by Karen Rose
‘Fine.’ The single word was curt and filled with contained rage. ‘I tracked down a description of Cleon Perry’s car. He drives a piece-of-shit Chevy that no one’s seen since yesterday. Too old for GPS, so we can’t track it. I put out a BOLO on it. Figured that’s how the bastard got away so fast this morning.’
‘Plus it’s probably how he hauled Romano’s body around,’ JD agreed. ‘And probably Perry, too, before he killed him in the alley. Good work, Hector. We have the green light on the meet with Jazzie Jarvis and her therapist at four tomorrow. Can you meet me at Giuseppe’s by three to set up?’
‘Yeah. Listen, I’m at Mancuso’s house with his wife and kid. I need to go. She’s . . .’ Hector drew a harsh breath and let it out. ‘She’s not doing well at all.’
Dammit. ‘I’m sorry,’ JD said, hating the words because they were so inadequate. ‘Let us know what she needs, okay? Besides her husband’s killer roasting over a spit.’
Hector’s laugh was a grating bark. ‘Yeah. Thanks, JD. Later, man.’
With a silent sigh, JD called Lilah Cornell, told her what time to be there tomorrow, then hung up and placed his phone on the nightstand, careful not to make any sound. He slid down the pillows a little and closed his eyes when they stung.
He thought of Jazzie and her sister, motherless, and Mancuso’s kid, fatherless, all because a piece of shit was snipping loose ends. His indrawn breath was shaky and he shuddered out the exhale as he tried to stave off tears. Dammit, he never used to be so emotional. Fatherhood had changed him in ways he’d never imagined.
‘It’s okay, you know,’ Lucy said softly against his chest. ‘To get a little weepy.’
He stiffened. ‘I thought you were asleep.’
‘Nope. You’ve been too restless.’ She kissed his pec, pressing her hand to his heart. ‘You’re wound tighter than a drum. You want to talk about it?’
‘You don’t want to hear this,’ he said, but even he could hear how needy he sounded.
‘Maybe not, but just talking about it might clear your mind. Talk to me, JD. Then we can both sleep.’
He’d used her as a sounding board back when she’d been the ME, and she never failed to help him sort things out, even when she didn’t say a word. So he told her everything, stroking her hair as he talked.
‘So you like the ex-husband for the murders?’ she asked when he was finished.
‘Not ex. Just estranged. Valerie never divorced him. But yeah, he looks good for it.’
‘Why did he come back?’ she asked. ‘I mean, he’s gone for almost three years. Why choose now to come back?’
As usual, she’d hit the nail on the head. ‘I’ve wondered that myself. I asked his former boss and co-workers, his brother, his mother. Nobody will admit to having seen him, much less offer up a reason for his return. Of course I could be barking up the wrong damn tree. Maybe he hasn’t come back at all.’
‘For now, assume you’re right and that he has. What about his friends? If I were coming back after three years, I might hit up friends before family and former co-workers.’
‘I couldn’t find anyone who’d claim Gage Jarvis as an acquaintance, much less a friend. He didn’t seem to have friends outside of work. No clubs, leagues, teams. He worked all the time and his co-workers gave me the bullshit line. Claimed that he was a great guy, that everyone loved him. But no one could give me one example of why he was such a great guy, and no one’s had any contact with him since he left the firm. It was like talking to the Stepford lawyers.’
‘Maybe you’ve been asking the wrong people,’ she said, stifling a yawn. ‘He was a high-profile defense attorney, right? Ask other lawyers. Maybe they knew him, or at least knew where he’d hang out when he lived here.’ She patted his chest. ‘Ask Thorne. He knows everyone in the city, I think. Especially the lawyers. If there’s any dirt to find, Thorne will dig it up.’
That was a slight overexaggeration, but Lucy had a point. She, Thomas Thorne and Gwyn Weaver had been best friends for years. The three of them co-owned Sheidalin, a nightclub that featured live music and performance art. Gwyn managed the club with Thorne’s assistance as needed. Lucy was a club favorite when she performed with her electric violin, although she hadn’t been on stage in several months. Her babies were definitely her first priority. Thorne managed the front, mingling and chatting with guests. He was the trio’s people person.
