Cincinnati, Ohio
Monday, March 18, 7:45 a.m.
“I understand that you’re searching everyone,” Evelyn said, her tone to the cop patient, but holding a thread of desperation that Cade figured the cop would attribute to her being late for her first appointment. So far she’d been a pro. “But the police searched my house and van already. You can call and ask them.”
“I understand.” The cop was condescending. “I’m sure your first appointment will also understand. We have a manhunt ongoing. That’s a little more important.”
Yes. Cade was aware. He’d hid in the garage with Junior while the police had searched Evelyn’s home thoroughly. They’d actually searched the boxes that Cade had stacked atop the box in which he and Junior were hiding.
Just when Cade had been certain he’d be found, the cop had left, thanking Evelyn for her cooperation.
Now they were sitting in a long line of vehicles waiting to be searched at the roadblock, going out of Dani Novak’s neighborhood. As getaway vehicles went, the pet grooming van was, in some ways, ideal. The windows in the back were small and close to the ceiling, more for ventilation than viewing, and there was a decent place to hide—for a petite woman. For Cade, not so much.
Nevertheless, he had stuffed himself and Junior into the dog bathing tub. Luckily Evelyn had clients with very large dogs and had bought the largest model. It had an inset “base,” like a false bottom, that enabled the tub to be used for smaller dogs. Cade was hiding under the inset base.
Luckily, Evelyn kept her equipment clean. There was a strong odor of dog shampoo and disinfectant, but it wasn’t exactly unpleasant. And if it got him out of this dragnet, he’d have sat in dog shit.
But he was glad he hadn’t had to, because his leg was on fire. The Feds’ bullets hadn’t done a lot of damage, but Cade was afraid the wounds were getting infected. He had antibiotics back at the old pedo’s house. He just had to make it until then.
“Of course,” Evelyn was saying to the cop. “I’ll open the back door for you.”
Well, fuck. Cade tightened his hold on the rifle. If that inset base was lifted, he’d start firing. God help anyone who got in his way.
The back door creaked as Evelyn opened it.
“This is a pretty nice setup,” the cop said. “Very clean.”
“Thank you,” Evelyn said, sounding like she was speaking through clenched teeth.
Heavy footsteps sounded just outside his hiding place and Cade could hear the van’s cabinet doors being opened and closed. He held his breath, freezing when Junior made a disgruntled sound. Not a cry. But he wasn’t being quiet. Just a little longer, Junior.
Everything went silent outside the tub, and then Cade heard the thump of a fist on the inset top. Junior opened his mouth. Cade clamped his fingers over it. Do not cry, Junior. Do. Not. Cry.
“Okay, ma’am,” the cop said. “Everything seems in order here. We’re sorry for the inconvenience.”
“That’s okay,” Evelyn said, her voice trembling. “I hope you catch him.”
The doors closed and Cade finally released the breath he’d been holding. They were free. He waited until the van began to move at a decent speed before cautiously pushing the inset base out of the way.
He let out another breath. He was alone in the back. No cops.
Yes.
He opened one of the bigger drawers, finding stacks of towels. He set Junior on the towels, giving his head a pat. He was so glad that the kid hadn’t cried and he hadn’t had to smother him. That would have sucked.
Carefully he slid the small window in the side of the van open, recognizing the area at a glance. He’d told Evelyn to drive to a secluded area near the Mount Airy Forest once they were through the roadblock. She’d drop him off and he’d let her go.
Except that wasn’t exactly the way it was going to happen. He laid out a few of the nylon dog leads and cut up some towels in preparation, then waited, watching the scenery pass by for another thirty minutes, until the van slowed and Evelyn pulled over. She’d followed his instructions well.
She opened the back doors and scanned the interior for Junior.
“He’s right here,” Cade said. “Not a problem. He’s a good kid.”
He waited until she leaped into the back and raced for the baby before grabbing her and shoving one of the cut-up towels in her mouth. Quickly he tied her hands and feet with the dog leads and lowered her to the floor of the truck. He put Junior beside her.
