Into the Dark (The Cincinnati Series Book 5) (Cincinnati 5)

by Karen Rose

‘She probably gave him time to chill a little after the crying jag,’ Diesel said, although he feared that there was more to it than that.

  ‘I hope you’re right,’ Deacon murmured.

  Ohio River, Cincinnati, Ohio

  Saturday, 16 March, 4.15 P.M.

  Cade got out of his car, giving his padded gut a surreptitious pat. He was armed to the teeth. Just in case. He pushed his sunglasses up his nose, then tugged on his knitted cap, making sure it was snug. His bald head would stick out like a sore thumb here. It was cold enough for a cap, so he wasn’t obvious.

  He needed to remain that way. He’d parked at the end of a very long row of police and crime-scene investigation vehicles, all pulled into an orderly line at the edge of the gravel road that was little more than a trail. Seemed all these investigators had hiked from here to where he’d parked his SUV when he’d dumped his newest bodies, twelve hours before.

  Shit. There were three cops standing guard along the crime-scene tape and five CSU techs wearing coveralls, their shoes protected with booties.

  They’re looking for evidence. Of me. Shit. He fought the urge to swipe his hand over his bald head. That would be obvious. He knew he’d left no body hair behind, because he had none, but who knew what else they might find?

  Like tire treads. Shit. Some guy was squatting next to where he’d parked while dumping Brian Carlyle and Paul Engel early that morning. The guy, who wore an FBI jacket over his coveralls, was making a plaster mold.

  Cade glanced at the tires of his SUV. Shit, shit, shit.

  Terror caught hold of his lungs and for a moment he couldn’t breathe. Get out. Get out of here. Now.

  But that would also look suspicious. Drawing deep breaths, he calmed himself. What was I thinking, coming here?

  He hadn’t been thinking at all. He’d panicked. He’d searched online for the fisherman’s name and found it nowhere. Nowhere. That meant it was being withheld by the cops. Which meant the man had seen something.

  Which means he saw me.

  Shit.

  No. Do not panic. That’s what got you here. Don’t run, it’ll get you noticed. Just breathe. And wait. And listen.

  He got his best information by simply listening.

  And sure enough, a young man approached with stumbling steps, stopping at the crime-scene van. He reached inside the front passenger door and pulled out a pack of cigarettes. His hands shaking, he took out a cigarette and tried to light it, but his finger kept missing the lighter’s wheel. He was clearly distressed.

  Cade took another deep breath, gathered his composure, and approached. ‘Can I help you with that?’

  The man glanced up, his eyes a little wild, his face alarmingly pale. ‘Thanks.’

  Cade took the lighter and lit the end of the cigarette, watching as the man sucked in a shaky breath and blew out a cloud of smoke.

  ‘Shit,’ he muttered, then took another drag, holding it in this time. When he blew it out, he seemed calmer. ‘I quit smoking a year ago,’ he said, disgusted.

  ‘Tough day?’ Cade asked quietly, already knowing the answer. If this guy had been at the crime scene, he’d observed what the divers had brought up.

  I’d be smoking something a helluva lot stronger than that. Fresh, the body parts weren’t repellent at all. But after sitting in the water . . . some of them for weeks?

  Yeah. The guy had a right to be shaken up.

  The man laughed bitterly. ‘You could say that.’ His eyes narrowed. ‘Who are you, anyway?’

  ‘Dennis Kagan,’ Cade answered. Kagan was one of his aliases, and happened to be the name on the driver’s license in his wallet at the moment. ‘I’m with the Ledger.’ Which was a total lie, of course, but this guy wouldn’t know it. ‘And you are?’

  ‘Not happy,’ the man said curtly. ‘Go away. I don’t talk to reporters.’

  Cade clenched his jaw, then forced himself to relax. ‘We pay for information.’

  It was the guy’s turn to clench his jaw. But he hesitated. ‘Not interested.’

  Cade was about to press him further when an annoyed voice called from behind the crime-scene tape.

  ‘Akers! Break time’s over!’ The guy who’d been taking a plaster cast of the tire treads ducked under the tape and stalked halfway to where they stood, his expression intense. ‘We’ve only got two hours of daylight left. Let’s move.’ He started to turn, then reversed to stare at Cade. ‘Who the hell are you?’

