Cincinnati, Ohio
Wednesday, March 20, 1:30 a.m.
“Mr. Kennedy, we do not advise this,” the doctor said firmly.
Dani would have said the same thing to a patient with Diesel’s injury. But Diesel wasn’t just any patient. He was in pain, but refusing painkillers.
Not here, he’d whispered to her when she’d tried to get him to take the damn pill while he lay in the ER. I can’t. Not here. I will at home. With you. But not here.
And then she’d understood. Ten years ago he’d woken in a military hospital surrounded by white coats and, in a post-sedated state, had lashed out with such vehemence that they’d had to restrain him. Which had, of course, made it worse.
Now, hours after being shot, he was pale and trembling and hanging on to his composure by a thread. He’d conquered most of his fear of white coats for Dani, but some of that fear remained, especially when he was the one in the hospital bed.
Diesel held out his hand for the clipboard the nurse held. “I’ll sign the form.”
The nurse hesitated and the doctor sighed. “Dr. Novak, please explain to Mr. Kennedy the risks of leaving the hospital with an injury as serious as his.”
“Mr. Kennedy is lucid and understands the risks,” she said. “You need to respect that.” But Diesel also needed to understand that he was injured, he should be under the care of a medical professional, and he would be. Me.
The doctor, who was so young that he had to be a first-year attending, gave the nurse a curt nod, and she handed Diesel the clipboard. The doctor then turned an evil eye on Dani while Diesel signed the Against Medical Advice form.
“The only reason I’m not having him evaluated for mental competency is because you’re taking him home,” the doctor said, and Dani could feel the rumble of Diesel’s low growl.
His hand tightened on the pen and it snapped. “Sorry.” He gave the leaking pen and the clipboard back to the nurse. “I signed. Can I go now?”
The doctor waved in a flourish. “You’re free to go. You have the scripts for the antibiotics and painkillers. Dr. Novak, please call me with his status tomorrow.”
She gave the young man a smile. “That I can do.” When the doctor was gone, she kissed Diesel’s temple. “Just a little longer, okay? We have to wait for someone to bring a wheelchair so that you can leave.” She covered his mouth with hers when he started to argue. “That’s not negotiable,” she murmured against his lips. “Hospital rule. If you want out of here, you have to comply. Okay?”
He nodded silently. Grumpily.
She chuckled. “I don’t think you’re going to be a good patient. But that’s okay. I can handle you.”
He looked up, his dark eyes suddenly intense. “I love you. I’m sorry if it’s too soon, but tonight when he had a gun to your head, I didn’t think I’d get to say it.”
Oh. Tears stung her eyes. It sounded so much nicer than she’d imagined, and she’d imagined it quite a bit. Resting her forehead against his, she cupped his cheek, the terror of seeing his body motionless and bleeding still way too fresh. “I didn’t think I’d live to hear you say it. Or to say it back.” Her throat closed and she had to clear it. “But I do,” she whispered. “I love you, too. I think I have ever since you saved my life.”
He closed his eyes, shuddering out a breath. “I was so scared that night. Tonight, too. We have to be done with this dangerous stuff. We’ve got kids now.”
He said it with such seriousness that she had to smile. “We do. And I think they’ll be happiest once you’ve healed up. So obey your doctor, okay?”
That made him smile. “As long as that doctor is you.”
“Aww, look at you guys. Aren’t they cute, Scarlett?”
Dani and Diesel backed away from each other at Marcus’s teasing voice.
Scarlett was grinning. “So damn cute.”
“Fuck off, assholes,” Diesel said, but he was trying not to smile.
“That’s no way to talk to your chauffeurs,” Marcus said lightly.
Scarlett nodded. “Are you ready to go home, tough guy?”
Diesel looked at Dani. “You called them?”
Dani nodded. “I was pretty sure you’d be asking for the AMA form, and I don’t have a car here.” She did, however, have their phones. Troy had given them back when they’d left for Delores’s shelter and Dani had spent most of the first hour texting everyone to let them know that she and Diesel were okay.
