permit Ana to move. It seemed like an eternity where it was only seconds before she was able to scream when she sank to the ground beside her cousin’s body. The screams kept coming until people in the parking lot raced over to see what the commotion was about.
Her eyes wide with fear and panic, Ana screamed, “Help me!” She cradled Tyler to her bosom, her white blouse stained red with the warm blood seeping from his chest wound. His eyes were closed and his breathing shallow. The wait seemed interminable, but off in the distance she heard the sound of wailing sirens.
“Let me have a look at him.”
She glanced up to find an elderly man kneeling beside her. Her brain refused to process what had just happened. How could someone shoot Tyler and she not see them? She hadn’t noticed anyone close to them in the parking lot. Ana tightened her hold on her cousin’s neck. “No.”
“Please, miss. I’m a doctor.”
“No!” She screamed again, this time when a pair of strong hands pulled her up and held her fast. Ana fought like a cat, crying and clawing, but she wasn’t able to free herself from the arms that held her like manacles.
Some of the fight went out of her, and she slumped against the wide chest of a man who towered above her by a full head. The wail of sirens came closer and closer and within minutes first responders and police officers filled the restaurant’s parking lot. She was barely coherent when she gave an officer the account of what she didn’t see.
Working quickly, the paramedics stabilized Tyler, placing him on a gurney as she stood numbly by. A crime-scene unit had arrived as Ana was helped into the rear of the ambulance. Reaching for Tyler’s hand, she closed her eyes and prayed.
* * *
Ana sat in the family room at her parents’ house, reacting like an automaton. She’d become a prisoner. Easygoing, laidback David Claridge Cole had turned into a tyrant, taking the keys to her car and condo, while declaring he had no intention of burying any of his children and if he had to shackle her to keep her from leaving, then he would. Ana knew her father was incensed because she hadn’t divulged the details of the negotiations to sign Justin Glover, and she’d argued because he was no longer involved with the day-to-day operation of the recording label she wasn’t obligated to apprise him of the proceedings.
And the media had exacerbated the situation when headlines blared about the attempted murder of a member of one of Florida’s most prominent families. An undisclosed source told a reporter at The Miami Herald about the alleged ongoing feud between Slow Wyne Records and Serenity Records, and that Dr. Tyler Cole unintentionally had become collateral damage. Ana prayed the source hadn’t come from Serenity, because all the employees had signed a confidentiality agreement as a condition to employment. And if not them, the rumors had to come from someone in the Slow Wyne camp.
Reporters had also attempted to interview Jason, but his ‘no comment’ left them searching for other leads. Basil Irvine did agree to be interviewed, stating emphatically that there was no bad blood between his L.A.-based company and Serenity. He did admit he’d wanted to sign Justin Glover, but conceded when the singing phenom said the music produced by Serenity was better-suited for his singing style and vocal range. His Cheshire cat grin and velvety smooth voice had Ana screaming at the television that he was lying; she was incensed because she wasn’t able to rebut his allegation.
It’d been three days since someone had gunned down Tyler and instead of fading, the image of her cradling him persisted. An unscheduled gathering of the family descended on West Palm Beach when the news hit that Tyler had become the victim of a possible sniper. Fortunately the bullet missed all major arteries; however, the wound was still serious enough for the attending physician to recommend he remain in the hospital for several days.
The police were able to find the spent round and a ballistics expert had identified it as military issue; surveillance feed from cameras outside the restaurant and several other buildings showed a figure in camouflage repelling down the side of an office building and speeding off on a motorcycle. The police were able to identify the make and model of the bike, but when the video was enhanced the Kawasaki was missing the license plate, leading them to believe either it was stolen or the plate was intentionally removed.
Ana had felt like a parrot, repeating the same thing over and over when interrogated by law enforcement officials. First it was the local police, then special agents from the FBI. The theory that the sniper was connected to the military was a cause for concern among family members. Particularly those who’d had military experience.
Pulling her knees to her chest, she rested her head on them and closed her eyes. Why, she thought, did her parents insist on keeping their home so cool. “I’m freezing, Mom.”
Serena Morris-Cole stared at her daughter. She was shaking and it wasn’t from the air-cooled temperature but because she was still traumatized. “I’ll adjust the air and bring you a cup of hot tea.”
Ana’s head popped up. Her registered-nurse mother had divided her time between sitting at Tyler’s bedside and providing emotional support for Ana. “Thank you, Mom, but I can get my own tea.” Serena gave Ana a look she recognized immediately: do not argue with me. “Okay,” she conceded. It was as if all the fight had gone out of her when she’d never been one to back down from any confrontation.
David and Serena had raised their children to be free spirits in the tradition of 1970s hippies and Ana had become somewhat of a wild child. She was never one to turn down her brothers’ challenges and she preferred hanging out with them rather her architecture-historian sister who was the consummate girly-girl. For Ana it was baseball instead of cheerleading, shooting pool instead of ballet lessons. She’d earned an undergraduate degree in business and finance before enrolling in law school, with a focus on business law.
She’d taken control of Serenity Records once her father retired, while her twin brother, Jason, had become the label’s musical director and producer. She’d negotiated deals with artists who had served time for felonies, yet never at any time had she ever felt threatened or intimidated until now.
Ana didn’t want to believe Basil’s denial that there wasn’t bad blood between them, despite his too-sweet letter congratulating Serenity on Justin’s successful record launch. But the more she thought about it the more she felt it was retribution for signing up an artist the head of Slow Wyne coveted as if he were the Holy Grail.
A tentative smile parted her lips when Jason walked into the room. Ana patted the cushion beside her on the love seat. “Hang out with me for a while.” Fraternal twins, and older by fifteen minutes, Jason was her masculine counterpart. He was undeniably a Cole: tall, broad-shouldered, olive complexion, black curly hair, delicate features and dimples.
Extending his hand, Jason pulled her to stand. “Come with me.”
Walking on bare feet, Ana had to practically run to keep up with his longer stride. “Where are we going?”
Jason flashed a wolfish grin. “To my place.”
He was the only one of his parents’ four children who still lived at home. He had his own apartment in the expansive house and had access to an in-home recording studio. Although he was provided ultimate privacy, Jason refused to sleep with a woman under his parents’ roof. If his dates didn’t have their own place, then he entertained them at hotels.
Jason had surprised everyone once he’d announced that he’d bought property in Oregon near the Cascades where he’d built a sprawling house he dubbed Serenity West. It was where he spent months writing and recording music, and he made it a point
