Melt (The Steel Brothers Saga Book 4)

by HELEN HARDT

  “Okay. That still doesn’t tell me who you are. You have any references?”

  “Sure. Call any police department in any big city in Colorado. They’ll vouch for us.”

  I swallowed. I had no reason to think the guys weren’t on the level, but the Steel money was well-known. They could have crawled out of the woodwork.

  “We’re on the up-and-up, Mr. Steel,” Mills continued. “We wouldn’t stay in business if we weren’t.”

  I had no idea whether I believed him. What kind of detectives worked at midnight? They could’ve easily sniffed out our money and come calling, assuming we wouldn’t call the police and check them out.

  I was going to call. Absolutely. I’d call the Grand Junction Police Department and the Denver Police Department. If both of them had heard of these guys, I’d let it go.

  “Anything else in this room that looked suspicious?” I asked.

  “Not that we’ve seen so far, but we’ll figure this out. I guarantee it.”

  “If it’s all the same to you,” I said, “I’d like to call a police officer I know and trust to handle the evidence. I want him to keep it in his custody.”

  “But we’re the ones who’ll be running the tests.”

  “How in the hell can you find fingerprints?”

  “We can’t reveal our sources,” Johnson said. “Could lead to—”

  “Shut up, Johnny,” Mills said.

  Right. On the up-and-up all right. But they left their scruples at the front door.

  “Would you excuse me for a moment?” I said.

  I was going to call Steve Dugan, a Snow Creek police officer. If he had heard of these guys, I’d let it go for now, but I was still going to call Grand Junction and Denver tomorrow.

  I walked down the hall into Talon’s study and closed the door. I dialed Steve Dugan’s cell number.

  “Dugan.”

  “Hey, Steve. Jonah Steel.”

  “Joe? Why are you calling at this hour?”

  “Talon’s got these two high-priced detectives in the house. I wanted to know if you knew anything about them.”

  “Mills and Johnson?”

  “Yeah, I think that’s their last names.”

  “They’ve come around a few times, offering services. They seem to be legitimate. I mean, legit in that you pay for their services and they deliver. I don’t know whether everything they do is legal. I think they’re probably hackers, and I imagine they do their share of breaking and entering. How else could they solve crimes that we can’t?”

  “Have you talked to any of the larger police forces about them?”

  “I haven’t personally,” he said. “But the sarge has. He seems to think they’re okay.”

  “All right. Thanks. I’m going to call the police in the city tomorrow. Sorry to bother you, Steve. Good night.”

  I heard him yawn into the phone. “No problem, Joe. Anytime.”

  I ended the call, went back to Jade’s old room, and found it empty. The two men had gone back to the kitchen and were talking to my brothers and sister and Jade.

  Johnson had sat back down at the table and was examining the card with his gloved hands through what appeared to be a jeweler’s loupe.

  “A-ha,” he said.

  “What did you find, Johnny?” Mills asked.

  “There’s a tiny brown smudge on the edge of this card. I didn’t see it before because it’s only on the edge, not on the card itself. Someone wiped the card clean. But the glossy finish doesn’t extend to the edge.”

  “What is it?” Talon asked.

  “My best guess?” Johnny twisted his lips. “Blood. Looks like whoever had the card got a nasty paper cut.”

  “Well, that doesn’t help,” Talon said. “This was weeks ago. Any paper cut would have healed by now.”

  “Yeah, but we can get DNA from the blood.”

  And it hit me. The Band-Aid on Tom Simpson’s right index finger. I hadn’t thought anything of it, but he said he got paper cuts a lot.

  My God. I was jumping to conclusions, just as Talon was with Nico Kostas.

  But I knew it in my soul as much as I knew the sun would rise tomorrow.

  Tom Simpson’s blood was on that card.

  Mills and Johnson would check the fingerprints. Larry’s would be on file, and his fingerprints would be on that card. The second set would belong to Colin himself. And the third set…

  The third set would match the blood.

