Say You're Sorry

by Karen Rose

  Daisy swallowed hard. “That last one . . .” They all scared her, but the last one had been so much . . . creepier. More personal. “I hadn’t heard it yet,” she confessed. “I listen to the messages from people I know right away, but I sometimes let the others pile up.”

  She glanced up to find Rafe glaring at the notes he’d taken as they’d listened. From the corner of her eye she could see that Gideon’s face had grown dark with anger, his hands clenched into fists. On the other side of her, Erin Rhee looked grim.

  “Did you actually play these messages for your cohost?” Erin asked quietly.

  “The first few.” Daisy stroked Brutus a little too desperately, but the poor dog simply snuggled closer. “They were . . . worse than I remembered. I may have downplayed them in my own mind. The ones about the caller . . .” She felt her cheeks heat. “You know,” she said awkwardly.

  “Coming?” Erin supplied gently.

  Daisy nodded. “Yes. To the sound of my voice.” She swallowed again, bile burning her throat. It was overwhelming, hearing the calls all at once. One at a time she could dismiss. Three dozen calls in total she could not dismiss. And the threat to follow her home from the next event? That one she would have definitely reported, no matter what Tad had said. “I played one of those for Tad and he shrugged and said he still gets a few of those a week. He thought I should be . . . grateful.”

  “Grateful,” Gideon murmured, his voice harsh. “Right.”

  “I’ll report them from now on,” Daisy said, lifting her chin. “I’ll also get a new phone number first thing in the morning.”

  “And a new phone,” Gideon ground out. “Or at least a loaner until the lab is sure that yours is a hundred percent clean.”

  She winced. “God, that’s gonna be a pain in the ass.” But it was necessary for her safety, and after tonight, she would take appropriate precautions. “And a loaner phone,” she promised.

  Rafe wrote her a receipt for the phone. “I’ll take your phone to the lab. Not sure how long it’ll take to get it back to you.”

  “I know,” Daisy grumbled. She started to ask who’d be handling her phone and her personal information when Rafe’s phone buzzed with a text.

  He typed something, then handed the phone to Erin, who nodded once she’d read it. “Forensics opened the locket,” Rafe said. “There’s a photo inside. I’d like you to take a look at it, Daisy, to see if you know the person in the picture.”

  “In case the guy picking me tonight was something other than random,” Daisy said, steeling herself for whoever the pictures were of. Because he’d implied there were others. Please don’t let me know them. Please.

  It was purely selfish on her part, she admitted. If she knew them, she’d mourn them. She’d also have to admit that this was personal. Believing that it was a random thing was somehow easier.

  Beside her, Gideon Reynolds went rigid. She studied his profile, the tightening of his jaw, the twitch in his cheek. He was glaring at Rafe, who didn’t seem terribly upset by his friend’s ire.

  Daisy found herself patting Gideon’s knee before she realized she was going to touch him. He was tense. She could feel it even with her slight touch. They shared a long glance and after a few moments, Gideon seemed to relax, his shoulders lowering.

  Gideon’s gaze dropped to her hand and she snatched it away as if she’d touched something hot. And she had. He was so warm under her palm. A shiver rippled over her skin because she was so cold. She wanted to cozy up to his warmth just like Brutus cuddled up to her.

  But he didn’t seem annoyed that she’d touched him. He seemed . . . grateful. And tired. He definitely knew something about the locket. Whatever it was, was personal. And unpleasant.

  She wondered what it was about the locket that made him so sad. It had been a simple silver locket with an engraving on the front. She wasn’t sure that she even remembered what it was at this point. The back had said Miriam.

  “Do you know her?” she asked him softly.

  He frowned. “Who?”

  “Miriam.”

  He flinched, just slightly, but Daisy had been watching him carefully. He met her eyes directly. “Why?”

  She wasn’t sure how to answer. “I guess because you seem sad,” she murmured. “I hate to see people sad. I tend to want to fix things. Sorry.”

  “It’s all right.” Again he seemed grateful. “I don’t know if I know her,” he added, and she got the feeling that he was being honest.