“We need to go a little farther and I need for you not to know where I’m getting out,” he said. “Don’t want you to call the cops on me the moment you drive away.”
The flash of impotent fury in Evelyn’s eyes told him that she’d planned to do exactly that. Then he could see nothing of Evelyn’s eyes because he tied one of the towel remnants over them.
“Sit tight. You’ll be free soon.” He got out of the van and slammed the doors closed. “And I’m free now.” He needed to figure out how to stay that way. First, though, he had to find a safe place to regroup because his leg was throbbing. He needed to clean it properly, without having to hold a damn baby. Once it healed, he’d be able to make his escape. When he ran, he needed to be able to actually run.
He’d have to figure out a way to change his appearance, because there was no way he was escaping a conviction if he was caught.
One thing was certain—he was not getting to Michael Rowland. They had to have that kid in a safe house six miles underground by now.
Cincinnati, Ohio
Monday, March 18, 8:30 a.m.
Grant Masterson toasted a bagel and made a cup of coffee with Wesley’s space-age machine. The bagel was the only food in the fridge that hadn’t passed its ex-date. He’d eaten takeout the day before. If he stayed any longer he’d have to buy food.
Munching on the dry bagel, he opened a browser window on his laptop to the local news. He wanted to see what had happened the night before with the casino raid. Whether there was any mention of Richard Fischer or Scott King. Or Wesley’s alter ego, Blake Emerson.
As soon as the news page loaded, he nearly choked on the bagel.
“Holy shit,” he panted when he could breathe again. There on the front page was a photo of the Lady of the River with the headline: SEARCH FOR RIVER KILLER COMES UP EMPTY.
“River killer? What the actual fuck?” Grant scanned the article and was glad he hadn’t taken another bite, because the suspect was none other than Scott King, the security manager he’d gone to the casino to find.
“Casino owner Richard Fischer did not respond to requests for comments,” he read aloud. Because he’s not there, Grant thought. He’s left town. Or he’s hiding in that mausoleum he calls a mansion.
He clicked on the link to the River Killer story and sagged in his chair. Seven dismembered bodies had been brought out of the river on Saturday. He skimmed until he got to the part he was looking for.
“A fourteen-year-old boy was questioned in the death of the first body to be identified, Mr. John Brewer. But later eyewitness testimony pointed local law enforcement to search for this man—Scott King. Riverboat patrons told us that John Brewer was a frequent visitor to the casino at the Lady of the River, where Scott King manages security.”
Grant studied the sketch of King and fought a shudder. He was very glad he hadn’t met the man last night. He had a mean look to him.
Returning to the article, he read on, then frowned. The first of the identified victims, John Brewer, had last been seen Friday a week ago.
That was the same day that Wesley’s Cleveland PD partner, Tracy Simon, had seen Wes, with no word from him since. His brother had been to that same casino, participating in some kind of secret game. Dread prickled down Grant’s spine and a shudder broke free, his stomach churning. He pushed the half-eaten bagel away, his appetite suddenly gone.
Seven dismembered bodies, he thought numbly. He had his phone in his hand, ready to call the police, before he realized his intent. Did one of those bodies belong to his brother?
Wait. He put the phone down, pushing it away as he’d done the bagel. If Wes was alive, Grant would be flagging him to the cops.
“And if he’s dead?” Grant whispered to himself. Then shook his head hard.
He was jumping to conclusions. There was no evidence that his brother was dead. There was no indication that Wesley had even known John Brewer. It could be a giant coincidence.
But if you find a connection? If Wesley did know John Brewer?
Then I’ll go to the cops. I’ll ask them if any of the bodies they found is Wes.
Hoping to find something in the news to alleviate the dread that slowly choked him, Grant clicked back to the home page. And stared, openmouthed. The hits keep coming. Because staring back at him was a photo of the man he’d seen leaving the casino the night before—the one who’d claimed to be a cop, but who wasn’t. The one who’d seemed vaguely familiar.
Now Grant knew why.
