Into the Dark (The Cincinnati Series Book 5) (Cincinnati 5)

by Karen Rose

Oh, hello, Doctor. She was entering the living room from what was probably the kitchen. It was definitely Dani Novak. He’d Googled her name and found her photo. He could see the streaks of white in the front of her hair, stark against the rest, which was very black.

  His pulse kicked up when one of the men on the porch turned to look at his vehicle. He kept driving, grateful that the windows of his SUV were tinted darkly enough to hide his face and that he’d muddied up the license plates. He was so close to his goal, he couldn’t allow himself to be noticed now. If Dani was here, either the kids were, too, or she’d leave to go to them soon.

  He’d find a place where he wouldn’t be noticed and then wait until either she came out or all the visitors left. Then he’d listen and watch.

  Lawrenceburg, Indiana

  Sunday, 17 March, 9.40 P.M.

  Diesel didn’t glance up when two beers were placed in front of him, keeping his eyes on the crowded riverboat casino. He wasn’t sure what he was looking for, but John Brewer had kept receipts from drinks at the bar on the Lady of the River, on more than one occasion. So he’d wait and watch.

  ‘I didn’t order those,’ he stated flatly, pointing to the new drinks. He’d been nursing the same beer since he’d arrived an hour ago.

  A solid form dropped into the booth beside him with a resounding thunk, the voice as familiar as his own. ‘If you’re going undercover at a bar, you need to at least look like you’re consuming alcohol in some form,’ Stone O’Bannion said dryly.

  Diesel blew out an impatient breath. ‘What are you doing here, Stone?’

  Marcus’s younger brother was another of Diesel’s oldest and most trusted friends. But he didn’t want the man here at the moment.

  ‘Keeping your investigation from going tits-up.’ Stone sipped at his beer. ‘You look like you’re loaded for bear and maybe even carrying a badge. Nobody’s going to do anything suspicious with you sitting there looking all pissed off and righteous.’

  Diesel finally looked away from the crowd of people. He glanced at Stone, who appeared to be studying the blackjack table, but whose eyes were constantly roving. Looking. Watching. The man was a skilled journalist, having gone undercover for several dangerous assignments even before being embedded with troops in the Gulf. If it happened in a room, Stone O’Bannion saw it.

  ‘You’re right,’ Diesel murmured. He was too tense. Too angry. Too grim. If Brewer had been up to something, no one would tell him. ‘Hope I didn’t blow it.’

  ‘Maybe, maybe not.’ Stone wriggled, sliding down in the seat, making himself comfortable. Seemed that he planned to stay a while. ‘But never fear,’ he added with overly bright sarcasm. ‘I’m here to help you. First thing, loosen that grip your jaws have on your teeth before they crumble into dust.’

  Diesel glared, wanting to tell Stone to leave him alone. But Stone’s staying was probably not a bad idea, because Diesel hadn’t been aware that he was broadcasting rage. ‘I’m not good company,’ he admitted, realizing now that he’d been in a state of furious agitation ever since leaving Dani’s house. Working his jaw back and forth to loosen it, he sighed. ‘Sorry in advance for anything I say or do that’s shitty.’

  Stone shrugged shoulders nearly as wide as Diesel’s. ‘You sat with me when I was detoxing. I think you’ve seen me worse.’

  That had been bad, Diesel had to agree. Stone had been trying to kick the heroin habit he’d developed once he’d returned from serving in the Gulf.

  They all had their demons, he supposed, wondering if Stone, like Marcus, knew that Diesel’s zeal in catching pedophiles was personal. ‘Did Marcus tell you to come?’

  ‘Yep. Said you made him promise to stay with Scarlett at Dani’s house, to help her keep them safe.’ Stone snorted. ‘Like Scarlett needs any help with that. That lady cop is the baddest badass of us all, even preg—’ Biting off the word, he gave Diesel a cautious side-eye. ‘Did Marcus mention anything special today?’

  ‘That Scarlett is pregnant? Yeah. And she is the baddest of us all, even pregnant. But . . .’ Diesel sighed. ‘What did Marcus tell you?’

  ‘What you told him when he got to Dani’s house.’ Stone glanced around them meaningfully. ‘And based on the dead pediatrician and all those bodies they’ve pulled from the river, I’d say you have a right to want all hands on deck over there.’

