CHAPTER

SEVEN

WHEN WE GOT BACK TO RODNEY’S IT WAS ALMOST lunchtime. Abby had made sandwiches, which we wolfed down. We piled into the Crown Vic and headed to the other side of the hill, all of us on edge when we swung out where Rodney was gunned down.

The road Abby had mentioned at breakfast was more of an access path for hunters than anything else. It was rocky and ill defined. There were no clear tracks, although it looked as if someone had driven a motorcycle up the trail recently. I thought it was fresh, not even a day old. Tony thought the same. How many motorcycles were there in western Virginia? We seemed to be getting nowhere at warp speed. I looked at my watch. It was almost one p.m. Carol and the kids were expected at the house in another two hours. Not a pleasant thing to think about. I didn’t even know where I’d be sleeping tonight. Carol was sure to kick me out. Oh well, at least I now had enough of her money to pay for a motel.

“Do we have time to walk the hill?” I asked.

“If we hurry our butts along,” Abby said. “We better damn well be at the house when Carol arrives. She’s more of a hard-ass than Rodney ever was.”

I appreciated Abby’s assessments more and more.

Tony parked the Crown Vic near the highway and then we walked down the road. The path led into the woods, then it split. Obviously, hunters needed more than one trail for whatever they were after here. Deer? Turkeys? Bear?

When we came to the fork, I decided to take the right side. Abby and Tony took the left. We promised to return to the same location in forty-five minutes. As we walked away, a thought came into my head. “Is it hunting season?” I called out.

“Archery and firearms,” Tony said.

“You’re shitting me, right?”

“No,” Abby said.

“We don’t have hunter’s vests. We could get killed.”

“Make lots of noise,” Tony said. “Sing something. No one will confuse you for a deer. Good thing you’re not wearing brown.”

“Thanks for nothing. I’ll have to figure out what I want to sing. Some show tune, I suppose.” I scowled. “By the way, I never wear brown.”

They laughed and I struck off into the woods. It wasn’t hard to make noise. I purposely stepped on dead branches, snapping as many of them as I could. I picked up a hefty downed limb and struck it against tree trunks as I walked. As noisy as I was, there wouldn’t be a deer within a mile of me. I tried not to distract myself so much I’d miss something important. I started thinking about what to sing—a number from Carousel, Cabaret, Annie? I decided on “My Friends” from Sweeney Todd, a beautiful ode to straight-edge razors as instruments of death. The woods were soon filled with the sound of my not-so-Broadway voice.

The hill rose upward quickly and the climbing got a bit rougher. I soon realized my level walking courses in Manhattan had not prepared me for the rocky terrain of the Virginia wilderness. And this hill, or small mountain, wasn’t that big. I huffed and hoisted myself past a large hickory tree as I neared the crest. At the top, I found myself in a grove of tall naked oaks surrounded by pines. It was like standing in a cathedral and the silence was overwhelming. The absence of sound reminded me of that frigid winter day in New Hampshire when I found Stephen Cross, his body encrusted in snow. I shivered at the thought of that day, the blinding whiteness, tragedy, and tears. Finding him drained me so much I could barely walk down the mountain. I had to call John Dresser, his boyfriend. I could barely get out the word “Hello,” before I broke down.

I rested against one of the large trunks and listened for anything. There was nothing but the infrequent distant rumble of a car, probably from the road that ran in front of Jessup’s home.

I looked down the hill. A brush of sunlight split the air between the trees and an ethereal ballet of dust motes danced in the air. The flitting bits disappeared as quickly as they had appeared when the sun drifted behind the clouds. What am I looking for? I hadn’t noticed any freshly broken tree branches—telltale signs that someone had traveled this way. Nothing, no shiny bullet casings or anything else, glinted up at me from the ground. Not even a boot print. I was indeed looking for the proverbial needle in a haystack.

Standing there, I got paranoid. I began imagining things and expected to hear a bullet or arrow whiz by my head, but quiet prevailed. I walked down the slope a few hundred yards and found nothing. I had to get back soon, so I started up the hill. That was when I noticed the note, facing the direction of Jessup’s home, tacked to a trunk. It was a plain piece of blue-ruled school paper, like any sixth grader would have in class, anchored with a red thumbtack.

It read: I want the kids.

* * *

“Ruthie and John,” Tony said as he settled on the couch with coffee in one hand.

