Reckless
Author: Cari Z.
Date: 2022-04-26 04:00:00+00:00
Keywords: dragons; Fantasy; Shapeshifters; M M Romance; Romance; Dystopia; M M Fantasy; Lgbt; Urban Fantasy; Post Apocalyptic
Description: Refugees have been streaming into the city of Forge from around the country. Monsters are coming down from the mountains and staking out new hunting grounds. Even as the dragons of Forge grow stronger and more numerous, the challenges they and their riders are facing are only increasing, and there's only one place to look for answers. Chicago is the strongest remaining city in the Midwest, home to thousands of people and protected by powerful dragons … or at least, it was. By the time Evan Luck and his dragon, Ladon, arrive there, it's clear that something's gone terribly wrong. People are sta

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This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the authors’ imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental. All person(s) depicted on the cover are model(s) used for illustrative purposes only.

Reckless Behavior

Copyright © 2018 by L.A. Witt and Cari Z

Cover art: Garrett Leigh, blackjazzdesign.com

Editor: Rachel Haimowitz

Layout: L.C. Chase, lcchase.com/design.htm

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system without the written permission of the publisher, and where permitted by law. Reviewers may quote brief passages in a review. To request permission and all other inquiries, contact Riptide Publishing at the mailing address above, at Riptidepublishing.com, or at marketing@riptidepublishing.com.

ISBN: 978-1-62649-631-6

First edition

January, 2018

Also available in paperback:

ISBN: 978-1-62649-632-3

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After too many years of putting his job first, Detective Andreas Ruffner is getting his priorities straight. He’s ready to spend some quality time with his adult kids, not to mention come clean about some things he should’ve told them a long time ago. And introduce them to his partner and boyfriend, Darren Corliss.

But in a heartbeat, a family dinner turns into Andreas’s worst nightmare. When the dust settles, one of his kids is hurt, and the other three have been abducted.

Andreas is going to find his kids, and nothing, not even a broken ankle, is going to stop him. Thank God for his sharp, level-headed partner . . . who has a crisis of his own pulling him away when Andreas needs him the most. As both men try to support—and lean on—each other, they get no closer to finding the kids. And the longer the children are missing, the less likely it is they’ll ever be found.

About Reckless Behavior

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Dear Reader

Also by L.A. Witt

Also by Cari Z

About the Authors

More like this

Have you taken your pain meds?

The text from Darren made me roll my eyes. Grudgingly, I reached for the pills and the bottle of water on the end table. It wasn’t the first message he’d sent, and wouldn’t be the last. I could already hear the conversation we’d had a thousand times.

“I don’t need to take it. My ankle doesn’t hurt.”

“You’re supposed to stay on top of the pain. Take the pill before it hurts.”

“Says the man who never wanted to take his after he’d been stabbed.”

“But I took them. And don’t change the subject.”

Of course we both understood how pain management worked, but we both resisted doing it properly for the same reason: it fogged our heads and made it impossible to work. I’d had to force him to slow down when he’d been laid up after a knife had collapsed his damn lung, and now he was doing the same for me while my ankle slowly healed. Especially since my latest surgery a week ago, he’d basically waited on me hand and fucked-up-foot, and I was probably going to kill him before my cast came off.

I texted him back, Yes, I took it, and then took the pill.

I’d barely capped the bottle when my phone vibrated again. A call this time, not a text. For fuck’s sake, now what?

But Erin’s name came up on the caller ID.

I smiled as I picked up the phone. “Hey, kiddo.”

“Hey, Dad.”

I closed my eyes. The pain meds still made me slightly groggy, but I could focus on conversations as long as they weren’t too complex. “How’s your day going?”

“Good. I just wanted to let you know Ben and Casey texted me. They’re on the train, so I’ll pick them up at four thirty.”

Oh right. That was tonight. Of course I’d known that, but . . . Percocet. “Great. Looking forward to seeing them.”

“And dinner’s at six, right?”

“Yeah. You know how to get there?”

“It’s that Greek place down by the war memorial, right?”

“Yep. Darren made a reservation. We’ll meet you guys there, and Lisa will be along with Emily.”