  The blood of Tom Simpson.

  My best friend’s father. The fucking mayor of Snow Creek.

  That blood was his.

  I just had to figure out how to prove it.

  Chapter Twenty–Four

  Melanie

  I sat, biting my lip, in the conference room on the mental health wing of Valleycrest Hospital. The phone call I had received before I left for dinner with Jonah had been from the Chief of the Psychiatric Staff at Valleycrest, who also happened to be my colleague and Erica Cates’s physician, Dr. Miles Bennett. I’d tried to put this meeting at the back of my mind while I had been with Jonah, and I had actually succeeded. But after Jonah got the call from Talon and left so abruptly, I had turned back into a pumpkin. This phone call and meeting had gotten into my mind and wouldn’t let go. I tossed and turned all night, getting only an hour or two of sleep. I had to have Randi reschedule two therapy sessions to make room for the meeting this morning. I hated canceling on my patients. Regular therapy was so important to the work I did, and when I had to cancel, patients got off schedule. But I couldn’t miss this meeting.

  Miles sat across from me, and next to him sat a young woman who I knew as Dr. Eva Wilson, the chief psychiatry resident this year at Valleycrest.

  “I hope you don’t mind, Melanie. I’ve asked Eva to join us.”

  “Normally I wouldn’t, Miles, but I don’t even know why you’ve summoned me here. Until I know the reason for this meeting, I’m not very comfortable having anyone else attending.”

  “Dr. Carmichael—” Eva began.

  “It’s all right, Eva,” Miles said. “Melanie, everything in this meeting will be held within the strictest confidence. Eva can be trusted.”

  I nodded. “Fine.” I didn’t have the energy to protest anymore.

  “Erica Cates’s husband, Rodney Cates, came to me yesterday. He was a mess. Said he had just been with you. It was nearly six o’clock, and I was getting ready to leave the hospital, but he insisted upon seeing me.”

  I nodded. What could I say?

  “He wants to see your file on his daughter, Melanie.”

  “The file is in storage,” I said.

  “I understand that.”

  “And you probably also understand that my psychotherapy notes are protected under HIPAA.”

  “I do. But it might serve your interests best to release the file.”

  I widened my eyes into circles. “Did I hear you right? You want me to disregard the law that protects my patients?”

  “Melanie, the patient in question is dead.”

  “You know the law as well as I do. If he wants to see the file, he needs to go to court, be appointed as the personal representative of his daughter’s estate, and then he can demand access to the file. Not before.”

  “Yes, I know that. But why not show him? Right now, I need to think of my patient, and her husband is driving her slowly crazy.”

  “I sympathize with you, Miles,” I said, “but I have to think of my patient and her rights too.”

  “May I remind you again, Melanie, that your patient is dead?”

  “No, you don’t need to remind me of that.” I stood, anger getting the best of me. “Don’t you know that I think of that girl every day of my life? That I question myself? That I wonder what there was that I didn’t see? She haunts me every night, Miles. I did what I thought was best at the time, and I had an attorney and Shelley Barrett, who you yourself have said is one of the best therapists in business today, review my file after Gina’s suicide. They both con
cluded there was nothing in the notes to indicate Gina was suicidal. I believe we’re done here.”

  “Sit down, Melanie.”

  “I will not. I have nothing more to say on this matter.”

  “You may not, but I have more to say. Now please, sit.”

  “I think I’ll remain standing. Have your say, Miles.”

  “This man is wreaking havoc in the hospital,” Miles said. “Please understand my position. As a friend and colleague, I’m asking for your cooperation.”

  “I’m sorry. I can’t.”

  “Then I have no choice but to ask you to take a leave of absence from your practice.”

  I whipped my neck around. “A leave of absence? On what basis?”

  “Pending investigation of the medical review board. Rodney Cates filed a complaint against you early this morning.”

  I froze, my blood frosting in my veins. “I know my rights. I am able to keep practicing medicine until the medical board tells me I can’t.”

