“Did I break the record, Mom?”
I roll my eyes. Everything with my boys is a competition. Who’s taller, who’s stronger, who has the scariest injuries and the biggest scars—and we haven’t quite hit puberty yet.
Lord have mercy.
“Probably, Bub,” I answer with a sigh. Dylan starts chuckling behind me.
The door opens and a doctor walks in and stops at the opposite side of the bed. “Hey, Liam. Mrs. Berger?”
“It’s Ms.,” I clarify.
“I’ll just wait outside,” Dylan says, but I grab him by the hand and hold on.
“Stay.”
“Your son has a nice size cut on his head we already cleaned and closed, but aside from that, a concussion, and a doozy of a headache, there’s no additional injury. We’ll keep an eye on him overnight and see how things are tomorrow.”
“Can he have visitors?”
“As soon as we have him moved up to a room. A nurse will be in shortly, I believe there’s some insurance stuff to be filled out, and as soon as that’s done he can be on his way.”
True to his word, the same nurse who showed me here comes in with a clipboard and I quickly fill out the questionnaire.
“I’m moving him to the third floor, room 312. Give us twenty minutes to transfer care and get him settled in?”
“You head to the waiting room,” Dylan suggests. “I’ll be right behind you. I’m just going to walk him to the elevator.”
I kiss Liam, who wraps an arm around my neck—something he hasn’t done in a long time and has me swallow a lump—and watch as Dylan helps the nurse navigate his hospital bed through the door.
The waiting room is full of familiar faces: Mom, Kerry, Damian, Luna, and Toni with her arm firmly around the shoulders of Mrs. McKinley. They look up as one when I walk in.
“Twelve stitches and a concussion,” I immediately inform Mom who half-rises from her chair. “He’ll be fine. They’re just moving him up to a room and we can go see him.”
“Where’s Dylan?” Damian wants to know.
“Right here,” his deep voice sounds right behind me, as I feel the pressure of his hand on my lower back. “You should sit down,” he adds for my benefit, and I let him guide me to a vacant chair beside my mother. Then he turns to Thomas’ mom and crouches down in front of her, grabbing her hand as he speaks to her in a gentle tone. “I don’t know how much your son is willing to share about what happened, but I need you to know—if not for his actions—things may well have ended much differently. He’s a fighter, and you should be very proud of him.”
“Thank you.” The words are barely audible, but the grateful look she shoots him with eyes brimming with tears is clear.
Moments later her husband comes in to get her.
“Thank you,” Toni echoes, getting to her feet, but her eyes are on Dylan. “Her son didn’t want her in the room when the doctor came in to examine him. She can guess, though. What you said, I’m sure it helped.”
The implication of what she says fills me with some form of survivor’s guilt as I realize how lucky Liam was.
“I’ve got her,” Luna says, following Toni—who claims to need some air—out of the room.
DYLAN
“Jesus,” Damian runs a hand through his hair, looking shaken.
It’s coming on to midnight, and we’re standing in the parking lot, Kerry already tucked inside the running SUV.
Luna left for Yeager’s office with Toni earlier, where apparently they’re waiting to interview Grunsberg until the boss gets there. He’s flying back from Austin. She left the Expedition for me.
Jasper had called around the time Marya went up with Lydia and Kerry to see her boy. The team in Montrose found the connection in the paperwork they took out of Keswick’s house there, something that had easily been overlooked initially, simply because so much time had passed.
They found a copy of a birth certificate listing one Katherine Grunsberg as the mother of Peter James Grunsberg, born eight years prior to Katherine’s marriage to Connor Keswick. From what they pulled together from the family papers, Sylvia was born three years after that. The last mention of Peter was a letter from a boarding school in Vermont Keswick donated a whack of money to, confirming the then fourteen-year-old’s arrival. Sylvia would’ve been just three years old and wouldn’t necessarily have remembered him.
We have to wait to get information from Grunsberg himself, since it’s doubtful Keswick will talk, but it’s clear their paths crossed again at some point. The only witnesses able to perhaps shed a little light are the two boys.
While I was getting some missing details from Liam—mostly about what happened in that windowless room—Damian had the difficult task of interviewing Thomas. Something that clearly affected him.
“Tough,” I mumble sympathetically.
Damian snorts in response. “Nowhere near what his poor parents are faced with.”
“For sure.”
“The kid never left that room. The first week he never saw who had taken him. All he remembers is playing a game of Fortnight with SoccerLord the night before he was taken. The guy asked him to meet in the back parking lot at the soccer fields. Said to wait by a navy blue van, because he had some special edition game the kid could borrow. He doesn’t remember much else until waking up in that room.” He shoves his hands in his pockets and turns to look at his wife, who appears to have dozed off, her head resting against the window. “He had a bucket in the room with him, and didn’t know if it was night or day. He remembers looking forward to the door opening that first week, because that meant a bottle of water and a couple of granola bars would be tossed in the room. He said he’d feel sleepy after and would doze off. Then one time he woke up while he was...” Damian swallows hard and I know it costs him. I look away and give him a minute, my own fists clenched in my pockets. “Anyway.” He clears his throat. “He remembers trying to fight, recognizing Grunsberg, who easily overpowered him, muttering something about not being able to wait his turn. That’s all that was ever said to him when the man returned. He never got his clothes back.”
