Cincinnati, Ohio
Sunday, March 17, 8:25 p.m.
A cacophony of barking, the sound of Joshua’s happy laughter—and the need to escape Faith’s knowing gaze—had Dani drying her hands and joining the others in her living room. Marcus’s younger brother Stone had arrived with his girlfriend, Delores, and the Russian wolfhound mix that Delores never went anywhere without.
The front door was open, and through the storm door glass Dani could see Marcus and Stone engaged in an intense conversation, but it was Joshua who grabbed her attention. He stood face-to-face with the enormous dog, completely fearless as Angel sniffed at his neck and licked his face.
Joshua loved dogs. He’d been wholly unafraid of Hawkeye as well, but it was clear that Dani’s dog had attached himself to Michael.
Delores had her hand on Angel’s collar, wordlessly restraining the well-trained animal, whose tail wagged. She was telling Joshua that Angel helped her take care of all the dogs at her shelter until they found their forever homes.
Joshua turned to smile at Dani. “She has dogs and they need forever homes. Can we get another dog for me?”
Dani opened her mouth, unsure of how to respond, but Michael answered for her, signing brusquely to his brother.
“No, Joshua. This place is only temporary. We don’t live here. We’ll have to leave soon.”
Temporary. Oh God. Dani reeled for a moment, feeling like all the breath had been knocked out of her as Joshua’s little face crumpled.
“Oh,” he whispered, his hands pulled tight to his body as he signed back to Michael. “I forgot.”
The room went silent as everyone turned to look at Dani, waiting for her to say something. To do something.
This had happened before, she told herself, even as a sense of panic swamped her. Previous foster children had fallen in love with Hawkeye. Had wanted to stay. Dani had always been gentle as she’d told them that she was only a . . .
A temporary stop. God. I hate that word.
This felt different, this situation with Joshua and Michael. And she realized that she wanted it to be different. She wanted it to be . . . un-temporary.
But life rarely worked the way she wanted.
Joshua stepped back from Angel the wolfhound, his eyes downcast. “Sorry,” he said to Delores. “I can’t have a dog. Maybe when I grow up I’ll be able to help one.”
Dani sank to her knees in front of Joshua, pulling him in for a hug, patting his thin little back as he sagged against her, sad when he’d been so happy only moments before. She glanced at Michael, whose eyes were flinty, full of warning. But there was also entreaty there, a sad awareness that he was too young to know.
“Don’t get his hopes up,” Michael signed. “Please.”
Dani gave him a nod, then pulled away from Joshua to use her hands so that Michael could understand her, too. “I am usually an emergency foster provider,” she said. “That means I’m a quick stop when kids are in danger at home.”
“Like Michael,” Joshua said. “Because Mom threw a bowl at his head.”
“Yes,” Dani said, grateful that Joshua didn’t know about the abuse John Brewer had inflicted on Michael. “Usually kids stay with me for just a few days.”
Joshua’s mouth pinched, but he nodded stoically. “So we have to go.”
“I don’t know,” Dani said honestly. She felt like she was saying that a lot today. “I have had a few kids stay longer, so I don’t know. What I can promise is that I won’t let you go anywhere that’s not safe.”
“But we’re still temporary,” Joshua said in a small voice.
Dani wanted to promise him the world. But she didn’t want to hurt him any more than he’d already been hurt, so she just gathered him close and held him again, whispering behind his ear while signing behind his back so that Michael could see. “I know it’s hard right now. I want to promise you that it’ll get better, that you can stay here, but the truth is, I don’t know what’s going to happen. I can promise that I won’t lie to you. Ever.”
“Okay,” Joshua whispered into her neck, then pulled back enough to sign. “Can I still have the Spider-Man pj’s?”
Dani’s heart hurt. He’d gone from asking for a dog to asking to keep a pair of pajamas. “Yes, sweetheart.”
“Can . . . can I go to my room?”
She let him go. “Sure,” she said unsteadily. “I’ll be up in a little while to give you a bath.”
He turned away, the picture of dejection walking up the stairs. Still on her knees, her eyes burning, she watched Michael follow him.
The silence in the room was oppressive. Then Kate sighed. “You can’t save everyone, Dani. Sometimes shit happens. You can only do what you can humanly do. And like it or not, you’re human, not Wonder Woman. I see this every day on the job. I want to help all of the people I meet, especially the kids. But I can only do my job and do it well.”