She’d asked Marcus to help because she needed someone with enough muscle to get Diesel in and out of a vehicle, and anyone else who was strong enough was either on duty or in the hospital themselves.
They would have had their pick of chauffeurs had Kaiser attacked them on the west side of town, closer to Diesel’s house, because that was where Stone was hospitalized. Dani’s free clinic was practically next door to the hospital downtown, so their friends and family had been driving back and forth all evening.
The proximity to the downtown hospital had, however, saved Jenny’s life. She was out of surgery with a hopeful prognosis. Her sister was with her now. Jenny had only woken once, asking after Miles, but fell back into unconsciousness before anyone could tell her that Dr. Miles Kristoff was alive, but still in surgery.
Neither Jenny’s sister nor Dani had realized that Jenny and Miles were even seeing each other. Thankfully both Jenny and Miles had family in the area, because for now she had to focus on Diesel, making sure he got the care he needed once they were home.
“We were going to start a pool on how many hours you’d stay in the hospital,” Scarlett said, “but nobody would take the bet.” She leaned in to kiss Diesel’s cheek. “Tell me that you’re okay,” she whispered, all levity gone.
“I’m okay. Been better, been a lot worse.”
“And he’ll be even better soon,” Dani said firmly. “They did a chest X-ray while they were checking for tonight’s damage.” Which, thankfully, hadn’t been nearly as bad as it could have been, the bullet missing all his major organs. “The cardiothoracic surgeon said he could remove that other bullet as soon as Diesel is recovered from tonight. That he could have removed the sucker ten years ago.”
Marcus’s face broke into a bright smile. “How did you manage to get a surgeon to evaluate him? You’ve only been here a few hours.”
“Your dad helped,” she told him. Jeremy and Keith had been the first of Diesel’s family to burst into the ER. They’d been on the way from their home to the west side, where Stone was still hospitalized, but veered off the highway in much the same way Agent Troy had, detouring to make sure that Diesel was all right. “Jeremy saw one of his former colleagues walking through the ER and flagged him down. I asked him about removing bullets and he asked to see Diesel’s X-ray.” She arched a brow at Diesel. “And then Mr. Kennedy here admitted to the surgeon that Jeremy said the same thing years ago. Diesel’s just been too . . . ‘busy’ to have it done.”
Marcus’s smile turned to a scowl. “If you weren’t hurt, I’d hurt you myself. Why didn’t Dad insist?”
“Because Diesel is a ‘grown-up.’” Dani used air quotes. “His wishes had to be respected and your dad also respected his confidentiality. But I’m not that nice, so I’m making him do it.” She glared at Diesel. “Because we’ve got kids now.”
Diesel’s cheeks heated. “I hate it when you’re right,” he mumbled, then brightened at the sight of a wheelchair being pushed toward them. “Hey, look, the chair is here.”
Dani snorted, but kissed the top of his head, which was now covered in chocolate brown fuzz, still a little prickly against her lips. His hair would be so pretty if he grew it out. But that would be his call. The only thing she wasn’t budging on was that damn bullet next to his heart.
Because that heart belonged to her now. He’d made it so the moment he’d told her he loved her. She wanted to shout it to whoever would listen, but remained content to be quietly happy as she walked alongside Diesel’s wheelchair.
When they got outside, he drew a deep breath, immediately and visibly calmer.
Dani nodded to the nurse who’d pushed the chair. “We’ll take it from here.”
“I’ll go get the car,” Marcus said. “Sit tight.”
“Wait,” Diesel said and Marcus turned to him, concerned.
“Are you okay?” he demanded. “Do you need to go back in there?”
“Yeah,” Diesel said. “But not like you think.” He looked up at Dani. “I want to see him.”
Scarlett frowned. “Why?”
But Dani understood. “Nothing against law enforcement, Scar. But I think we need to see him with our own eyes. I went in the ambulance with Jenny and Adam went with Diesel. We didn’t see Kaiser delivered to the hospital. We need to see him here.” She squeezed Diesel’s shoulder. “Because we’re going to pick up Joshua and Michael from the condo and take them home. I want to look them in the eye and say, ‘Yes, Kaiser is handcuffed to a hospital bed and he can’t ever hurt you again.’”
