And now Isaiah had a watchdog in his house, although Nugget was one subdued puppy as he shuffled into the house at Tate’s side, his head down and his tail limp. “Morning,” Isaiah offered as he set the platter of bacon on the table. “Where’s his crate?”
Tate grunted a surly, “Humph,” took a seat and asked, “How’s the kids?” instead of answering. That was Tate for you, stoic, surly and inclined to ignore common niceties as a waste of time. Nugget’s crate didn’t matter anyway. The gentle guy had already turned himself into a fluffy, gold rug curled at Tate’s feet.
Isaiah poured himself a cup of coffee as he let his acute psychic senses flare through his home to answer Tate’s question. He took a seat opposite Tate at the table. As a rule, he didn’t tamper with other people’s energies or brain patterns. Years back, the Bicks had tortured him, forced him to do vile things to others to achieve their end game of world domination. Isaiah never forgave himself for the pain he’d caused others, including his friends.
Since then, he didn’t invade anyone’s mental privacy unless they were on the wrong side of the law. Until last night when he’d deliberately coaxed sensations of peace and comfort into Kitty’s and Darrin’s exhausted minds to get them to sleep. He’d filled their heads with simple visions of better times, of ferris wheels and carnival rides, of picnics and family dinners around a kitchen table. He’d whispered and told them to sleep deeply and to dream. It’d been easy. They both craved those things.
But Roxy was something else. The woman hadn’t relaxed enough to be influenced until a couple hours ago. Her headstrong heart had all but glowed through the guest room walls, set foremost on guarding Kitty; secondly, on planting her fist in the middle of Bratton’s lying face—her thoughts, not Isaiah’s—the next time they met.
But he’d uncovered something else in that gentle contact with the real Roxy Thurston. The little girl he’d sensed earlier, the angry one with her hands knotted into fists, was still very much there, but this time her secret stood out like an ugly slash through her aura.
Roxy harbored a death wish.
She meant to end the life of the man who’d killed her mother, even if it cost her life in the process. She’d fixated on a noble but bullshit justification for that plan: revenge. Then she’d justified it with her deep-seated loyalty to her father, and she’d excused it away because she loved her dad. More bullshit. It was never love that murdered another in cold blood, unless that distorted emotion came from the valiant heart of a grieving child, who’d gone off the deep end because she adored the man she called Daddy.
Tate rapped his knuckles on the table, drawing Isaiah back into the kitchen. “You’re zoning out on me, brother.”
Isaiah honestly couldn’t recall the question he’d meant to answer.
From beneath lowered brows, Tate muttered, “Stop it. Whatever you’re doing, knock it off.”
Isaiah nodded, not denying his breach of psychic etiquette or that he should cease and desist. The first rule of their office was: Stay out of each other’s heads. Roxy deserved the same respect, and yet… he couldn’t leave her with that awful weight in her heart. As a child in a similar situation, he’d learned the hard way. You could tame the raging beast called grief if you stroked it often and fed it enough. Roxy had certainly nurtured the grief she’d carried until it walked beside her like a massive black lion on a leash, licking its lips and hungry for blood. Until she’d tamed it into a man killer.
Closing his eyes, Isaiah took a deep cleansing breath even as Tate huffed in annoyance. Isaiah had no more power to predetermine a person’s decision than the man in the moon did, but he could do what he’d always done. He could plant a seed. This wouldn’t take long.
Isaiah planted a mental image inside Roxy’s mind of her father standing over another grave—hers. In the image, James Thurston stood alone in a cemetery with tears coursing down his face, crushed infinitely more by the loss of his only child than he’d been by his wife’s murder. Isaiah painted the day behind him full of dark clouds, rain, and wind, desolation and a father’s despair.
He tucked this very compelling, fatherly reaction between two happy memories: the one of her in her pretty white dress on her First Communion day, when she’d made her parents proud; the second of her parents’ last wedding anniversary when she’d treated them to their favorite restaurant.
Isaiah left the suggestion to blossom at her acceptance, or to wither with her denial. As before, Roxy held her future in her hands. He withdrew from her, and let that one seed be enough. Brushing a hand over his eyes to clear the vision, Isaiah faced his scowling friend.
