Say You're Sorry

by Karen Rose

  There was absolute silence in Irina’s kitchen. Then a chair scraped back and a strong arm hugged his uninjured side from behind. Karl. “Good,” Karl rasped. “Because I was going to kill him myself.”

  Gideon opened his eyes, twisting around to stare at the man who’d been his father since Rafe had brought him home, sixteen years ago. “What?”

  “He touched you,” Karl growled. “He would have hurt you. What did you think we’d say, son? Did you think we’d blame you? Report you? Make you leave?”

  Yes. That was exactly what he’d thought. And the admission shamed him. The Sokolovs had never shown him anything but love and acceptance.

  The grip on his hands disappeared, Irina’s hands lifting to cup his cheeks. “You are ours, Gideon,” she said firmly, herself again. “Nothing you’ve done to survive, nothing you will ever do, will change that. You belong to us. To this family. To me. Do you understand me, sinok?”

  Son. He pursed his lips, trying to keep the tears at bay, but they fell anyway. “Yes,” he said hoarsely. “I understand.”

  He understood that he was the luckiest bastard on the planet.

  A glance to his left showed a smiling Daisy. “I told you so,” she whispered.

  He looked up at Sasha, who still held on to her mother. “You’re an idiot, Gideon,” she said, but she was smiling, too. “They’ve always liked you best of all of their kids.”

  Irina sniffed. “He was the only one who did what I said without argument.”

  Sasha kissed the top of Irina’s head. “That’s fair.”

  Karl hugged him hard, then stepped back. “There’s more.” Not a question.

  “Yeah.” Gideon sighed. “It kind of goes downhill from here.”

  Irina braced herself. “Okay. I am ready.”

  That made him chuckle. “I’m not.” He sighed again, then told them about the chase, the fight with Ephraim Burton. The beating he’d received at the older man’s hand, the knife he’d plunged into Ephraim’s eye.

  The ride from Eden in the middle of the night, the whispered words from his mother. And then waking up in the hospital.

  Karl looked confused. “She left you there? Alone?”

  “She had to return to her daughter,” Irina said softly. “Truly a Sophie’s choice.”

  Gideon nodded. “Yes.”

  “But your sister escaped, didn’t she?” Irina asked. “You were reunited with her.”

  “How?” Frederick asked. “How did she escape? How did she find you?”

  “My mother smuggled her out, too.” He wouldn’t speak of the abuse Mercy had endured. That was Mercy’s story to tell. “But when our mother tried to get out of the truck, the driver shot her.”

  “Oh, Gideon,” Irina murmured.

  Daisy threaded her fingers with his. “Breathe, Gideon.”

  He sucked in a breath, realizing he hadn’t been. “Thank you.”

  She rested her head on his arm. “You’re almost done.”

  He nodded. Just a little more. He could do this. “My mother died. Mercy saw it.”

  “Oh.” Irina covered her mouth with her hand. “She was in shock when she was our patient. Just rocked herself all day. Wouldn’t talk to anyone.”

  “His sister ended up in your hospital?” Frederick asked quietly, and Irina nodded.

  “We’re the only level one trauma unit for miles. She wasn’t my patient. I never actually met her. I only heard about her locket. And I’d seen the same design on Gideon. His tattoo.” Irina closed her eyes. “The one you had covered. I should have known it symbolized something painful.”

  “How could you know?” Gideon asked sadly. “I never told you.”

  She shook her head. “I should have known.”

  Frederick turned to Gideon, his eyes calm and kind, and even though they were brown and not blue like Daisy’s, Gideon saw the resemblance between them. It was that look. That serenity that Daisy seemed to summon when Gideon needed it most. But not when she needed it for herself.

  It was hard to reconcile the man who sat across from him with the man who’d dragged his family across the state into isolation. But in that moment, it was easy to see why Daisy loved him.

  “How did you find your sister?” Frederick asked.

  “Irina told me that she’d heard of a girl wearing a locket that matched my tattoo. I called the hospital, told them I was family, and they put me in touch with the social worker. It took forever, but I finally got to see Mercy.”

