Keep Her Safe

by K. A. Tucker

  “Yes, I’ve noticed.” I feel Silas’s shrewd gaze on me.

  Can he tell I’m falling hard for Abe’s daughter?

  I clear my throat. “I may need a loan for Dina’s rehab. Just until Mom’s insurance—”

  “Judy’ll call to sort that out. She can send a payment to the rehab center first thing tomorrow.”

  I sigh with relief. “Thanks, Silas.”

  “Don’t mention it. I’m always here for you. Don’t ever doubt that.”

  It’s true. He always has been. And I was a dick today. “I’m sorry. I should have just picked up the phone and told you about Klein yesterday. This whole thing is . . . it’s making me crazy.”

  “I told you it would, son. It’s done that to all of us.” His eyes wander outside, to where Gracie sits, his face suddenly grim as if burdened with a thousand unspoken worries. “For what it’s worth, she didn’t deserve this. None of them did.”

  “At least now maybe we’ll get justice for Abe.”

  He stands and pats my shoulder. “Yes, sir. Justice.”

  CHAPTER 44

  Grace

  The elevator music finally cuts out. “Grace?”

  I pause for a moment, absorbing the sound of my mother’s voice, clear and strong, even after only a few sober days. What will a few months without drugs coursing through her veins do? Will I actually get my mother back? Do I dare hope?

  “Hello? Grace?”

  “Mom.” Unexpected tears start rolling down my cheeks. I feel like I’m in a daze.

  “What’s wrong?” she asks, panicked.

  “Nothing. Everything’s great. You wouldn’t believe what just happened.” I tell her about Canning’s press conference. By the time I’m done, she’s sobbing into the phone.

  “You can’t be serious. Is this a joke?”

  “I am! I mean, no, it’s not a joke.” I quickly explain the last several days.

  “The FBI? Did Silas call them?”

  “No, actually we have Jackie Marshall to thank for that. They were already investigating by the time we got here.”

  The door to the kitchen opens and Kristian steps out, sauntering over to me with that casual swagger of his.

  “The man who came to your hospital room was an FBI agent. His name was Kristian Klein.” I watch as Kristian pulls a cigarette pack out of his back pocket. I had no idea he even smoked. I wonder if he’s allowed to light up in the backyard of a crime scene. Something tells me he’d do it with or without permission.

  “Klein . . .” my mom repeats, and I can picture her brow furrowing. “That does sound familiar.”

  I doubt it, but I’ll let her hold on to that. “You don’t need to be afraid, Mom. No one’s coming to Tucson to get you.”

  “And what about you? You’re there in Austin, right in the thick of things.”

  “I’ll be fine.” I left out the part about Mantis pulling us over. Details she doesn’t need to know. “Besides, I have Noah here to protect me. And Cyclops.”

  Klein paces aimlessly around the yard, puffing on his cigarette. Listening to my every word. On impulse, I toss the tennis ball, aiming it to fly a foot or so in front of his face, just close enough to startle him. I get nothing but a raised brow in response.

  My mom chuckles. It’s a soft, nostalgic melody. “I knew that dog would bite someone eventually. Glad he made it count.”

  “So . . . How’s Desert Oaks?”

  “It’s okay,” she admits grudgingly. “They’re awful strict, though.”

  “You’re surprised?”

  “No, I guess not. But does the FBI need me there? I could come. I could—”

  “No, you need to stay in rehab. You’re still detoxing, Mom. You won’t be credible as a heroin addict and you need to be credible. For Dad.”

  “Yes. Of course. I just . . . I want to help.”

  “I’m sure they’ll want to come out to speak to you at some point.”

  “I’ll tell them everything I remember.”

  Everything you should have told them fourteen years ago, that bitter voice inside my head chirps. I push it aside. What’s done is done.

  “Oh! I remembered something! That’s what I wanted to tell you. About that guy who broke into the house. I mean, it’s not really anything, but I thought you should know. It probably won’t help—”

  “What is it?”

