by Cecy Robson
She doesn’t argue, but she does release a few more tears. She places the cell phone and keys on my desk. “The pass code is 1-2-1-4,” she manages.
I don’t bother to thank her, I simply watch her as she slips out the door and shuts it lightly behind her.
I rub my tired eyes the moment she’s gone. It’s Sunday morning. The weekend is almost over, and we have an entire week ahead of us. But there’s no time to rest.
Rosana is dead.
That lovely girl is dead.
There’s a knock on the door. “Come in,” I say, trying not to lose it.
Valencia opens the door. “How are you?” she asks.
I shake my head because that’s all I can do then.
She leans back and looks down the hall. “Brenda quit?”
“Pretty much,” I answer.
“Fine by me, she was baggage anyway.” She walks in and sits in the chair Brenda had occupied. “If I have to comfort my victim services rep, no way in hell should she be within ten feet of this office.”
“I agree.” I adjust my position and cross my legs, knowing I need to get back to business. “Did the patrols have any luck finding Vilma, Rosana’s mother?”
“Yup. Just got the call.” She huffs. “She was cleaning someone’s house for extra money. When the local cops showed looking for her, she knew her daughter was dead.”
“Oh, God,” I say.
“I know,” she mutters, likely picturing how it all played out. “She’s at Temple University Hospital. She was admitted after she lost her shit. I know you’re going to reach out to her, but don’t plan on her sticking around. She’ll be on the first plane back to Honduras the second she’s discharged.”
“I know, I think so too.” I can’t erase Rosana’s face from my mind and I’m struggling not to picture the last few moments of her life. She must have been terrified.
I hug my body, fighting not to cry as I speak. “Vilma told me she came to this country to make a better life for her and her daughter, and this is what she gets.”
“I know,” Valencia says. “Was Rosana her only kid?”
“To my knowledge,” I answer softly. “You know, for all Vilma wasn’t a perfect mother, she loved Rosana. I can’t even imagine what she’s going through.”
“I can’t think about it,” she confesses. “And I don’t even have kids.”
Detective Melo pokes his head in. “Melissa, the press is ready. Declan wants to see you before he meets with them.”
Valencia and I stand and hurry down the hall, trailing detective Melo. “Are you going to meet with the press, too?” she asks me.
“No. This is all on Declan,” I respond. “I have to call the principal at Rosana’s school and make sure they have counselors in place to support the students.” My voice cracks. I’m ready to break down. Somehow, I manage to keep it together. “She was well liked. She’ll be greatly missed.”
“Yeah. She will.” She gives my arm a squeeze when we reach Declan’s office. I try to offer a smile, but it doesn’t quite come.
She and Detective Melo watch me walk in, but neither follow, recognizing we need a moment. I’m not sure what to expect. I only know it won’t be anything good.
Declan waits for me alone. He stands with his arms crossed in front of the picture Rosana made him, his anger as tangible as a punch to the stomach. I close the door behind me and carefully move toward him.
“She was just a kid,” he tells me quietly.
I come up behind him and wrap my arms around his waist, the only tear I’ll allow dripping onto his shoulder. “She was supposed to be an artist,” he rasps. “She was supposed to get her chance and grow up and be happy. She was supposed to fucking live.”
“I know.”
It’s the only thing I can say.
“She was just a kid,” he repeats, staring back at the picture.
There’s a rap at the door. “Declan?” the chief calls from the hall. “The press is waiting.”
I drop my hands away and step away. Declan reaches for his suit jacket and shrugs it on, his expression so lethal I can barely stand to look at him. God, wasn’t it just last night he met with the press to accept his endorsement?
Now he faces them to discuss a little girl whose life ended too soon.
He passes me, pausing with his hand over the door knob. “Where will you be later?”
“Wherever you need me to be,” I reply.
“All right,” he says. He doesn’t tell me where he wants me, maybe he doesn’t know. He simply walks out of the room, shutting the door behind him.
