by Kat Martin
The guard glanced over his shoulder, taking in Gray’s casual jeans and flannel shirt with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows. He could sense the younger man’s puzzlement. God knew he didn’t look like a lawyer with his thick chestnut hair tousled by the stiff breeze and a five o’clock stubble on his lean face. And he suspected his silver-gray eyes were smoldering with frustration.
No doubt the guard was wondering if he was there to stage a jail break. Then, with a small shrug, the young man seemed to conclude that his unease about the unknown visitor was above his pay grade, and he shoved open the door.
Gray entered the small, windowless room to find a narrow table and two wooden chairs bolted to the tiled floor. Bart Kowalski was already seated and glaring at him with blatant impatience.
The man was as large as a mountain, with a bald head and heavily chiseled features. Most of the bruises he’d received during his arrest looked like they’d healed up in the past weeks. Gray couldn’t see the bullet wound on the man’s leg beneath the blue prison uniform, but he assumed it was healing as well.
Gray closed the door, moving to take the empty seat across the table from Ski.
“’Bout time you got here,” the man groused.
Gray leaned forward, his expression hard with warning. “I shouldn’t be here at all. You’re going to blow my cover.”
“I have to talk to someone, and you’re the only one I trust.”
Gray frowned. He was in Seattle because Ski was anxious to make a plea deal by ratting out those involved in the local drug trade. During his confession, he’d revealed that there were a couple dirty cops who were working with the cartel. Gray was there to ferret out the traitors.
“What about your lawyer?”
“No one but you,” Ski stubbornly insisted.
“Why?” It was a question that’d been nagging at Gray since he received word that the man was demanding to speak with him. “As far as I can remember, we’ve never met other than at your arrest. Why trust me?”
“I shared a cell with Spider a few years ago,” Ski said. “I overheard him telling the guard that he’d worked as your snitch and that you were a stand-up guy. At least for a cop. He said you even stopped by and checked on his mother while he was locked up.” Ski lowered his voice, his eyes darting around the cramped room as if making sure they were alone. “Plus, you wouldn’t have been the one picked to sniff out the dirty cops if you weren’t squeaky clean.”
Gray remembered Spider. A low-level drug dealer and street hustler who’d provided just enough information to keep himself from a protracted jail sentence. Not the finest character reference, but he’d take it if that meant Ski would open up to him.
“Did you remember something?” he asked.
The man muttered a curse. “How many times do I have to say it? I’ve told you guys everything I know.”
“It’s not enough,” Gray protested. They needed names if they were going to root out the corruption in the department.
“I was at the bottom of the food chain. I didn’t get invites to the secret meetings and carry-in dinners.”
Gray narrowed his eyes. “If you want to be a smart-ass, do it on your own time. I have better things to do.”
“Wait,” Ski grunted as Gray started to rise from his chair. “I need your help.”
Gray sat back down. He didn’t miss the edge of panic in the man’s voice. “What’s going on?”
Ski did the looking-around thing again. Did he think there was a guard hidden behind the potted plant? Then, the man reached into the pocket of his uniform pants to pull out a piece of paper.
“I found this in my bed last night,” he said, shoving the note across the table.
Gray read the scribbled words out loud. “‘Talk and your kid is dead.’ Kid?” He lifted his gaze to study his companion in confusion. “What kid?”
Ski looked oddly uncomfortable. “I have a boy. Donny. He’s six. I haven’t had much to do with him until a few months ago when my ex dumped him on my doorstep. She has a new dude and a new kid and no room for Donny,” he said. “My mom’s been taking care of the boy since he got to town.”
Gray tapped his fingers on the table. He’d read through Ski’s file a dozen times, and he didn’t recall a mention of a child. Which meant . . .
“He wasn’t living in Seattle until recently?” Gray demanded.
Ski shook his head. “He lived in LA, and I never saw him. My old lady said I was a bad influence.” Ski made a sound of self-disgust. “She was right. But then Donny got in the way of her new life, and she suddenly didn’t care that I get the trophy for the worst dad in the world. She just wanted to get rid of him.”
Gray shuddered at the thought of a young child being in the care of this brutal man. With an effort, he forced himself to concentrate on the reason he was there.
“Who would know you have a son?”
Ski blinked, caught off guard by the question. “My ex and her new douchebag of a husband,” he said. “And of course, my mom.”
“What about Joey?”
Joey Bandini was a complete lowlife. He’d have bartered Ski’s son to the bad guys in a heartbeat if he thought it could help him. Hell, he’d been willing to threaten his own daughter for a few bucks to buy drugs.
Ski shook his head. “I didn’t want anyone to know about the kid. I might not be the father of the year, but I’m not completely stupid.”
“What about school?”
“I haven’t got him signed up yet.” The man shrugged. “I don’t even know when it starts, to be honest.” He paused, his brow furrowing. “I think my mom takes him to some community center to help with his reading, but I doubt anyone there would know I’m his father.”
Gray continued to tap his finger on the table. “So, no one in Seattle knows you have a son besides your mother?”
Ski started to shake his head, only to suck in a sharp breath. “Wait. I caught one of the guards looking through the letters that I have in my cell. A couple of them were from Donny.”