  ‘Oh fuck,’ Akers muttered.

  Cade’s gut rolled over. Fuck. ‘Reporter,’ he managed.

  Intense Guy grew angry. ‘Really, Akers? You’re talking to a reporter after I expressly forbade it?’

  Akers’s jaw tightened. ‘I didn’t!’ he fired back. Then muttered under his breath, ‘Asshole.’ He flicked the ash from his cigarette, ground it out on the van’s tire, then put the butt in his pocket.

  Intense Guy glared. ‘I heard that.’

  Akers smiled too sweetly. ‘Sorry, Agent Taylor. I meant, I didn’t, sir.’

  ‘I’m sure you did,’ Agent Taylor said levelly. ‘You. Reporter. You need to leave now.’ He waved at a cop. ‘Officer, please show this man out. Akers, come with me.’

  Akers pushed away from the van and followed Agent Taylor back to the crime scene. Cade put both palms up in a gesture of surrender. ‘I’m going,’ he said.

  Making a mental note of their names, he got back into his SUV before the cop reached him, grateful that he’d at least thought to change his license plates before he’d driven over here. He’d change them back once he got back to the city.

  He glanced in the rear-view mirror as he did a quick three-point turn in the gravel, skidding off the road a little before regaining control. The cop wasn’t following him. He blew out a relieved breath. Good.

  ‘That was stupid,’ he said aloud. And it was. Rushing over here had been idiotic. But he’d come away with a few pieces of information.

  First, he hadn’t had to shoot his way out of there, so they didn’t suspect him. Or at least the CSU team didn’t suspect him.

  Second, Akers was bribable. He hadn’t appreciated being dressed down by Agent Taylor. Cade would find him and get the name of the damn fisherman.

  So although coming here had been stupid as hell, it might have been worth it.

  Five

  Cincinnati, Ohio

  Saturday, 16 March, 4.20 P.M.

  Dani willed her hands to be steady as she checked Michael’s stitches to make sure they were intact after he’d raked his fingers through his hair. On the outside, she was confident and calm, just as a good doctor needed to be. Inside, she was still trembling.

  Michael’s sobs had rattled her, but it was the blood on the exam table that had left her shaken. She’d seen it as soon as she’d taken the boy into her arms as he’d cried his poor heart out. She’d felt helpless and angry at his mother and whoever else had hurt him. And then she’d seen the blood spreading on the white paper and she’d wanted to kill his stepfather.

  She’d wanted to strangle the bastard with her bare hands.

  She swallowed hard, focusing on his stitches, on her own breathing. In and out. Stay calm. Stay steady. But it was difficult. He’d hurt Michael. He’d put that hunted look in the boy’s eyes. And if Michael had killed the man while defending himself, she’d fight for him like a mother bear protecting her cub.

  And now she had to ask him about it. In front of a nurse, an interpreter, and a cop. Both her nurse and the interpreter were bound to confidentiality, but Kendra would have to report it. Michael had been through enough hell already, and now she’d have to ask him about it in front of witnesses.

  The presence of the interpreter was a necessary burden that was one of the many difficulties that came with deafness. There was no privacy when dealing with the hearing, non-signing world. There was almost always an inter
preter involved. Very few doctors signed. Even fewer therapists. So even when Michael was physically recovered, he’d probably still have to deal with an interpreter when he got therapy.

  And this boy will get therapy. I’ll make sure of it.

  Of course, the presence of a cop was all on the heads of his mother and stepfather – the two people who should have taken care of him. Who had instead thrown a bowl at his head and assaulted him, causing rectal bleeding.

  She glanced over at the interpreter. Maria was a nice person, evidenced through many previous encounters. She had interpreted for Greg more than once over the years, and Dani was happy that she was the one assigned to Michael today.

  Maria was watching Michael carefully, waiting for the smallest twitch of the boy’s hands that signaled communication.

  ‘Your stitches are still intact,’ Dani said. ‘Keep your hands out of your hair, okay? I’ll bandage you up and then I’ll check your shoulder.’

  Maria interpreted exactly what Dani had said, then voiced, ‘Then I’ll go with the cops?’ when Michael replied.

