Kicking the engine to life, he roared off the property.
* * *
Stephanie was not aware of the miles unrolling under the tires of her car. Her mind worked and reworked plan after plan as she hurtled toward the hospital. Each idea disintegrated into the anguished scream of her heart. Daddy, Daddy. She’d let Bittman take him. What had her father thought as he lifted off into the sky, looking down at the daughter who had failed to save him from a madman? Bile rose in her throat, and she fought the urge to floor the gas pedal, instead cutting around a driver in a van so closely that she could see his crew cut and the arch of his eyebrows. Tate had no right to interfere.
The call, the one at precisely four o’clock as she stared into the barrel of the security guard’s gun, had been from Bittman. She phoned him back with no answer. She knew the unspoken message.
You didn’t follow directions, Stephanie.
You told Tate Fuego.
Now your father will die.
Tate’s interference might have cost her father his life. She fought to control the spiraling panic.
Focus, Steph. Figure out what to do.
Bringing in the cops would seal her father’s fate. He would be found dead with not one shred of evidence linking Bittman to the crime, just a few phone calls. No menacing messages saved to voice mail. No incriminating texts. No one in his employ would dare testify that her father had been imprisoned at his mansion.
The picture of innocence.
And Victor might not live to identify the car that ran him off the road, or the person who removed Wyatt Gage from the car. As she parked and entered the hospital, heading for the elevator, she was a mass of indecision. She had no idea what she would say to Luca to explain her absence. As soon as the elevator doors opened, Luca shot to his feet from the waiting room chair.
She hurried to him. “How is he?”
“Stable, for the moment. Brooke’s on a plane.” He folded his arms. “Where have you been? And don’t sugarcoat it.”
“I’m going to see Victor, then we’ll talk.” Luca’s thick brows drew together, but he didn’t stop her. Victor’s room was small. One tiny window looked into the San Francisco sky. He lay in the bed, dark hair shaved on one side and head swathed in bandages. Bruises darkened his face, and an IV snaked out from under the blanket.
Her eyes filled with tears. “Oh, Victor. I’m so sorry.” Bittman was a plague set loose on the Gage family because of her. As soon as she’d accepted Bittman’s offer of full-time work, he’d believed he owned her, and now her brother was paying for that horrendous decision. Her throat closed up, aching with grief. “I wish you could tell me what to do.”
“About what?” Luca leaned against the doorway.
She kissed Victor on the forehead and followed Luca back out to the empty waiting area. Staring into her brother’s troubled green eyes made her stomach clench into a tighter knot. “Luca...” She trailed off. Would telling him result in another accident? She couldn’t risk it. “It’s nothing. I’m going to do a computer search...to see who might have wanted to hurt Victor.”
“I’m not buying it. Where have you been?”
“At Bittman’s,” came a voice from the far side of the room.
Stephanie’s heart plummeted when Tate sauntered up.
Luca stiffened, hands balled into fists. “I should have known. Whatever trouble she’s in concerns you.”
“Not me. Bittman.” Tate flicked a glance at her. “Tell him.”
She glared back. “No, Tate.”
“You don’t have any choice, Steph,” Tate said, eyes blazing. “You can’t find him by yourself. Tell him, or I will.”
Stephanie took a breath. Tate had backed her into a corner. Hands clenched, eyes on the floor, she told Luca everything. When she finally looked up, he was staring at her in disbelief. Then his eyes swiveled to Tate. “All right. This is family business, and we’ll find a solution. Get out.”
Tate shook his head. “Nope. My sister’s disappeared, and Bittman has her or knows where she is. I’m staying until this plays out. Deal with it.”
It happened in a flash. Luca had Tate by the shirt, and they went over in an angry pile of flying fists. Stephanie yelled and tried to grab Tate, but he wrenched away. Only a shout from an approaching police officer brought them to a standstill. The cop’s name badge read Sergeant Rivers.
“What’s going on here?” he demanded.
Luca and Tate got to their feet. Luca swiped at his forehead. “Sorry, officer. I lost my temper.”
The officer looked from Luca to Tate. “That right?”
Tate nodded. “I egged him on. Wrong thing to do. Won’t happen again.”
He gave them another hard look before he turned to Luca. “I’m following up on our earlier conversation. I came by to tell you we’ve turned up nothing trying to ID the hit-and-run driver. How did you do coming up with any potential enemies?”
Stephanie caught Luca’s eye. She sent him a pleading look and a shake of her head. Luca hesitated for an excruciating moment. “Nothing yet, but my sister’s here now. We’ll see if we can think of anything useful.”
The officer’s gaze flicked once more over the three of them. Then he nodded and excused himself to make a phone call.
Luca rounded on Tate. “Just so we’re clear. You’re no good for my sister, and you’re not welcome here. You’re involved only until we hand this over to the police or decide on a plan to get our father back.”
“And my sister.” Tate’s lip curled. “You remember my sister, Maria, don’t you Luca? You two have a history, don’t forget.”
Luca’s face was a mask of rage. Stephanie stepped between them. “In light of the situation,” she hissed, “can you two knock it off?” She felt the beginnings of an idea flash through her. “My files. I kept paper files when I worked for Bittman. Just odds and ends, bits that I found unusual in his business dealings. Maybe there’s something in there that might give us a search direction.”
She didn’t want to go back to those dark days, the path she had taken that whisked her away from her family, from her faith. The twinges had been there when she first started doing some consulting for Bittman, a year before Tate’s father was killed. Tate hadn’t wanted her anywhere near Bittman. Tate’s words rang in her mind.
The way he looks at you...he wants you. You’ve got to quit working for him.
She’d brushed him off, chalked up his reaction to jealousy. Maybe she was even the tiniest bit flattered by it. In any case, her stubborn streak would have prevented her from giving up a job she enjoyed. The work intrigued her, challenged her, but she’d felt the odd sense every now and again that something was not right.
God had been talking to her even then,