“Awesome. We’ll be there.” She paused. “Zach had to cancel, though.”

“That’s too bad. Will he have a chance to meet your brothers while they’re in town?”

“Oh yeah.” The smile returned to her voice. “He’s going to meet them and me for lunch at work tomorrow.”

“Good. They can grill him and make sure—”

“Dad.”

I laughed. “All right, all right. Anyway, I’ll see you tonight. Text me when you pick them up so I know they made it.”

“I will. I gotta go anyway—Mark’s got a huge stack of crap for me to do.”

“Okay. Love you, kiddo.”

“Love you too.”

She hung up, and I put my phone aside. Admittedly, I was a little disappointed that her boyfriend—my orthopedic surgeon—couldn’t make it tonight. Zach had quickly become a regular fixture in her world, not to mention mine. In fact, I had a feeling he was part of the reason she’d accepted an offer of a full-time admin job at the precinct. It had started as an internship for one of her classes, but she was damn good at it. Detective Thibedeau in Internal Affairs had offered her the job a week or so after I’d gotten hurt, and while I wasn’t thrilled about her putting school on hold, maybe this wasn’t a bad idea given how expensive her tuition had been getting.

So now Erin was living with me, working at the same precinct, and dating the surgeon who’d put my ankle back together both times. After living two states apart for too many years, I wasn’t complaining. Even if she was just as determined to take care of me as both of our boyfriends were.

I’d been parked on the couch for a couple of hours, and my back was starting to get sore, so I decided now was as good a time as any to move around a bit. I pushed myself up, wincing at the dull ache in my foot. At least it wasn’t blinding pain anymore. The first surgery had pinched a nerve—a possibility Zach had warned me about—but they’d unfucked that during the second one last week. Now I just had to recuperate from the fresh set of screws, rods, anchors, chains, anvils, saw blades, and whatever else they’d put in.

Gingerly, I tucked my crutches under my arms and went into the kitchen. Hopefully Darren wouldn’t notice I’d forgotten to eat anything before taking my pain pill. If I ate something now, I wouldn’t get nauseated, and maybe I’d slip under his radar.

After eating some leftover Chinese food, I moved back to the couch, where I eased myself down next to the stacks of files and reports I’d been working on. Sort of. I was technically still on medical leave, but I’d been getting stir-crazy.

But if I’d thought I would get any work done, I was delusional. I sat down, and the next thing I knew, I was waking up to the sound of the front door opening.

“Hey,” Darren said as he walked into the living room. “How are you feeling?”

“Like I’m ready to be back on my feet.”

He chuckled and came around behind the couch. Leaning down to kiss me, he said, “Just don’t overdo it, or you’ll spend even more time—”

“Yes, thank you, Dr. Zach.” I curved my hand around the back of his neck and pulled him the rest of the way down for that kiss.

He chuckled, kissed me, then stood and shrugged off his jacket. “What time do we need to leave tonight?”

“Probably around five thirty, just in case there’s traffic.” I carefully hoisted myself up onto my crutches and followed him into the kitchen. My head was still thick with fog, but I was better than I’d been earlier. “How’s your brother?”

The sudden fatigue in his posture and expression answered clearly enough.

I hobbled over to him and touched his arm. “You okay?”

His lips tightened, and he nodded but didn’t look at me. “He’s in hell. There’s no two ways about it.”

“And you’re right there with him.”

“Yeah, but at least I remember who I am from day to day.” He sighed heavily. “Honestly, I think his lucid moments are the worst.”

I chewed the inside of my cheek. Maybe it was small comfort that Asher wasn’t having as many of those anymore. In the weeks since his family had transferred him to a home that specialized in Alzheimer’s patients, he’d deteriorated at an astounding rate. More often than not, when Darren visited, he’d come home devastated because Asher was . . . not Asher anymore.

“He was kind of there today.” Darren’s voice was a hollow whisper. “Like, he recognized me, but couldn’t figure out why I didn’t look fifteen. And he didn’t understand why Mom was so gray.” He rubbed his eyes. “Mom’s been gray for almost twenty years.”

“Jesus.” I wrapped an arm around him and kissed his temple. “I’m sorry, Darren.”