Diesel nodded, gratitude in his eyes. “What she said.”
“Then let’s go,” Scarlett said. “I can flash my badge if they give us any trouble.”
Cincinnati, Ohio
Wednesday, March 20, 2:00 a.m.
“Good evening, Father,” the nurse said in greeting. “How can I help you?”
Grant nodded once, acknowledging her. “I’m Father Emerson. I’ve come to see Mr. Kaiser.”
The nurse’s smile fell away. “He’s not allowed visitors.”
“I’m not here on a social call, ma’am. I’m here to see if Mr. Kaiser would like to offer a last confession.”
The nurse looked uncertain. “He’s conscious and aware. Mostly. I suppose he can say no.”
“And if he does, I’ll leave. I promise.” But he hoped that Kaiser would want to talk, though he wasn’t entirely certain what he wanted the man to say.
Perhaps give an apology, he thought, then had yet another moment of self-doubt. This was stupid. Maybe even illegal. But not dangerous. The man was no threat to anyone now. He’d paced outside the hospital for hours before forcing himself to come in. Now he was here and he was going to talk to the bastard. He at least needed to know why.
Although he knew why. At least he knew what Diesel, Dani, and the cops believed to be true. That Kaiser had thought Wesley was a pedophile and had eliminated him along with John Brewer.
But deep down, Grant could admit that he wished Wesley’s death had been an accident. That maybe, just maybe, he’d been killed because he’d tried to protect one of Kaiser’s other victims. That he’d died heroically.
Not because Wes had been blinded by his need for revenge and gone into a sting completely vulnerable, without backup. Without caring if he survived or not.
That would be a waste of a life, and Wesley deserved better than that. Laurel deserved better than that. Hell, I deserve better, too.
“This way, Father,” the nurse said, leading him to the ICU room that housed the man who’d killed his brother. A police officer stood outside the door, feet planted firmly. “This is Father Emerson,” she said to the cop, and he gave Grant a nod.
Damn, that was easy. If he’d wanted to kill the guy, he could have. Nobody had frisked him. Nobody had even double-checked his ID.
He paused inside Kaiser’s room, his own thought penetrating the numbness in his mind. If I wanted to kill the guy, I could.
Do I want to?
Yes. But there were hostages. Innocent people. A woman and her baby. Grant had read the articles online. Kaiser had used the woman to escape, then killed another young man after hiring him to buy baby supplies. He was keeping the woman and baby alive to buy his escape.
Except now, he couldn’t escape. Cade Kaiser lay in the hospital bed, cuffed to the side rails. Machines beeped quietly as the man’s chest rose and fell.
He was still alive. But barely, according to Dani Novak.
“Hello,” Grant said softly.
Kaiser’s eyes opened, but they weren’t sharp. He was probably on some heavy painkillers. Too bad. Grant wanted him to suffer. This man had been responsible for hurting so many people. Though he had tried to protect John Brewer’s stepson, Joshua.
Then tried to kill the other stepson, Michael. Kaiser was insane.
“Go to hell, Father,” Kaiser rasped.
Well, then, Grant thought. Gloves are off. The man wasn’t going to simply confess. “Maybe I will,” he said, abandoning his priest persona. “If I do, I’m sure to see you there.”
Kaiser blinked slowly. Then laughed, a broken, rusty sound. “We can get a beer. Maybe a few hookers.”
Grant pulled up the chair beside Kaiser’s bed and leaned in close. “Maybe the beer. I’m married.”
“Then you’re a . . .” Kaiser drew a labored breath. “Shitty priest.” But then something flickered in his eyes and he blanched, pressing his head into the thin pillow. “Fucking hell,” he whispered.
Grant studied the man, who looked like he’d seen a ghost. And maybe he had. Because he killed my brother. “Something wrong, Mr. Kaiser?”
Kaiser squinted, then shook his head. “Thought you looked . . . familiar.”
“I have that kind of face. Just one of the crowd.”
Kaiser swallowed hard. “Why . . . are you here?”
