by Karen Rose
Greg had approached him more than two years ago for help doing a little ‘computer sleuthing’, as Diesel liked to call it, because ‘hacking’ sounded clumsy, lacking in finesse, and he took pride in his art. Diesel had hoped that spending more time with Greg meant that he’d be spending even more time with Greg’s sister, but so far that hadn’t happened. Not yet.
Diesel hadn’t lost hope. Not yet.
He wished that Dani were here right now. She’d know what to say. What to do to calm this terrified kid. But she wasn’t here. I’m on my own.
Slowly, he dropped to his knees, trying to make himself smaller. Less threatening. He signed haltingly, hoping the kid understood him.
‘Don’t be scared. I won’t hurt you. Promise.’
Michael blinked, his gaze focusing on Diesel’s hands, so Diesel repeated the signs, then added, ‘I’m Coach Diesel.’ He spelled the letters of Coach and his name, because he didn’t know the signs for those words. ‘It’s nice to meet you, Michael.’
Michael stared another moment longer, then lifted his eyes to study Diesel’s face. He seemed . . . there now. Coherent. Back from wherever his mind had gone when he’d first seen Diesel.
‘Are you okay?’ Diesel signed.
Very slowly, Michael nodded, his shoulders visibly relaxing. He loosened his hold on Joshua, who wiggled out of his grasp, his little hands flying like the wind as he signed to his brother.
Blinking, Michael turned his attention to Joshua and signed back.
Diesel caught enough of the signs to know that Joshua had demanded to know what was wrong with Michael – and to ask where their mother was. Michael’s reply was less frenetic, telling Joshua that he was sorry. That he’d thought . . .
Diesel frowned, unable to understand what the teenager was saying. He wasn’t sure what Michael had thought. But he did see the boy tell Joshua that their mother was asleep.
The slight hesitation as Michael signed ‘asleep’ told Diesel that the woman was either stoned or drunk. How Mrs Brewer could have gotten wasted so quickly was puzzling. She’d dropped her son off less than two hours ago. She hadn’t seemed impaired at the time, but he’d known enough functional addicts to realize that she could have become adept at hiding a buzz.
‘He says he’s sorry,’ Joshua supplied. ‘He thought you were someone else. You look like someone else.’
Someone else who’d had the power to terrify this young man. Another uncle, maybe? Diesel couldn’t be sure, but he was sure that he didn’t want to take these kids back to that home. Not until he was sure they’d be safe.
‘He says that my mom is asleep,’ Joshua continued. ‘He tried to wake her up to come get me, but he couldn’t, so he came instead.’
‘Okay,’ Diesel said aloud, then signed, ‘Does your mother need a doctor?’
Joshua’s eyes grew wide. ‘You can sign?’ His back had been to Diesel when he’d signed the first time.
‘A little,’ Diesel answered, both speaking and signing, but his attention was back on Michael. ‘How did you get here?’
The boy shrugged, wincing as he did so. ‘Ran.’
It was Diesel’s turn to stare. He knew where the family lived from the address Mrs Brewer had listed on the registration form. ‘That’s . . .’ He held up his fingers, trying to remember the sign, and finally spelled it. ‘That’s five miles.’
‘Six.’ Michael shrugged again, this time with only one shoulder. ‘I’m fast.’
‘He’s a soccer star at his school,’ Joshua said proudly.
Michael rolled his eyes and shook his head.
Diesel was still stunned. ‘How long did it take you?’
‘Thirty minutes.’
Which meant he’d probably set off when his mother should have been leaving to drive here. It also meant this kid wasn’t just fast. He was record-setting fast.
Which wasn’t important right now. ‘Does your mother need a doctor?’ he repeated.
Michael stiffened again. ‘No,’ he replied, the sign terse and final. ‘She is sleeping.’ He put emphasis on the final sign, letting Diesel know that the teenager understood what he was really asking.
Diesel rubbed his head, the slightest stubble tickling his palm. He needed to shave it again soon. ‘Okay, Joshua, I don’t sign well enough to say the next stuff, so you’re going to need to interpret, okay?’
Michael poked Joshua with a scowl, and Joshua signed what Diesel had said. Both brothers nodded.
