Dead Weight (Cold Case Psychic Book 4)

by Pandora Pine

  “I don’t sense a gun on him, but don’t take that as gospel.” Ten took a deep breath and said a silent prayer.

  “Okay, let me do the talking.” Fitzgibbon got out of the SUV and strode toward the Abruzzi’s front door. He rang the doorbell and took a step back.

  Ten noticed that Fitzgibbon’s right hand was on the butt of his gun.

  Tony swung the door open a crack. “What do you want, Fitzgibbon?”

  “You know what I want, Tony. I’m here to arrest Mark for shooting Ronan.”

  “Mark’s not here,” Tony said easily.

  “Let us in, Tony. You know how this goes.” Fitzgibbon’s voice was level and calm, but his hand never moved from the hilt of his firearm.

  Sighing heavily, Tony stepped back and opened the door.

  “Where is he?” Fitzgibbon demanded as he walked through the rooms of the downstairs, opening closet doors as he went.

  “I don’t know.” Tony collapsed into one of the chairs at the dining room table and buried his face in his hands. “Ask Tennyson. He knows I’m telling the truth.”

  Tennyson raised an eyebrow but stayed silent. He had a dozen snarky comebacks in his head, but kept them there. He opened his gift wide and unashamedly read Tony like a book. “Carlie and the other kids are with her mother up in Andover. Tony has no idea where Mark is, but he is missing money and he noticed that one of Keegan’s aluminum baseball bats is gone too.”

  “Jesus Christ,” Fitzgibbon muttered. He threw himself into the seat across the table from Tony. “What do you think that means?

  Tony scrubbed a hand over his face. “I assume the money is for cab or bus fare. The bat…” He shrugged. “Since you’re both here and Ronan is under armed guard at the hospital, I’d guess he’s either going after Greeley or Jace Lincoln.”

  Fitzgibbon pounded a fist on the table, making the salt and pepper shakers dance before they tipped over. “You think Mark went after my son with a baseball bat and you’ve been sitting here with your thumb up your ass instead of calling me?” the incensed father roared. His voice echoed off the high ceiling. “Jesus fucking Christ, Abruzzi! Did you call your captain? 9-1-1? Jace? Fucking anyone?” When Tony didn’t move a muscle, Kevin stood up so hard that his chair tipped over backward and crashed to the floor.

  Pacing away from the table, Fitzgibbon dug his phone out of his back pocket and dialed. “Badge 6145, this is Captain Kevin Fitzgibbon. I need an APB on Mark Abruzzi, seventeen-year-old Caucasian male, dark hair and eyes. The suspect was last seen at his Arlington address and he is armed with an aluminum baseball bat. He may be on his way to 881 Beacon Street in Boston or possibly heading to Salem, Massachusetts.” Fitzgibbon was silent for a minute and then nodded. “Thank you.” He made eye contact with Tennyson.

  “What happens now?”

  “I need to call Jace.” Fitzgibbon’s voice was still calm, but Tennyson could see the fear in his eyes.

  Ten watched while Kevin’s trembling fingers pressed buttons on his phone. At least he knew Ronan was safe and protected at the hospital.

  “Jace? Thank Christ! We went to serve the arrest warrant on Mark Abruzzi tonight and it turns out he’s on the run. According to his father, he’s armed with a baseball bat.” Fitzgibbon’s jaw tightened. A muscle started to twitch. “I know. I know you’re scared, sweetheart. I wish I could be there too. The alarm is armed and the front desk is following the instructions I left, right?”

  Jace must have given Fitzgibbon the right answer because his shoulders sagged a bit. “Okay, I’ll call you later. I will. I promise I’ll be safe. Bye.” Fitzgibbon turned around, putting his back to Tennyson and Tony.

  Ten knew the usually steely-eyed captain was composing his emotions. Tennyson wasn’t a stranger to having people he loved in the line of fire but knew it was a relatively new thing for Fitzgibbon.

  “I swear to God, Abruzzi, if Mark harms one hair on Jace or Greeley’s head, I’ll-”

  Fitzgibbon’s threat was stopped by Tennyson’s ringing phone. When he pulled it out of his pants, he saw the name on the caller ID was Carson. He almost hit the decline button, but then remembered that Greeley was home alone just a few doors down and Carson had promised to check in with him. “Hey, Carson.”

  “You need to get home, now.” Carson’s voice brooked no argument.

