Keep Her Safe

by K. A. Tucker

  “Where he always is. Hiding in there.” She waves a hand toward the office. “I can’t get him to take a day off. Would you like some tea?”

  “No thank you, ma’am.”

  “Alright. You let me know if you need anything else. I’ll be over here, planning our trip to Italy this fall.” Excitement flashes across her face as she heads back to her seat at the island, her laptop out in front of her.

  This must be what it feels like to take a harpoon to the gut.

  I’m sorry, I mouth, and then I head down the hall.

  I find Silas seated at his desk, his chair turned so he can stare out the window. He doesn’t seem to notice me come in.

  I clear my throat roughly.

  “Noah. Hi. I didn’t know you were coming over.” His voice is flat, weary.

  “I wasn’t planning on it.” I wander over to the chair closest to him and take a seat, avoiding his gaze for as long as possible.

  He reaches for his drink. “Want some?”

  “No thank you.” I drop the “sir.” That’s a sign of respect, of manners. Silas doesn’t deserve either.

  If he notices, he doesn’t say anything. “I was thinking we should talk about your return to work. Things should calm down in another week or so, and it’d be good for you to be there. Put this all behind you.”

  How does he do that? How does he sit there, drinking his bourbon, pretending to be this man he’s not? How has he pretended for these last fourteen years?

  “The FBI found Betsy,” I blurt out.

  “Oh? Are they sure it’s her? They had that false—”

  “It’s her. We went to see her.”

  “I see.” He takes his time, polishing off the rest of his glass. Would I even notice that stalling tactic if I didn’t know what he was hiding? “Well, at least Grace will have family in her life. And Dina will—”

  “I know what happened that night at the hotel, with Abe. What Mom did. What you did.”

  I ready myself for his denials, for the way he can so quickly divert, so smoothly lie—he’s proved to me time and time again, from that first night on the front porch after Mom died, that he is a true master of deception.

  But instead, he simply takes another long sip.

  “This is why you didn’t want me talking to Gracie or Dina, or the feds. You were afraid we’d stumble on the truth. How could you do this, Silas!”

  “We never wanted you to know. I never . . . I was trying to protect you.” He sinks back into his chair. Is that relief I see in his eyes? In the way his body slouches? Relief that his secret is finally out?

  Having Klein tell me my uncle’s basically a pedophile is one thing. But hearing it from my uncle’s own lips . . . “It doesn’t matter whether I found out or not. The fact is you did it!” I explode, my eyes burning. “She was fifteen!”

  “I . . . she told me she was old enough,” he says feebly. Unconvincingly.

  “And you never did it again? You never broke your promise to Mom that you’d never do it again? You didn’t lie to her about that?”

  He averts his gaze to his desk’s surface. “Sometimes I just need . . .” His voice trails off. He finishes off softly with, “I just need.” He knows it’s wrong.

  Rage flares inside me. “And what? You saw Abe and Dunn through that peephole and decided to dial up my mother? Drag her into this mess to save the day for you?”

  “It would have been as much her mess as it was mine, if this got out,” he mutters. “But no, I called Canning. He called your mother, sent her there.”

  It takes me a moment to get my bearings. “George Canning knew that you were with an underage prostitute and he ordered my mom there to get Abe and Dunn to leave?”

  Silas pours himself another drink. “Canning wanted me in the DA seat, no matter what. If I’d known that he’d hang this over my head every single time I disagreed with him on a case he wanted dropped, or a charge he wanted laid, maybe I would have reconsidered it. Maybe I would have taken my licks.

  “I told him it was a bad idea to call her, but he said Jackie was the most motivated to have this blow over for everyone’s sake. That she was the only person Abe would listen to. That was before we knew who the girl was. It was just . . . any other cops and none of this would have happened.”

  “You mean Abe wouldn’t have ended up dead.”

  He squeezes his eyes shut. “I never wanted Abe dead. But then he had to go toe-to-toe with Mantis. Your mother tried to talk him out of it. She warned him that Mantis had made a threat.” Silas shakes his head. “Canning wanted me in that DA seat and Mantis chasing down drug dealers, and he is one damn determined man. Abe was not earning any points with him.”

