He loaded Flash into the SUV, then got back in himself. He sat for a moment, pondering. The urge to go to the PD was automatic, and he had to remind himself he wasn’t supposed to be there.
He felt the pressure building inside him again. It had been there since he’d looked at the wreckage of Dom’s car. It had multiplied a thousandfold when he’d learned he was now responsible for two six-month-old babies. Add in the theft of the one piece of proof they had against the Larsons, and he was ready to blow.
He hammered a fist against the steering wheel in helpless anger. He wasn’t used to feeling helpless, and he hated the sensation. If it hadn’t been for Gemma...
Gemma. Damn, what a surprise she had turned out to be. When he’d gotten up this morning, there had been evidence in the den that she’d been up with the girls at least once. He hadn’t heard a thing, and Flash hadn’t awakened him, so he’d asked when she appeared in search of coffee. He’d poured her a cup and sipped at his own as she explained she’d woken up with a feeling and had gotten in there just as Zita was starting to fuss, needing a change.
“You’re getting good at this fast,” he’d said, and she’d beamed as if he’d presented her with a medal.
A medal she can show to ol’ Devlin Harrington to prove her worth?
He grimaced at the thought. She deserved better than someone who’d dump her like that.
He started the car and headed home. He had an obituary to write.
* * *
Gemma sat on the floor with the twins under Flash’s watchful eye. She was trying to keep them quiet for the moment, because Dante was at the kitchen bar, working on an obituary for his brother. Or at least, that was what he was supposedly doing; she hadn’t seen him write a word yet.
She lifted the stuffed rabbit, bent its ears at a funny angle and hopped it toward the girls while making silly “Dum-de-dum” sounds. Lucia smiled while Zita giggled delightedly.
She saw Dante’s head come up at the sound and looked up, afraid he’d be angry at the interruption. But he was smiling at the twins. Then she saw him take a deep breath, and he rubbed a hand over his jaw wearily.
“Not going well?” she asked.
“Not going, period. I don’t have any idea what to write.”
She stood, leaving the girls trying very hard to hand the rabbit back and forth, and walked over to him. “Just the basics, then. I read some online this morning.”
He looked at her rather oddly. “You read obituaries?”
“Just to get an idea, you know? There are a lot that just give names, dates, where they were born, lived, family names, and the funeral info.”
He grimaced. “Sounds better than ‘Dominic Mancuso, full-time crook, and his equally crooked wife.’”
“Those who need to know that probably already do, don’t you think?”
He stared at her. After a moment he said softly, “How did Harrington not turn to you for help on everything?”
Gemma nearly gasped at the jolt those words gave her. Color flooded her cheeks. She’d gotten lots of compliments in her life—on her looks, hair, clothes, jewelry, style and, later, more satisfying ones on her organizing and genuine caring for her animal causes. But she had never had her breath taken away by one before.
Because Dev never wanted her advice, and rejected it if she gave it.
She was glad he’d begun writing, quickly, because if he kept looking at her, she didn’t know what she would have done. He consulted a small piece of paper at his elbow that had some notes scribbled on it. In a couple of minutes, he had it done, leaving a blank at the end for the funeral location and time.
She leaned over, reached for the pen. His brow furrowed, but he gave it to her. Her fingers inadvertently brushed his, and she felt another rush of sensation similar to what his quiet compliment had given her. She froze for a split second, not understanding. Then she grasped the pen and filled in the blank spot.
She set the pen down, realized he was staring at her.
“It’s set?” he asked.
She nodded. “I chose the smaller chapel. I hope that’s all right. You need to go in and confirm everything and sign some papers, but it’s set for Saturday morning at ten. Oh, and you need to call to okay the release of...the bodies to them.”
“Gemma, I—”
A startled woof from Flash snapped both their heads around. The girls were giggling, and the stuffed rabbit lay half atop the big dog’s head. Lucia was waving her arms, looking proud. Zita had rolled over on her back and was kicking her legs in apparent delight.
“Oh, one thrower, and the other is going to be crawling soon,” Gemma said in mock horror. “You’d better look out.”
He burst out with a laugh, and it was the most wonderful sound she’d heard in ages. The weariness, the worry in his eyes vanished with it, and she had her first glimpse of what he must have been like, before. He was gorgeous enough already—he must have been a stunner before the weight of the world had come down on him.
“How on earth are you still single?” she asked before she thought.
The smile that had lingered after the laugh slowly faded. “I could ask you the same thing.”
“Oh, it took a while to find someone I was certain wasn’t after money or a connection to my father.”
Dev wasn’t—he hardly needed either. And they would put it back together, perhaps sooner than she’d expected. Dante just looked at her for a moment, and she wondered if he was considering giving her his opinion of Dev again.
But in the end he only shrugged and said, “Just as hard to find somebody who can handle being married to a cop.” Almost visibly the weight descended on him again. “And now, with two babies in the mix, I’d say that would be a useless search anyway.”