  Tennyson didn’t like the tone of Carson’s voice. He hit the speaker button so the captain could listen in too. “Fitzgibbon and I are trying to serve the arrest warrant on Mark Abruzzi.”

  “Let me guess, you’re not having any luck. Am I right?” Carson’s voice was shaking.

  “Of course you’re right. You’re psychic. What’s going on, Carson?”

  “Can Fitzgibbon hear me?” Carson asked carefully.

  “I’m right here, Carson. What the hell is going on?”

  Carson sighed. “Ronan was Skyping with Greeley and he told the kid the two of you were serving the warrant. He must have thought that meant it was safe to go outside, because he took Dixie out into the backyard to do her business.”

  “Sweet motherfucking Jesus Christ,” Fitzgibbon roared.

  Tennyson set a hand on Kevin’s shoulder. “What happened Carson. Tell it fast before Kevin has a heart attack.”

  “Mark was lying in wait. He attacked Greeley with a baseball bat. Ronan didn’t like how long it was taking for Greeley to come back, so he called Truman and asked him to go check on Greeley. He heard the attack and rushed in to help.”

  “Oh, my fucking God! Are they okay?” Kevin’s eyes were filled with fear.

  “They’re both on their way to North Shore Medical Center, Cap. They think Greeley has a broken wrist. Truman took the brunt of the attack, but managed to get in a few good shots of his own before Mark ran off.”

  Tennyson saw Fitzgibbon sag with relief. “What do you mean Truman took the brunt. Is he okay?” Ten wasn’t sensing anything was wrong either from his spirit guides or from the tone in Carson’s voice, but Carson was good at holding things together when he needed to.

  “The paramedics think he has a concussion. Maybe a skull fracture. I don’t know because I’m home with the babies.” Carson’s voice broke on the last word.

  “We’re on our way home now,” Fitzgibbon said. “With lights and sirens, we’ll be there in half an hour. You hold on, Carson.”

  “Okay.” Carson’s voice sounded stronger already.

  Fitzgibbon took three steps around the kitchen table and grabbed Tony Abruzzi out of his chair. “If your son hurts another one of my people, I’m coming after you. Understood?” Not giving him a chance to respond, Kevin dropped him and headed toward the front door.

  “What do I do, Tennyson? He’s my son.” Tony looked stunned, not to mention heartsick.

  “Pray and cooperate with the investigation. Mark has attacked Ronan and now tonight, Greeley and Truman. I’m not a cop, but that sounds like three counts of attempted murder to me.” Not having any more time to waste, Tennyson ran after Fitzgibbon.

  38

  Ronan

  Ronan wished he had one of Tennyson’s anxiety-busting rocks. Actually, he wished he had a whole pocket full of them. Once the dust had settled, Carson had called him to let him know that Truman and Greeley were both on the way to the hospital. Dixie was safe and was with Carson. Apparently, her barking was what alerted Greeley and then Truman that there was trouble.

  Knowing that everyone was safe was the most important thing. Not knowing how badly Truman and Greeley were injured was maddening. What was driving Ronan up the wall was being stuck in this bed, unable to help. He was dead weight, lying here like a child, unable to get out of bed, walk, or protect the people he loved.

  “Here I am.” Tennyson breezed into the room looking panicked. He pressed a kiss to Ronan’s lips before sitting down on the edge of his bed.

  “Do you have any news about Greeley or Truman?” Ronan wanted so badly to reach out and hug Tennyson, but he was still covered in tubes and wires.


  Ten shook his head. He swung his legs up onto Ronan’s bed and laid down with him, resting his face against his fiancé’s shoulder.

  It had been so long since they’d cuddled in bed together. Ronan knew Tennyson was being careful of his injuries. He reached over and threaded their hands together.

  “Fitzgibbon drove like he was trying to break a land speed record. I held on to the ‘Oh, shit!’ handle the entire way back to Salem. Plus, I have a splitting headache from the god-damned siren being on the whole way here.” Ten pressed a kiss against Ronan’s neck.

  Ronan couldn’t help grinning. He’d gotten so that he was able to tune out the siren when it was wailing. There were a hundred other things going through his mind when he was driving to a scene that required lights and sirens. He supposed for Tennyson, it would be tiresome hearing the sirens. “I’m so glad you’re here.”

  “Me too. I missed you. I hate this case. Hate that the people we love are getting hurt.” Tennyson sounded like he was on the verge of tears.