Ah. Now they were getting somewhere. “What’s the guard’s name?”
“Butch.” Ski held up his hands at Gray’s impatient glare. “That’s all I know.”
“When did you catch him going through the letters?”
“Two nights ago.”
A sudden unease cramped Gray’s stomach as his gaze strayed back to the note on the table. It could be an empty warning, but if there was even a small chance the boy might be in danger, he had to act. Now.
“Where is Donny?”
“With my mom.” Without warning, Ski leaned forward, his brutish face pale. “Look, I know I’m scum, and I’ll probably die in this shithole, but the kid is innocent. You have to protect him.”
“Give me the address,” Gray commanded.
Ski rattled off the street number, watching as Gray grabbed the note off the table and tucked it in his pocket.
“You’re going to make sure Donny’s okay?”
“Yeah, I’m going to make sure he’s okay.” Gray shoved himself out of the chair. “Don’t talk to anyone. I’ll be back.”
Without waiting for Ski to respond, Gray walked out of the room and motioned for the nearby guard to escort him to the exit. He wasn’t sure why, but he had a sudden, urgent sense that the boy was in trouble.
He’d learned long ago never to ignore his instincts.
He jogged across the parking lot to climb into the midsize car that he’d rented before returning to Seattle. It was the sort of vehicle that blended into the background, unlike his father’s 1969 Mustang, which he’d recently rebuilt and painted cherry red.
Heading downtown, he passed through the industrial area into a neighborhood that had gone from depressed to derelict in the past ten years. He parked along the curb, studying the house that was crammed on a tiny yard and surrounded by a chain-link fence. At one time it had been painted a cheery yellow, but now it’d faded to a dull mustard, with sagging shutters and a roof that looked on the point of
collapse. There were, however, a couple ceramic pots on the front porch that were filled with bright flowers, and lacy curtains in the window. As if whoever lived inside refused to give in completely to despair.
Switching off the engine, Gray instinctively touched the gun that was holstered beneath his flannel shirt before sliding out of the car. It was just after five o’clock, but the neighborhood seemed eerily silent.
Gray opened the gate and moved up the broken sidewalk. Then, stepping onto the narrow porch, he felt his gut clench as he glanced through the window to catch sight of a form sprawled on the floor. Moving to the door, he turned the knob, relieved when it swung open easily.
He rushed across the worn carpet to kneel next to the fragile old woman. She was lying on her side with blood trickling down her face from a deep wound on her forehead.
Pulling his phone from his pocket, Gray hit 9-1-1, his gaze making a quick survey of his surroundings. He couldn’t let his concern for the old woman distract him from potential danger. Not when he had no idea whether the attackers were still in the house.
“I need an ambulance,” he told the emergency operator, giving the address before returning the phone to his pocket. “Mrs. Kowalski?”
The woman slowly opened her eyes and made a sound of distress. “Get away from me.”
“Easy,” he murmured as she rolled onto her back, fear darkening the blue eyes that her son had inherited.
“Who are you?”
“Detective Hawkins.” He didn’t waste time digging for his ID card. The woman was barely clinging to consciousness and he needed information. “Can you tell me what happened to you?”
She licked her lips, her wrinkled face tight with pain. “There was a man. He knocked on the door. When I wouldn’t open it, he busted the kitchen window and climbed in.”
Gray glanced toward the arched opening that led to a small kitchen. He could see the shards of broken glass that littered the linoleum floor.
“Did you recognize him?”
“No.” She paused, as if trying to recall the chain of events. At last her lips parted with a sharp gasp. “Donny. He was here for Donny.”
Gray’s unease solidified into anger. Shit. He was too late. “Did he take the boy?”
She cautiously shook her head. “No, I snuck him out the side door and then pretended he was hiding in the bedroom.”
Smart woman. Clearly, she was capable of thinking during an emergency. “Where would he go?” Gray demanded. “Does he have a friend nearby?”
“He’s too shy.” Her words were becoming slurred as she struggled to stay conscious. “He doesn’t ever leave the house. Except . . .”
Gray leaned close, lightly grabbing her frail hand. “Yes?”
“The youth center,” she managed to force out. “It’s just down the road.”
“Do you think he would go there?”
“He has a teacher who’s been helping him with his reading.” The older woman’s eyes closed even as she struggled to speak. “He . . . he adores her.”
Gray rose to his feet as he heard the siren of the approaching ambulance.
“Help is on the way,” he assured Mrs. Kowalski.
“Donny,” she whispered.
“I’ll find him.” Gray clenched his hands as he gazed down at the woman who’d sacrificed herself to save her grandson. He intended to make whoever was responsible pay a heavy price for hurting her. “Don’t worry.”
Chapter Two
Melanie Cassidy locked the doors of the Hummingbird Youth Center and scurried to her car, which was parked behind the building. She’d discovered since moving to Seattle from Chicago three years ago that the low-hanging gray skies could release anything from a drizzle to a biblical deluge without warning.
She wasn’t worried about the rain ruining her appearance. She kept her dark hair cut short and she never wore makeup to enhance her pixie features or large green eyes. And she was wearing her usual jeans and T-shirt with a bright red raincoat. The kids she worked with felt more comfortable when she looked like one of them.
