Say You're Sorry

by Karen Rose

  “Because I protect what’s mine and I don’t want a tattoo artist seeing your butt.”

  She might have bristled had the request come from anyone else. “Okay.”

  He blinked this time. “Really?”

  “Yes. It’s a reasonable request.”

  He cupped her breast and the thread of the conversation frayed as she made a needy, greedy sound. “And if I requested that you get in my bed?” he asked silkily.

  She lifted on her toes to kiss him, humming at the simple pleasure of rubbing her breasts against the hair of his chest. She cupped the back of his neck with one hand and stroked his erection with the other, making him groan.

  “A very reasonable request, but considering I’m going to be doing most of the work while you don’t use your arm, you should probably get in first.”

  His eyes flashed, dark and hot, and he walked her backward until they reached the bed. He let her go long enough to lie back against the pillows. “Come here.”

  She knelt by his head, laying out her plan in her mind to make sure she could do what she wanted without hurting him. She leaned in for another kiss that left her panting. “I’m wondering if you can make me come without using your hands at all.”

  His nostrils flared, his jaw going taut. “Come. Here.”

  Heart pounding in anticipation, she straddled him, placing a knee on either side of his head, checking to be sure that she was nowhere near his shoulder. She’d planned to tease him a little, but he shocked her by lifting his head from the pillow and stabbing into her with his tongue.

  Stifling a scream, she reached for the headboard and lowered her body so that she could ride his mouth. Then let herself go. She didn’t last long.

  Her orgasm was swift and sharp and she leaned into the headboard for support as she caught her breath. “Gideon.”

  He wore a smug smile when she finally got the energy and coordination to swing her leg over his head and slide down beside him. “Well?” he asked.

  She could only blink at him. “I want to do that again when my brain stops spinning.”

  He rolled to his side, his lips still shiny and wet. “I want to see if you can ride my cock the way you rode my mouth.”

  Her hips gave an involuntary jerk. “Oh God.” It was part moan, part laugh. “Yes, please and thank you.”

  SACRAMENTO, CALIFORNIA

  FRIDAY, FEBRUARY 24, 3:10 P.M.

  “She looks okay,” Frederick said, his gaze locked on his daughter as she and an older woman milled among the people who’d come to Trish’s memorial service.

  It had been a difficult service. There’d been stories about Trish, some sweet, some funny, and others definitely not safe for work. There had been some laughter, but mostly there had been sadness and tears. So many tears.

  Frederick turned to Gideon. “Is she okay?”

  Gideon wasn’t sure how to answer that. Right now, Daisy wasn’t okay. She was grieving so many things—the loss of Trish, the thirty other women who’d died at Carson’s hand, the fact that she’d killed a man—even one who’d needed to be killed—and the time she and her family had lost because no one helped Frederick with his PTSD years ago.

  But she’d be okay. Gideon was certain about that. So he went with that, because it answered the question Frederick was really asking—was Daisy’s sobriety at risk? “She will be. She’s going to meetings and she’ll continue using all the coping tools she’s honed over the past eight years that she’s been sober. You’ve raised a strong woman, Frederick.”

  “I know,” Frederick murmured. “She’s stronger than I am, that’s for damn sure.”

  Gideon wasn’t sure how to answer that, either, because he thought Frederick was right. So he told the truth. “She forgives you.”

  The sudden catch in Frederick’s breath sounded suspiciously like a quelled sob and told him that he’d chosen the right words.

  “You can forgive yourself now,” Gideon added quietly. “Although I know that’s easier said than done.” Because he wasn’t sure he’d ever forgive himself for what happened to Mercy and their mother. It wasn’t my fault. But it was still so hard.

  “That’s the truth,” Frederick muttered, then turned his head to where Sasha, Mercy, and Rafe sat off to the side all by themselves in the crowded room. Rafe was in a wheelchair because he’d been determined to be there, partly for Daisy, but mostly for Sasha, who sat, quiet and too subdued. She’d be okay, too, but it might take a while.

  “Your sister gonna stay?” Frederick asked.

