by Zoe Dawson
“What scares you about it, Miss Moretti?”
“She’s only five.”
“Most ballerinas start at Ceri’s age. I can easily say that she is a prodigy, but more importantly, she has the body and looks to make it all the way. If she loves ballet and can dance like that, I’m of the mind that she’s already made her own decision. This is a tough business, and her personality and attitude are also spot on. She already has what it takes. But I understand your concern. If I had to guess, I would say your daughter will have her pick of schools, intensives, summer programs, and when she’s finished with her formal training, she will be sought after by every company in the world. She needs elite training.”
“I don’t want to push her into a profession at such a young age. The pressure of it all seems so much for a little girl.”
“I see. It's harder to gain sympathy when you're a prodigy or class favorite—a dancer who was born with a seemingly perfect body, who gets into all the summer intensives and who is always cast in leading roles. But with incredible gifts come particular challenges. Prodigies can sometimes feel awkward owning their talent while staying gracious among their peers and may lose their sense of self in the pursuit of excellence. Dancers of this caliber often either ride on their talent or burn out early. Finding balance, both socially and physically, will best prepare her for professional life.” She leaned in and looked Jo in the eyes. “From what I’ve seen, you are the best person to raise her into a prima ballerina if that is what Ceri wants. This is completely my opinion, of course. The world will lose something precious if she doesn’t pursue ballet, but that will be up to the both of you to decide.” She hugged Jo. “I would give my eyeteeth to teach her, but I’m not good enough.”
“Gwen.”
“I’m not. She needs a master. You think all of this over and we’ll talk again. I’m more than willing to give her individual lessons for the summer since we’re getting close to the end of this session. We’re going to be doing Sleeping Beauty as our production, and Ceri already has the lead for it. I hope you both can attend.”
As Gwen walked away, Jo turned to him and burst into tears.
Oh, damn. He didn’t even hesitate. He pulled her against him. “Aw, babe, it will be all right.”
“I am terrified I’m going to make the wrong decision for her.” She looked up at him, her eyes swimming, then as if she realized that Ceri would be here any moment, she pulled away and wiped her eyes. “I knew in my heart she was talented. I kept telling myself it wasn’t extraordinary. But it is extraordinary. I have a parent-teacher conference with her teacher on Friday and I have a feeling they’re going to tell me that Ceri is bored and she’ll have to be accelerated. She’s doing upper level work already.”
“Why don’t you just set your mind to rest?” Dragon said. “Children are resilient. I was at her age. I excelled in sports and school too. I turned out great.”
“So, this is your fault.”
“Nope, yours. Women are the ones who carry the genius gene.”
She narrowed her eyes. “You just made that up to save your own ass.”
“I didn’t.”
“Mommy, can we have cheeseburgers for dinner?” Ceri asked as she came back into the room. She had a small bag shaped like a tutu. “French fries too.”
“Sounds like I won’t have to make dinner if I say yes.”
“Say yes!” she said, jumping up and down. “You work way too hard.”
Jo laughed softly as Dragon fell deeper under his daughter’s magic charm. “Let me see what is going on with Gen and if she’s started dinner.”
“Okay, fingers crossed.”
Jo pulled out her phone, and they started to walk toward the door. “Hi, Gen. Did you already start dinner?” She listened for a few minutes, then said, “You have. All right. Thanks for doing that. We’ll be home in about twenty minutes or so.”
Ceri’s face fell. “She started already?”
“Yes, but the good news is it’s your favorite. Sloppy Joes, broccoli and…mac and cheese.”
“Yay! Gen is the best.” She grabbed his hand as they walked onto the sidewalk, and he was both surprised and elated by that innocent gesture. He guessed kids were naturally trusting.
Jo noticed. Her eyes flicked down to their hands and up to his eyes. She smiled at him. She led the way to the curb and a car parked there. They piled into the back. “Jack, this is Ryuu Shannon.”
He smiled in the rearview mirror. “Nice to meet you, pal.”
“You too.”
