Fifty

Michael moved quickly and quietly, straight for the room at the end of the hall. He passed an open door and looked inside to find the baby’s nursery, with Avasa stretched out on the rug beside the crib. She lifted her head, ears pricked forward, just as he pulled the door closed, shutting her inside the room with the baby … Lucy. They’d named her Lucy. Somehow, knowing that bolstered his resolve.

He reached the end of the hall, the door to the master bedroom open just a crack. He pushed it wider and stepped inside, pulling it closed behind him. Standing at the foot of the bed, he could see them sleeping comfortably.

The cop slept on the side closest to the door, instinctively placing himself between his wife and whatever might come through it to harm her. That’s the kind of thing a husband would do. Protect. Love. Provide. Michael felt another stab of guilt, made heavy and bitter by regret.

He clapped a hand over the cop’s mouth, and he jerked awake in an instant—eyes wide and alert, but he didn’t make a sound. Didn’t want to alarm his wife.

Michael waited for his vision to adjust, for Nickels to see him clearly before he backed away from the bed and cocked his head toward the door, giving the other man room to stand and follow him out into the hall. He checked his watch while Nickels pulled the door to his bedroom shut with a quiet click, shooting him a guarded look.

“That’s an excellent way to get yourself shot, asshole,” Nickels said, his tone low and even. Michael ignored the obvious—while the cop was no doubt able to handle himself, if he’d been so inclined, he could have murdered him with ease.

The cop seemed to realize this too because he let the fact that Michael had just snuck into his bedroom slide. “What the fuck are you doing …?” His question trailed off as he took in Michael’s bare feet and chest. “Oh.” Nickels rubbed a rough hand over the back of his neck, averting his gaze to the spot just over his shoulder. “Okay … What do you want?”

“I want you to leave.” He reached into his pocket and pulled out a small manila envelope. “This is a key to a storage unit in Oakland. The address and unit number are on the keychain. Inside you’ll find everything you need to get your family as far away from here as possible.”

Nickels looked down at the envelope in his hand before bouncing that disbelieving look back to his face. “Are you kidding?”

“No, I’m not.” Michael ran a hand over his hair, blowing out a frustrated breath. “You’ll have to get Riley and Jason. Strickland too. Don’t call them—just show up. Pick a place none of you have ever been. A place as far away from friends and family as you can get. There’ll be a car; use it. Stay away from airports and train stations. Ditch your cells and identification—”

Nickels laughed out loud. “If you think I’m gonna be able to get Strickland to leave her, you’re friggin’ delusional.”

Like he didn’t know that. He’d considered the old duct tape/trunk routine, but Sabrina’s partner hated him enough already. “You’re going to have to try.”

“Where are we supposed to go?” Nickels said, his tone edged with distrust.

“I don’t know and I don’t want to know.”

The cop narrowed his eyes. “I’ll send Val and Lucy. She’ll get the twins, but I’m not leaving.” His tone said he thought he was closing the subject.

Michael shook his head. “They won’t make it a day without you. Val’s tough, but she’ll get scared. She’ll reach out to someone she trusts, maybe her mother or a cousin, and it’ll be over. They’ll all be dead—or worse. Much, much worse.”

Every word he spoke drained more and more color from the cop’s face until he was a bloodless ghost. Nickels glanced down at the small space they shared, as if he wondered if his touch would infect him with some disease. “What the fuck did you do? What the fuck did you bring to my doorstep?”

He could deny it. Pass the blame on to Ben or even Sabrina herself. Hadn’t Ben been the one to recruit her? Hadn’t Sabrina been the one to lead herself to Livingston Shaw like some sort of suicidal lamb to slaughter? He hadn’t caused this. He wasn’t at fault.

Like most lies, it sounded good. It even sounded true.

“I think it’s best you don’t stick around to find out.” Michael blew out another hard breath, scrubbed a rough hand over his face. “Look … I know you care about her, but this isn’t your fight.” He reached behind him and opened the door to the nursery; let the door swing open so Nickels could see the crib where his daughter was sleeping peacefully. “This is your fight—a wife and child who depend on you. So take the key and leave. Sooner rather than later,” Michael said, playing the one card he knew the cop wouldn’t be able to deny.

Nickels blew out a disgusted breath as he shook his head. “You dirty, cheating son of a bitch,” he growled, swiping the envelope from his hand. “You want to explain to me how I’m supposed to get my very opinionated, very uncooperative wife on board with your little escape plan? Especially without letting her say goodbye to Sabrina?”

“That’s your problem, not mine.” Michael cracked a cold smile as he backed himself down the hall. “But however you do it, I suggest you do it quickly. You don’t have much time.”