Cincinnati, Ohio
Sunday, March 17, 8:15 p.m.
Dani was hiding in the kitchen because the troops had, apparently, arrived. Neither Kendra nor her burly boyfriend, Trip, could come, because they were working tonight, but Scarlett and Marcus had come right away, bringing their three-legged bulldog, Zat, and their old sheltie, Baby Bop.
Kendra and Trip had apparently asked Kate and Decker to come in their stead, because the two federal agents had just arrived along with Kate’s dog, Cap. Dani knew Kate had brought Cap for the boys, Michael especially, because the aging dog was a therapy animal. Which was nice and all, but Hawkeye had Michael covered. Dani’s dog hadn’t left the teenager’s side all day.
That left all the other dogs for Joshua to pet. The little boy was in heaven, all smiles and giggles.
Yet Dani was hiding in her kitchen, washing pots and pans. Normally she loved socializing with their circle of friends, although they rarely came here. Usually they hung out at Meredith and Adam’s place or with Marcus and Scarlett in their big yard on top of the hill with its barbecue grill, gazebo, and horseshoe pit, plus a magnificent view of the city.
But today they were here, and her little house was full to bursting with people.
All except the one who was supposed to be here.
Diesel was gone. Abruptly. And, she feared, maybe finally.
She had no idea if he’d come back. He’d left to go to the casino to investigate Michael’s stepfather. Without a good-bye. Or a wave. Or a smile or a hug.
Certainly without a kiss. Which wasn’t a surprise. She’d been psyching herself up to tell him to find someone else, once and for all, but she hadn’t been able to speak the words. She’d tried, several times, as they’d sat at her table sorting through Brewer’s financials and the tangle of LJM, but the words got caught in her throat every single time. Her body language must have been sufficient, however, because he was gone.
She scowled at the pot she was scrubbing in the kitchen sink, replaying the final few minutes of their conversation. He hadn’t said good-bye. What he had said was . . .
Temporary. That he knew she considered this temporary, that he was only there to protect her and the boys.
Which was true.
But she didn’t want it to be true. She didn’t want it to be temporary.
But that was how it would have to be.
The doorbell set the dogs to barking. She considered answering it, but there were plenty of people in her living room to do that, so she kept scrubbing the pot. The barking got louder, interspersed with cries of, “Zeus! Goliath! Down!” and “Zeus! Goliath! Settle!”
Oh, great. Now Faith was here, too. Dani loved Deacon’s wife, but her arrival made Dani wonder who had invited her. She blew out a breath and scrubbed the pot harder as the answer unrolled itself in her mind. Earlier that morning, Adam had mentioned that Faith would be bringing Greg over to spend time with Michael.
Dani wouldn’t be surprised if Faith already knew about the conversation that she and Meredith had had earlier in the afternoon. He’s a good, good man. Don’t hurt him. Please.
Meredith and Faith were joined at the hip because they worked together, both therapists in the child counseling practice Meredith had built. That they’d already compared notes and agreed that Dani would probably hurt Diesel was fairly inevitable. Great. Just great. Because of course they’d been right.
I hurt him.
“What’s wrong?” Faith asked.
Dani didn’t spare a glance at her sister-in-law, who’d leaned one hip against the counter. She’d known Faith was standing there, had felt her sharp scrutiny.
“Did you bring Greg with you?” Dani’s younger brother lived with Deacon and Faith, the three of them getting along like champions.
Not like it had been when Dani had been solely responsible for Greg’s welfare—and behavior. That had never ended well. Greg loved her, but she’d never been able to give her little brother what he’d needed when he’d needed it.
Just one more relationship I fucked up.
“Yes. He’s talking to Michael, signing so fast that I can’t follow.”
“That’s good.” And it was. Michael deserved all the friends he could get.
“And you?” Faith asked gently. “Are you good?”
No. Not at all. I’m not good. I’m shitty. A shitty person. The kind who hurts generous men like Diesel Kennedy.
And Adrian. Because she’d hurt him, too. Yes, he’d also been at fault, but she’d purposely hurled words intended to hurt him. She’d denied him forgiveness when he’d begged. And now he was dead. “I’m fine,” she said dully.
“Yeah, no,” Faith drawled. “Try again.”
“Don’t ask questions you already know answers to, then,” Dani snapped.
“Okay,” Faith said, sounding unruffled. “Meredith suggested that Michael could use a friend. Greg had already planned to come over, though. He brought a bag in case you wanted him to stay for a few days.”
Dani tensed. “So you and Meredith talked.” Of course they had.