  Diesel raised a brow. ‘How many hands were on deck?’

  Stone shuddered. ‘Too many cops. Too many people, period. Kate and Decker, Scar and Marcus – that’s a cop and two Feds. Poor Marcus.’

  Diesel knew that Stone’s protests about all the cops who’d become part of their lives over the past few years were purely for show. Scarlett and Stone had become very close, but Stone had to maintain his prickly shell.

  ‘Marcus can take care of himself,’ Diesel said, shaking his head.

  ‘I sure hope so. Anyway, Delores loves all the ruckus, so I dropped her and Angel off at your doctor’s house and split.’

  Diesel pressed the heel of his hand to his heart to blunt the pain that lanced his chest. ‘Not my doctor,’ he said, his voice a breath away from breaking. Just because I wish it were so, doesn’t make it so.

  Stone drew in a slow breath and let it out as he studied Diesel’s profile. ‘Marcus didn’t tell me that part, just the business part.’

  Because Diesel hadn’t told Marcus. He’d looked so happy in his little family bubble with Scarlett and the baby she carried. Diesel hadn’t had the heart to burst it.

  Stone’s expression softened. ‘What happened? Should I talk to Dani?’

  Diesel shook his head hard. ‘No. God, no. She’s . . . allowed to want who she wants. And she’s allowed not to want me.’ He held up his hand when, frowning, Stone started to say more. ‘I’m glad you took Delores over there.’ Stone’s petite girlfriend was the sweetest of their circle, and her animal shelter had sourced nearly all of their pets. Angel, her wolfhound, was nearly as big as she was, but just as sweet. Unless someone tried to hurt Delores or Stone. Then the dog was a fierce protector. Just what Dani and the boys need. ‘Michael and Joshua will love Angel. They’ve already fallen for Hawkeye.’

  Stone’s nod was both thoughtful and sad. ‘Okay. Well, then, what do you need from me? I’m here to watch your back.’

  ‘I don’t know. I think there’s . . . business happening here.’ Diesel looked around, wondering if they could be overheard. It might be paranoid on his part, but this situation had already bypassed weird. ‘Special business.’

  It was how they referred to their special Ledger investigations, those in which powerful people, usually men, had gotten away with terrible crimes. Those investigations usually resulted in the powerful men being punished, either by the judicial system or via very strong suggestions that they back away from their families and allow the Ledger team to relocate the wives and children somewhere safer.

  Stone gave him a nod of understanding. ‘Then we watch.’ He lifted his brows, indicating a skirmish in its early stages. ‘At least we’ll be entertained.’

  Two very drunk men were arguing with one another while a woman tried to separate them. One of the men roughly pushed the woman aside, making her stumble on her high heels and fall flat on her butt.

  Diesel tensed. ‘This is getting really ugly. Is she all right?’ he asked, while the second man, apparently avenging the woman’s honor, let out a huge roar and lunged for the man who’d shoved her.

  Shouting for security, two of the dealers stepped in and restrained both men. The room seemed to draw a relieved breath – until someone helped the woman to her feet and she re-entered the fray, her fists swinging. Bystanders began to yell for security, too, just as the woman delivered a stunning left hook to the first man.

  ‘I’d say she’s all right,’ Stone said.

  ‘King!’ A woman rushed at the table where Diesel and Stone sat, her face flushed, her express
ion irate. ‘Why are you just sitting there? Get off your ass and do your damn job—’ She stopped abruptly when she reached them, blinking at Diesel, her irate expression gone blankly confused. ‘Um . . . I’m sorry, sir. I’m so very sorry. I thought you were someone else. Please excuse me.’

  She backed away, bobbing her head, continuing to apologize. When she was gone, Stone turned to Diesel with a perplexed frown.

  ‘What the hell, D?’ Stone asked.

  Diesel was staring after the woman, who’d run into the back where presumably the offices were. A minute later, a guy in a double-breasted suit rushed out with two uniformed security guards in tow. The skirmish was broken up and the crowd returned to the gaming tables.

  ‘That’s the second time in two days that I’ve been mistaken for someone else,’ Diesel murmured. ‘That woman – I think she was the manager – called me King.’

