding my left hand, while my mother sat on the other side, patting the right one absently. In the meantime, snow continued to fall outside.

  My parents didn't do well with tragic life events. On the other hand, suffering was my grandmother's middle name. She'd lost her own mother at the age of four and watched her husband die following a long, horrific battle with cancer. After a two-day birthing ordeal with my own mother—when it had been touch-and-go for the two of them—Grandma Rosa had been strictly advised not to have any more children. She'd confided to me that her one true love, before my grandfather entered the picture, had never come home from the Vietnam War. To this day she didn't know for certain what had happened to him.

  Grandma Rosa told me many times that there were some people in this life who were born to suffer. Undoubtedly, she was one of them, although she'd never come right out and admitted it. My parents, she'd also explained, couldn't handle trauma. My mother had lost a child before I was born—my brother. She and my father never talked about it. In fact, Grandma Rosa had been the one to tell Gianna and me the story a couple of years ago. I wasn't sure if my mother was aware that we knew, but I would never risk upsetting her to find out.

  Grandma Rosa was made from unbendable steel and had once told me that I was cut from the same. After everything that had happened in my life the last few years, she might be on to something. My ex-husband had been murdered, and Mike had been at the top of the suspect list. My former bakery location had burned down, and someone had tried to kill me right before our wedding. Each event had succeeded in making me stronger, but at this moment, I no longer felt like I could conquer the world. Mike was my entire world. "If he doesn't make it, I don't want to live."

  I hadn't realized I'd spoken the words out loud until Grandma Rosa gave my arm a little shake. "You must never say things like that. Always think positive thoughts, cara mia."

  She was right. I leaned my head on her shoulder and repeated the words over and over in my head. Mike's all right. He's going to be fine.

  Gianna walked back and forth across the gray tile flooring so many times that I lost count. Her left hand was placed on her lower back as if it ached, and from the size of her, I had no doubt it did. She wasn't due for another two weeks, but the doctor had told her on her last visit that the baby had dropped and she could go anytime.

  I was concerned that the extra stress might harm her or the baby. "Gi," I said quietly. "Maybe Johnny should take you home. You shouldn't get yourself upset like this."

  Johnny's dark eyes shifted from me over to his fiancée's face as he waited for her response. He was the grandson of Nicoletta Gavelli, who had been my parents' next-door neighbor for the past 30 years. Nicoletta and I had a love-hate relationship at times, but then again, she did with most people. She'd mellowed somewhat in the last few months—probably from the excitement associated with her first great-grandchild's impending birth.

  "Forget it," she said. "I'm fine. Mike's my family too, you know. I'm not going anywhere until we know that—" She swallowed hard. "I mean, until he's awake."

  The door to the waiting room opened, and Brian reappeared. A fine dusting of snow covered his dark blue uniform jacket. He gave everyone in the room a curt nod before his bright green gaze settled on me. "Any news yet?"

  "No." I clasped my hands together in prayer and stared down at the floor. If we didn't hear something soon, I might go crazy.

  The door behind the receptionist's desk opened, and a man in dark blue scrubs stepped out holding a mask in one hand. He glanced around the full waiting room. "Mrs. Donovan?" he called. "Is there a Mrs. Donovan here?"

  My heart thumped against the wall of my chest as I rose to my feet. "That's me. How's my husband?"

  The doctor extended his hand. "I'm Dr. Benson." He was tall with a thin frame and encouraging, kind blue eyes as he gave me a warm smile. "Your husband made it through surgery very well. He's one tough guy."

  My body went limp with relief, and I might have fallen over if Gianna hadn't been there to support me. My grandmother patted my back, and between the two of them, I seemed to gain newfound strength. "Thank God. Can I see him?"

  "Mr. Donovan is still in recovery, but I'll have the nurse take you back in a little while. Only for a minute, though. He's sedated. We've extubated him, so he should be able to talk, but he might not make much sense." Dr. Benson cleared his throat before continuing. "He lost quite a lot of blood, but we stayed ahead of it with a few transfusions, and we'll keep him in the ICU until the chest tube is out. I pulled a bullet out of his shoulder, and the scapula was fractured. I'll have him evaluated by an orthopedic surgeon just to make certain he doesn't need to have them set."

  "I thought he was shot in the chest?" I asked.

  Dr. Benson shook his head. "It might have looked that way when he was hit, but no, it was his right shoulder. Too bad, especially since he's right handed. What kind of work does your husband do?"

  "He owns a construction company," I said in a feeble voice.

  Dr. Benson frowned. "Well, he's not going to be in any shape to return to work for at least several weeks. I'd say he's pretty much out of any immediate danger now. We're going to watch him for a few days to make sure there's no infection or sudden bleeding."

  "Thank you so much," I managed to rasp out, grateful for what he'd done for Mike. I didn't dare say more in case I lost it all together. The no work factor was of little consequence to me, although sitting around doing nothing was sure to make Mike insane. He was going to live—he was going to be all right. That was all that mattered.

