Blood Loss_A Magnolia Novel Page 3

  This was only the third time he’d spent the entire night with her at The Magnolia even though he’d been by her side almost every day since her and her mother took over running the place after Cecil Pickard bought it from the previous owners. Though at times it was a struggle to make him leave because she craved to curl up next to him, Karina felt odd letting him stay since all the elderly residents would know what was going on behind their locked apartment door. Living at The Magnolia with almost thirty seniors was like living with her grandparents—multiplied to a level that made Karina feel like a hormonal teenager trying to hide her budding sexual appetites. Yet as the months passed, the media sensation died down, and the relationships with the residents grew, Karina began to feel more comfortable in her new surroundings and finally gave in to the yearnings for Bo’s companionship.

  And the second I did that, what happened? My ex Calvin Benson moves here from California. My life is worse than a freaking soap opera. No, don’t go there. I’m not thinking about Cal tonight, or any other night for that matter. He’s the one who destroyed our relationship—not me. Ha! I bet he regrets hooking up with Misty now. I wonder which one of them cheated first?

  Karina eased out from under the covers. Moving in stealth mode, careful not to wake Bo, she crept out of bed. Once reaching the bathroom, Karina shook her head to rid herself of the painful memories of the ultimate betrayal by her best friend and former boyfriend, and the terrible memories of the mafia bastards who used to run The Magnolia. She admonished herself for being weak—allowing the dreams to render her into a pile of wobbly flesh.

  Rather than think about the events less than six months prior, Karina concentrated on her new life in Arkansas. Bo had helped paint, redecorate, mend fences, spruce up the landscape and even built new shelves in Karina’s office, each task performed with a genuine smile and gorgeous blue eyes twinkling with delight.

  Bo Barton—nine years her junior and a hunk with a sexual appetite never satiated—had been doing everything in his power to break through the thick shields Karina had erected to protect her emotions after Calvin Benson smashed them to pieces. At the rate he was knocking the layers down he’d reach pay dirt by the end of the summer.

  Once finished in the bathroom Karina tiptoed back to bed, annoyed at yet another night of broken sleep. Then again, at least the urge to pee helped pull her out from the awful dream she’d been trapped in. The dark, disturbing images of the confrontation with the old mobster Caesar Calvanio made bile rise up her throat. She’d awoken trapped inside his bedroom as the old man’s mind broke in the burning yard at her grandparents’ farm when he saw Karina’s face and mistook her for his dead wife Romella. It was just sheer luck—or divine intervention as Grampa liked to say—that a scared kid named Lucas Hill had been hiding inside Caesar’s home, waiting to catch the old man off guard and kill him, thus freeing Lucas up from being a subservient lackey to deliver body parts on the black market.

  Karina refused to let her mind wander to what would have happened had Lucas not been inside the Calvanio home. Snuggling up against Bo’s warm flesh, she slid off her glasses and forced her thoughts over to the new place she called home.

  She was done thinking about that dreadful night any longer. The mob had destroyed her grandparents’ home, all of their belongings, including Karina and her mother’s, but they hadn’t taken the lives of anyone or anything she loved. They’d taken all the physical treasures of their lives so she damned sure wouldn’t let them take her emotional ones.

  “Babe, you okay?” Bo cooed as a long arm reached out, pulling Karina’s trembling body closer.

  Thankful for the distraction, Karina buried her face in a strong bicep. “I’m fine. Shhh, go back to sleep. Just had to pee.”

  “Got a cure for insomnia if you’re interested.”

  The heavy lilt of Bo’s sensual southern accent was difficult to resist yet somehow, she managed to remain stoic. His insatiable libido would be the death of her one day, forcing her loved ones to scramble for a PC version fit for print in the newspaper. Death by dick wouldn’t fly anyway, though it would be a memorable obituary for sure, going viral in hours.

  A quote from one of her favorite movies, The Sandlot, popped into her head. “You’re killing me, Smalls,” Karina teased. “Rain check?”