AWARD-WINNING PHOTOJOURNALIST CRITICALLY WOUNDED. Grant slowly scrolled, his dread increasing as he read. “Stone O’Bannion was the victim of multiple gunshot wounds last night while on the property of his friend and coworker Elvis Kennedy. Doctors at Mercy West say that Mr. O’Bannion is in critical but stable condition. His family has asked for privacy during this time.
“Both Mr. Kennedy and Mr. O’Bannion are employed by the Cincinnati Ledger. Neither was available to comment on this developing story, but an individual with knowledge of the case said that the shooter was Scott King, the man suspected of the river killings and of the murders of pediatrician George Garrett, the fisherman who discovered the bodies on the Ohio side of the river early on Saturday morning, and Charlie Akers, a member of the crime scene investigation team.
“After shooting Mr. O’Bannion, Scott King is believed to have continued on to the home of Dr. Danika Novak, who manages the Meadow Free Clinic. Witnesses say there was a major firefight between the suspect and law enforcement. An FBI agent was injured, but is now in stable condition. Those involved in the investigation believe that the target of the home attack may have been Michael Rowland, the young man seen with Dr. Novak on Saturday afternoon. Michael was originally suspected of killing his stepfather, John Brewer, but police now believe Brewer’s killer was Scott King.”
Grant frowned. All of this was troubling, but none of it directly connected to Wesley. Except that Wesley and Scott King were connected through Richard Fischer and the Lady of the River.
He looked around the apartment, trying to organize his thoughts. Everything he’d learned so far was via items Wesley had left behind, and he couldn’t help believing that his brother had wanted him to find them. Why else would he choose a safe combination that Grant would easily guess?
Maybe there was something else here. A file. A book. Something. He finished his coffee. He had searching to do.
Cincinnati, Ohio
Monday, March 18, 12:10 p.m.
Michael woke with a start. He was alone. Well, not completely alone. Hawkeye lay beside him, using Michael’s butt as a pillow. He reached back to scratch behind the dog’s ears, sliding to sit up, feeling momentary panic when Joshua’s bed was empty again.
But then he smelled food. It took him a few seconds to realize that he wasn’t in Dr. Dani’s house.
Safe house. They’d moved them to some fancy condo at the top of a building and Michael had no idea where they were. He’d been forced to give up his phone, too. Deacon had explained that it could be used to track them and promised to get him a burner the next day.
We’ll see. So far everyone in Coach and Dr. Dani’s group had been pretty straight with them. Michael hoped they continued to be. For Joshua’s sake.
I can take care of myself.
Hawkeye at his heels, he made his way to the kitchen, where a man in a black suit stood at the stove, flipping grilled cheese sandwiches in a pan. Joshua was already sitting at the table, a sandwich on his plate, cut into squares the way he liked it.
“Good morning,” Joshua signed. “It’s really afternoon. We slept a long time.”
Michael nodded, his head still foggy. He pointed to the man at the stove. “Who’s that?” he signed.
Joshua frowned in concentration as he tried to spell the man’s name. “Troy.” He nodded once, pleased with himself, and that made Michael smile. “He’s an FBI man, like Mr. Deacon and Mr. Decker. He makes a good cheese sandwich.”
Troy turned then, the pan in one hand. He pointed to Michael, then to the pan, with a raised brow.
Michael nodded. “Please,” he voiced, and sat down.
Troy brought him the sandwich on a plate. He’d cut it into squares, just like Joshua’s. It had been a long time since anyone had cut his sandwich into squares.
“Thank you,” he signed, and Joshua voiced it.
Troy smiled and signed, “You’re welcome.”
“I taught him that,” Joshua said, grinning so that cheese squished in his teeth.
“Close your mouth,” Michael signed gently, then booped Joshua’s nose. “Silly.”
Troy got a pad and pen and wrote: Sorry I can’t sign well. Coach and Dr. Dani are still asleep.
Michael nodded and took the pen. How are Stone and Decker?
Troy smiled and wrote Doing well next to Decker’s name and Awake and cranky as usual next to Stone’s.
Good. Some of the load lifted from Michael’s shoulders.
Troy wrote something else on the notepad and passed it to Michael. Not your fault.