I’m not sure. “I wanted to meet you.” True enough. “I wanted to find out why.” Truer still. “Maybe I wanted to get your autograph,” he added.
Kaiser looked at him, clearly uncertain. “You’re crazy.”
“Probably.” He made a split-second decision, one of so many since Wesley’s partner had visited his office. “I’m a writer. I’ve interviewed a lot of killers. I like to know why. But you’re different. You killed to protect people.”
“You’re a cop,” Kaiser said flatly. “You’re trying to . . . trick me.”
“No, I’m not a cop. I promise you that.” Grant leaned a little closer. “You’re going to die, Mr. Kaiser. It’s just a matter of time. It might be here. Or it might be in prison. If you do survive, you’re standing trial for a lot of murders.”
Kaiser’s lip curled. “Fuck off, Father.”
“You will stand trial,” Grant continued as if Kaiser hadn’t spoken. “Wouldn’t you like the jury to know why you killed all those people? And if you do die, don’t you want to be remembered for the good you did?”
Kaiser’s eyes narrowed. “What do you mean?”
“I mean that you’ll be tried in a courtroom, but if the public knows the real you, you might even get a humanitarian award. John Brewer was trash. Killing him was a public service.”
“Him and all the others,” Kaiser mumbled.
“So you’ll tell me?” Grant asked.
“What’s in it for you?”
“I write a book and make money. And my curiosity is satisfied.”
“I can . . . understand that. You think . . . it’ll help? With a jury?”
Grant made himself shrug nonchalantly. “Can’t hurt. If you die, you’re a hero. If you live, the jury might see the truth. Who was the first person you killed?”
Kaiser’s smile was eerily beatific. “The first was an old pedo. Name was Leigh Gladwin.”
“When was that?”
“Four years ago.”
“And the next?”
“Henry Lindquist. A guy who’d beaten his wife to death in front of his kid.”
Grant reached into the pocket of the black suit coat for the small Bible he’d taken from the hotel’s nightstand drawer. He’d had to give Wesley’s cassock to the cops, but he’d managed to find a black suit and a detachable collar in a Brooks Brothers store at the mall. He looked like every priest he’d ever known.
The Bible had been a last-minute addition, intended to be part of the costume, but now he was happy he’d brought it. He found a blank page, pulled out a pen from the hotel, and wrote down the first two names.
Then he looked up at Kaiser, who wore a wistful expression, like he was enjoying this walk down memory lane. “And then, Mr. Kaiser? Who was next?”
Cincinnati, Ohio
Wednesday, March 20, 2:05 a.m.
There was a different dynamic entering the hospital as a visitor, Diesel thought. Even in a hospital wheelchair.
Marcus skillfully navigated the hallways, getting them to the ICU. Diesel didn’t even mind the curious looks they got in the elevator, or the smug smirks on Marcus’s and Scarlett’s faces.
Because Dani had finally said it. She loves me, too. His chest felt tight, like his happiness was too big to fit.
Until they rolled out of the elevator into the ICU and the reason for his being there crashed through his mind. Cade Kaiser.
Who was still alive.
They stopped at the desk and asked to see Kaiser. The nurse directed them to the waiting room, telling them that “Mr. Kaiser” had another visitor at the moment, but that they should be done soon.
They sat in silence, Dani holding Diesel’s hand tightly, but after a few minutes, her cell phone buzzed with an incoming call.
“It’s a Cleveland area code,” she murmured, then hit ACCEPT. “Hello?” She blinked in surprise. “Mrs. Masterson, hello. How can I help you?” She listened for a moment, then turned to Scarlett. “Do you know where Grant is? His wife is here in Cincinnati and he’s not at his hotel.”
“Put her on speaker,” Scarlett said, then greeted Grant’s wife. “I haven’t talked to your husband since yesterday evening. I have tried calling him several times, though. I think he forgot to give us something last night.”
“What was that?” Mrs. Masterson asked warily.
“His brother’s cell phone. He mentioned that it was in the safe in Wesley’s apartment here in town, but it wasn’t there when we inventoried the evidence.”