“But they’re adorable!”
“I thought twins were twice the work.”
“Well, yes, but they also entertain each other a lot. You have to see them when I set them both in front of the mirror in the bedroom. It’s fascinating to watch them try to figure it out.”
He was staring at her again, so intently, with such a bemused look on his face that it made her feel awkward. And she was not used to feeling awkward. The silence spun out, oddly tense, until she grabbed at the first thing that popped into her head. She gestured at the finished obit.
“Are there people you need to call? Any of them I can handle?”
The mental shake he gave himself was almost visible. “I... No. Any of his friends I know about I...wouldn’t call.”
She thought about that for a moment. Then realized. “Are you thinking you could get in trouble?”
“The department frowns on socializing with criminals.”
“But...this is hardly socializing, is it?”
“Maybe.” He let out an audible breath. “It was in the news. This—” he gestured at the obituary “—will run tomorrow. Word will get out. And if it doesn’t, so be it.”
“All right.” She glanced over to be sure the girls were all right. Apparently Flash had nudged the rabbit back to them, because they had it between them again. “What about them?”
“What about them?” he echoed her words rather blankly.
“They’re just babies. But it’s their parents’ funeral.”
His gaze shifted to the twins. “You mean...bring them?”
“I mean, you need to decide if you want them there. Not the service itself—I’m sure you wouldn’t want them to disturb it if they started crying or giggling. But...one day, will they wonder? Wish you’d taken them?”
“If I live that long, one day they’ll probably hate me for something. Maybe a lot of things. This funeral will be the least of it.”
The almost bitter note in his voice told her just how apprehensive he was about all this. The oddity of it struck her. He was a cop—he’d no doubt gone into life-threatening situat
ions, where he could be badly hurt or worse. And yet these two tiny beings had him scared.
“I think you might be underestimating them,” she said softly. “And I’m sure you’re underestimating yourself.”
The look that came into his eyes then was a visual echo of that compliment he’d given her. And Gemma Colton suddenly felt, oddly and unexpectedly, that she was exactly where she was supposed to be.
Chapter 18
The twins were looking around with great interest, and Gemma was pleased. It was a nice morning, seventy degrees out, and taking them out had been a good idea. Dante had been a little edgy this morning, comparing a printed list with some kind of schedule on his laptop. He obviously wasn’t happy about something—whether it was what he was seeing or having to do it at all she didn’t know.
She knew he wasn’t thrilled about having been put on half days at home, and while she had calls to make to confirm some things for the upcoming funeral, she could finish that this afternoon, so this morning she’d decided she would corral the girls and vacate for a while. After all, he’d hired a nanny for a reason, and just because he was working at home now didn’t mean he wasn’t working and didn’t need peace and quiet to do it.
And so she had loaded the girls into their stroller and proceeded to walk the two blocks to the park. She’d even offered to take Flash, since the dog park was right there, but Dante had declined.
“I wouldn’t want you to have to choose between reining in the girls or the dog,” he’d said. “Plus, he could drag you halfway to Sioux Falls if he got fixated on a trail.”
She was beginning to see that dealing with a bloodhound was rather different than even other police K9s. They had always seemed so well mannered and obedient, but Dante had said bloodhounds had a mind of their own and could be very stubborn about using it. He also said they were big on passive resistance, and for all his lolling about, Flash looked very powerful.
She heard a loud squeal, the sound of an excited and happy child. She looked and saw there was a fairly large group at the small playground, on the swings and clambering around the large cedar structure that served as playhouse and nexus for the several slides and ladders and other apparatus. She’d done a fund-raiser for that project, but somehow she’d never seen it in use. It made her smile now, and she wondered why on earth she had never made this simplest of trips and come to see delighted children playing on this thing she’d worked toward.
The girls seemed to be interested, too, so she began to wheel them in that direction. All the while she pondered the simple realization she’d had. She’d begun working on fund-raisers because she had at last found something she was very good at. It had been such a joy, after feeling so aimless since turning twenty-one, that she hadn’t looked much beyond that. She truly enjoyed helping worthy causes, and since she didn’t need the money a professional organizer would make, she was happy to donate her time. But her enjoyment had only gone as far as the successful event itself and the fact that she usually exceeded the fund-raising goals.
She had never realized that seeing the final result would make her feel so good.
As she neared the playground and studied the sturdy cedar structure with the slides, currently festooned with kids clearly having a wonderful time, she had a vague memory that RRPD had, after the money had been raised and the materials purchased, built the thing.
Dante? Had he been part of that? He didn’t seem the carpenter type, but what did she know? She never followed through to the down and dirty part of the projects she raised money for.
...he’s the first guy you go to if you need a favor.
Juliette’s words echoed in her mind. And Gemma decided she wouldn’t be in the least surprised if he’d been right in there with a hammer, a saw or whatever.