“We did,” Faith said levelly.
Tears stung Dani’s eyes and she swallowed hard. “What else did she tell you?”
Like she couldn’t figure that out on her own. Don’t hurt him. Please.
“That Michael could use a friend, like I said,” Faith said. “And that maybe you could, too.”
“Great,” Dani muttered, the tears stinging harder. “Pity, too. Just fantastic.”
“Knock it off, Dani,” Faith said sharply, then softened her tone at Dani’s involuntary gasp. “You know I love you. And, for the record, neither of us pities you. We might want to smack you upside the head, but we don’t pity you.”
Dani choked on a surprised laugh. “Well, okay.” She blinked, sending the tears falling, but she didn’t look away from the pot that trembled in her blurred vision.
Faith’s hands came into view, tugging the pot away. “You’re going to scrub off the copper plating and expose the metal, which’ll probably poison and kill you.”
Dani looked at her then, shaking her head. “Not one part of that makes sense, Faith. That’s not . . .” Then she saw the gentle compassion in Faith’s eyes and sighed. “You were kidding. Right.”
“Well, not about smacking you upside the head,” Faith said wryly. She handed Dani another pot, knowing she needed to keep her hands busy. Faith knew her well.
And loves me, Dani reminded herself.
Faith slid her arm around Dani’s shoulders, giving her a hard hug. “Talk to me, Dani. We’re all worried about you.”
Dani’s throat grew tight. “He left.”
There was a momentary pause. “Diesel?” Faith asked carefully.
“Yeah.” It came out a whisper, harsh and broken.
“Why?”
“I’m . . . I’m not sure.” Liar. The word he’d used bounced around her brain. Temporary. He thinks he’s temporary.
Because that’s what you told him. In words and deeds.
“Really? You really don’t know?” Faith’s reply was gentle, but firmly knowing.
“No.” Dani drew a breath when Faith’s hug tightened. “I . . . fucked it up. And I didn’t even mean to.” Liar. “Well, yeah, I guess I did.”
“How did you . . . fuck it up?”
Hearing Faith’s delicate repetition of the curse word almost made Dani smile. Almost. Then she remembered the look on Diesel’s face when he’d said he was temporary. I hate that word. I hate that I made him feel that way.
Right now, she hated herself, too. But that was nothing new.
Dani drew a careful breath because her chest was too tight inside. “He’s so nice. Too nice.”
“I don’t know him well,” Faith murmured. “Only through Mer. But she thinks the sun rises and sets with him.”
He’s a good, good man. “I know.” Dani wasn’t sure which thing she was referring to—that Mer liked him or that Diesel was a good, good man. Both.
“How did you fuck it up, Dani?”
“I pushed him away. Too many times. I guess he finally believed me.”
Another pregnant pause. “Did you believe you?”
That was a damn good question. “I don’t know. I wanted to believe me. I wanted to believe that I wanted the best for him.”
Faith’s next pause held confusion. So did her voice. “That’s not you?”
Dani laughed bitterly. “That is so not me.”
“Okay, then. I think this is a bit more complicated than I thought. Tell me why you think you’re not good for him. And if it’s just him or anyone.”
Dani glanced at Faith from the corner of her eye, appreciation momentarily overriding her misery. “You’re really good.”
Faith’s lips twitched. “I have a little experience on the workings of the Novak mind. You didn’t answer my question.”
Dani forced herself to consider it, because she didn’t want to answer. “Anyone. Especially him.”
“Honest, at least,” Faith murmured. “The ‘anyone’ will take some time. Why especially Diesel? What makes you not the best person for him?”
“Because he’s so nice,” Dani snapped, suddenly angry. Who with, she had no idea. Liar. It’s you. You’re mad at yourself. The sudden burst of fury seeped away like a rapidly leaking balloon. “He’s patient and kind and he helps people.”
“So do you. Why aren’t you the best person for him?”
“He’s worshipped me for a year and a half. Put me on a pedestal.”
“That’s hard to live up to. But why are you not the best person for him?”
“He . . .” Dani swallowed hard, remembering his expression as he’d held a sobbing Michael, just hours before. “He opens his heart. For anyone to hurt.”
“You think you’ll hurt him.”
“I already have,” Dani whispered, then cleared her throat. “I’ve gotten too used to being alone the last few years. I wouldn’t be good company.”
“Oh, Dani.” Faith’s words were sweet and full of caring and made Dani want to cry again. “You haven’t been alone for a few years. You’ve been alone since you were sixteen years old.”
Dani blinked, sending new tears down her face. “What?”