  He couldn’t let himself remember how she’d looked that day.

  Like I could ever forget. Her eyes had been empty and haunted, and she’d rocked herself, over and over. It wasn’t until Gideon had shown her the tattoo that she recognized him. And then turned her face away, staring at the wall. Only nodding when he’d asked her if their mother was gone.

  “She . . .” Gideon shook his head. “She was still in shock when I found her. We don’t have a strong relationship. I’m . . .” He sighed. “I’m a reminder.”

  “I’m sorry,” Frederick said softly.

  “Thank you.”

  Karl wore a puzzled frown. “So how did you know to go to Redding?”

  “That’s where Gideon and I intersect,” Daisy said. “When I was attacked last week, I inadvertently pulled a chain from the man’s neck. It was a locket, just like Gideon’s sister’s. It had a wedding photo inside and the remnants of a second photo, cut into slivers. The full wedding photo showed a young girl named Eileen. She was Gideon’s friend.”

  “She escaped, too,” Karl murmured. “And you were found at the Redding bus station, Gideon, so you figured she’d go there, too?”

  “It seemed like the best guess,” Gideon said, “or at least the place to start. I know the compound is somewhere within a hundred-mile radius of Mt. Shasta.”

  “Redding is the closest big town.” Karl nodded. “Smart thinking. And then?”

  “The ticket clerk remembered her,” Daisy said. “Gideon had the photo of Eileen age-progressed. She’d come into the bus station with a man who’d bought her ticket. He lives in Macdoel. He was a Good Samaritan. He bought her a ticket to Portland.”

  “Oh,” Sasha said slowly. “Portland’s where Rafe and Erin Rhee are today.”

  Gideon nodded. “Because Eileen connects to the locket, which connects to the man who attacked Daisy.”

  “Who then killed Trish,” Daisy said unsteadily. “And shot Gideon.”

  “And killed a man for his truck near Macdoel,” Gideon said. “And kidnapped that baby and the nurse whose body was found this morning. And may have killed six other women across the country. That we know of.”

  Again there was silence.

  “Holy shit,” Sasha said quietly. “Daisy, he would have killed you, too.”

  Frederick had gone still. “What is the commonality between his victims?” he asked, so softly that Gideon almost missed the question. The man’s eyes had gone from kind to terrified.

  Gideon hesitated. “There are certain consistent elements of his MO. But there are more that seem completely random.”

  “He has a dog,” Daisy offered, her tone a mix of sarcasm and hopelessness.

  It hurt Gideon’s heart. He tipped her chin up. “We’re going to find him, Daisy.”

  She nodded. “I hope so. I’d like to have my life back.”

  “How do you know he has a dog?” Karl asked.

  Daisy sighed. “He came to the adoption clinic Saturday. Gideon found his car on the parking lot surveillance video—the same car he was driving when he shot Gideon.”

  Frederick had lost all remaining color in his face. He looked waxy. And sick.

  “Dad?” Daisy said sharply. She pressed her fingers to his wrist.

  Frederick pulled his arm away, shaking his head. “I’m not having a heart attack, Daisy. I’m h
aving a panic attack. Some sick freak is trying to kill my daughter.”

  She opened her hand, palm up, and Frederick took it. “It’s going to be okay, Dad. I’m taking no chances. Agent Hunter is outside and he goes wherever Gideon and I go. I will behave. I will comply.” She squeezed his hand. “I will not fall off the wagon. I promise.”

  “You can’t promise your sobriety,” Frederick said. “But I will accept your promise to behave and comply. And to make every attempt to maintain your sobriety.”

  “I talked to my sponsor this morning. It helped. A lot.”

  He nodded weakly. “Good. That’s good.”

  “And the behaving and complying stuff only pertains until this situation is resolved. Then I’m going back to the real me.”

  Frederick’s mouth curved. “I love the real you, Eleanor.”

  She smiled back at him, shaking her head. “You just can’t resist, can you, Dad? You’re lucky that I love you, too, even when you call me Eleanor.”