He sagged against me. Not enough to put me off-balance, but enough to let me know he desperately needed someone to lean on. Using both my crutches and the counter for support, I gathered him in my arms and, as much as I could, let him.

“He wants to die,” Darren murmured.

“What?”

He exhaled hard. “When he’s with it—as much as he can be anymore—he tells me he wishes this thing would just finish him off.”

I didn’t respond. What could I say?

Darren was quiet for a moment too, before he whispered, “I just wish there was more I could do for him than sit back and watch him fade away.”

I shuddered and tried to ignore the inevitable thoughts about how it might be Darren in that position someday, with me watching him slowly crumble. It was quite possibly the only thing I could think of that would be worse than when I’d very nearly watched him bleed out during a sting gone bad. Even now, every time I saw that scar on the back of his shoulder, my stomach somersaulted.

Fuck. I’d only known him a few short months, but I’d been in love with him for most of that, and had been forced to think way too much about when and how he might die.

Closing my eyes, I held him tighter.

And damn, now I felt like a dick for being even a little bit irritated with him earlier. The very fact that he was trying to take care of me while handling our case on his own and dealing with his brother’s rapid deterioration—yeah, I was being a dick.

After a while, he drew back and met my gaze. “I should get a shower and change clothes. So we can go.”

I touched his face. “You don’t have to go if you don’t feel up for it.”

“No, I want to.” He smiled weakly. “I want to meet your boys.” With a playful if tired grin, he added, “And you could probably use the moral support.”

“Yeah, probably.” My stomach knotted. I was looking forward to seeing my sons. I wasn’t really looking forward to coming clean about a few things.

He probably saw the apprehension in my expression, because he pulled me into a light kiss. “You’ll be fine. And I’ll be there with you.”

“Much appreciated.”

“Don’t mention it.” He smiled—this time with some more life in it—and kissed me once more. “Let me grab a shower. Then we can get going.”

He left the kitchen, and I leaned against the counter. Okay, I definitely hadn’t been fair to him earlier. As much as I hated being fussed over and taken care of, I was grateful beyond words for Darren.

Darren and I were already seated when Ben, Casey, and Erin walked into the restaurant. One look at them, and I almost choked up, never mind choking on my nerves. Erin was right—it had been way, way too long since we’d all been together. I really needed to start putting more time aside for my kids.

Ben and Casey were twenty-four and twenty-one, and both looked almost exactly like I had at that age, though Ben had stopped at five foot eight and Casey still didn’t care for haircuts. Ben had lost more weight than I would have liked, but he was an adult—he looked healthy, so I wasn’t going to say anything.

“Hey, guys.” I got up as carefully as I could. “Good to see you both.”

They each hugged me in turn. I introduced Darren without giving much detail, and they both eyed him uncertainly, but they were polite.

“Sorry we’re a little late.” Erin shot Ben a glare. “Somebody insisted we go clear out to the airport to pick up his rental car first.”

“Hey,” Ben said with a laugh. “I didn’t want to get there after they closed.”

“It’s a rental car counter at the airport, doofus,” Casey said. “They’re always open.”

“Uh-huh.” Ben flipped open his menu. “Says the guy who’s never showed up and found out they aren’t always open.”

Erin rolled her eyes. “Well, you have your car. Now you can relax.”

We made some small talk about their trip, perused the menu together and probably made a mess of pronouncing some of the Greek terms.

“Let’s order drinks now,” I said, “but wait on food until Lisa and Emily get here. Which should be in about twenty minutes.” I glanced at my watch to be sure. Yep. Twenty minutes. “But I wanted to talk to the three of you first.” Technically the two of them, since I wasn’t saying anything Erin didn’t already know.

My sons exchanged glances. Casey’s eyes darted toward Darren.

“Okay.” Ben studied me. “What’s up?”

“Well . . .”

Under the table, Darren pressed his knee against mine.

I took a deep breath and folded my hands on top of the closed menu. “All right, so . . . your sister and I have been talking since she’s been here, and I realized I’ve not been communicating with you kids as much as I should. I want to clear the air about a few things, and then hopefully we can . . . you know, not be quite as much like strangers.”

They exchanged another glance, and both shrugged.

