was followed by an icy chill.
She didn’t know that her short life had just changed forever.
“Well, now there’s a sight fit for a horror movie.”
Dante didn’t get angry at Carson Gage’s comment as he walked into the Red Ridge PD building. In fact, he almost welcomed it; everybody else wanted to pour out sympathy he didn’t want. But then Gage had lost his own brother, a brother he hadn’t been close with, to the Groom Killer, so if anyone knew about walking in these shoes, it was Gage.
Besides, the detective was right. What else would you call a guy with eyes the color of an overripe tomato, hair that had yet to see even his fingers run through it, a jaw that was more stubbled than usual, and under his jacket with the unit logo, a T-shirt he thought he’d probably pulled on backward in his bleary-eyed haste this morning?
The fact that this character out of a horror flick was also lugging two baby carriers, occupied, only made it all scarier. To him, anyway.
“Longest night of my freaking life,” he muttered to Gage.
“I can see that.” And Gage was looking at the twins warily. They stared back, wide-eyed and uncertain. “Uh...what are you going to do with them?”
“Hell if I know,” Dante muttered.
One of the girls made a string of sounds that—purely coincidentally, he was sure—had the same cadence and number of syllables of his muttering. He groaned inwardly but made a mental note to watch his language. He had no idea when babies started to talk, but he didn’t want their first words to be swear words they’d picked up from their uncle.
He stared down at the two innocent faces. He had no idea when babies started to talk. He had no idea when they started to walk.
He had no idea, period.
Not to mention that the twins had gone through most of the bottles Mrs. Nelson had provided, and he had no idea what to do when the food ran out.
His desk phone rang. Since it was practically behind her head, Lucia gave a start. Her face scrunched up in the expression he’d learned during that long night meant she was about to erupt into a screeching wail. Quickly he reached into the bag Mrs. Nelson had sweetly packed for him and pulled out a bright pink stuffed rabbit. The moment Lucia saw it, her expression changed. The wail became a coo. And after a moment she moved a tiny hand toward the toy.
Breathing again, Dante tucked it in beside her and answered his phone. “Mancuso.”
“Hey, Dante, it’s Frank.” Dante cradled the phone between ear and shoulder as Frank Lanelli, the day-watch dispatcher, spoke. “I’ve got a caller on the main PD line asking for you by name, but with everything—I’m really sorry, by the way—I thought I’d check with you before I put him through.”
“Thanks,” he said, meaning it, and appreciating the businesslike approach. “Who is it?”
“Name’s Fisk. He’s a lawyer.”
Dante frowned. Rarely did a lawyer’s call mean good news for a cop. “Any idea what he wants?”
“Maybe,” Lanelli said, and for the first time Dante heard hesitancy in the efficient man’s voice. Frank had been with the department for decades and was the solid linchpin that kept things moving, keeping more in his head at one time than Dante would have thought possible.
“Hit me,” Dante said with a sigh.
“He says he’s your brother’s lawyer.”
“Damn.” His eyes flicked to the twins as soon as the word slipped out. But Lucia seemed happy with her rabbit, and Zita was merely watching him with apparent interest. “All right, put him through.”
While he waited a freight train of possibilities barreled through his mind. Criminal lawyer? Was there some case pending? Was his brother a suspect in something? Had Dominic been arrested and he just hadn’t heard about it yet? Oh, God, had they been fleeing a scene when the shooter had hit them? They had been careful about where they did their thing; Agostina had always said you didn’t dirty your own pool.
But you never minded dirtying someone else’s, did you? You always—
The click of the call going live cut off his fruitless thoughts.
“Mancuso,” he said again.
There was a brief pause before the caller spoke. Startled by the name? That he was still using it, despite the connotations his brother had hung on it? Believe me, I’ve thought more than once about changing it. But he’d chosen to keep the name. Both as a reminder of growing up dirt-poor and wanting, and maybe, in some crazy way, thinking he could clean it up a little.
“This is James Fisk,” the caller said. “I’ve just gotten word about your brother. My condolences.”
“Thanks,” Dante said shortly. If the guy was really Dominic’s lawyer, he probably already knew he and his brother weren’t close. And he didn’t have time to waste on words he didn’t want to hear anyway. “What did you need?”
“It’s more what you need.” Dante nearly smiled at that. He’d lived most of his life in a determined effort never to need a lawyer. So far he’d succeeded. “I have your brother’s will.”
“Oh.”
“I don’t know if he told you—”
“He didn’t.” Whatever it was, Dominic hadn’t told him. Because he never did. And Dante was happier with it that way, because it let him hang on to the tiny bit of brotherly feeling he still had.
“Well. Then. Everything is left to his wife, or if she is also deceased, to his daughters.”
“Of course,” Dante said, although he couldn’t help wondering how the girls would feel if they ever realized how said property had been obtained, with the proceeds from a career of criminal activity.
“You understand, then?” the man said, sounding relieved.
“Understand?” Dante asked, puzzled about what could be confusing about this. Then it hit him. He almost laughed. “Wait, you think I expected my brother to leave me something? No way in—”
He cut it off with another glance at the twins, who were being rather cooperative, both having apparently gone back to sleep.
Why not, after all? They were awake most of the night...
“Well, he did, in a way.”
Dante frowned again. “In what way?”
“The children.”
“What?”
“I’d say making you their legal guardian is leaving you something, wouldn’t you?”
Dante sank down into his desk