He sat back as they pulled away from the curb. “Jack takes us to school, me to work and then to ballet practice, then home. He’s been our driver since Ceri was three.”
“That’s a long time.”
“Yeah, the squirt bothers me, but her mom’s pretty, so I put up with her.”
Ceri giggled. “Jack, you know I’m lovable.”
“And modest, too.”
Ceri giggled again.
“Do you like mac and cheese, Dragon?” Ceri asked.
“I love food.”
“Hey, me too.”
They pulled up to the apartment complex and got out. But before he went into the building, he saw someone slip into the alley, someone who seemed to have been watching the place, and Dragon was sure he had tats. Yakuza type tats. Was the gang here to keep an eye on his mom in case Dragon showed? He had to wonder if they blamed him for the arrests NCIS had made after their investigation into Dragon’s attempted murder.
He didn’t like this, especially now that he had just found out he had a daughter. He didn’t want those animals anywhere near Jo or Ceri.
They went inside, and he decided he’d do a little recon later on when the darkness masked him.
Once inside the apartment, Ceri was sent to wash up, and since she was in the bathroom, he used the kitchen sink. He greeted his mom, and she kissed him on the cheek. He wanted to ask her if she’d sighted any gang members but decided to wait until they were alone.
He had to have a conversation with her anyway, and this development made him more determined to get her out of this city. But this would impact Jo and Ceri as well. His mom watched her when Jo was at work. They were coming up on summer vacation quickly.
After dinner, Ceri was allowed to go to her room and have screen time before she had to get ready for bed.
Dragon excused himself and said he was going to get some air. He slipped outside and made his way silently to the alley. It was empty. Not giving up, he went around the building and struck pay dirt. A lowlife was making his way back toward the street. Changing of the guard?
He waited, concealed in the darkness, and as soon as the man came around the corner, Dragon stepped into view. The guy stopped and backed up. “Are you looking for me?” Dragon asked.
The guy pulled out something that glinted in the lamplight. With a flick of his wrist, he unsheathed the switchblade.
6
Pitbull hit the entrance to the All In Bar and Grille and stopped to let some people out. It was Jude “Hollywood” Lock from Ruckus’s team along with the legendary Will “Shadow” Blackmoon and Shadow’s daughter, Willow.
“Hey, man,” Pitbull said as he halted. “I heard you got engaged, you lucky son of a bitch.”
Hollywood smiled, the smug bastard. He had every right to—Willow was smokin’ hot.
He reached out his hand to Willow, and they shook. “My condolences.”
They all laughed, and Shadow said, “He has your number, boy.”
Hollywood shrugged. “I am a lucky son of a bitch,” he said. “What are you guys up to?”
“This and that,” Pitbull replied, and Hollywood tilted his head, giving Pitbull a look. The guy was much too perceptive.
“Hey, babe, head on home with your dad. I’ll be there shortly.” He kissed her, then tenderly righted her cute hat.
“How will you get home?”
Hollywood grinned. “Pitbull will give me a ride.”
She looked at
Pitbull. “Feeling a bit like a steer?”
Pitbull frowned.
“Ha, roped man. Geez, you are preoccupied. You’re usually a little sharper than this.”
“Oh, yeah, right.” Pitbull laughed, but he could see Hollywood wasn’t buying it. “Man, it’s getting late. You don’t have to stay. I’m just going in for one drink.”
“Sure, you are,” Hollywood said as he shooed his fiancée and her father off.
Pitbull watched them go. “Really, Hollywood. You don’t have to stay.”
“I can see there’s something on your mind.” He held open the door. “Come in. I’m buying. Sounds like you need the brotherhood.”
“That’s what I’m afraid of.”
Hollywood frowned, and they entered and went to the bar. Pitbull ordered a mug on tap and Hollywood did as well. They drank for a few minutes. “What did you mean by that whole brotherhood comment?”
“Maybe I don’t deserve to be a part of it,” he blurted out. He closed his eyes, shocked he’d voiced this doubt.