I start to clean up his desk for something to do. I can’t bring myself to leave. When I don’t do more than stack a few files, I return to my office to gather my purse and coat.
I step onto the elevator, ready to head to the parking deck when I change my mind and hit the button to the next level. I’m wearing the clothes I’d left at Declan’s apartment all those weeks ago: jeans, a black turtleneck sweater, and ankle-length boots. I didn’t have time to run back to my place and change, and while it’s not appropriate attire for a press conference, this time, I’m not the one in the spotlight.
My feet move fast when the doors part and I step out onto the fourth floor. The conference room is just down the hall, but already I can hear the clicks from the cameras and the questions being thrown Declan’s way. I slip into the room packed with wall to wall people. Thankfully Valencia is standing near the door. She scoots over, making room for me along the back wall. “Thank you,” I whisper.
“There’s a state alert for four fugitives at large,” Declan says. “Law enforcement will be working around the clock to assure they’re brought in as quickly as possible.”
“District Attorney O’Brien,” a female reporter calls out. “Who in your office will be handling the charges against Iker Escobar―the suspect accused of murdering Rosana Secco provided he’s apprehended?”
“I will,” he bites out. “I swear to you, I won’t stop until Iker Escobar is caught and he gets everything he deserves.”
I straighten as the team of reporter jumps to their feet. “Did you know Declan was taking over?” Valencia asks me.
“No,” I say, struggling to hear. “I had no idea.”
Another reporter shouts a question I barely make out. “How do you expect to try a murder case as the head of the Sexual Assault and Child Abuse Unit?” he challenges.
“I’m no longer leading SACU,” Declan grinds out. “You’re looking at the new Head of Homicide.”
My stomach bottoms out. In the span of three days Declan managed to get everything he wanted.
Including me.
CHAPTER 23
Declan
“Come here, beautiful,” Melissa says. She lifts Clodagh from Curran’s arms, even though it’s clear he doesn’t want to give up his sweet baby girl.
“My turn after,” Seamus says, rousing Wren and everyone else sucker punching each other to hold the baby.
“Back off,” Curran snaps. “You already had a turn.” He does a double take when he sees Angus standing in the corner eating a sandwich. “What are you doing here, Angus? You were supposed to pick up the food for tomorrow after you dropped off Ma and Fiona back at the house, not stop and get lunch for yourself.”
“They said it wouldn’t be ready until twelve.”
“It’s one now, asshole.”
Angus looks at the clock. “Oh, yeah. It is. I’m going, I’m going,” he adds when Curran glares at him. He wipes his mouth with the back of his hand and heads over to Tess to kiss her cheek. “Congratulations,” he tells her. “So glad she looks like you and not numb-nuts over here.”
“Nice, Angus,” Tess says.
Mel tucks Clodagh against her, her large eyes meeting her little face.
Damn, what a week. All this shit with Rosana, then Miles being admitted in the hospital after he collapsed at home. I wasn’t sure how much more either of us could handle. But Tess going into labor, and having th
e baby was the break we needed. God, this kid is gorgeous.
And so is Melissa and the way she cuddles her against her.
I kiss my little niece’s head then turn to grin at Curran. “You had another girl,” I tell him, smirking.
His smile fades. “I know. What the fuck am I going to do? I already want to point a gun at every male who looks at Fiona.” He edges away and climbs into bed with Tess. “You were supposed to give me a boy,” he tells her, stroking her chin. “We discussed this.”
Tess smiles, despite that her heavy lids give away how tired she is. “I’ll try harder next time, cop.”
Curran slips his arm around her, tucking her against him. “Twenty-nine hours of labor. Can you believe that shit?” he asks.
“It was only five once labor actually started,” Tess clarifies, her head falling against Curran’s shoulder.
“Not for me. I’ve been up like thirty-four hours.”
“Curran, you went to sleep almost immediately after I received the epidural, after Clodagh had her first feed, and then again when she had her second. Trust me when I say you haven’t been awake that long.”