Murmurs of agreement rippled from the others.
“I see it, too,” Scarlett said. “And the small things are important. You and I helped Tommy and Edna yesterday, and they’re safe and warm tonight. Tomorrow they’ll go back to the street. We can’t stop that. But we can be there the next time they need help.”
But Michael and Joshua weren’t two elderly homeless people who’d been living on the street for years and knew how to keep themselves safe. Michael and Joshua were children. I need to do more.
A hand on her elbow had her looking into her brother Greg’s concerned eyes, mismatched like her own. “Not your fault,” he signed and tugged her to her feet. “You’re keeping them safe. That’s a lot. Michael knows that. He told me so. He’s grateful for all you’ve done—this house, the lawyer, all of it. He just can’t let himself get used to it.”
Because it’s temporary. Just like Diesel, she realized with a start. He’d said that she thought him temporary. And she did, but not like he thought.
She knew he’d leave, because she couldn’t let him stay. She couldn’t let him stay because he’d leave. It was a vicious cycle.
One that needed to stop. She just wished she knew how.
“I want to do more,” she told Greg, not voicing her words because she was afraid she’d cry if she tried. Do more for the boys, more for Diesel. More for me.
Greg tucked her hair behind her ear, the gesture so grown-up that she blinked. “I know,” he signed. “But while they’re here, they’ll be happy. And when they leave they’ll remember you as the lady who kept them safe.”
“You grew up when I wasn’t looking.” She forced a smile. “Deacon’s done a good job raising you.”
Greg frowned, then a sad understanding crept into his expression. “Dani, you raised me. Not Deacon. He was off having a career. You kept me safe all those years with Jim and Tammy. You’re the one who missed your senior prom because I had an ear infection. You’re the one who came home every night you were in college instead of partying like the other kids. You read me stories and made sure I learned to read, too. You’re the one who checked my homework and made sure my hearing aids worked. You’re the one who went to bat for me every time I messed up. That was you.” He swallowed hard. “If I turn out good, it’s because of you.”
The sob rose in Dani’s throat and she couldn’t fight it back. There, in front of everyone, she broke down, leaning into Greg’s shoulder and crying like a child. Slowly, his arms rose to close around her and awkwardly he patted her back.
Another loud sob broke behind her. “What did he say?” Scarlett demanded tearfully from the sofa. “What did he say to make her cry like that?”
“I don’t know,” Faith said, sounding bewildered. “They were going too fast for me to follow.”
“Uh, Scar?” Kate asked carefully. “Why are you crying if you don’t know what they said?”
“I don’t know!” Scarlett wailed, sniffling loudly. “Damn pregnancy hormones.”
“Pregnancy hormones?” Faith echoed. “Oh my God. Scarlett!”
Pregnancy hormones? Grateful for the distraction, Dani pulled from Greg’s arms and patted his cheek. “Sorry,” she signed, then pointed over her shoulder where Scarlett was getting hugs, which started all the dogs barking again. “Seems like Scarlett just told everyone she’s pregnant.”
A slow grin spread over Greg’s face. “Cool.” Then he sobered. “Are you okay?”
“Yeah. I think I am.” I hope I am.
And she hoped she could make Diesel understand why she kept him at arm’s length. Her fear of being left alone being only one reason. Because there were a lot of other issues. Her status being the most obvious one.
Adrian being the other. Adrian and her status were wound together like a hopelessly snarled ball of Kate’s yarn. She’d need to figure out how to tell Diesel the truth so that he’d know . . . what? That it’s not him, it’s me? That sounded lame, even to her own mind.
As to the issue of the boys . . . She didn’t want to stop being an emergency provider, because there were deaf and hard-of-hearing kids who needed her, but for Michael and Joshua? Maybe I can make it permanent for them.
The storm door opened abruptly and Marcus strode in, his expression forbidding. “Why are you crying?” he asked his wife. Then he realized what she’d shared and he shook his head, his mouth tipped up in an indulgent smile. “You spilled the beans? You’re the one who’s been insisting that we keep it a secret, and you told everyone?”
Scarlett sniffled. “I couldn’t help it. Dani made me cry.”
Marcus raised a questioning brow as he closed and locked the front door.
Dani just shook her head. She didn’t have the energy to go through that again. “Where is Stone? Isn’t he coming in?”
“No. He’s gone to the casino to back Diesel up.”