  The door opened and a woman entered carrying a small evidence bag and a folder. Both Rafe and Gideon rose. “Sergeant Grimes, this is our witness, Miss Dawson.”

  The woman’s expression was sharp and sympathetic at the same time. “I’m sorry to hear that you were attacked tonight, Miss Dawson.” She sat next to Rafe and placed the folder and evidence bag in front of him.

  Rafe examined the contents of the folder for a few moments, then placed it on the table and spun it around so that Daisy could see. She could feel Gideon tensing again, but tried to ignore him, focusing instead on the photo.

  It was an enlargement and grainy because of it. It was of a young girl, maybe thirteen. She wore a simple white dress, held a bouquet of flowers, and stood beside a much older man in a dark suit who was seated in a straight-backed wooden chair.

  Daisy frowned. “The picture looks recent, but the style of the clothing looks old. Like it’s one of those old-timey Gold Rush photos you get taken in Old Sac.”

  “Do you know either person?” Rafe asked.

  Daisy pulled the photo closer and studied it carefully. The girl had a sweet face, her dark hair pulled back into a neat bun. “I’ve never seen the girl before. She looks way too young to be married.” But young girls were forced to get married. She was aware of this, as repugnant as it was.

  “What about the man?” Rafe pressed.

  Daisy hesitated, staring at the man’s face, willing herself to look when she really wanted to run away. There was something stern about the man. Something harsh. Something that said his word would be law. “This might be the man who attacked me tonight, but . . . I don’t think so. This guy here in the photo, his eyes are spaced differently. Closer together, maybe. Bridge of his nose is wider. But the man I saw tonight had a nylon stocking over his face. His features were flattened, so I can’t be certain.”

  She glanced over at Gideon, who’d grown very still, staring at the photo with a combination of horror and denial.

  “You know them, don’t you?” Daisy whispered, but he didn’t tear his gaze away from the photo.

  Gideon let out a long breath. “This man can’t be tonight’s attacker.”

  “Why not?” Rafe asked, his voice just audible enough to be heard over the blood pounding in Daisy’s head. Because Gideon Reynolds continued to stare at the photo, his expression stricken. Something was very, very wrong.

  Gideon finally looked up, his eyes hard. His jaw harder. “Because he’s dead.”

  FOUR

  SACRAMENTO, CALIFORNIA

  THURSDAY, FEBRUARY 16, 11:45 P.M.

  He’s dead, Gideon thought, looking at the photo on the table. Because I killed him.

  The words hovered on the tip of his tongue, but he bit them back. Because murder was a crime. Except when it’s self-defense. Which it had been. Which I can’t prove.

  The hell of it was, it wasn’t even his darkest secret. Or his deepest shame.

  I’m sorry, Mama. He could still hear her crying over him. Could still hear her pleas for him to hold on. Just a little longer, baby. Just a little longer. I promise. It’ll be okay. You’ll be okay. I promise.

  She’d promised. She’d delivered. And then she’d walked away.

  He’d wanted to hate her. But he’d known what it had cost her to walk away. To go back. He’d known why she’d returned, why she’d left him. Mercy.

  His mother had
been forced to make an unimaginable choice. But Mercy had needed her more. He’d understood it then, even as he’d bitterly begged her not to leave him. He understood it now and regretted the words he’d flung in fear. In desperation. In pain.

  But it didn’t matter because she was gone again. Permanently. He could never take back the words he’d said, could never beg her forgiveness. I’m sorry, Mama. I’m so sorry.

  “Agent Reynolds? Agent Reynolds.”

  Gideon looked up with a jolt, the moment broken by Rafe’s sharp voice. But it wasn’t Rafe’s voice that occupied his attention. It was the small hand that covered his fist, squeezing tightly. Daisy Dawson.

  Gideon slid his gaze to Daisy’s face. She was watching him with a mixture of grim realization and compassion. Slowly she released his hand and went back to stroking her dog, never breaking her gaze.

  What had he said? Suddenly panicked, he looked to the others. Both Erin Rhee and Cindy Grimes looked puzzled. Maybe a little concerned. But not upset.