Shaking his head in denial, Michael was still grateful that the agent would try to make him feel better. Thank you.
Joshua looked over Michael’s shoulder. “Coach!”
Michael looked to see Coach’s big body filling the doorway. I want to be that big someday. Then no one could hurt him. Ever again.
“I smell food.” Coach rubbed Joshua’s head affectionately. “Is it good?”
Joshua nodded. “Mr. Troy is a good cook.”
Troy winced. “Not really, but I’m learning.”
“You made the cookies,” Michael remembered. “Faith told us. They were good.”
Troy’s eyes widened when Joshua voiced his words. “Were? They’re all gone?”
Michael shrugged. “Not all. Most.”
“But I made three dozen cookies.”
“It was a rough night,” Coach said, signing for himself.
Troy’s nod was understanding. “Yeah, I guess it was.”
“What are we gonna do today?” Joshua asked.
“Not much,” Coach told him. “You guys are kind of stuck here for a little while.”
“Because Dr. Dani’s house caught on fire,” Michael said.
Joshua’s nose wrinkled. “From the firecrackers. I remember. I smelled it. But Mr. Deacon put it out. He’s like a superhero.”
Coach laughed. “Don’t tell him. His ego will get big.”
Troy pointed to his plate. “Eat,” he signed clumsily, then shivered dramatically.
“He means it’ll get cold,” Joshua signed.
Michael chuckled. “I got that.” As he started to eat, Coach’s face changed, getting that soft look that he got every time Dr. Dani came around. Sure enough, Michael smelled chocolate seconds before Dani took the seat next to him.
She and Coach shared a look, but it wasn’t a happy one. Michael pushed his plate away. Had they had a fight? Were they breaking up? Were they even together?
But Coach put out his hand and Dr. Dani took it, squeezing hard. Troy seemed to know what was going on, because he excused himself and left the room.
Coach held out his arm to Joshua, who’d also felt the change in mood. Joshua’s sunny smile was gone as he climbed into Coach’s lap.
Dr. Dani straightened in her seat and gave Coach’s hand another squeeze before signing to Michael. “I have news for you both. It’s about your mother.”
Michael recoiled, pressing back in his chair. “Did she get out of jail? Is she . . .” He had to fight to breathe. “Is she coming for Joshua?”
Dr. Dani shook her head. “I . . .” She looked at Coach helplessly, then back at Michael. “She’s dead.”
Michael frowned. “What?” He didn’t understand. Except that he did.
Joshua’s face had grown pale and he was trembling in Coach’s arms. Joshua did understand, Michael thought, and he wished to God that he didn’t.
“Was it the drugs?” Michael asked, feeling suddenly very calm. And cold.
Dani shook her head again. “No, honey. She was killed. Someone broke into her house and killed her.”
Michael’s mouth fell open. Oh God. “Him. Scott King.”
Dani nodded. “They think so.” She turned to focus on Joshua. “I’m so sorry, baby,” she signed, her hands shaking and her mouth barely moving.
I’m not. Michael pulled his plate close and picked up a square of grilled cheese. He bit into it, barely tasting the cheese. But he was hungry, and people other than the school cafeteria ladies were feeding him for the first time in . . . forever.
He was going to eat what he could, whenever he could, because who knew how long Dani would keep them?
Joshua began to cry. “What’s gonna happen to us, Michael?”
Michael put down the sandwich, his stomach churning again, but for a different reason now. Hawkeye put his head on Michael’s knee and he petted the dog a few times before answering. “I’ll figure it out. I’ve always taken care of you, haven’t I?”
Joshua nodded uncertainly. “But where will we live? Dr. Dani is temporary. You said that.”
Dani closed her eyes. Pressed her lips together. A tear trickled down her face. She looked at Coach and murmured something that Michael couldn’t catch.
Coach wiped the tear from her face. “Whatever you need,” he voiced back without signing, but Michael could read his lips well enough to understand. Joshua was no longer signing, having turned his face into Coach’s chest, crying like his heart would break.
He’s only five years old, dammit. Stella was an awful mother, but Joshua still loved her.