“Okay.” Ben seemed a little guarded, but not hostile.

“So what’s going on?” Casey’s eyes flicked toward Darren again. “You said you wanted to clear the air, so . . .”

Did they already know? Had they suspected something?

Might as well just put it out there and see what happened.

“First of all, Darren is my partner. At work and, well, not.” I put a hand between Darren’s shoulders, as if that might underscore what I meant so I didn’t have to spell it out.

“Oh,” Casey said.

Ben blinked. “So, you’re gay?”

“Bi.”

Both of them studied me for a second. Then, in unison, “Oh.”

I swallowed. “Is that okay?”

“Yeah, of course.” Casey shrugged. “I wasn’t expecting it, but yeah, it’s cool.”

Ben nodded. “Yeah, same.” He cleared his throat and turned to Darren. “So, uh, how long have you guys been dating?”

Dating. I couldn’t even call what we’d been doing “dating.” Not in any traditional sense, anyway. Mostly working together, dodging bullets together, and realizing I was much, much happier when we were together.

“Uh.” Darren shifted. “Couple of months. I think?” He looked at me. “How long has it been?”

“Shit, I don’t know. Sounds about right to me.”

He laughed. “So much for knowing the exact minute, hour, and day we became a thing, right?”

I laughed too, running my hand up and down his back. “So we’ll say a couple of months.”

My sons chuckled too. They relaxed a bit, and seemed relieved that this was my big announcement.

Except it wasn’t. Not entirely.

I folded my hands on the table again. “Um, there is one other thing.” My gut lurched. No turning back.

I glanced at Erin, and she gave me a subtle nod and an encouraging smile.

Facing my sons again, I said, “I want to say upfront that it’s under control and my health is just fine, but . . .” I took a deep breath. This time it was Darren who put a hand on my back, and the reassurance was a godsend. I met each of my kids’ gazes in turn. “I’m HIV positive.”

Ben’s eyes widened.

I thought Casey might’ve paled.

“You . . .” Ben cleared his throat. “What?”

“I have HIV.” I swallowed again. “Like I said, it’s under control. I’m completely asymptomatic. My viral load is undetectable. It’s not going to go away, but it’s not—”

“How the hell—” Casey shook himself. “How did . . .” His eyes flicked toward Darren, and Darren squirmed uncomfortably.

“I’ve had it for a few years,” I said quietly. “Lisa and I both—”

“Oh my God.” Ben’s eyes were huge. “Emily? Does she have it?”

“No, she’s negative. She’s been tested repeatedly since she was born.” I shook my head. “She doesn’t have it.”

Ben battered me with questions, but it wasn’t an interrogation. He obviously knew a thing or two about HIV, and he wanted to be completely up to speed on my condition.

The whole time, Casey was silent. He pinched the bridge of his nose and didn’t say a word.

When Ben was apparently satisfied—rattled but out of questions, anyway—he took a drink and fell quiet. And Casey still didn’t speak.

I stole a look at Darren. He gave me the same encouraging smile Erin had.

“Casey?” I said cautiously. “Are you—”

His hand dropped to the table, startling all of us and rattling our silverware and glasses. “I can’t believe you’ve had this for years and never said a word. What the hell, Dad?”

Oh, hadn’t I had this conversation with Erin?

“I know. I should have said something. But I—”

“How did you even get it? You drilled it into our heads the whole time we were teenagers about safe sex and all that.” He glared at me, unaware or just not caring that he’d turned a few heads in the restaurant. “Do I even want to know?”

I pulled in a breath. “Look, I did some things I regret. And I—”

“Ben! Casey!”

Emily’s voice snapped the tension, and the boys were instantly out of their chairs and crouching down, arms out as my youngest—their half sister—sprinted across the room.

“Oh my God, you’re getting so big!” Casey hugged her tight and kissed her cheek. “How old are you now? Ten? Eleven?”

She giggled as only Emily could. “I’m four and a half, silly!”

“Four and a half? No way! You’re way too tall for that!”