He was also a successful defense attorney, but unlike Gage Jarvis, Thomas Thorne was a good guy. Honest. Loyal to a fault. While Thorne helped Gwyn with the running of the club, Gwyn assisted Thorne in his law firm, and somehow the two of them made it work. JD trusted both of them with his life, and – more importantly – with the lives of his family. Gwyn was Bronwynne’s godmother and Thorne was Jeremiah’s godfather.
Still, JD was tentative as he dialed Thorne’s cell. Blaring music met his ears.
‘Hold on,’ Thorne said, and a half-minute later, the music was abruptly silenced. ‘Had to go to my office for peace and quiet. What’s up?’
‘Not sure, but I could use any info you have on a guy who was a defense attorney in the city three years ago. His name is Gage Jarvis.’
‘What do you want to know?’ Thorne asked, suddenly wary.
‘Anything you can tell me. Who his friends were, where he hung out, where he went when he left here three years ago. If anyone’s seen him here in town in the last four weeks.’
JD could hear the tapping of computer keys and Thorne’s voice quietly swearing a blue streak. ‘You suspect he killed his wife?’
JD hesitated, then went for broke. ‘Yes.’
It was Thorne’s turn to hesitate. ‘Let me see what I can find,’ he finally said. ‘I’ll get back to you if I turn up anything useful.’
‘Thanks, Thorne. Lucy says hi,’ he added when his wife waved at the phone.
‘Hi back. Tell her we miss her around here.’
‘Come over and tell her yourself. We always need babysitters.’
Thorne snorted a laugh. ‘Gwyn’s got your little monsters right now.’
‘So it’s your turn next,’ JD said lightly, then sobered. ‘Thorne? Nobody can know I’m asking about Jarvis.’
‘You have my word.’
That would have to be good enough. ‘Thank you.’
Lucy snuggled closer when he’d hung up. ‘Now rest, JD.’
‘What do I get if I obey?’ he asked cagily.
‘Private performance,’ she said with a yawn. ‘Me and my violin. Nothing else.’
His mouth watered, imagining it. ‘Naked? Really?’
‘If you’re quiet and let me sleep.’
JD pursed his lips tight. He wasn’t going to make another sound.
Hunt Valley, Maryland,
Saturday 22 August, 8.05 P.M.
Sitting at the farmhouse’s kitchen table, Ford watched Taylor’s lips move soundlessly. Please don’t let me have hurt the program. Please.
He didn’t think she had, despite her coming here with an assumed name and a secret agenda, but he wouldn’t promise her that it would be okay. He wouldn’t lie to her.
Not like her mother had. Goddammit all. Instead he addressed her almost mournful refusal of wine. ‘You don’t drink?’ he asked, and she shook her head.
‘Not after what happened to my oldest sister. Carrie started drinking when we moved out to the ranch. The drugs followed later. When they found her body, she’d OD’d on heroin and her blood alcohol was over 0.45.’
His eyes widened. ‘Holy hell.’ That was five and a half times the legal limit. Shooting heroin was one thing. One pop of a needle and it was done. But how did a person physically manage to drink that much? Ford pushed his wine away, no longer wanting it.
She nodded at his rejected glass. ‘Yeah. That’s the way I feel about it. When Carrie s
tarted drinking, my folks didn’t know what to do to stop her, and when LAPD found her body . . . my dad was devastated, as I’m sure you can imagine.’
‘I don’t know how to imagine that,’ Ford said quietly. ‘Losing your child that way.’
‘I can’t either. When my middle sister, Daisy, started drinking, it nearly pushed Dad over the edge. She’s sober now, but he worries. So I won’t put him through that again.’ Another look, this one a half-wince. ‘Plus, my mother told me that my . . . well, that Clay was a mean drunk. An alcoholic. I figured if it ran in the family, I’d just be smart and avoid the temptation entirely.’
Ford frowned. ‘Clay’s not,’ he insisted harshly. ‘I’ve seen him drink a few beers. I’ve never seen him drunk and I’ve never seen him mean. Of course, anybody messing with his family will pay the price, but that’s not being mean. That’s justice.’
‘Well, as it happens, my mother’s rep for the truth isn’t sterling, so I’ll take your word for it.’ She picked up her fork, but set it down again abruptly, staring at her plate.
