Читать книгу Something Borrowed - Jule McBride, Jule Mcbride - Страница 8

SPARKY DARDEN’S DAUGHTER, Julia, had fluffed his pillows, propping them against the headboard, just the way Sparky liked them, and she’d left a silver-wrapped square of chocolate on the coverlet like those left nightly on pillows of Darden hotels all over the world. As Sparky unwrapped the candy and popped it into his mouth, he reclined.

At the moment, he felt forty years old, not sixty-eight, and his cancer, which had gone into remission, wasn’t worrying him in the least. As he ran his fingers through the remaining strands of silver hair left after chemo, he used his other hand to fish into the pocket of a crimson robe for the remote; he was tired of watching late-night infomercials, a habit acquired during his illness, so he switched to the VCR and hit Play.

Since the threats against Julia began, Sparky had watched this tape many times. Taken fourteen years ago by a security camera at the Long Island estate Sparky now called home, it was grainy and dark, so the figure racing across Sparky’s lawn looked scarcely visible. The guy had been clever, breaching security, blackening his face and dressing in dark clothes. After locating the switch plates inside the estate’s gates, he’d extinguished almost all the lights. Cameras and alarms were everywhere, and with the exception of a wooded area between the house and a two-lane rural highway, fencing surrounded the property, but he’d been determined, climbing the fence, hurdling flower beds, dodging hedges and circling statuary. After reaching the veranda steps, he’d climbed stealthily, his body moving like a dancer’s.

Inside, everyone had been shouting in confusion, trying to turn on the lights. Funny, Sparky thought now. He should have suspected foul play, since he’d made countless enemies in the course of his career, but he’d thought there was a power outage. “Nothing’s wrong,” he’d assured.

When he’d opened the door, though, a flashlight’s beam from inside had glanced off steel. Just as air had whooshed across his exposed neck, he’d jumped back, realizing the wind had been the wake of a knife meant to slit his throat. And then he’d seen the eyes through the ski mask—dark and full of hate, as if the man had been fantasizing about this confrontation for years.

Sparky had lived, of course. Since starting Darden Enterprises, he’d survived murder attempts, near bankruptcy, paternity suits and slander, not to mention his own loneliness. The latter was like a gaping mouth inside him, and no matter what Sparky had fed it over the years—wine, women or song—he’d never felt filled. Always on to life’s next conquest, he’d needed more sex, more money, more accolades. At least until he’d gotten the big C, and he’d survived that, too.

After rewinding the video, he watched once more as the shadowy figure reached to his waist, unsnapped a sheath and pulled out the knife. After that, the black-clad man leaned, lifted the door knocker and let it fall.

Had fourteen years really passed since that night? They seemed lost in a blur of champagne fountains, caviar and high-heeled women who’d been half Sparky’s age. In his mind’s eye, he always saw himself stepping from private planes, buying expensive suits, or cutting ribbons at hotels, new ventures that always signified a business deal where someone else got screwed in the end. He’d made so many enemies. The man who’d come to kill him that night was only one.

Sparky’s daughter by the only woman he’d married was the bright light in it all. He’d lay down his life for her and his enemies knew it. Did the man in the video still hold a grudge? Finally, after all these years, a private eye had gotten close to discovering who he was, but would they actually locate him before Julia’s upcoming wedding? And should Sparky tell Julia’s bodyguard, Pete Shriver, about this old video, or wait until the P.I. found the man? This piece of dirty laundry wasn’t one Sparky wanted to air, after all. The man’s vendetta had been too personal….

Which was why Sparky had let him go. Now he damned himself for showing uncharacteristic mercy. Why hadn’t he treated his near-killer to the same ruthlessness he employed in business?

And was the past really coming back to haunt him? Was the man about to call again, drawn by Julia’s highly publicized wedding? Wishing he hadn’t pushed to give his daughter the wedding of the year, Sparky dragged his fingers thoughtfully over his scalp. Julia was so in love with her fiancé, Lorenzo Santini, that she’d have happily eloped. Maybe Sparky should have let her.

“Julia,” he whispered on a sigh. By insisting on such a large wedding had he made his daughter a target?