“Who is this guy? Why is he playing games?” Abby asked. “He’s one dangerous motherfucker.” Her face flushed red after the word came out.

“Don’t worry,” I assured her. “I’ve heard the word before. Something about investigative work brings out the potty mouth.”

“This means the kids have to be under watch twenty-four hours a day,” Tony said. “Carol is going to freak out. What bothers me is that the note was probably placed there this morning. The cops would have found it yesterday if it had been there.”

“The note wasn’t wet so it couldn’t have been left there yesterday,” I said. “Do you think those motorcycle tracks were from a particular bike?”

“I’m no expert,” Tony said, “but they looked like off-road tires to me. They seemed bigger than usual. Maybe a dirt bike. What do you think Abby?”

She nodded.

“It’s as if he anticipates our every move,” I said. “Scary.”

I had taken the note and thumbtack off the tree by using dead leaves as a makeshift glove, in case there were any fingerprints to be found. When we got home we carefully laid the note out on the coffee table, as if staring at it was going to give us some insight into the mind of the killer.

“This guy killed Rodney for revenge,” I said. “We don’t know why, but we do know this wasn’t a random murder. Now, if I had to guess, I’d say he wants the kids for an exchange of money, or blackmail leverage—some kind of ransom. I don’t think he wants to kill them.”

Abby nodded. “We have to let Carol in on this. She’s got to know her children are in danger.”

“They’re adopted aren’t they?” I asked. “I seem to remember Rodney telling me about them when we were having our little tête-à-tête in New Hampshire. Orphans from a fire or something?”

“Good memory,” Tony said. “Yes, they’re adopted. They were orphaned when their parents were killed in a fire in South Carolina four years ago. John was three and Ruthie was only a year old.”

“Rodney told me the press had a field day with him when they adopted the kids, as if the adoption was some kind of religious grandstanding to make him look good.”

“The more I learn about Rodney,” Tony said, “the more I realize he needed religion to make him look good. He was a seriously flawed individual.”

I laughed at Tony’s diagnosis. “No shit.” A thought bubbled into my head. “You know, not one of us seems to have been too broken up about Rodney’s death because he was such an asshole, but I feel sorry for the kids.”

Abby agreed. We had to consider what we were dealing with. I looked at my watch. It was going on four p.m. We were discussing the next steps to take when the front door opened. None of us had heard a car pull up.

Carol Kingman Jessup ushered Ruthie and John into the hall. From across the room, I could tell she had been crying—her makeup was smeared around her eyes. I assumed she had been to the morgue to identify the body. The three of them looked lost and forlorn, as if they had arrived in the new world from foreign shores. The home they had known for so long must have seemed strange and lonely, occupied by people they barely knew. Tony had told me they had been away for nearly a month.

Carol was still as pretty as I remembered, but her blonde hair looked darker than it was when we last met; her face showed a few more creases around the mouth and eyes. She was wearing a long navy coat and black gloves. She pulled off her gloves and tossed them on the hall credenza. Ruthie and John, both brunettes, walked slowly to the living room. The driver brought their luggage inside. Carol opened her purse and paid the fare for the car service.

When she turned back to us, her eyes narrowed and focused on me.

She scowled. “What’s he doing here? Or should I say, ‘she?’”

Tony was quick to answer. “He was hired by your husband to help track down the person who was threatening him.”

“Really?” she said—not in the form of a question, but in a condescending tone that made me feel dirty.

Carol took a pack of filter 100s from her purse and lit up. The smoke breezed past her as she strode into the living room.

“Ruthie, John, go to your rooms. Mommy needs to talk business with the grown-ups.”

She waited while the children grabbed their suitcases and headed down the hall. When they were gone, Carol took off her coat and draped it over the couch. “Abby, make me a vodka stinger. On second thought, make it a double. I hope the goddamn drunk didn’t sop up all the liquor. I can only pray there’s some booze left in the house.”

I had thought that Carol was the most pious of the lot when I’d had the bad fortune of meeting her the previous summer. My, how the worm had turned . . . .

Abby started to object—resentment blazed in her eyes—but Tony gave her a look that was clear in its message: Play along for a little while longer until the right moment came along to break the news that she wasn’t a servant.

Abby skulked off to the kitchen.

The lady of the house drew herself up on the couch like Cruella de Vil. Obviously, I was encroaching in her space, so I excused myself and moved to a chair closer to Tony. She reached into a drawer underneath the coffee table and took out a crystal ashtray. She crossed her legs, placed the ashtray in her lap, and tapped off the ashes.