“What? What the hell, Pitbull?”
“I don’t want to tell you and be judged lacking. We should just forget about it.”
“Oh, no, the touchy-feely gremlin rears its ugly head.”
Pitbull’s gut churned and he took a sip of his beer. “It’s not funny, man.”
Hollywood sobered. “All right. I’m sorry. You can’t talk to your team about this?”
“Fuck no. We’ve already splintered, and we’re floundering. We don’t even socialize anymore.”
“Why? What happened? Who left?”
“My brothers and Professor.”
“Your brothers? Wow. Look, I’ll keep whatever you tell me in the vault. You can trust me.”
Pitbull turned to him and sighed. “It’s heavy shit and involves Justin Myerson.”
Hollywood’s mouth tightened. “The guy who died with the Kirikhanistan rebels?”
“Yeah, I know this brings up unpleasant memories for you. You almost lost Tank and Blue, Echo was wounded, forced to retire, and Tank had to partner with another MWD. It was tough on all of us. Hell, I hate to drag you down memory lane.”
“It was a bleak time in our history for sure. But what does Justin have to do with your team breaking up?”
“I can only give you my opinion. I can’t speak for the other guys.”
“We can start there.”
“Dragon has been having nightmares. He feels guilty about Speed’s death. The guilt is killing him. I think it’s mostly guilt on all of us, me for a different reason. We’re mostly okay when we’re in the field, but socializing is like I said, nil.”
“Since we don’t have anyone here but you, let’s focus on you. Don’t bullshit, Pitbull. I don’t bruise easily.”
“It’s a complicated mess.” His voice held the anguish he was now feeling, the doubts that assailed him.
Pitbull glanced at Hollywood, who just sat there waiting, prepared to listen. All he knew about the man was he was a charismatic jokester and a damn good operator, but Dragon had mentioned that he was good to talk to. He took a breath. “Eight years ago, Speed showed up at my house, his knuckles bloody, drunk off his ass. He wouldn’t talk to me about what happened, so I let him sleep it off and then took him home the next day.” He took a fortifying gulp of his beer, then ordered another one. Hollywood was nursing the one he still had. “When Helen Myerson opened the door, she had bruises on her face and there were holes in the wall. Speed went upstairs to clean up, and I asked her if she was all right. She said she was, but I knew she wasn’t.” The bartender set the second beer in front of him, and he took a few sips, his mouth dry. “Two weeks later, she separated from him. She came to me, and I comforted her.” His voice got raspy, and he cleared it. “She was vulnerable and scared. He’d hurt her. I was pissed as hell that he did such a thing. Bottom line. We got close and slept together.”
“Okay, so you broke the brotherhood rule. I got a feeling there’s more.”
“There is more,” Pitbull said, dropping his head and rubbing at his forehead. “I can’t be certain I had his back during that op. I don’t want to think that I was lax, and he got captured, then died because of how I felt about him personally. I’ve looked at it from every angle. I can’t shake the feeling that maybe I just expected the other guys to pick up my slack. It shames me, and my guilt is because I think it might be true.”
Hollywood was silent, and Pitbull swallowed the lump in his throat.
“After his death, after we failed to save him, I felt nothing, no grief, no remorse, nothing. I had such bad feelings toward him that now I feel hollow. It feels like I’m hanging off a cliff.”
“I know we’d rather cut off our arm than talk to someone professional, but have you spoken to a counselor about this? It’s heavy duty shit, man.”
“No. I’m not going to do that. I can’t.” His voice got hoarse, and he gritted his teeth. “He was my best friend. We went through BUD/S together. I thought he was a better person, but he wasn’t. Looking back, he wasn’t good in the field with civilians. I never called him out on it, but he wasn’t. I can’t prove anything, but I think there were times when he was reckless and killed innocents. I went to my LT, but with no proof, he could only keep his eye on him, which he did. I had no respect for him.”
“I’m wondering how you’re still sober. Maybe you could crash at my place tonight. We have a comfortable sofa.”