The casino where Brewer had gambled away first his house, then his stepson. Where he might have crossed paths with his killer. A sense of relief rolled through Dani, because Stone would keep Diesel safe. “Good.” She didn’t want Diesel to be alone.
Even though I will be.
Cincinnati, Ohio
Sunday, March 17, 8:35 p.m.
Cade checked that the ski mask was properly positioned before driving past Dani Novak’s house. For now it covered only the top of his head, but he could yank it down in half a second to cover his face if he needed to. Only when he needed to, though. It wasn’t cold enough to warrant the mask and its presence might make an overly observant homeowner suspicious enough to call the cops. Novak’s quiet little neighborhood seemed the type to have a host of overly observant homeowners, with its tree-lined streets and minivans in every driveway.
Except for Dani Novak’s driveway. Hers looked like an SUV dealership. He counted four in total: a Subaru, an Escalade, and two Jeeps.
Two men stood on the front porch, deep in conversation. Both were tall. One of them was at least Cade’s size. Good to know what he’d be up against.
He wished he’d thought to put his headphones on, because his long-range mike would have picked up their conversation. But it also picked up his engine’s noise, so he’d wait until he’d found a place to park before using the listening device.
The front door was open and he could see a small slice of a living room through the storm door glass. Even with his windows up, he could hear barking.
There were dogs in the house. Dammit. Lots of big dogs from the sound of them. He hated it when people he needed to kill owned dogs. Invariably the animals tried to protect their owners. Sometimes the worst monsters had really nice dogs.
He’d have to get a sedative to knock them out. He never killed the dogs, just helped them take super-long naps. I’m not a monster, for God’s sake.
There were enough people in that house that someone would know where the safe house was. He needed to wait until that someone came out. Then he’d follow.
And how will you know who the right someone is?
That was when he saw her.
Oh, hello, Doctor. She was entering the living room from what was probably the kitchen. It was definitely Dani Novak. He’d Googled her name and found her photo. He could see the streaks of white in the front of her hair, stark against the rest, which was very black.
His pulse kicked up when one of the men on the porch turned to look at his vehicle. He kept driving, grateful that the windows of his SUV were tinted darkly enough to hide his face and that he’d muddied up the license plates. He was so close to his goal, he couldn’t allow himself to be noticed now. If Dani was here, either the kids were, too, or she’d leave to go to them soon.
He’d find a place where he wouldn’t be noticed and then wait until either she came out or all the visitors left. Then he’d listen and watch.
Lawrenceburg, Indiana
Sunday, March 17, 9:40 p.m.
Diesel didn’t glance up when two beers were placed in front of him, keeping his eyes on the crowded riverboat casino. He wasn’t sure what he was looking for, but John Brewer had kept receipts from drinks at the bar on the Lady of the River, on more than one occasion. So he’d wait and watch.
“I didn’t order those,” he stated flatly, pointing to the new drinks. He’d been nursing the same beer since he’d arrived an hour ago.
A solid form dropped into the booth beside him with a resounding thunk, the voice as familiar as his own. “If you’re going undercover at a bar, you need to at least look like you’re consuming alcohol in some form,” Stone O’Bannion said dryly.
Diesel blew out an impatient breath. “What are you doing here, Stone?”
Marcus’s younger brother was another of Diesel’s oldest and most trusted friends. But he didn’t want the man here at the moment.
“Keeping your investigation from going tits-up.” Stone sipped at his beer. “You look like you’re loaded for bear and maybe even carrying a badge. Nobody’s going to do anything suspicious with you sitting there looking all pissed off and righteous.”
Diesel finally looked away from the crowd of people. He glanced at Stone, who appeared to be studying the blackjack table, but whose eyes were constantly roving. Looking. Watching. The man was a skilled journalist, having gone undercover for several dangerous assignments even before being embedded with troops in the Gulf. If it happened in a room, Stone O’Bannion saw it.
“You’re right,” Diesel murmured. He was too tense. Too angry. Too grim. If Brewer had been up to something, no one would tell him. “Hope I didn’t blow it.”
“Maybe, maybe not.” Stone wriggled, sliding down in the seat, making himself comfortable. Seemed that he planned to stay awhile. “But never fear,” he added with overly bright sarcasm. “I’m here to help you. First thing, loosen that grip your jaws have on your teeth before they crumble into dust.”
