"And why won't you tell me what's up between you and that guy? I thought you were friends."
Couldn't before—his head had been too fuzzy to come up with something. But he had a story now.
"Not friends, acquaintances. I didn't know it but he scammed a friend of mine in the city—duped him out of a small fortune—and now he's come out here to set me up." He did an embarrassed shrug. "I don't know what happened. I saw him and thought of how he just about ruined my buddy, and I guess I lost it."
"Well, he just about ruined you. Look at your nose," she said for the tenth time, clucking over him like a mother hen. "It's like twice its normal size. That's so got to hurt."
"Tike crazy."
Not true. Kind of numb, really, but why tell Dawn that? Maybe this was the key to keeping her under control: Get hurt, be needy, bring out her mothering instincts, let her think she'd taken charge. He was pretty sure he could find ways to keep it up until the baby was too old to be aborted, then he'd take over again.
"Poor thing. Do you think it's broken?"
"Absolutely."
"We've totally got to get you to a doctor."
Like hell. Last thing he needed now was a doctor.
"I'll be all right. But maybe just a little more ice for the nose… to help the swellin."
"You got it," she said and hurried off to the kitchen.
Good. He needed to be alone for a couple of minutes. Needed to think and that wasn't easy with her yakking and hovering over him like a hummingbird on speed.
The guy… Jeremy figured he'd call him Robertson for now, because he'd seemed concerned that Jeremy knew that name… maybe he wasn't an Enemy. He'd sounded baffled when Jeremy had mentioned the Bloodline… and had sounded sincere when he'd said he'd never heard of him until last week. If he was an Enemy, wouldn't he have killed Jeremy while he had the chance?
Maybe he was just what Vecca and Levy had said he was: a detective.
It 5 what I do.
Yeah… a detective. And one who knew his business. He'd somehow connected Jeremy and Hank—his carrying that copy of Kick around sort of proved that—but how?
Creighton. Had to be. All those meetings Hank and him had had, with Hank pretending to be researching a book. Had Vecca or Levy ratted? He didn't see why they would, but he didn't trust those two, especially not Levy.
Well, however he'd found out, he was tough—Jeremy's swollen nose proved that—and smart. And it was plain he was going to keep on digging and poking and meddling until he screwed everything to hell.
Only way he'd stop was if he met with a fatal accident. Or got fired—and Jeremy couldn't see Moonglow doing that. As long as she was paying him, he'd keep—
Hey, what if he stopped getting paid for another reason besides being fired? What if the lady doing the paying suddenly stopped signing his checks… because she was dead?
Jeremy thought about that for a few seconds, then rejected it. Wouldn't work. Too risky. Some neighbor might have seen them arguing. She got killed, someone might mention that. Dawn might be on the outs with dear old
Morn at the moment, but her bad feelings would go poof when she heard she was dead. And if she got even the tiniest idea in her head that Jeremy might have had anything to do with it—after seeing him with the tire iron, she might not think that was so far-fetched—she'd be on the first train to Abortion City.
But what if it looked like an accident?
No. Better yet—what if it looked like suicide?
Jeremy raised himself to sitting. He liked that. Moonglow had been acting crazy lately, and no one knew that better than Dawn. If Mom offed herself, Dawn would think it was partly her fault. She'd go on a major guilt trip, and with no family, there'd be only one person she could turn to.
Oh, yeah, he liked this a lot.
"What are you smiling at?"
He jumped at the sound of Dawn's voice. He looked up and saw her approaching with a fresh ice baggy. Had he been smiling? Yeah, probably. Why not?
"Just thinkin about what good care you're takin of me."
Inspiration struck then—he grabbed his neck and groaned.
"What's the matter?" SKe was at his side in a second. "You all right?"
"My neck—that guy must have crunched it harder than I thought."
"I'll get you some Advil."
"This ain't Advil pain, darlin. I'm gonna need something stronger—a lot stronger."
"But we don't—"
"Yeah, I know. But I know where we can get it."