  Ronan knew how hard this was on Tennyson because he was feeling the same emotions. He had been feeling like this since Tennyson had been kidnapped and beaten during the course of the Michael Frye investigation. He hadn’t been able to stop the killer from hurting the man he loved then and he hadn’t been able to stop Mark Abruzzi from shooting him or from hurting Greeley and Truman tonight. It was a gut-wrenching feeling. “I hate it too, babe.”

  “This is what it’s felt like for you all along, isn’t it?” Tennyson picked his tear-stained face up. “When you were struggling after the Frye case and then again after you shot Rod Jacobson, this guilt is the reason why.”

  Ronan nodded. There was no use denying how he felt. “Being helpless is the worst feeling there is, Ten. Carrying a gun and being trained in self-defense doesn’t always mean you walk away unscathed. Not being able to protect you, our friends, and myself is sometimes a burden that’s too heavy to carry.”

  “Are you thinking there was more you could have done to protect yourself against Mark Abruzzi?” Ten asked gently, pressing a kiss to Ronan’s lips.

  “My own Spidey senses were tingling and I ignored them. I knew he shouldn’t have been at our house. He gave me some line about visiting the college, but Tony or Carlie would have been with him or if they couldn’t have been, they would have called us to have one or both of us walk Mark around the campus.”

  “I get that your own instincts were ringing warning bells when you saw him at our house, but the rest of what you just said is all hindsight. You couldn’t have reasoned that all out in the ten seconds it took to try to get away from him before he pulled you back down the stairs.”

  Ronan knew Tennyson was right. “Did you put some kind of spell on the house?”

  Ten nodded. “I brought Madam Aurora over. She is better at that kind of thing than I am. She blessed the house and used white magic. She barred evil or malevolent spirits from entering our home. I also had her do the same thing to Carson’s house.”

  Ronan hummed in agreement. “So, that’s why Mark pulled me down the stairs.”

  “It’s why Jacobson pulled you down the stairs. It’s also why he had to wait for Greeley to go outside with Dixie tonight before he could attack.”

  “Jesus Christ, that’s all my fault.” Ronan shook his head in dismay. “I was the one who told him you and the cap were out making the arrest.”

  “It’s not your fault,” Fitzgibbon said from the door.

  “Yeah, Uncle Ronan. It’s my fault. I’m the dumbass here.” Greeley held up an orange and maroon striped cast on his left wrist. “Dad told me to stay in the house and I took Dixie outside.”

  “While I don’t agree with the language, son, I do agree with your logic.” Fitzgibbon ran a hand through Greeley’s dark hair.

  “What do you think of my cast?”

  “Gryffindor colors?” Ronan laughed.

  Greeley blushed and nodded. “The doctor said I’ve got a compound fracture of my ulna and radius. I’m stuck in the cast for the next six weeks.” He frowned. “I guess that means I can’t go out for the Salem State football team.”

  “I didn’t know you played football, Greeley?” Ten looked confused.

  “I don’t!” Greeley burst out laughing.

  “This kid.” Fitzgibbon hooked his thumb at Greeley.

  “Hey, Uncle Ronan.” Greeley sat on the other side of the bed. “It’s good to see you.”

  “I missed you too, kid. Come here.” Ronan held out his good arm and offered Greeley a hug.

  “I was so scared tonight. The second I heard that asshole start speaking to me, I thought I was dead. It was him. I’d swear it was him.” Greeley hugged Ronan tight.

  “You’d swear it was who, Greeley?” Fitzgibbon asked.

  “Jacobson, Dad.” Greeley pulled back from Ronan. “He said, ‘Hey, asshole, remember me?’ I know I was scared, but, Jesus, Dad, the guy almost killed me twice. I’ll never forget his voice.”

  “He’s dead, Greeley. Ronan shot him. I saw his body. Rod Jacobson is dead.” Fitzgibbon’s tone was resolute. He took a couple of steps closer to his son and reached out a hand to the teenager’s shoulder.

  “Tell the rest of the story, Greeley,” Tennyson urged.

  “He roared and I saw the porch light flash off the baseball bat. It was how I knew to put my arm up to shield my head. If I hadn’t done that, the bat would have hit my skull like a fastball.” Greeley shivered.

  Ronan squeezed the teenager’s shoulder. He was only seventeen, but this was the third time he’d been assaulted as a result of Rod Jacobson. “What happened next?”

