Cincinnati, Ohio
Monday, March 18, 5:30 p.m.
“Diesel? Baby, are you okay?”
Dani’s soft voice—even calling him “baby”—was actually the last thing he wanted to hear as he hugged the toilet in the condo’s gleamingly clean bathroom. He rested his cheek on the cold rim, wishing he could tell her to go away, but unable to speak the words. Not to her. Not ever to her.
He heard the running of water in the sink, then felt the cool wetness of the washcloth she pressed to the back of his neck. The palm she ran over his stubbled head was gentle. Soothing.
“What do you need?” she asked.
He couldn’t answer. He couldn’t even shake his head. He didn’t have the energy. And his body wasn’t getting any of the messages his brain was frantically firing. Go. Make sure nobody sees . . .
He hadn’t closed his laptop before running for the bathroom. Go. Close it. Nobody else should have to see that . . .
Oh God. That.
He heard a whimpering sound and realized it was coming from him.
“Shh.” Dani knelt beside him, her arms wrapping around his shoulders, her head a welcome weight against his back. He heard sniffling and knew she was crying. For me. “I’ve got you,” she murmured. “You’re not alone. I’ve got you.”
A sob sat hard in his throat. He couldn’t let it go, so it stayed there, growing harder and bigger until he couldn’t breathe. He gasped, and she took the wet cloth from the back of his neck and wiped his face.
Then she held him. Saying nothing. Not demanding answers.
She just held him until he could feel the wetness of her tears seeping through his shirt to his back. Eventually her quiet crying stopped and she shuddered out a breath. Still she said nothing.
Rising to her feet, she pressed a kiss to his temple, then filled a glass with water. “Drink,” she said softly. “Please.” She cupped his chin, holding his head up, and pressed the glass to his lips. “Please.”
He drank because he could deny her nothing when she said “please” like that.
She leaned in to rest her forehead against his. “Go lie down. I closed your laptop. Should I shut it off, too?”
His eyes opened, his gaze flying up to meet hers in panic. She’d seen. Oh God. She’d seen . . . that.
“I’m sorry,” he croaked, his voice sounding like a rusty crank.
“Oh, baby. Me, too. So sorry.” Her hand caressed his head again and he leaned into her touch. “Come with me. Let me help you. Please.”
She stood, holding out her hand, her beautiful eyes full of sorrow, and somehow Diesel knew that she knew about him.
How? How did she know? Marcus hadn’t said a word. Of that, Diesel was certain. He trusted Marcus O’Bannion with his life. So how does she know?
But he was too tired to figure it out now. Somehow he managed to get his body moving, bracing one hand on the marble tub to shove himself to his feet.
He looked at her hand, still outstretched. Waiting.
He didn’t want to touch her. Didn’t want to . . . dirty her.
Her eyes narrowed and she grabbed his hand, squeezing it hard. “I don’t know what you just thought, but I don’t ever want you to think it again. Okay? Just . . . don’t.” Her gaze softened. “Please, don’t. You don’t have to tell me, Diesel. You never have to tell anyone. But . . .” She pressed her lips together like she was trying not to cry anymore. Then blinked and sent new tears falling. “You waited for me for a long time. Don’t push me away now.” She brought his hand to her lips and kissed his fingers, one at a time.
Relief was a tidal wave, sweeping him under. He tugged his hand free to wrap his arms around her, his stupid body still trembling. Her capable hands flattened on his back, hugging him so hard he almost coughed.
It felt better than words could say. So he said nothing, just held her back until his trembling ebbed. “You saw my computer screen?” he asked gruffly.
“One thing, yes.” He heard her swallow.
“Did . . . Who else saw? I should have closed it before I came in here.”
“Nobody. I was in our room when I heard the door to the office slam open. I went to check and saw you running for the bathroom and Michael coming out of his room. He gave me this look, Diesel. Like he knew. But he didn’t see your laptop.”
Thank God. “And Joshua?”
“With Agent Troy in the kitchen.” He felt her smile against his chest. “They’re making cookies.”
More relief swamped him. “I’m sorry. I should have made sure—”
She cut him off, pulling far enough away to press her fingers to his lips. “Stop. No harm done.”
“Yes, there was. You saw it.”
She sighed. “I’ve seen things like that before. Doesn’t get easier, but I saw child victims of sexual assault come through the ER. I sometimes see them in the clinic.”
His cheeks went hot now, shame replacing the relief. “You never threw up.”
She gave him another look, this one full of challenge. “Yes, I did. And I still do. Almost every time I see a patient who’s been sexually assaulted. Adults and kids. I wanted to on Saturday, after I saw that Michael was bleeding on my exam table. I knew what had been done to him. And I wanted to kill his stepfather then, too. I wanted to run from the exam room to my office and cry and vomit and scream.”