  “You know the procedures as well as I do. Don’t make me suspend your privileges at this hospital.”

  “Do you hear yourself, Miles? My patients need me. This isn’t right, and you know it.”

  “This is a temporary situation.”

  “You have no cause to ask this of me. I haven’t done anything wrong.”

  “Believe me, Melanie. It’s for your own good.”

  “So is this the kind of man you are, Miles? Things get a little tough for you, and you roll over and play dead? What are you afraid of? That if you don’t kowtow to Cates, he’ll file a complaint against you?”

  Miles reddened. Yes, I’d hit that nail right on the head.

  I clenched my hands into fists. “I see how it is. Fine. I’ll close up my practice for a few weeks until you’re confident this has blown over. I’ll let my patients down. But I won’t forget this, Miles.” I stormed out of the conference room.

  The walk back to my office took place in a blur. I was livid. When I reached the fourth floor, I tromped into the office.

  “Randi? Take the next three weeks off.”

  “Excuse me?” Her blond head popped up from her computer.

  “You heard me. It seems the universe has decided I need to take a break for a few weeks. I need you to cancel all my appointments for the next three weeks. Don’t reschedule anything. We’ll call them all when I get back to the office.”

  “But Dr. Carmichael, this isn’t like you—”

  “Trust me, it wasn’t my idea.”

  She paled. “All right. I’ll call everyone. What about this afternoon’s appointments?”

  “Cancel them as well.” I stepped into my office and shut the door behind me.

  What the hell? I hadn’t had a vacation in years. I had plenty of money saved up. Why not take a trip? I could use the time to finish writing my book about—

  I let out a laugh—but not a laugh because anything was funny. A laugh from the sheer absurdity of it all. My work in progress was a book on preventing suicide in teens.

  I hadn’t worked on it since Gina’s death. Though Gina hadn’t been a teen, she was still quite young. I had become numb. I hadn’t been able to touch my research and writing since then. I’d forced myself to continue working, but only because my current patients needed me.

  And then Talon Steel had walked into my office and fainted dead away after our first session.

  I’d found a new purpose in Talon. He had made such amazing progress in such a short time. Even though I had failed Gina, I began to think I still had something to offer, that I could still help people who had a dire need, who had been to hell and had come back kicking.

  And even though the guilt from Gina’s death had never left me, working with Talon had lifted me out of the depths of sorrow, had given me a new aspiration.

  If only I had let that lead me all the way out, all the way back to the light. But I hadn’t, and one night I’d made a phone call to Gina’s parents.

  If only I could go back in time and not make that call.

  I laughed again. I always counseled my patients against the “what ifs.” They served no purpose. All we could do was handle the situation we found ourselves in currently.

  I sat down at my desk, cradling my head in my hands.

  Now. This was now. Now was all I had, and I had to figure out how to deal with it.

  I breathed in and out, willing the tears not to fall. I had made my bed, and now I had to lie in it. If only…

  “God, stop it!” I said aloud. I stood, grabbing my purse, and walked out of my office, shutting the door and locking it behind me.

  “Lock up when you’re done making the calls,” I said to Randi. “I won’t be back today.”

  I needed some fresh air.

  And I knew just where I could get it.

  Chapter Twenty–Five

  Jonah

  Talon and Ryan sat across from me at my office in the beef ranch buildings. Talon wanted to talk to us about more evidence regarding Nico Kostas. I sat, listening, wanting so much to tell him my suspicions about Tom Simpson. But without solid proof, I couldn’t burden him with it. And then there was Bryce. My oldest and best friend in the world, who was a new father.

  I owed him honesty too. In fact, since it was his father, I needed to tell him before I told Talon. But I couldn’t do either until I had some proof other than my gut feeling.

  I’d called the Junction police earlier, and they’d vouched for Mills and Johnson, though they gave me the same caveat Steve had—just don’t pay too much attention to how they get things done. But they were good, apparently, as they’d never been caught.