Dani turned her body so that Michael could see her hands, but Joshua couldn’t, even if he had been looking at them. Coach had both arms around him now, rocking him and whispering in his ear. Michael couldn’t understand what he was saying, but Joshua must have, because his skinny little arms came up to wrap around Coach’s neck. Coach held him like the child he was, meeting Michael’s eyes with such sadness that Michael almost cried himself.
But he wasn’t going to cry. He’d cried enough for Stella and John Brewer. Because they’d hurt him. But now they were both dead and he wasn’t sorry. He was scared, though. Because as big as he might have talked about taking care of Joshua, he’d heard the stories about foster care. He knew they’d be separated.
He’d run away with Joshua before he let that happen.
Michael jumped when Dani laid her hand on his arm. “Hey,” she signed without using her voice. “I’m not going to tell Joshua because he’s so young. You’re old enough to understand the system, though. You get what may and may not happen, and what I am and am not allowed to do. I’m going to do my damnedest to become a permanent foster parent for you two. I don’t want you sent somewhere else.”
Michael stared at her, his heart beating like a wild thing. “Possible?” he asked.
“Possible.” She tilted her head. “Probable. But not definite. I won’t ever lie to you. I’m going to try. I’m making the calls today. So don’t worry for now. I’m going to take care of you for as long as I can.”
Michael swallowed hard, overwhelmed. “Thank you.”
She smiled sadly. “You’re worth it.”
No, he wasn’t, but Joshua was. “I’m not sorry she’s dead,” he signed, glancing at Joshua to make sure that he still couldn’t see him.
Dani nodded. “Me, either.”
“Same.” Coach let go of Joshua long enough to do the sign one-handed, then resumed his rocking.
“You’re not a bad person for not being sorry,” Dani told him. “But this is something that Meredith can help you with.”
Meredith. The counselor lady. He wondered if she had a dog, too. “I liked her.”
“I’m glad.”
He hesitated. “Last night . . . when we were in the FBI van leaving your house, I talked to Faith. She signs pretty well. Because of Greg.”
Dani nodded, saying nothing, so he gathered his thoughts and went on.
“I asked her why she wasn’t going to be my therapist and she said . . .” He swallowed hard, still unable to believe it.
“What did she say, sweetie?” Dani asked, her signs soft.
“That I was your family and she was your family. So I’m her family. And she thought it would be better for her to not be my therapist.”
One side of Dani’s mouth quirked up. “My brother married a very smart woman with a very big heart.”
“Did she know you were going to try to make us permanent?”
Both sides of Dani’s mouth smiled now. “I think she did. I hadn’t told her, but she knew I was upset that you felt temporary. That you were temporary. I think she knows me better than I know myself sometimes. Are you okay with Meredith being your therapist? She’ll make sure she always has an interpreter for you.”
Michael nodded. “I don’t have family. Other than Joshua.” Dani’s eyes grew shiny with tears, and he knew she understood what he was trying to say. If it means I can have a family, then yes, I’ll do anything. “And I understand if you can’t make it happen,” he added quickly. “The permanent thing. But I appreciate you trying.”
Dani reached out slowly, giving him time to move, but Michael didn’t. He wanted her to touch him. Wanted to feel her stroke his hair. Sighed when she did. This was the way moms were supposed to be.
“You are worth it, Michael.”
Michael’s eyes burned and he could only nod.
“Eat if you can. Let me and Coach do the worrying for now, okay?”
“Okay,” he whispered.
Please, God. I won’t ask for anything else for the rest of my life if you let us stay with Dani and Coach forever.
Cincinnati, Ohio
Monday, March 18, 1:30 p.m.
“I’ll put the permanent conservatorship paperwork through ASAP,” Maddie promised. Maddie was one of the better social workers Dani had worked with. If she said she’d take care of the paperwork, she would.
“Thank you. These kids have been through hell. Especially Michael.”
“I know,” Maddie said quietly. “I could see it when I met them. More so, now.”