Diesel glared, wanting to tell Stone to leave him alone. But Stone’s staying was probably not a bad idea, because Diesel hadn’t been aware that he was broadcasting rage. “I’m not good company,” he admitted, realizing now that he’d been in a state of furious agitation ever since leaving Dani’s house. Working his jaw back and forth to loosen it, he sighed. “Sorry in advance for anything I say or do that’s shitty.”
Stone shrugged shoulders nearly as wide as Diesel’s. “You sat with me when I was detoxing. I think you’ve seen me worse.”
That had been bad, Diesel had to agree. Stone had been trying to kick the heroin habit he’d developed once he’d returned from serving in the Gulf.
They all had their demons, he supposed, wondering if Stone, like Marcus, knew that Diesel’s zeal in catching pedophiles was personal. “Did Marcus tell you to come?”
“Yep. Said you made him promise to stay with Scarlett at Dani’s house, to help her keep them safe.” Stone snorted. “Like Scarlett needs any help with that. That lady cop is the baddest badass of us all, even preg—” Biting off the word, he gave Diesel a cautious side-eye. “Did Marcus mention anything special today?”
“That Scarlett is pregnant? Yeah. And she is the baddest of us all, even pregnant. But . . .” Diesel sighed. “What did Marcus tell you?”
“What you told him when he got to Dani’s house.” Stone glanced around them meaningfully. “And based on the dead pediatrician and all those bodies they’ve pulled from the river, I’d say you have a right to want all hands on deck over there.”
Diesel raised a brow. “How many hands were on deck?”
Stone shuddered. “Too many cops. Too many people, period. Kate and Decker, Scar and Marcus—that’s a cop and two Feds. Poor Marcus.”
Diesel knew that Stone’s protests about all the cops who’d become part of their lives over the past few years were purely for show. Scarlett and Stone had become very close, but Stone had to maintain his prickly shell.
“Marcus can take care of himself,” Diesel said, shaking his head.
“I sure hope so. Anyway, Delores loves all the ruckus, so I dropped her and Angel off at your doctor’s house and split.”
Diesel pressed the heel of his hand to his heart to blunt the pain that lanced his chest. “Not my doctor,” he said, his voice a breath away from breaking. Just because I wish it were so, doesn’t make it so.
Stone drew in a slow breath and let it out as he studied Diesel’s profile. “Marcus didn’t tell me that part, just the business part.”
Because Diesel hadn’t told Marcus. He’d looked so happy in his little family bubble with Scarlett and the baby she carried. Diesel hadn’t had the heart to burst it.
Stone’s expression softened. “What happened? Should I talk to Dani?”
Diesel shook his head hard. “No. God, no. She’s . . . allowed to want who she wants. And she’s allowed not to want me.” He held up his hand when, frowning, Stone started to say more. “I’m glad you took Delores over there.” Stone’s petite girlfriend was the sweetest of their circle, and her animal shelter had sourced nearly all of their pets. Angel, her wolfhound, was nearly as big as she was, but just as sweet. Unless someone tried to hurt Delores or Stone. Then the dog was a fierce protector. Just what Dani and the boys need. “Michael and Joshua will love Angel. They’ve already fallen for Hawkeye.”
Stone’s nod was both thoughtful and sad. “Okay. Well, then, what do you need from me? I’m here to watch your back.”
“I don’t know. I think there’s . . . business happening here.” Diesel looked around, wondering if they could be overheard. It might be paranoid on his part, but this situation had already bypassed weird. “Special business.”
It was how they referred to their special Ledger investigations, those in which powerful people, usually men, had gotten away with terrible crimes. Those investigations usually resulted in the powerful men being punished, either by the judicial system or via very strong suggestions that they back away from their families and allow the Ledger team to relocate the wives and children somewhere safer.
Stone gave him a nod of understanding. “Then we watch.” He lifted his brows, indicating a skirmish in its early stages. “At least we’ll be entertained.”
Two very drunk men were arguing with each other while a woman tried to separate them. One of the men roughly pushed the woman aside, making her stumble on her high heels and fall flat on her butt.
Diesel tensed. “This is getting really ugly. Is she all right?” he asked, while the second man, apparently avenging the woman’s honor, let out a huge roar and lunged for the man who’d shoved her.
Shouting for security, two of the dealers stepped in and restrained both men. The room seemed to draw a relieved breath—until someone helped the woman to her feet and she reentered the fray, her fists swinging. Bystanders began to yell for security, too, just as the woman delivered a stunning left hook to the first man.