“I don’t know anything about that,” the woman said. “But I’m worried. I drove down this afternoon so that I could be with him while he made the funeral arrangements. I got to the hotel after eight, and fell asleep. When I woke up, he still wasn’t back.”
“I talked to him around eight,” Dani said. “He was leaving the funeral home.” She opened her mouth, then closed it again. “Can I call you right back?” she asked.
“Of course. Please hurry, though. I’m worried sick.”
“I will,” Dani assured her and ended the call.
“What’s going on?” Diesel asked her.
“I don’t know. Hold on.” She walked quickly to the nurses’ station and spoke for less than a minute before returning to them, her face abruptly drawn. “Kaiser’s visitor is Father Emerson. He’s giving him last rites.”
“Holy shit,” Scarlett muttered. She drew her badge from her pocket and motioned them to follow her. She spoke with the same nurse, who led them through the double doors into the unit.
Quietly they crossed to Kaiser’s room, Marcus pushing Diesel’s chair. Sure enough, there was Grant Masterson standing by Kaiser’s bed. Holding a folded blanket in his hands, looking down at the killer with absolutely no expression at all.
“Get me in there,” Diesel said to Marcus.
Scarlett flashed her badge to the cop on guard duty, who frowned at her but let Marcus push Diesel into the room. Diesel caught the last part of what Grant was saying.
“—my brother, you sonofabitch. An undercover cop. You killed him.”
Kaiser’s eyes were wide. And scared. “You’re . . .” He gasped. “Lying.”
“No, but you’re right about one thing,” Grant said, so very quietly that Diesel had to strain to hear. “We will meet each other in hell.”
“Father Emerson,” Diesel said softly. “Grant,” he snapped when the man didn’t move.
Grant turned, his eyes flickering with something like horror. And maybe relief? His gaze focused on Diesel, swung to take in the group at the door, then back. “Mr. Kennedy. We meet again.”
“And not in hell.” Diesel made himself smile, even though part of him wanted to tell Grant to do it, to smother the bastard. But that would make Grant a murderer, and they might never find Evelyn Keys and her baby. “Cora is here. Waiting for you.”
Grant faltered. “What?”
“She’s here,” Diesel repeated. “Waiting for you at your hotel. She loves you, Grant, and you’ve worried her today.”
Grant’s eyes filled with tears and he looked at the blanket he held. “Oh God,” he whispered, and put the blanket down. “Oh my God.” Picking up a Bible from the chair at Kaiser’s bedside, he walked toward Diesel, his gait stiff, like he’d woken from a long sleep. He glanced at Marcus, then at Scarlett, who stood in the doorway. “I thought I could listen to him and I’d be okay. But I couldn’t. I just got so mad.” He blinked and the tears fell. “I’m just so damned angry.”
“I know,” Diesel murmured. “So am I. Come on, Grant. Let’s get out of here. The bastard’s not worth any more of your energy. Save it for your wife and kids.”
That was what Diesel was doing—channeling his anger into the focus he needed to get through the pain so that he could get somewhere safe. With Dani.
She was his safe place.
He heard her, always thoughtful, telling the nurse that “Father Emerson” needed just a moment to collect himself. She too understood the rage that came with loss. Understood how it could drag you under if you allowed it.
Diesel held his breath as Marcus pulled the wheelchair from the room and Grant followed. The officer on duty resumed his post, seemingly unaware of what had nearly transpired.
When they were clear of the room, Scarlett took Grant’s arm and led him from the ICU into the hall by the elevator. Then, thankfully, let him go.
Diesel hadn’t been sure that she would. He thought he’d have to intervene on behalf of the man who’d learned in one day that he had lost both his siblings. But Diesel saw nothing but compassion in Scarlett’s eyes. And Dani’s. He couldn’t see Marcus, but he assumed the same.
“What did you mean?” Diesel asked. “You thought you could listen to him?”
Grant’s shoulders sagged. “I wanted to know why. He told himself he was protecting people. He might have even believed it. But he fed on their pain. He . . .” He swallowed. “He cut them up while they were still alive. He did that to Wesley. He told me how my brother suffered. He . . . got off on it. I think I just lost it.”
