he’d tried to anesthetize with progressively more alcohol. All that did was generate even more problems.
Brian looked at his brother, trying to fathom whatever was coming. “I’ll take whatever you have to say standing, Andrew.”
This wasn’t easy for him. Andrew had been the patriarch ever since a heart attack had claimed their father all those years ago. The patriarch and the voice of reason. After everything he’d been through in his life, he’d earned the right to expect tranquility, not turmoil, to fill the end of his days. But even beyond the grave, Mike managed to toss a little chaos their way.
“I had a visitor the other day,” he began, searching for the right words. This was going to be a shock. Not just to Brian, but to Patrick and Patience, Mike’s kids. Maybe especially to them. “Three visitors, actually,” Andrew amended.
When Andrew paused, Brian prodded him along. He’d promised to stop by Lila’s. Her oldest was on some special assignment and she hadn’t heard from him in a week. She needed reassurance.
“And?”
Andrew gazed at him. Brian tried to remember when he’d seen so much sadness in his brother’s eyes. “They were Mike’s kids.”
Was Andrew getting muddled? He knew the names and ages of not only his kids and their spouses and children but the names and ages of all his nieces, nephews and their spouses and children.
“Mike didn’t have three kids,” Brian reminded him. “He had two. Patrick and Patience.”
Andrew’s expression never changed. “Besides Patrick and Patience.”
Brian’s eyes narrowed and his mouth dropped open. “Mike had three other kids?” That didn’t seem possible. They would have known, he and Andrew. “You’re kidding, right?”
If anything, Andrew seemed more somber. “You know me better than that. I never kid about family.”
“When? How?” Questions popped up in Brian’s head like wild mushrooms after a summer rain. “Do they live in Aurora?”
An ironic smile twisted Andrew’s lips. “Not only do they live in Aurora, but they’re all cops, the lot of them.”
“I’ll take that seat now,” Brian murmured, sinking down onto the barstool.
Chapter 4
Kasey dropped Zack off in a less than upscale part of town, in front of a motel. The area brought back memories of where she’d first stayed right after she’d staged her own death.
The idea to escape that had occurred to her the moment she’d come across an unclaimed Jane Doe who’d died at her hospital. It was almost like a sign telling her this was the way out. God forgive her, she’d managed to get the body out of the hospital’s morgue in the wee hours of the night. She’d left it in the master bedroom of her house, taken care to dispose of the teeth so that a complete identification would be impossible. After taking a few possessions that were important to her, more for sentiment than for value, she’d torched the house where she and Jim had lived.
It killed her to do it, not just because she was leaving behind a life she’d struggled to make for herself, a life where she’d been truly happy, but because, to protect her grandmother, she had to die.
Six months later, she’d assumed that the furor over her death and the case had died down. Guessing that Jim’s murderer felt more secure, and that she was no longer a threat, she’d mailed her grandmother a postcard with a carousel horse on it.
There’d been no message written on it, no return address and she had taken great pains to mail it a good fifty miles away from where she was actually staying. But she was fairly confident that her grandmother would make the connection and understand what the postcard implied. That she was still alive. Her grandmother had always loved carousels and had a small, precious collection of figurines depicting all sorts of different carousel horses. She’d given her grandmother several of the pieces herself, scraping together what money she could spare while wrestling with the staggering cost of putting herself through medical school.
As Zack got out of her car and shut the door, she realized today was her grandmother’s birthday.
The ache in her chest came out of nowhere. With all her heart, Kasey wished she could at least pick up the phone to say happy birthday. But she couldn’t risk it. For all she knew, the man she was running from, the man who had paid off the police detective to kill Jim and to try to kill her, might have even placed a tap on her grandmother’s phone.
Anything was possible. And if he had, then all her plans, all these long, isolated months that saw her go from one place to another, afraid to even make eye contact, afraid to get close to anyone, would have been for nothing.
Zack leaned down to look into the car one last time. “Thanks again.”
She brushed off his words and nodded at his side. “Get that looked at as soon as possible,” she told him, shifting the vehicle into Reverse.
And then she took off.
He stood for a moment, watching her go down the street. Wondering what secrets she had. He would have bet his life she had more than her share.
But all that was for another time. Right now, he needed to check in, to let the captain know what had happened. After circling the multi-unit structure, he went toward the back. His room was on the second floor, facing the unpaved rear parking lot.
Zack tried to pull his thoughts together. He had to admit that he wasn’t as clearheaded as he would have liked. Not because he was weak from the loss of blood, he was dealing with that. Without being vain, he prided himself on being pretty damn healthy and strong. No, his brain wasn’t as focused as it normally was because the woman who had taken him in had really aroused his curiosity—among other things.
He wasn’t quite sure what to make of it. Or her.
Letting himself into the rented room, he nearly sauntered right in, then thought to take an extra wide step over the threshold so as not to disturb the flour he’d purposely left there.
He went straight to the closet and pulled out another shirt. Peeling off the one he had on, he glanced down at the bandages. She’d been thorough all right, wrapping them securely around his rib cage. His ribs were sore where the other man had kicked him, but he was pretty sure they weren’t cracked. For one thing, it didn’t hurt to breathe. It was just sore. What did hurt was the area where his wound was.
He was lucky to have found Kasey rather than someone else who would have freaked out and left him to bleed to death. Someday his luck was going to run out. He just hoped it wouldn’t happen for a few years yet.
“Seales is dead,” he was saying into his cell phone less than ten minutes later. After changing, he’d made a quick sweep of the area to make sure that nothing was moved and that no one had entered via the window. There were items he’d left seemingly scattered about, items that he would have been able to tell if they’d been moved even a fraction of an inch.
Nothing had been touched. And the thin layer of flour along the threshold had been undisturbed. No one had walked through it—although he almost had, he thought with a rueful smile. That had been the first indication that Kasey Madigan had messed with