“At least he didn’t smoke all my cigarettes,” she said.

I was starting to think Carol should be suspect number one in Rodney’s murder. Nothing would have surprised me in this house. I felt sorry for Ruthie and John, and hoped there was plenty of money put aside for their later years—psychotherapy and rehab clinics were expensive. I sat across from Carol, my back to the large picture window. She studied me from head to toe, clearly taking note of the bandages on my face.

“So, who are you again?” Carol asked. She rocked a little on the couch as if she’d already had a drink or two. “You’ve got some fag drag name.”

Tony cringed, but I was more than up for the challenge.

“My fag drag name, as you so poetically put it, is Desdemona,” I said. “My friends call me Des but don’t let that stop you from addressing me by my Christian name, Cody Harper.” I wanted to mention the tidy little sum Rodney paid me to get involved in this mess, but thought better of it.

Carol smirked. “Touchy, touchy. There’s hardly anything Christian about you.” She waved her hand at me before I could reply. “But who am I to cast the first stone?”

She looked around the room and then gazed out upon the darkening lawn. She drew in one last drag of her cigarette before stabbing it out in the ashtray.

“This house hasn’t exactly been a Rock of Ages. I think God left quite some time ago. I counted Him absent a while back.”

Abby, her eyes like slits and her lips tighter than a one-day surgical lift, came back into the room with the vodka stinger. She placed a white napkin on the coffee table and deposited a large highball glass filled to the rim with the cocktail—vodka and crème de menthe, as I recalled from my drinking days.

Carol reached for the drink, took a gulp, and licked her lips. “You do know how to make a good drink. I think I’ll keep you.”

“Mrs. Jessup, there’s something I think you should know,” Tony said.

“No need for formality here,” Carol answered. “We’re just one big happy family. Right? Just one big happy family.” She looked into her glass and a loose smile formed on her lips.

“Abby works with me,” Tony said. “She and I were working with your husband—”

“Bodyguards? Private investigators? You did a fucking piss-poor job. I know—I saw the body.”

“We were on the trail,” Tony said. “Cody was driving the car, and could have been killed too. Rodney was going to tell us something he had discovered, but we were too late.”

The concrete wall around Carol began to fracture. Tears formed in her eyes. She took a tissue from her purse and swiped at her cheeks.

“I wish I could be sad. I wish I could be sorry that he died, but I can’t. That’s the part that hurts the most. I really loved him long ago. Then politics took over his life and he changed. Nothing was the same after that.” She took another swig of her drink.

Ruthie appeared in the hallway. “Mommy, I’m hungry.”

“Just a few more minutes, darling,” Carol replied, and she actually sounded civil, as if there was a slim thread of a maternal instinct clinging to her battered soul.

Ruthie turned and walked away.

Tony told Carol about the note I found tacked to the tree. “We don’t think it’s safe for you and the children to stay in the house,” he said. “We all believe a kidnapping attempt is imminent.”

“Well, by god, where are we supposed to go? We’ve been on the run far too long. We’ve got to stop running sometime.”

I asked Carol if I might join her in a smoke. She nodded.

“Someone very dangerous—someone who is familiar with this area and knows what he’s doing when it comes to serious weaponry is out there,” I said. “He killed your husband and now he’s after your kids. Can you think of anyone who would be so intent on destroying your family?”

For an instant, it seemed as though Carol might have had an answer to that question. Something registered in her eyes—a brief flash that seemed to indicate she might know who the killer was. Then the look disappeared as quickly as it had appeared.

“I don’t know,” she said. “So many people loved Rodney, but so many others had their own reasons to hate him.”

“We need a place to start,” I said. “Even a name would give us something to go on.”

John appeared in the hallway with his sister. “Mom, we’re bored. Can we play in the backyard for a little while?”

“No,” Carol said. “It’s too dark and it’s not safe out there.”

John’s shoulders slumped. “You mean we’re prisoners here just like we were on the ship? We can put the yard lights on. Mom, please?”

Carol took another swig of her stinger and said, “I know it’s hard to understand, but we have to be careful. You can go outside in the morning.”

The kids were about to return to their rooms when Abby said, “I’ll go with them so they can get some fresh air. I’m sure we’ll be all right.”