  Rafe gave him a wry smile that said more than words could. You didn’t say anything. It’s okay. “Thought you’d fallen asleep on us there. I asked if you were sure he was dead.”

  Gideon slowly exhaled, hoping he hid his relief. He couldn’t believe he’d said that much, but he’d been shocked. Part of him wanted to hurt Rafe for putting him in this situation, and then he remembered that Daisy’s attacker had mentioned others. He would have done the same thing in Rafe’s place.

  “Yes,” he said, without explanation. He tapped the folder. “Was there anything more in the locket?” he asked because his brain was finally beginning to kick in.

  He’d killed the man in the wedding photo. Miriam—or Eileen, as the girl in the photo had preferred to be called—wouldn’t have been allowed to be single afterward. She would have been given to another man.

  Or she escaped shortly after I did. Which seemed unlikely. There would have been another wedding photo, inserted over the first.

  “There was,” Cindy said, surprised. “A layer of shredded paper, cut into tiny pieces. I think it was another photo, but I’ll have to try putting it together.”

  “You know the girl in the picture?” Erin asked.

  “A long time ago. I haven’t seen her in seventeen years. Her name was Miriam. The locket would have been hers.”

  “And the scraps of paper I found?” Cindy asked.

  Not here. Not now. He’d already said too much. He aimed a pointed stare at Rafe.

  Rafe stood up. “I think we’re done for now. Daisy, come with me. Mom, Dad, and Sasha are all waiting to take you home.”

  Daisy looked abruptly frustrated. “You’re kidding.”

  “Sorry,” Rafe said with real apology behind it. “You can’t be here anymore.”

  Daisy rose, her blue eyes flashing. “Rude,” she muttered. “Just when we were getting somewhere.”

  Gideon had to clear his throat because a laugh had come bubbling from nowhere. She looked so righteously angry. But he instantly sobered because she was right. They were getting somewhere and that was nowhere she needed to be.

  “Come on, Brutus. We’re being thrown out. Just when it was getting good.” She settled the little ball of fur into her purse, adjusting it so that the side expanded, revealing mesh netting.

  Gideon reached out and touched her hand before he could talk himself out of it. He could have controlled his need to touch her once more, but he didn’t and he wasn’t sure why. Okay, that was bullshit. He knew why, but he wasn’t going to think about it. Daisy Dawson had given him comfort when she hadn’t had to. And he’d found himself dropping his guard around her. It should have appalled him, but it didn’t.

  “Thank you,” he murmured when she looked at him in surprise. “Be careful.”

  Her lips curved into a sad smile that hurt his heart, and he wondered what she’d seen when she’d watched him with such compassion. “I will. Be well, Agent Reynolds.” She shouldered the bag and followed Rafe to the door. “I can find my way out.”

  “I bet you could,” Rafe said, his voice thick with amusement. “And I’m sure that you’d come upon many interesting conversations to ‘accidently overhear’ while you were pretending to get lost. So this nice officer here will walk you upstairs.”

  She glared up at Rafe. “You don’t have to be so smug about it.” She turned her glare onto the uniformed officer waiting patiently in the hall. “How long has he been there?”

  “Since about a minute after I walked through the door with Agent Reynolds, because I know you too well.” He gave her hair a brotherly tug. “Tell Mom that I’ll call when I can.”

  “I will.” She grew serious, her glare disappearing. “I assume I can go back to my normal life tomorrow. Like work? And all my events?”

  Rafe hesitated. “One of us will drive you tomorrow. Don’t go anywhere by yourself.”

  Daisy’s brow lifted delicately. “One of you?” She indicated the interview room with a gesture. “Or one of the Sokolovs?”

  Me. The thought hit Gideon hard. It was unexpected and ridiculous. The woman had a lot of people to watch out for her. His services were definitely not needed. Or even wanted, probably.

  “Not sure,” Rafe said. “What time are you expected at the station?”

  “Five A.M.,” Daisy told him with the slightest bit of satisfaction. “We go live at six. From your parents’ house, I need to leave by four twenty-five.”

  Rafe winced. “Ouch. I’ll let you know who’ll be accompanying you.”