Which was only two days ago. My life has turned upside down in two days. And it was mostly good. Crazed killers and getting her house nearly set afire, not so good. But the rest of it? Diesel and the boys? All good.
“Do you think you’ll pursue adoption?” Maddie asked.
“I think I will. But for now, I just know I don’t want these kids going to anyone else. I don’t want them separated, and Michael needs a signing foster parent.”
Maddie laughed softly. “I’m already on your side, Dani. You don’t have to convince me. I saw your house on the news. You guys are safe, right?”
Dani looked around at the opulent condo with its impact-resistant windows, its single point of entry, Special Agent Troy standing guard inside, and at least three more guards between the dedicated elevator and the parking garage.
Not to mention Diesel, who was sitting on the sofa, staring at his computer screen like he was trying to hypnotize it to do his will. That man would protect them. Dani had no doubt. He still held Joshua, who’d cried himself to sleep in the big man’s arms. Diesel showed no sign of letting the little boy go.
He’d make a great dad. She’d always thought that, even when she’d been desperately trying to convince herself that she didn’t want to want him. Once they were more settled, they could talk about joint parenting. For now, the children would be Dani’s legal responsibility. Still, Diesel’s words to Adam last night replayed in her mind and warmed her heart.
Those boys are morally my responsibility. Dani is just mine.
“Yes,” she answered Maddie. “We’re in a safe house.” And Agent Troy had assured her that this phone line was secure or she wouldn’t be using it. “Deacon and Adam know where we are, but we can’t tell Children’s Services.”
“I get it, Dani. That’s the definition of ‘safe house,’” Maddie teased. “I’ll send you the paperwork by e-mail. Do you have access to a printer?”
“Yes. I’ll fill it out and have one of the guards deliver it to you. Thank you.”
“This really is my pleasure. ’Bye, Dani.”
Dani ended the call and was about to tell Diesel about it, but he was readjusting Joshua on his shoulder so that he could bang away on his laptop. He was digging deeper into the casino’s network. He’d told her that much.
Which leaves LJM Industries and the Mastersons for me. Marcus’s search the night before had revealed that Wesley was a cop with Cleveland PD and Grant was an accountant. She’d start with the cop. He was unlikely to be at his desk—Deacon, Adam, and Scarlett rarely were—but she hoped the switchboard would be able to connect her to Wesley Masterson’s cell.
Taking herself into the room she shared with Diesel, she sat on the bed and fired up her own laptop, Googling the number for the Cleveland PD switchboard. She expected that her request to be connected with Detective Wesley Masterson would net her either the guy’s cell or his voice mail, so she was surprised when a woman answered.
“This is Detective Tracy Simon. How can I help you?”
“I’m not sure,” Dani said. “I’d like to speak with Detective Masterson.”
“He’s out of the office. Can I take a message?”
Dani blinked at her curt reply. “When do you expect him to return?”
A beat of hesitation. “This is his partner. Can I ask who’s calling?”
“My name is Dr. Dani Novak. I’m calling from Cincinnati on a personal matter. Can you have him call me when he gets back?” She gave the woman her cell phone number, knowing that Adam had her phone in his possession and would let her know if she had any missed calls.
“Of course,” Detective Simon said. “Thank you for calling.”
Dani ended the call and frowned. “That was weird,” she muttered.
“What was?” Diesel asked from the doorway. He wasn’t carrying Joshua anymore.
“Where’s Joshua?”
“I just put him to bed.”
“Did your arms finally get tired?” she asked.
Diesel looked offended. “My arms did not get tired.” Offense gave way to sheepishness. “I needed to swear at my computer. I didn’t want him to hear.”
She smiled at him. “Good call, then, putting him to bed.”
He came over to sit on the bed next to her. “You got the ball rolling at CPS?”
“I did. Maddie’s going to pull strings to fast-track my paperwork.”
“Good.” He leaned in to kiss her mouth and she hummed against his lips.
“I like this.”
“Told you,” he said smugly.
“No,” she replied primly. “You said you could make me happy. Which you are.”
“Good.” He kissed her again until they were both breathless. He pulled away, adjusting himself, which made her even more absurdly happy. “So what was weird?” he asked.