I knew there was more on Abby’s mind than just wanting to go outside. She cared about the kids and wanted to reintroduce some normalcy into their lives to blunt everything else that was going on. It had been a rough afternoon for Ruthie and John knowing they had lost their father. I admired Abby for having the courage to speak up, but I also thought it would have been a better idea for everyone to stay inside for the evening.

“Take my gun,” Tony said, and pulled it out from where it was buried under his coat.

Carol gasped.

John’s eyes went wide, “Wow, a real gun!” He ran to get a closer look at the weapon.

“This is getting out of hand,” Carol said.

Tony helped Abby strap on the semiautomatic. “They’ll be okay with my sister,” Tony said. “You can watch them from here. Cody and I will rustle something up in the kitchen.”

“We will?” I wasn’t a whiz in the kitchen but with Tony as my partner I was willing to learn.

“Yes,” Tony said. “We have hamburger meat and fixings for tacos.”

“How multicultural of us,” I said.

Tony shot me that “shut up” look, which he had developed a fondness for doing.

Carol was absorbed in her drink.

Abby and the kids disappeared down the hall toward the bedrooms in the left wing. In a few minutes, they were all out back, coats on, playing kickball on the wide lawn. Underneath the lights, they looked as if they were having fun. Their breaths turned into puffs of steam in the chilly November evening as they ran after the ball.

Tony and I went to the kitchen and began working on the meal. He poured himself a glass of red wine and I grabbed a chilled bottle of water. Tony instructed me to chop onions and soon my tears were flowing.

“So, what do you think?” I asked, wiping away my tears with the back of my hand.

“Carol’s scared shitless. Wouldn’t you be?”

“I have to admit, I was spooked after Rodney visited me in New York. I kept wondering if someone was going to knock me off. Whoever this guy is, he knows too much.” I scraped the onion skins off my knife onto the cutting board. “Where are they going to go?”

“I don’t know, but this house is like a bar at closing; ‘I don’t care where you go, but you can’t stay here,’ as the saying goes. They can’t stay here. Do you get the sense that we haven’t even scratched the surface with Carol?”

“Definitely. I’m sure the police will want to interview her, too.”

We talked as Tony sautéed the onions and hamburger meat and I chopped lettuce. We were getting out the sour cream and salsa, when we heard screams.

And then a shot.

Tony and I ran to the living room and found Carol in hysterics, racing toward the back door. Tony yelled at her to stop.

“Stay here with Carol,” I said to Tony as we grabbed hold of her.

Abby was kneeling in the grass, the semiautomatic pointed to the back tree line. The kids were crouched behind her.

I ran down the hall and found the back door. The lights were on timers and there was no way to quickly disable them. I was unarmed, but I opened the door and dropped to the ground. Abby and the kids were about fifty feet away. I crawled, elbow to knee, until I got to them.

Abby was sweeping the trees with the gun.

“I saw this gray and black blur and then a white bag came hurtling out of the darkness,” Abby said.

I instructed Ruthie and John to lie flat on the ground. I looked over Abby’s shoulder and saw the bag, lying on the far edge of the lawn. “He could have easily done major damage if he’d wanted to. He’s trying to make this as excruciating as possible. You fired into the trees?”

“One shot,” Abby said, and then added, “I don’t think it was a man.”

I was astounded that another person might be involved.

“It didn’t run like a man. I think it was a woman, dressed in camouflage.”

I looked back and, through the window, I saw Tony dialing the phone. The police would arrive soon. Carol was huddled on the couch—her hands covering her eyes.

I shielded the kids with my body to get them inside. Abby ran cover, still sweeping the tree line with her gun. We drew the drapes and collapsed in the living room.

Carol was a mess. She hugged Ruthie and John, cried and fussed over them, and then asked me to fix her another drink. I declined, not wanting to enable her habit or get too close to booze even though I did feel sorry for her. Tony relented and fixed her another vodka stinger.

About ten minutes later, three police and two sheriff’s patrol cars arrived in the circle drive. There was no mistaking their arrival. One of the officers was in full bomb-squad regalia, holding the leash of a German shepherd sniffer. We didn’t see what happened next because we gathered in the kitchen at the front of the house, in case the bag happened to contain explosives. A few officers came inside and questioned Abby. They were all friendly to Tony and his sister. Apparently, the law enforcement brotherhood was tight in Buena Vista tonight.

One tense hour later, an officer showed up at the front door with the mysterious, white bag, holding it delicately in his gloved hands.

“Want to see what’s inside?” he asked Tony.