“But you didn’t.” She was a strong woman. Stronger than me.
“No, I didn’t.” She cupped his cheek in her palm. “Because when I came out of my office, there you were. And you let me lean on you.”
She had, he remembered. Just her forehead against his chest, but she’d leaned on him and it had been one of the sweetest moments of his life.
She was smiling gently. “Lean on me. Let me help you like you helped me.”
So he did. There in the condo’s bathroom, he took the comfort she offered. The strength. It was just enough for him to tell her what he’d seen on the casino’s network. It wasn’t enough for him to tell her what had happened to him personally, at least not today. Maybe not ever.
But to tell her what Scott King and Richard Fischer had done? Yeah, he could do that. He leaned in to whisper in her ear, just in case anyone was listening at the door. “I don’t think Richard Fischer—the casino owner—knows that Scott King had access to the database. If he did know, I don’t think King would still be alive. I don’t think Richard’s clients know, or Richard wouldn’t still be alive.”
She frowned up at him. “What was Richard doing?”
“You mean, what is he doing. The most recent entry was this past Friday. I think it’s a poker game. Very exclusive. Very expensive.”
“High rollers?”
“High stakes, at least. It doesn’t look like money changes hands. Participants bet things. Black-market things.”
She swallowed hard. “And people? Children?”
“Yes. And yes. At least five women, one man. And at least two kids.” The photo she’d seen had been of a teenage girl. Luckily he’d already closed out of the photos Brewer had taken of Joshua, so she hadn’t seen those.
But Diesel had. He closed his eyes, resting his head on Dani’s shoulder. He’d been transported back in time. Back there. He’d been five years old. Six years old. Seven . . . Twelve . . .
“Hey.” Dani’s hands were alternating between rubbing his back and patting to get his attention. “Diesel. Come back to me.”
He looked up, realized his mind had . . . strayed. “Sorry.”
“No sorries. Focus on Richard Fischer. Focus on making the bastard pay.”
He tightened his jaw. She was right. Affection filled him, surprising him with its sweetness. Of course she was right.
“Okay. Other than people, participants staked real estate, exotic animals. Jewelry. Art. Organs—and not the musical kind.”
Her eyes popped wide. “Like . . . kidneys?”
“Mostly. One heart was on offer as well.” Diesel imagined the FBI would be very interested in that.
“Oh my God,” she breathed. “It’s like an exclusive, black-market swap meet.”
“Pretty much, yeah.”
“And the casino owner’s role?”
“He’s like a matchmaker. He has a ‘wants’ column and an ‘offers’ column. Those people end up playing in games together. Only on Friday nights. That’s when the riverboat sets sail. Other nights it’s docked.”
She still looked stunned. “And nobody suspected anything? None of the participants talked?”
Her horror was kind of refreshing. Diesel was afraid he’d become desensitized to what humans were capable of doing to one another after all of his investigations for the Ledger. “I imagine it’s a mutual-deniability thing. If one tells, he’s telling on himself, too. If one tells, the others retaliate. So nobody tells.”
“Jesus,” she whispered. “Brewer was a participant?”
“Yeah. The guy who wanted a five-year-old boy was named Blake Emerson.”
“And now Brewer’s dead. I wonder if Emerson is, too.” She looked away for a moment, her brow furrowed in thought. Then her confused gaze shot back to Diesel’s. “Scott King was the security manager. He killed Brewer. And then came back to check on Joshua. Was he . . . protecting Joshua?”
Diesel nodded. “That was my take. King was working every Friday night. I think he was the game’s security guard.”
“And he saw what was happening. Or heard it. I wonder why he didn’t kill Richard Fischer.”
“Maybe he did. Nobody can find Fischer, according to the news. I called Adam to find out if they’d questioned him and he confirmed that they were looking for the guy. They were about to search his house.”
“House,” Dani murmured, as if to herself. “What about the boys’ house? Why did LJM Industries buy it? How does that fit?”
God, she was smart. Diesel loved her brain as much as the rest of her. “Good question. Richard didn’t pair the same people in more than one game very often, but he put Blake Emerson and John Brewer together twice. The first time was two Fridays ago. John’s stake was his house. Emerson’s was a kilo of heroin.”
“Oh. John wanted the heroin for Stella.”
“More likely to resell,” Diesel said flatly. “He’d already gone through the boys’ trust funds and he was broke.”
“Goddammit,” she whispered. “What’s the street value of a kilo?”
“Six hundred grand plus change, which is the estimated value of the house.”
She bit at her lip. “Does Richard keep photos of his clients in that database?”
“Yeah.” He dug his phone from the pocket of his jeans. “I didn’t download anything from the casino’s server. I went old-school and snapped a picture.” He held out his phone, open to the photo he’d taken. “Meet Blake Emerson.”