“I’d say she’s all right,” Stone said.
“King!” A woman rushed at the table where Diesel and Stone sat, her face flushed, her expression irate. “Why are you just sitting there? Get off your ass and do your damn job—” She stopped abruptly when she reached them, blinking at Diesel, her irate expression gone blankly confused. “Um . . . I’m sorry, sir. I’m so very sorry. I thought you were someone else. Please excuse me.”
She backed away, bobbing her head, continuing to apologize. When she was gone, Stone turned to Diesel with a perplexed frown.
“What the hell, D?” Stone asked.
Diesel was staring after the woman, who’d run into the back, where presumably the offices were. A minute later, a guy in a double-breasted suit rushed out with two uniformed security guards in tow. The skirmish was broken up and the crowd returned to the gaming tables.
“That’s the second time in two days that I’ve been mistaken for someone else,” Diesel murmured. “That woman—I think she was the manager—called me King.”
“I’d say you’re more of a baron,” Stone joked, then sobered when Diesel didn’t laugh along. “Who was the other person?”
“Michael Rowland.” Diesel grabbed his phone from his pocket and opened up the Ledger’s home page. Front and center was the sketch of the bald man Michael had seen kill John Brewer.
Stone was looking over his shoulder. “I can see the resemblance. You think it means something?”
“It could. Michael sees this guy . . . y’know.” Diesel folded his fingers to look like a gun and tapped the photo, unwilling to say the words in case there were eyes and ears spying on them.
“I get it,” Stone said. “And the victim frequented this casino.”
“He did. It’s not a coincidence. Stepdad and this King guy—the one that the manager thought was me—their paths could have crossed here. Maybe something happened between them that led to the killing.”
Just then the woman came back carrying a tray with two beers. “Gentlemen, please accept my apologies. I feel terrible having talked to you that way.”
Diesel gave her a smile. “Not a problem. I have to say I’m curious, though. I’m not usually mistaken for someone else. Who is my doppelgänger?”
The woman chuckled as she set the beers in front of them. “Our security manager, Scott King. I remembered after I yelled that he’s off for a few days.”
Scott King. Now Diesel had a name to go with the face of the man who’d probably murdered at least Brewer, and maybe the others who’d been pulled from the river. For a moment he considered keeping the information to himself, but he knew he needed to tell Deacon and Adam ASAP. The man was a killer. He might have found at least one of his victims here, in the casino. And this was information Diesel had found in a mostly legal way, one that could be backed up in court if need be.
He held his phone out to the woman. “Is this King?”
She looked at the photo and . . . froze. “Oh my God. That’s him.” She grabbed Diesel’s phone and scrolled to the story, turning pale as she read. “He’s the one who killed that fisherman? I didn’t . . .” She pressed her lips together and handed back the phone. “I shouldn’t talk to any cops without my boss and our legal counsel.”
“Well, we’re not cops,” Diesel said.
Her eyes narrowed. “I don’t believe you. You look like cops. Both of you.”
Stone winced. “Ouch.”
Diesel elbowed him. “We’re with the Ledger.”
She took a step back, her face growing even paler. “That’s worse. I’m sorry. I can’t talk to you anymore.” She practically ran back to the office.
“And I think that’s our cue to exit stage right,” Stone murmured. “If I can still breathe with this knife in my heart. Saying we look like cops. She knows how to hurt a guy.”
Diesel rolled his eyes. “Come on, drama queen.”
“Drama king to you, Elvis,” Stone said lightly, but he got up from the booth and headed straight for the exit. “If you can be a King, so can I.”
Ignoring Stone’s taunting use of his first name, Diesel was calling Adam as they headed for the door. The detective answered on the first ring.
“Diesel? What’s up?”
“I found the man in the sketch, or at least I know where to find him. His name is Scott King and he’s the security manager on Lady of the River.”
“The gambling riverboat?” Adam asked.
“One and the same,” Diesel said. “The general manager mistook me for him, and now that she’s realized we’ve made the connection she’s busy circling the wagons, calling in the owner and their lawyer. I know it’s not your jurisdiction, but I’d recommend you get someone over here fast, before they start destroying any evidence you might find useful.”
“Thanks, man. Should I ask why you’re at the casino, since you don’t gamble?”
“Probably not. Catch you later.” Diesel motioned to Stone. “Let’s go.”