‘I can’t let Michael take you home. He’s not on my approved list.’ Michael started to protest, but Diesel held up his hand and continued. ‘I can drive you both home. Mrs Moody will come with us.’
He considered Michael’s wince when he’d shrugged. Something wasn’t right and Diesel was going to find out what. ‘But before we leave, I noticed your shoulder seems to be hurting. Are you okay?’
Michael nodded, his eyes narrowing. ‘Yes,’ he signed, just as tersely as he’d signed the ‘no’.
‘No, he’s not,’ Joshua protested, and Michael turned to him with a glare. ‘You’re not,’ Joshua insisted, his signs as curt as Michael’s had been. ‘His shoulder hurts. His head, too. It was bleeding this morning.’
Jaw taut, Michael signed, ‘I’m fine,’ with enough force to hurt himself.
Once again, Diesel held up his hands, palms out. ‘If you’re bleeding, you should let Mrs Moody check you out. She’s a retired nurse.’
‘She’s real nice, Michael,’ Joshua added after he’d relayed Diesel’s words.
Mrs Moody came forward slowly, as if approaching a wounded animal. She smiled that motherly smile that Diesel had loved at first glance. ‘How do I sign “please”, Joshua?’ she asked.
He showed her and she followed his instructions, circling her flat palm over her heart. ‘Please?’
Michael took a mutinous step back, arms crossed over his chest.
Diesel sighed and started to sign again. ‘If it gets infected’ – he had to spell that word out – ’you’ll get sick and then who will take care of Joshua?’
Michael met and held his gaze for a long, long moment. Then he finally nodded and bowed his head, so that Mrs Moody could take a look.
Mrs Moody was gentle and quick, her expression telling Diesel that what she saw wasn’t good. ‘It’s a bad cut,’ she murmured. ‘It needs a thorough cleaning and stitches. At least two or three. It’s still oozing blood.’ She took a step back. ‘Joshua, can you ask him when this happened?’
Joshua apparently didn’t need to ask. ‘At breakfast,’ he said, signing as he spoke. ‘Mama hit him with a bowl.’ He then relayed to his brother what Mrs Moody had said about stitches.
‘No.’ Michael voiced the word, his tone flat and unyielding.
‘It’s still bleeding,’ Mrs Moody said softly. ‘You could get very sick.’
Fear flashed in Michael’s eyes as Joshua interpreted. ‘No doctors,’ Michael signed. ‘Mom . . . will be mad. She won’t pay.’
Diesel had to swallow back his rage once again. ‘What if I could take you to a doctor who would fix you up for free?’ he signed. ‘She signs, too. Her name is Dr Novak. She’s very nice.’ And never far from his thoughts. His pulse skittered at the chance of seeing her today.
She’d made it very clear that her rejection of his clumsy advances had had ‘nothing to do with him’. He hadn’t believed her, of course, but had foolishly held out hope, just the same. Today, he’d be content with just seeing her.
Her presence calmed him like no one else’s could. He’d even conquered his idiotic phobia of white lab coats, just to be near her without a panic attack. And in the end, he hoped his patience would be rewarded.
He hoped he could be hers, for just a little while.
It was pathetic. He knew that. But he was okay with it.
Michael stared at him for a long moment, clearl
y considering a visit to Dani’s clinic. ‘She’s Greg’s sister?’
Diesel was surprised. ‘You know Greg Novak?’
A nod. ‘He goes to my school. He’s a senior.’
That made sense. Greg lived with his older brother Deacon, not far from Joshua and Michael’s house. ‘Yes. Dr Novak is Greg’s sister. Can we take you to her?’
He held his breath until Michael reluctantly nodded.
Relieved, Diesel smiled. ‘Good. Mrs Moody, can you get up into my truck?’
She chuckled. ‘I might need a boost.’ She held out her hand. ‘Joshua?’
Joshua trustingly put his hand in hers and walked to Diesel’s truck. Diesel turned to Michael. ‘Ready?’ he signed.
Michael’s nod was sullen, but at this point Diesel didn’t care. He’d get the kid stitched up, then he’d get Dani to find out why Michael had been so terrified.
