“Last minute. Sean has business in Sacramento, so I took a couple of days off.”
She was lying. Sort of. Sean did have business in Sacramento—a meeting of the principals of RCK starting Friday, but it would likely last all weekend. Lucy had planned to stay home and catch up on work—her new boss, who replaced the last SSA, took over while Lucy was on her honeymoon, and Lucy had felt like she was playing catch-up ever since. Things were very awkward. She supposed that was to be expected, but she hadn’t wanted to take the time off until the adjustment period was over. If it ever ended.
And yet here she was, because of Justin.
Not Justin specifically—because of Maxine Revere, the reporter, who was positive that she could solve Justin’s murder. Her confidence was contagious. Lucy believed it, too. Now she had to convince her family.
“Patrick mentioned that he would be in Sac, said he might stop by on Sunday.”
Lucy hadn’t known. She should have talked to Patrick … or maybe not. She and Patrick were close—Patrick had been Sean’s best man at their wedding—but Patrick and Carina had been best friends since childhood. Patrick may have told Carina before Lucy had a chance to.
Didn’t matter, she was doing this her way. But she made a mental note to call Patrick tonight.
Sean had his arm around her shoulders. Though he and Carina had a cordial relationship, they weren’t close. Lucy wasn’t quite sure why … part of it had to do with the first time they’d met they had a major disagreement, and another part of it had to do with their personalities. And Lucy suspected Carina was a little hurt that Sean and Patrick had become so close after Patrick came out of his coma and started working for RCK. Carina and Patrick used to be inseparable, and now they lived three thousand miles apart.
Connor and Rosa came in with the rest of the food. “Go fetch your father and Nick,” Rosa told Carina. “They’re talking to J. P. about baseball. J. P. can’t even walk yet, but they’re showing him how to throw a ball.”
Carina grinned and went outside. Julia walked in, flushed. She was always impeccable with stylish, feminine suits and long hair she wore up in complex twists that Lucy was envious of. She could french braid her hair—that was the extent of her fancy.
Julia glanced at Lucy and Lucy thought she knew or suspected. Maybe Andrew had said something. Even if Andrew had simply said he’d seen Lucy, that would make Julia suspicious. Because why would Lucy see Andrew before her family?
“I’m sorry I’m late, Mrs. Kincaid.”
“Rosa. Rosa. It’s been five years since you became my daughter-in-law. Rosa, or Mom, or Mama. Go wash up, dinner is ready. Sit, Lucy.”
Connor slipped off with Julia and Sean and Lucy sat down.
Soon, everyone was sitting down and eating. J. P. was in his high chair munching on a tortilla he held between two chubby hands, his large brown eyes watching everyone with great interest, sitting between Nick and Carina. Rosa had a rule—babies ate at the table with everyone else once they could sit in the high chair. They were family, not relegated to another room or early dining hours.
Rosa sat between their dad at the head of the table with Carina on the other side. Connor—the oldest son tonight—was at the other end.
Lucy was sitting between Julia and Sean. They talked about family—J. P. had pulled himself to standing last weekend; Nick and Connor’s PI business was in the black; and of course Sean and Lucy’s honeymoon.
“You actually bought the house in Vail?” Carina said.
“Wedding present to my beautiful bride,” Sean said.
“It was bliss,” Lucy said honestly. “I don’t think I’ve spent that much time doing nothing in my entire life.”
“Nothing?” Sean said. “We hiked almost every day. We went to an art festival. Found an amazing Italian restaurant where the owner gave me the recipe for her gazpacho.”
“Sean can sweet-talk anyone into anything,” Lucy teased.
“She liked us, what can I say?” Sean winked. “We also helped the local police with a situation.”
“Shh,” Lucy said, avoiding her mom’s concerned glance.
“Why am I not surprised?” Carina rolled her eyes.
“It was a perfect honeymoon. We needed it,” Lucy said.
“And you got a dog?” Connor said. “I saw the pictures you e-mailed around. Beautiful retriever.”
“Bandit,” Sean said. “He’s almost two. I’m still working on training him. He has a mind of his own, but he’s a great dog.”