“You’ve been alone since your mother and Bruce died. Since Deacon went away to college, leaving you alone with Greg.”
“Deacon didn’t leave me alone,” Dani declared, shocked out of her tears. “I was with Jim and Tammy.”
Faith’s gaze was pointed. “Like I said—alone. Did you cry back then, Dani? After your mom and Bruce died and Deacon left for school?”
Dani had a sudden image of herself at sixteen, sitting in a rocking chair holding Greg, who’d only been a year old. She’d curled around the baby in her arms, rocking him and sobbing, but quietly. Because Jim had come home from his shift with the police force “cranky,” and Tammy had urged her not to let him hear her cry.
Tammy had told her that she’d had to do the same when she cried over losing her only sister, or risk Jim’s anger. She had cautioned Dani not to make Jim mad. Or he’d make them leave and then she and Greg would have no one. So Dani had cried as silently as she could.
“Yes,” she whispered, shaken by the memory.
“Who did you cry on? Or with?”
“There was no one.” No one to comfort a grieving girl who missed her mom and stepfather so damn much. Whose life had been uprooted yet again.
“The definition of ‘alone,’ wouldn’t you agree? You learned not to lean on anyone because there was no one to lean on. There’s power in that, actually.” Faith’s tone continued to be soft. Soothing. Comforting, even. “There’s power in not needing anyone. Makes you feel strong.” She let the feel hang between them.
“Feel strong,” Dani murmured. “Not be strong.”
Faith pulled her close again. “Yeah. It’s like a statue made of thin plaster. It might look like marble from afar, but let someone close enough to touch and . . .”
“Its true self becomes clear.” My true self becomes clear.
“That can be very bad if the plaster person doesn’t like her true self.”
Dani dropped her gaze to the pot in the sink and began scrubbing it. “I know. I don’t like my true self.” She said the words matter-of-factly, because they were accurate. She’d known it for some time. “So I don’t let anyone close enough to see me.”
“That’s kind of the easy answer,” Faith said.
Dani jerked her gaze up to glare at her sister-in-law. “What? I said what you wanted me to say, didn’t I?”
Faith smirked. “Yeah, you did. If you told a patient they smoked or drank too much, or ate too much sugar, and they said, ‘Sure, Doc, I smoke, drink, and eat too much,’ what would you say to them?”
Dani rolled her eyes, getting the point. “I’d tell them that talk is cheap. Actions speak louder. To make the lifestyle changes required to fix the problem.”
Faith dropped her arm from Dani’s shoulders and retuned to leaning her hip against the counter, her smirk gone. “Easier said than done.”
Dani sighed heavily. “Yeah. I know.”
“So what are you going to do about Diesel?”
Dani’s hands paused on the pot and she blinked at Faith in surprise. “Don’t you mean what am I going to do to like myself?”
“That’ll take more time. You’ve been you for your whole life. I don’t have a magic wand. You’re going to have to put the time into therapy to fix that.”
Annoyed, Dani pressed her lips together. Of course Faith would recommend therapy. She was a damn therapist. “Did you get therapy?”
Faith surprised her again by nodding. “I did. I still do. So I’m not being cute or condescending. If you want to make those fundamental changes, you’ll seek therapy, but it’s not an overnight cure. In the meantime, you could find happiness with Diesel. Do you want that?”
Dani looked away. “Yes.” More than anything.
“Then what are you going to do?”
“You mean right now?”
“Not this second, but soon. If you’ve hurt him, you need to fix it. If you want him, you should tell him.”
“I did tell him,” Dani admitted. “Last night. But I told him that I didn’t want to want him.”
Faith winced. “Ouch.”
Dani forced herself to say the word that had been echoing in her mind. “He said I considered him temporary. That I only wanted him here because of the boys.”
Faith’s wince deepened. “And you said . . . ?”
“Nothing. I just . . . watched him go.” Dani wanted to smack herself upside the head. “I just kind of froze.”
“Is he coming back?”
“I don’t know. I think he will, if only to guard the kids. He made a promise and I don’t think he’ll break it.”
“And if he does come back?” Faith asked.
The doorbell rang, saving Dani from having to answer. Which was good, because she had no idea what she’d do. And because the issue still existed.
Right or wrong, she was not good for Diesel Kennedy.
Cincinnati, Ohio
Sunday, March 17, 8:20 p.m.
Cade stood at the back of Brewer’s property, staring up at the house. There was a single light on upstairs. Stella Rowland Brewer was home, it seemed.
