by Karen Rose
Greg laughed. ‘What’s it worth to you?’
‘I’ve got All-Night Zombie Buffet in one of my boxes back at your house. You can have it.’
His eyes grew wide. ‘That’s on my Christmas list. Seriously?’
‘It’s played already, but sure. Spill.’
He moved his chair closer, making her lips twitch. ‘Well,’ he said, ‘Aunt Tammy told me that Adam was getting burned out on Homicide, so he changed jobs.’
He got burned out on Homicide and then moved to Personal Crimes? Really? Usually the sex crimes unit burned up everyone it touched. ‘So Adam worked for Isenberg first,’ she said.
‘Yep, when she was just Homicide. Aunt Tammy said that Adam told her that Isenberg was building a joint task force.’ His expression shadowed. ‘Adam knew Deacon had been looking to transfer here, so he recommended him.’
‘That was nice of him,’ Faith said.
‘Yeah, Adam’s always been a nice guy. I don’t know what’s wrong with him lately.’
‘Him too,’ Faith said. ‘But I meant Deacon. Why did your brother transfer here?’
Greg’s eyes narrowed suspiciously. ‘He didn’t tell you what happened at school today?’
‘He said that you’d done something wrong, but for the right reasons. I guessed that you were protecting Dani, because I overheard you two in the living room this morning. She loves you very much. So does Deacon. That makes you really lucky, Greg.’
His eyes flashed unexpectedly, his mouth taking on the mocking cant she’d seen on Deacon’s face too many times already. ‘Yeah, real lucky. So lucky that I’ve been kicked out of three schools in two years and I’ve just gotten a Fed killed. Real lucky.’
Deacon had pulled her aside to tell her that Pope’s murderer might not be the high-school bully, but she couldn’t share that with Greg. That needed to come from Deacon when the time was right. Though even if that bully had come for Greg, the murder of Agent Pope was not his fault.
But she didn’t think he’d accept her word for it, and why should he?
I haven’t accepted the same kind of assurances and I’m twice his age and trained as a therapist. She couldn’t assuage Greg’s guilt, but she also couldn’t ignore his torment. She simply wasn’t built that way. So she picked around his primary angst, zeroing in on the secondary. Kicked out of three schools? Why? Greg was not an evil kid. So what had happened?
‘Three schools?’ She leaned forward a little more, not allowing the sympathy she felt to show, keeping her expression avidly curious. ‘Care to share the details?’
He stared for a moment, then huffed a laugh. ‘You’re really not horrified by me, are you?’
‘Horrified? What an odd word to use.’ A desperately sad word. ‘Why would I be?’
He shrugged. ‘I could be a time bomb just waiting to explode.’
Now that sounded like something an adult had said to him. ‘I hardly think so, Greg.’ She studied his face, his growing apprehension. ‘I’m not doing therapy on you, honest. I just wanted to know because I’m curious. We can talk about something else if you want.’
‘Like?’
She searched her mind for another topic. ‘Can I ask about your eyes? They’re remarkable.’
He shrugged. ‘D’s are cooler.’
Mesmerizing, she thought. ‘I agree. Deacon said it was genetic.’
A single chilly nod. Not wanting to talk about their eyes was obviously a family thing.
Okay. ‘So that’s not a good topic either, huh?’ she asked.
He grimaced. ‘It’s just that if I tell you, you’ll look it up on Wikipedia and the first photo you’ll see is one of some person who lived back in the fifties that . . . doesn’t look like me.’ He lifted his chin, his blue and brown eyes defiant as a pair. But under the defiance was a brittle shame, as if he was just waiting for her to laugh at him. Because someone obviously had.
Dani had said that she and Deacon had been laughed at, bullied too. Which boggled Faith’s mind. They were beautiful people, all of them.
Deacon Novak turned heads. And not only mine. She’d seen it happen several times. Nurses, the woman at the hotel desk, even the young woman at the Skyline Chili drive-thru window the night before. His hair and coat captured their startled attention, but the stares that followed had been openly admiring or blatantly lustful. Or both. And how could Faith blame them? He was a gorgeous man who looked amazing in a leather coat or a suit. Or out of them.
