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

by Karen Rose

  He pushed to his feet and began to pace the small kitchen, feeling caged and angry. Why am I even worrying about this? I killed scum that should be dead. I killed kiddie rapists and wife beaters. I killed traffickers and thieves.

  Why should he be worried that they’d catch him and send him to prison? But he knew it was because of the collateral damage, like George Garrett.

  In his heart, Cade knew that Garrett hadn’t seen him at the river. But Michael Rowland lived in Brewer’s house. ‘He could have seen me.’

  New panic rose to choke him, because unlike George Garrett, the teenager was still breathing. He ran his palms over his head, digging his fingers into his skull. The sharp pain short-circuited the panic and he could think again.

  He dropped into the chair and pulled his tablet close. It was time to be smart. Yesterday he’d run crazy, worried that the fisherman had seen him. He’d taken care of the threat, but had made some mistakes. Now he was going to go slowly. He’d determine whether the kid was a threat.

  If so, he’d eliminate him, just like he’d eliminated George Garrett, though he’d do it a lot more carefully. Then he’d leave. Change his face. Do something.

  He’d definitely quit doing the cops’ job for them. He’d leave the kiddie rapists and traffickers and wife killers and thieves to prey on anybody they pleased.

  Not my circus, not my monkeys. It was time he took care of himself. The question was, how exactly would he determine if Michael Rowland had been the one to give the cops his description?

  If Michael had seen him, perhaps he’d told someone. Someone other than the cops. A friend maybe. Or a teacher.

  Where did that news report say he went to school?

  Cade found the report and watched it again. Albert Sabin High School. He located it on the map, then realized it was Sunday. They’d be closed today.

  Besides, he couldn’t just waltz in and ask for Michael Rowland. First, he’d be recognized in five seconds because his face was on the fucking news. Second, he doubted Michael would be at school tomorrow.

  Nor would he find the teenager in Brewer’s house. Both children had been removed from the home into emergency foster care. He needed to locate the foster home into which they’d been placed.

  He considered the boys’ mother. Her expensive clothes couldn’t hide that she was an addict. He highly doubted she’d been told where her sons were. Hell, she thought her teenager had killed that prick Brewer.

  He stilled. Wait. Why? Why would she think that? Was there evidence that pointed to the kid?

  Would it be possible to frame the kid for the murders?

  Then he remembered George Garrett. ‘Shit.’ Garrett’s security cameras had caught him, and even though Cade’s face had been covered, Michael Rowland was barely five foot eight and so damn skinny. There was no way the kid could be mistaken for Garrett’s killer.

  George Garrett is gonna come back to bite me in the ass, he thought grimly.

  So he was back to finding where Michael Rowland was being kept. He rewound to the start of the news story and slowed the speed of the video, advancing it frame by frame as he studied the teenager. The cops walking him into the police department didn’t look like they believed he was guilty. They looked protective. But the cops weren’t going to tell him anything either.

  He wasn’t even going to chance asking.

  He paused the video, freezing a frame that showed the woman walking beside the boy. She looked more than protective. She was snarling at the reporters.

  For the first time since he’d seen his own face on the news, Cade smiled. ‘I’ll start with her.’ She’d guarded Michael like he was her own kid. She’d know where he was hiding.

  Cincinnati, Ohio

  Sunday, 17 March, 10.40 A.M.

  ‘That would be great, Miles,’ Dani said into the phone, breathing a sigh of relief. Dr Miles Kristoff had agreed to take her shifts at the clinic for the next four days. ‘I’ll owe you one.’

  ‘No, you don’t,’ Miles said kindly. ‘You worked Christmas and Thanksgiving for me for the past two years so that I could spend the time with my kids. You deserve the vacation. Where are you going to go?’

  ‘Nowhere. I’ve got two new foster kids and they need me.’

  ‘Oh.’ He was quiet for a moment. ‘The boy on the news?’

  Dani sighed. ‘Yeah. But let’s not spread that around, if you don’t mind. We haven’t had any reporters skulking about and I’d like to keep it that way.’

