“Did you see it, too?” Tate asked Isaiah. “The vision?”
Apparently Chester’s scream for help hadn’t resonated with just one particular psychic. As adept as Eden was at picking up psychic screams, she’d most likely heard this cry for help as well. “I did, but I’m sure it was Chester Bratton,” Isaiah replied. “Did you get any sense of where the murder’s going down?”
Instead of replying, Tate’s brows narrowed on Boniface. “You saw it, too,” he accused. “You know where she is, don’t you?”
“I… I…” The man took a full step backward, bumping his calves on the rim of the tub, the room was so small. He lifted a clenched fist to his mouth, disbelieving what Isaiah now knew had happened to him. Fear replaced the cool, calm professional stare. “Oh, my hell, I think I… Damn, I think I know where she is. Umm, I saw her. Shit. It was like I was looking through his eyes.” Keller flattened his palms over his gut, his fingers scraping at his shirt. “It was like she was stabbing me. What the fuck’s going on?”
“Calm down. You’re an empath, Keller. That’s all, and you just saw Candace Bratton. Where is she?” Isaiah asked.
It was interesting that Boniface had seen Candace, while Isaiah had only seen Chester. That meant Boniface was an empath, albeit an unwilling one on the verge of a meltdown.
“In… in an abandoned, shit. It’s still happening. She’s stabbing him again! We’ve got to stop her. She’s at an abandoned service station—”
“North of the Navy Yard?” Isaiah asked. That made sense, Chester and Candace being in her old neighborhood, but wow. Like every other crime related to Candace, Isaiah hadn’t seen that coming.
The perplexed agent’s head bobbed. His eyes had gone wide and dazed as if he were seeing things he couldn’t explain, which he most certainly was. “East Capitol Street Southeast. On the corner. It’s a four-way stop. There’s a service pit in the abandoned garage there, only water’s seeped in over the years. Only a… a… there’s a safe in the bottom of that pit, and… Damn!” He thumbed his chin as if he needed to punch something. “What the fuck’s wrong with me!”
“That’s where the five mil’s been all this time,” Tate interrupted, unfazed at Keller’s spiraling anxiety.
“And where Candace is killing Chester Bratton right now,” Isaiah declared. “Keller, calm down. There’s nothing wrong with you, but you’re coming with Agent Higgins and me. Tell your partners to transport Randall downtown. Be quick about it. We don’t have time to waste.”
“But… but…” The man stood there shell-shocked, his lips moving, but nothing intelligent coming out of his mouth.
“But nothing. You’re with us,” Isaiah told him firmly. “Get your gear. Now.”
Chapter Thirty
“Go on, go. I’ll be fine,” Roxy assured Tucker. He’d received some kind of psychic phone call from Isaiah. Garrett Randall was now in custody and they’d also tracked the location of the five million, maybe Candace Bratton and her former father-in-law, Chester Bratton, too. Thank God. This joint operation might end happy after all.
“You’re sure?” Tucker asked for the second time. He’d been pacing since his guys contacted him, and Roxy didn’t blame him. The man was an all out alpha and anxious to be in the middle of the action, not hanging back in the safe zone, babysitting. He was an FBI director after all, and men like Tucker thrived on the adrenaline punch of a good bust. This was his moment to shine, and shine he should. Recovering five million dollars from a seven-year old heist, as well as apprehending the elusive perpetrators, was the bust of the century. He and his team deserved high fives all around.
Lifting one eyebrow, Roxy leveled her snarkiest glare at Isaiah’s boss who had his hand on the doorknob to the garage. “I’m pretty sure I can handle two sleeping kids and a dog, now go. Once the kids get up, I want them to see your smug face on every national news station telling the world how it went down. You meant to hold a press conference anyway. Looks like today’s that day.”
The man was just like a little kid on Christmas morning. He glowed with the thrill of what his psychic team had accomplished, and didn’t that tell Roxy all she needed to know? As deeply as she cared for Isaiah, their being together was not in the best interest of the FBI or the country. He had a far more important mission in life than she did, and he needed to be unencumbered by emotional attachments, so that miraculous psychic skill of his could function to capacity.