  Gideon’s stomach clenched at the reality of the Mercy situation. “Not much longer. She only took a week of vacation.” And there was still so much to say.

  “She’ll be back,” Frederick said, sounding sure. “Give her time.”

  “That’s what Daisy keeps saying.”

  Frederick’s mouth curved. “Listen to her. She’s wise. Oh, look. Miss Jones came.”

  Both he and Gideon stood when Zandra Jones approached with an older couple that Gideon assumed were her parents. “It was nice of you to come,” Gideon said to Zandra. “I know Daisy appreciates it.”

  “It was the least I could do,” Zandra said. “I wanted to introduce you to my parents, Mr. and Mrs. Jones. Mom, Dad, Mr. Dawson and Special Agent Reynolds saved my life.”

  Mr. Jones pumped their hands and Mrs. Jones hugged them, crying unapologetically. “Thank you,” they said, making Gideon feel both amazing and embarrassed at once.

  “It was really the dog,” Gideon said.

  Zandra’s eyes lit up. “Abercrombie. That’s the name he had when he was Janice Fiddler’s. Her family wants me to keep him. He’s going home with me tomorrow.”

  “That’s good,” Gideon said. “I’ll let Agent Hunter know. He was worried.”

  “Tell him that the dog will be treated like a king,” Mr. Jones said.

  Zandra nodded, then sobered. “I wanted to tell Daisy something I remembered, but I’m not sure this is the time.” She quickly looked over her shoulder to where Daisy was still greeting people up front, before leaning in to whisper. “He was muttering about Trish one of the times he . . .” She made a vague motion at her midsection, then patted her mother’s arm when the older lady made a pained noise. “Anyway, he kept saying I was stubborn like Trish. If she’d just told him where Daisy lived she could have made her punishment easier. I got the impression that he tortured Trish, but she kept saying she didn’t know where Daisy lived. She died protecting Daisy. I don’t know if that will make Daisy feel better or not. I mean, he obviously figured out where she lived somehow, but not from Trish.”

  Gideon expelled his breath in a rush. The guilt that would heap on Daisy’s head was too huge to fathom. “God, I don’t think she needs to know that right now. But thank you for telling me. We’ll play it by ear.”

  Zandra nodded. “That’s what I figured. Well, thank you again.”

  When the Jones family was gone, Frederick shuddered. “Don’t tell her. Ever.”

  “I won’t. At least not until she’s ready to hear it. Which might be never.”

  Daisy approached then, arm-in-arm with the older woman she’d been talking to. Both had red noses and puffy eyes, having shed their share of tears. “Dad, Gideon, this is Rosemary, my sponsor.”

  “You’re her dad,” Rosemary said to Frederick, then turned to Gideon, her brows hiked to the top of her forehead. “And I’ve heard all about you, Gideon.”

  Gideon felt his cheeks heat, but Daisy chuckled. “It’s nice to meet you,” he managed.

  “Likewise,” Rosemary said with a hint of a smile. “We’re just so proud of Daisy, Mr. Dawson. She’s quite the hero. All the things she’s done this week. I wouldn’t have been so brave or kept my wits together.”

  Frederick tilted Daisy’s chin so that she looked at him. “Not just this week. She’s been brave for the past eight
years, staying sober while enduring hardships that would have broken someone weaker. I’m very proud of her, too. I know when I go home that I have nothing to worry about here.”

  Daisy’s eyes grew wide, then bright with tears. “Darn it, Dad. I can’t cry anymore.” She leaned up and kissed his cheek. “Thank you. That was exactly what I needed to hear.”

  Gideon felt his heart settle, just a little. Daisy and her dad would be okay, too. He held his hand out to Daisy. “Are you about ready to go? We need to be meeting Molina in an hour and we’re going to hit traffic.”

  Frederick looked surprised. “I thought you were on suspension.”

  Gideon shrugged. Molina had ultimately been glad that he’d been at the abandoned mine that night, but he had disobeyed her orders. Multiple times. “I got a week’s suspension without pay to be served concurrent with my paid medical leave for the arm. So I have a mark on my record, but it won’t affect my salary. It was the best my boss could do.”