  Dr. Benson seemed to understand what I was going through. He probably saw this on a daily basis. "The nurse will be out in a few minutes to take you back."

  "Hey, Doc." Brian stepped forward. "If Mrs. Donovan doesn't mind, I'd like to have a word with Mr. Donovan as well, about the shooting. It isn't something that can afford to wait."

  The doctor glanced from B
rian to me. "If Mrs. Donovan is fine with it, I don't have any objection. Like I said, he's been extubated and may complain that his throat hurts, so please try to limit your questions. I'll inform the nurse you'll be coming back as well."

  "Pardon me, doctor." Sonya spoke from behind the counter. "Dr. Hudson is on line three for you."

  "Thanks. I'll take it in the doctor's lounge." He nodded briefly to us. "If you'll all excuse me, please." He smiled at me again. "I'll be around to check on Mr. Donovan sometime tomorrow."

  "Thank God," Gianna murmured, a notable tremor in her voice. She hugged me tightly—as tightly as her protruding stomach would allow. "This is the best news ever."

  "There was never any doubt in my mind that he'd make it through," my father bellowed cheerfully "He's part of the Muccio clan. I mean, he's not Italian by birth, but hey…what do they say about the Irish? Besides the drink part, I mean?" He snapped his fingers. "That's it. The luck of the Irish."

  "Quiet, pazza," my grandmother scolded him. She led me to the nearest chair that I all but collapsed into. Then I started to cry, fat tears rolling down my cheeks as she held me against her.

  "There now," she said gently. "What did I tell you? Your man is a fighter. We knew he would come through this fine. Now dry your eyes before you go in to see him, cara mia. He won't want to see you carrying on like that. Be strong for him."

  "Here, sweetheart." My mother handed me a tissue and blinked back a tear of her own. This was so uncharacteristic of her that it shocked me for a second. My mother always looked at life through rose-colored glasses. "Tell Mike that we all love him."

  Gianna pulled out her phone. "Josie texted me. She said she's been trying to reach you—she stopped by the house earlier, but no one was home. She wants to know what's going on."

  I pulled my phone out of my pocket and saw that I had three missed calls and six texts from her. "Shoot," I said miserably. "I totally forgot that Josie said she might come by for dessert."

  The door behind the receptionist counter opened. A nurse about my age, her long hair the color of copper, looked over at us. "Mrs. Donovan?"

  I quickly rose from my seat. "Will you text Josie and explain everything that has happened, Gi?"

  "Of course." Gianna's eyes filled as she stared up at my face. "Give Mike a hug from me."

  Brian walked across the room to join me. The nurse smiled and held the door open for both of us to follow her. She led us past several blue curtained-off areas to the last one on the right-hand side. "Only for a minute," she warned. "He's very tired from surgery and probably won't make much sense."

  "Thank you," I said as she pulled back the curtain. Mike was lying in the bed with his eyes closed, the upper part of his arm and shoulder bandaged and in a sling. His usual tanned complexion was white as powdered sugar. I stared at the machines around him—heart monitor, ventilator, and a blood pressure cuff around his left upper arm—and struggled not to cry again.

  I sank into the lone chair next to the bed and reached for his left hand. It was cold and unmoving as I brought it to my lips. "Hi, sweetheart," I whispered. "I'm here and won't leave you. Everything is going to be fine."

  Mike didn't respond at first, but then his fingers closed around mine and gave them a little squeeze. A sob escaped from my throat before I could stop it. Mike turned his head slowly, and after what seemed like an eternity, his eyelids fluttered open. His beautiful eyes were the same as always—that midnight shade of blue—as mesmerizing as the first day I'd laid eyes on him in high school about 15 years ago.

  He gave a slow smile as recognition set in. "Hi, princess." His voice was raspy and faint.

  Despite my grandmother's warning, tears fell from my eyes before I could stop them. I wrapped both of my hands around his and gently rested my face against it. "Oh, sweetheart. I was so scared, but everything's all right now. You're fine. We're going to be fine." I tried to keep my voice steady.

  He sighed and closed his eyes again. "Didn't mean—to—worry. You. Love you."

  "I love you too." The lump in my throat wouldn't dissolve, and my voice was clogged with tears. "Everyone's out in the waiting room and sends their love. Grandma, Mom, Dad, Gianna, and Johnny. We've all been so worried." I kissed his hand again. "Especially me."

  "Hell of a birthday," he said as a small smile crept across his lips. He withdrew his hand from mine and brought it to his throat. "Hurts. Water?"

  "Maybe they'll let you have some ice chips," I said. "Let me find the nurse and ask her."

  I started to rise from my chair, but Brian stopped me. I'd forgotten he was there. His eyes seemed different as they looked at me now—there was a haunted quality I hadn't noticed before. Things must not have gone well with Ally.

  "I'll ask the nurse for you," he said. "You stay here with Mike."

  "Thank you." I wrapped my hands back around Mike's left one and brought it to my heart, vowing silently to never complain about anything in life again.