  My heart starts racing. “What are you saying? That Canning was behind Abe’s death?”

  Silas fills his glass again, like he’s a man on a mission to black out, and soon. “I don’t know that he went as far as to spell it out to Mantis. But I know he told Mantis to leave that bag of money in Abe’s car, see if Abe would be fool enough to bite.” He chuckles. “When Canning came looking for it, your mother told him she’d burned the money. Boy was he mad when he found out she’d squirreled it away instead.” He sighs. “And he’s likely the one who told Mantis about Abe’s search for Betsy. That’s how Mantis lured Abe to the Lucky Nine.” Another long sip. “And he certainly made sure the whole mess was all wrapped up with shiny paper and a pretty bow, to hide the ugly underneath.”

  Silence hangs. “How many girls, Silas?”

  He sets his jaw, and my heart speeds up, thinking he’s going to shut down.

  “Three. I was weak only three times.”

  I cringe as mental images flash through my mind. “Including Betsy?”

  “Four,” he corrects softly.

  I sway as I struggle to stand and head for the door, unable to bear this for one more second. “It’s over for you.”

  “That damn federal agent.” Silas’s voice turns bitter, his tongue loose from drink. “Did he blackmail her? I’ll bet he did. I’ll bet that’s why she called me up that night. She told me the feds had found out about her making the IA investigation against Mantis go away.”

  Jesus. He knew about that too? Every word out of Silas’s mouth since stepping onto the porch the night my mother died has been a complete lie.

  “She was unhinged, rambling about Betsy. This is all his fault. The bastard had managed to spin your mother into such a web of anxiety that she’d drink herself into passing out on her kitchen table, with a damn gun lying next to her head. He’s a bastard, through and through . . .”

  Silas’s voice drifts into the background as I process what he’s just said. “Wait. Why would you say she was passed out on the table?”

  “What?” He pauses as if to replay his own words in his head, a flicker of something in his eyes.

  “You said she was passed out on the kitchen table with a ‘damn gun lying next to her head.’ ”

  “Oh. Just . . . I assumed that’s what happened.” He tries to brush it off with a wave, but I hear the rare stumble in his words; I see the flash of panic, the way he holds his breath.

  And the one piece that’s been missing this entire time—that one glaring piece I couldn’t see, because there’s no way I could possibly imagine this version of the truth—falls into place.

  “My mother didn’t kill herself, did she?”

  And with those words, that realization, an overwhelming wave of relief weakens my knees.

  Racing fast behind it is a wave of paralyzing shock. Because if my mom didn’t kill herself, it means someone slipped into the kitchen while I was in the shower and, finding her passed out on the table, put the gun into her hand and pulled the trigger.

  Someone who knew the alarm’s code by heart.

  Someone who had a lot to lose if my unhinged mother came clean to the feds about what she knew.

  My mother phoned Klein that night to make a deal. She had no intention of killing herself. And she wasn’t saying I’
d be “just fine” after she shot herself. She was saying I’d be able to handle the backlash that came once I learned the mountain of poisonous truth that had been hidden from me. She hid that money from everyone—especially Silas—because she knew what it represented, and she wanted it going to Dina and Gracie, though she wasn’t brave enough to hand it over herself and risk answering questions.

  “Silas . . .” Hot tears roll down my cheeks, my voice barely audible.

  “I just wanted to talk some sense into her. That’s why I drove there that night. To talk some sense into her. I don’t know what came over me. The gun was there and she sounded so sure on the phone. I don’t . . .” He shakes his head, his words drifting.

  I start backing away. I can’t believe this is happening. I can’t believe I’m hearing this.

  “She was going to ruin so many lives, including yours. I don’t know what came over me in that moment, but I couldn’t let her do that. I couldn’t lose everything. I couldn’t spend my life in prison. But this . . . if I had any idea what it would feel like, to carry this guilt, day in, day out . . .”

  His increasingly pronounced limp, the dark rings under his eyes from countless sleepless nights . . . it’s not because my mother killed herself.