It hurt to face the truth, but their time together was over. She had to let him go, and Roxy would do just that. For Isaiah, she’d do anything.
Tucker cocked his head, studying her. “You’re sure?” he asked yet again.
She growled instead of repeating herself. Damn, the man was dense.
“Okay, I’ll go, but keep the doors locked. Don’t let anyone inside. Call if you need me.” He tossed a key fob at her, no doubt for the SUV Isaiah had driven home last night.
“Yeah, yeah, yeah,” she muttered as she shooed Tucker out of her life and into the garage. “Tell Isaiah and Tate congrats on making a damned good bust when you see them. I’m proud of them.”
Enough said. Tucker beat a straight line to the rear garage door and checked—yet again—that it was still secure. Why wouldn’t it be? He’d triple-checked it with every perimeter walk he’d made. If nothing else, the big guy was a meticulous guard who took protection seriously. A tiny pinch in her gut told Roxy she might just miss his company once—if—he finally got gone.
He sent her a thumbs-up as he headed to the monster, red Challenger parked in the far stall. “Remember. Doors locked. Ears on,” he barked before he dropped into the driver’s seat and shut the car door.
She stayed at her post until he raised the garage door, revved that gloriously loud Hemi engine and cleared the driveway. As expected, the car laid rubber when it jumped to his command. She’d expected nothing less. He couldn’t wait to get out of there, and she didn’t blame him. Any crime scene would be more exciting than babysitting a couple of sleeping kids and their trusty mutt.
When the garage door settled into place and she was sure she was on her own, Roxy cocked her head and waited until the sturdy hydraulic locks hissed into place, signaling that Isaiah’s place was once more secure. At last, the end of this joint operation was in sight. What began as an odd pairing of MPD with the Feds had worked. Little by little, justice was prevailing.
Kitty and Darrin could get on with their lives and whatever the future held for them. It had to be better than what Candace Bratton had put them through. Yet even as she thought that well-intentioned lie, Roxy knew better. The kids were headed for foster care, and didn’t that suck rocks? The state made a lousy parent. Everyone knew that, and the unfortunate kids who went into the system didn’t always end up in the best situations. Too many came out abused and neglected, worse than when they went in. There had to be a better way.
As far as Isaiah? Roxy kicked that heartache down the road, not crossing that bridge until she got there.
Alone at the end of another exhausting, yet interesting day, she double-checked the bedroom where Kitty and Darrin now lay sound asleep, him on his back in the sleeping bag on the floor with Nugget, Kitty on her side facing Roxy and still wearing her ball cap.
It gave Roxy pause to just stand there and watch. To think. Kitty craved a father’s love as much as Darrin did, which explained why she’d worn the Nats cap to bed. She couldn’t part with it. That silly thing meant something to the fatherless girl the moment Tucker’d tugged it out of his rear pocket and handed it to her. That was when he’d acknowledged that she existed and that she had feelings, that he’d recognized her worthy of a male’s attention. Hell, she’d probably crush on Tucker for months, too, and Roxy didn’t blame her. He had the makings of a really good dad. Roxy could tell. Tucker really wasn’t so bad, once you got past—well, Tucker.
At last, Roxy snagged her duffel and headed for the bathroom. She locked herself in, then unbuckled her holster
and hung it on the hook behind the door. It didn’t take long to get out of her grimy uniform and into the shower.
After shampooing and conditioning her thick, long mane, she plaited it into a manageable braid down her back. Next she lathered body wash over herself, wishing Isaiah were there to do that. Just the thought of him showering with her, sliding his very capable hands over her shoulders and down her back, set her lady parts to tingling. If he were there, he’d stand behind her and cup her breasts and tell her how lovely she was. He’d nibble at her neck, his nose pressed hard against her skin. They’d kiss—oh, how they’d kiss. Before she knew it, he’d have her backed into the tiled corner and…
Roxy groaned at her need for all things Isaiah. It seemed the heart she’d once shielded from outside entanglements now had plenty of room for two kids, their dog, and—him. How had that happened?