Her mouth fell open in stunned surprise. “That’s Wesley Masterson, Laurel’s cop brother. Marcus found his photo online last night. You’re saying that Wesley Masterson was buying children?”
Her reaction was the same as his had been. “I’m saying that’s what Richard Fischer entered into his database. He also has Blake Emerson owning a company called Liberation Junction Mining Industries, located in Michigan’s Upper Peninsula.”
“LJM,” Dani whispered.
“Exactly,” he said grimly. “I ran a background check on Blake Emerson. On the surface, he looks legit, but if you dig deeper, it’s suspicious. Liberation Junction Mining is a real company, incorporated in Michigan. Blake Emerson’s listed as the president of the company, which does have a website and a phone number, but calls go to voice mail with a generic ‘Please leave a message’ greeting. The company has an address in Houghton, Michigan, which is where many of the copper mines are located, but the address is that of an abandoned mine site.”
She shook her head, still dazed by the revelation that Wesley Masterson had tried to buy Joshua. “So the mining company doesn’t really exist?”
“It doesn’t appear to have a physical location. It does, however, have cash assets. You remember the bank statement that John Brewer received before his disappearance?”
“Yes. It showed LJM’s account balance with a handwritten message basically saying that the company had the funds and that Brewer should turn over the title to his house, which he then did, right?”
Diesel nodded. “Right. Richard had the bank statement attached to Blake Emerson’s name. Emerson—or Wesley Masterson—offered up Liberation Junction Mining as his source of income, but gave Richard a bank statement for LJM, an entirely different entity, incorporated here in Ohio.”
“If Richard had dissected LJM like we did, he would have seen the same clues. He would have known someone was trying to avenge Laurel Masterson.”
Diesel shrugged. “I think all he looked at was LJM’s bank balance, because Blake Emerson has a checkmark in the ‘approved’ column next to his name. If he had dug even a little deeper, he would have been suspicious of Emerson.”
“But why would Wesley Masterson fake an identity like that?” Dani asked, then blinked. “Wait. Was Laurel one of the women Richard sold?”
He nodded. “I found her listed under ‘offers,’ with a date of September of a year and a half ago. It fits with when she abruptly withdrew from med school.”
Dani was frowning thoughtfully. “Wesley Masterson is a narcotics detective. He spent two years undercover, even got a commendation for his work. He’d know how to fake an identity.”
Diesel blinked, surprised. He’d forgotten that Masterson was Narcotics. “Either he’d know or he’d have resources that could do it. Are you thinking that he infiltrated Richard’s secret poker game because he was investigating his sister’s disappearance?”
Her eyes had brightened. “It’s possible, isn’t it?”
“Yes,” he acknowledged. “But . . . if it’s true, he’ll need to explain a few things.” He hesitated because Dani looked so hopeful that Wesley Masterson had infiltrated the poker game with good intentions, and Diesel wasn’t so sure.
Her brows lifted. “Like?”
“Like how the men who actually bought and sold Laurel both ended up dead, shot during home invasions.” Although if Masterson had learned their identities and killed them, Diesel could understand the cop’s rage.
She drew a breath. “Well, I can’t truthfully say that I’m sorry they’re dead. Who were they?”
“Richard lists the seller as Anatoly Markov and the buyer as Clinton Stern. I didn’t get a chance to look at the crime reports for the details, but both dying the same way seems too coincidental to me.”
Her shoulders sagged. “To me, too. That seems like revenge.”
Diesel shrugged. “Raguel, the vengeance dude.”
She sighed. “I guess I’d understand Wesley’s reasons if he did find and kill them, but that doesn’t give him the right to be judge, jury, and executioner.”
Diesel opened his mouth, then shut it again, suddenly unwilling to remind her that his hacking was much the same thing.
She narrowed her eyes. “I can tell that you’re thinking something I probably won’t like.”
He forced himself to say the words, hoping she’d respond the way he wanted her to. “I do the same thing. So do Marcus and Stone and the rest of the team at the Ledger. We take matters into our hands. We’re judge and jury, too.”
“But not executioner.” She stared at him, her gaze intense. “You don’t kill people, do you?”
Relief was like a smack to his chest. That was exactly what he’d hoped she’d say. “No.” He could answer with complete honesty. “Not anymore. I did in Iraq.”
“But that was war. That’s different. What you do at the Ledger saves lives, Diesel. Every time you force an abusive asshole away from his family, that’s one less beat-up wife I have to tend in the ER. One less child with a broken arm.” She swallowed hard. “One less rape kit I have to do on a child.”
He’d known that doctors did rape kits on child victims of sexual assault, but the thought of Dani having to do one made him physically ill. “Thank you.”
She smiled tremulously. “Same to you. Now, was that all Wesley will have to explain or is there more?”