"Where?"
He winked at her. "Dirty Danny."
"Oh, no. Not him. He looks like a total scuzz."
"He is. But he has the real thing." Grimacing, he struggled to his feet. "I'll score a few Vicodins to get me through the night."
"Are you crazy? You can't go down there now. You sit here and I'll go."
"No way, darlin. I'd rather suffer all night than let you anywhere near the likes of Dirty Danny. Gotta be me."
Dawn shrugged with annoyance. "All right, so it's gotta be you. But no way you're driving. I'll take you down there—right up to the door."
Jeremy hid a smile. Exactly what he'd figured she'd do. Exactly what he'd intended her to do.
13
"Jerry boy!" Dirty Danny said, catching Jeremy's limp as he approached, then fixating on his nose. "What the fuck happened to you, man?"
True to her word, Dawn had dropped him off at the front door and was double-parked outside now, waiting for him. He'd had a bad moment when he'd stepped inside and hadn't seen Dirty Danny at the bar, but then he'd spotted him moving away from one of the booths, stuffing something in his pocket along the way—a completed sale.
"Guess," Jeremy said, looking him in the eye.
Danny grinned and shrugged. "I dunno. Get hit by a truck or something?"
Apparently no word had got back to Work about what had happened. Good. He didn't want to be embarrassed to show his face here.
"Close enough. I'm hurtin a bit. Got any Vikes?"
Danny grinned as his hand slid toward his pocket. "Does the pope shit in the woods? You want brand name or generic?"
"What's the diff?"
"Brand goes for three times more. Same stuff in the pill, but some people just gotta see that VICODIN stamped on it."
"Not me. Dozen generics'll do." He kept his voice level, casual. "Could use a few roofies too."
Danny's eyebrows rose. "You want to forget about the accident?"
"Maybe. How much I need for a good night's sleep?"
He'd pulled out half a dozen little snack-size baggies and was sorting through them.
"A one-milligram tab oughta do it."
"And what if I want some heavy forgetting?"
Danny grinned again and nudged him with an elbow. "Looking to get into someone's panties?"
Jeremy gave him an offended look that was only part put-on. He didn't need a date-rape drug.
"You think 1 can't get there on my own?"
"No-no. 1 think that young thing you've got hanging on you—"
"Name's Dawn."
"Right. Dawn. I think she proves you've got mucho mojo."
"The forgettin dose?" Getting info out of this asshole was like pulling teeth. "The fer-sure dose is five migs with booze, a few more without. Goes to work in fifteen-twenty minutes."
"Gimme a dozen."
"You got it."
14
Back in the car, after giving Dawn an edited version of the buy—no mention of the roofies—Jeremy pulled out his phone.
She glanced at him. "What are you doing?"
"I've decided you're right. I'm gonna call the cops on this guy."
She smiled. "Finally you're listening to reason."
He made a show of dialing, then shook it and tried again.
"Shoot. Must've done something to it when I hit the ground. Mind if I borrow yours?"
"Go ahead."
When he dug it out of her handbag, he punched in Moonglow's number. He figured if s
he saw Dawn's name come up on caller ID she'd pick up sure. But she didn't. She could be in the shower or something, but this was a sign that she might not be home.
He cut the connection.
"What's the matter?" Dawn said with a laugh. "Cops not home?"
"Bad connection." He turned to her, all sincere and vulnerable. "I don't know if this is such a good idea."
"Try again. Just hit redial."
"Okay."
And he did. Still no answer at Moonglow's. He cut the connection again.
"Nope. Can't do it. Just realized that my friend doesn't want to press charges 'cause he feels like such a jerk. So what's the point?"
Dawn sighed. "Yeah. Maybe you're right."
She sounded disappointed. So what? Jeremy had something more important on his mind: Moonglow wasn't home.
Interesting. Tonight could be the night. The sooner the better.
15
"Say, darlin," Jerry said from where he was stretched out on the couch. "What've we got to drink?"