Diesel had seen terror like that before and it was never caused by something small. A man who looked like him had hurt that boy. Or threatened to hurt him.
He was going to find out who that man was. And he’d make sure that Michael and Joshua were safe.
Indian Hill, Ohio
Saturday, 16 March, 12.25 P.M.
Finally, for fuck’s sake. Cade rolled his eyes. If his leg wasn’t cramping, he might be impressed with his boss’s stamina. But his leg was cramping and he needed to piss something fierce because he’d been hiding in Richard Fischer’s bedroom closet for the past four fucking hours, listening to his boss grunt and moan as he’d pounded into whichever one-night stand he’d brought home from the casino the night before. Every time he thought they were finished – or unconscious – they’d start back up again.
Cade didn’t know the woman’s name. He didn’t care. He just wanted her to leave. Luckily Richard wasn’t one to cuddle. His boss was already trying to get rid of the woman.
‘But I thought we could have lunch,’ the woman whined.
‘Nope.’ Richard’s flat refusal was followed by a slap.
The woman yelped. ‘That hurt!’
‘You know you love it,’ Richard said with a lewd chuckle.
‘I’d love it more with lunch,’ she grumbled. Her tone went sly. ‘Come on, baby. We can go out to eat then come back and fuck some more.’
‘I said no.’ Richard’s voice had grown abruptly cold. ‘My guests never stay over. You’re lucky I didn’t throw you out after the first round.’
Cade could hear shuffling sounds outside the closet door. She was gathering her clothes, which – thankfully – she’d left on the floor. The clothes had been his first warning that Richard’s date was still in the house when he’d slipped into his boss’s bedroom four fucking hours ago, thinking the man would be sleeping alone. Because Richard never allowed his dates to sleep over.
Cade had heard the toilet flush and jumped into the closet seconds before a nude woman had sauntered out of the en suite bathroom and back into Richard’s bed, where she’d woken him up for ‘round two’. Cade had been lucky to duck out of sight in time. He didn’t want to have to kill the woman too. He would have, of course, but then he’d have to deal with her body and he didn’t know who might look for her afterward.
Plus, it sounded like she’d suffered enough by simply enduring sex with Richard.
The woman huffed. ‘Like you could have thrown me out. I had to roll you off me. You fell asleep as soon as you came. Which I didn’t, by the way,’ she added viciously. ‘Not once. I faked it. Every single time.’
The closet door abruptly shook as Richard shoved the woman against it, and Cade pulled his Sig from his pocket. If Richard opened the door now, Cade would have to shoot them both. This wasn’t what he’d planned. Richard was supposed to have been alone and his death was supposed to look like an accident.
He held his breath, eyeing the door as it rattled, but it didn’t open.
‘You’re a fucking liar,’ Richard snarled, and the woman cried out.
‘You’re hurting me. Take your hands off me. I’ll tell everyone that you’re a lousy lay. That you can only get it up with Viagra.’
Well, Cade thought, that made sense. Richard was a diabetic, on insulin. But still. I’m not sure I could keep it up for four hours even with Viagra. Richard had done the woman at least three times since Cade had arrived. There was no telling how many times they’d gone at it before he’d fallen asleep on her.
‘You’re lucky I don’t snap your neck,’ Richard growled. ‘If I hear one whisper of your lies in my club, I will.’
Cade rolled his eyes again. Like Richard can snap anything more than his fingers. Although he might rethink that. A certain level of fitness was required to go for four hours. According to the Viagra ads, Richard should probably be consulting his doctor.
The door shook once more and the woman whimpered as her head thudded against the thin wood. ‘Now get out,’ Richard snarled.
‘Let go of me,’ she protested. ‘I’m going. I’m going!’
‘Yes, you are. And I’m going to escort you out, to make sure you don’t steal anything on your way.’
Their footsteps faded along with their arguing voices and Cade let out a sigh of relief. Opening the door enough to confirm he was alone, he slipped out of the closet and into the bathroom, where he emptied his bladder, pulled on a pair of surgical gloves, then waited for Richard to return.