Stone led the way, creating a path for them, like Moses parting the Red Sea. “Shit,” he said as they made it through the exit and onto the riverboat’s main deck.
Diesel glanced around him, looking for threats. “What?”
“We left two perfectly good beers on the table back there.”
Diesel snorted a surprised laugh. “You asshole. I’ll buy you another beer.”
“You’d better,” Stone said, then grunted. “Sorry, man,” he said to a customer coming in.
The man looked them over, his expression oddly wary. “You work here?”
“Nope,” Stone said, without breaking a smile. “We’re cops.”
Diesel had his hand out, ready to slap Stone upside the head, when the man, who looked to be about thirty-five, stepped aside. “By all means, Officers. Is everything okay in there?”
“I might not pick tonight to gamble,” Stone said. “Especially if you have any unpaid parking tickets.” Without blinking, he passed by, leaving the stranger looking confused and alarmed.
Diesel sighed. “My friend is not well. He’s not a cop.” That he himself also wasn’t a cop he left unsaid. And he wasn’t sure why. “But he is right about choosing a different night to gamble. Sorry,” he added, shaking his head at Stone’s back in exasperation. “Like I said, he’s not well.”
“I hope . . . your friend gets help?” the man said uncertainly.
“Me, too. Have a nice evening.” Diesel jogged after Stone, still shaking his head as he got into the passenger seat of Stone’s Escalade. “You are going to get us in so much trouble one of these days.”
Stone just grinned and started the engine. “Where to?”
Home, Diesel wanted to say. But he bit it back, because the home he’d been visualizing had a cozy kitchen where the woman he craved was sipping her tea and smiling across the table at him as a dog snored at their feet.
“My house,” he said, hearing the terseness in his own voice. “I left my truck there.” And his computer. He hadn’t wanted to risk the sensitive information held on his hard drive, so he’d left his laptop locked up. “I took a cab over here.”
Stone pulled out of the parking lot just as two black-and-white cruisers raced in. “Your house it is.”
Lawrenceburg, Indiana
Sunday, March 17, 10:15 p.m.
Grant Masterson watched the two men walk away, feeling like he should know the guy who’d claimed to be a cop. He had one of those faces that was familiar in a déjà vu kind of way. The other guy—the actual cop—was massive, bald, and tattooed. Yet even though he spoke in a low growl, he was curiously soft-spoken.
Still not someone I’d want to meet in the dark, he thought, then gave the ramp onto the riverboat a cautious look. He wasn’t sure whether he should go into the casino or not. He was hoping he’d find Scott King on duty tonight, because he’d been unsuccessful in finding the casino’s security manager’s home address. He hadn’t been able to find anything at all on Scott King, actually. Which he supposed was understandable for a guy in the security industry. They were paranoid bastards. Grant did the taxes for a security firm, and getting them to reveal anything was like pulling teeth.
But even if he didn’t get to talk to either Scott King or Richard Fischer, he might meet someone who’d seen Wesley. Still, he hesitated. If those guys were to be believed, something was about to go down.
Grant wondered what they knew. Following his gut with Dawn Daley had yielded information, so he followed his gut again, pivoting to follow the men to their vehicle.
He got close enough to see them get into a dark SUV and begin driving away.
He turned back to the riverboat, but froze at the sound of sirens. Yeah, those guys know something, and that something’s going down right now.
Slowly he backtracked to his own car, not wanting to attract the attention of the police. If Wes was okay, he was involved in something very wrong. Something that required him to sell heroin and keep an unregistered gun in his home safe. Alerting the police could, at best, land Wes in prison. At worst, it could blow his Blake Emerson cover, putting him squarely in the sights of those he’d gone to such lengths to infiltrate.
And if the cops haul Wes out of the casino in handcuffs?
Grant guessed he’d be looking for a good attorney. He hoped like hell he’d be looking for a good attorney. And not an undertaker.
He watched, heart in his throat, as uniformed officers stormed the casino’s entrance. They were carrying assault rifles. What happened to you, Wesley?
Bridgetown, Ohio
Sunday, March 17, 10:45 p.m.
Diesel strode into his house, conscious of Stone closing the door behind them. They hadn’t spoken after Diesel had asked Stone to drive him here. They’d been friends long enough for Stone to know when to back off and just be there.
Stone slumped in the chair opposite Diesel’s desk, watching silently as Diesel pulled his laptop from the safe and started it up. “Scott King and Cincinnati,” Diesel muttered as he typed the name into the search engine he always started with when doing a background check.