  Daisy frowned. “No, she could and should have given you a raise and a plaque for your wall and a better parking place.”

  He laughed. “I’ll let you ask her for those things. I think she likes you best.”

  SACRAMENTO, CALIFORNIA

  FRIDAY, FEBRUARY 24, 3:35 P.M.

  Traffic was heavy so Daisy and Gideon arrived a few minutes late. Gideon’s boss sat behind her desk, the curtains drawn to reveal the Sierra Nevada in the distance.

  “Please, come in and sit down,” Agent Molina said. “I thought you’d want some of the blanks in the Carson Garvey case to be filled in. First of all, we’ve begun retrieving the remains from the burial ground in Placerville.” Her expression softened. “The first body we encountered was Eileen’s.”

  Swallowing hard, Gideon nodded. “You’ve positively identified her?”

  “Yes. Gale Danton up in Macdoel provided us with items she’d used while staying with them—a hairbrush, toothbrush. We were able to confirm with DNA.”

  “That was fast,” Gideon said, his voice a little hoarse.

  “We’ve made the identification of Garvey’s victims our highest priority. I assumed you’d want to receive her remains,” Molina added gently.

  Gideon jerked another nod. “I’ll take her ashes, thank you.”

  “I’ll complete the paperwork for you. You should receive her ashes by the middle of next week. Now, on to the debrief. When we searched Carson’s house, we found a treasure trove. So thank you, Agent Reynolds, for saving the house. We found piles of photos under the bed. Carson had apparently been gathering blackmail material on his father, Paul Garvey, for some time. There were photos of his father with mistresses with varying degrees of sexual content. There were also photos of his father with known Mexican cartel members.”

  “He was running drugs in his planes,” Gideon murmured.

  “Exactly. This enabled us to get a warrant for Paul Garvey’s home and office. We’ll be going through those financials for a long time.” She hesitated. “We also found his wife’s collection of videos. They were . . . difficult to view.”

  “Carson and Sydney?” Daisy asked.

  Molina nodded. “Starting when he was twelve years old. I won’t go into detail, but the recording dates are significant. We’ve matched his flight itineraries with the places and times that each of his thirty-one victims disappeared. Not every video resulted in a disappearance, but before every disappearance there was a video.”

  Daisy’s stomach turned over. “So sex with Sydney was his trigger.”

  “Essentially yes. There was a six-month gap in the videos when Carson was eighteen. That matches the time frame that his father took Sydney on a six-month European trip. Sydney made a video within three days of her return home. The first of Carson’s victims was found the next day. After that, he averaged two victims a year for the first seven years. Last year he killed six.”

  Daisy did the math. “He killed eleven women in the last year?”

  “Yes. And that doesn’t include the truck owner in Macdoel or the nurse.”

  “Or Sydney,” Gideon muttered.

  “Or Sydney,” Molina agreed.

  “What changed?” Daisy asked.

  “Paul Garvey started traveling more. He was gone for long periods of time.” She lifted a shoulder. “Sydney was bored.”

  “I’m so glad she’s dead,” Daisy said. “Didn’t the father suspect anything?”

  “About the abuse? I talked to him this morning and I don’t think so. He says he knew Sydney had affairs. He vociferously denied knowing she’d abused his son. He seemed surprised to learn that his son was planning to blackmail him. He didn’t know that Carson possessed the initiative to amass so much information.”

  “Why was his son planning to blackmail him?” Gideon asked.

  “One of the reasons that Paul Garvey traveled so much this year was that he was setting up the sale of his charter service,” Molina said. “His employees—including Carson—were understandably upset by this. He thinks Carson may have been planning to use his material to keep him from selling.”

  “Carson used the planes to transport his victims,” Daisy said. “He didn’t want to lose his access to that freedom.”

  Molina nodded. “I agree. But what Carson didn’t know was that the sale was going through, regardless. The other reason Paul was traveling was that he was seeing an oncologist in San Francisco. He has stage four colon cancer. He sold the company because he knew his son or wife would destroy it. The sale of the company is important, again, because of the date. The word came down last Thursday.”