Ford frowned again. ‘What’s wrong with the chicken?’
‘Nothing. I’m sure it’s fine. It’s just . . .’ She glanced through the kitchen doorway to the front door. Then closed her eyes. ‘Ever since I found out that my mother lied, I’ve been so angry. But now . . . I lied too.’ Her lips trembled. ‘The apple didn’t fall too far from that tree.’
Ford wanted to comfort her, but held himself back. She had lied. She’d used their program for her own agenda. ‘Did you come here planning to ditch the internship when you met Clay?’
‘If I had to,’ she said, but her lips trembled. ‘If I met him and he wasn’t nice or if I couldn’t look at him without screaming . . . yeah, I planned to run home and have you all be none the wiser.’
‘But now?’
‘I’m staying,’ she said firmly. ‘I owe Maggie and Jazzie. And Clay.’
‘And yourself,’ he said quietly. ‘You owe it to yourself to get to know your father.’ She might not be able to accept that Clay was her father, at least not out loud, but Ford wasn’t going to go along with that. ‘Clay is your father, Taylor.’
She opened her mouth, denial in her eyes, but she sighed instead of voicing it. ‘I never expected Clay to know me on sight. I never expected you or Maggie to suspect. I saw photos of him, of course, but I never realized how much I resemble him until I saw him in person.’
‘It’s your eyes. Not just the color and the shape, but also the intensity.’
She bit her lip. ‘In the photos I found online, he looks cold and scary. Like he’d just as soon break your neck as not. Seeing his photo made every word my mother said about him ring true. I wouldn’t have come had I not read his letters.’ She swallowed. ‘They weren’t cold at all.’
It was true. Clay did look like a scary badass in his public photos. ‘Most of his pictures online were when he was working a case. Even the ones of him in a tux, where he and Mom were at some charity function, Clay was working. This was all pre-Joseph, of course. Now, Joseph is mom’s guard dog in a tux. But back then Clay considered himself Mom’s bodyguard, even though she hadn’t hired him at that point. Whenever he was interviewed by the media, it was because one of his cases got publicized by someone else, not because he sought attention.’
‘So cold-and-scary is only a persona? Not the real him?’
Ford grinned. ‘Hell, no, it’s him all over. When he’s working. When he’s off the clock, he’s a marshmallow. Cordy has him wrapped around her little finger.’
Taylor smiled back, wistfully. ‘I could tell.’
Ford pulled his phone from his pocket and searched through the photos. ‘Here. Look at this one.’ It was Clay and Cordelia holding the handle of a heavy bucket as they crept on tiptoe, hunched over like they were sneaking up on someone, both wearing conspiratorial grins. ‘I took this at Cordy’s birthday party a few months ago.’ He angled the phone Taylor’s way, gratified when she leaned closer to see. She smelled really good. Like sweet flowers. He had to will himself not to sniff at her like he was a puppy.
A puppy. The anticipation tightening his chest abruptly wilted. Because he’d been called a puppy before. He closed his eyes, Kimberly’s voice encroaching where it wasn’t welcome. You were a puppy, Ford. I felt sorry for you. That’s all.
A puppy. Kimberly had been his first. He’d loved her, but he’d only been her puppy. At least she hadn’t said that on the witness stand, waiting instead to wound him with that final arrow in the privacy of the visiting booth at the prison. It didn’t make it any less humiliating.
Oblivious to his mental tangent, Taylor had sucked in a surprised breath, her gaze on the photo. ‘Wow,’ she murmured. ‘I really can see the resemblance between us now.’ Tentatively she flicked her thumb and forefinger across the photo, enlarging Clay and Cordelia’s faces. ‘They look like they’re about to get into trouble.’
Ford forced a chuckle past the lump in his throat and swiped a finger across his phone’s screen, showing her the next photo. The bucket lay empty on the ground and a soaking-wet Stevie sputtered in shock. ‘Cordelia and Clay were laughing like loons,’ he said, sounding subdued to his own ears.
Taylor twisted back to study his face, her eyes slightly narrowed. ‘Was Stevie mad?’
He told his lips to curve and prayed that they obeyed. ‘Nah. How could she be? Cordy was laughing and that doesn’t happen too often. Clay lets his guard down around Stevie and Cordy.’
