by M. S. Parker
Hell no.
I put myself in front of him, and this time, when he rammed into me, I rammed him back.
With my fist.
Chapter 18
“I’m not apologizing.”
Dave just lifted his eyebrow.
He’d gotten a promotion a few days after Jake’s fall. He’d been part-time for a while after his daughter had been born, but now he worked a full week. He didn’t live on the estate or work nights, but he’d been the obvious choice for the promotion. The team had teased him about it, called him Ryan, Jr. Which, I guessed, was fitting, since he’d taken Ryan’s former position. Ryan had taken over Jake’s. Not that anybody called Ryan Jake, Jr.
There would never be another Jake.
Ryan had kept his old office though, so I was in Jake’s former office, cooling off, or so I was told.
I was here because Ridley was in Ryan’s office.
“Is Ridley cooling off too?” I asked mockingly as I studied my knuckles.
“No.” Dave stretched out his long legs, his hands flat on his belly. “I believe the house staff is assisting–”
He stopped talking and straightened up, one finger to his right ear. He had his earpiece in. Ryan and Dave wore them almost all the time. The rest of us typically only wore them when we were on the clock, but Ryan was always on the clock and Dave took a radio with him when he went home at night. Me...well, the crew had asked that I always take my earpiece out as soon as I was done.
I forgot one time during a make-out session...
Dave flicked a look at me and stood up, turning his back.
That had my gut drawing tight. Dave clearly didn’t want me to see his face.
“You’re certain?”
As their discussion continued, Dave’s side in mostly murmurs and single word replies or terse questions, my unease grew.
When his phone started to blare a minute later, I grabbed it. He tried to beat me to it, but I was faster. Before he could try to wrestle the phone away, I backed up and answered it.
“Yeah?”
“Ah...is this Mr. Bobby?” It was Laureen, the petite, middle-aged woman who ran Carly’s house with an iron fist.
“Yeah. What’s up, Laureen?”
“There are police on the phone. They need to speak with you–”
The door crashed open, drowning out the rest of her words.
Ryan came striding in and he shoved me back, hard and fast, catching me off-guard. In my momentary surprise, he managed to get the phone from me.
“Hi, Laureen, it’s Ryan.” He paused a moment to take a step back as I glared at him. “Yes, yes...I know. Tell the investigating officer he’s on his way. They...I know. He’ll be there within a few hours.”
The first thought I had was that this was just great timing. My PO wanted a surprise visit, right after I finished pounding Ridley’s face through the other side of his skull, or at least, given it my best shot. Then Ryan’s words clicked. Investigating officer?
Shit.
“If cops want to talk to me, I have to go in,” I said slowly, straightening away from the desk.
“You will.” Ryan crossed his arms over his chest.
That was when I realized he didn’t look quite as GQ as normal. His suit was wrinkled, his hair was messed up and...damn.
“Man, you got blood on your shirt.”
It was Ridley’s, I assumed. He hadn’t gotten in a single shot at me.
“Not enough,” Ryan said, giving me a sharp smile. “Go get packed.”
“I want to know what’s going on,” I said.
He sighed. “Look, you will. We’re taking the plane, and I’ll explain on the way. We have to move, though. It’s important, okay?” He moved in and rested a hand on my shoulder. “Bobby, please. Trust me.”
There were only a few people, less than five in my whole life, who deserved to make that request, but Ryan was one of them.
“You better make that explanation fast,” I advised.
***
I didn’t see Carly, not while I was hurriedly throwing jeans, sweaters, and a leather jacket into my duffel bag. I’d have to call her, because I had a feeling she wasn’t coming with me. If she were, she’d have been up here packing too.
I met Ryan at the front door. “Who’s staying with her?”
“Dave’s keeping watch.”
We were out the door in the next few minutes and, far sooner than I liked, we were in the air, Carly’s small private jet speeding through the air, powering us north.