Though the circumstances surrounding their adoption of Bandit were sad, the golden retriever was a welcome addition to their family. Sean had told Lucy his childhood dog had died the year before his parents were killed, and he’d loved the mutt so much he didn’t know if he could ever raise another. Watching Sean with Bandit was a joy, and the dog had brought a sense of peace and contentment to their lives that Lucy had never realized a pet could bring.
“Have you talked to Nate?” Lucy asked. To her family, she added, “Nate Dunning—you met him at the wedding. He’s watching Bandit while we’re gone.”
“Bandit, Nate, and the house are all in order,” Sean said.
“And you found him on your honeymoon?” Carina asked. “In Colorado?”
They finished eating, and Sean entertained the group with a sanitized version of the events in Vail and how they ended up with a new dog. Everyone enjoyed the story, except her mom, who kept looking at Lucy with worry in her eyes.
Great. She was worrying her mother. Again.
Lucy kept trying to find a way to bring up the reporter and investigation into Justin’s death, but there didn’t seem to be any good moment. Lucy had been so confident walking in here, then Andrew’s words of warning started to worry her. Before she knew it, dinner was over and she and Sean were clearing the table.
“Dinner was great, Mom, but we’d better get J. P. home. He’s practically falling asleep in his high chair.” Carina balanced J. P. on her hip. “You and Dad wear him out—not that I’m complaining. He’s finally sleeping through the night.”
Lucy knew she had to do this now. “Um, I need to talk to you before you leave, if you have a few minutes?”
Nick said, “I’ll take him home and give him his bath, you stay as long as you want.”
“You sure?” Carina asked.
He raised an eyebrow. “Of course I’m sure.” He took J. P. from Carina.
“I won’t be long,” Carina said. “Try to keep him up for me, okay?”
Nick kissed her, said his good-byes, and left.
They all migrated to the kitchen, where Rosa and Connor began to put away the leftovers. Connor handed Sean another beer, which he took but didn’t open. He offered one to Lucy, but she shook her head.
“Andrew called me last night,” Lucy said. “That’s why I’m here in San Diego.”
“Stanton?” Connor opened the refrigerator and put in the plastic container of leftover carnitas. “Why?”
“An investigative reporter has uncovered evidence that connects Justin’s murder with three, possibly more, crimes. Andrew asked me to assess the evidence and advise him if we should cooperate with her investigation.”
“So the whole thing about Sean’s meeting in Sacramento is a lie?” Carina said.
“No.” Sean tensed next to her; Lucy had to preempt any conflict. “We just left San Antonio early, to meet with the reporter.”
“Why did Stanton call you?” Carina asked bluntly. “He should have talked to us first.”
“Because he didn’t think either of you,” Lucy said, looking from Carina to Connor, “would come into the meeting with an open mind.”
“Open mind? Because some asshole wants to drag our family through an ordeal? Exploit Justin? Exploit our family?” Connor was livid. Over-the-top angry.
“Connor,” Pat Kincaid said quietly.
“No, Dad, don’t silence me. Stanton damn well knows that no Kincaid will stand by while he opens these old wounds. So he goes to Lucy,
thinking because she’s a young rookie that she’s going to cave into his pressure.”
Sean opened his mouth, but Lucy squeezed his bicep to keep him quiet. “Connor,” Lucy said quietly but firmly, “Andrew left the decision to me. I listened to the reporter—Maxine Revere—and her evidence is solid. I don’t want to detail it here.” She glanced at her mother, who looked pale and older than her years. Damn, damn, damn! The person she least wanted to hurt was her mother. “I think she’s onto something, and I’m going to work with her.”
“No,” Carina said. “You have no right, Lucy. You have no idea what we went through—you want to drag Mom and Dad through this again? Me? Nelia?”
“I know what you went through,” Lucy said calmly. It seemed the more worked up Carina and Connor got, the calmer she became. “Just because I was seven, doesn’t mean I don’t know exactly what happened to Justin. I know you want the truth, just as much as I do. You want to know who killed him and why.”
Rosa gasped.
“Why isn’t going to bring him back,” Connor said. He glanced at Julia. “Did you know about this?”
Julia shook her head, then said quietly, “Andrew has been preoccupied for the last couple of days. I asked him why, but he wasn’t chatty. He let it slip that he’d seen Lucy this afternoon, but it wasn’t my place to ask for details.”
