by L. K. Hill
“Our goals, where this heathen is concerned, are the same, Detective. Where has he gone?”
Gabe swallowed, suspicion making him grip his gun tighter. “He’s just…gone.”
The man sighed. He moved past Gabe and climbed up onto the top of the tunnel, scanning the landscape. Gabe moved back, keeping his distance, watching closely for any sudden movements from this strange man who'd walked out of the darkness.
After a moment, Gabe followed him up to the top of the tunnel. The man’s name, Nickel, tickled something in Gabe’s memory. Something Kyra said. By the time he stood on top of the tunnel again, this time beside the Underboss of the Abstreuse mob, it had come back to him.
“You’re Dellaire” he said.
The man turned his head to look at Gabe. “Not many people know that name.”
“Supra does,” Gabe said quietly.
“Ah yes. Ms. Roberts. She does,” he nodded and went back to scanning the broken tunnels in front of them.
Hearing Kyra's real name made Gabe tighten his grip on his gun again. This man sounded too familiar with her. “You’ve saved her more than once,” Gabe said. “Why?”
Dellaire didn’t answer for a long time. When he did, he kept his eyes forward. “Because she draws this killer to her like a moth to a flame.”
“You’re using her as bait?” Gabe asked.
“I’ve never used her, Detective,” Dellaire said, and Gabe detected a hint of heat in his voice. “I merely watch from the shadows, hoping for an opportunity to dispense with this man.” He heaved a deep breath. “As I will continue to do.”
He walked back to the gap and squatted to begin climbing down.
“Supra is no longer with us,” Gabe said, not sure why he felt the need to inform Dellaire he wouldn’t be able to follow Kyra around anymore.
Dellaire froze beside the hole. “Ms. Roberts is,” he said.
Gabe turned to look at him. “Yes, but she isn’t returning to the Mire.”
The ghost of a smile played across Dellaire’s lips. “You don’t think so? Perhaps you don’t know her as well as you think, Detective.”
He disappeared into the tunnel. Gabe listened until his footsteps faded to silence.
As it turned out, the killer was right about one thing: the sky cracked open like a sieve, and a fine, miserable drizzle covered the tunnels in tepid moisture. It hit Gabe’s head and shoulders, sliding down his face in rivulets.
He stood alone on top of the empty tunnel. Only him and the rain and the ghosts.
Chapter 28
Kyra pulled the black, sleeveless dress over her head and slipped her arms into the correct slots. She then did a contorted little dance to get the zipper all the way up on her own. When she finally managed it, she pulled the dress down over her hips and smoothed it down to her knees. Then she looked at herself in the mirror.
Her eyes were red and bloodshot. She'd done nothing by cry for the past day and a half. Mostly curled up in a ball on her hotel bed, she'd sobbed between fits of nightmarish sleep. In it, she saw bullets exploding from Tyke's head. Or Gabe's. Sometimes Cora's or Shaun's. In others, she saw herself on the ground, staring lifelessly up. Those dreams were always more comforting than the others.
She'd called and texted Gabe multiple times. He'd never answered.
Kyra picked up a brush and dragged it through her hair. Cora was picking her up for Tyke's funeral service, and would be arriving soon.
Kyra's phone buzzed on the desk. One part of her leapt, praying it would be Gabe. The other part told her it wouldn't be.
Phil's name blinked at her from the screen. Phil. With everything that had happened, she'd completely forgotten he said he'd call her after his contact went to the night club to see if Spurius what's-his-name was really Manny.
Kyra clicked the answer button.
"Hello."
"Kyra? Phil here." He certainly didn't sound happy, as he should if he had good news. Kyra left the bathroom to sit on the bed. Perhaps she ought to sit for this call.
"Hi Phil." Her voice sounded wooden.
He paused. "What's the matter, Kyra?"
Kyra started to rub her eyes before realizing she'd already applied mascara. She forced her hand down to her lap. "A cop I knew died two days ago. I'm…sad about it." She couldn't muster the strength to say or feel more.
Another pause from Phil. "I'm so sorry, Kyra."
"Have you heard from your contact?"