He’d parked his SUV a half mile away and hiked, just in case there was police presence. Which there was. A single cruiser sat in the driveway, close to the house. There were two cops inside the car. There were no other police cars out front or anywhere along the perimeter. He’d made sure of that.
The cops were taking turns doing perimeter checks. Every thirty minutes or so, one would jog around the house, checking doors and windows.
Cade could handle the two cops if he had to. He’d prefer not to have to kill them, but he would if it came to it. But in an effort to avoid doing so, he would get in and out of the house and interrogate Mrs. Brewer in the fastest possible time.
He wondered if the woman knew what her husband had been up to, gambling away their home, then gambling away her five-year-old son. When he’d first overheard Brewer at Richard’s poker game, he’d assumed that the man’s wife had not known. Brewer had mentioned that delivery needed to occur that very night, because his wife was out of town. But now, after seeing her interviewed by the TV news, anything seemed possible. With heroin addicts, all bets were off. They’d do anything to feed their habit, including selling their own souls.
Patting his coat pockets, he confirmed that he had his weapons and the gift for Mrs. Brewer. He’d found the heroin in the pocket of Blake Emerson, the guy who’d tried to buy Joshua Rowland. Cade hoped she’d be enticed enough to tell him what he wanted to know. If not, he’d have to resort to more violent means.
Which was fine, especially if she’d known or even suspected what her husband was doing. If she’d willingly put her son in danger, she deserved everything she got.
He carefully approached the house from the rear, staying in the shadows. The place hadn’t had an alarm system when he had been here the week before. If one had been installed in the meantime, he’d be very surprised.
A light came on in the kitchen as he lurked near the back door that led to the garage. A woman paced nervously back and forth by the window, a glass of wine in her hand. This was even better. He could discuss things with her in the kitchen and be closer to his escape route. He’d been antsy about having to go to her bedroom, especially after having George Garrett pull a gun on him the night before.
He pulled out the key ring he’d taken from Brewer’s pocket the night he’d killed him. He lucked out when the first key fit the lock. He slipped into the garage and pulled the door closed, locking it. If the cop outside did his perimeter check before Cade was finished, there would be nothing to raise suspicion.
An inner door in the garage led to a laundry room. Cade pulled his gun from his pocket and racked the slide. There. Ready for any surprises.
He cracked the laundry room door, knowing from his last trip to the house that it opened into the kitchen. Brewer’s wife was still pacing, the bracelets on her right arm jangling. She was muttering to herself.
“Goddamn cops. Goddamn Michael. Goddamn John. Goddamn them all,” she chanted, her hands shaking so hard that the wine sloshed from the glass she carried. “Need a little. Just a little. Just a little.”
Excellent. Stella Rowland Brewer was stuck in her house, cut off from her dealer and her supply. Cade withdrew the bag of powder from his other pocket, palming it in one hand as he opened the door.
“Mrs. Brewer?”
She wheeled around, wine going everywhere, though she didn’t notice. Her eyes fixed on his gun before lifting to his face. “It’s you. The guy my son claims killed my husband.”
“Yes. So he claims.”
“Did you do it?”
“No,” he lied smoothly. “I need your help to clear my name.”
Her eyes narrowed. “Why the gun, then?”
“I wanted to ensure that you didn’t scream.”
She tilted her head. “Have you killed the cops outside?”
“No,” he answered, amused.
“Dammit. They won’t let me go. I’m a prisoner here in my own home, even though I made bail.”
“They’re keeping you from leaving? Did you tell your lawyer?”
Her jaw clenched. “They’ll let me leave. They just follow me. I can’t go anywhere and no one wants to help me,” she added in a whine.
“I want to help you.” He held up the bag of white powder and watched her eyes lock on to it like tractor beams. “I have a proposition for you.”
She licked her lips nervously. “What?”
“Like I said, I want your help to clear my name. Your son has made life difficult for me. My face is all over the news. I can’t go anywhere for fear of capture.”
She swallowed hard, her gaze not faltering from the bag he held. “Yet you came to a house guarded by cops.”
“I’m not guilty, but I am careful. I hiked through the back of the property and they didn’t see me. Will you help me or not?”
More lip licking. “What do you want me to do? They’re not allowing me any visitation or communication. I can’t make Michael tell the truth. Not that he ever listened to me anyway. He’s a bad kid.”
“I want to talk to him, but I can’t get close, either. Does he have any friends at school? Anyone he’s mentioned? Somebody who could tell me where he’s being kept?”
“We don’t really talk. Can I have that?” She pointed to the bag in his hand.