  “The man, he was wearing that awful cologne that some of the customers at Aunt Chilada’s used to wear. It’s called Brut, I think. And he wore so much of it, like he spilled a bottle on his clothes.”

  Familiarity washes over me.

  “I don’t know if it helps, but—”

  “It does help. Call me if you remember anything else.”

  Kristian’s curious gaze flickers to me.

  “Any news on Betsy?” She sounds hopeful.

  “Not yet, but they’re looking. We’ll find her soon.” I sound more hopeful than I feel. But that’s what my mother needs—hope.

  “How’s Noah, by the way?”

  “He’s good.” I think. I can see him through the glass, his elbows resting on his knees, talking to his uncle. His expression heavy. “Listen, the FBI agent is here to talk to me. I’ve got to go.”

  “Okay.” There’s a pause. “I love you, Grace.”

  My voice gets caught in my throat. It’s been so long since she’s said those words out loud. Years. Long enough that I was sure she’d forgotten their meaning.

  I don’t know how to accept them yet.

  “I’ll phone when I know more.” I end the call and look to Kristian, who’s pretending to study the gate that leads out the back of the property, to the treed park directly behind us. The one that we think Stapley used to make a quick escape. “Did you need something? Or do you just like to listen in on personal calls?” I mentally scold myself for being snarky with him. Kristian is one of the good guys, even if he can be a real ass.

  If my tone bothers him, he doesn’t let on, leaning down to put his cigarette out on a stone. “I actually do like listening in on personal calls. You learn a lot.”

  “And what did you learn just now?”

  “Nothing I didn’t already know.”

  I roll my eyes as he settles down onto the end of my lounge chair without asking. “How is she?” His voice is suddenly soft with sympathy.

  “A thousand times better than when you saw her last.”

  “Yeah, she was . . . not good.” He has a square jaw and it tenses now as his thoughts drift somewhere. To my mother, perhaps, a collection of frail bones lying in that hospital bed, barely lucid. Probably raving mad. “So what did she remember about that night?”

  I tell him about the cologne. “I don’t think it was Stapley who broke in and threatened her. I’m betting it was Mantis.”

  “Maybe. I had a headache by the time I left the interrogation room today.” So casual, so unfazed by everything. He nods toward the kitchen. “Wasn’t that something, back there?”

  “That’s a loaded question if I’ve ever heard one.”

  He purses his lips, as if considering his words. “Stapley and Mantis are trying to set Jackie up to take the fall for your dad.”

  “Didn’t we already come to that conclusion?”

  “They named her today. In the interview. Similar stories, about Jackie and Abe having a huge fight. Apparently Abe had something on her. They didn’t know what, but they got the impression it was big. Something that could get her into a lot of trouble.”

  “My mother said as much.” About the huge fight, anyway. “So what are you saying? That Jackie had motive to kill my father?”

  “That’s what they made it out to sound like.” Klein’s eyes wander over the pool, stalling at the planter sitting at the bottom. The pool guy never did make it back to clean it this afternoon, what with the FBI crawling all over the house.

  “Then why didn’t that come up in their investigation, seeing as they were the special investigators for his death?”

  �
��My thoughts exactly.” Kristian smiles knowingly. “They also said that Jackie was there, at The Lucky Nine, the night your dad died.”

  “So what if she was? We know they’re guilty. Jackie didn’t kill my father.” I can’t believe I’m actually defending that woman.

  “I think they’re both guilty,” Kristian agrees. “But that doesn’t mean Jackie isn’t, too.”

  I steal another glance at Noah, his face drawn and serious as his uncle chatters on, likely giving him grief. Hopefully giving a valid explanation for his silence about the video all these years. Silas has been nothing but helpful since he charged through the front door today, even if that help was uninvited and unwanted by the likes of Kristian.

  Still, I don’t know how I feel about Silas. He unsettles me. It’s probably because from the moment I met him at the DA’s office, I knew he wasn’t happy about me being in Texas. That usually makes for bad first impressions.

  Maybe, once this case is resolved, I’ll get a chance to see another side of him, the side that Noah knows, trusts, and loves.