  Frederick rose out of his chair, and leaning forward, kissed her forehead. “I am lucky.” His eyes closed. “I need you to be safe, baby,” he whispered hoarsely.

  “I know, Dad,” Daisy whispered back. “I understand.”

  “Thank you.”

  Frederick let go first and looked around with a start, his cheeks flushing as he seemed to realize that he and his daughter hadn’t been alone for that exchange.

  Gideon figured that Frederick had been kind and calm to him, so he could return the favor. “So why is she called Daisy?” he asked.

  Frederick’s smile spread across his face. “That’s an interesting story.”

  Daisy dropped her face into Brutus’s fur. “Dad,” she moaned.

  Irina pushed away from the table. “I’ve got dinner in the warming oven. Sasha, can you set the table? You’ve heard the Daisy story.”

  Daisy peeked at Gideon as the somber mood was broken. Thank you, she mouthed.

  Gideon winked at her, then turned to her father. “So? Daisy?”

  TWENTY-FIVE

  SACRAMENTO, CALIFORNIA

  MONDAY, FEBRUARY 20, 5:55 P.M.

  He’d break her. He would. No woman was getting the better of him.

  Bullshit.

  Shut up.

  You nearly lost it down there. You would have stabbed Zandra to death. And without any satisfaction whatsoever.

  It’s true. But he’d stopped himself. She had not beaten him. He just needed some fresh air. A walk around the block.

  He grabbed Mutt’s leash from its hook on the wall, opened the back door, and called to him. Mutt came running, and he clipped the leash to his collar, locked the door behind him, and sucked in the fresh air. It had gotten downright steamy in the basement. Sweat and blood and exertion.

  His.

  And Zandra’s. If he’d been planning on keeping her for the foreseeable future, she’d be perfect. He’d eventually wear her down, but he might need months to do so. But he didn’t have months. He had days, if that. He’d be bringing Daisy home any day now.

  He started out for Daisy’s house, Mutt eagerly leading the way. He was pretty smart. For a mutt.

  Probably because that woman petted him this morning. Sasha Sokolov.

  Mutt always went for anyone who petted him. But he didn’t want to go charging up to Daisy’s house, so he pulled on the leash, reining Mutt in. By the time they were approaching the house, Mutt had his nose to the grass, sniffing.

  He stopped abruptly. There were news vans in front of the house. Again.

  He’d checked the news today. There’d been lots of coverage of the child discovered in the parking lot of Mercy Hospital. And of the missing nurse. And about the shooting up north. And that there was a serial killer out there.

  “Crazy, isn’t it?” a man asked, coming up behind him. The man walked a Lassie-looking dog, all long, flowing hair. Prissy dog, probably.

  The collie and Mutt began sniffing each other’s butts, so he turned his attention on the collie’s owner. Midforties, medium height, bit of a beer belly, heavy five-o’clock shadow.

  “What’s happening?” he asked, feigning cluelessness.

  “The woman who lives there has been involved in a shooting. Some Fed was shot. It hit the news this morning.”

  “Was the Fed okay?” he asked, maintaining his show of ignorance.

  “Yeah. Saw ’em a few hours ago. They came home. Two vehicles. One was an SUV, black with dark tinted windows. You know, like you see on TV. The other was an honest-to-God Tesla. A real beauty. Anyway, they stayed for a while, then left, both cars together. There was only one reporter here, then. I guess hers was the story that ran this afternoon.”

  He’d seen the Tesla on Saturday, parked in front of the Sokolovs’ house in Granite Bay. At least now he knew where to go next. But this guy might have some more useful info and seemed to be the chatty type, so he continued playing clueless.

  He blinked at the man. “Wow. How’d you know all that?”

  “I live in the house next door. The house where the woman lives is generally really quiet. A cop owns it, so I thought, what the hey? At least one of my neighbors won’t be throwing parties.”

  “Do they? Throw parties, I mean.”

  “Not really. They have a big family. I saw ’em barbecuing last summer. They invited me to join them, but I was on my way out. Seem nice enough. Shame that the woman’s involved in this. She’s the same one who got attacked last week.”