There was more. “Blake Emerson put up a kilo of heroin to deal into Richard’s poker game. Richard attaches documentation of each player’s stake when they agree to play. He had the title to Brewer’s house, photos of Joshua, and a photo of Emerson holding a brick of heroin.”
“Wesley Masterson got his hands on a brick of heroin,” she murmured. “And he was a narcotics detective. I wonder if Cleveland PD realizes they have six hundred grand worth of heroin missing.”
“Or if it ever made it to the evidence locker in the first place,” Diesel added. “That’s a lot of temptation for detectives, handling all those drugs. Sometimes they take a little for themselves. Wesley Masterson took a helluva lot more than a little.”
“Maybe he’s operating under Cleveland PD’s direction,” Dani suggested. “I mean, he allowed Richard to have photographic evidence of his theft. That doesn’t sound like he’s worried about getting caught.”
“Maybe,” Diesel murmured, but he was more inclined to believe that Wesley Masterson simply didn’t think anyone would be looking at his involvement, and he wondered why. A seasoned detective would know how to cover his tracks, but Masterson hadn’t covered his very well. He was about to say as much when he realized that Dani had gone very still and was studying him with an intensity that made him more than a little nervous.
“What?” he asked quietly.
“How many photos did you see in Richard’s secret database?”
Not nearly all of them, but still too many. The photos of the human beings flashed through his mind, a torturous slide show. He lifted one shoulder. “Enough.”
“Are there more?”
He nodded stiffly. “A lot more.” He dreaded sorting through them, dreaded seeing more photos like the ones of Joshua and the teenage girl who’d been “offered” a few nights before.
“I don’t want you to look at any more. I can check them for you.”
He wanted to say that it was okay, that he would do it, but he found himself nodding his thanks. “I’m . . . not good with the photos.”
She caressed his face. “I know.”
He couldn’t meet her eyes, afraid of the pity he’d see there. “We need to get this information to Deacon and Adam. Without telling them where I got it.”
“I think they’ve figured it out by now,” Dani said dryly. “Adam said they were about to search Fischer’s house. At a minimum they might find evidence of the game. They might find Richard himself.”
He finally met her eyes and saw no pity. Just respect. And something more. He wasn’t going to jinx it by giving it a name too soon. But it loosened his chest enough that he could smile at her. “Thank you.”
She didn’t pretend to misunderstand. “You’re welcome. Now, we should get out of this bathroom or someone might get the wrong idea.”
“What? That we’re discussing my illegal hacking and Richard Fischer’s even more illegal black-market swap meet?”
Her lips quirked up. “I was going to say that we were having sex, but yeah, let’s go with that.”
He made a face. “I think my retching was loud enough that Troy heard it. And I don’t think sex afterward sounds very romantic.”
She shrugged. “Don’t judge. It might be somebody’s kink.”
He gaped at her. “What?”
“I saw a lot of shit in the ER, Diesel. Even you would be shocked. I’ll wait for you outside.” She sauntered out of the room, leaving him to stare after her.
Kicking himself into motion, he rinsed his mouth with the mouthwash stocked in the medicine cabinet, then followed her out the door.
Where Agent Troy stood, looking grim. For a split second Diesel worried that the Fed had heard everything, but Troy was holding out his phone. “I’ve got some things you need to see.”
Cincinnati, Ohio
Monday, March 18, 6:00 p.m.
Grant drew a deep breath as he exited the hospital’s elevator on the ICU floor. I’m going straight to hell. Impersonating a damn priest. He prayed this would work.
He also prayed that he wouldn’t asphyxiate before he got to Stone O’Bannion’s room, because the clerical collar seemed more like a noose. Grant couldn’t imagine his brother wearing the priest’s cassock, as his neck was thicker, far more muscular. Wes would have choked to death.
Grant stumbled a little at the thought. Wes might actually have been choked to death. Grant had to stop walking, leaning against the wall for support as his knees buckled. He hoped Wes had been choked or shot or something. Before he was dismembered and thrown into the river.
You don’t know that that’s what happened. But he knew. Somehow he just knew.
“You okay there, Father?” a nurse asked in concern.
“Yes,” Grant managed, realizing she was talking to him. Get a grip. Stand up straight. You’re not helping Wes by holding up the wall. “I’m fine. Thank you.”
The nurse smiled uncertainly. “Can I help you, then?”
“Yes. I’m here to see Stone O’Bannion.”
“He’s got a restricted guest list.” The nurse pointed through a window in the unit’s double doors, to one of the ICU rooms where a uniformed cop stood. “But they might let you in. Heads up, they’ll frisk you. We get searched every time we leave the floor and come back in to make sure we haven’t smuggled a gun into the ICU. Mr. O’Bannion is a recent victim of a crime.”