Phil heaved a deep sigh and let it out slowly.
"Ah," Kyra said dully. "The deep sigh. Your contact didn't find him then?"
"My contact is dead, Kyra. They found his body in a dumpster yesterday."
Kyra didn't think she could feel any emptier, but suddenly her chest felt like a chasm, and her voice abandoned her all together.
"It may not be anything to do with Manny," Phil said quietly. "He went undercover in the mob. Anything might have happened. Kyra?"
Kyra coughed and forced her voice out in a croak. "Including, he might have asked the wrong person about Manny and died for it."
"Or that," Phil said softly. "What will you do, Kyra?"
"I don't know. I have a funeral to attend today. Then I'll decide." As true a statement as she'd ever made. She needed to see Gabe. To see if his decision to blame her still stood. If so, she had no reason to hang around. Perhaps Tyke's funeral would soften him toward her. She prayed it would.
"Call me when you know, Kyra. I want to help. And I'm sorry about your police friend."
"I'm sorry about your contact."
They stayed on the line, dead air between them, for another twenty seconds.
"I'll be in touch, Kyra."
"Okay."
The line went dead. Kyra lay back on the bed, staring at the white ceiling, feeling numb. She stayed like that until her phone buzzed again.
Cora this time, telling Kyra she waited in the parking lot. Kyra slipped on a heavy coat and the black flats she'd bought to go with the dress. They were the only pair of feminine shoes she'd worn since coming to Abstreuse.
The rain began not long after midnight the night Tyke was shot and hadn't let up since. It streaked the windows and darkened the sidewalks.
Cora, wearing more makeup than usual, probably to cover the bags under her eyes and their redness, which it didn't, merely nodded to Kyra as she ducked into the car. Kyra got the feeling the entire drive would be a silent one, unless she herself spoke.
"Are you angry with me?" she asked softly.
Cora kept her eyes straight ahead, on the road. "You didn't shoot Tyke, Kyra."
Kyra shifted her gaze to the rain-streaked window. "But you're still angry at me."
Cora sighed. "Why didn't you call one of us? You must have noticed him acting strangely."
Tears spilled down Kyra's cheeks. "Yes. His explanation seemed like enough at the time. He felt so certain we'd be able to pull it off. He said Shaun knew. I had no reason to question it."
Cora wiped tears from her own cheeks and nodded. "It wasn't your fault," she said softly.
Kyra didn't dare look at Cora. It hurt too much.
"Gabe caught up to him, you know," Cora said softly. "The killer. He spoke to him."
Kyra's head snapped toward Cora, forgetting the hurt. "He did? What did he say?"
Cora shrugged. "Talked in riddles. Threatened Gabe. And you. About what you'd expect. He got away. Gabe didn't catch him."
Kyra ran the scenario through her head. How must Gabe be feeling after everything?
"Why didn't Gabe come to the hospital?" she managed weakly.
Cora cleared her throat, sounding marginally more businesslike. "He was headed there, but they pronounced Tyke at the hospital, and Shaun called Gabe to tell him. Gabe went to be with Tyke's wife and kids. He's been there since."
Kyra nodded.
The rest of the ride passed in silence. After pulling into a space at the cemetery, Cora exited the car without a word, and walked toward the grave site. Kyra sat a moment
longer. She saw Shaun and other cops she recognized from the precinct, milling about in the bleak fog of the day. Most were hugging or conveying condolences to a young brunette woman. She must be Tyke's widow.
Kyra swallowed and got out. The drizzle soaked her quickly. She spotted Gabe across the cemetery and walked toward him. He stood beside a car, his cell phone pressed to his ear. Either he was too preoccupied by the conversation or the sound of the rain masked her approach. He didn’t look up as she came up beside him, and she caught the end of his conversation.
“…don’t know. I can’t think about it today. I need to go bury my brother.” He paused. “I’ll be in first thing tomorrow. Yes, fine.”
He dropped the phone from his ear and slipped it into his suit pocket all in one motion. He turned, and froze when he saw her standing there. Tears sprang up when she saw his face. His eyes were red, his face pale. She’d never seen him look so worn out. They stared at one another for long seconds. He wore dress blues and polished black shoes.