  ‘We’ll go with the cops,’ Dani corrected. She covered the wound with a bandage, placing the tape carefully. ‘I had to shave a little of your hair, but when you comb it, nobody will know.’

  ‘So not bald like Coach Diesel?’ Michael signed with a nervous roll of his eyes.

  Dani forced herself to smile, even though she wanted to cry. Michael was trying so hard not to fall apart. ‘Certainly not.’ She handed the suture tray to Jenny, removing the gloves she’d worn and putting on the new ones Jenny handed her. ‘I can take it from here,’ she told her nurse. ‘Dr Kristoff should be here soon to take the rest of my shift. Can you make sure he’s up to speed?’

  ‘Of course. We’ve got a patient scheduled for a well-baby in five minutes. I’ll get them settled.’ Jenny moved to the back corner to throw the gloves and bloody gauze in the biohazard bag, but then she stopped, her gaze fixed on the bloody paper covering the exam table. She looked at Dani, her eyes sad. ‘I’ll take care of everything else,’ she added, touching her pants, indicating that she’d find a clean set of scrubs for Michael.

  ‘Thanks.’ Jenny was an amazing nurse. She knew exactly what people needed before they asked. But her departure from the room meant one less person to bear witness to Michael’s pain. Dani wished she could get rid of the interpreter and Kendra, too, but that wasn’t possible. She returned her attention to Michael. ‘Let me take a look at your shoulder now. Can you take off your shirt?’

  He nodded, grimacing as he did so. Dani’s heart clenched. He was so thin. She’d felt his sharp edges when she’d held him, but she hadn’t realized how bad it was until she saw his ribs so very clearly.

  And there were bruises on his chest. Faded, but still visible. She sighed. ‘I’m going to need to document the bruises, Michael.’

  He narrowed his eyes. ‘I fell down.’

  Right. If she had a nickel for every abuse victim who said those words . . . Especially because two of the darkest bruises had the distinct shape of the toe of a boot. She’d seen that before, too.

  She met his eyes for a long moment. Finally he looked away. ‘Whatever.’

  She snapped a few photos. ‘What happened here?’ She pointed at healing cuts on his upper arm.

  ‘Was running. Fell down.’

  ‘Running without a shirt? In this weather?’ she asked, and he shrugged again. She sighed and probed his shoulder, listening for his sharp intake of breath. ‘Probably just a strained muscle. We can ice it when I take you and Joshua home with me. You’re a little underweight.’ A lot underweight. ‘Have you been feeling okay otherwise?’

  A one-shouldered shrug. ‘I’m fine. I just haven’t felt like eating.’

  Oh, honey. ‘Okay. You can put your shirt back on.’ It wasn’t bloody, at least.

  He quickly pulled his shirt over his head. ‘Are we done?’

  ‘No.’ She drew a breath and looked him in the eye. ‘I need to get you some pants to wear,’ she signed without voicing.

  Behind her, Maria voiced the words quietly for Kendra’s benefit.

  All the remaining color drained from Michael’s face. ‘No. Please.’

  Dani’s heart shattered a little more. She knew he wasn’t refusing to change his clothes. He was begging her words not to be true. ‘You’ve bled through these.’

  Michael’s gaze flew to Kendra before returning to meet Dani’s. His eyes were wild and afraid. ‘No more doctors. Please.’

  ‘I can’t promise that, Michael. Not without knowing a little bit more. How long have you been bleeding?’

  He dropped his gaze. ‘Two weeks.’ When he looked up, it was only enough to see Dani’s hands.

  ‘Steady, or off and on?’

  ‘Off and on.’

  ‘Is it worse after you have a bowel movement or is it random?’

  Even with his head bowed, Dani could see his pale face flush with humiliation. ‘When I use the bathroom.’

  ‘Okay, then.’ Dani exhaled quietly. ‘Who did this to you, Michael?’

  Michael’s chin jerked up, his gaze flying once again to Kendra. He shook his head hard. No communication was necessary. He wasn’t telling.

  ‘All right,’ Dani said, voicing as she signed. ‘I’m going to need to clean the area and pack it with gauze.’

  Michael turned his face away, new tears sliding down his cheeks.