  ‘I’d say you’re more of a baron,’ Stone joked, then sobered when Diesel didn’t laugh along. ‘Who was the other person?’

  ‘Michael Rowland.’ Diesel grabbed his phone from his pocket and opened up the Ledger’s home page. Front and center was the sketch of the bald man Michael had seen kill John Brewer.

  Stone was looking over his shoulder. ‘I can see the resemblance. You think it means something?’

  ‘It could. Michael sees this guy . . . y’know.’ Diesel folded his fingers to look like a gun and tapped the photo, unwilling to say the words in case there were eyes and ears spying on them.

  ‘I get it,’ Stone said. ‘And the victim frequented this casino.’

  ‘He did. It’s not a coincidence. Stepdad and this King guy – the one that the manager thought was me – their paths could have crossed here. Maybe something happened between them that led to the killing.’

  Just then the woman came back carrying a tray with two beers. ‘Gentlemen, please accept my apologies. I feel terrible having talked to you that way.’

  Diesel gave her a smile. ‘Not a problem. I have to say I’m curious, though. I’m not usually mistaken for someone else. Who is my doppelgänger?’

  The woman chuckled as she set the beers in front of them. ‘Our security manager, Scott King. I remembered after I yelled that he’s off for a few days.’

  Scott King. Now Diesel had a name to go with the face of the man who’d probably murdered at least Brewer, and maybe the others who’d been pulled from the river. For a moment he considered keeping the information to himself, but he knew he needed to tell Deacon and Adam ASAP. The man was a killer. He might have found at least one of his victims here, in the casino. And this was information Diesel had found in a mostly legal way, one that could be backed up in court if need be.

  He held his phone out to the woman. ‘Is this King?’

  She looked at the photo – and froze. ‘Oh my God. That’s him.’ She grabbed Diesel’s phone and scrolled to the story, turning pale as she read. ‘He’s the one who killed that fisherman? I didn’t . . .’ She pressed her lips together and handed back the phone. ‘I shouldn’t talk to any cops without my boss and our legal counsel.’

  ‘Well, we’re not cops,’ Diesel said.

  Her eyes narrowed. ‘I don’t believe you. You look like cops. Both of you.’

  Stone winced. ‘Ouch.’

  Diesel elbowed him. ‘We’re with the Ledger.’

  She took a step back, her face growing even paler. ‘That’s worse. I’m sorry. I can’t talk to you anymore.’ She practically ran back to the office.

  ‘And I think that’s our cue to exit stage right,’ Stone murmured. ‘If I can still breathe with this knife in my heart. Saying we look like cops. She knows how to hurt a guy.’

  Diesel rolled his eyes. ‘Come on, drama queen.’

  ‘Drama king to you, Elvis,’ Stone said lightly, but he got up from the booth and headed straight for the exit. ‘If you can be a King, so can I.’

  Ignoring Stone’s taunting use of his first name, Diesel was calling Adam as they headed for the door. The detective answered on the first ring.

  ‘Diesel? What’s up?’

  ‘I found the man in the sketch, or at least I know where to find him. His name is Scott King and he’s the security manager on Lady of the River.’

  ‘The gambling riverboat?’ Adam asked.

  ‘One and the same,’ Diesel said. ‘The general manager mistook me for him, and now that she’s realized we’ve made the connection, she’s busy circling the wagons, calling in the owner and their lawyer. I know it’s not your jurisdiction, but I’d recommend you get someone over here fast, before they start destroying any evidence you might find useful.’

  ‘Thanks, man. Should I ask why you’re at the casino, since you don’t gamble?’

  ‘Probably not. Catch you later.’ Diesel motioned to Stone. ‘Let’s go.’

  Stone led the way, creating a path for them, like Moses parting the Red Sea. ‘Shit,’ he said as they made it through the exit and onto the riverboat’s main deck.

  Diesel glanced around him, looking for threats. ‘What?’

  ‘We left two perfectly good beers on the table back there.’

  Diesel snorted a surprised laugh. ‘You asshole. I’ll buy you another beer.’

  ‘You’d better,’ Stone said, then grunted. ‘Sorry, man,’ he said to a customer coming in.

  The man looked them over, his expression oddly wary. ‘You work here?’

  ‘Nope,’ Stone said, without breaking a smile. ‘We’re cops.’