This was spiraling out of control. Lucy had to get a handle on it. She spoke clearly, professionally. “I know this is hard for us to talk about, but there’s more at stake than solving Justin’s murder. Everyone believed it was isolated, but it’s not. Other boys have been taken from their bedrooms and killed. Other families have been shattered with grief. Their killer is still out there and will do it again if we don’t do something. Your help, your recollections, are irreplaceable. You were there, and Andrew is—”
“A bastard,” Connor said. “He cheated on our sister when he should have been home!”
“Connor Joseph!” their father said.
“Dad, you can’t condone this.”
“I don’t,” he said. Lucy’s heart fell. “But you’re going to respect your sister and hear her out.”
Connor glared at Lucy.
Lucy was growing increasingly nervous. “I’ve looked over the evidence that Maxine compiled and she connected two, possibly three, other murders to Justin’s. I won’t go into the details now, but if you want to see the facts, I can arrange—”
“You are not doing this,” Connor snapped.
Lucy hated confrontation, especially with her family, but Connor had no right to order her to do or not do anything. “I am doing this,” she said. “I’d like your help. Both you and Carina.” She turned to her sister, hoping to see agreement, and was stunned to see tears.
“I can’t go through this again,” Carina whispered. Her voice cracked, she cleared her throat. “I’m a cop, I’ve seen the worst that people can do to each other, but when it’s your family … when it’s someone you love … I can’t do it. It’s been nearly twenty years. When I first became a cop I read Justin’s case file, and there’s nothing. No evidence. No suspects. No damn reason. I had nightmares for years. When J. P. was born, I started having nightmares again. What if something happened to him…”
Connor put his arm around Carina. They stood there, united against her.
“Whatever this reporter is doing, it’s not for good.” Carina wiped her tears away and took a deep breath. “She can’t possibly have evidence that the police didn’t have. She’s going to exploit Justin, exploit our family, dig up dirt that will hurt Nelia, Mom, Dad, me … and you want to be part of that?”
“I’m not going to let her exploit anyone,” Lucy said. “Someone killed Justin. And I believe the same person has killed another child every five years since. If I do nothing, and another child dies, that’s on me.”
“Bullshit,” Connor said.
“Connor!” Pat said. He turned to Lucy. “Lucy, may I have a word? Alone?”
Everyone turned to her father. He had always been the rock of their family. Honorable and noble, a hero in every sense of the word. There was no one Lucy respected more than her father. Lucy had no idea what he was thinking, though he looked terribly sad.
Sean started to follow her and her father, and Pat turned and said, “Just Lucy.”
Lucy nodded to Sean—this might be a difficult conversation, but maybe alone she could convince her dad that this was the right thing to do.
Sean was reluctant, but stayed in the kitchen. As Lucy closed the door of her father’s office, she heard Carina and Connor talking to Sean—accusing him, in a not-so-subtle way, of encouraging this “insane” idea.
They hadn’t even let her explain. Or maybe she didn’t explain it well enough. But her dad would understand. He was retired military. He would understand that she couldn’t do nothing.
Her father’s office wasn’t large. On one wall were family photos, dozens of framed portraits and favorite candid shots through the years. One of Lucy’s favorites was of her and Justin when they were six. They were each holding up a fish—their first catches. She remembered that camping trip—just bits and pieces, as often happens with favorite childhood memories—of her and Justin swimming in the lake, and her dad teaching them, together, how to fish. That Justin caught fish after fish, but Lucy couldn’t catch any. She’d been so upset, but Justin hadn’t teased her about it. Instead, they traded poles, and five minutes later she caught her first—and last—fish.
Another wall was Pat Kincaid’s military awards and commissions. He’d been a decorated U.S. Army colonel and served his country for forty years.
“Lucy, close the door, sit down,” he said.
She obeyed.
He sat behind his desk, not so much to take control—though it had that effect—but because his office was so small.
“Dad, I don’t want to upset you or Mom.”
“But you have. You knew this would upset everyone.”
“No, I mean, I know talking about Justin is difficult, which is why everyone has always avoided the subject. But I thought everyone would be relieved that we have a lead.”