Tony nodded, of course, and the officer pulled the drawstrings on the bag to reveal its contents. Tony peered in and scowled. We were all gathered around the door in anxious anticipation.

“Well, what is it?” I asked.

“Not a bomb,” Tony said, with a disturbed look on his face. “It’s a naked, rubber baby doll covered in what appears to be blood—or something that’s meant to look like blood.”

“Not again,” Carol said, referring to the pig fetus that had been thrown over the front gate about a month before. She lit a cigarette and said, “That’s it—we’re getting out of this house as soon as we can. Ruthie, John, don’t even bother unpacking.”

The kids moaned. I looked at Tony.

“Did you find anything in the woods?” Abby asked the cop.

“Nothing,” he said. “We’ll come back tomorrow when it’s light enough to do a thorough search. I’m leaving now, but a few officers will stick around for a while to make sure you’re safe.”

“We’ll be gone first thing in the morning,” Carol said to Tony.

“Where will you go?” I asked. “What about the funeral?”

Carol burst into tears.

“I’ll take the kids to their rooms,” Abby said. “I think they’ve had enough excitement before dinner.” She enclosed Ruthie and John in her grasp and walked away with them.

“I’m sorry,” I said to Carol. “I didn’t mean to upset you, but you can’t just run out of here without thinking about what to do next.”

“Cody’s right,” Tony said. “You can’t go to relatives or friends. That’s too obvious. You can’t hide out in the area, it’s too close-knit a community. Word is bound to get out. We need to put together a plan.”

“Where can I go?” Carol asked, brushing away tears.

I’d been thinking about the answer to that question ever since I’d known Carol and the children were coming back to the house.

“New York City,” I suggested, as we walked back to the kitchen.

Carol’s jaw dropped. “You can’t be serious. What are we going to do in New York? Live in a hotel? Or should we just hang out on the street?”

“I’m not being funny. This killer—wants the kids next. That’s clear. We need to protect them. I have a friend I would trust with them. I’ll be around to guard them, too. That would leave Tony and Abby free to continue their investigation here—paid, of course, for their work.”

Carol slammed her fists on the kitchen table. “I’m not leaving my children!”

“In that case, Cody and I will go with Ruthie and John, while you and Abby attend to the funeral,” Tony said. “I’m for getting them out of here as soon as possible. The killer seems to be on our heels as much as we try to stay clear.”

“Sounds good to me,” I said, “and it makes a hell of a lot more sense than staying here.”

Carol shook her head. “The funeral’s in two days. I have to be here.”

“Abby can move you to a motel, under police surveillance,” Tony said.

Carol opened her mouth—no doubt to argue—but Tony lifted a hand.

“The first place anyone will check are the more expensive area hotels, you need to stay where no one will think to look for you. Abby can register you under her name. With everything that’s going on, I’m sure the police will honor a request for increased protection.” He stopped and looked at the hamburger that was still sitting in its own grease in the skillet. “We need to eat. Cody, let’s finish cooking. Maybe after dinner everyone will have a clearer head.”

Carol walked to the kitchen door and then turned. She inhaled and blew a puff of smoke toward me.

She began slowly as if she wasn’t sure what to say. “Cody . . . I’d like to thank you for protecting my kids tonight. They’re all I have in the world.” She turned and walked away.

Tony looked at me and smiled. “Congratulations, champ. You just won the first bout in a knockout.”

The kids enjoyed the dinner and even laughed a bit at my silly jokes. I got the impression they tolerated me because they had never met anyone like me. John appeared to be taking his father’s death harder than Ruthie—he seemed more intense during the meal, though it was hard to tell because of his natural childhood resiliency. At any rate, I didn’t envy the kids. After all, I was an orphan of sorts—my parents threw me out of the house when I was fifteen for being gay.

After the dishes were cleared, everyone was exhausted and ready for bed. Tony came up with the sleeping arrangements, which suited me. Abby was sleeping on a couch in Rodney and Carol’s master suite, while the kids bunked with their mom in the king size bed. One big happy family. The other bedrooms would go empty. Tony and I would be in my guest bedroom on the other side of the house. I couldn’t wait.

Tony and I walked from room to room to make sure every lock and window was secured, then we went back to my bedroom. Carol armed the security system before retiring.

Tony said he was going to take a shower. He stepped into the bathroom and closed the door. I decided it would be a good idea for me to shower as well. About fifteen minutes later, he stepped out wearing a towel and nothing else. He put his pants and shirt over a chair. I looked for briefs or boxers, but didn’t see any.