There were plenty of things I didn’t like, a few things I hated. And even fewer that I was outright afraid of.
Flying was one of them, especially when it was in something that looked like an oversized child’s toy. Usually, I had Carly to help me through it. Holding my hand, whispering things in my ear to keep me distracted.
I really didn’t want Ryan to do any of that, so I suffered through it.
Finally, I managed to convince myself we weren’t going to plunge down to the earth in a fiery burning ball and I unclamped my hands from the armrests. I opened one eye. Then the other.
Ryan was watching me.
“Less than fifteen minutes that time. You’re getting better.”
Hoarsely, I said, “Suck my dick.”
He didn’t smile. Instead, he reached into the seat next to him and picked up the folder there. He placed it in my lap.
“You wanted an explanation. Read it.”
***
I managed to hold it in until we landed and disembarked, but the second my feet were on solid ground, I stumbled a few feet away and went to my knees. There, I puked up everything I’d eaten that day. And then it felt like I puked up everything I’d eaten in the last six months.
“How?” I asked finally. I spit once, then twice.
“I don’t know if there’s a simple answer to that,” Ryan said.
A bottle of water appeared in front of me. My stomach heaved at the sight of it, but the taste in my mouth was threatening to send me into revolt again, so I took a chance. Slowly, I pushed back onto my heels and accepted the bottle. I rinsed out my mouth, and then spat out the water.
I hated flying, but I hated throwing up more. I could count the number of times I’d done it on one hand, and two of those had been when I’d had the stomach flu.
“They’re certain it’s him?” I asked.
“The guy who wrote the letters?” Ryan clarified and then nodded without even waiting for me to answer. “Pretty certain. There was a letter left at the house. They were keeping it quiet, but they ran it through the databases. The match came in pretty fast. We...” He hesitated.
I asked the next question I needed an answer to. “How do they know she’s mine?”
“We’d already done the legwork on that one.”
We? I looked at the file he was holding now. The file that held a picture of nine year-old Haley Haskell.
My daughter.
She hadn’t been born when I’d gone to jail almost ten years ago. Her birthday was in a couple months.
“Who is we?” I asked even though I already knew the answer.
“Carly asked me to do it,” he said after a moment.
I turned away, staring out across the airport. It was small and private, but we weren’t alone. The crew was bustling around, but giving us an illusion of privacy. That wouldn’t last much longer. Already, off in the distance, I could see a couple of cars winding their way toward us. Unmarked cop cars. They practically gave off their own scent.
“If you were able to find her–”
“It wasn’t easy.” Ryan cut in.
I turned to look at him. He was watching the two cars drawing closer and closer to us. “It was a closed proceeding, as you know. It took greasing some palms and digging to get her name.”
“Why’d you do it?” I demanded, advancing on him. I grabbed him by the front of his shirt as a thought hit me. “Did Ridley know? Was Ridley involved in this?”
“Easy,
Bobby,” Ryan said. He caught my wrists and squeezed. “Calm down. I did it because Carly needed to know.”
“Why!?”
“Because she loves you.” His voice was quiet. “She needed to know your daughter was safe.”
That sucked the air out of me, and I all but sagged, barely able to support my own weight. Ryan continued to hold my wrists, but now he was holding me up too.
His gaze was level. “Her own mother raised her – if you could even call it that – and her life sucked. She had to know the girl was with people who loved her.”
My mind spun back.
“Do you think about her?”
“Don’t you want more, though? I mean, you’re out now. You can take care of her.”
“You’re good people.”
“Sometimes the people who raise you aren’t the good people they should be, though.”
Swallowing, I let go of his shirt and he released me as I turned away. “You did this right after Carly and I got together, didn’t you?”
“No. I started looking right after we hired you full-time.”
I turned to stare at him but he just shrugged.
“It took me about six weeks to get the information. Carly hinted that you might want to know, so I started the search. But she didn’t ask again until you got together. I showed it to her then, letting her decide, and she let it go. She said you only wanted to know she was happy.”