She erupted into laughter. As Lisa caught up, she said hello to the boys, and joined us at the table. Emily sat between Erin and Ben, and they quickly busied themselves with some crayons and paper placemats. I smiled fondly. Things had been rocky when I’d told my kids Lisa and I were expecting a baby, but all three of them had been madly in love with their little sister since the day she was born. Yet another reason for me to feel guilty—I hadn’t taken Emily to see them or had them come visit nearly as often as I should have.

As everyone settled in and we ordered our food, Casey shot me a look that said, This isn’t over.

My stomach somersaulted again. My appetite was pretty much MIA, but if I didn’t eat, Darren would have a fit, so I ordered a gyro and hoped for the best. While everyone caught up and chatted, Casey kept eyeing me uncertainly, but he said nothing. Nothing about my HIV status, anyway. He was perfectly chatty with everyone else, but there was definitely some frost between us right now.

Well, I’d been right that my kids wouldn’t be thrilled. I hadn’t expected them to be, but I had hoped I was worried about nothing. That they’d be, while not happy, willing to accept it.

I couldn’t read Casey. Was he angry that I had the disease? Or that I hadn’t told him?

But I didn’t ask, and he didn’t speak up. We carried on with dinner, and I just kept reminding myself there’d be time to clear the air with Casey in private later. This was a start. It hadn’t gone so well with Erin either, but once the shock had worn off, she’d been all right.

He would be too.

Eventually.

By the time dinner was over, everyone had relaxed somewhat. Casey was still tense, still obviously less than happy with me, but he hadn’t said anything more about it. Could’ve been worse, I supposed.

I paid the bill, and we all made our way to the door. Emily needed to use the bathroom, so Erin took her, and the rest of us went outside.

We chatted a bit more, but then Ben and Casey wanted to get back to their hotel since they’d had a long day of traveling. I hugged them both goodbye, and they shook hands with Lisa and Darren.

“Where’s Erin?” Ben looked around. “Aw, hell. We’ll see her tomorrow at lunch. Dad, could you let her know we took off?”

I nodded. “Will do.”

Lisa glanced back at the restaurant and scowled. “What is taking those two so long, though?” She rolled her eyes. “I’ll go get them.”

She went back in, and it was just Darren and me.

“Well,” he said. “That wasn’t so bad.”

“No.” I adjusted my grip on the crutches. “Could’ve been better.”

“Casey will come around. He probably just needs some time to absorb it. I mean, Erin came around.”

“True.”

“Well, we should go. I’ll go get the car.” He kissed my cheek. “Wait here.”

“Thank you.”

Then he headed in the same direction my boys had gone. I closed my eyes and exhaled. The night had gone well. Not flawlessly, but I really couldn’t complain. Casey and I would talk later, and—

“Andreas.” Lisa’s voice turned me around. She stepped out of the restaurant, a puzzled expression on her face. “Did Erin and Emily come out already?”

“What? No, they—”

Tires squealed. Metal crunched.

What the hell?

I turned, and to my horror, Ben and Casey were getting out of their rental car, probably to inspect the damage the other car had done.

Some employees and bystanders hurried out the door, no doubt to see what was happening and maybe to help. In the commotion, someone bumped into me, and I stumbled. Then a foot swept my good leg out from under me, and I toppled, landing hard enough to send pain shooting through my bad ankle.

“Andreas!” Lisa grabbed my arm, but then she was knocked aside too.

“Drop the gun!” Darren shouted in the distance.

I scrambled, trying to get to my feet. I reached for a crutch, but my pistol was already in my hand. I didn’t even remember taking it out.

A bullet ricocheted off something. Someone shouted.

Oh shit!

“Go get Erin and Emily!” I shouted to Lisa. “Keep them inside!”

Lisa darted back into the restaurant.

Tires squealed again.

More gunfire. Shouts. A car peeling out. An engine vanishing into the night.

And then . . . nothing.

Panicked shouts and murmurs, but otherwise, silence.

Someone helped me to my feet and gave me back my crutches. I looked up to see Darren and Ben coming across the parking lot. Ben was limping pretty hard, one arm tucked protectively against his side, the other slung over Darren’s shoulders.

“Oh my God.” I hobbled toward them as quickly as I could. “Ben?” I touched his arm, hoping my sheer panic didn’t make it into my voice. “Are you all right?”