Dani rubbed Grant’s back comfortingly. “That had to be hard to hear.”
“Yeah.” Grant shuddered, then looked Scarlett in the eye. “Here.” He dug in his pocket and Scarlett stiffened, going for the gun holstered at her hip, then relaxed when Grant handed her Wesley’s cell phone.
“You ‘forgot’ to give it to me last night?” Scarlett said wryly.
“That’s right,” Grant said with a nod. “Password is Laurel’s birthday.” Then he handed Diesel the Bible he’d picked up from Kaiser’s room. “For you, with my thanks. I hope you mend quickly. Give my best to Stone. I’m going to find my wife.”
Cincinnati, Ohio
Wednesday, March 20, 3:00 a.m.
“Where to?” Marcus asked when they were all in his Subaru.
Dani grabbed Diesel’s hand. She’d just finished a quick call to Grant’s wife, telling her he was on his way. “The condo for a few hours so Diesel can sleep. Deacon and Faith are there with the boys, and they’re asleep, too. We can go back to my house when everyone’s woken up.”
Scarlett twisted around from the front passenger seat to look at them. “The kids must have been so scared. But Troy said they were so good in the van. They did everything he told them while he was getting them back to the condo for safety.”
“We called them as soon as we got to the hospital,” Dani told her. “FaceTimed them so we could talk to Michael, too.” The relief on their faces still made her eyes sting. “We promised them that I’d at least be there when they woke up in the morning.”
“Actually,” Diesel said, his head leaned back, his eyes closed, his jaw clenched tight against what had to be incredible pain, “I’d like to go to my house. Just to grab a few things,” he added when Dani jolted in surprise.
“You need to rest,” she said. “Take your pain meds and rest.”
“I can pack you a bag and bring it to you,” Scarlett said warily. “If you’re okay with me going through your things.”
Diesel’s mouth quirked up, even though his eyes remained closed. “I do trust you, Scar, if that’s what you’re asking. I don’t trust all the cops who swarmed my place when Stone got shot. I promise I’ll obey doctor’s orders when we get to the condo, but I’d sleep better knowing that nobody touched my stuff.”
His “stuff,” Dani thought, was all the computers in his office. He’d brought only one laptop with him when they’d raced from his house to the condo. “Can we load some of his hardware into the back?” she asked, thumbing at the cargo hold.
“Of course.” Marcus set a course, and for a while, nobody spoke. Diesel’s breathing had softened, slowing, and Dani hoped he would be able to sleep for the twenty minutes it would take to get there.
A thump got her attention and Dani realized she’d dozed as well. The thump was the Bible that Grant had given Diesel falling from his finally relaxed hand to the floorboard at his feet. Taking care not to jostle him, she leaned over to pick it up, then gave it a hard look.
Grant had hidden his brother’s journal in the last Bible. She wondered if he’d hidden anything in this one. She opened it, a little disappointed to see that no hole had been carved inside. Idly she turned the first few pages.
And then stared. Names. She counted them quickly. Nearly a dozen names. Scott King was one of them. And near the bottom of the list?
John Brewer, Blake Emerson, and Richard Fischer.
Oh. My. God.
“What’s wrong?” Diesel asked, rolling his head sideways, a frown on his face. “You just said, ‘Oh my God.’ What is it?”
A little laugh bubbled up Dani’s throat, sounding hysterical when it burst free. “Grant actually got him to confess. Kaiser, I mean. I was kidding when I told him that Kaiser would need a priest, but Grant did it. This is a list of Kaiser’s victims.”
Scarlett twisted in her seat, stunned. “What the hell? Gimme.”
Diesel took the book from Dani’s hands, suddenly alert. “He gave you the phone, Scarlett. He gave me the book.”
Scarlett’s eyes narrowed. “Diesel,” she warned.
“Chill, Scar,” Marcus said soothingly. “He’ll hand it over. Let him look first.”
Diesel was doing more than looking. He had his phone out, searching the names. Dani held the Bible open, tilting it so that the lights from the interstate’s lamps illuminated the page, allowing Diesel to type with one hand while holding his phone with the other.