“I called Cleveland PD to talk to Wesley Masterson. He’s one of the Brothers Grim,” she added, because Diesel hadn’t been with her when Jeremy had visited the night before. She told him about the partner’s response. “It’s like she wasn’t expecting him to come back.”
He considered it. “Didn’t you say the other brother was an accountant? Call him.”
“His name is Grant.” She looked up his firm and placed the call, putting it on speaker.
“Hello, Masterson Accounting. This is MaryBeth. How can I help you?”
“May I speak to Grant Masterson, please?” Dani asked.
“He’s not in the office at the moment.”
“All right.” Lunchtime, she signed to Diesel. “Can I leave my number and ask him to call me back? It’s urgent.”
MaryBeth sniffed. “It’s always urgent this time of year. He’ll get to your tax return as soon as he can.”
“This isn’t about my taxes,” Dani said, irritated with the woman, but maintaining her calm. “It’s personal. When do you expect him back in the office?”
Another beat of hesitation, almost identical to the one when she’d spoken to Wesley Masterson’s partner. “Who is this?” MaryBeth demanded.
“My name is Dr. Dani Novak. I’m calling from Cincinnati.”
The woman’s intake of breath was audible. “Give me your number. I’ll let him know when he returns.”
Dani gave MaryBeth her cell, then pressed, “When do you expect him back?”
“Mr. Masterson has taken some vacation time. I’ll pass on your message.”
The line clicked as MaryBeth ended the call.
Diesel’s brows had lifted. “An accountant doesn’t just ‘take vacation’ a month before April fifteenth. They’re pedal to the metal, practically living in their offices.”
“I know. I wonder if he took his wife on ‘vacation’ with him.”
Diesel reached for her laptop. “I can find his home number.”
Dani didn’t doubt that for a moment. “Go for it.”
Less than a minute later she was placing the call. She again put it on speaker.
“Hello?” a woman answered.
“Hi. I’m trying to reach Grant Masterson. Is he home?”
“No, he’s not,” the woman said. “This is his wife.” Dani didn’t miss the emphasis on wife. “Can I help you?”
“I hope so. My name is Dr. Dani Novak. I’m calling from Cincinnati.”
The woman sucked in a panicked breath. “Oh my God. Is he okay? What happened? I told him to get a hotel.”
Dani looked at Diesel, her eyes wide. “I’m sorry, Mrs. Masterson, I didn’t mean to frighten you. I’m not your husband’s doctor. I’ve never met him. This is a personal call. I’d like to ask him about Laurel.”
Dead silence. “What?” the woman finally asked.
“Laurel,” Dani said gently. “Your husband’s sister.”
“I know who Laurel is,” the woman snapped. “Do you have her? Is she alive?”
Dani stared at Diesel, who shrugged. “No, I don’t have her,” Dani said. “And I’m sorry, but I don’t know if she’s alive or not. I take it you haven’t seen her, either.”
The woman sighed. “No. She went missing from Cincinnati a year and a half ago. Her roommate told us that she’d run off with her boyfriend.”
“She was a med student.”
“She was,” the woman agreed sadly. “Threw it all away.”
“You believe the roommate, then?” Dani asked cautiously.
“I don’t know,” Mrs. Masterson admitted. “I know my brother-in-law is convinced that she didn’t leave of her own free will. Why? How are you connected to Laurel, Dr. Novak?”
Dani hesitated. “I’m not,” she admitted. “Not directly. But I am connected to something that might belong to her.” The boys’ house, she signed to Diesel, who shook his head at her, but fondly. “Can you have your husband call me? It’s very important.”
“Of course.” A baby started crying in the background. “I need to go.”
Dani sighed when the call ended. “I did bad?”
He smiled at her. “The boys’ house? Really?”
“Well . . . LJM owns the house that should belong to the boys. It was their father’s house first. And I’m connected to the boys. So I’m connected to the house and LJM. LJM is Laurel. So yes. Really.”
His smile became indulgent. “Is that the story you’re sticking to?”
