“Excuse me, sir,” the nurse said as she wheeled a covered gurney out of the room.
When her eyes connected with Trent’s, she looked shocked. Seeing a dead man’s twin must be like seeing a ghost, Trent thought.
“I’m so sorry for your loss,” she said.
“Is this Ryan?” Trent asked. There was a hint of fear in his voice.
“Yes. I’m afraid it is.”
Trent said nothing, but the expression on his face screamed agony. He channeled the grief into anger and carefully pulled back the sheet that was covering his brother. A tear streaked from the corner of his eye as he kissed his brother on the forehead.
“I’m sorry, Ryan,” he said softly. His eyes hardened as he searched for words. “It’s my fault…I can’t make this right, but I’ll try to make you proud.” He gently pulled the cover back over his head. “I love you,” he said, his voice trailing off.
The sound of sobbing brought Trent’s attention to his mother’s inconsolable form. She had been watching from inside the hospital room in tears. She’d just lost the son she had, and now she was faced with the one she’d lost. Trent knew his mother was strong, but this was too much even for a woman as strong as Cathy Turner. He shut his eyes to fight back tears and thought about what he had done to her.
“Hi, Mom,” were the only words he could say.
He gave her a loving hug as they watched the nurse push Ryan’s gurney down the hallway. Trent was stunned, but he slowly began to snap out of it. This would be difficult. He knew he needed to craft his next words carefully.
“I’ve missed you so much,” his mother said as she clung to him tightly. “I know he wanted to hang on until you got here. He loved you so much,” she said, her voice shaky. She hugged Trent tighter. “He almost made it…so you could say good-bye. He fought so hard.”
The pain in her voice ripped through his soul.
“I was sure he’d hang on,” she said. “I told him you’d come.”
The sadness and anger he felt was sharp. His limits were being tested like never before. After a couple of deep breaths, he regained his composure.
“It’s my fault, Mom.”
“Listen to me, Trent. You and your brother had your problems, but you can’t try to put this on—”
“No, Mom, you don’t understand,” Trent insisted in a measured tone. “It’s my fault. I can’t really explain it, and I know that’s not fair, but I promise you, this was about me, not Ryan.”
He thought intently about how much he could share with his family. Things were complicated, and he knew they could also be in danger. The fact that his brother had been compromised meant the killing could continue, unless he worked fast. He wasn’t sure who the next target might be, but he needed to find some answers.
“My job isn’t exactly a government job up north,” Trent admitted. “We work with the government, but…” He considered his next words carefully. “We fix things that are difficult to fix.”
He realized this wouldn’t make much sense to her, but it wasn’t like he had a choice. He needed to say enough to make sure they would stay safe until he could take care of any threats.
“What I’m trying to say is there are a lot of shady people who don’t like what the company I work for does. I’m so sorry, Mom. I never meant for anyone to get—”
“Enough, Trent, enough,” she snapped. “Between your father and your uncle, there are plenty of people in this world who would like to do us harm.”
“Yes, but—”
“No buts.” Her eyes burned with intensity and sadness. She wiped the tears from her face. “Your brother just died, and dammit, I won’t hear any more of this nonsense.”
They stood in silence. Trent tried his best to comfort her while he worked this out in his head. He needed to ask some questions. There would never be a good time for this conversation, and time was something he didn’t have.
“Mom, I need your help,” he said gently.
“Sure, anything,” she said. His worried tone calmed her down and filled the grieving mother with concern. “What is it? Are you in trouble?”
“No, it’s nothing like that. I need to ask you some questions about what happened to Ryan. It’s not something that can wait. I’m sorry, Mom. Are you okay with that?”
“This isn’t a good time, honey,” she said. “I need to…” She saw an intensity in her son’s eyes she’d never seen before.
“I know,” he said, “but if I’m going to find the people who did this to Ryan, I need answers now.” He knew he’d better keep going so she couldn’t interrupt. “You sounded surprised that Ryan didn’t hang on longer. Did you think he wasn’t in danger of dying?”
“He was in really bad shape,” she said. Her voice was shaking again, so she composed herself before continuing. “But the doctors said his condition was stable. We were expecting him to hang on for a little while longer. They didn’t give him much of a chance for recovery.” She wiped her tears away with a tissue and said, “I just wasn’t ready to say good-bye to him yet.”
Trent found it difficult to concentrate as emotions invaded his thoughts. His gut was telling him the botched assassination attempt would have drawn the killer out to finish the job. If there was any chance for recovery, he knew it would be too dangerous to leave a man like him alive.
“Mom, have you noticed anything out of the ordinary? Something strange?”
She looked at him as if she wasn’t quite sure how to answer.
“Maybe it’s a person you had seen several times in a day, or someone that just didn’t fit in. Just something that’s off. Something that doesn’t add up or seem normal.” He knew it was a long shot, but his only hope was that the killer had been sloppy and made a mistake.
She let Trent’s questions sink in. She framed his cheeks with her palms and took in the sight of her son.
The emotions hammered him. He needed something to have any chance of finding Ryan’s killer.
“Especially in the hours leading up to his death. Mom? Anything, even if it seems silly.”
“Silly?” The word seemed to jar her memory and send a chill down her spine.
Chapter 14
He stood in his contemporary studio apartment with a look of complete satisfaction on his face. Its dark walnut floors contrasted with the white walls, and floor-to-ceiling windows bathed the space in sunlight. Nevin Perlman knew Eugène Ysaÿe’s Sonata No. 3 in D Minor, Op. 27—“Ballade”—had never been performed with such perfection. Perlman adored the Belgian’s intricate and demanding composition. It was a work created for the solo violinist, and a piece that only the very best could aspire to master. There was only one other person he had heard perform this particular sonata with the combination of precision and emotion that now held him captive. That man was the late, great violin master Valentino D’Angelo, his former pupil and dear friend.
With her long legs and toned figure, Victoria Eden D’Angelo wouldn’t be out of place sauntering down the catwalk in a high-fashion show in Milan. Her fingers floated up and down the instrument effortlessly as she played awe-inspiring double and triple stops. Her thoughtful green eyes echoed the emotion that sang from her instrument, punctuation marks for the strikingly beautiful features of her thin face, framed by long jet-black hair. She performed commandingly in the center of the room, her body moving in step with the grace of royalty and the confidence of a matador. Her elegance complemented the display of aural perfection.
She was a child prodigy who was pushed too hard by a well-intending father. After all, he was one of the world’s most renowned violinists, and his only child clearly had the talent to do what was once unimaginable — take his own playing to the next level.