He frowned as he scanned the results, which included the individuals’ most recent DMV photos. “Nobody matches.”
“Could he be disguised?” Stone asked. “It’d be easy enough to wear a wig to cover his bald head.”
Diesel shrugged. “Maybe,” he said, and ran a hand over his own scalp, where stubble had begun to grow. He needed to shave it soon. “But nobody fits his body type. It’s more likely that Scott King is a fake name.”
“But surely he’d have to undergo a background check to be a security guard in a casino,” Stone said, frowning. “What with all that money lying around.”
Diesel gave him a sharp look. “I know how to do my job, Montgomery.”
Stone’s cheeks flushed. “Don’t call me that.”
Diesel rolled his eyes, because Montgomery was Stone’s real first name. “You can call me Elvis in public and you get mad when I call you Montgomery? At least I have the courtesy to do it when we’re alone.”
Stone tried to glare, but had to laugh. “You caught that, huh?”
“I’m not deaf.” But he stumbled over the word as soon as it left his mouth, because Dani was deaf, half-deaf, anyway. And Greg and Michael were completely deaf, yet they managed to pick up what was being said or done around them. Using the word as he had seemed . . . wrong. “I heard you,” he corrected himself.
Stone’s brows lifted. “Somebody is becoming politically correct.”
“It’s not being PC. It’s being respectful,” Diesel insisted, ignoring Stone’s knowing smirk. “You’re probably right about the background check, though. If he got the job in security and the job is legit, there should be something on him—a DMV photo, an apartment rental contract, or something. I’m expanding the search region to the tri-state area and I’ll go national if I have to, but that takes more time.” He typed in Kentucky, Ohio, Indiana, and security. And frowned again.
Stone leaned forward in the chair. “What?”
“This.” He enlarged the screen and turned it so that Stone could see. “A guy named Scott King, age thirty-two, went missing from his job as a security guard in a nursing home.”
Stone’s eyes lit up. He lived for the hunt. “In Indianapolis. He went missing a year ago. How long has this King guy been with the casino?”
Diesel did another search. “Here’s a forum that rates casinos.” He scanned the entries until he came to one that mentioned King. “One casino guest had an altercation with a ‘big bald guy’ named King who had him thrown out for ‘winning too much.’”
Stone huffed. “Counting cards, he means. Which shouldn’t be against the rules. If you can count ’em, then more power to you.”
Diesel rolled his eyes. “You only say that because you can count cards.”
“Not anymore.” Stone gave his best choirboy face. “I’ve reformed.”
Meaning that Delores had asked him to stop. The woman had Stone wrapped around her finger without ever raising her voice.
Vicious jealousy ripped through Diesel’s gut, startling him. No. This isn’t me. I’m happy for them. He just wanted the same thing.
“Maybe it’s time for you to move on, D,” Stone murmured.
Diesel’s gaze shot up to Stone’s, found it filled with compassion and hurt on his behalf. “What? Move on to what?” he demanded, feigning cluelessness. Better to pretend than to take the pity. I hate pity.
Stone sighed. “Fine. It’s just that the look on your face just now . . .” He shook his head. “Never mind. When was that complaint filed by the card counter?”
Diesel returned his focus to the laptop screen, grateful for the reprieve. Because Stone was right. Maybe it was time to move on. “A year ago, which fits the time frame of the real security guard’s disappearance. There are similar complaints on here, but all are newer.”
“Will you go to Indy to check out the missing nursing home guard, to see if the riverboat’s big bald security guy stole his identity?” Stone asked.
Diesel opened his mouth to say yes, but remembered Michael and Joshua. He’d promised to keep them safe, and he couldn’t do that from Indianapolis. He couldn’t do that from his house, for that matter.
“No. I’ll go back to Dani’s until the kids are safe. I promised them.”
Stone nodded, understanding. “I figured as much. If you send me the info, I’ll go. Delores might like a little road trip.”
“Thanks,” Diesel said, his throat suddenly thick. “I’m grateful.”
Stone’s smile was sad. “You know I’d do anything for you, Elvis.”
Diesel swallowed hard, because the name hadn’t been a taunt that time. “Thanks, Montgomery.” He cleared his throat. “While you’re doing that, I’ll be trying to break into the casino’s server. I want a home address for big bald ‘Scott King.’”