She took a step toward him, but Cora came up behind him right then
“Gabe. They’re ready to start," Cora said, laying a hand gently on his arm.
Gabe cast one more haunted look at Kyra, then turned and walked with her toward the grave site.
Kyra stood in the crowd, behind the rows of chairs occupied by Tyke’s family and close friends, as each man and woman from Tyke’s precinct placed a white rose on top of Tyke’s coffin.
Gabe approached the coffin slowly. After he'd placed his rose, his face crumbled. Resting his palm on the smooth red mahogany beside the flowers, he bowed his head in grief, his body shaking with sobs. When he straightened and moved away, back into the crowd of mourners, he came to stand a few feet from Kyra.
The priest read from his rain-speckled bible as the drizzle continued. He spoke of love and loyalty and family, and other things Kyra barely registered as Tyke’s wife and daughters sobbed softly on the front row.
Kyra concentrated on moving her feet, subtly inching her way toward Gabe, until their arms brushed. Gabe didn’t move, didn't acknowledge her proximity. Perhaps, in his grief, he truly didn’t know.
As the end of the service neared, she reached out and slipped her hand into his.
A breath of time passed while she waited for him to react. Then he did.
Shrugging one shoulder, he yanked his hand from her grasp, and moved half a step away.
Kyra hung her head and dissolved into tears.
The speaking part of the service ended and the coffin began its short descent into the ground. Gabe stood with his shoulders back and head high now, face streaked with water, but composed.
When the coffin rested at the bottom of the grave, the priest invited everyone to a church around the corner for a luncheon. Sniffling mourners shuffled out of the cemetery. Gabe turned abruptly and strode away, leaving Kyra where she stood.
Soon, she stood alone at the grave site. She ought to go. They wouldn’t cover the coffin with dirt until all the mourners left. Too much psychological stress.
Kyra approached the grave and stared into it. Tyke was dead. With him went the only hope for happiness she’d felt since coming to Abstreuse. Hope for her and Gabe. Hope for something good.
Just as well, she told herself. She’d vowed when she first came to Abstreuse not to lose sight of her goal: finding Manny and bringing him home. Then she’d done precisely that: allowed herself to be distracted from her goal by a decent cop, who seemed to want her. That, at least, had changed. So, back to Manny. Always Manny. This was for the best.
So why did it hurt so much? Why did she want to run after Gabe and throw her arms around him and beg him to forgive her?
No. He blamed her for Tyke's death. He'd never forgive her for it. Gabe found his brother at the ranch. He’d done it all on his own, without her help. She must now do the same.
For two days, she fought with her emotions over Tyke. He’d lied to her. To everyone. He’d gotten good people killed. His death left a void that might never be filled. Especially in Gabe. Kyra hated Tyke for it.
And yet…
She wished she had a flower to drop onto the grave. Or dirt to slide off her fingers. She had only rain water and mud. The water sliding off her face would have to do for a sendoff. Kyra pried herself away by sheer force of will. Every step away from the grave felt like a red-hot poker in her chest.
No more Gabe. That was done. No more Supra. She was gone. No more Tyke. Everything would change.
She’d already gathered her things from the hotel. The cops would discover her absence soon enough, when she didn’t come back. She’d left her phone and her Supra getup on the bed as a sign of her relationship with Abstreuse PD being over. She wished she could leave something for Gabe, but she had nothing to give him. Nothing at all.
The thought of being relegated to a memory, or something he now considered a mistake, hurt so much she squeezed her eyes shut against the pain, and nearly lost her footing. She put a hand against the wet bark of a tree and breathed through the pain.
No. No more pain. No more emotion. No more weakness. She would become whatever she needed to be to find Manny.
She knew where to start.
She walked from the cemetery all the way back to the hotel, ignoring the ache in her feet and the fact that she now looked like a drowned rat. She didn't return to her room, instead simply crossing to where her car sat in the lot.
Popping the trunk, she took three bags out. She'd don her disguise on the journey. Not to protect her identity—that hardly mattered anymore—but because she planned to head into the Mire once again. As she once told Boss, she could hardly walk down M Street looking like a soccer mom from the suburbs.