“I know. I read about it. I’m an admirer of Mr. O’Bannion’s work, and the Ledger has sponsored my parish’s Little League team.” The Ledger had sponsored the intramural boys’ team of one of the inner-city churches, as well as a girls’ team. St. Ambrose’s Father Trace was the coordinator. That tidbit—and the fact that Father Trace was the uncle of Stone O’Bannion’s sister-in-law Scarlett Bishop—had been part of Grant’s research. He hoped he hadn’t gone too far by dropping the reference. “I was hoping to ask if the family needed anything.”
He gripped the large Bible he held, relieved that he’d left Wes’s guns at his brother’s apartment. It would have looked too suspicious to turn back now, and there was nowhere he could have hidden a gun under this cassock. He did, however, have Wesley’s detective shield and his phone. Just in case.
In case of what, he had no idea.
“Well, that’s lovely, Father Emerson,” the nurse said, peering at the ID badge that Grant wore, the one he’d found in the cassock’s pocket. Wesley had been very thorough as he’d built his Blake Emerson alias. “Come with me.”
Using her badge, she opened the ICU’s inner doors and walked Grant through the unit, smiling at the cop on duty. “This is Father Emerson. He’d like to see Mr. O’Bannion.”
The cop noted Grant’s ID and wrote his name on a clipboard. Then he stuck his head in the doorway. “I got a Father Emerson to see Mr. O’Bannion?”
Grant stuck his own head in, next to the cop’s. “I won’t stay long, Mr. O’Bannion. I promise.”
Stone lay in the hospital bed, his skin pale. At his side were two people—an older man wearing black gloves and a young, petite blonde. The older man stood. “I’m sorry, but Stone isn’t taking visitors.”
But Stone’s eyes widened in sudden recognition and Grant knew he was thinking of their brief encounter outside the casino the night before.
“It’s okay, Dad. I’ll see him. Can you ask Marcus to join us? And maybe you can take Delores to get something to eat.” Stone brought the woman’s hand to his lips. “Go and eat, honey. You’re gonna need your strength to put up with me when I get out of here. Remember how cranky I was the last time I got shot.”
“And you promised you wouldn’t let it happen again,” Delores said, but leaned in to kiss Stone’s mouth gently. “I’ll be back soon.” She linked her arm through the older man’s. “Come on, Dad. Let’s get some of that yummy hospital cafeteria food.”
The man looked doubtful. “We’re going to be eating candy out of the machine again, aren’t we?”
“Probably,” the blonde said, then paused. “Don’t upset him,” she whispered to Grant, loudly enough for Stone to hear from the bed. “Or you’ll be hearing my confession, and there aren’t enough Hail Marys to forgive what I’ll do to you.”
Grant smiled at her. She reminded him of Cora. “So noted. I promise.” Then he held his arms out, allowing the cop to frisk him.
“He’s clean,” the cop told the pair. “Go and eat. You’ve been here for hours.”
“I’ll send Marcus in,” the blonde said. “He’s in the waiting room.”
So Grant had only about a minute alone with Stone before his brother arrived.
“You’re a little late, Padre,” Stone said with a weak smile as Grant approached the bed. “I coded a couple times last night. I should have said my last confession then.” Then he sobered. “Are you a gambling man, Father?”
“No. And my name isn’t Emerson. It’s Masterson.”
The spark of recognition in Stone’s eyes surprised him. “Wesley?”
“No. He’s my brother. I’m Grant.”
“The accountant.”
Grant frowned. “How do you know about us?”
“Ask my brother. He has all the details. Why were you at the casino?”
“I’m looking for my brother. He’s been missing for more than a week. I think he got involved in something dangerous there.”
Stone said nothing for a few excruciating seconds. “Why are you here?”
“To give you this.” Grant held out the Bible, tilting it so that Stone could see as he opened the cover quickly before closing it again. The man flicked his gaze upward to Grant, indicating that he’d spotted the book that Grant had hidden inside the Bible’s pages. It had taken him nearly an hour to carve out the necessary space. “You seem like a man of integrity, Stone. I’m not from this city and I don’t know which cops to trust. My sister was abducted and a Cincinnati detective failed to report it.” Detective Bert Stuart had to have been on the take. It was the only explanation.
“Your sister was Laurel,” Stone murmured. “LJM Industries.”
Grant frowned. Laurel’s initials. “Laurel is my sister, but what is LJM Industries?”
Stone drew a breath and let it out slowly, not for dramatic effect, but because he was clearly exhausted by the effort of speaking. “Talk to Marcus. Or Diesel. Especially Diesel.”
“That’s Mr. Kennedy?”
“Yes. He has the whole picture. Him and his girlfriend, Dani.”
“Dr. Novak.”