  “If we hadn’t found those drops of blood, would Stapley have gotten away with this?”

  “Probably. And it wouldn’t have looked good for Jackie, having Wilkes’s gun locked up in her safe. You don’t mind, do you?” Kristian slides another cigarette out of his pocket and lights it before getting my answer.

  He can smoke a crack pipe for all I care, as long I’m getting information from him about my father’s case.

  “Did you find anything in that motel room yet?” I ask, changing gears.

  “Dried blood behind the strips of wallpaper, like I expected. We’ll have to test it. See if we can get a match. Thanks for that, by the way.” He nods to my arm, where a specialist drew blood earlier, at the FBI office. A familial sample to compare DNA markers against. The next best thing to having my dad’s blood, they said. I want to help, but still, it feels strange to know that federal agents now have my DNA on record.

  “And if it does match?”

  For the first time, Kristian’s face shows signs of concern, of doubt. “We have a long way to go before we have anything to tie a person to your father’s death, Grace. If we ever do.”

  “I know that,” I admit grudgingly. I’ll never accept it, though.

  His mood shifts again, and he’s back to his typical indifferent self. “Who knows, though? Mantis pulling you two over yesterday was one thing. But what Stapley did today was stupid and reckless, and that tells me he’s worried.” He studies the lit end of his cigarette for a long moment, the ember glowing like a firefly in the dusk. “I like it when guilty people are worried. They make a lot of fucking dumb mistakes, and that’s how I nail them.”

  I hug myself against the evening chill. “At least now everyone thinks my dad was innocent.”

  “Right . . . That was quite a show Canning put on.”

  “It works for me. And for my dad.”

  “It’ll probably work for Canning, too, that arrogant son of a bitch.”

  Pot and kettle. “You still think he’s behind this?” Maybe my judgment is clouded by his words on the TV not long ago, by the way Canning seems so vested in clearing my father’s name, because I don’t see it.

  “If I were him and I were involved in this? I’d be looking for a way to clear your dad’s name to get you off my back, while making sure someone other than my star guys take the fall. Someone who can’t defend themself anymore.”

  “Jackie Marshall.”

  “Jackie Marshall.” He takes a long puff of his cigarette and a tendril of smoke curls out his lips. “That spectacle on the news back there? That wasn’t for your father. That was for Canning. He figured he’d get out ahead of this and put himself in the public eye as the man who uncovered the scandal. That’s what he wants the public to remember. My boss’s boss has been fielding calls from everyone right up to the governor of Texas since this morning, demanding the APD be involved in the investigation. Who do you think was behind that?”

  “Canning?”

  “Canning.”

  “Wouldn’t it be better for him to stay far away from this?”

  “If there’s anyone who knows how to kick a hornet’s nest and not get stung, I’m guessing it’s him.”

  Kristian’s painting quite the picture of George Canning. I’m wondering how accurate it is, or if this agent is just the most suspicious man I’ve ever met. The Canning I saw on TV—ruddy-faced and grandfatherly; a man who’d pull off a Santa Claus suit better than most—doesn’t look like a master manipulator. Maybe that’s his angle, though. What is this George Canning really like?

  I’d love to find out.

  Another thought strikes me; a worry. “Isn’t it a bad idea to have the APD involved, given who Mantis is?” I’d think the head of Internal Affairs is connected.

  Klein smirks. “Depends who you ask.”

  I groan. “God, you are infuriating! Why do you even bother telling me anything?”

  “Imagine what I’m not telling you.” Kristian puts his cigarette out on the patio stone. “How old are you again?”

  “Way too young for you,” I throw back without missing a beat. I’m not oblivious—I’ve caught the looks he has cast my way. I’ve also caught the glares he’s earned from Noah because of them. Noah’s jealous of the FBI agent. That shouldn’t make me giddy.

  It shouldn’t, but it does.

  Kristian chuckles. “Have you ever thought about a career in law enforcement?”

  “What? No!” That was unexpected.

  He stands, stretching his arms over his head. “You’re sharp. You’ve got the right head for this kind of thing. Who knows? You may want to follow in your father’s footsteps.”