None of which she planned to tell his fifteen-year-old brother.
‘You know you’ve only whetted my curiosity,’ she said matter-of-factly. ‘I’ll find it on my own and eventually I’ll see that photo. Which I bet bothers you a lot more than it will bother me, so here’s the deal: I’ll show you my worst photo first, to level the embarrassment factor.’ She pulled up the photo – the one taken as she’d left the hospital after Combs’s attack. The one that made her look haunted and gaunt. And afraid. The one that made her look like a victim.
Greg studied it for several seconds before giving her a bored look. ‘Bad hair day, Faith.’
Faith choked on an unexpected laugh. Her hair had truly been a mess that day, limp and dingy, pulled back from her face in a severe bun. ‘Yeah. But it was a bad day all around.’
‘For what it’s worth, I saw it already.’ He showed her his phone when she looked at him in surprise. Sure enough, there was the photo. ‘I Googled you. It’s the first thing that comes up.’
‘Well, isn’t that good to hear?’ she asked dryly. ‘I showed you my photo. Let’s have it.’
His smile faded. ‘Why? Why is so important for you to know?’
‘Because my family had a lot of secrets and it . . . damaged me.’ She pressed her hand to her heart. ‘I’m tired of tiptoeing around topics. Does that answer your question?’
He nodded, grimly she thought. ‘Waardenburg,’ he said. ‘Two a’s.’
She typed it in and skimmed the article. A genetic syndrome that affected the pigmentation of hair, skin and eyes and often caused varying degrees of deafness. And the picture, which, as she suspected, wasn’t nearly as bad as he thought.
‘Bad hair day,’ she said, intentionally mimicking him, and his lips tilted. ‘This photo doesn’t give the person decent light or makeup or anything. It was taken clinically, to support medical documentation.’
‘It’s the photo that all the doctors see in their books,’ he agreed.
‘And the one all the kids at school see when they go online.’
‘Pretty much. It’s just names, but . . .’
‘Names can hurt. All I can tell you is that the moment I saw your brother, I couldn’t look away. Like he came from a movie where he’s a hero who doesn’t always follow the rules.’
Something settled in the boy’s eyes. ‘You like him, then.’
‘Yes, very much. But I’ve only known him a day. It might work out and it might not.’
‘I hope it does. That case in West Virginia was hell on D. He was . . . different when he came back. Sad and far away even when he was with us. And then last year, I got myself kicked out of school again and Aunt Tammy had a heart attack . . . I didn’t mean to make it worse for him. For either of them. But I did it again today. I only make him mad.’
Faith’s heart twisted. ‘Tell him that. Just like you told me. He wants you to be happy.’
‘Whatever,’ he mumbled, and dropped his gaze to his phone, their conversation over.
Which was okay. She’d gotten him to say more than she’d expected. He’d talk more when he was ready. She just hoped she’d be around then. She and Deacon had started something that felt good. Felt right. But whether it would last past this case was another matter.
If it didn’t last? She’d go on, because that was what she did. But if it did last, she’d finally have all she’d ever really wanted. A home. A family. A man who made her want to lick him head to toe. A man who made her feel wanted, desired. Just like a woman ought to feel.
A man who made her feel safe.
But most importantly, a man who seemed to see the real her more clearly within a single day than any other man she’d met. Certainly more than the man she’d been married to.
Maybe even more than my own father. The thought came from nowhere, stealing her breath.
No, not from nowhere. It had always been there, lurking beneath her consciousness.
Her mother had committed suicide. She’d found the body. Deacon had known her less than a day when he’d figured it out. Her father had known her for thirty-two years. But had he really known her? If he had, could she have kept such an enormous secret from him? Or had he known she was lying all these years and simply chosen to allow the lie because it was easier than the truth?
God, I hope not. Because keeping that secret had cost her dearly. Her peace of mind. Her childhood. But to even think it felt like a betrayal, so she shoved the thought away.
Because despite everything, her father loved her. She needed to let him know she was okay. It was much too late to call. Except that they might be up worrying, waiting for her to call. Text first. If they were waiting by the phone, they’d have their cell phones out too.
She tapped Greg’s shoulder to get his attention. ‘Can I use your phone?’