  Miles made a rude sound. ‘Vultures, you mean. I get it. They won’t get a word from me. Let me know if you need anything else.’

  Diesel looked up from his laptop when she ended the call. He’d been scowling at his screen for the past hour, while she’d cleaned the remnants of his chocolate chip pancakes from the kitchen and the boys played downstairs with Meredith. ‘Everything okay at the clinic?’ he asked.

  She nodded. ‘I’m off for a few days. That will at least give me time to get them settled and resolve their school situation.’ She bit at her lip, glancing toward the front window. They’d kept the drapes shut in case a reporter came by, but she actually had a larger concern. ‘I’m worried about their mother,’ she confessed.

  Diesel closed his laptop and gave her his undivided attention, which didn’t really help matters. When he looked at her like that, she felt powerful and important. And she realized once again how much she was going to hurt him.

  He’d been worshipping her for eighteen months. There was no way any woman could live up to that. Much less me. No matter how much I want his fantasy to be true.

  She busied her hands making tea so that he wouldn’t see them tremble. ‘The courts favor the biological parent,’ she went on. ‘If Stella Brewer makes a fuss, a judge might give her another chance.’

  ‘So what will you do?’ he asked simply, as if there was no question in his mind that she had a plan.

  She liked that about him. A lot. He hadn’t once questioned her competency, when so many men had.

  Even Adrian had, and even though she knew he’d been striking out at the time, emotionally devastated and in pain, his words had hurt. Are you happy now? I hope you’re a better doctor than you were a lover.

  She pushed the words away, focusing on the ones that mattered. The kids need me. Michael needs me.

  ‘I want to get Michael X-rayed, to document previous abuse. He said his mother took him to different clinics, always giving false names. If I can pull one or two of those records into the open and match them with a scar or a healed break, we can show gross negligence on her part, and endangerment of a child. She might not have caused that particular injury, but she left him in an environment where she knew he was being abused. That way, if she tries to say she threw a bowl at his head because of the stress of her missing husband, we can show this has been a pattern all along.’

  ‘What can I do to help you?’

  Which was exactly what she’d expected him to ask, even as she’d dreaded it. He offered his support so sweetly. No strings. He should want strings. He should demand them.

  ‘For now, nothing. I may need you to do some creative searching later, though, if I can’t find what I’m looking for on my own.’

  ‘You only need to ask.’

  She swallowed hard, because that statement was rife with nuance and double meaning. ‘I know.’ The kettle boiled and she poured water into the teapot and carried it to the table. ‘I’ll start by asking Michael what he remembers about the clinics he was taken to. I hate to upset him, but he’s going to find out sooner or later that his mother is making noises about getting Joshua back. I’d rather he hear it from us.’

  Us. The word had flowed from her mouth before she’d realized it was coming. She hadn’t intended to say it, even though it was truly one of the nicest words. And right now, one of the scariest.

  He hadn’t missed her
slip, and his dark eyes flashed with something hopeful.

  Which made her feel even worse. So she powered through. ‘But for now, I’d like to look at that list of businesses, so we can figure out who LJM was. Have you heard from Jeremy O’Bannion?’

  ‘I got a text.’ Diesel’s tone had gone wary, as if he sensed her panic. ‘He didn’t have any records of her in his home office, so he’s going into his office at the university to check, but he’s got some fund-raiser or other to attend first. He’ll get to us as soon as he can.’

  ‘All right then. Can I look at the list?’

  Diesel rummaged in his laptop case and brought out a stack of papers, neatly stapled in the corner. ‘I used your printer last night to make a hard copy. Hope you don’t mind.’

  ‘No, of course not.’ She scanned the list of businesses compiled into a tabular format from the state government’s database. Eighty business entities took up four pages and were more words than her brain could process at the moment.

  Falling back on what worked for her, she drew a spiral notebook and a pen from one of the kitchen drawers.

  ‘What are you doing?’ Diesel asked in confusion.

  ‘I’m going to write them all out.’

  ‘Longhand? With paper? And a pen?’