He nodded, grimacing painfully. “Just . . . got the wind knocked out of me. When they tried to . . .”

My mouth went dry. “Where’s your brother?” I looked around as my pulse ratcheted up. “Where the fuck is Casey?”

Darren, still keeping Ben on his feet, shook his head. “I’m sorry. I couldn’t get to—”

“What?” The world spun around me. “Darren, what are you . . . Who . . .”

“Three guys,” Ben said. “They clipped the car, then came at me and Casey and—” His voice wavered.

“They got Casey into the car,” Darren said. “I couldn’t get to him. I’m sorry.”

“You did what you could.” I hadn’t seen much, but I had complete faith that whatever he could have done, he’d done. “Did you get a look at them?”

He frowned and shook his head. “Sorry. I was trying to—”

“Andreas.” Lisa’s voice was filled with a kind of palpable terror I hadn’t heard since the day her doctor had told her that she—and possibly our unborn baby—had HIV. “Emily and Erin are gone.”

The world dropped out from under me. My crutches were literally the only thing that kept me from crumpling to my knees. “What? They’re . . . What do you mean they’re . . .”

Reality started sinking in. Ben was hurt. God knew how close Darren had come to an injury or worse.

And . . .

Casey.

Erin.

Emily.

I sank onto the bench. Twenty-plus years of cop instincts disappeared in a heartbeat, replaced by nothing but pure, bone-deep panic. I was trained for this. Enough that I could be calm to the point of near apathy in a crisis.

I wasn’t calm this time. I was closer to catatonic. I couldn’t move. Think. Breathe. Act.

Three of my kids.

Gone.

Just . . . gone.

And I had no idea what to do.

I had never seen Andreas so motionless before.

It was wrong. It was like a hurricane-force wind suddenly stopping, or a raging blizzard evaporating, leaving you muffled in snow and slowly freezing to death. Andreas was never quiet, never still—even when he was asleep, he twisted and turned until I had to lie on him to keep him in one place. Right now, he was so perfectly immobile I couldn’t even tell if he was breathing.

I’d seen this kind of shock before—hell, I’d experienced it myself more than once—and I knew that I needed to try to engage him. I needed to get him up and moving, and preferably checked out by the EMTs that were arriving on the scene now. Officers had already secured the scene, and more were on their way, and I doubted Andreas wanted any of them to see him like this. Especially not right now, when so much of the attention on us was negative already.

“Dad?”

Oh Jesus, I’d almost forgotten about Ben, and I was the one holding on to him. “Here, sit down,” I said, helping him turn and settle next to his dad. “Where did he get you?”

He grimaced. “My right side, but it’s not that bad.”

“You should get checked out.” It was a light bulb moment for me, the best way I could think of to snap Andreas out of it. “Andreas.” I crouched down in front of him and put both my hands on his knees. “Hey. Ben needs your help.”

“No, I’m sure I can—”

“He needs you to go with him to the ambulance to get looked at, just to make sure he’s okay,” I said firmly, ignoring Ben’s token protest. The kid needed the help almost as much as Andreas needed to give it. Jesus, all of his siblings had been kidnapped, one of them violently, right in front of him. He needed his dad, and his dad sure as hell needed him.

Fuck, Ben was only a few years younger than me. Why did I feel infinitely older right now?

“Andreas.” I said it louder, and this time his dull eyes managed to focus on me. “You need to help Ben.”

“I . . . Ben?” He looked left, and once he saw his son, some of his animation returned. “Shit, you’re— We need a—” He looked back at me, and I was so relieved to actually see him looking out of his eyes that I could have collapsed. Except I had more to do now than ever before, and I needed to get started as soon as possible.

“Ambulance.” I pointed at the flashing lights that had just pulled up in front of the restaurant. “Go and get him checked out, and let them take a look at you too.”

“I can do that.” He frowned. “Where’s Lisa?”

She’d been here a moment ago. “I’ll find her. You take care of him, I’ll take care of everything else.”

“Okay.” I helped him to his feet, making sure his hands were firm on the crutches, and watched him straighten his back as Ben threw an arm around his shoulder. First crisis averted, or more likely, just put off. Next up—Lisa.