  Hell, I didn’t mind if they left their scruples at the door. I just wanted justice for my brother and for Bryce’s cousin and all those other poor kids who had become nameless in the last twenty-five years.

  “Biker Bob found his original records,” Talon was saying. “And here they are.” He shoved a few papers on the desk toward me.

  “Now? I thought you were meeting with him a week or so ago?”

  “I did. He required a little more…incentive.”

  I rolled my eyes. Talon wanted so much to find these guys, but for all we knew, this Biker Bob guy had fabricated records to get Talon to pay him. I’d go along. This was important to my brother.

  I eyed the papers. “This is for the phoenix tattoo?”

  “Yeah. He did the tat five times altogether on the left forearm, but only three of these fit the time frame. None of them, unfortunately, are named Nico Kostas.”

  I scanned the documents. Christopher Headley. Declan Stevens. Milo Sanchez. I wasn’t one to say “I told you so,” so I didn’t. “So what now?” I asked.

  “I’m going to track down all of these guys. One of them is him. I know it. He either used another name then, or he’s using one now.”

  “You do realize, don’t you,” I said, “that this guy doesn’t want to be found?”

  He nodded. “It’s him, though. I know it. Why else would he have disappeared? Clearly he has no conscience. He tried to have Brooke killed, for God’s sake.”

  “You don’t have any proof of that either,” I reminded him. “And when are you going to find the time to track these guys down? You have an orchard to run, or have you forgotten?”

  He raised his eyebrows. “What’s with you, Joe? Don’t you want to catch this guy?”

  More than he knew. “Of course I do. But Tal, we have to be reasonable.” I was one to talk. I had Tom Simpson convicted in my mind already. But saying this wouldn’t help my brother keep things in perspective.

  “Joe’s right,” Ryan agreed. “Don’t get so caught up in this that you forget to live your life.”

  Talon let out a breath. “I know, I know.” He stood, clearly on edge. “You’re right. But why not have Mills and Johnson check these guys out? If anyone can track them down, those two can.”

  “They can try,” I said. “And we can continue to lean on Larry to finger the other two. But th
at’s about all we can do right now. We do have a ranch to run.”

  Talon reddened a bit. “Yes, we have a fucking ranch to run, Joe. God, you sound just like Dad. Who died and made you responsible for everything?”

  “Dad did,” I said.

  And he had—always drumming into my head that I was the oldest so I had to be responsible for everything.

  “You know, Ry and I do our share around here.”

  “I know.”

  “So you can drop the big brother routine.”

  If only it were that easy. I’d dropped the big brother routine one fateful day twenty-five years ago. Unlikely I’d ever drop it again.

  Luckily, I was saved by my cell phone vibrating on my desk. I took a quick look and tried to disguise the happiness I felt.

  Melanie.

  “Sorry, guys, I need to take this,” I said.

  They both stood and left my office. I knew we’d be revisiting the tattoo guys later, but for now, I wanted to see what Melanie needed.

  “Hey,” I said into the phone, hoping to sound nonchalant. “What’s up, Melanie?”

  “Jonah, thank God. I need to see you.” Her voice was scared and timid.

  Something was wrong. My nerves skittered under my skin. “Of course. I can get away. Should I come to your office?”

  “No. Not my office. I’m near you. I’m somewhere on your ranch. Where are you?”

  “You’re here?”

  “Yeah. I’m sorry. I know it’s forward.”

  “No, don’t worry about that. I’m always glad to see you. You know that.”

  “No, I didn’t know that.” She let out a tiny nervous laugh. “But I’m glad to hear you say it.”

  “Tell me where you are.”

  After figuring out where she was on the ranch, I gave her directions to my house. “Meet me there,” I said. “I can get there in about fifteen minutes.”

  Melanie was waiting on my doorstep when I got there. I drove up in my pickup. I’d been out in the pastures earlier this morning, and I was a mess. Definitely needed a shower.