Now that’s something I would like to watch.
The idle thought struck her as rather odd, because she’d never before been interested in such things. But now, people who built things, good things, seemed like people she should know.
The girls were jabbering nonsensically back and forth. Nonsensically to her, anyway, because they certainly seemed to understand each other. But they were obviously quite entertained by watching the kids play, so she settled down on a bench to let them, as she saw a couple of other mothers or caretakers had done. She found herself smiling, and she wasn’t quite sure why.
She leaned back on the bench, closing her eyes and tilting her head to let the sun warm her face. Soon enough winter would be here and—
Her eyes snapped open. Winter.
In just a couple of months, the temperatures would be about twenty-five degrees colder and well below freezing at night. A month after that, breaking freezing during the day would be considered warm, and nights would plunge into the teens if not lower.
In just a couple of months, she would normally be off to a warmer clime, maybe to the house in St. Croix.
She hadn’t even thought about that when she’d pushed her way into this job. She’d sort of given Dante a timeline of six months, although she hadn’t really intended to.
If you haven’t gotten it together by then, you may need to get a real mom.
This time it was her own words that rang in her mind. A real mom. Like Dev wanted for a wife. The kind who are so good with kids you marry them just for that.
Getting married just to have someone to help take care of them would be the worst thing I could do for them...not to mention the insult to that woman if, for instance, I asked her to prove she could take care of them before I’d marry her.
Back to Dante. And what he’d said stung even more now than it had when he’d said it.
Another happy squeal from a little girl on the swings. Grateful for the distraction, Gemma watched her go higher and higher. Wondered how old the girls would have to be before they could start to play like this. She tried to picture it, tried to imagine them and how much more chaotic life would be when they were independently mobile. They—
Her thoughts broke off as someone on the far side of the playground moved. It was a woman, carrying a baby in a sling in front of her. Her dark hair was short, in that pixie kind of way it was hard to carry off, but this woman did it. Gemma watched the woman watch the children, much as she herself was doing, and wondered if she was thinking the same thing, of the day when her own baby would be big enough to join in the fun.
At least you’ve only got one to deal with.
She smiled wryly to herself. The woman looked toward the play structure as a boy atop it trumpeted out his triumph in a Tarzan sort of yell. Gemma started to look as well, but her gaze suddenly snapped back to the woman.
The sunglasses, she thought. They were exactly the same ones she’d bought for that disaster of a Christmas when several of the family insisted all the branches of the Coltons get together. A Secret Santa project had been part of it, and the sunglasses had been her gift. They were French, very distinctive—she’d bought them on a trip to New York City and doubted there was another pair just like them in South Dakota.
And the name she’d drawn had been Demi Colton.
She stared at the woman’s profile. Tried to picture her with long red hair, as she’d known her. She knew the latest description said Demi had either cut and dyed her hair dark or had been seen wearing a wig. Gemma studied her nose, her chin, her shape, the way she held herself. Her stunned mind tried to process what her instinct was already telling her was true.
She was standing less than fifty feet away from the woman all of Red Ridge was searching for.
Demi.
The instant the name formed in her mind the woman’s head turned back toward the kids on the swings. Gemma rose to her feet. The movement must have attracted Demi’s attention, because she looked. For an instant she simply stared. But it was long enough for Gemma to know that Demi had recognized her.
Demi spun around and ran.
> “Wait!” Gemma called out, even knowing she was already too far away to hear. “Wait,” she repeated, barely whispering this time. “I don’t believe you did it.”
And she meant it. Demi might be a little rough around the edges, and yes, she had a temper, but a killer? No. Gemma could not believe that. She didn’t care how much evidence they had.
And the baby. So that had been true, too. Demi had had a baby. While she’d been on the run. Gemma couldn’t even begin to imagine what that must have been like.
She sank back down on the bench. Looked around at the other adults. None of them seemed aware in the slightest that they had been within feet of the woman most believed was the crazed serial murderer they called the Groom Killer. They either hadn’t seen her or hadn’t recognized her.
One of those, a woman holding the hand of a rather grubby little boy—the one who had yelled from the top of the tower—was passing, headed for the parking lot. But she paused to coo over the twins.
“Oh, they’re beautiful,” she said. “How old are they?”
“Six months,” Gemma said, rather absently since her mind was still absorbed with what had happened.
“Such pretty girls you are,” the woman said, bending over the two.
“Girls,” the little boy muttered, making a face.
His mother straightened, looked at her son. “Hard to believe someday you might like them, isn’t it?”
The boy made a worse face, and for a moment Gemma smiled, distracted. But the moment the woman and boy had gone, her mind leaped back to what had happened.
If she’d been alone, she might have gone after her. But she had the twins, and there was no way she could abandon them to chase Demi.
Colton's Twin Secrets Page 13