“Will you do that here?”
Diesel hesitated. “Who’s still at Dani’s house?”
Stone did a quick text. Then smiled before he looked up. It was an expression that none of them had ever seen on his face before he met Delores. She made him truly happy.
Diesel waited for the jealousy, but it didn’t come. Instead, there was a loneliness so intense that he had to fight not to press his hand to his heart. Because it hurt more than it had when he’d taken the bullet aimed at Marcus in Iraq all those years ago. And that bullet had nearly killed him.
Some days he’d wished it had. Today . . . He closed his eyes when they stung. Today is not one of those days, he told himself fiercely. It’s not.
“Diesel?” Stone asked softly.
Diesel forced his eyes to open, silently cursing when the tears that stung his eyes trickled down his face. “I’m okay.”
Stone pursed his lips. “No, you’re not, but you will be. Delores says that everyone is still there—Kate, Decker, Marcus, Scarlett, and Faith. They’re watching The Avengers. Kate’s pick.”
Diesel had to smile at that. “Of course it was.” Kate was the ultimate Avengers fan. Then he frowned. “Wait. That’s not appropriate for a five-year-old.”
Stone typed out another text and smiled again at the response. “Delores says that Joshua was tucked into bed before they started the movie. They watched Tangled with him before supper. Take a look.” He slid his phone across the desk.
Diesel sucked in a sharp breath at the photo that Delores had texted. Dani’s living room was full of people, on sofas and the floor. Dani sat next to Greg, his arm around her shoulders and her head on his. Michael sat at her feet, his back against the sofa, Hawkeye in his lap. Unable to stop himself, Diesel zoomed in on her face and released the breath he held in a slow shudder.
“She’s been crying,” he whispered. Her eyes were red-rimmed and swollen.
“Yeah.” Stone sighed. “That happened as I was leaving.”
Diesel jerked his gaze up. “What?”
“She was upset. I could hear it through the storm door when Marcus was updating me on the casino situation. I texted Delores before I drove away to make sure everything was okay. She said that Joshua asked if they could get a dog for him, because Hawkeye was Michael’s dog. Michael told him no, that they were only temporary. The kid looked like a kicked puppy and it ripped Dani up.”
Temporary. God. Diesel rubbed his mouth with the back of his hand. New tears threatened, but he’d be damned before he let any more fall in front of Stone. He did not want his friend’s pity. “But she must have dealt with it.”
Stone shrugged. “I don’t know. I left when the waterworks started. Dani’s tears triggered Scarlett’s and she blamed her hormones.” He faked a full-body shudder. “I took my cue to exit stage right.” Then he met Diesel’s eyes directly. “You’ll have to ask Dani if she dealt with it.”
“Right.” Diesel busied himself, using his mouse to cut, paste, and send Stone all the information he’d found on the “real” Scott King. “You’ve got all you need to go to Indy. Thanks again.”
Stone stood, grabbing his phone, which Diesel hadn’t been aware he was still holding in his clenched fist. Diesel almost asked him to send him the photo of Dani, but he managed to tamp down the urge.
“I’ll let you know what I find,” Stone promised. “How much longer will you be here?”
“I’m going to try to get into the casino’s server from here. My Internet connection is better than hers.”
“Of course,” Stone said wryly. “So . . . how much longer will you be here?”
“I’ll give it three hours. If I haven’t been successful, I’ll come back.”
“All right. We’ll make sure she’s covered until you get back.” Stone looked like he wanted to say more, but turned for the door. “Talk to you soon.”
The front door closed and the house was silent. Stifling. Oppressive.
Diesel wanted the barking of a dog, the happy squealing of a little boy, the victorious cry of a teenager when he beat Diesel on the Xbox. He wanted the cozy house with its warm kitchen where chili bubbled on the stove and the kettle whistled.
He wanted Dani’s house. He wanted Dani.
His phone dinged with a text from Stone. The photo of Dani’s living room.
Talk to her was the texted message.
Diesel had to close his eyes. “I did,” he said to the empty room. She doesn’t want to want me. He’d meant what he’d told Stone earlier—it was Dani’s right not to want him. He wasn’t going to push. Not anymore. If she changed her mind, the ball would be in her court.
With a harsh sigh, he turned to his computer and began organizing his cyberattack on Lady of the River’s network.
“Scott King,” he muttered aloud. “I’m coming for you. You have a lot of explaining to do.”