  It’s because he killed her.

  “But, I don’t . . . I bolted out of the shower . . .” How did he get away?

  “I heard you coming,” he confirms. “You called out to her, and then your feet were pounding down the stairs, just as I closed the door behind me. I thought you would have heard the alarm activating. I thought someone might notice me pulling away in my car. And when the cruiser rolled down our driveway that night, I was sure I’d be leaving in handcuffs.”

  “You are going to be in handcuffs, soon.”

  “Am I not already?” He pauses, his eyes glossy—from emotion or bourbon, I can’t tell. “They wired you, didn’t they?”

  “Right here.” I tap the sunglasses that sit atop my head. The tiny device is attached to the arm.

  He nods, more to himself. “I’m not going to prison, Noah.”

  “I don’t see how you’re going to avoid it. You can’t argue your way out of this one.” My voice sounds hollow as I reach for the door.

  “She was right. She said this would ruin all of us.” He smiles sadly at me. “Take care of your aunt for me, and your cousins.”

  I steel my jaw. “I will, but I won’t do it on your behalf. We’ll all be just fine without you.” I pull the office door shut behind me and walk woodenly toward the foyer, in a fog.

  Aunt Judy suddenly appears in my path. Her mouth is moving but my mind isn’t fully grasping anything. “Noah, are you okay?” I think she says.

  This time I do hug her, wrapping my arms around her tiny body, wishing I could protect her from all that’s to come.

  “It’ll get better, I promise,” she murmurs, squeezing me tight. She thinks this is about my mother. And it is, in a way.

  But we will be just fine. I’ll make sure of it.

  A gunshot blasts behind us.

  CHAPTER 63

  Grace

  “You’re sure she’s coming?” My mom tucks strands of her freshly cut and styled hair behind her ear. The blonde highlights make her look younger.

  I sigh, my gaze on the path that winds through the cactus garden at Desert Oaks. “Yes, for the third time.” If there’s one thing I’ve learned about Betsy in the two months since we found her, it’s that she wants family as much as we do. Neither of them has been patient about waiting, but both agreed it was the best choice, for my mother’s recovery.

  She waves at one of her friends who passes by—Coral, I think—and then fumbles with the sleeves of her cardigan, pulling them down to cover the needle marks still visible along her forearms. She’s dressed far too warmly for June in Tucson, even in the shade. “You’re sure I look fine?”

  “You look great, Mom.” She’s put on at least ten pounds. Her gums are no longer puffy, her eyes no longer hollow. She’s beginning to look like the woman she once was.

  Cyclops comes around the bend first, trotting on his leash with his head held high, like some prized poodle. Next to him is Betsy, in a lemon-yellow dress that reminds me of the fifties—prim and proper, and representing everything that her past is not. I’ve noticed Betsy’s wardrobe is full of modest, feminine clothing.

  Tears begin to roll down my mom’s cheeks as she sees her little sister for the first time in fifteen years. A sister she had convinced herself for so long was likely dead. Betsy, also, struggles to keep her emotions in check. They have much to catch up on, and many years to make up for.

  But my eyes are for the guy walking alongside Betsy, standing tall and strong, allowing the joy in the moment to touch his features, even when I know he hides a mountain of sorrow beneath that smile.

  The past two months have been nothing short of triumphant for my dad’s case. Between the video of that night from Isaac, Silas’s recorded confession, and whatever they’ve pulled from the wiretaps on the phone surveillance, Kristian is feeling confident that they’ll have enough to put away not only Mantis and Stapley but Canning, too, despite the old chief’s venomous denials. That bronze statue of Canning? Austin’s decided it has no place anywhere in this city. It’s sitting in some warehouse, likely waiting to be destroyed.

  But on the other side of the coin are the ugly facts that have surfaced. The painful revelations about his mother and uncle that keep Noah restless at night, things that he’ll have to live with for the rest of his life.

  I know what that feels like, and yet I don’t. I was so young when I lost my father. It’s easier to move on with life when you don’t quite realize all that you’ve lost. And, while my mother and Nan may have cocooned me in lies for years, they also served as buffers to hard truths.