He kisses her head. “But I was with you in spirit, angel face,” he tells her.
Melissa rocks Clodagh gently. I can already picture her holding our baby and am fully invested in making it happen. But I can’t be sure she’s completely on board.
I don’t know. I think we’re together. Except ever since the governor’s ball last Saturday, I don’t think we’re as solid as we need to be. Maybe after all that time apart, I moved too fast. But that time apart nearly broke me, and from what she told me, it nearly broke her, too.
I’ve tried talking to her about us and what she’s feeling. But each time she shuts down, telling me she’s worried about her Dad and that needs to be there for him. Maybe that’s what it is. That, and what happened to Rosana. But we haven’t spent a night together since the ball so there has to be more to it. Hell, we didn’t even drive here together. And if it wasn’t for Curran calling her himself, I can’t be sure she’d be here at all.
“I think she’s ready to eat again,” Melissa says, inching back over to Tess.
Tess lifts off from Curran and starts to unsnap the front of her gown.
“Whoa―Wait―what the fuck?” my brothers all yell at once.
Tess’s hands fall away and she sighs. “Can we at least try and watch the language?”
“It’s not like Clodagh can understand us,” Finn points out.
“That’s what you said about Fiona,” Tess mutters, reaching for another snap. “And look at all the words that have flown out of her mouth.”
Curran whips around when he realizes she’s one button away from freeing her breasts. “Everyone out except Wren and Mel. No one gets to see my wife’s goods, but me.”
Evan stands, motioning to the door. “Gentlemen,” he says.
Seamus looks around, appearing confused. “Is he talking to us?”
“Yes, dumbass,” Wren says, lifting up on her toes to give Evan a quick kiss.
I step closer to Melissa. “Here, I’ll take her,” I say, reaching for her. I frown at Curran when he glowers. “I’m the godfather that means I get a turn.”
“Give him a moment,” Tess says, rubbing Curran’s arm. “He’s the only one who hasn’t held her.”
“Fine,” Curran says. “But I get to pass her to you.”
“Come here, Clodagh,” I say, tucking my hand beneath her small head.
Melissa passes her carefully into my arms, her expression shattering as she looks up at me. “What’s wrong?” I mouth.
She shakes her head and edges away from me.
Here’s the thing, I should be enjoying this moment. Clodagh the second baby born into our immediate family, and the first, already has us wrapped around her tiny fingers. But I can’t. Not when Mel feels so far away.
“Congratulations,” she says to Tess and Curran. “She’s as beautiful as Fiona and her mama.”
They exchange warm hugs and kisses, but the moment Clodagh is back in her daddy’s arms, Mel is almost to the door.
“Congrats,” I tell Curran, stopping only to give Tess a quick kiss. “I’ll see you tomorrow at the house.”
They try to smile, but Curran’s eyes cut to the small hall leading out.
Melissa is already gone, not bothering to wait or say goodbye to me. I hurry out, passing Sofia and Sol who’d left to pick up lunch for Curran and Tess.
“Excuse me,” I tell them, moving fast.
I’m expecting to run down the corridor and chase Melissa down. I sigh with relief when I find her waiting just outside the room. But as I approach her, her eyes glaze with tears, slowing my steps.
“What’s going on?” I ask her.
She angles her head toward the set of windows at the far end of the hall. “I need to see my dad. They moved him to the oncology unit on the other side of the hospital.”
“All right. I’ll go with you.” I march forward to place my arm around her shoulders. Instead of welcoming my embrace, she steps out of reach.
I let out a breath. “Mel, what are you doing, love?”
If I didn’t think she could appear more broken, her reaction to me calling her “love” proves me wrong. She curls inward, trying not to break down. What the hell?
She glances up, realizing my family is standing just a few feet away. “I need to talk to you, privately,” she says.
“Fine,” I say.