He heard the front door slam and Richard’s muttering as he stomped back into his bedroom. Cade peeked around the bathroom door in time to watch Richard slump onto his bed, loosening the tie on his robe. ‘Motherfucking bitch.’
Cade stepped out of the bathroom. ‘Yes, she was.’
Richard sat bolt upright. ‘What the hell? What are you doing here, King?’
Scott King was the name Cade had given Richard when he’d applied for the casino’s head of security position. King, because its original owner wasn’t using it. Because the original owner was long dead, at Cade’s hand. King, because the irony always made him smile.
If good old Dad could only see me now. Cade’s smile seemed to relax Richard a bit. ‘I’m going to kill you,’ Cade said cheerfully.
Richard gave him a sour look and pulled his robe tighter. ‘That’s not funny. How did you get in here?’
‘You gave me a key, remember?’
‘So that you could feed the damn cat!’
‘And water the plants. And bring in the mail. Et cetera.’ Cade pulled a velvet tie from his pocket and had Richard’s wrists bound before the man could react. It had taken years to perfect that move, especially while wearing gloves, but the practice had been well worth it. ‘Looks like you shouldn’t have trusted me.’
Richard stared at him. ‘What the fuck?’ He yanked at his bonds. ‘Untie me. Now.’
‘Sorry,’ Cade said, then paused, considering the word. ‘No, I’m not. I’m not sorry at all. But you will be.’ He forced Richard’s hands over his head and secured the bindings to the wrought-iron headboard.
Richard seemed to finally realize that Cade meant business. He jerked, but Cade was already restraining his ankles the same way as he had Richard’s hands.
‘Stop this,’ Richard demanded. ‘What is this? What the fuck are you doing?’
‘I told you. I’m killing you.’
Richard stopped his thrashing, the color draining from his face. ‘What? Why?’ When Cade didn’t answer, Richard sucked in a huge breath, preparing to scream. Ready for this, Cade stuffed a gag in his boss’s mouth.
‘I’d planned to do this while you were asleep, but your lady friend was still here,’ Cade said conversationally. ‘Have to admit, that startled me. I’d figured she’d be long gone. I had to hide in the closet. But no worries. I’ll dose you up and be on my way.’
The vial and needle he pulled from his pocket had Richard’s eyes widening comically. Cade chuckled. ‘You
really should have been more careful with your insulin dosage.’ He stuck the needle into the vial and pulled the plunger until the syringe was full.
Terror had filled Richard’s eyes and he tried to thrash some more, panic making him strong. His muffled pleas were like music to Cade’s ears.
Cade pulled Richard’s robe away from his abdomen, pushed the needle into his skin and emptied the syringe, despite the man’s desperate movements. When he was finished, he set the bottle and syringe on the bedside table, arranging them as if Richard had dropped them there. He then pulled his stethoscope from his pocket. He’d wait until he was positive that Richard was completely dead.
He sat down on the edge of the bed, Richard’s eyes following his every move. Cade knew it was time to get serious.
‘I was hoping last week’s transaction during the poker game was a one-time thing,’ he said coldly. ‘That maybe you hadn’t known that John Brewer was using his five-year-old stepson as his stake so that he could stay in the game. That maybe you hadn’t known that Blake Emerson was a pedophile and had bought Brewer’s stepson. But you did.’ Richard shook his head hard, but Cade ignored him. ‘Brewer’s dead, by the way. So is Emerson. I killed them.’
Richard’s muffled ‘no’ was to be expected. Cade was unmoved.
‘I might have believed you, but I listened carefully last night. You know, through the door where you were having your super-secret poker game. I heard Brian Carlyle say that he had “seasoned merchandise” that hadn’t yet been branded. You know what his merchandise was? Of course you do. You vetted Carlyle and his stake, just like you vetted all the others. I found your database, Richard. I’m not sure why you kept such detailed records. That was asking for trouble.’ Cade never recorded his kills. He didn’t need to. He remembered each one.
‘Carlyle’s merchandise was his fifteen-year-old niece.’ Cade leaned in, furious. ‘You knew,’ he hissed. ‘Just like you knew Paul Engel liked young girls. You knew and you allowed it. You profited from it. You’re disgusting.’