  Bo’s mumbled response was intelligible. She’d never met a person who could fall asleep so fast. At least he wasn’t snoring. Taking a deep breath, Karina closed her eyes and focused on Bo’s rhythmic breathing. It didn’t take long for her own mind to drift. A faint smile tugged at the corner of her lips just as she slipped fully into sleep, thrilled the dream seemed to be taking her back in time to her old life in California. At least the images playing inside her mind didn’t include staring down the barrel of a gun held by an aging, demented mobster with murder on his mind.

  As the line between consciousness and sleep frayed, Karina hoped she’d dream about the pleasant memories of moving to Arkansas, rather than the nightmarish images of what happened not long after she and her spunky mom, the oh-so-serious Detective LiAnn Tuck, arrived. The vivid nightmares of her two-year undercover stint had, so there was hope the new ones that replaced them would wane as well.

  Karina stirred and rolled over at the sound of the alarm clocking buzzing. Groggy and irritated she groaned when Ranger licked her face.

  “Can you hold it five more minutes, buddy? I just need five more minutes.”

  A warm hand caressed her lower back. “Stay put, babe. I’ll take him. I know you didn’t sleep well.”

  Opening one bleary eye, Karina moaned softly. She wasn’t a morning person yet the deep, sensual voice dripping with a sexy southern drawl gave her a jolt stronger than a shot of espresso. Karina forced a smile to appear as she mumbled, “Thanks, Bo. Sorry if I kept you up.”

  Bo smacked Karina’s rump playfully. “I’d prefer the reason you keep me up at night be from somethin’ else, not nightmares, yet I’ll take what I can get. Don’t you worry none babe. Those scary dreams will fade the more time passes. That’s a promise. Besides, they’re all dead thanks to you, so that makes you the predator, not the prey.”

  Karina chuckled at Bo’s words, head still buried in the pillow. The sound of Ranger’s claws clicking on the hardwood as he danced around Bo’s feet made her remember she’d missed the last two grooming appointments.

  In seconds, the hairy beast and hunky boyfriend were out the door and the room fell silent again. Her body wanted to escape back into sleep but her mind was keyed up after reliving the memories of the reasons and trip to Arkansas in her dreams.

  Throwing back the covers, determined not to let her subconscious rule her waking moments, Karina left the warm confines of the bed, stood, stretched and then crept to the window. Though she really couldn’t see much other than colors, she could tell from the heat radiating through the window the day would turn out beautiful.

  Fully awake, she shook off the heavy cloak of sadness draped around her shoulders from the dreams. It was all events from the past, and in the end, turned out to be a blessing in many ways. Grampa’s closest friend, Cecil Pickard, felt so bad about the destruction of Ruth and Junior’s home he up and bought The Magnolia, offering a free place to live for all of them until a new home could be constructed. Since the mafia bastards were dead, the place needed a new owner, and Cecil stepped up to the plate—even offering Karina and LiAnn to manage the place—which they both agreed to with gusto.

  “Enough of this! I need to get downstairs and help Gram in the kitchen before the breakfast rush. All that crap is in the past! Stop dwelling on it!”

  Though irritated at herself for letting Cal’s presence get under her skin so much he’d invaded her dreams, Karina headed to the bathroom, softly humming “You Don’t Own Me” changing the lyrics to a version full of enough cuss words it would be continuously bleeped if played on the radio.

  Despite being tired from broken sleep, Karina smiled while taking in the visual of the lovely bathr
oom. She was a major history buff and enjoyed the company of the elderly more than people her own age, which made living at The Magnolia even more appealing. Though the path to the new job had been terrifying, the reward of calling the renovated structure home was worth it.

  Every time she took a deep breath and really considered the beauty of the place, so full of history and graceful charm from times long since passed, she felt a surge of pride swell in her chest. The Magnolia was a stately stunner for sure. The bronze and gold placard erected in the front lawn announced to all visitors with gilded letters the year the manse was originally erected: 1820.