“I’m not really done.”
“Oh, hell, there’s more?”
“I went to see Helen today to try to tell her how I felt. I needed to get it off my chest. Her oldest, Samantha, a character and cute as a button, and I have always had this connection. Today is her birthday, and I brought them belated Christmas presents and something special for Samantha.”
“Oh, God,” Hollywood said as if he realized where this story was going.
“I saw a baby picture of her sitting on the mantle. It was the first one I’d seen. By the time she was born, Speed and I weren’t on the best of terms, and I hadn’t been in his house for a while. I stayed away because of the affair we had while they were separated. Samantha is the spitting image of my mother. She’s mine.”
“Holy fuck! You didn’t know?”
“No. She always seemed familiar, but it never crossed my mind I had fathered a child.”
“Right, you can be as careful as you can, but condoms aren’t one hundred percent protection.”
“No they’re not.”
“Are you angry Helen didn’t tell you?”
“I don’t know her story, so I can’t decide what I feel right now, but blaming her is a copout. There were two of us involved in the situation.”
Hollywood nodded. “That’s wise, Errol.”
Pitbull polished off his beer and set down the mug. “Thanks for the beer and the ear, my friend.”
“What are brothers for?”
“Come on. I’ll give you a lift home.” Pitbull and Hollywood walked to his car, and in fifteen minutes, they were at Hollywood’s beautiful Victorian.
“Where’s Dragon?”
“He’s in New York City, dealing with family stuff.”
“Josephine Moretti,” Hollywood murmured. “I’ll be damned. Good for him.”
“He’s dealing with some shit too, but it’s not my story to tell.”
“I gotcha. But that kid has a good head on his shoulders. He’ll be fine.” Hollywood reached for the door handle. “Want to crash with us tonight? We have a spare room.”
Pitbull thought seriously about taking Hollywood up on his offer. An empty apartment didn’t seem at all appealing.
“Shadow makes the best damn pancakes.”
“Sausage or bacon?”
“Both,” Hollywood said.
Pitbull shut off his engine. “I’m in.”
Before the guy could do anything, Dragon stepped forward, stripped the switchblade out of his hand, and with a flick of his wrist, he had concealed the blade and sl
ipped the knife into his pocket.
The guy reached back for what was sure to be a gun. Dragon was ready for him. But the sound of a weapon’s slide from behind him along with a familiar voice stopped him in his tracks.
“I would suggest you ease your hand off your weapon and assume the position,” a male voice said. Dragon turned to find Special Agent Michael Saxon. His hair had gone salt and pepper, and there were a few more lines on his craggy face, but it was the same man who had headed up the investigation into Asahi’s death and Dragon’s attack.
“Shannon,” he said, his voice clipped as he moved past him, propelling the gang member up against the wall, removing the weapon at the small of his back, and giving him a quick frisk as sirens sounded in the distance. “Not exactly how I wanted to meet with you.”
A squad car pulled up, and two uniforms got out. Dragon turned over the switchblade to them, then spent fifteen minutes explaining what had happened. They took the guy away, shoving him into the back of the squad car.
“You have time for a quick cup of coffee?” Agent Saxon asked.
“Why do I have a feeling this isn’t just a cup of coffee?”
The bleak look on Saxon’s face gave Dragon an idea that something was up, and if NCIS was here, it meant the case he thought was closed, wasn’t.
This was turning out to be an eventful return home.
Seated at the outside table at a café just down the street, steaming cups of coffee in front of them, Agent Saxon said, “Jason Sato and Brendan Nakamura were freed from Rikers yesterday morning.”
Dragon leaned forward and said through clenched teeth, “What? They attacked us and killed my brother.”
There was sympathy on Saxon’s face. “According to new evidence that’s surfaced, both of them have alibis for that night. NYPD got the information and passed it on to us. They were the ones who got them released.”
“How is that possible? Someone is lying.”
“Agreed. We’ve reopened the investigation. Can you remember anything else that could help us nail down who really killed your brother?”