He handed it over with a roll of his eyes and a shake of his head. ‘Get your own.’
‘I will, as soon as it’s safe for me to go out shopping.’ She texted both her father and Lily: You up? It’s Faith. I’m okay. I can talk if you can.
Greg’s phone rang, Lily’s number on the ID. ‘Are you all right?’ Lily demanded.
‘I’m fine. I’m sorry I’m calling so late, though. Is Dad awake?’
‘He is. He slept most of the day because of the sedative, so he’s still wide awake.’
Her father came on the extension. ‘Faith? Baby.’
Faith closed her eyes, suddenly choked up. ‘Hi, Dad. I’m okay.’
A shuddering exhale. ‘Good. Just for the record, I know what’s happening at your grandmother’s house. Lily tried to keep me from the television, so I knew something was up. You do not have to keep these things from me. I’m not as fragile as you seem to think.’
‘What do you know?’ she asked cautiously.
‘That an undisclosed number of bodies were found in the basement.’ A pause. ‘And that you were shot at. And some federal agent is watching over you.’
Faith’s eyes widened. ‘That was on television?’
‘No. I called your uncle Jordan and asked him what was going on. He said the guy’s name was Novak, so Lily and I looked him up online.’
Faith’s cheeks heated. ‘You did?’
‘Of course we did.’ Her father sounded a bit tentative. ‘But he’s . . . not what I expected.’
‘He’s a good cop, Dad,’ Faith said quietly. ‘He protected me. Threw himself over me so that I didn’t get shot. I’m alive because of him.’
‘Then I owe him a debt I can never repay. When can I thank him in person?’
‘When he’s closed the case, I expect. Look, I’m using someone else’s phone here at the police station. I just wanted to hear your voice and let you know that I’m all right. And to tell you that I love you.’
‘I love you too, Faith. You will be careful?’
‘I promise. Good night.’ She returned Greg’s phone to him. ‘Tomorrow I have to get a phone, even if it’s a rental,’ she said. ‘I’ll have to find someone to go to the phone store for me.’
‘Ask Dani. She’ll go for you.’
‘That’s a good idea. I will.’ Taking her laptop from its case, Faith did a quick check of her email and frowned. Her boss still had not replied to the message she’d sent about her accident. She had expected a ‘take care and call me tomorrow’ reply. At least an acknowledgement. But there was nothing. Had he not gotten the message? Had he thought she just didn’t want to come to work? Or was he plain rude?
There was an email from the realtor who’d been referred by her grandmother’s attorney, saying that she’d be delighted to discuss the sale of the property. Faith had nearly forgotten about her in all the chaos surrounding the house. She wondered what impact the news stories would have on the property value. Would gawkers rush in to buy? Or would it become a white elephant no one wanted to touch?
‘What are you doing?’ Greg asked as she stared at Novak’s desk.
‘I’m looking for a pencil and paper, but I don’t want to touch anything. I need to write down a phone number so that when I finally get a phone – please God, tomorrow – I’ll remember my realtor’s name.’
‘A realtor? You’re buying a house?’
‘Not yet. I’m going to sell . . .’ Her focus scattered as Greg came to his feet, his expression suddenly grim. She followed his gaze to the bullpen entrance, where a big hulking man stood next to a thin woman with a worried face.
The man looked just like an older Adam Kimble, their dark scowls nearly identical. This, then, would be Uncle Jim and Aunt Tammy. Faith looked up at Greg, tugged on his shirtsleeve. ‘Should I get Deacon?’
Greg nodded. ‘I think so. Jim looks unhappy. They probably want me to go home with them, but I don’t want to.’
Faith stepped in front of Greg with her back to the approaching couple. ‘Do they hurt you?’
Greg shook his head. ‘No, but I hurt them, even though I don’t mean to. I can’t make Aunt Tammy have another heart attack. It’ll kill her.’
Faith started to deny his claim to the blame for his aunt’s poor health, then realized she felt the same way about her own father. She started for the conference room door, only to be stopped by a big booming voice.
‘You,’ the big man said. ‘Therapist.’
This isn’t going to end well, she thought. But she turned to face Deacon’s uncle anyway. ‘My name is Faith Corcoran,’ she said levelly.