I don’t trust myself to say anything, so I don’t. I just swallow hard.
“Liam?” he asks, and I shake my head.
“Was spared that.”
“Good.”
“Yeah.”
“I’m gonna drive my wife home, but first I’m gonna swing by Bella’s to pick up our son. I feel the need to have him close tonight.”
“I hear you, Boss.”
His hand claps on my shoulder. “You did good today. Go be with your family, Barnes, and don’t wait too long to make that official. Time is as precious as it is fleeting, so grab the fuck on.”
I TURN TO LOOK AT MARYA, who is yawning in the passenger seat. Grabbing her hand, I give it a squeeze and earn an exhausted smile.
Liam was released forty-five minutes ago, after a very uncomfortable night in his room.
The nurse ended up wheeling in a recliner we told Lydia to take, Marya crawled in bed with her son—something the nurses frowned at but didn’t interfere with—and I sat on the floor by the door, my back against the wall. I dozed off occasionally, but every time I did, staff would come in to check on Liam. They might as well have put in a revolving door. It’s quieter at Marya’s place with all four boys running around.
A quick glance in the rearview mirror shows both Liam and Lydia asleep. Good, because I’m not sure we’ll get much of a chance at Marya’s.
Before we left the hospital, I made a call to my mother to see how the boys fared in the tree house last night, and to give her a heads-up we’d be on our way home soon. From what I gather, the kids are bouncing to see their brother. I have no doubt they’ll be waiting at Marya’s when we get there.
“I...uhh...do you...shit,” Marya uncharacteristically stammers.
“Spit it out, Sweetheart.”
She huffs and blows a stray strand of hair out of her face. “Are you just dropping us off?”
“Oh.”
“Did you think I was gonna throw you out and be on my merry way?” I turn to her with an eyebrow raised.
“I wasn’t sure.” She throws a quick glance over her shoulder, and finding the back seat occupants still safely sleeping, she leans in a little closer. “Things haven’t exactly been moving along a traditional path thus far. It’s hard to know what to expect. It’s like we’ve lived a lifetime in the past couple of months, and at the same time I feel like maybe we’ve missed some steps.”
I turn our hands palm to palm and slip my fingers between hers. “What do you want?” I ask bluntly. She stays quiet, so I try again. “Today, next week, next month—what is it you want?” When she still hesitates, I continue, “Okay, I’ll tell you what I want. Today I don’t want to leave you or the boys, so unless you don’t want me to, I’ll stick around.”
“I want you to.”
I grin at her. “See? We’re getting somewhere. Now, aside from something popping up that requires my presence at the office, I’d like to hang around tomorrow as well.”
“Fine by me.” Her grin matches mine.
“Excellent. Then tomorrow night, seeing as it’s technically a school night, Max and I should head back to my place. Not because I want to,” I add quickly, “but because I think it’s better to give the kids a chance to get used to the fact we’re becoming an us. Next weekend we can be back here, if you’ll have us.”
Her fingers squeeze mine but before she can respond, Lydia answers from the back seat, making us both laugh.
“Ohhh, she’ll have you.”
CHAPTER 32
Dylan
“Hey.”
“Hi, is this a good time? I can call back—”
“It’s always a good time for you, Sweetheart,” I tell Marya, get up from my chair, and walk into the hallway, away from my team’s prying eyes.
The truth is, we’ve been swamped, and although I’ve talked to her every day, I haven’t seen much of her.
The feedback from both Keswick’s and Grunsberg’s interviews had been sparse, since neither was particularly forthcoming, so we’ve been digging hard.
Monday we received the search warrant for Grunsberg’s house in Durango, as well as his office at the office furniture outlet he’s managed the last six months since moving here from Grand Junction. The guy has a wife and two young daughters for fuck’s sake.
The wife looked shell-shocked when we arrived on her doorstep Monday afternoon. It was clear she already knew her husband was in FBI custody, but she’d been clueless the navy blue van belonging to her was used in the abduction of children. The same van she used to take their own daughters to daycare in.
She’d been equally clueless about her husband’s connection with Connor Keswick, who she only knew as the father of her college friend, Sylvia, well before she even met Peter Grunsberg. It’s turned out to be a tangled web for fucking sure.
The only thing we found in the house was his PS4 in the basement rec room, but we hit the jackpot when we later searched his office at the store. In a locked drawer in his desk, we discovered a digital camera storing not only the soccer tryout pictures Berger had alluded to, but also pictures of Seth, Thomas, and a total of five more young boys. I’ll never be able to get those images out of my mind.
From what we were able to collect from Grunsberg’s home and office, along with the evidence found in the Montrose and Farmington searches, the picture was getting clearer.
As of yesterday, three of those unknown boys have been identified. The first one we matched was a boy who disappeared in June of 2013 on a school trip to Arches National Park in Utah. He was never found. The other two disappeared from the Grand Junction area. One was found wandering along the Colorado River near Palisade, nine days after he went missing in 2017, and the third boy was gone for two weeks just last year before he turned up sitting on his own front step. Both boys claimed not to remember what happened and both showed evidence of having been sexually assaulted. The cases were never connected.