  “So I can be murdered and framed, too? No thanks,” I mutter dryly.

  His gaze drifts over the fence line again. “Austin’s my home. I grew up here, before I went away to college. In ‘a good part’ of Austin. That’s what my mom calls it. A place where you can borrow a cup of sugar from your neighbor when you run out. Where your kids can run up and down the sidewalk. No random home invasions, but you lock your doors all the same.

  “One night I was in the kitchen, getting something to eat. It was late. And I saw Mr. Monroe—the same neighbor who’d had us over for a barbecue the week before—beating the hell out of his wife in their backyard. Like a man possessed, like he wanted to kill her.

  “So I called the cops and then I hopped over that fence and threw myself at him, trying to stop him before he did something to her that the doctors couldn’t fix. But Mr. Monroe was tipping the scales at two-fifty, at least, and I was a scrawny sixteen-year-old . . . I got banged up. Might have ended worse, had the cops not shown up so quickly.” Kristian’s steely eyes flicker over to me. “One of the officers was your dad.”

  My stomach tightens. “You’re lying.”

  “I’ve never forgotten him, or that night. It was . . . messy. I got a little community award for it a few months later, and your dad was there on his day off, front and center. He came up to me afterward and said that if I was going to be doing the police’s work, I should think about putting on muscle and becoming an actual cop. And then he told me to trust my gut, no matter what anyone else might say; that helping someone in need is never a mistake.” A sad smile touches Kristian’s face. “It was about a year later when his death hit the news.” Silence lingers for a long moment. “That whole thing? It never sat right in my gut.”

  I desperately want to believe his story. “Why are you only telling me this now?”

  He simply shrugs. And begins moving toward the gate leading to the front yard.

  “Hey! How come you joined the FBI instead of the APD?”

  “The badge is shinier. Make sure your guard dog is on alert. And that Noah’s extra close.” He winks.

  I shake my head as I watch the cagey agent stroll away.

  Wondering what else he hasn’t told me yet.

  * * *

  “What are you readin
g?”

  I look up from the iPad to see Noah standing in the doorway of my room, his hands resting on the door frame above his head, his sculpted biceps and his long, lean torso all the more noticeable.

  “A sixteen-year-old Kristian.” He wasn’t lying, after all. There’s an Austin newspaper article from 2002, showing a gangly but still handsome teenaged version of him accepting a medal from the mayor for saving the life of one Mrs. Sara Monroe. “He knew my dad.”

  Noah’s face fills with surprise. And a hint of jealousy.

  A selfish thrill courses through my veins before I’m able to tamp it down.

  “See? They mention my dad in here.” I show Noah the article and quietly watch him read, his bottom lip pulled between his teeth. My bottom lip was in that exact spot only hours ago.

  Heat floods my core. If I hadn’t touched the floor, if I hadn’t felt something wet against my fingertip . . . I shudder at the thought of Stapley’s blood on me. It’s an effective way to temper these illicit thoughts I’m having about the guy standing four feet away from me right now, though. The intense ones that are becoming impossible to ignore, even with the threat of dirty cops looming over us.

  Am I crazy for getting this involved with Noah right now? Am I setting myself up for guaranteed heartache? We’re in the middle of investigating my father’s murder and there’s a good chance that his mother played a part in it.

  Noah was right, earlier. We need to take things slow.

  I clear my throat. “So, what did Boyd say?”

  Noah sets the iPad on the nightstand. “They’ll have a car patrolling the street all night. He’ll be there off-duty if he has to be. Stapley’s still being held and Mantis isn’t stupid enough to come here. What would be the point?”

  “That doesn’t bring me much comfort.”

  “Yeah, me neither.” Noah turns to test the doorknob, giving me his back. That gun is tucked into his jeans again. While I don’t have a lot of experience around guns, Noah seems confident in handling it.

  “This lock is broken.”

  “Yeah, I noticed.”

  “You’ll need to stay in my room tonight. With me. I’d feel better having you right there.”