  “I started screaming for help. Dixie was barking her head off and making runs at my attacker. My right arm was useless, but I was swinging at him with my left. Finally, I shoved him into the light and that’s when I saw that it wasn’t Jacobson. It was Mark Abruzzi. He raised the bat to swing at me again and that’s when Truman ran into the yard and hit Mark with his own bat. Mark hit him back before running away. Truman managed to call 9-1-1 before passing out.”

  “Jesus Christ,” Fitzgibbon muttered.

  “Do we know how Truman is doing, Uncle Tennyson?” Greeley asked.

  Ten shook his head. “I haven’t heard back from Carson yet.”

  “Look who’s getting a roommate!” Carson announced as he pushed the triplet stroller into the room.

  “Hi, babies!” Ronan waved. “It’s not all three of them, is it? I mean I love them all to pieces, but…” He trailed off, not wanting to dig his own grave.

  “My perfect angels aren’t going to be your roommate, Ronan. My hero husband is!” Carson pointed to the door, where a nurse was wheeling a johnny-clad Truman into the room.

  “Hey, Tru!” Ronan waved. Truman looked like he’d gone ten rounds with Mike Tyson. He had a dark bruise down the left side of his face and he could barely keep his eyes open.

  “Come on, Mr. Wesley. Let’s get you into bed.” The nurse helped him out of the wheelchair and into bed. “Isn’t it nice that you know your roommate?” she asked, but didn’t stick around for his answer.

  “Well, now that the gang’s all here…” Fitzgibbon walked to the door and closed it. “I explained to the head ER doctor what went on here tonight. I asked that if Truman needed to be kept overnight for observation, that I wanted him housed in here with Ronan under police guard.”

  “Thanks, Kevin. I appreciate that,” Carson said.

  “You’re welcome. Now, in exchange for my act of charity, you’re going to explain to me how my son heard the voice of a dead man coming out of the mouth of a seventeen-year-old boy tonight. Then, once you’ve explained that to my satisfaction, the two of you are going to tell me what our next step is. Got it?” Fitzgibbon looked back and forth between Carson and Tennyson.

  “We think Mark Abruzzi is being possessed by the spirit of Rod Jacobson,” Carson said.

  “Influenced, by Jacobson is a more accurate description since Mark is still able to communicat
e as himself,” Tennyson added.

  Fitzgibbon looked as if he thought both of them had lost their minds.

  “Demon possession is a real thing, Cap. It’s not just something the Catholics talk about at our Ham and Bean Suppers for chuckles, rather it’s based in fact.” Ronan had a childhood friend who’d become a Jesuit priest. Some of the stories he had to tell gave Ronan nightmares. He’d slept with his mother’s rosary under his pillow for two solid months after his last meeting with Father O’Callaghan.

  Fitzgibbon shook his head. “So, let me get this straight, Jacobson is giving the orders and Abruzzi is carrying them out?”

  Tennyson nodded. “Yes, that’s what Carson and I think is going on. There’s only one way to find out for certain what role Rod Jacobson is playing in all of this.”

  “No!” Ronan said in a voice too loud for the room. Bertha and Brian started fussing in the stroller. Thankfully, Stephanie kept sleeping. “No way, Ten,” Ronan said in a quieter voice this time.

  “No, what, Ronan?” Fitzgibbon asked.

  “Tennyson wants to channel the spirit of Rod Jacobson,” Ronan grumped.

  “Why are you so opposed to it. Can Jacobson hurt any of us?” Fitzgibbon’s eyes narrowed as he studied Tennyson.

  “A malevolent spirit like Jacobson is looking for a weak link to infiltrate,” Carson stated. “That’s why he chose Mark. I don’t think that anyone in this room is weak-minded enough for him to try to influence like he’s doing to Mark.”

  “That doesn’t really answer my question, Carson.” Fitzgibbon crossed his arms over his chest.

  “Without a physical body to do his bidding, there isn’t much Jacobson could do to any of us. It’s just the idea that he would be in a room with all of us that I think Ronan finds so offensive.” Ten pressed a kiss to Ronan’s temple.

  Ronan took a deep breath. For the sake of the babies, he was trying hard to keep his temper in check. “Do I really need to remind you that Rod Jacobson killed fourteen teenage boys while he was alive and had Mark kill two more? He tried to kill Greeley twice, three times if you count tonight. He’s tried to kill me twice now. He gave Truman a concussion and he shot Fitzgibbon. How much higher do you want his body count to go?” He could feel his heart pounding against his ribcage. If he wasn’t careful, he was going to panic himself into a heart attack.