Exposure by Brandilyn Collins Page B

forbidden subject now? “It’s okay.”
    But of course — it wasn’t. What it had cost Kaycee as a child. What it cost her even then.
    “I tried to make a better life for you, Kaycee. I hope you’ll believe that.”
    Kaycee’s chest constricted. Did her mother see through her that well? Did she see that as much as Kaycee loved her, the seed of blame had long ago taken root and grown in her daughter’s heart?
    “Mom, really. It’s okay.”
    Her mother started to say more, then turned away.
    Kaycee leaned her head back against Tricia’s couch. So much left unsaid. You think you have plenty of time, then suddenly — you don’t. Three years later Monica Raye was dead. If only they’d fought their fear together over the years. Maybe they could have helped each other. Now, Kaycee thought, this paranoia would destroy her.
    Kaycee shivered, suddenly cold. She pushed off the couch and hustled back into Tricia’s guest bedroom, leaving the lights on behind her. Unseen eyes seemed to follow her every move. She closed her door and locked it. Jumped into bed and pulled up the covers. She could not bring herself to turn off the lamp.
    Her gaze roamed to the drawn curtains of the window to her right. They were out there. Watching.
    Kaycee squeezed her eyes shut.
No.
    The dream washed over her once again. Darkness . . . screams. Running feet . . . the dead man’s face. Puddled blood on a dark yellow floor.
    Kaycee buried her face in the pillow and prayed for morning.

PART 2

    Fear is only as deep as the mind allows.

    Japanese proverb

ELEVEN

    Man, those eggs looked good.
    Thirty-two-year-old Joel “Nico” Nicorelli sat down to breakfast with the underboss of the Lucchese family. As always when he came in to Vince “Bear” Terelli, Nico held his face just right — half
Sure
,
boss
and half confidence in the respect due himself. He hadn’t been made a captain for nothing.
    And he didn’t plan on staying there.
    In La Cosa Nostra, Nico had worked his way from the bottom up. First he’d been a lowly street worker, helping to run the Lucchese family’s rackets and loan sharking. After a few years he’d moved up to soldier, becoming a “made” member and taking the solemn oath of Omerta — swearing absolute loyalty to the family. As a soldier he’d done real good, always gunning for the next level. Three years ago he’d made captain, reporting directly to the underboss. Not many higher than Nico now. Only Bear, plus his counterpart, the
consigliere.
Both those guys reported to the family patriarch, the boss.
    Bear trusted nobody. Made the man too cautious. When Nico made underboss, the family’s power would go way up. No dreaming, just fact. Nico could outplay Bear any day.
    Light drenched Bear’s sunroom, the Atlantic Ocean curling on the beach in the distance. The table was set with silver and china. Bear knew how to live it up good. To his right lay the morning paper, top half of the front page up. Nico knew he’d read the lead article. Nico had read it himself, three times. The numbers still boomed in his head. Six million, nine hundred seventy-three thousand, five hundred and seventy-two dollars. Total weight of the cash — five hundred thirty-two pounds. Largest take from a bank vault in U.S. history.
    And
he —
Joel “Nico” Nicorelli — had done it.
    Nico’s stomach growled as Bear’s wife, Marie, poured coffee. Nico hadn’t eaten since yesterday afternoon. At the gurgling sound Marie gave him a smile.
    Bear grunted low in his throat — the sound that had earned him his nickname. Everybody in La Cosa Nostra, from the street workers to the boss, had a nickname. It was your personal identity, what with all the Tonys and Franks. And it was part protection. The fewer people who knew your real name, the better.
    “Good thing Martha made extra.” Martha had been the Terellis’ cook for years.
    Nico tilted his head. His mouth watered, but he couldn’t eat till the boss said so. Marie set down the