  “Babysitting me, you mean.” Her shoulders sagged dejectedly. “I know you’re just trying to protect me, but I thought I’d finally gotten my independence and now some asshole takes it away from me again.”

  Rafe gave her a quick hug and Gideon had to bite back a growl. Settle down, he barked to himself. Honestly.

  “Hopefully it won’t be for too long,” Rafe said. He met the officer’s gaze. “You’ll follow them home, right?”

  The older man nodded. “Of course. I’ll call you when they’re inside and safe.”

  “Thank you.” Rafe closed the door and returned to the table. “Officer Taggert is a friend of my parents. I think he’s hoping for a slice of my mom’s medovik. She always has one on the sideboard.”

  Gideon didn’t blame Officer Taggert. Like anything Irina made, the honey cake was well worth the extra hours on the treadmill to run it off.

  “Then why are we here?” Cindy asked with a smile. “We need to go to your mom’s.”

  “I’ll bring you some cake,” Rafe promised, then turned back to Gideon. “Okay, now that it’s just us, what about the scraps of paper Cindy found in the locket?”

  Gideon wanted to apologize, excuse himself, and run home. But he knew he couldn’t. This was the lead he’d been waiting for, ever since he’d escaped that hellhole. A connection to the community. To the men who’d raped his sister and killed his mother. He’d get justice for them if it was the last thing he did.

  I’m sorry, Mama.

  SACRAMENTO, CALIFORNIA

  FRIDAY, FEBRUARY 17, 12:00 A.M.

  “You’re sure you’re okay?” Karl asked for what had to be the twentieth time since Officer Taggert had delivered her to the lobby of the SacPD, where the Sokolovs had been anxiously waiting.

  “I’m fine.” Sliding into the backseat of the Sokolovs’ Tesla, Daisy gave Karl a smile that she hoped dispelled his fears, but that she knew probably wouldn’t. He’d promised her father that he’d keep her safe and considered Daisy being hurt on his watch to be a personal failing. “Nothing a cup of tea won’t fix.”

  His smile was small and wary. “All right, then. Buckle up, Daisy. You too, Sasha.”

  Sasha Sokolov folded her nearly six-foot self into the backseat from the other side of the car and rolled her eyes. “Yes, Dad. Not like I’m twenty-five years old or anything,” s
he added in a mutter that was loud enough for him to hear.

  “I know how old you are,” Karl said. “I was there when you were born.”

  Sighing, Sasha made a grand production of buckling her belt. Daisy followed suit, but more sedately. When they were both secured, Karl brought the wing door down, which always gave Daisy a silly little thrill. It was just a door, but it was very cool.

  Irina called the Tesla “Karl’s toy,” but fondly. The man had earned his money, his wife always said. He had the right to spend it as he pleased. After all, Karl spent much more on his family and charities than he ever spent on himself, Tesla included. He was a very generous man who’d opened his heart and home to Daisy despite not having seen her in over a decade. Daisy’s father had asked for his help and Karl hadn’t blinked.

  She wanted to ask if they’d called her father, but wasn’t sure she was ready for the answer.

  Karl helped Irina into the front seat, then leaned in to kiss his wife’s cheek before gallantly closing her door. Irina turned in her seat to fix Daisy with a stare that missed nothing. “You are not fine,” Irina informed her, her accent thick, her worry thicker. “You were attacked tonight. You cannot be fine.”

  Daisy shrugged. “Then I will be fine?”

  Irina waved a hand in irritation. “Of course you will be fine. We will see to it. You will stay with us—”

  “Tonight,” Daisy interrupted. “Only tonight.”

  Karl chuckled as he started the car, the Tesla’s engine eerily silent. “And after we had the dungeon specially prepared for her,” he said to his wife. Karl had no trace of an accent. Unlike his wife, who had come to the United States as a teenager, he was the son of immigrants but had grown up in California. He met Daisy’s eyes in the rearview mirror, his twinkling. “Irina even changed out the manacles to the ones we save for company.”

  Irina swatted him playfully. “You weren’t supposed to let her know I went to all that trouble for her.”