  Mike's eyelids opened, and he stared up at me, his face tight and drawn. "I was—afraid. So afraid."

  A chill blew through me, but I tried to make light of the situation. "You? Afraid? That's impossible. You're not afraid of anything." Panic tightened in my chest. I wasn't sure I wanted to hear all the gruesome details about the robbery and shooting yet.

  "When I lay there—after getting shot," he murmured. "Before I blacked out. So afraid. Afraid—I'd never see you again."

  I kissed his hand again and tried to keep the emotion out of my voice. "Well, you're not going anywhere, Mr. Donovan. Except home with me in a few days."

  He smiled up at me, but a troubled look came into his eyes. "Trevor. Where—is—how is he?"

  Oh no. I was ashamed to admit I'd almost forgotten about the poor man and his fate. "He didn't make it, sweetheart. I'm so sorry."

  Mike closed his eyes tightly and drew a deep breath. "No," he whispered. "Didn't deserve it. Didn't deserve to die—like that."

  The curtain opened behind me, and Brian stepped back into view. Mike's gaze wandered over to him, and he looked confused, as if he didn't recognize him at first.

  "Hey, Mike. How are you feeling?" Brian asked.

  "Been better," he croaked out.

  "Sweetheart, Brian wants to ask you some questions, but we know your throat hurts, so you can just nod or shake your head. Okay?"

  Mike kept staring at Brian. "You found them? Those SOBs—killed Trevor. Good guy. He was a good—friend."

  Brian's expression was grim. "Not yet. That's where you come in. Is there anything you can tell me about the gunmen? Features that stand out? Piercings, scars, tattoos, shaved heads?"

  "Ski masks. Couldn't see faces." Mike licked his dry lips.

  The nurse came into the room with a plastic blue cup and spoon and handed them both to me. "Only a few," she cautioned. She checked the monitor, glanced at Mike, smiled, and left us alone.

  I spooned some of the chips into Mike's mouth, and Brian and I waited until he was able to continue. "One guy was tall—taller than me. The other was short—like my princess. Taller guy had tattoo."

  Brian looked confused. "If they were wearing masks and jackets, where was the tattoo?"

  "Wrist." Mike tried to shift in the bed slightly, but it was impossible with all the machines he was hooked up to. "Coat sleeve pulled up when—he pointed—gun. Weird-looking—cobra with red eyes—like blood. Never saw one like it."

  Brian whipped out a small pad of paper from his breast pocket and made some notes. "Do you remember what their voices sounded like?"

  "Little guy didn't talk." Mike looked at me, and then his eyes moved to the cup in my hands. I immediately gave him another spoonful. After he swallowed, he went on. "Taller guy was big, muscular. Deep voice. Like a smoker."

  "Sweetheart, no more," I pleaded. "You need to save your strength."

  Mike continued as if he hadn't heard me. "Came inside—right after we did. Almost like they were waiting for us." He grimaced and turned his head slightly, obvi
ously in pain. "Need to fry for what they did. Trevor—didn't deserve this—to die."

  It wasn't enough that Mike was in physical pain, but he was in emotional pain as well. I knew Trevor was more than just an employee to Mike—they had been friends. It had been great for Mike to finally have someone he could depend on to help him with his business too.

  "We're going to do everything we can to catch those scumbags," Brian promised. "Which one shot you? The tall guy or the short one?"

  "Tall guy," Mike croaked out. "Short guy got Trevor first. I jumped forward when he shot him—don't know what I was thinking. Gut reaction, I guess. Think I scared him—he made a squeaking noise like a mouse. Must have surprised him. Then the tall guy—he got me. Don't think he meant to—"

  Brian looked intrigued. "How do you know he didn't mean to?"

  In annoyance, I stared at him. "Brian, no more. Please."

  "He swore as I went down," Mike said. "Then stared at me and said, 'Look what—what you made me do.' Then they left." He paused and closed his eyes. "Kind of like they had it in for T-Trevor right from the s-start."

  I recalled what the cashier had told Adam. "Sweetheart, the cashier in the market said that it seemed like Trevor and the robbers might have known each other."

  The room was silent, except for the beeping of the machines. "Yeah," Mike finally said. "When the little guy—he turned the gun on Trevor, tall guy said something. Real strange." He paused, as if trying to remember. "Saw his mouth move—the cutout in the mask. Guy gave Trevor an evil smile. And Trevor, he said, 'Don't do this. You know you don't want to. We'll work it out.'"

  A shiver ran down my spine as I waited patiently for him to go on.

  Mike looked at the cup in my hands, and I gave him another spoonful. "Tall guy said something like, 'You know what we want. You won't get away with it.'" Mike paused for breath, and his face contorted with pain.

  Brian and I exchanged a confused glance. "What happened after that?" he asked Mike.

  Mike's forehead wrinkled. "Little guy pointed the gun at Trevor's head—" He turned to look at me, his beautiful blue eyes filled with grief as they met mine. "Then—he pulled the trigger."