I decided it was now or never, what the hell. I left the door open and stripped. The bed was directly across from the shower door, but Tony was nowhere to be seen. I stepped into the shower and luxuriated in the hot, soapy water. I stayed in until my hands began to prune, because the experience of expensive soaps, shampoos, marble tile, and a state-of-the-art showerhead was so unlike my tiny, water-stained New York bathroom, I never wanted to get out.

When I finally opened the shower door, I still couldn’t see Tony. Curious, I wrapped a towel around my waist and stepped into the room. He was standing at the window, peering out through a crack in the curtains. His broad shoulders were on display. His deltoids formed a nice V; his waist was trim. I didn’t want to interrupt his thoughts, so I pulled down the bedspread, blanket, and sheet, which I had hastily made in the morning. I dropped the towel to the floor and crawled into bed, covering myself with the sheet. I waited there a few minutes until he turned.

My god. I was looking at a dream. His pecs were perfectly formed. A healthy helping of chest hair spread down to his stomach, leading to a treasure trail that disappeared beneath the white towel. His eyes sparkled as he walked toward me. His black hair and light brown skin were set off by the towel. His thighs were meaty under the cloth and an appendage of noticeable size hung between them. My own manhood stirred and I struggled to contain the erection that was rapidly forming. I was fooling myself. Tony noticed and smiled. He pulled the sheet down somewhat coyly and peeked. I was more than willing to oblige.

“Nice,” he said. “I’ve been wondering what it looked like.”

He undraped his towel and tossed it on a chair.

Oh god. I had died and gone to heaven.

A furry coating of hair covered his finely cut abdomen and led downward to a thick uncut penis. It stirred under my unflinching gaze.

I rolled on my side toward him and waited.

“Easy there,” Tony said. “Don’t you think we should get to know each other?”

“Why?”

He got into bed and slid underneath the sheet. “I’m serious.”

“So am I.”

“Okay, truce. Clearly, there’s an attraction. We don’t have to act on it tonight—or ever. We’re not teenagers.”

“Baby, I will have the worst case of blue balls in America if nothing happens tonight,” I said. “And, by the way, why so coy with me up until now? And all that beating around the bush about the cops giving you a hard time? No wonder you felt uncomfortable.”

“No one ever knew—ha!—and I didn’t ‘come out.’” He smiled and then looked at me with those eyes. Goose bumps broke out on my arms under his gaze. “I would have if anyone had asked, but I like to take things slow and easy. No need to rush into anything, right? Believe me, I’ve gone through a lot of shit to get where I am today. I’d rather know I’m doing the right thing, or do nothing at all when it comes to relationships.”

“I’m convinced it’s the right thing—and tonight’s the right night.” I reached for him.

“Look, it’s been a difficult day.” He pulled back. “I don’t mind snuggling, but . . . ”

“Snuggling it is,” I said and wrapped my arms around his shoulders.

A knock on the door interrupted us.

“Who is it? I asked, barely able to hide my irritation.

A small voice whispered outside.

“Who?” I asked again.

“John,” came the louder answer. The seven-year-old waited.

“Shit,” I whispered to Tony, “get some underwear on.” I grabbed some boxers from my bag and Tony pulled on his pants, both erections falling fast. I looked at him.

“I don’t like underwear,” he said to me.

“You’re kidding me, right? Free-balling?”

“Yes,” he whispered. “You should talk. We’ll compare our lists of vices someday.” He pointed to the door. “See what the kid wants.”

I held the towel in front of me and opened the door. John, looking as angelic as hell, stood there in his starched pajamas. He looked at the floor with downcast eyes. “Can I sleep with you guys? I don’t want to sleep with a bunch of girls.”

I looked at Tony. His dreamboat face lit up happily.

“Come in, partner,” Tony said. “You can sleep between us. You’ll be nice and safe, and so will we.”

Crap, I thought. Foiled by a seven-year-old.

We all crawled into bed, me in my underwear and Tony in his pants, with John between us.

Tony looked at me and said, “Didn’t you ever want to have kids?”

I coughed. “I plead the fifth.”

“What’s that?” John asked.

“Go to sleep,” Tony said. “I’ll explain it later. Tomorrow’s going to be a long day.”

“It’s going to be a long night,” I said and reached over and turned off the light.