  Diesel had his hand out, ready to slap Stone upside the head, when the man, who looked to be about thirty-five, stepped aside. ‘By all means, Officers. Is everything okay in there?’

  ‘I might not pick tonight to gamble,’ Stone said. ‘Especially if you have any unpaid parking tickets.’ Without blinking, he passed by, leaving the stranger looking confused and alarmed.

  Diesel sighed. ‘My friend is not well. He’s not a cop.’ That he himself also wasn’t a cop he left unsaid. And he wasn’t sure why. ‘But he is right about choosing a different night to gamble. Sorry,’ he added, shaking his head at Stone’s back in exasperation. ‘Like I said, he’s not well.’

  ‘I hope . . . your friend gets help?’ the man said uncertainly.

  ‘Me, too. Have a nice evening.’ Diesel jogged after Stone, still shaking his head as he got into the passenger seat of Stone’s Escalade. ‘You are going to get us in so much trouble one of these days.’

  Stone just grinned and started the engine. ‘Where to?’

  Home, Diesel wanted to say. But he bit it back, because the home he’d been visualizing had a cozy kitchen where the woman he craved was sipping tea and smiling across the table at him as a dog snored at their feet.

  ‘My house,’ he said, hearing the terseness in his own voice. ‘I left my truck there.’ And his computer. He hadn’t wanted to risk the sensitive information held on his hard drive, so he’d left his laptop locked up. ‘I took a cab over here.’

  Stone pulled out of the parking lot just as two black-and-white cruisers raced in. ‘Your house, it is.’

  Lawrenceburg, Indiana

  Sunday, 17 March, 10.15 P.M.

  Grant Masterson watched the two men walk away, feeling like he should know the guy who’d claimed to be a cop. He had one of those faces that was familiar in a déjà vu kind of way. The other guy – the actual cop – was massive, bald and tattooed. Yet even though he spoke in a low growl, he was curiously soft-spoken.

  Still not someone I’d want to meet in the dark, Grant thought, then gave the ramp onto the riverboat a cautious look. He wasn’t sure whether he should go into the casino or not. He was hoping he’d find Scott King on duty tonight, because he’d been unsuccessful in finding the casino’s security manager’s home address. He hadn’t been able to find anything at all on Scott King, actually. Which he supposed was understandable for a guy in the se
curity industry. They were paranoid bastards. Grant did the taxes for a security firm, and getting them to reveal anything was like pulling teeth.

  But even if he didn’t get to talk to either Scott King or Richard Fischer, he might meet someone who’d seen Wesley. Still, he hesitated. If those guys were to be believed, something was about to go down.

  Grant wondered what they knew. Following his gut with Dawn Daley had yielded information, so he followed his gut again, pivoting to follow the men to their vehicle.

  He got close enough to see them get into a dark SUV and begin driving away.

  He turned back to the riverboat, but froze at the sound of sirens. Yeah, those guys know something, and that something’s going down right now.

  Slowly he backtracked to his own car, not wanting to attract the attention of the police. If Wes was okay, he was involved in something very wrong. Something that required him to sell heroin and keep an unregistered gun in his home safe. Alerting the police could, at best, land Wes in prison. At worst, it could blow his Blake Emerson cover, putting him squarely in the sights of those he’d gone to such lengths to infiltrate.

  And if the cops haul Wes out of the casino in handcuffs?

  Grant guessed he’d be looking for a good attorney. He hoped like hell he’d be looking for a good attorney. And not an undertaker.

  He watched, heart in his throat, as uniformed officers stormed the casino’s entrance. They were carrying assault rifles. What happened to you, Wesley?

  Bridgetown, Ohio

  Sunday, 17 March, 10.45 P.M.

  Diesel strode into his house, conscious of Stone closing the door behind them. They hadn’t spoken after Diesel had asked Stone to drive him here. They’d been friends long enough for Stone to know when to back off and just be there.

  Stone slumped in the chair opposite Diesel’s desk, watching silently as Diesel pulled his laptop from the safe and started it up. ‘Scott King and Cincinnati,’ Diesel muttered as he typed the name into the search engine he always started with when doing a background check.

  He frowned as he scanned the results, which included the individuals’ most recent DMV photos. ‘Nobody matches.’