  He widened his eyes. “I didn’t hear about that,” he lied.

  The man laughed. “You been living under a rock? It was big news.”

  “I’ve been out of town.”

  “Ah, well. It was no Golden State Killer case, but it’s got a lot of press, just the same.”

  “That one got tons of coverage,” he said companionably. “But that killer was awful. He killed like twelve people.” He hid a smirk. I’ve killed twice that many and haven’t even been suspected. It’s taken the FBI years to connect my kills.

  The Golden State Killer was eventually caught because he left DNA all over the place. Which I am super careful not to do. Although, to be fair, the Golden State Killer had done all his murders forty years earlier, before anyone could have predicted the use of DNA and forensics.

  Damn forensics.

  Because he had left DNA this time. They had nothing to compare it to, but if he got caught? He’d go away for life. The thought had him breathing hard.

  He gave Lassie-man a wave, not wanting to hyperventilate in front of a stranger. “Well, have a nice evening. I hope the reporters don’t trespass on your property.”

  “Me too,” Lassie-man said glumly. “Come on, boy. Let’s go home.”

  Mutt tried to follow her, but he pulled him back. “No, boy. We’re going home, too.” Pulling on the leash, he and Mutt walked home. He was going out to Granite Bay.

  But first, he needed a new set of wheels. Stealing the van from the grocery store lot up in Chico from an owner who had just arrived for her shift had worked pretty well.

  He had enough to worry about without fixing what wasn’t broken. He needed to get rid of the Fed. Then he’d decide what to do with Daisy.

  SACRAMENTO, CALIFORNIA

  MONDAY, FEBRUARY 20, 7:30 P.M.

  Gideon let Irina fuss over him, tucking him into one of the twin beds in Rafe’s old room. He’d have preferred to have Daisy helping him out of his shirt, but Irina had looked so broken after his revelations. He hadn’t argued when she’d followed him upstairs after he’d nearly fallen asleep, face forward into his dinner plate.

  “Here’s something for your arm,” she said, shaking a few pain relievers into her palm. “They’re over-the-counter, so no sass from you about taking them.”

  “I’d never sass you,” he said seriously.

  Her smile was sad. “No,
you never did. You were always ‘Yes, ma’am’ and ‘No, ma’am’ and ‘please’ and ‘thank you.’ Like you were afraid we’d throw you out if you misspoke. I guess now I understand why.”

  He’d hated telling them about Eden. Hated seeing the stunned looks on their faces. Hated the hurt in their eyes. For me. They hurt because I was hurt. Me and Mercy. And Mama. He’d hated that he’d upset them, but at the same time he’d found he’d really needed the love and support that they’d offered in return.

  He hadn’t been surprised during dinner when they’d offered to help him search for Eden wasn’t a huge surprise, either, but that he couldn’t allow. He didn’t want anyone he loved anywhere close to that place. But he’d deal with that tomorrow. After he’d slept.

  Irina shook her head, fast and hard. Gideon wasn’t sure if she was trying to shake off her sadness or to banish the images now burned into her mind. She folded the shirt he’d been wearing and placed it on the dresser, then returned to help him put his sling back on, her retired nurse’s hands capable and sure.

  “You’re sure you’ll be warm enough? I can find one of Rafe’s old sweatshirts,” she said.

  He didn’t want to tell her that he usually slept in the buff. It had been unnerving enough to take off his jeans and boxer briefs while she fussed with making up the bed. He’d stepped into his sweats and had managed to drag them up, then actually blushed when she reached for the drawstring, tying it in a neat bow. The sweats would be all he’d be able to tolerate against his skin as he slept, and he’d only agreed to them in case he had to get up in the middle of the night to use the bathroom. Zoya still lived here, after all, and he’d be sharing the bathroom with her. And with Daisy, who was set up in the spare bedroom.

  The thought of Daisy had him hurrying into bed and pulling the blanket up past his quickly growing erection. Not something he wanted Irina to see and the sweats hid nothing.

  As for being cold, he hoped Daisy would be joining him soon to keep him warm.