Nope, her only concern was the phone she had pressed to her ear as she jumped into her rusty Ford Taurus and slammed shut the door. She’d just spent a large chunk of her modest salary on the thing. She wasn’t going to risk having it drenched.
Then again, she wasn’t prepared to end her conversation with Remi Walsh.
The two had been best friends since they’d both worked at a youth center in Chicago. It didn’t matter that they were complete opposites. Remi had come from a wealthy family and earned her graduate degree in education. Mel had bounced between her mother’s crappy apartment and foster care, and she hadn’t been able to afford more than a few classes at the community college.
But they both shared a fierce desire to help those kids who too often fell through the cracks, and that was enough to seal their friendship. Even after Mel had moved to Seattle, they’d stayed in contact.
Settling behind the steering wheel, she closed the car door and tried to mentally process the reason her friend had called.
“Oh my God, Remi. I don’t even know what to say,” she breathed, in shock.
“You don’t have to say anything,” Remi assured her. “You told me that you needed fifty thousand to expand the youth center, and I have the funds to help.”
Mel shook her head, glancing toward the empty lot next door. It’d been her dream to create a community garden that could be shared by the neighborhood. Growing their own food would not only be a wonderful learning experience for the kids, but for many families it would be their only source of fresh vegetables. But their funding was constantly being cut. Without donations from the community, there was no way they could hope to buy the land.
“I can’t believe you remember what I said about my silly dream for a garden.”
“Why wouldn’t I remember?” Remi protested. “I’m not in my dotage yet.”
“Yeah, but we were at your reception when we were talking about my work and you were so busy lusting after your new hubby that I assumed you didn’t hear a word I said,” Mel reminded her, hoping that her friend couldn’t hear the hint of envy in her voice.
Not that anyone would blame her for being jealous. Remi had endured hell in the form of a serial killer who’d stalked her for years, but over the past months she’d married a gorgeous Chicago cop who blatantly adored her, and she’d tapped into an inheritance worth millions to create her new charity.
“I’m a very talented woman, Mel,” Remi assured her. “I can lust after my husband and listen to my maid of honor describe her frustrated plans for a garden at the same time.”
“Talented, indeed,” Mel teased, not sure she could be so versatile. Remi’s new husband was delectable, with a capital D. Perhaps not as sexy as . . . No. She slammed a mental door on her renegade thoughts of the man who had walked away from her two years ago. “Seriously, Remi, this is so generous. How can I ever thank you?”
“By continuing the fabulous work you’re already doing.”
Mel smiled. “That’s easy enough.”
“Not easy, but satisfying,” Remi corrected.
“True,” Mel readily agreed. She loved her job. Not everyone was so lucky. “Okay, since I can only say thank you again, tell me how you’re doing. Is that husband spoiling you rotten?”
“He is.” Remi’s voice softened, contentment almost oozing through the phone. “Along with all his brothers. Sometimes I feel like I’m drowning in Marcel men.”
Envy once again tugged at Mel’s heart. And once again she reminded herself that no one deserved happiness more than Remi.
“And you wouldn’t have it any other way, would you?” she teased.
“Not for a second. And what about you?” Remi demanded. “Any excitement in Seattle?”
“Excitement? Hmm. I stayed up until almost ten o’clock last night watching the Mariners play baseball on TV. That’s about all the excitement I can take. I was exhausted this morning.”
Re
mi clicked her tongue. “That’s it. I’m flying out there next month and we’re spending a girl’s week together,” she warned. “I think we can find more trouble than a baseball game.”
“Mi casa es su casa,” Mel told her friend. “I’ll talk to you this weekend. And thanks again.”
Ending the call, Mel shoved the phone into her purse and started her car. There was a plop, plop, plop as the first of the raindrops hit her windshield.
“Great,” she muttered. Couldn’t it have waited another fifteen minutes? That’s all the time it would take for her to drive to her apartment.
Apparently not. The drops came faster and faster until she was forced to switch on her wipers. With a grimace she leaned forward to wipe the fog from the inside of her windshield. Her defroster was on the fritz. Just like her right turn signal and the horn.
Clearing away the thin layer of moisture, Mel froze as she caught sight of a tiny form appearing around the corner of the youth center. Behind it, a black SUV hurtled through the empty lot, halting next to the building so a large man could jump out of the passenger side.
“Donny?” she breathed, easily recognizing the small boy.
She shoved open her door and slid out of the car. Her heart skipped a beat as the man, who looked like he’d overdosed on steroids, reached to grab Donny by the arm.
“No, let me go!” the boy cried.
Mel stepped forward, her mouth dry with fear. “Hey, what are you doing?”
Clearly caught off guard, the man jerked his head around to glare at her through the gathering gloom.
“Get lost, bitch.”
Mel took a step forward, refusing to be intimidated. “Donny, do you know this man?”
The boy frantically shook his head. “No, Ms. Cassidy.”
“Let him go,” Mel commanded.
The man narrowed his eyes. “This is none of your business. Get in your car and drive away.”
“I’m making it my business,” she warned. “Let him go.”