“Missing,” he muttered, then searched for another name. “Missing. Suicide. Missing.” Fifteen minutes had passed and they were nearing the exit for Diesel’s house when he lifted his head. “They’re all reported missing or dead, either accidental causes or suicide. All except one. Leigh Gladwin. Don’t get off here,” he ordered when Marcus moved to the exit lane. “We’re getting off at New Haven. Hurry.”
“Why?” Scarlett asked, clearly impatient.
Marcus said nothing, merely moving over a lane and flooring it.
Diesel leaned back, deep lines etched in his cheeks. “Henry Lindquist fell down his basement stairs three and a half years ago, breaking his neck.”
“Like Charlie Akers,” Dani said. “Quincy’s CSU tech.”
“Yes.” Diesel spoke heavily, his teeth still clenched. Still in pain. “But Leigh Gladwin, the first name on the list, hasn’t been reported dead or missing or anything. He’s still paying property taxes on his house. In Harrison.”
Dani understood. “That’s not far from where the guy was killed after buying Pampers and baby formula.”
Diesel handed his phone to Scarlett, then fell back against the seat. “There’s the address.”
Scarlett plugged it into her GPS. “Step on it, Marcus.”
Harrison, Ohio
Wednesday, March 20, 3:40 a.m.
“Getting shot sucks,” Diesel grumbled. He’d watched Scarlett kick in the front door of the house supposedly owned by Leigh Gladwin, a seventy-year-old veteran of the Vietnam War. Dani had followed her in, against everyone’s wishes, especially Diesel’s. But she’d argued that if Evelyn and her baby were there, they might need her help, and Scarlett had reluctantly agreed.
But they’d been in the house for a long time. Actually it had been less than a minute, but it felt like a fucking long time.
Marcus chuckled. He was standing outside the Subaru, talking to Diesel through a lowered window. Diesel knew his friend really wanted to be at his wife’s side, but had stayed behind to keep Diesel safe. “That’s what you said the last time you got shot.”
Diesel pressed the heel of his hand to his chest, over the bullet that he’d carried for ten years. He’d gotten used to it, he realized. “It’s gonna be weird, not having it anymore,” he said, knowing Marcus would understand what he meant.
“I can’t believe you wouldn’t let Dad help you. You’re a real asshole, Diesel.”
“Yeah,” Diesel agreed. “It’s . . . I don’t know. It’s almost like I needed to keep it.”
Marcus looked at him sharply. “Why? So that I’d feel guilty all these years, knowing you were walking around with my bullet in your heart?”
Diesel blinked at him. “What? Why would you . . .” Oh. It had honestly never occurred to him, not in all these years, that Marcus would feel guilty that Diesel had taken a bullet meant for him. But it should have.
And maybe he had wanted Marcus to feel guilty. Or at least responsible. A little. No, not really. “I didn’t want you to feel guilty. But I did like being . . . part of you guys. Part of the family.” And the bullet had been his entrée. He’d earned his place at the O’Bannion family’s table.
Marcus was scowling at him. “You fucking asshole. Did you really think we only love you because you almost died for me? My God, Diesel. I can’t—” He yanked open Diesel’s door and leaned in so that they were nose to nose. “We love you for you, you idiot.” He hooked his hand around Diesel’s neck, then stilled, his touch gentling. “Sorry, man. You got me so mad that I forgot you were hurt.” He let him go, bracing his hands on the vehicle’s frame. “But tell me that you believe me that we don’t care about the damn bullet. We care about you.”
They love me for me. “I know.” He’d always known it, down deep.
“Do you?” Marcus shook his head. “Do you really? Goddammit, when you’re better, I’m going to kick your ass.”
“Nothing says love like an ass-kicking,” Diesel said dryly, but he was smiling. “I knew, Marcus. I did. But maybe I . . . I don’t know. Maybe I didn’t feel like I deserved it for only being me.”
And maybe he and Dani Novak had even more in common than he’d thought.
Marcus’s expression softened. “But you feel different now?”
Diesel thought about the woman who’d dedicated her life to caring for others so that she’d be more deserving. When everyone who mattered already loved her for herself. “Yeah. I think I get it now.”