“When we’re finished,” he said, annoyed with her already. “Do you know where he’s staying right now?”
“He’s in foster care.” Her eyes went sly. “Give me a little and I’ll tell you where.”
He wondered if she knew. “Tell me where and I’ll give you the whole bag.”
“How do I know you’re not lying?”
“How do I know you’re not lying?” he countered.
She blew out an angry breath. “CPS told my lawyer that his foster home is run by a woman who signs. You know, in ASL, because he’s deaf.”
That made sense. “And the woman’s name?”
She took a step forward, then stopped when he gestured with his gun. “My lawyer says the only emergency foster care with someone who signs is with a woman named Novak. Dani Novak. Her brother is some kind of hotshot cop.”
Well, shit. If the woman was Deacon Novak’s sister, the most recent news reports he’d seen online also made sense. Reporters were speculating that the kids were in a safe house. Special Agent Novak would never allow his sister to be an accessible target.
He held the bag of heroin behind him when she took another step forward. “I think you’re lying. Your son is in a safe house.”
“I know that,” she said, licking her lips desperately. “I told you that I don’t know where. But the Novak woman is with him, wherever he is.”
“Okay.” Cade could work with that. “Does your son have a girlfriend?” Because a teenage boy might tell his girlfriend where he was, just so she wouldn’t worry.
Stella barked out a nasty laugh. “You’re kidding, right? What girl wants to take on a boy who can’t even talk? I kept trying to get him to talk, but he never would. Wouldn’t even try. His teachers keep saying I should learn sign language or whatever.” She waved with the hand holding the wineglass, which was now almost empty. “I don’t have time for that shit. Someone else can take him. I’ll take Joshua back but not Michael. He’s too much trouble.”
“Joshua is your five-year-old.” He was unimpressed with Stella Rowland Brewer. She was not nurturing.
“Yeah, he’s cute. People like him. He gets them to give me things. I’ll keep him.”
She talked about her son like he was a dog or an inanimate object. Cade had a feeling he wasn’t getting any additional information from this paragon of maternal virtue. Time for the true test.
“I actually knew your husband. Were you aware that John was gambling?”
She inched forward, her eyes on the prize he held. “Sure, but not a lot.”
“He gambled away your house.”
Her face paled. “What? That’s impossible.”
“I was there. I heard him. And when he ran out of money, he tried to win it back by offering up a five-year-old boy.”
Her eyes flickered, then hardened. “Because of Michael,” she said, her voice a vicious hiss. “He turned John bad.”
Cade didn’t think he’d like what came next. “Exactly how did Michael do that?”
“Seduced him,” she spat. She took a few more steps, her shaking hand outstretched. “I told you what you wanted to know. Now give me the stuff.”
Cade dropped the bag into her hand, knowing she wouldn’t call for the cops. She was too afraid they’d take her “stuff.”
She took a taste, her eyes sliding closed. “Oh God. I need this.”
“So you knew that your husband was molesting your son?” he asked smoothly as she dropped to her knees by the kitchen sink.
Grabbing bottles of various cleaners and tossing them aside, she crowed when she pulled out a laundry soap bottle with a wide cap. She dumped the contents on the floor—her drug paraphernalia. Rubber tubing for the tourniquet, a syringe, and a number of used needles.
Cade grimaced, deciding he’d shoot her from a few feet away so he wouldn’t get splashed with her blood. Who knew who else had been using those needles?
She didn’t look up at his question. “I knew John and Michael were doing it, yeah. But Michael asked for it. Michael wasn’t John’s type. My husband liked women.”
In that moment Cade wished like hell that Michael hadn’t been the one to give the cops that sketch. The interpreter had been right. Michael had been through enough. He hated having to kill him. I’ll make it painless, he decided.
“You can bring me more tomorrow,” Stella declared, mixing the heroin with water.
He laughed softly. This woman was truly insane. “Or?”
“Or I’ll tell everyone that you did it, even if it was Michael who really did.”
She didn’t see the bullet coming. She was too busy drawing the concoction she’d mixed into a syringe. The silencer emitted a small pop and Stella’s prepared syringe fell to the floor. The woman’s body followed.
Crouching down to stay out of sight of the window, Cade shot her in the head again, just to be sure. Then he put a final shot in her chest. Where her heart should have been, if she’d had one. At least she wouldn’t be able to get her hands on the five-year-old ever again.
He checked his watch. He’d been here less than ten minutes. Still another twenty before the cop outside came round again. He’d be able to exit the house and hike back to his car with no trouble at all.
Next stop, Dani Novak’s house.