  According to the historical documents she’d found online, the mansion had once been the heart and center of Hot Springs, built on a small rise overlooking the entire city. The original owner, Chester McFarland, spent six years of his life overseeing the construction of the sprawling estate, in hopes of making his young bride less homesick for her native Germany. No expense was spared as the mixture of architectural design meshed together. Germanic influences were infused with the opulent styles of French and Mediterranean. From the wood to the brick, to the Romanesque inspired backyard, complete with three porticos and a small vineyard, to the highly-polished maple, cherry and oak floors. The original structure had forty bedrooms, twenty bathrooms, a ballroom, three formal dining rooms, a library, smoking den, and a kitchen big enough to serve an army.

  Chester McFarland completed his dream and built a one-of-a-kind spread, which covered over seventy-five acres, and made his young wife happy. Then, he died three weeks after moving from a head injury, sustained in a horseback riding accident. His widow lived the remainder of her life inside the walls, childless, her only companions the staff who stayed on.

  With no heir to the property upon her death, ownership of The Magnolia passed through many hands over the years. The final individual owner, Shelby Sasafia, sunk his last remaining bit of savings he’d accumulated during his life, just to keep the place from falling apart. When he died, penniless and alone in the mid-80's, The Magnolia went up for sale. The once stately manner had fallen on hard times. The wood was old, warped, and in need of serious attention. The mortar between the bricks cracked, crumbled and fell out in chunks. The enormous, three story winding staircase, built entirely from teak, sported gaping holes in the steps, and so many spindles were missing that from a distance, the staircase looked like a mouth with numerous teeth knocked out after losing an epic battle with the local bully. The vineyard was overrun with weeds, no sign of the once vibrant vines. The massive stables, once full of over fifty horses, had collapsed in on itself.

  The plumbing and electrical had been updated in the 60's, and Shelby Sasafia tried to continue the trend in the 80's, but died before he could completely renovate all twenty bathrooms. The entire place needed not only a major overhaul, but an owner who had deep cash reserves to not only bring the place up to par, but keep it that way.

  The city of Hot Springs had hoped that someone would swoop in and buy the eyesore, restoring it to its former glory. But, the history of the place hung on like a deer tick embedded deep under the skin of a hound dog. Between the deaths that occurred there, some of the less-than-stellar owners of the past, down to the rumors of the place being haunted, ruined any chances of someone willing to take on the challenge. No one wanted to invest the cash to restore it, or say they were the proud owner of a former house of ill repute, gambling den, speakeasy, failed restaurant, and home for unwed mothers that just may or may not be inhabited by the ghosts of the past.

  With no buyers, and a city unwilling to step up to the plate and take control, nor able to demolish the place for fear of public outcry (which had happened twice when the subject came before the board members of the city) the once beautiful piece of history sat in stony silence, each day rotting and dying a bit more than the one before.

  Until new owners stepped in…

  No, I’m not going to think about those mob bastards. I’m not. They may invade my dreams but I won’t let them control my waking moments. Karina forced the memories of what happened almost six months ago back into the deep crevice she kept them hidden in.

  Forcing her mind to steer clear of Caesar Calvanio and the rest of his wretched clan, Karina concentrated on all the newest additions to the building. The elegant, restored concrete stairway leading up to the front; a sloping walkway big enough for wheelchair access and a covered parking lot for over one hundred vehicles. The Magnolia finally was living up to her name once again, yet most importantly, the elderly residents were truly safe now. The place sparkled and shined in every nook and cranny, and housed thirty seniors who had the resources to afford the exorbitant monthly fees.

  A wide smile graced Karina’s face as she stared at Bo’s toiletries neatly stacked on the edge of the counter. She was safe now—all those who’d been a threat were dead. She was where she needed to be—out of California and in Arkansas helping take care of her beloved grandparents—and clinging to the new man in her life as though he was a lifeline pulling her toward the shore of a new, happy adventure.

  “It’s a new adventure for sure, and one I need to focus on. Not the negativity. One day, when Cecil passes, Mom and I will be the new owners. And maybe, one day, I’ll be able to pass the place to my children—if I ever have any.”