“She is...” Fuck, I shoved the heels of my hands against my eyes. “She was, wasn’t she?”
“Yeah. Her mother – her adopted mother, I mean...”
“That was her real mom. He’s her real dad. I’m just a...sperm donor,” I said, feeling more bitter than I could remember feeling in a long time. Bitter for the life I’d lost. The child I’d never known. “But they love – loved her.”
“We’ll find her, Bobby,” he assured me. “This bastard, he’s just fucking with you. He’s doing this to get you here.”
I lowered my hands and stared at Ryan, anger burning away the bitterness. “Yeah? Well, he got his wish.”
And if I had anything to say about it, it might just be his last one.
***
It was the same guy. Had to be. The type of paper was generic as hell. Even the font was nothing special, the default for pretty much every PC word-processing program.
But the message...yeah. That was sort of unique.
Tell Bobby a child’s life for a child’s life.
The words echoed in my head.
“Mitchell.”
At the sound of Ryan’s voice, I looked up.
Two cops were sitting across from us. It was a familiar set up, almost as familiar to me as my own name at this point. Ryan sat next to me, so that was something new. Lawyer he might be, but he wasn’t here because he was being paid. He was here because he had my back. That was also a new thing for me. Unsettling, in a way. I wasn’t sure if I deserved that unwavering support. Not from him, not from Carly. Not from any of them.
But I had it nonetheless.
And with my daughter’s life on the line, I wasn’t about to turn it away.
As Ryan’s resolved gaze connected with mine, I pushed everything out of my head and tried to focus. He’d help. He was a smart bastard and a resourceful one. Everything he could do, every string he could pull, he’d do it. I’d need that. My daughter...my throat tried to lock up on me.
Clearing the blockage away, I asked, “What about him?”
“I’ve done some digging. It looks like his parents split up a few years after he died.”
I frowned. “After I killed him.”
Ryan’s shoulders tensed slightly under the polo he wore. “Yes. They split up. His mother, Lois, she still lives in Louisville near her surviving son, Dale. The father, though, he sort of fell off the grid.”
“The grid?” I shook my head.
“It means nobody can find a lot of information about him.” The words were low and raspy and it was the first thing I’d heard from Detective Tuite. He was a broad, solid-looking bastard, his thick brush of reddish hair a scrub across his stumpy head. His watchful eyes didn’t reveal much of anything going on inside his head. He’d make one mean-ass bad cop.
As that thought rolled through my head, he braced his elbows on the table. I wasn’t what anybody could call scrawny, but his arms looked like they might be the size of my thighs. I vaguely wondered if he had a lot of guys resisting arrest. I didn’t think it would’ve been on the top of my list.
“Did you ever have much contact with Derrell Mitchell, Sr., Mr. Cantrell?”
Him? Not Dale? Dale and Darrell’s father? My head spun and I struggled to find the answer to the question.
I shook my head. “That I’m aware of, no. He barely looked at me during the sentencing. Barely looked at anybody. He came in late, left early.”
“Excuse me?”
Looking at Tuite’s partner, the long, lean Detective John Witter, I said, “I’m sorry?”
John was a tall, skinny black guy. He was as skinny as his partner was broad and he had an affable face, the kind of face you expected to always see smiling.
Except he wasn’t smiling now.
Echoing Tuite’s posture, he leaned closer to me and shook his head. “I’m just not following. You killed his son, but he was late for the trial...?”
I ran my tongue across my teeth as I shot Ryan a glance. I guessed they hadn’t had much time to read up on things. Ryan shrugged and I looked back at the two cops. Of course, they’d been busy trying to find a missing kid...my kid.
“There wasn’t a trial,” I said, locking everything I felt behind a steel door. I’d think about her later. Haley. Her name was Haley.
Suddenly, I had their entire attention.
“You made a deal,” Tuite said.
I heard the disgust in his voice and forced myself not to react. “Yeah.”
