“Are you Joseph Romano?” Her voice was shaky.
“Yes. What can I do for you?” He had an easy, engaging manner. No wonder my mother was taken in by this man, Tracy thought.
“I—I’d like to talk to you, Mr. Romano.”
He studied her figure for a moment. “Certainly. Please come in.”
Tracy walked into a living room filled with beautiful, burnished antique furniture. Joseph Romano lived well. On my mother’s money, Tracy thought bitterly.
“I was just about to mix myself a drink. What would you like?”
“Nothing.”
He looked at her curiously. “What was it you wanted to see me about, Miss—?”
“Tracy Whitney. I’m Doris Whitney’s daughter.”
He stared at her blankly for an instant, and then a look of recognition flashed across his face. “Oh, yes. I heard about your mother. Too bad.”
Too bad! He had caused the death of her mother, and his only comment was: “Too bad.”
“Mr. Romano, the district attorney believes that my mother was guilty of fraud. You know that’s not true. I want you to help me clear her name.”
He shrugged. “I never talk business during Mardi Gras. It’s against my religion.” Romano walked over to the bar and began mixing two drinks. “I think you’ll feel better after you’ve had a drink.”
He was leaving her no choice. Tracy opened her purse and pulled out the revolver. She pointed it at him. “I’ll tell you what will make me feel better, Mr. Romano. Having you confess to exactly what you did to my mother.”
Joseph Romano turned and saw the gun. “You’d better put that away, Miss Whitney. It could go off.”
“It’s going to go off if you don’t do exactly what I tell you to. You’re going to write down how you stripped the company, put it into bankruptcy, and drove my mother to suicide.”
He was watching her carefully now, his dark eyes wary. “I see. What if I refuse?”
“Then I’m going to kill you.” She could feel the gun shaking in her hand.
“You don’t look like a killer, Miss Whitney.” He was moving toward her now, a drink in his hand. His voice was soft and sincere. “I had nothing to do with your mother’s death, and believe me, I—” He threw the drink in her face.
Tracy felt the sharp sting of the alcohol in her eyes, and an instant later the gun was knocked from her hand.
“Your old lady held out on me,” Joe Romano said. “She didn’t tell me she had a horny-looking daughter.”
He was holding her, pinning her arms, and Tracy was blinded and terrified. She tried to move away from him, but he backed her into a wall, pressing against her.
“You have guts, baby. I like that. It turns me on.” His voice was hoarse. Tracy could feel his body hard against hers, and she tried to twist away, but she was helpless in his grip.
“You came here for a little excitement, huh? Well, Joe’s going to give it to you.”
She tried to scream, but her voice came out in a gasp. “Let me go!”
He ripped her blouse away. “Hey! Look at those tits,” he whispered. He began pinching her nipples. “Fight me, baby,” he whispered. “I love it!”
“Let go of me!”
He was squeezing harder, hurting her. She felt herself being forced down to the floor.
“I’ll bet you’ve never been fucked by a real man,” he said. He was astride her now, his body heavy on hers, his hands moving up her thighs. Tracy pushed out blindly, and her fingers touched the gun. She grabbed for it, and there was a sudden, loud explosion.
“Oh, Jesus!” Romano cried. His grip suddenly relaxed. Through a red mist, Tracy watched in horror as he fell off her and slumped to the floor, clutching his side. “You shot me…you bitch. You shot me…”
Tracy was transfixed, unable to move. She felt she was going to be sick, and her eyes were blinded by stabbing pain. She pulled herself to her feet, turned, and stumbled to a door at the far end of the room. She pushed it open. It was a bathroom. She staggered over to the sink, filled the basin with cold water, and bathed her eyes until the pain began to subside and her vision cleared. She looked into the cabinet mirror. Her eyes were bloodshot and wild looking. My God, I’ve just killed a man. She ran back into the living room.