“You know a lot, Father Emerson,” Stone said, looking over Grant’s shoulder. “I’d like you to meet my brother, Marcus, and my sister-in-law, Detective Scarlett Bishop. Guys, this is Father Emerson.”
Marcus looked at Grant through narrowed eyes. “Like hell he is. He’s—”
Stone gave him a sharp look. “Take him to the Ledger. Let him talk to Diesel.”
Marcus started to answer, but Detective Bishop sucked in a breath. “You.”
Grant met her gaze, his heart beginning to pound. “Me?” Had she seen Wes? The two of them looked enough like each other that it would be an understandable mistake.
“Scarlett,” Stone warned. “Please.”
“Yes, you,” she whispered to Grant, the lowering of her voice her only concession to the man in the hospital bed. “You were at Richard Fischer’s house yesterday. We saw you on his security video.”
“I was. I went to see him, but he didn’t appear to be home. If you saw the security video, you know I didn’t enter the house.”
She stared at him, as though trying to read his mind. “I know. I think we need to talk, Father.”
Grant nodded. “I agree. Can I ask why you were at Richard Fischer’s house?”
Marcus and his wife shared a long look with Stone, then each other. “Because Fischer is dead,” Detective Bishop said.
Grant shuddered out a breath. “Oh.” One more dead. He looked at Stone. “What about the Word of God?” he asked, tapping the Bible.
“Give it to them,” Stone said, his words beginning to slur. He closed his eyes, a goofy smile curving his lips, a painkiller obviously kicking in. “Scar’s a good one. But don’t tell her I said that. She’ll get a big head.”
Detective Bishop sighed, but leaned over the hospital rail to kiss Stone’s cheek. “You’re an idiot and I love you. Stop getting shot.”
“I will. I promise. I gotta teach my nephew how to cheat at poker.”
“You’d better,” she scolded, then straightened and aimed a glare at Grant. “Let’s go, Father.”
Cincinnati, Ohio
Monday, March 18, 6:00 p.m.
Dani left the condo’s bathroom, still shaken but hoping she’d hidden it. Seeing Diesel so broken . . . It had nearly broken her. She didn’t know his story, what had led him to have such a visceral reaction to seeing the photo of a young woman being trafficked. She suspected, of course, but knowing the details . . . She almost hoped he wouldn’t tell her. She wasn’t sure she could take it.
But she would. If Diesel ever did want her to know, she’d listen. And I’ll take it. I’ll be strong for him. So that he could be strong in the times when she needed him.
She forced herself to focus on Agent Troy, who’d handed Diesel his cell phone. She was surprised to see they had a visitor. Agent Quincy Taylor stood just inside the condo’s front foyer.
“Quincy,” she said, trying to shake her mood and sound welcoming. “Please come in.”
He did so, checking the bottoms of his boots first. “I’ve been at your property, Diesel, processing last night’s crime scene.”
Diesel was frowning at Troy’s phone, but looked up to greet Quincy. “Hey, Quincy. Did you find anything?”
“Tire treads,” Quincy said. “They match treads found near the river where George Garrett was . . .” He cut himself off midsentence, smiling down at Joshua, who’d wandered in from the kitchen. “Hello.”
“Joshua,” Dani said, “this is Agent Taylor, but you can call him Mr. Quincy. He works with my brother and my cousin.”
Joshua blinked up at Quincy, wide-eyed. “Are you an FBI guy, too?”
Quincy bit his lip, trying not to smile, Dani thought. “I am,” he said seriously. “I hear you like superheroes.”
Joshua nodded suspiciously. “How did you know?”
“Miss Kate is my friend.”
Joshua smiled at that. “Her dog is Cap. After Captain America. And she has fingernails with shields on them.”
“Exactly. She told me that you like Spider-Man.”
“He’s on my jammies.” Joshua pinched the fabric of his pj’s, which he’d begged to wear all day. “See? I got to stay in them because we’re still camping.”
Quincy nodded sagely. “I do see. I brought you something. If it’s okay with Dr. Dani.” From his backpack he pulled a wrapped box and Joshua whipped around to meet Dani’s eyes.
“Can I have it?” he asked.
Dani smiled. “Of course. But remember to thank Mr. Quincy.”
Joshua beamed. “Thank you! I’m gonna show Michael!” He took the package and ran for the kitchen.
“It’s just a Spider-Man action figure,” Quincy said. “I saw that he had a few action figures in his bedroom at his mother’s house.” He sighed. “I was at that crime scene, too. I stopped by Walmart and found a figure that he didn’t have at home. That way, in case he wants those toys at some point, he won’t have doubles.”
“You’ve been busy,” Dani said. “If you saw Kate, you’ve been to the hospital, too.”
“Wanted to check on Decker,” Quincy kind of mumbled. “He said to say hi.”
Dani squeezed the shy man’s arm. “Thank you, Quincy. That was thoughtful.”