Yet this thing with Isaiah was a fling. It had been from the start. He had a greater mission in life than settling down with a wife and two and a half kids, than settling for less. As much as Roxy liked the American dream, she knew the reality that went with it. The man of her fantasies was destined for greatness, and she was just an MPD beat cop through and through. She wouldn’t hold him back.
With that reality faced and her decision made, she shaved what needed shaving. She towel dried her dripping wet braid until it was dry enough, then smoothed coconut body lotion over everything. Moisturizer for her face went next, then clean underwear and a bra, only these were cotton and white, nothing so audacious as the underthings she’d worn the day of the bank robbery. Although she had been glad for that leather thong in that broom closet. Recalling the groan that had vibrated out of Isaiah there in the dark still gave her goosebumps. He’d known then that she was no sweet, young thing, but man. What a surprise he’d been.
Don’t go there…
Fighting her body’s reaction to his memory, Roxy donned a simple pink T-shirt and her oldest, softest jeans, then a clean pair of socks. A cop in pajamas on the job was a fool, and Roxy Thurston was no fool—except where Isaiah was concerned.
She glared at her misty reflection in the fogged mirror. The woman staring back at her looked more like Mama Thurston. Wasn’t that a nice surprise, to see her mother’s face where once she’d just seen a perpetually angry woman with a gun and a hard job?
“Get a grip, girl,” she told herself. “He’s the important one, not you. Get back to work and get over him.” She blinked back at herself and drew in a deep breath. Yeah. She’d done it before. She could do it again.
It wasn’t until she’d strapped her holster back on that she felt more in control. Roxy headed for the living room with her boots, yet with every step, fragments of the dream she’d had upon waking that morning whispered to her, pricking her conscience.
She set her boots beside the couch as sweet remembrances of better days swamped her with the love she’d always felt as a child. They wrapped around her like the soft, warm blanket of her mother’s arms. If there was one thing Roxy had that Kitty and Darrin didn’t, it was Mama’s love, and wasn’t it odd to be thinking about that now?
Yet it seemed right. For years Roxy’d planned a hundred torturous ways to end Ritchie Gardner’s life. The rat bastard deserved every one of them, and sweet Maria del Rosa Thurston deserved to be avenged for all she’d lost. Only now…
Maria del Rosa Thurston deserved to be remembered for more than just the way she’d died. A revenge killing that would end her only child’s life in one way or the other seemed somehow hollow and trite. Roxy swallowed hard at the quandary her heart struggled with. Change was excruciatingly hard, and she faced one mighty course correction.
Pressing her hand to her heart, she let the better memories stored within its chambers wash over her. Her mother’s perpetual smile at the end of her own hard workdays. The Spanish feasts she loved preparing for her familia. Her mouth-watering tomatillo enchiladas. The sounds Daddy made every single time Mama’s homemade mole sauce hit his tongue. The scents of chili peppers roasting on the tiny barbeque grill she kept off the back porch.
Roxy’s eyes watered at all those little things, those every day, ordinary things most modern women no longer wanted to bother with, were what had made Mama happy. That all she’d ever needed and wanted was the little cracker box home they’d lived in, the husband she’d adored, and the daughter she’d lived for. Humbling. Heart-wrenchingly humbling.
Roxy bowed her head, awash in the unfamiliar emotion, and so sure that Mama was smiling down at her from heaven, that a single stinging hot tear dripped onto her cheek. Lifting her chin, Roxy whispered to the ceiling, “I get it now. You deserve more than just a revenge killing. You deserve…” Dare I say it? “…grandchildren.”
Roxy wiped one slender finger under her eye to catch the tears. Resolved, and with a higher purpose, she let her plans for Ritchie Gardner go—the plans she now knew had always been more about her than her mother.
“I miss you, Mama,” she said as she scrubbed the hem of her T-shirt over her face. It was time to call home.
Daddy Thurston picked up on the first ring. “Roxy. What’s wrong, little girl? Are you in trouble?”
Wasn’t that just like him to assume the worst? “Nothing’s wrong, Daddy. Just wanted to call and check in. Were you sleeping?”
“Don’t lie to me. You’ve been too busy to call, so you must be on an important case. What’s up? Can you talk about it? Is it dangerous?”
