the crowd.
Tell your friend his father's killer is long dead.
It may bring him some comfort.
Tea slumped against the back of her chair. If she faced Johnny again, what was going to comfort her?
To Tea's mind, the habits she'd established later in life had been hard-won and were therefore the hardest to break. It was why she walked away from the party when the wedges of creamy-iced Italian rum cake were served. It was why she couldn't ignore her clamoring conscience and so made her way up the path to Johnny's house.
Apart from the oasis-like vegetation of the rest of the estate, it stood out against the desert setting as it always had, elegant and sophisticated. The pool lights were on, and the water glowed turquoise. The house itself was dark, but she smelled the scent of burning mesquite and as she neared the front door, she could see through the glass wall that logs were burning in the screenless living room fireplace.
In the light of the fire, she saw Johnny too, sprawled on the wide sofa, his tie unfastened, the top button of his shirt undone. Her breath caught. Not because he looked golden and beautiful, but because he looked so cool and detached.
How could he not be seething with rage? Her numbness hadn't lasted this long and he had far more to be angry about.
As she watched, he plucked a playing card from the stack in one hand and with an expert flip of his long fingers, spun it into the fire. Then he did it again. And again.
She wanted to run away, as she had all her life.
But it was time to face up to what her family had done. What she had been part of.
Raising her hand, she rapped on the door, then opened it without waiting for his permission. She was afraid he'd give her a chance to back out. He glanced over his shoulder as she walked into the living room, then returned his attention to the fire.
"I didn't think we'd see each other again so soon," he said. His voice gave nothing of his emotions away.
But she knew he hated her family, and by extension, her.
Who could blame him?
Yet Johnny sounded as composed as ever.
She perched on the chair adjacent to the sofa, cradling the item she'd brought in her hands. Her tongue felt too big for her mouth and she swallowed, trying to moisten it before speaking.
He flipped another card into the fire and she watched the ace of spades bum. Its edges singed and then it curled into itself in a fiery fetal position.
She swallowed again. "I know I'm sorry isn't - "
"Then don't say it."
Tea squeezed her eyes tight. "This I have to say. My grandfather claims he didn't order the hit on your father. The man who did it, on his own, has been dead himself for over a decade."
Johnny didn't twitch. His dispassionate expression didn't falter. Without a tremor, his fingers flipped another card. The jack of clubs sputtered, then caught fire.
Watching his smooth movements, she wondered if the Carusos had killed off yet another man tonight. At the very least, Johnny must have ice water in his veins.
Her hands squeezed on the item she'd brought with her. She looked down at it, tracing with her eyes the cartoon image of the pony-tailed girl pictured on the front. It was all she had to give Johnny. Piss-poor payment, but all that she had.
When she rose and held it out to him, the one thing she'd thought she would never give up, it felt as if she was offering him her heart.
Which was ridiculous, because he already had that.
"Take this," she said.
He glanced at the object, then her face. "What is it?" he asked, lifting another card from the stack in his hands. The queen of hearts.
"The Loanshark book."
His fingers stilled. "What?"
"I have it." Tea had saved the book and kept its secrets for sixteen years as a reminder of her own complicity, as a touchstone to her guilt, as tangible proof that giving your love to a man could leave you holding only ugliness. "I've always had it."
"You told me you kept the records for your father - "
"And I kept the book, too. It wasn't in his car. It always sat on a shelf in my room. The FBI didn't look twice at a little girl's diary."
Johnny gave a disbelieving shake of his head. "Why didn't you get rid of it?"
She shrugged her shoulders. "I thought... I thought