Quincy shrugged. “He’s just a kid. He shouldn’t have to go through this.”
“No, he shouldn’t.” She hesitated, then leaned up and kissed his cheek. “It was still thoughtful.”
Quincy blushed. “I got something for Michael, too. Kate said he and Greg talked video games nonstop. It’s the newest Kingdom Hearts game. Kate said you’ve got Xbox, so that’s the one I picked.”
Dani felt hot tears stinging her eyes and wondered that she still had any left to shed. “That was so sweet,” she whispered. “He’ll love it.”
“You had to tell him that his mom was gone. I thought . . .” Quincy shrugged again, then grunted when Dani hugged him. “It’s not violent,” he managed through the hug. “Just cartoon-type monster killing. I figured you’d be okay with it.”
“She’s okay with it,” Troy said mildly. “Chill, Quince.”
Dani remembered the unspoken conversation the two had had the night before and wondered what was going on between them. She hoped it was something wonderful, because Troy and Quincy both seemed like nice guys.
“I didn’t come just to give the gifts, though,” Quincy said. “Well, not just for the kids anyway. I’ve got something for you, too.”
Diesel passed Troy’s phone to Dani. “Nursing home receptionist ID’d Scott King as Cade Kaiser. His father is a patient at the home.”
“Yeah,” Troy said sourly. “She went to the news first, not the cops.”
“And dressed to the nines for her interview,” Dani noted. She gave Troy his phone. “I hope she enjoys her fifteen minutes of fame.”
Diesel rolled his eyes. “I hope she realizes that King or Kaiser, or whoever the hell he is, is a serial killer and will probably go after her for outing him.”
“If she’d come to us first, we might have given her protection,” Troy said, then shrugged. “There’s more you need to know, though. Do you know an Evelyn Keys?”
Dani went still. “Yeah. She’s my dog groomer. I help her with her baby when he’s sick.” A new ball of dread formed in her belly. “Why?”
“She’s missing,” Troy said gently. “She didn’t show up for her first appointment and never dropped her son off at day care. Her grooming van was found abandoned near Mount Airy Forest.”
“Oh my God,” Dani whispered, physically swaying from the horror of the realization, grateful when Diesel wrapped his arm around her shoulders to hold her up. “He got away, didn’t he? Scott King or Cade Kaiser or whatever the hell his name is? He got away and he used Evelyn and Jimmy to do it.”
“That’s the way it looks,” Troy agreed. “We didn’t find any sign of violence. No blood. He may have taken them hostage, and if so, he won’t hurt them. He’ll need them as negotiating leverage.”
Diesel kissed her temple. “Breathe, honey. We’re going to find him.”
Dani nodded. He was right. So was Troy. But at the same time, they weren’t. “I’ve been a hostage before. He doesn’t have to physically hurt her to do harm.”
Diesel pulled her even tighter against him. “I know. But we will find him. We’re getting closer. Just focus on that.”
She closed her eyes. “I’ll try. I will. It’s just . . . Evelyn is so sweet. She wouldn’t hurt a fly. And she and Jimmy don’t have anyone.”
“They have you in their corner,” Diesel told her. “And they have the FBI. Which is almost as good as having you.”
She forced her lips to curve. “You’re right.” Straightening her spine, she gave Troy her full attention. “Anything else?”
Troy still looked upset from having had to tell her about Evelyn, but he nodded. “The casino owner is dead.”
Diesel sighed at that. “Yeah, I kind of thought so. Who found him?”
“His housekeeper,” Quincy answered. “She didn’t get far enough into the house to disturb anything, luckily. She smelled his body, backed out, and called the cops. Security video supports her story.”
“How did he die?” Dani asked, clenching her teeth. “I hope it hurt. A lot.”
Quincy’s brows winged up at the venom in her voice. “ME hasn’t determined yet, but first responders found a syringe on his nightstand. He was an insulin-dependent type 1 diabetic. We’re testing the remnants of the syringe to see if it was his insulin.”
“When?” Diesel asked grimly.
Quincy shrugged. “Hard to say. Rigor had passed, so at least twenty-four to thirty-six hours. He was seen at the casino on Friday night, so sometime between then and yesterday noon. I don’t believe either of you are suspects, of course.”
“Of course,” Dani murmured. “Deacon and Adam are aware?”
“Yep,” Troy said. “They called to tell me themselves.”
Diesel gave Quincy a questioning look. “You said you had a gift for us. Sorry, dude, but none of this news seems like much of a gift.”
Quincy’s lips twitched. “No, dude, it’s not. This might be, though.” He handed Diesel a piece of paper.
Diesel opened it, Dani leaning on his arm to read along with him. She met Diesel’s gaze, then looked at Quincy, her eyes wide. “You ran financials on Laurel Masterson’s med school roommate.”