  Goddammit. She hated causing the boy more pain and humiliation. She relented. If he bled primarily after a bowel movement – or a six-mile run followed by the extreme stress of being accused of murder, not to mention the body-racking sobs – this was probably a minor fissure that would repair itself.

  She tapped his arm gently, waiting until he looked at her miserably. ‘I understand. I’ll find you something to wear and leave you some gauze. We’ll give you privacy to clean yourself up. When we get to my house, I’ll give you some fiber supplements. It’ll help you not to strain, which will help you heal. But if you don’t heal, we’ll need to see a specialist.’

  He nodded, looking away again. ‘Okay,’ he signed, his fingers barely moving. ‘Thank you.’

  Dani patted his knee. ‘Let me get you the scrubs.’

  ‘You’re going to report this?’ he asked, glancing at her.

  She sighed. ‘I have to. I’m sorry.’

  He nodded once. ‘I know.’

  Dani turned to Kendra. ‘Is this sufficient?’

  Kendra’s nod was grim. ‘Oh, yeah.’ She reached for the doorknob. ‘If he lets you document the rectal tearing, we can add it to the report.’ She looked like she wanted to say more, but pursed her lips and left the room.

  The interpreter hesitated, then walked into Michael’s line of sight. She quickly relayed Kendra’s closing comments, then gave Michael her card. ‘Text me or video-call me if you need help. I’ll come.’

  Michael took the card and closed his eyes. He looked so damn tired.

  Dani motioned for the interpreter to leave first, then she followed, closing the door behind her. There was a heavy silence in the reception area. Deacon, Adam and Diesel waited, seeming to realize that the women needed a moment to center themselves.

  Kendra sat on the edge of the intake desk, arms crossed tightly over her chest. The interpreter sank into the chair, her skin appearing gray under the harsh lights.

  Stripping the gloves from her hands, Dani rested her weight against the exam room door, closing her eyes, feeling as weary as Michael had looked. Normally she went to her office to cry in private after a stressful exam such as this one, but today she had an audience. ‘Where is Maddie?’ she asked, realizing the social worker was not with them. ‘And Joshua?’

  ‘In your office,’ Diesel said quietly, his voice suddenly much closer than it should have been.

  Dani’s eyes flew open to find him stan
ding in front of her, his expression concerned. And his eyes . . . They were red. He’d been crying. He must have heard Michael’s sobs and been moved to tears.

  Dani lost another piece of her heart to the gentle giant. Dammit. She didn’t want to want him. But she did. At that moment, she wanted nothing more than to lay her head on that solid chest and feel those muscled arms wrap around her.

  That wasn’t going to happen, but for the life of her she couldn’t remember why. She stared up at him helplessly. ‘He needs some pants,’ she whispered.

  Diesel’s throat worked, his gulp audible. His red-rimmed eyes filled with the pain of understanding. ‘I have an extra pair of sweats in my truck, but they’ll swallow him whole,’ he whispered back. ‘He’ll know that I know.’

  God, he did understand. Dani found herself leaning into him, resting her forehead on his chest. Their bodies touched nowhere else. Until he brought a trembling hand to her hair and stroked it. It felt so good. Too good. So good that she should make him stop. But she didn’t.

  She couldn’t.

  ‘He’ll be okay,’ Diesel murmured into her ear. ‘We’ll make sure of it.’

  Tell him there is no ‘we’. Tell him. But she didn’t. Instead she nodded unsteadily before straightening her back. His hand fell to his side and she had to force herself not to grab it and put it back on her hair.

  She moistened her lips, nervous now, because his eyes were drinking her in. ‘Can you take Joshua somewhere for a little while? We need to go to the police station and I don’t think Michael will want him to know about this. Or for you to know, either,’ she added, one side of her mouth lifting. ‘I think he’s got a case of hero worship where you’re concerned.’

  Diesel nodded. ‘I’ll take Joshua to the Ledger. Marcus is out buying crayons. He might be buying candy, too.’

  She smiled. ‘I think a little candy sounds like a good plan. I’ll let you know when we’re done at the police station. I will be taking Michael home with me. He will not be kept at the police station.’ She threw a stern glance at her brother and cousin, who hadn’t said a word – not with their mouths, anyway. Both sets of eyes were full of questions as they looked from her to Diesel and back again.