  She had to laugh at his horrified tone. ‘Yes. The act of writing helps one’s brain dissect and retain information. I started doing this in med school. It was the only way I got through HGA with an A.’

  He continued to watch as she started copying out each business name, still apparently disbelieving that she’d actually write with a pen. ‘What’s HGA?’

  ‘Human Gross Anatomy. Oh.’ Something clicked in her brain and she ran her finger down the printed table until she found the entry she was looking for. ‘Aminus HGA.’ She pronounced it AH-minnus, just as she’d heard it in her mind every time she’d read through the list. ‘But it’s not Ah-minnus. It’s A-minus. Like the grade. If all these business names refer to one person – LJM – then she got an A minus in Human Gross Anatomy during her first year of med school at UC.’

  He blinked. ‘You’re right. Does Jeremy teach HGA?’

  ‘No, but he’ll know the prof who does. He doesn’t have to check all med students in the files. He can narrow it down to who got an A minus in Human Gross Anatomy in the years that LJM went to UC. Based on . . .’ She ran her finger down the list of companies. ‘Here. Scioto Associates. I took that to mean that she lived at Scioto Hall when it reopened, while she was an undergrad. That had to have been 2016 or later, because the dorm was closed for renovations before that.’

  Diesel nodded thoughtfully. ‘When do med students take HGA?’

  ‘We took it the first semester of our first year – that was the fall semester.’

  ‘Okay.’ He picked up her pen and began to make notes in the margin of the list he’d printed out. ‘If she started med school directly after graduation, that means she was a first-year student two and a half years ago. LJM S&R was established in January of last year, so if we assume that’s when she went missing, she took HGA this past fall, fall a year ago, or fall two years ago.’

  ‘Not this past fall,’ she corrected, taking the pen and circling one of the businesses. ‘APG White Coat Distribution. She would have received her white coat for finishing her first year. So we’ve narrowed down when she took HGA to either one or two years ago.’

  ‘I’d forgotten about the white coat thing,’ he murmured.

  ‘I didn’t. The white coat ceremony is a huge milestone. It would have been for her, too.’ She shook her head, staring at the list that made so much sense in one respect and so little in others. ‘But I still don’t understand why whoever set up these companies left all these clues – especially the “Brothers Grim”. If we’re able to track LJM down, we can figure out whoever it was who built this tangled mess.’

  Diesel shrugged. ‘Like I said before, maybe they’re hiding in plain sight. And maybe they don’t think anyone will go to the trouble of dissecting all this.’ He grinned abruptly. ‘Are you sure you really want to be a doctor? You’re looking like you’re enjoying this detective gig.’

  She’d stiffened at the first part of his question, but relaxed when she realized he was teasing. And once again, not criticizing. ‘I like puzzles, but the thought of the physical danger is enough to send me running back to sick patients and insurance paperwork.’

  Just then, the basement door flew open and Michael strode through, determination on his tear-streaked face and Hawkeye on his heels. In his cupped hands, he held tiny pieces of paper, ripped into what looked like confetti.

  Before Dani or Diesel could say a word, Meredith appeared, her face serene. It was a mask she wore when her emotions threatened to tear her apart. Which was usually the case after she’d talked to children who were hurting.

  Meredith silently followed Michael, reaching into the cupboard for a glass mixing bowl, into which he dumped the paper. She put the bowl into the sink, then looked over her shoulder.

  ‘Matches?’ she asked Dani.

  ‘Second drawer on your right,’ Dani said, reading between the lines. Michael and Meredith had talked, and the scraps of paper were the remnants of that conversation. Meredith knew a few signs, but she was far from fluent, so they’d communicated via paper and pen.

  A glance at Diesel told her that he’d also arrived at the conclusion. There was pain in his eyes and his jaw clenched reflexively. But he said nothing, just watched.

  Meredith handed Michael a match. The teenager gave Dani a questioning look, and Dani nodded. ‘Do it,’ she signed.