Oh, no, Dawn thought, giving him a disapproving look. No way.
"You are so not going to mix beer and Vicodin—not while I'm around."
He smiled. "Yes, dear."
She couldn't believe what a totally different person he'd become since he got the crap kicked out of him. Almost like he'd had the mean beat out of him too. She'd been a little scared of him before—a lot scared after he'd threatened her—but when she'd seen him go down some fierce protective instinct had surged to life. If that guy had stayed around he'd have found Dawn clinging to his back, clawing at his eyes.
Yeah, Jerry had threatened to kill her, but that was just talk. Hyperbole. He'd never hurt her. He'd said he'd die for her and she believed him. He'd just been shocked she'd been thinking of aborting his baby. That was all—the shock talking, not Jerry.
"Darlin, how about a glass of that diet junk you drink?"
Her Pepsi? Was he kidding?
"But you hate that."
"Hey, I'm desperate and I'm not in the mood for water. Let me try some of that. If I can't finish it, you can."
"Okay."
She went to the kitchen and poured him a glass from the big three-liter bottle in the fridge. Poured herself a short one and gulped it down.
God, she totally loved this stuff. She checked the level: Getting low.
Okay, face it, girl: You're addicted. You've got a major Pepsi jones. Another thing she could blame on Mom. Better remember to pick up more tomorrow. Running out would be like tragic.
When she brought the glass back to Jerry she found him closing up her cell phone.
"Calling the cops again?"
He smiled. "Forgot to check my voice mail earlier."
She handed him the glass and watched as he took a sip. He grimaced.
"Maybe it'd be better if it had some ice in it. Could you get me a couple of cubes?"
She sighed and reached for the glass. "Sure."
He held it back. "Just the cubes. I'll keep this here, okay?"
"Yeah. Okay."
Kinda weird, but…
She got him the cubes. When she returned she lound him swirling the glass. Didn't he know that would make it go flat? She dropped the cubes in and he swirled them around before taking a baby sip.
He shook his head. "Nope. Can't do it. Tastes like medicine." He held out the glass to her. "You finish it."
Some people…
She took it back and chugged half of it.
"Best stuff in the world."
He smiled. "I knew you wouldn't let it go to waste."
"Better believe it."
She felt his eyes on her as she finished it off.
Then he yawned. "I'm beat." He laughed. "In more ways than one. I think I'll turn in. Want to come snuggle with me?"
"Are you sure you're up to—?"
Another laugh. "Not tonight, darlin. When I said 'snuggle,' I meant snuggle."'
She wasn't tired, but there wouldn't be much else to do with Jerry conked out. Why not?
"Okay. Let's snuggle."
16
Jack was halfway across the Queensboro Bridge when his phone rang. He checked the ID and hit TALK when he recognized the number: Christy. What a relief.
"Where've you been, lady? I've been calling all day."
"I know. I just got your message. Sorry. I've been out on the beach at Montauk."
What had she been doing way out on the eastern tip of Long Island?
"Not exactly swimming weather."
"No, but this time of year it's a good place to be alone and do some thinking. And as you well know, I've got a lot to think about."
Jack chewed a lip and thought, Not nearly as much as you'll have after you hear the latest.
"So you turned off your phone?"
"Of course not. What if Dawn needed to reach me? No, the battery ran out. I forgot to charge it. I'm so scattered lately. I guess I didn't hear the warning beeps over the surf. I sat on the beach and stared at the ocean, walked up and down the waterline, found a fish place and had fried clams for lunch. When I checked it and found it dead it took me a while to get back to the car. Got it plugged into the charger now."
"Come to any decisions?"
"Well, the big question was, What do I do next? What should I do next? Should I do anything? Dawn's eighteen, which means she's an adult in the eyes of the law. She can make her own decisions and I have no legal right to interfere. So should I just back off and wait till this whole tawdry affair falls to pieces—as it must—and she comes back home?"