Tate’s long fingers drummed the tabletop. One brow spiked like the devil. “You gonna tell me what you’re up to?”
“Gardening.”
That earned him another grunt. “If you’re a gardener, I’m the Pope.”
“Your Excellency,” Isaiah murmured, tipping his coffee cup. “To answer your original question, the kids are fine. Kitty’s breathing evenly, her air passageways are clear, and Darrin snores as loud as you do. We know where Candace might be headed yet?”
Tate didn’t bat an eye. “To hell.”
“Probably.” Isaiah drained his cup and set it aside. Tate’s plate was empty. “Seconds?”
“No thanks,” Tate replied as he leaned in. “I double checked her ex’s alibi from the day of the heist. Bob Bratton said he was out of town. Said he had a job interview in Boston. Said he wanted no part of his dad’s mistakes, so he’d left before everything went down, only the name of this prospective employer he supposedly saw didn’t pan out. There is no Jack Fillion in Boston who owns a boat company. Only some guy by the same name who owns a pub on Mercy Street. He and his wife of eleven years run the place.”
“Still sounds like Bob had prior knowledge, but he also had receipts. Either he got out of town to cover his ass or—”
“Or he had business in Boston directly related to the heist. He’s hiding his old man or the money.”
“Or he’s telling the truth. Sons don’t always follow in their father’s footsteps.” Isaiah tapped his index finger to his lower lip. The name Fillion meant something. He sensed that much. He just wished he knew what. “No one checked Bob’s alibi back then?”
Tate shrugged. “Guess not, but I’m headed north to meet the guy he claims he talked to.”
“Why?”
Tate’s dark eyes turned black like a predator’s. His nostrils flared. “Because I know a liar when I smell one.”
Chapter Twenty-Three
Roxy tossed and turned. She dreamed of white dresses and spring mornings. Her nose twitched at the scents of freshly mowed lawns and spring flowers. May flowers. One perfect Sunday morning when she was Mama and Daddy’s pride and joy. The day of her First Communion. Her lips curled at those tender memories. She was that innocent girl again. Mama and Daddy love me.
‘They still do,’ some handsome guy with deep blue eyes murmured.
Jerking awake, Roxy ran a quick hand over her tousled hair. Sitting up in the bed, she struggled to recall the dream, but as usual, ended up with fleeting fragments of feelings she couldn’t quite catch. Reaching for the hair tie on her nightstand, she let the dream go and left the warm bed behind. Time to get moving.
Showered and redressed in the uniform she’d worn the day before, Roxy wished for her duffel and the clothes in it. Clean underwear would certainly feel good. So would one of the clean T-shirts she’d packed, but her things were back at the safe house.
Instead of complaining, she took a deep breath and faced the darkened bedroom. Kitty hadn’t moved and she didn’t say anything, but something had changed. She wasn’t asleep.
“How are you feeling?” Roxy asked.
Until Bratton and her cohorts were behind bars, she meant to stay close to this girl. There’d be no more mysterious asthma attacks, not unless Candace suffered one after Roxy caught up with her and punched her in the throat. Wait. That wouldn’
t be an asthma attack. It’d be a busted trachea. Too damned bad.
Kitty drew in an even breath, and the sound of it brought a sigh of relief to Roxy. Never again would she take breathing for granted. Filled with inexplicable emotion, she sat at the edge of the bed and brushed the tangled curls away from the girl’s eyes. “I know you’re awake.”
Stretching, Kitty stifled a yawn. “Where’s Darrin?”
“He bunked with Agent Zaroyin last night. Feel like getting up or would you rather eat breakfast in bed? I make a mean egg and cheese omelet.”
“I want to see my brother.”
“Shower first?” Roxy coaxed.
“Uh-uh. I wanna see Darrin. He’s little and he’s scared and…” The girl’s eyes brimmed.
‘And you need a hug,’ Roxy thought, but she said, “Let me see if he’s awake. I’ll be right back.” She left Kitty leaning up on her elbows and trying not to cry, while Roxy hurried to Isaiah’s bedroom.
With Isaiah’s and Tate’s lowered voices coming from the kitchen, Roxy felt okay opening Isaiah’s bedroom door. She’d no more than peered inside when a big fluffy dog brushed past and ambled to the bed where Darrin lay sleeping. Despite his stitches, Nugget climbed up beside Darrin, put his big fluffy butt at his sleeping boy’s back, and collapsed with a groan.