They are now.
The similarities in the cases we uncovered are undeniable. All the kids fit the same general physical description, were between nine and twelve, and were avid gamers. I bet we’ll find the same is true for the kids in the remaining two pictures, once we identify those.
God only knows how many similar cases there are. How many of these kids are still missing.
There’s enough to make a case against Peter Grunsberg, but any case against Keswick is purely circumstantial.
Last night, all information we uncovered was handed over to Yeager. He planned to interview Grunsberg again today, confronting him with some of the evidence. So far most of what we found is good evidence against Peter—including the semen found on Seth’s body which turned out to be his—but there isn’t really anything concrete to tie in Keswick.
That’s what I’m hanging around the office for, a call from Damian who’s sitting in on the interview in Farmington. Hopefully with some good news.
“It’s just that...were you and Max are still planning to be here for dinner?”
Marya’s voice draws me from my thoughts and I take a quick look at my watch. It’s already five thirty.
“Absolutely,” I tell her, realizing I’m wasting time at the office when I could—should—be spending time with her.
I’ve been eating and breathing this investigation, and as much as I’d like to wrap this case up in a tidy package, so there can be some closure for God knows how many parents out there, I can’t lose sight of my own family. The one we’ve only just started building.
Time for me to adjust my priorities and head home.
If anything new comes up, there’s always the phone.
“I just need to swing by my folks to pick up Max, and run home to pack our bags. Is six thirty okay?”
“Six thirty is perfect.”
“Anything you want me to pick up?”
“Mom did groceries, so we’ve got food bulging out of the fridge. But...”
I can hear the sound of a sliding door and I’m guessing she stepped on the back deck.
“But what?”
“Do we need condoms?”
Immediately my cock stirs to life, pressing against the fly of my jeans at the promise of sliding inside her bare. “Clean as of my last annual checkup and there’s been only you, so you tell me.”
Her hissed breath before she answers has the hair stand up on my arms.
“I’m on the pill and I’m clean. There...there hasn’t been anyone in years.”
The small hesitation only highlights how fucking lucky I am she let me in. “How likely is it we can get the boys to bed right after dinner?”
“Not,” she answers on a snicker, “but the anticipation will be sweet while we watch Aquaman. I promised the boys we’d rent it.”
“You one of those women with a thing for Momoa?”
Another snicker.
“Maybe. But think, once the credits roll, all that lustful attention will divert to you.”
She laughs heartily at my involuntary growl.
“Did you pack clean underwear and socks, Kiddo?” I ask Max, as he comes barreling down the stairs.
“I couldn’t find any clean ones.”
Shit. I haven’t even thought about doing laundry lately. “Hang tight, I’ll go grab the basket. We’ll just have to do it at Marya’s.”
“Dad?” Max pipes up when I carry down an overflowing basket with dirty laundry.
“Yeah, Max.”
“Wouldn’t it be easier if we just moved into their house?”
From the mouths of babes.
Still, it’s only been a couple of months we’ve become more than just acquaintances. Although, technically, I’ve known Marya for a few years. Sure, from a distance mostly, but I’ve always been well aware of her, waiting for an opportunity.
“It would and it’s the direction we’re moving in, but a lot ha
s happened in the past few weeks, and I think maybe everyone needs a little breather before we make that official.”
My easy-going son shrugs his shoulders. “It’s a pain, Dad. I have three beds, one here, one at Grammy’s, and now one at Marya’s, and sometimes I don’t know which one I’ll be sleeping in.”
He’s right. Of everyone, Max has been shuffled around a lot and has taken it all in stride, so I never really thought to take that into consideration, but I should. I ruffle his hair.
“Good point, kid. Maybe we should all sit down this weekend and talk about it.”
I look around our modest house and although comfortably familiar, it’s never really represented home to me. In truth, I much prefer Marya’s rambling house, more so because she’s there.
My phone rings in my pocket. The office.
“Gotta take this call, Max. Grab my keys and start hauling stuff to the truck, okay?”
“Can I start it?” he asks, a big grin on his face.
“Over my dead body.”
“That can be arranged,” the smart-ass quips with a grin, before snagging the keys from the table and making for the door.
I quickly answer the call. “Barnes.”
“You sitting down?” Jasper asks.
“Sure,” I lie.
“Grunsberg is singing.”
“No shit?”
“Nope. Got scared when Yeager shoved the pictures from his camera in his face. Told him he’s going down for all charges related to these cases and any other one we can find. Grunsberg was quick to implicate Connor Keswick. Confirmed he was sexually molested during the entire time living in Keswick’s house. According to him, he continued being a victim at boarding school until his senior year when he became predator instead of prey.”
“Jesus.”
“Oh, it gets better. He stayed in the New England states until he happened to read an article that mentioned his stepfather’s company, Contechs, had nailed a major international contract seven years ago. He came back to Colorado, threatened Keswick with exposure for a payoff, who turned around and offered him a better deal.”
10-Code (Rock Point, #4) Page 26