Fall to pieces? Jack knew Bolton wasn't about to let that happen—at least not until his baby was born.
"T can't see you going for that."
"Damn right. 1 couldn't. Dawn may be eighteen, but she's only eighteen. She may be legal, but she's still just a kid inside." Her voice rose. "I can't stand it! And I can't stand by and watch her ruin her life! I've got to keep trying, I've got to find some way to make this right!"
Jack clenched his teeth. He was just a quarter mile from Gia's place—warm smiles and hugs from his two ladies. If he was smart he'd wait till tomorrow to break the news. But he heard the pain in her voice, the naked need to save her daughter.
What he had to tell her might very well break up Dawn and Bolton for good, but it would be a live grenade dropped into the heart of her life.
Christy, the man who raped you every day for weeks and weeks is the same man who has made your daughter—yours and his—pregnant.
How was he going to look her in the eyes and force those words past his lips?
But she had to know. She had a right to know. Because she'd asked him to learn whatever he could about the man bedding her daughter, and this was what he'd discovered.
Jack decided then that he wanted—needed—to get this over with, to remove this burden of truth and send it home. Tonight.
"Maybe I've found that way."
Eagerness crowded her words. "You have? What? What?"
"It's not for the phone."
"Come on, Jack. Please?"
"Trust me." He thought of the copies of Levy's printouts in his pocket. "This needs show as well as tell."
"Okay, then. I'm about an hour from home. Where can we meet?"
"Your place is as good as any."
"But I thought you didn't want to be seen with me."
"He's on to me, so it doesn't matter anymore."
"I can be there in an hour—maybe less if I hurry."
Jack had reached the end of the bridge and began looking for a way to get back on the Queens-bound lanes.
"All right. I'm on my way."
"Hurry. I can't wait."
Yes, you can, he thought. You'll wish you'd waited forever.
17
It didn't take long for Dawn to fall asleep. Jeremy listened to her slow, even breathing for about ten minutes, then got up and limped out to the living room to find her phone.
Time to call Moonglow again.
If she was home, he'd
just wasted a roofie on Dawn. Even if not, this still might turn out to be a waste.
He hit REDIAL for maybe the sixth time tonight—every time Dawn had left the room. And this time turned out the same as the others: no answer.
Excellent.
He went back into the bedroom and gave her a nudge. She didn't stir. Not even a little.
Double excellent.
Earlier he'd gone into the bathroom and dissolved one of the olive-green roofies in some hot water in a medicine cup. When he'd sent Dawn back for the ice cubes, he'd poured it into the Diet Pepsi. Odorless, tasteless, she hadn't a clue…
She'd be out till morning.
His only worry was whether or not the roofie would hurt the baby. He couldn't see how one milligram could matter.
Now… to Moonglow's place.
He slipped out, taking a pair of winter gloves plus Dawn's phone and keys. He took her SUV—no way he'd be able to bend his swollen knee far enough to get into the Miata. Damn good thing it was his left knee too—he'd never be able to drive if it was the right. He dashed to the Home Depot where he bought a cheap utility knife, all razorbladed up and ready to use.
When he reached Moonglow's he called again. Still no answer.
He parked down the street and limped back in the dark. He made a circuit of the outside of the house and found no sign of anyone home. So he pulled on his gloves and let himself in with Dawn's house key. Easing the door closed behind him, he stood listening.
All quiet.
He went straight to the kitchen and opened the fridge where he found the ever-present bottle of Diet Pepsi. Like mother, like daughter. This one was two-thirds full. Moving quickly—she might pull into the driveway any minute—he emptied it until only eight ounces or so remained. A single glass.
Even though the kitchen faced the backyard, he didn't want to risk putting on the lights. So, using the open fridge to show the way, he took a disposable plastic cup and crushed eight roofies in it with a spoon. He dissolved the powder in an ounce of warm water, then poured the solution into the Pepsi.
As he was swirling the bottle he heard a hum. He stopped and listened, then realized it was the garage door opener.
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