“I don’t know what you mean,” Quincy said. “I found that on a printer.”
Troy rolled his eyes. “I asked him to run it.”
“I found it on a printer,” Quincy insisted, glaring at Troy.
“Like they’re gonna tell,” Troy said with another eye-roll. “It’s fine, Quince.”
Diesel snickered. “Blaming it on the printer was never going to work, Quincy. But thanks, and I won’t tell a soul. Why did you ask him to run it, Troy?”
“Because I didn’t like how she answered Jeremy’s questions last night when we asked her about Laurel’s disappearance. And she drives a brand-new Miata.”
“Not that expensive,” Dani said, taking the printout and scanning the numbers, “unless you’re a third-year med student.”
“With no visible means of support,” Troy added. “Her student loans are being paid monthly by someone else and she’s got a nice balance in her bank account.”
“With a big fat deposit the month after Laurel Masterson dropped out of med school,” Diesel said. “I’ll look into who’s paying her loans.”
Troy smiled. “I kind of thought you might.”
“But why didn’t the cops find this when Laurel’s brother insisted she hadn’t just run away with this guy?” Diesel demanded.
“I don’t know,” Troy said honestly. “And we can’t ask Detective Stuart, who investigated the case. He’s dead, killed in a home invasion.”
Dani jerked her head up from the printout, her gaze colliding with Diesel’s. “Home invasion,” she repeated quietly. Like the two men involved in Laurel being sold into slavery.
“Why do I get the idea that you two know more than we do?” Troy asked.
Diesel ran both hands over his stubbled skull, winced, then rubbed his palms on his T-shirt like they stung. “Fuck,” he muttered, then looked over his shoulder to make sure that Joshua hadn’t overheard him swear. “You need to check the casino’s server. Now.”
Quincy tilted his head. “I take it you have. What led you there?”
“John Brewer’s financials,” Dani answered. “Brewer transferred the title to the family home, but no money changed hands.”
“LJM Industries bought it,” Quincy murmured. “Troy told me last night, on our way to the casino after it was raided. We were looking for Scott King. Or Cade Kaiser. We didn’t dig deeper, but now that the casino owner is dead, we will. Obviously. Thank you, Diesel.”
Diesel pointed to the paper Dani held. “And we thank your printer. It’s more of the puzzle. Are you going to pick up the roommate for questioning?”
“You bet we are,” Troy said with a scowl.
Diesel rubbed his head again. “Did the roommate mention a man named Anatoly Markov?”
Troy blinked. “Yes, that was the name of Laurel’s boyfriend. The one she supposedly ran away with.”
Dani smoothed her hand up Diesel’s back, standing on her toes to massage his neck, noting his stress. He so wanted to tell them everything, but she knew why he didn’t. It was less a fear of arrest and more a need to provide information in a way that they could legally use.
“I’m betting he’s paying the roommate’s student loan,” Dani offered.
“Will we find his name on the casino’s server?” Quincy asked quietly, saving Diesel from having to decide what to say.
Diesel nodded. “Among others. Like John Brewer.”
“And a guy named Blake Emerson,” Dani said. “Who looks enough like Wesley Masterson, Laurel’s cop brother, to be him.”
Quincy rubbed his temples. “I haven’t gotten enough sleep for this tangle.”
“We need to tell Adam and Deacon,” Dani said. “Now.”
“I’ll call . . .” Troy glanced at his phone. “Speak of the devils. Adam just texted. He’s on his way to pick you up. Command performance for both of you.”
“With whom?” Diesel asked warily.
“Marcus, Scarlett, Deacon, Adam.” Troy pursed his lips. “And Grant Masterson.”
“Now we know where Grant went on his ‘vacation,’” Dani said to Diesel, air-quoting. “I’ll tell the boys that we’re leaving for a bit. You’ll stay with them, Troy?”
Troy nodded. “I will. Adam’s dropping Meredith off, too, along with an interpreter. She thought the kids might need to talk to someone after she heard about their mother’s murder.”
“Joshua might be ready,” Diesel said. “Michael probably isn’t. Not yet.”
Quincy held out a wrapped package. “Michael’s video game. Will you give it to him for me?”
Dani smiled at him. “Of course. Thank you, Quincy.”
Diesel reached for her hand. “We’ll tell them together that we’re leaving and coming back. They need to hear that we’re coming back, Dani.”
She gave his hand a squeeze, her heart squeezing even harder. This giant of a man was so very gentle. So very sensitive to the feelings of children. And my feelings, too. Why did I make him wait so long? “You’re right.”
He kissed her hand. “And before we leave, I want you to put your processor on. I want you to be able to hear everything around you. So that we keep our promise to these kids and come back.”
She took her processor from her pocket and snapped it on. “Right again.”