‘But not with his other friends? It seems like he has so many friends.’
Again Ford sensed her wistfulness and thought about how lonely she must have been on that ranch in the middle of nowhere. He knew lonely, even though he’d been surrounded by a city full of people. ‘He does have a lot of friends, and they see him laugh and smile, but it’s more controlled somehow. With Cordy and Stevie he’s . . .’
‘Free,’ she whispered.
Ford’s heart stuttered at the raw longing on her face. ‘I was going to say younger, but free works, too.’
She tilted her head, her attention suddenly shifting to him. ‘Are you okay?’
Hell, no. But he would be. He shoved Kimberly out of his head, picturing her falling on her ass in the dirt, then visualized himself turning his back and leaving her there.
Instead he focused on Taylor. Who needed him. At least for now. ‘I’m fine. Just old tapes.’ Shut up, Ford. ‘Nothing to do with this. With Clay or Cordelia or you.’ She was silent, her gaze remaining watchful. ‘Stray thoughts, y’know,’ he went on, his mouth determined to fill the silence even though his brain was yelling for him to shut up. ‘They hit you when you least expect them.’ He closed his eyes. For the love of God, shut up.
She squeezed his hand briefly, sending a shiver down his spine. ‘If you want to talk, I’m safe,’ she murmured. ‘I won’t breathe a word. And I obviously know how to keep secrets.’
‘Thanks.’ It was all he could manage. Opening his eyes, he fixed his gaze on the plate she hadn’t yet touched, pointing at it. ‘Eat.’
She huffed a small laugh. ‘Yes, sir.’
They were both quiet as they ate, Ford keeping his eyes on his plate until he heard her pushing her chair back from the table. He glanced at her empty plate, then up at her face. She looked nervous, but her mouth was set in determination.
‘I’m going out to the porch to talk to your mother and face the music,’ she said. ‘I never considered that I’d want to stay after I met Clay.’ Her lips quirked self-consciously. ‘But now I find myself hoping Daphne doesn’t throw me out on my ass. Wish me luck.’
That she and her ass could stay with him if his mother threw her out of the Healing Hearts program hovered on the tip of his tongue, but he bit it back. ‘She won’t throw you out,’ he said instead. ‘Up until today she thought you walked on water. Clay being your
father won’t change that. It’ll probably make her like you even more.’
Hope flashed brightly in her eyes. ‘You think?’
‘You came to him of your own free will, so yeah, I do think.’ He tried to smile for her sake. ‘But good luck, just in case.’
‘Thanks for dinner and . . .’ She hesitated, then leaned forward and quickly kissed his cheek. ‘And for being so nice. I want to think I could have made it through today without you, but I’m really glad I didn’t have to find out.’
His breath backing up in his lungs, Ford waited until she was out of the kitchen before exhaling in a rush. Her chaste kiss had rocked him, wiping his brain’s slate clean and leaving him wanting so much more.
Hunt Valley, Maryland,
Saturday 22 August, 8.30 P.M.
Clay found Stevie exactly where he’d figured she’d be – leaning against their bedroom window watching the sky grow dark. The window faced west, and she loved to watch the sun set over the trees that bordered their backyard. The trees stretched as far as the eye could see. All ours. They gave them a measure of privacy. Of security. Of safety.
All so important to the little girl who’d stolen his heart when she’d opened up her own.
‘Cordy wants you to tuck her in,’ he said, covering Stevie’s stiff shoulders with his hands. She was still hurt. Clay knew she had a right to be, but damned if he knew what to do about it. ‘Stevie.’ He kissed her neck below her ear and drew in her scent. ‘I’m sorry.’
He heard her swallow in the quiet of the room. ‘For what? For being what my baby needs? I’m . . . happy she has you to talk to. To confide in.’ Her voice broke. ‘I really am.’
She was. He knew that. ‘But you don’t understand why she doesn’t confide in you.’
A shaky nod. ‘I’ve tried so hard, Clay. I messed it up before by being too busy, too remote. I know that and I thought I’d fixed it. What more can I do?’
Her job as a homicide detective had kept her away from home far too many nights, leaving Cordelia’s care to Stevie’s sister Izzy. Quitting the force allowed her to spend real time with her daughter now – quality and quantity.