“Sir. Sir!” The restaurant manager was suddenly right in my face, a stormy expression on his. “That ambulance and those police cars can’t just block our entrance. It’s against the fire code and it’s distracting to our guests.”

I held up my badge. “Your guests are going to have to deal with it, because this is the scene of a criminal investigation now. Nobody leaves. I don’t care if they’ve already paid their bill or finished their shift, absolutely no one leaves the premises before they’ve talked to an officer. Is that understood?”

“I . . . suppose.”

“Good. Make an announcement, blame it all on me, I don’t care, but if anyone steps foot outside this place, I’m holding you accountable.”

He sighed. I wanted to punch him. “Can you at least calm down the hysterical woman? She ran into our kitchens and is harassing our staff, and they can’t work under those conditions.”

“What hysterical woman?”

“I’ll show you.”

It turned out the “hysterical woman” was Lisa, who’d run back inside to check again and make sure she hadn’t missed the girls somehow. She was coming out of the staff’s break room as I got to her, demanding to know if they’d seen the girls, and wasn’t it possible they were back here? Wasn’t it?

“Lisa.”

“Darren!” Her hands dug into my arms like claws. “Do you think they went out the back? They might have just . . . They might be outside, right? I checked the alley, but maybe they circled around to the front. Have you checked? Did you see them?”

“We’re going to figure it out,” I promised her. That was the best I could do. “We’re going to find them.” I could hear more sirens in the front of the building—more police were arriving. Great. Not that I didn’t need the help, but lately I couldn’t be sure if that help was going to be genuine or not. Andreas and I had managed to piss off almost every colleague in the city by putting away so many dirty cops with our first big case. It was fifty-fifty whether I’d get a handshake or someone spitting in my face.

“But what if they— What—”

“You’re going to need to give a statement to an officer, okay?” I gently turned her and led her back to the front of the restaurant. “And stay close, so I can keep you in the loop.” It wasn’t completely kosher, but she was Emily’s mother. There was no way I was keeping anything from her when it came to the welfare of her kid. Not right now, at least.

“Okay.” Lisa took a few deep breaths. “Okay, okay. Where, um . . . where’s Andreas?”

“He took Ben over to the ambulance to get checked out.” I pointed at it as we got to the entrance. “You might want to go check on him, make sure he didn’t take any damage when he fell.”

“He didn’t fall, he was tripped.”

Fuck, I hadn’t even seen that. “This is why you need to make a statement. I’ll send an officer over as soon as I can, all right?”

She nodded. “Yeah, all right.”

There were two police vehicles here now, and a third one pulling up. When I saw who got out of it, I did a double take. “Thibedeau?”

The taller man walked up to me, unsmiling and still in his perfectly pressed suit despite the fact that I knew he’d gotten off work an hour ago. “Corliss.”

“What are you doing here?” He was a detective with Internal Affairs; he had no reason to be at the scene of a kidnapping.

“I heard the call come in over the radio, and I remembered that Erin told me she was going to dinner here tonight. I tried her phone and got no response. I wanted to see for myself what was going on.”

“It’s . . .” a fucking nightmare and I want a goddamn do-over. “Not good.” I explained the little I knew to him: Erin and Emily going missing after they went to the bathroom, Ben and Casey’s car being deliberately hit and both of them attacked, me exchanging shots with the masked man jerking Casey into the van before they drove off, and someone in the crowd deliberately getting Andreas out of the way.

“This sounds like a setup.”

“No shit.”

Thibedeau frowned at me. “Believe it or not, I’m on your side in this. The last thing I want is for any of Detective Ruffner’s family to come to harm, especially his daughters.” He’d met Emily before, and Erin worked directly for him. I could buy that he was genuinely concerned. “But you need to let me help you.”

“Fine.” Whatever, I could be nice. I could share.

“I’ll organize officers to interview patrons and get contact information so we can start letting people go. You talk to the manager about security footage and see if the staff has anything to say.”

I was more than happy to let him deal with the other cops. “Make sure to check and see if any of them took cell phone footage. If they did, I want their phones.”

He waved a hand dismissively. “Not my first case, Detective.”