  But Noah has no buffer. There is no one protecting him from the pain tied to this scandal. We’ve been hiding out in Betsy’s house for weeks, avoiding reporters who press him for the story about how his uncle murdered his mother. That story will come out in due time and, when it does, they’ll learn exactly to what lengths Jackie Marshall went in her climb to become chief.

  That truth hounds him; I can see the pain in his eyes, in the way he carries the weight upon those broad shoulders.

  And yet, still, he is here for me, for my mother, for Betsy. Smiling wide. Genuinely happy for us. Maybe he’s here to right his mother’s wrongs, or maybe it’s because he has nowhere else to go. All I do know is that since the moment that gunshot sounded, he could have made so many different choices. He could have not asked questions; he could have decided that the potentially dark secrets were better left buried. He could have never come to find me, to save my mom. He could have simply continued on with his life, coping over time with the pain of his mother’s “suicide,” with his Uncle Silas as his closest family member. But he chose differently. And for that, I will be his buffer. I will stand by his side, in the hard weeks and months, and years, to come. I will challenge anyone who dares claim that he is anything but a good, honest man.

  I leave the park bench where my mother sits and go to Noah, to rope my arms around his waist and melt into his chest.

  It rises and falls with his deep sigh.

  And then his arms tighten around me.

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  I set out to write a book that combined an intense suspense story with a genuine and deep-rooted romance. I can say with certainty that Keep Her Safe is unlike any other that I’ve written, but I hope you have enjoyed it all the same. It turned out much darker than I anticipated. You’ve made it to the bittersweet end, and you might not feel warm and fuzzy right now. I have a remedy for that: (re)read Until It Fades.

  I did a lot of research for this book, but I also made a lot of stuff up, so don’t be baffled by the fact that Congress Avenue exists but that Travis County’s DA office doesn’t have a cherry-red kitchenette, or that there isn’t a St. Bart’s in Tucson. I chose Austin, Texas, because I
love the city and I’ve always wanted to set a story there. Much of the corruption and scandal in Keep Her Safe is inspired by true-life stories I found while scouring the news and then twisted to suit my needs, but none of it is based on Austin or its police department. This story is not a reflection of my opinion of the police department there. In fact, I believe there are many, many Abraham Wilkeses working to protect communities every day. Alas, Keep Her Safe focuses on the few rotten apples.

  This was a beast of a story to write. I have many people to mention, and not much space to mention them (as I’ve gone way over my word count). Thank you . . .

  To some very helpful readers who I reached out to for general information—Vilma Gonzalez, Krista Kelly Iverson, Clemencia Salinas Ramirez, and Heather Self.

  To Sandra Cortez, for helping me get the Spanish dialogue and some of the Texas-specific stuff right.

  To Jennifer Wiers Severino, for letting me bounce around ideas and strategize this wild plot.

  To Amélie, Sarah, and Tami, I’ll say it again . . . the very best readers and Facebook group admins a person could ask for. Thank you for always being excited to read my latest books.

  To Stacey Donaghy of Donaghy Literary Group, for being there whenever I need you, whether it be for a ramble, a rant, or a good laugh.

  To Sarah Cantin, for your patience and willingness to read the many ugly drafts of this story before it came together.

  To Judith Curr and the team at Atria Books: Suzanne Donahue, Albert Tang, Jonathan Bush, Jackie Jou, Lisa Wolff, Alysha Bullock, Ariele Fredman, Rachel Brenner, Lisa Keim, and Haley Weaver, for taking my words and putting them into the hands of my readers.

  To my husband and my girls, this book was a year and a half of late nights, missed beach days, and a lot of frustration. Thank you for being in my corner through all of it.

  Keep Her Safe

  K.A. Tucker

  A Reading Group Guide

  This reading group guide for Keep Her Safe includes discussion questions and ideas for enhancing your book club. The suggested questions are intended to help your reading group find new and interesting angles and topics for your discussion. We hope that these ideas will enrich your conversation and increase your enjoyment of the book.