“You probably shouldn’t have done that, big guy,” she whispered to him, “but now that you’re there, keep Darrin company, okay?”
Nugget groaned as if he’d understood, so Roxy shut the door and left the guys alone. Hurrying back to Kitty’s room, she told her that Darrin now had Nugget with him.
“Oh, good,” Kitty breathed. Yet a tear glimmered at the edge of her eye.
Roxy sank to the bed, wanting this young woman to know she’d be safe from now on. “Want to talk?”
The girl shook her head, and Roxy knew this was serious. “No one can get to you here,” she said. “I don’t even know where we are.” That was semi-true. All Roxy knew was that Isaiah’s home was in the middle of horse country west of the District, in the upper-class neighborhood of Estelle Estates, so named after the grandfatherly guard at the gate’s deceased wife. But she trusted Isaiah. Kitty could, too.
Kitty grunted one of those teenage girl grunts that managed to sound uncouth and sarcastic at the same time. “The story of my life.”
“What’s that mean?” Roxy asked softly. When Kitty’s lips thinned, she said, “If you’d rather talk to Isaiah—”
“I don’t want to talk to anyone,” whined out of the girl, but Roxy knew better. Kitty had something to say; she just didn’t know how to say it. Sure enough. Once she pushed her butt against the pillow and headboard, it poured out on another whine. “I really do love him. He can be a pain in the ass, but… he’s the only brother I’ve got.”
Okay, that was promising. “Darrin is a good boy,” Roxy agreed to get things rolling.
Kitty stretched her fingers into the blanket on her lap, clenched, and fisted the fabric. “And now, because of everything my stupid mom’s done, we’ll end up in foster care, and I’ll never see him again, will I?”
Ah, that. Roxy swallowed hard, needing to be straightforward without breaking this fragile girl’s heart. If Roxy had her way, she’d adopt these kids herself and get them forever out of their mother’s influence.
Whoa, whoa, whoa! Just plain, back that crazy-train up a few hundred miles. Where the hell that outrageous thought came from, Roxy had no clue. But this was Kitty and Darrin, not some strange kids she’d plucked off the streets. She knew these two, and—I like them, she admitted hesitantly, as if she needed to try it on for size. Yeah, I… I do. I like them enough to want them in my life, and… Maybe I can talk Dad into letting them live with him while I work, and maybe…
She groaned at the wild ideas taking her common sense by storm. Cops didn’t take at-risk kids home with them. They just didn’t. That was what Family Services did. That was their mandate. Hers was to serve and protect, not to house every cast off kid that came along. Rather than opening her suddenly unpredictable mouth and inserting both feet, Roxy opted to listen.
Kitty’s head tilted back as she stared at the ceiling. “They’re going to find out everything.”
“Like what?”
Fat alligator tears welled in Kitty’s sad eyes. Her chin came up. Her lips pinched. “Nobody knows this, and you have to promise not to tell. Swear it. You can’t even tell your boyfriend out there,” she said with a head jerk at the closed bedroom door.
Roxy said what she could. “I can’t promise anything, Kitty, but I can be your friend if you let me, and friends always have each other’s backs, don’t they? They take care of each other and they don’t lie to each other, either.”
Kitty’s eyes narrowed to slits and for a moment, Roxy thought she’d lost her confidence. Until she murmured, “Darrin’s not my brother. He’s my half-brother. We have different dads. Only…”
Roxy hid her surprise. “Only what?”
The poor girl bit her lip and the deep brown of her eyes turned liquid. “Only he doesn’t know it, but… but…” Another whine eked out of her. “But his dad’s a really nice guy and he loves him. I know he does, and he’ll fight for Darrin. He’ll make sure Darrin goes home with him, but my dad won’t fight for me. He hasn’t been around since Darrin was born. I don’t even remember what he looks like.”
Of course not. You were two years old when he deserted you. “Have you met Darrin’s father?”
“Yeah, once. He came to our house, but Darrin was playing with his friend, and Mom wouldn’t let him in.”
“So he’s never seen his dad? He doesn’t know anything about him?”