Jim Kimble’s gaze raked over her in contempt. ‘I know your real name. I want you to stay away from my nephew.’
Which one? was on the tip of Faith’s tongue, but she bit it back. She glanced at Greg, whose hands were clenched into fists at his sides, his mouth opening to protest. ‘Don’t,’ she said to the boy. ‘It’s all right. I’ll see you later.’
‘No you won’t,’ Jim said, standing so close that Faith would have had to crane her neck to see his face. ‘I know what you are. I don’t want you around him. Ever. Stay away from Adam, too. The last thing he needs is the likes of you.’
O-kay. Faith took a large step back. Glanced at Tammy Kimble, saw her biting her lip. But her focus was Greg, not Faith and not her husband.
Faith felt like standing on a chair so that she could yell in the older Kimble’s face, but that would solve nothing. ‘If you’ll excuse me, I have to go.’ She packed up her computer bag, reacting to Jim Kimble only when he moved to take it from her arms. ‘Don’t touch me.’
‘I want to be sure you haven’t taken anything you shouldn’t have.’
‘Jim,’ his wife said. ‘Leave her be. Deacon can search her bag.’
Jim Kimble rolled his eyes. ‘Deacon’s not rational about this woman.’
‘She saved my life today,’ Greg said loudly, and both Jim and Tammy looked at him like he had three heads, giving Faith the seconds she needed to step out of Jim Kimble’s reach.
She gave Greg a nod. ‘This makes us square, okay?’
‘Do I still get All-Night Zombie Buffet?’
Faith continued to walk backward toward the conference room. ‘I never welch on a deal.’
Chapter Twenty-Six
Cincinnati, Ohio, Wednesday 5 November, 1.00 A.M.
Adam held up a DVD. ‘He planted the tracker in Corcoran’s Jeep while it was parked in the garage near her office,’ he said. ‘You need to see it.’ He slipped the DVD into Isenberg’s machine, hit play and stepped back so they could see the screen.
‘There’s Corcoran’s Jeep, arriving at eight forty-five yesterday morning.’ Thirty seconds later, the white van entered
the garage. Adam switched views. ‘This is the fourth floor of the garage.’
The Jeep parked and Faith got out wearing the green suit she’d worn on Monday night, the black coat with which she’d covered Arianna draped over her arm. Seconds later the white van came into camera range.
‘The van was waiting on the ramp, just out of sight. I checked the other floors and the van followed the same pattern, giving her Jeep a head start at every floor, then following.’
‘What’s on the door?’ Isenberg asked, leaning closer to see. ‘A sign, but for what?’
‘It say’s “John’s Emergency Auto Service”,’ Adam said. ‘Magnetic sign, probably a fictitious company or a sign stolen from a legit business.’
‘She might have been suspicious of a plain white van after the bridge incident,’ Bishop said, ‘but she wouldn’t have thought twice about a van for auto service in a garage. Slick.’
But Deacon wasn’t looking at the van or its signs. His eyes were on Faith, who’d dropped her car keys. She looked both ways then stooped down to retrieve them, before hurrying to the elevator. All while the white van idled thirty feet away. Once again he’d come close to losing her before he’d even met her.
Bishop’s exhale was audible. ‘She was a sitting duck and didn’t even know.’
Deacon’s heart was beating unevenly. ‘When did he put on the tracker?’
‘After she got into the elevator.’ Adam changed views again. ‘The van went one floor up and parked. The driver got out, dressed like an old man.’ They watched as he walked hunched over with a cane. He wore a trench coat and a hat, so the camera couldn’t see his face. He stopped next to Faith’s Jeep, pretended to drop a pen. ‘You have to slow the video down to see him slap the tracker under her engine, because he does it so fast. Then he picked up the pen he’d dropped, went back to the van and was gone. The white van exited at nine ten A.M.’
‘He could have killed Dr Corcoran there in the garage,’ Tanaka said. ‘Why didn’t he?’
‘He must have thought the risk was too high,’ Deacon said, his heart racing. ‘He might not have been able to get away – he could have been stopped at any of the exits. Plus we’d have film of it. He clearly expected the garage to have cameras.’