“Who is this reporter?”
Of course he’d want to know. She should have led with that—eased into the investigation.
“Maxine Revere is an investigative reporter out of New York. She’s written several books, has a television show—I don’t watch much TV, so I haven’t seen it, but I read one of her books last night. She’s extremely respectful of the victims, smart, methodical. She primarily investigates cold cases, and has an impressive track record. But that’s not why I agreed to help. She laid out the information she’s found, and I’m in the process of verifying everything she’s uncovered. My gut tells me she’s onto something. I had her commit to working with me—so I will be privy to everything she knows. I’ll protect the family. This is hard, Dad, for both of us,” she added when he didn’t comment immediately. “I’ve never talked to you about my work, what I do every day. I always had a feeling I disappointed you when I became an FBI agent.”
“It’s hard for me as well, but you didn’t disappoint me, Lucy. I’ve always been proud of you. I was simply sad that you didn’t pursue your dream.”
It took Lucy a moment to realize that her dad was talking about her original career goals. In high school, because she had a knack for languages—especially after growing up in a bilingual home—she’d wanted to go to Georgetown and major in international relations. She wanted to be a diplomat, or work in an embassy. She loved different cultures, people, and traveling. At least, at one time that’s what she had wanted.
Her eyes drifted back to her dad’s wall of pictures. They settled on one of her in high school, standing with her mom after she won first place in the 500-meter swim competition. She’d loved swimming competitively. She still loved swimming. Water gave her peace that little else did.
Yet.
Everything ended—her idea of international relations, of competitive swimming—th
e day she was kidnapped and raped when she should have been graduating from high school. There was no going back to her childhood dreams. Just like there was no going back to being six and fishing with Justin. For her, solving crimes and finding justice for victims was the only way she could reclaim her life. Hard as it was at times, she couldn’t see herself doing anything else.
“Trust me, Dad.” She had one shot here. If her dad was on her side, Connor and Carina would follow, if reluctantly. She leaned forward. “Max has been researching Justin’s murder and that of three other young boys. There are several similarities, but two facts are particularly compelling. Statistically, when prepubescent boys are kidnapped and murdered, there’s a sexual component. There was no sexual crime in these cases. Secondly, they were each buried in a shallow grave less than five miles from their home, wrapped in a blanket from their bed. I speculate that law enforcement didn’t connect the murders because they were five or more years apart and in different counties, but when you look at them together, it’s a clear pattern. That means that one person—it’s most likely a lone individual—has killed multiple times and will continue to kill until she is stopped.”
The killer had begun to solidify in Lucy’s mind. She’d believed the killer was a woman as soon as she saw the facts together, now she was positive.
She still didn’t know why. But she would figure it out. It’s what she was good at.
Her father stared at her, his face long. “It took Nelia years to accept that her son was gone. She rarely comes home. Tom has been good for her, but she’ll never be fully healed. The loss of a child is overwhelming … for everyone. If you dredge this up … it’s going to hurt a lot of people. Nelia. Carina. Your mother. Even Andrew—he’s not thinking straight.”
“That’s why he left the decision to me,” Lucy said.
“Then you’re not thinking straight! There is no good that can come from this. Only sorrow and heartache.”
“But we can stop a killer. Save another little boy.”
“After nearly twenty years? You don’t have any proof—only some vague similarities—that the same person is responsible for these horrific crimes. The chances are slim to none you will identify and stop him, and you’re foolish to think otherwise. So you’re going to stir the pot, bring all this out in the press, bring other reporters here. To my family. To my home. Do you know that a week after Justin’s funeral, your mother was at the grocery store and accosted by a reporter? Asked how she felt about her grandson’s murder? Wanting to know if she thought her daughter could have killed her own son? Your mother is a strong woman, but Justin’s murder nearly destroyed her. You were a little girl, we protected you from the horrors of the time. And now, you want to bring those horrors back into our lives. And do you think you’re going to walk away unscathed? We’ve all done a good job protecting your privacy for the last eight years, Lucia. But someone could still dig up what happened to you. Do you want to live through that again? Do you want your mother to live through that again? Do you want all of us to remember how we almost lost you, too?”
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