There he was, always trying to fix things, including her. “I am on an important case, Daddy, but don’t worry. We’ve made some serious headway today. I hope to be home soon, and then I’ll tell you everything I can. You might want to watch TV in case they air an FBI news conference until then.”
“You’re working with the Feds? How’d you manage that?” He sounded impressed, but that’s because he had no idea what a pain in the ass the Feds were to work with.
Roxy smiled at his innocence. “I interrupted a bank robbery, but that’s all I can say about it. Sorry I didn’t call sooner. It has been a crazy couple of days.”
“Don’t worry about that, just take care of yourself, and come home to me when you’re through.”
“How’s Toy?” she asked, needing to change the subject. Talking about her cat was safe.
“Ah, she’s a lazy thing. We were taking a nap when you called, but she never budged when the phone rang. You know how she is. Fat and lazy as ever.”
Roxy nodded as if she were there in her father’s living room talking with him. “I love you, Dad.”
“Okay, now you’ve got me worried. What’s going on, Roxy? You really okay?”
“Yes, but, umm, I was wondering.”
“Oh, oh, here it comes.” She could hear the smile crinkling his face. Despite all he’d suffered, Hayden Thurston never stopped looking on the bright side of life.
“What would you think if I adopted a couple kids? A twelve-year-old girl and her ten-year-old brother?” She couldn’t give him more specifics. Not yet. What she’d just asked was already a wild breach of MPD protocol, but she needed to hear what he thought.
He came through for her as always. “Sure. The more the merrier. Sounds like you’ve got two specific kids in mind. I know you can’t tell me much, but what are their names?”
That much she could share. “Kitty and Darrin. They’re good kids, Dad, but they’re going into foster care at the end of this mission, and I can’t bear what that means for them. They’ve already had a tough life, and they deserve better. Would it be too much trouble to bring them into your home? Be honest, because I’m really serious.”
“I already told you my answer, Roxy, and I’m always honest, so stop asking. When do I get to meet them?”
“Not until this joint operation’s finished, but would you mind getting a few things ready?” Her ears perked up at the sound of a high-powered car engine making the rounds in Isaiah’s quiet neighborhood. “They’ll both need their own beds event
ually, but for now Kitty could sleep in my room with me, and—”
“And Darrin will room with me ’til we figure things out. Heck, baby girl, maybe it’s time we pull up stakes and move to nicer, bigger digs. We’ve been talking about it for years now. This might be the incentive we need to get it done.”
Get it done. His favorite saying. Roxy relaxed at the genuine love radiating through the connection with her father. Just like Mama, Hayden Thurston had always understood what was important in life. “Thanks, Dad. You’re right. That might be just what we need to do. I’m so glad I called you.” She tried to keep the wistfulness out of her tone, but it crept into her final words anyway.
“There’s something else going on, and maybe it’s this business you’re in the middle of, but I can hear it in your voice. Something’s bothering you. You know you can always talk to me. If there’s anything I can do to help…” He let the invitation hang between them, but now wasn’t the time to tell him about Isaiah. It was enough that her father knew her well enough to pick up on that vibe. That was the real reason she’d called, just to hear his calm voice of wisdom and reason and—his love.
“I’m fine,” she assured him, “but you’re right. There is something else I need to ask. The kids own a big dog. Nugget’s some kind of a golden retriever/horse breed, and he’ll be coming with them.” She cringed at the thought of that four-legged monster in her father’s already cramped house. Toy wouldn’t be amused, but Nugget needed his boy and Roxy wouldn’t leave him behind. Ah-uh. Where Darrin went, Nugget had to follow.
Her dad chuckled. “Like I said, little girl. It’s time we find us a bigger place. I’ll check out the listings in the paper and I’ll start asking around. Sure be good if we could stay in the same neighborhood, though. Think about that and we’ll dig in when you’re ready.”
She huffed a big sigh of relief. “Thanks, Dad. I’ll let you know more when I know more. Are you doing okay? Taking your vitamins every day?”
One-Eyed Jack (The Deuces Wild Series Book 3) Page 25