She pretended to pout. “Fine. I panicked.”
“Then I take back my comment about you giving up medicine to be a PI. You should keep your day job.”
She laughed. “So noted.”
He traced his fingertip across her smiling cheeks. “You are so pretty when you laugh.”
“I’ve done it a lot more often the past few days.”
“Good. Who are you calling next?”
Dani pulled his hand from her face. “I can’t think when you touch me like that.”
His dark eyes lit up with unfettered joy. “Outstanding.” He waggled his brows. “Do you want to take a break from thinking?”
She kissed his fingers, chuckling. “Yes, but now is probably not the best time. We’ll take a break from thinking later, once Michael’s gone to sleep.”
Diesel sobered. “Yeah. I know.” He lay on his side, propping himself on his elbow. “So who will you call next?”
“I thought maybe the university or her old high school. Maybe Wesley Masterson is wrong and she did leave of her own free will. Maybe Laurel’s communicated with some of her friends.”
“Lots of maybes,” Diesel said, “but all good questions. You need help?”
“No, I think I’ve got this, and I need something to do or I’ll go stir-crazy. I’m not used to sitting still.”
“Me, either. Especially when sitting still doesn’t give me what I’m looking for.”
“What were you looking for? You were staring at your laptop like you were trying to hypnotize it.”
He snorted. “I wish. I had to do it the old-fashioned way. I was looking for other databases on the casino’s server and found several, which is normal. One is for e-mail. There’s also an HR file with all the employee records, including salaries, overtime, payroll, et cetera, plus there’s an inventory database and one for their VIP clients. We’ll come back to that one later. All those databases are normal for a company doing business.”
“What’s not normal?”
“The super-secret database that only two people have access to—Scott King and Richard Fischer. Richard’s the owner of the riverboat.”
“Oh. Is it a security thing? King was the security manager, right?”
“Yes, he was the security manager, but I don’t know if this is for security. Maybe, but in my experience the general manager would also have access, as would the IT manager. They don’t. I’m doing the same kind of password search I did last night.”
Her lips twitched. “The Ritz Cracker.”
He grinned and her heart did a little stutter-hop in her chest. He was the handsomest man when he grinned like that. Well, he was handsome all the time, but he got that light in his eyes when he grinned. “Exactly,” he said.
She leaned in close to him and whispered in his ear. “I seem to recall passing the time quite pleasurably while Ritz did its cracking last night.”
He drew in a deep breath. “You’re evil.”
She kissed his ear. “I know. I’m sorry.”
“No, you’re not,” he growled and she very nearly went back on her resolution to wait until Michael was asleep.
“You’re right. I’m not sorry at all.” She nuzzled his neck. “For what it’s worth, you’re testing my resolve. A lot.”
He laughed and rolled off the bed, coming to his feet like a graceful dancer. “Good. Serves you right.”
“It really does. What are you going to do now?”
“What I’ve done for the past year to work off my sexual frustration. Knit.”
Her mouth fell open. “That’s why you knit?”
He nodded, amused. “Well, it’s a general stress reliever, but mostly sexual stress, yes. I’ve made you so many pairs of mittens this year.”
She clapped her hands, delighted. “I can’t wait to wear them.” She put her laptop down and caught him at the door, pulling his head down for another kiss. “Thank you for the shawl you made me last year. It’s beautiful.”
“I want you to wear it,” he murmured.
“I have. I wore it to Meredith’s Christmas party.”
He chuckled darkly. “That’s not how I visualized you when I was making it.”
She slid her hands up his chest, letting herself enjoy the flex of his pecs under her palms. “No?”
“No. I saw you wearing the shawl and nothing else.”
A sensual shiver danced over her skin, and her hips thrust forward of their own volition. “God, Diesel.” She clasped her hands at the back of his neck and pulled his head down, bringing their mouths together hard. The kiss was hot and raw and she wanted nothing more than to lock the door and rip his clothes off.
“You tempt me,” he whispered against her lips when they came up for air. Then he took a firm step back. “Get to work. Call Laurel’s friends. I’ll see you later.”