  With hands that shook, Michael lit the match and dropped it into the bowl. Fire whooshed up, but quickly burned itself out. After a minute, Meredith ran tap water over the smoldering mess, dumped it down the sink, then turned on the disposal.

  ‘Finished,’ Meredith signed with a flick of her hands.

  Michael’s expression was grim, but still determined, as he turned to Dani. ‘Can I meet with her?’ he asked, pointing to Meredith.

  Dani maintained her own serene face, not showing her relief. Therapy was exactly what Michael needed. Therapy with Meredith was even better. ‘Of course.’

  ‘And next time I’ll hire an interpreter for you,’ Meredith said, and Dani signed her words. ‘No more writing it out.’

  Which was the law, but Meredith would have done it regardless, because it was the right thing to do. So many providers tried to refuse to pay the cost of an interpreter. Dani was grateful that securing the service for Michael’s therapy would be one fight she wouldn’t have to take on at the moment.

  ‘I just got the next few days off,’ Dani told him. ‘We’ll make an appointment and I’ll take you.’

  ‘We’ll take you,’ Diesel corrected. ‘Nobody goes anywhere alone for a while.’

  Michael drew a breath, then closed his eyes and exhaled on a sob. And in that moment he was a fourteen-year-old boy who was terrified and hurting.

  With an audible swallow, Diesel came to his feet, hooked one big hand around Michael’s neck, and pulled the boy in for a hug. Michael froze for a split second, then wound his arms around Diesel’s solid strength and cried into his chest, his sobs tortured and desperate.

  Diesel’s hand shook as he stroked Michael’s hair gently, the giant man giving comfort to a scared little boy. And hopefully taking some comfort for himself.

  Think of it as a mugging.

  Yeah. Diesel’s experience is personal, all right. One had only to look at his face to see the agony there. Yet he was here. Helping.

  Dammit, Diesel. Why didn’t you find somebody better than me?

  Dani didn’t realize she was crying until Meredith put a tissue in her hand.

  ‘He’s gonna be okay,’ Meredith murmured. ‘We’re going to make sure of it.’

  Which one of them? Dani wanted to ask,
but of course she didn’t. Instead she cleared her throat. ‘Does he know about his mother?’

  ‘That she wants Joshua back?’ Meredith shook her head. ‘No, not yet.’

  Great. That would be yet another blow. ‘All right. I’ll tell him. And Joshua?’

  ‘He fell asleep on the sofa downstairs. He didn’t see any of our conversation.’

  ‘Good. I’ll bring him up and put him to bed.’

  Meredith brushed Dani’s hair away from her face, tucking it behind her ear. ‘And you? Will you be all right?’

  Dani scoffed quietly. ‘I’m always all right.’

  Lie, lie, lie. She wasn’t all right. Not at all.

  Meredith’s sober look said that she knew Dani was lying. ‘My door is always open to you. You know that.’

  Dani looked away. ‘I know. Thank you.’

  ‘I’m going home now. Call me if you need me. Call me if Diesel needs me.’

  Dani sucked in a breath and met her friend’s clear green eyes. And saw perfect understanding there. Understanding and truth and sorrow as Meredith’s serene mask slipped away for the briefest of moments.

  ‘He’s a good, good man,’ Meredith whispered, then leaned in close. ‘Don’t hurt him. Please.’

  Pain radiated through Dani’s chest. Her friend hadn’t bought her clueless act. Meredith knew that Dani had been aware of Diesel’s feelings all this time. And she expected her to do . . . what? The right thing? The wrong thing?

  Clearly, the thing that would hurt him. Because Meredith knew people. She knows me.

  Dani came to her feet. ‘I’m going to see to Joshua. I’ll catch you later.’

  Twelve

  Indian Hill, Ohio

  Sunday, 17 March, 11.05 A.M.

  Grant slunk down behind the steering wheel as a bright blue Mini Cooper pulled into the driveway of Richard Fischer’s gated Indian Hill home. He was glad it was too early for the trees to have leaves, because he could just see the huge, sprawling house from where he sat. The garage alone must have held six cars.