“Uh-uh. But that’s not the worst. Don’t you get it? It’s me no one wants, because… because…” She sucked in a deep sigh and blurted, “Because I’m as bad as my mom!”
Roxy’d had enough. Jumping to her feet, she rounded the bed and had Kitty in her arms in seconds. Threading her fingers through Kitty’s hair, she pressed her chin to the girl’s forehead and told her, “Shush, baby. Just shush and don’t you dare cry. That’s not true. You’re bright and you’re beautiful, Kitty Bratton, and you’re nothing like your mom. Somehow this mess will work out, just you wait and see.”
“No, it won’t.” Her entire body trembled against Roxy. “I know what’ll happen. I’m too old to get adopted, and I’ll get jerked around by Family Services, and I’ll have to live with people I don’t know or like, and...” her chest hollowed with another shuddering breath. “Worst of all, I’ll never see Darrin again, and he’ll never forgive me for all the mean things I did to him and said to him and… and...” Kitty buried her nose in Roxy’s shirt and cried, “I hate my mom! This is all her fault. She did this to me and Darrin. I’ll never forgive her!”
A better person’s first impulse was always to deny that kind of a statement from a kid, but Roxy let it ride. She hated Candace Bratton, too. What the woman had done to her kids was unforgiveable. Children should be treasured, not used and abused by their parents. Damn her.
Roxy opted to tread softly. “I think we need to tell this to Isaiah. He’ll believe you and he’ll understand, trust me. Maybe we can come up with an option besides foster care. Come on. If you’re up to it, let’s go find him. I think Agent Higgins is here, too. He’s the one who brought Nugget. They need to know.”
Kitty’s fingers dug into Roxy’s shoulders even as she lifted a hand and combed her fingers through her hair. “I c-can’t talk to them like this. Look at me. I’m a mess.”
Roxy eased back to look down at the young woman. Because of her mother’s cold-blooded actions, red splotches covered Kitty’s neck and tear-stained cheeks. Her normally tan complexion was pale. Black shadows rimmed her eyes, but she was also a fighter, and that said a lot. Kitty reminded Roxy of another young woman who’d once thought she was a loser and a mess, too. Look how that turned out.
She tugged Kitty back into her arms. “Let
me tell you a secret,” she whispered against the girl’s sweaty head. “When I was in high school, some of the other kids picked on me because of my skin color. They called me wetback and greaser. Yes, I had a few good friends, but others said I was a lazy Mexican. They didn’t care that my dad’s a full-blooded Irishman from County Waterford. They bullied me and didn’t invite me to their birthday parties or dances because of stuff they’d heard in their homes. That was the real problem, the lies their moms and dads believed.”
She blew out a big huff, squared her shoulders, and kept on keeping on. “The only time I got invited to the homecoming dance, I was a senior in high school. I thought the guy who asked me cared about me, that he was different.” Another sigh. “He was different all right. He tried to, umm, take advantage of me in the girls restroom during the dance.”
Kitty stilled. “He tried to rape you?”
“Yes, but that’s not a nice story, and besides, it’s not important anymore. I’m over it, and I’m stronger because of it. In the end, he got what he had coming to him, and me?” Roxy pressed a kiss to Kitty’s forehead. “I got smart and I got even. He didn’t get what he wanted that night. Instead he ended up with a broken nose and some nice deep scars he’ll have to look at every time he shaves.”
“You got him good?” Kitty asked.
“Oh, yeah. And then some.” Just wish I could remember how I did what I did to the jerk.
Kitty’s grip loosened, and Roxy thought maybe her heart rate had evened out.
“The point is that you’re nobody’s victim, Kitty Bratton, not even your mother’s. She’ll pay for what she did and the lies she told you, but you’re better than she is. Trust me. I know a good person when I see one, and you’re the real deal.”
“I like you,” Kitty whispered, and Roxy knew what she needed to do.
“And I like you,” she said fervently. “Be brave, Kitty. Everything’s going to work out the way it should. Now let’s go enlighten Agents Zaroyin and Higgins about Darrin’s father. And who knows? Maybe one of them will make us girls breakfast. We deserve to be queens for the day, don’t we?”
One-Eyed Jack (The Deuces Wild Series Book 3) Page 20