  “The day he attacked Trish and me,” Daisy said.

  “Yes. It was the first time there was a victim abducted locally—or in this case attempted abduction, because you got away, Miss Dawson. We think it was the only time he used the stocking mask. He was so worked up about the sale of the company and he’d received a number of provocative messages from Sydney. When he didn’t respond the way she wanted, she sent him stills from the videos she’d taken. In every case she hammered him until he apologized.”

  Gideon sighed. “Say you’re sorry.”

  Molina nodded. “Yes. After his failed attempt on Miss Dawson, where we know now he really wanted Miss Hart, he took Kaley Martell. The next day he flew to Vail, where he took Zandra from the bar. He took most of his victims from bars, actually. The one victim abduction that puzzled me was the victim he took from the Barry Manilow concert after they’d argued about her standing in front of his seat. But then we found a stack of old vinyl albums, all by Barry Manilow. Mr. Garvey was able to shine light on this. He said his first wife was a big fan and played the albums all the time. Carson would sing with her before she died, and sat playing the albums afterward. Then Mr. Garvey married Sydney. He seemed pretty broken up over the videos of her abuse.”

  “At least there’s that,” Daisy said bitterly.

  “The last thing he said was that the property that Carson used as his burial ground will belong to him—the father, I mean. Sydney left it to him. He’s going to sell it and donate the proceeds to a victim compensation fund. I personally think he did that to curry favor with the DA over the drug charges, but victims’ families get the money in any case.” She looked over her list. “That’s all I have. If you don’t have questions, you’re free to go.”

  Daisy regarded her levelly, then thought, Why the hell not? “I have a question. When will the Bureau reward Agent Reynolds—”

  Gideon was on his feet, his expression one of exasperated disbelief. “Daisy.”

  Daisy arched a brow. “You said I should ask.”

  Daisy swore she saw Molina smile. Just a little.

  “I wasn’t serious.” He held out his hand. “Come on. If I’m on suspension, I don’t want to stay here.” He pulled her to her feet, then turned back to his boss, sobering. “Thank you for the information, ma’am. We’
ll be going now.”

  Gideon marched her toward the rental car his insurance company had provided because the engine in his Camry had to be completely replaced after Carson poured bleach in the gas tank while they’d been talking to Gale Danton in Macdoel.

  When they got to the car, he pressed her up against the door. She looked up at him, smiling. “What?”

  He laughed. “You . . .” He shook his head. “Thank you. For being willing to ask.”

  “I still think—”

  He cut her off with a kiss that silenced all thoughts. When he lifted his head, she sighed. “I’ve forgotten what I was going to say. You scrambled my brain.”

  “You shouldn’t have told me that. Now I’ll kiss you every time you argue.”

  She cupped his face, her heart lighter than it had been in days. Maybe ever. “Then I’ll have to argue with you often.”

  “I’m looking forward to it.”

  EPILOGUE

  SACRAMENTO, CALIFORNIA

  THURSDAY, MARCH 2, 10:25 P.M.

  Gideon pushed away from the wall where he’d been leaning when Daisy came through security in the field office lobby. The guard reached for her bag, giving a blink of surprise when she pulled Brutus out. She cuddled the dog under her chin as she walked through the metal detector, then gave the guard a smile and a “good morning.”

  Nobody would have guessed that she’d been up at four A.M. after a restless night. Nobody except Gideon, who’d held her when she’d woken around midnight, screaming from a nightmare that had been a near-nightly occurrence. She normally dreamed of finding Trish’s body, but last night’s horror had featured her father and the torture he’d endured as a POW. That was all she’d been able to get out.

  He figured it was tied to the therapy session she’d had the afternoon before—her first. She’d found a therapist and had begun working through the remaining anger she felt at her father for the way he’d dragged them into isolation. That they’d dropped Frederick at the airport on their way to the therapy appointment probably hadn’t helped. It had been a teary scene at departures with both Frederick and Daisy completely losing it. Poor Brutus had been petted nearly bald on the drive away from the airport, but the dog just did her job, distracting her before her tears gave way to an anxiety attack and giving Daisy comfort.