  Thinking about children made a weak smile appear, a frown crossing her lips at the thought. The conversations with Misty and Melissa about children made a cloak of regret shroud over her soul. The only two women she’d ever been close to, other than her mother, were no longer a part of her life. Misty betrayed her by hooking up with Cal while Karina was away on an undercover assignment gathering information for the case against the wretched owners of Jubilee Retirement Company, and Melissa was dead.

  Karina was still angry at Misty’s shocking betrayal and felt nothing but rage when thinking about her former best friend. Melissa was another story. Strong, smart, and just as committed to making Rupert Kincaid pay dearly for all the damage he’d done to hundreds of sweet, innocent seniors living in the various facilities he owned, Karina was in awe of Melissa Doster’s tenacity. She’d wanted justice, too, and worked just as tirelessly as Karina had to see it come to fruition. To think her vibrant light was snuffed out in a freak car accident made Karina think about the frailty of life, and how fast it could end.

  The appeal was only a few months away. Shutting the bathroom light off, Karina headed to the closet to get dressed, a tinge of worry rumbling around inside her chest. She said a silent prayer that Cheddy Singleton would be able to handle arguing the case Melissa Doster worked so hard to craft, yet doubt still wormed through her because she knew the former second chair to Melissa couldn’t find a hole in his pants even if he was touching it.

  Chapter 2

  Hot Springs, Arkansas – Thursday, March 2, 2017 – 4:50 a.m.

  LiAnn sat on the porch with a steaming cup of coffee, enjoying the quiet of the predawn. Mornings were her favorite time of the day, and the peace and tranquility of the lovely farm Andrew purchased made her overtaxed nerves from years of living in Cali calm down. Her father was an early riser as well but thankfully, he was still asleep, giving LiAnn a few moments alone with a cup of Joe, which he couldn’t have before his lab work at the hospital later. The screech of the screen door made her jump.

  “Morning, love. Sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you.”

  LiAnn waited until Andrew joined her on the swing then gave him a gentle kiss, holding in the chuckle on the edge of her lips at his morning attire and messy hair. “Why are you up so early? I hope I didn’t wake you. I promise I tried to be quiet.”

  Andrew chuckled. “My cop radar still owns my ass. Every little movement registers. When I attempted to go back to sleep after realizing you were up and getting ready to take your dad for his tests, I lost the battle when the scent of coffee hit me. Again, cop. Did you by chance fix any donuts too?”

  “Funny man,” LiAnn quipped, giving Andrew’s arm a light sma
ck. “I’m not the sugar fanatic, remember?”

  “Oh, I think that’s a whopper of a lie,” Andrew murmured, burying his lips into LiAnn’s neck. “You taste awful sweet for someone who eschews sugar.”

  “Uh, you might want to rethink what’s on your mind. Recall my father is here. Knowing him, he’ll be up soon.”

  Andrew’s hand slid up and under LiAnn’s shirt. “I’m willing to risk it and must admit, I do enjoy the thrill of getting caught.”

  “Okay, big boy, that’s enough. You may be in to that, but I’m certainly not. Talk about a mood killer!” LiAnn remarked, brushing Andrew’s hand away.

  “Fine, you win, but you owe me tonight for getting me all hot and bothered then leaving me out to dry.”

  “Cold showers, baby—a stiffie’s best friend,” LiAnn teased. “So, what’s on your agenda for today? More wood carving?”

  Glancing at the pathetic attempt at the creation of a bench on the other side of the porch, Andrew smiled. “I think I’m beyond hope. Good thing I have a large nest egg saved up. If we had to live off of income from my artistic abilities, we’d starve.”

  “No doubt,” LiAnn replied, giggling. “Sort of like my painting abilities—a hot mess. Karina’s the only one out of us with talent, though her paintings have been really dark lately.”

  Andrew stood and stretched. “And this surprises you?”

  “No, it doesn’t. I guess, oh, I don’t know. As a mother, I feel helpless watching her attempt to work through the angst.”