She pulled away from the hotel, refusing even to glance at it in her rear-view mirror. The water on her face was rain. Only rain.
Chapter 29
Kyra walked confidently up to the two men who appeared to be “lounging” around the bakery’s entrance. The larger of the two—dark haired with a thick mustache and shoulders that filled the doorway—stepped in front of her.
“I need to see Boss,” she said firmly.
The man had a face like a boulder. Neither his eyes nor his expression changed at her statement. She stared back at him levelly.
“I don’t know who you mean,” the man said.
Kyra nodded. “I understand. Tell him I need to speak to him. At his earliest convenience. Tell him it’s important. We can help each other.”
The man’s face didn’t register a single iota of change. Kyra sighed, met the man's eyes and nodded. As she walked away, a murmur of voices came from behind her.
“Wait.”
Kyra turned. The voice belonged to the second guard who hadn’t spoken until now. The first leaned over, speaking quietly to someone inside the bakery. As she watched, he straightened. His face remained as animated as the concrete beneath her shoes, but he met her eyes and jerked his head back toward the bakery. Then opened the door.
Kyra walked back toward him and strode inside. Four armed guards, all wearing the same black leather jackets as the two guards outside, met her inside.
“This way, Ms. Roberts,” the one closest to her said. She shouldn’t have been surprised Boss learned her real name. It still startled her, though. She was more used to being called Supra than anything else. Gabe simply called her Kyra. She’d grown unfamiliar with her own last name.
The four guards surrounded her, guns all in hand, and they moved forward together as though escorting her to her own execution.
Demanding a meeting with a mob boss wasn’t smart by any standard, but Kyra felt less fear than the first time Boss’s men brought her here sporting a blindfold and a limp. Her four escorts guided her through twists and turns, into an alley and through the door of an adjacent building. Even without a blindfold she wasn’t sure she’d be able to find her away a second time.
Finally, they entered the room she remembered. Colorless with no decorations or furn
ishings except for the huge mahogany desk in the center of the room. The same man, Boss, sat behind it. Skeletal looking with white hair and too-long fingers, he glared coldly at her as she entered.
“Ms. Roberts. You’ve found my location, it seems.”
She nodded. “Yes. You’ve done your homework on me as well.”
Standing to the right of the desk stood Jerome Dellaire, his dark, hawkish gaze didn’t waiver from Kyra’s face. As before, two dark-colored chairs sat in front of Boss’s desk, but he didn’t invite her to sit. Good. She preferred to stand. Her adrenaline pounded too insistently to remain still, and she didn’t want to appear nervous.
Boss leaned back in his chair, folded his arms and cocked his head back, as if to listen more closely.
Kyra nodded and stepped forward so she stood between the two dark-colored chairs, resting her palms on the backs of them.
“You have a problem. A big one. I didn’t realize before how big.”
“To what problem are you referring my dear?” Boss looked irritated. Probably because of the forcefulness of her statement. Kyra didn’t care.
“The problem that’s killing the working girls in the Mire and leaving keys in their throats.”
The mood in the room instantly changed. Boss and Dellaire exchanged glances. Kyra pressed her advantage.
“He’s gone beyond a prolific serial killer now. It’s not a killing spree either. He’s trying to eradicate your entire customer base. That's a problem for you.”
“And for you,” Boss said sharply. “Jerome tells me our mutual problem has nearly killed you more than once.”
Kyra considered how to approach this aspect before continuing. She nodded. “Yes. It's luck, not skill, that's responsible for me standing here right now.”
“I wouldn’t necessarily say that,” Dellaire said quietly. Kyra frowned at him. Was he trying to undermine her? Even Boss looked askance at Dellaire. Dellaire didn't look at Kyra or Boss, though. He kept his eyes firmly on Boss’s desk.
Kyra focused on Boss again. “This killer is smarter than I am. He is, and much larger physically.”
“What are you saying?” Boss said, leaning impatiently forward in my chair. “Have you come to proclaim your failures? You said something to Tony about helping me.”