I follow her to a small seating area just around the corner. The space is nothing more than a small cubby, unlike the larger waiting rooms at the end of each hall. Two chairs and a table, just enough for two people to speak quietly. I have a view of the main hallway, and of the staff and visitors rushing past. But it affords a pocket of peace, away from the hustle of the busy hospital.
I want to say this bit of space is what Mel needs. Yet as I take in her emotionally battered exterior, I know she needs a lot more than that.
She remains standing, her hand gliding over the back of the chair beside her.
I move closer, grazing my thumb along her cheek. “Tell me what’s wrong,” I say.
She swallows hard. “I’m taking a leave of absence so I can take care of my dad when he’s discharged. Julia Wall will serve in my position while I’m gone.”
I lower my hand slowly. She doesn’t think Miles has much time left. “Take as much time as you need,” I tell her. “Come back when you’re ready.”
At first she doesn’t speak. She doesn’t even look at me. When she finally glances up, what she says knocks me on my ass. “I may not be coming back.”
“You’re quitting?” That can’t be right. Her work means everything to her.
“I’m going to need a fresh start if . . .” She crosses her arms and averts her gaze. “My dad isn’t doing well,” she adds, quietly.
The noise around us fades eerily away and it’s as if we’re the only ones left in the world. “I know he’s not, baby. But what do you mean you need ‘a fresh start’?”
She takes her time, gathering her words, each moment that passes making me think the worst. I’ll be honest, she doesn’t disappoint.
“Sylvia Albright, the head of Victim Services for the nation, has been trying to recruit me for the past year.” Her voice splinters. “If my dad doesn’t make it, I’m going to take her up on the offer and move to D.C.”
The air stills. I’m not sure I can move. “What about us?”
She doesn’t answer, but her eyes pooling with tears inform me there is no “us”.
Anger builds deep inside me, pulling me out of my shock. “You’re not even going to discuss this with me, are you? After all we’ve been through, I don’t even get a say?”
A tear falls, streaking down her cheek as she lifts her chin. “You want a say, when you didn’t even discuss leaving SACU with me, or bother telling me you appointed yourself Head of Homicide.”
The truth hits me at once, and motherfucker, I
don’t like what it shows me. “Is this the reason you haven’t stayed with me all week? Why you’ve barely spoken to me?” All this time, despite my doubts, I’ve been giving her the benefit of the doubt―giving her space and not pushing her because I was sure she was sick over her father and grieving for Rosana.
Forget shock. I’m beyond pissed. “If this is what you’re so angry about, you should have told me.”
“I’m not angry, Declan,” she fires back. “I’m disappointed. You turned your back on all those victims you were supposed to help.”
She’s acting like I lied and somehow betrayed her, fueling the rage already singeing my chest. I inch closer. “No. I didn’t,” I snap. “I’m looking out for Rosana and guaranteeing she gets justice.”
In the silence that follows, three other people pass by with flowers and a giant “It’s a Girl” balloon trailing behind them, similar to the one Finnie and Sol bought for Clodagh.
Mel doesn’t say anything. She’s done talking, but I’m not. “If you think this is about me getting what I want or purposely keeping things from you, you’re wrong.”
“No. I’m not,” she tells me, straightening to her full height. “If I hadn’t shown up at that press conference, I would have found out about your self-appointed promotion second hand.”
“That’s not true.”
She tugs on the hem of the thick sweater she’s wearing over her jeans, but it’s not a nervous gesture. She’s fired up and fighting to stay calm. “I wish I could believe you, but I can’t.”
“Why?” I don’t realize how loud I’m getting until a volunteer carrying a tray slows her pace as she passes me.
Melissa shakes her head. “Because regardless of what you claim, you did get everything you wanted, including leading Homicide.”
“I did it for Rosana,” I repeat because that’s the God damn truth. A truth she doesn’t accept. No, not the way she squares her stance. “Call me an arrogant son of a bitch, but no way was I giving this case to another D.A., not after what that pathetic excuse for a man did to that little girl, and not when Zabrinski―the only guy with enough experience to handle this clusterfuck was all but begging me to retire.”