He hoped Dani did. If she didn’t, he’d spend the rest of his life convincing her.
Marcus smiled slyly. “So? You and Dani? Finally?”
Diesel realized that he and Marcus hadn’t talked since the night Stone was shot. “Yeah. It’s all good. Finally.”
Marcus swallowed hard. “Good. I want my child’s godfather to be happy.”
Diesel’s mouth fell open. “But . . .”
Marcus grinned. “Still not naming him Elvis.”
“Thank God,” Diesel muttered. “What about Stone, though? Won’t he want to be the godfather?”
“He can be godfather for the next one. He’s happy to be an uncle. And Diesel, I can’t think of a better role model for my kid.”
Diesel wiped his eyes with his sleeve. “Shit. Not fair, man.”
Marcus ran a hand over Diesel’s head, but Diesel could feel his hand tremble. “I can’t get used to you with hair. It’s been forever.”
Subject changed. Thank God. Too much emotion for one night.
The front door of Gladwin’s house opened and Marcus straightened abruptly. “It’s Scar and she’s got the woman and her baby. Be right back.”
“Where’s Dani?” Diesel yelled after him. He heaved his body, managing to turn himself in the seat, but had to stop with only his feet out of the door, because the world started to spin.
And it hurt. Motherfuck, it hurt. It had been bad when he’d remained still. But moving? “Shit.”
The passenger door opened on the other side of the Subaru. “Diesel, get your ass back in the car,” Marcus snapped, then his voice gentled. “Sorry, Evelyn. My friend just left the hospital against medical advice. Diesel, Evelyn. Evelyn, Diesel. Sit tight, Evelyn. The ambulance will be here soon.”
Diesel edged himself back into the seat. The woman was in her late twenties but looked a lot older due to the circles under her eyes. “Hi, Evelyn. Where is Dani?”
The woman’s lips curved slightly as she climbed into the car, her arms reaching for the baby that Marcus held. Once her child was safely in her arms, she turned to Diesel. “Dani says for you to stay the hell put and that she is fine.” She sighed wearily. “There’s a guy down there and she’s taking care of him. He’s been in and out of consciousness since Kaiser stuck me in there. I don’t even know how long ago that was.”
It took Diesel a moment. “It’s Wednesday morning and he escaped with you on Monday morning, so two days. Do you know who the guy is?”
“Andrew McNab. He came to enough to tell me that.”
“Oh, good,” Diesel breathed out. The interpreter wasn’t dead. “And how are you?”
“Unhurt. Just . . . tired. I’m so tired.”
“Join the club,” Diesel said and she laughed wearily.
“Dani said that you found me. That you found this place. Thank you.” Her voice broke. “Thank you so much.”
Diesel gave her a nod, then they both lapsed into silence until several police cruisers and two ambulances arrived. The first ambulance took Evelyn and her baby. Paramedics raced from the second, carrying a stretcher into the basement.
Minutes later they reappeared, a man strapped to the stretcher, followed by Dani. She stopped at the ambulance to talk to the paramedics, then stepped back when they drove away, siren screeching.
She dropped into the seat Evelyn had just vacated. “Andrew the interpreter.”
“Will he be okay?” Diesel asked.
“I think so. He came out of it for a few minutes and the first thing he asked was if Michael was okay.” She settled in the seat so that she was looking at him. “I don’t know how much longer he would have lasted. He’s got some internal bleeding and he’s terribly dehydrated. So thank you, Diesel Kennedy.”
He took her hand and kissed it. “Love you.”
She smiled. “Love you, too.”
“I think I’m going to let Scarlett and Marcus pack up my computers.” He lifted a brow. “Can I stay with you for a while until I’m all healed up?”
She blinked. “You have to ask? Silly man. Of course you can. Besides, you have to read Joshua’s bedtime stories. He likes how you do the voices.”
Marcus got behind the wheel. “Scar’s going to get a ride back with one of the uniforms. She told me to find you somewhere that you can rest.”
Diesel closed his eyes. “Then let’s go get the boys and go home.”