“What kind of deal?”
“Do we really have time for this?” I demanded. “My daughter–”
“She’s not your daughter,” Witter said, cutting me off. He curled his lip. How I’d thought that face could be a friendly one, I didn’t know. He’d probably make one hell of a bad cop himself. “She’s the daughter of a preacher. A good guy. He volunteers at a homeless shelter two days a week. Put himself and his wife through college working the night shift at a shitty plastics plant. Lost his wife and has been raising that little girl on his own.” He stood up as he spoke, glaring at me. “I’ll be damned if I let him lose his daughter because somebody has a vendetta against a punk-ass boy who knocked up some two-bit–”
Ryan caught me before I could hit him. I might not have loved Leah, but no one talked about a woman like that.
“Easy,” Ryan said, his arms wrapped around me.
Tuite stepped between Witter and me, trusting Ryan enough to turn his back on us.
“That’s enough, John,” he said, his voice low.
I barely heard it over the roaring of blood in my ears.
The door opened, cutting off Witter’s response. A tall, slim woman stood there.
Ryan’s arms fell away but not before he bit off, “Behave.”
I always behaved. I just didn’t always behave well. But I gave him a terse nod and sat down, deliberately turning my chair so I was angled toward Tuite. If I looked at Witter any time in the next few seconds, I’d hurt him. And I wouldn’t be sorry.
Maybe I’d be sorry for the consequences, but not for my actions.
“Well, it looks like I showed up just in time,” the woman said, her mouth smiling, but the amusement didn’t reach her eyes. She shut the door behind her and moved deeper into the room.
My phone vibrated as the blonde walked further into the room, and I glanced at it. Carly’s image flashed across the screen. I turned it upside down. Too tempting.
“Are we interrupting your busy day, Cantrell?” Witter asked, his voice silky.
Without looking at him, I flipped him off.
The w
oman chuckled. “I don’t think he likes you, John.”
“Captain, that hurts me so much,” he said.
She didn’t respond. She stood at the table, and although Tuite offered her a seat, she refused, opting to stand. I had to fight the urge to squirm as she studied me. Her eyes felt like they were cutting through me.
“I’ve been hearing a lot about you, Mr. Cantrell.”
“Don’t believe half of it,” I said without thinking.
“So I’m okay to believe the other half?” She smiled, and this time, it showed in her eyes.
I wisely kept silent.
She looked over at Tuite. “You know how my daughter is with the celeb gossip, right?”
Oh shit.
I glanced at Ryan, but he wasn’t even looking at me.
Tuite angled his head to the side. “Yeah. I keep thinking Adele will grow out of it. She’s a smart cookie, that girl of yours, captain.”
“Well, we’ve all got our weaknesses.” She blew out a breath and then caught the chair Tuite had previously offered. “You and me? We’re hooked at the inane Bachelor and Bachelorette, even though we know it’s bullshit.”
“It’s entertaining bullshit.”
This back and forth shit was starting to get on my nerves. My hands curled into fists.
The captain nodded and looked back at me. “So my daughter follows celeb gossip. I don’t like it, and when she starts spouting stuff as fact, I make her start actually looking up the facts. That was the case when she got hooked on that pop singer...you know, that Canadian kid? Anyway, she used to be one of his believers or whatever they called themselves a few years ago. She was whining about how unfair it was that he got in trouble for one of his DUIs? So I made her write a report about drunk driving.” She gave me a slightly smug look. “It had to include images. She was fifteen, a cop’s daughter, so it’s not like she wasn’t aware of certain things.”
I really hoped she was going somewhere with this. My patience was about gone.
Her expression sobered and she looked out the window. “A week later, a friend of hers was killed by a drunk driver. She got rid of all of his music, tore up his posters, trashed it all. To this day, she gets hot if his name is even mentioned. We still have these discussions, though. If she goes on and on about how much she likes somebody, I ask her why.”