Page 115 of Steal My Heart

“Hey, Alessandra. Maks, I’ll save you the trouble.” Marching to the deep end, I toe the ledge while ignoring the pounding of my heart.

One deep breath—don’t overthink it—and I jump.

Working my way to the surface, I exhale and roll onto my back. My lower half begins to sink, but I inflate my lungs until they’re about to burst, and move them back to the top of the water.

Lying on a chair. Lying on a chair. Lying on a chair.

“She’s doing it!” Alessandra cries excitedly.

“I’m timing you,” Maks announces. “Float for thirty minutes, and then we can move to strokes.”

“What?” I shriek, causing my body to tense, and I begin to sink.

“You’re still sinking like a fucking stone,” he barks.

Chapter Thirty-Four

Angelo

I walk through the children’s wing of the hospital, stopping at a blank wall that, according to the financial records in my hand, cost our charitable fund nearly ten grand for a local artist to paint a Mardi Gras parade scene.

“Where is everything for the Mini Mardi Gras program stored?” I track down the administrator.

“This way.” Her keys jangle with authority as we walk down the hall, ride down an elevator, and into the storage area. She flips on the light, and I discover the “floats” that cost over fifty grand are nothing more than a children’s pull wagon.

“And the costumes?” Ten grand worth. “Where are those?”

She opens a closet, where I find a box of Christmas decorations.

“And this is everything?”

“To my knowledge.”

“And Mini Mardi Gras is set to go on Tuesday?” I press.

“Yes. It’s on the social bulletin board.”

“Has the event been advertised anywhere else?” I ask.

“You need to speak to Dr. Khol. She’s the one spearheading this event.”

“Thank you.”

Not happening.

Instead, I call my accountant when I return to my vehicle. “Mr. Calvani, what can I do for you?”

“I’m currently wearing my chairman of the board hat in asking this; I need an audit conducted of the hospital’s charitable fund. Discretion is of the utmost concern.”

“Of course. Any particular area of focus?”

“Dr. Laurie Kohl’s handling of the Mini Mardi program, and any other program she’s been associated with.”

I may not need to kill Laurie after all; the woman may have dug her own grave.

Returning home, I find Remi and Nola watching the video of last year’s Monarch procession. “How many times have you studied this?” I take a seat and unloosen my tie.

Nola hops up in my lap, and I give her a scratch behind her ears. The cat purrs like an engine.