I bit back the urge to snap at him. But it’s your most important case, damn it! I didn’t need to alienate any more of our colleagues. I gritted my teeth, kept my mouth shut, and went to talk to the manager again.

He was less than cooperative, but after I assured him I would shut his goddamn restaurant down for a fucking week if I had to, he was a lot better about giving me access to his cameras. There were two: one of the front entrance, one of the back, and they weren’t just for show, thank God. I made him start copying the footage for me while I talked to the staff, who weren’t very helpful. Apparently it was a busy time, everyone had been rushing, and no one had noticed a thing except for a busboy, who said he thought he’d heard a little girl crying before the back door closed. Which . . . fuck. My heart just about shattered inside my chest.

My phone buzzed with a new message. It was from Andreas. Need you out front.

I might have broken the sound barrier with how fast I ran out there. Fortunately, it wasn’t dire. Or . . . not exactly. Andreas and Ben were squared off nose to nose—he wasn’t using his crutches, damn it—and were having a very loud argument in front of an awful lot of curious eyes.

“I’m not leaving.”

“You’re sure as hell not staying here!”

“You can’t make me go, Dad, I’m an adult!”

“For God’s sake, someone just tried to abduct you. I’m trying to keep you safe!”

“Where am I going to go that’s safer than with you?”

“Anywhere!” Andreas exploded. “All of you were with me, and now you’re the only one still here! What does that tell you, Ben? How good of a job did I do protecting you kids this time around, huh?”

Ben set his jaw in a look that was surprisingly familiar, and I raced to intervene before things could get worse. “Are you both okay?”

They turned their matching glares on me, and I swallowed.

“We’re fine,” Andreas said, his voice terse. “But Ben needs to get his ass on a plane—”

“I’m not going anywhere—”

“—and get back home—”

“—a witness, what if they need to interview me again?”

“—or so help me God, I will—”

“—not going anywhere before I know they’re safe!”

“You’re not safe, what don’t you understand about that? They recognized you on sight, Ben, and you’re the only one who got away. What makes you think they won’t come after you again?” Andreas demanded.

“I’ll stay at your place.”

“It’s not secure enough.”

“Then the hotel—”

“Are you deliberately misunderstanding me, or—”

“Then put me in police protection, but I’m not going anywhere!” Tears stood out in Ben’s eyes, but he held his ground. “Dad, I’m sorry, but I can’t. I just can’t, not until I know they’re back, not until I can see them. I can’t be the only one to not be a part of things, to not . . . know.” Know if they’re still alive, his body language screamed.

Andreas sighed. “Putting you into police protection isn’t so easy.”

Ben frowned. “You’re a cop. What’s hard about it?”

Aaand we were about to get into territory that Ben probably hadn’t heard a lot about yet. If Andreas hadn’t given him the details of our last few cases and why so many cops had blacklisted us, now wasn’t the time for that revelation. Fortunately, I had a temporary fix. “Let me call Vic. Ben can stay with my folks tonight.”

Ben looked puzzled, but Andreas got it immediately. I saw a little of the tension ease from his shoulders, and took the opportunity to jam the crutches he was holding back under his armpits where they belonged.

“Vic’s my stepdad, and the former police commissioner,” I explained to Ben. “He knows how to handle a situation like this, and he can keep you safe.”

“You think him and your mom have time for this right now, with . . .” Andreas’s voice trailed off, but I took his meaning.

“I think they could use the distraction, honestly.” I knew Mom could. The fact that Asher was deteriorating so fast was making her sick with worry. She needed someone to take care of, if only for a night. “Is that okay with you?” I asked Ben. “They live close, you can stay in the loop, and tomorrow is another day, right?”

“Mom might be here tomorrow,” he said glumly, and I winced inside. Of course Andreas’s ex-wife had to be informed that two of her kids had been kidnapped. Of course she was coming out. “But yeah, it’s okay with me.”

“Great. Let me call Vic.”

By the time I’d finished talking to my stepdad, Andreas and Ben had made up—at least enough for his son to lean his head against Andreas’s shoulder, crutches be damned. Andreas had one hand on the back of Ben’s head, just holding gently, and while I could see the lines of pain in his face, I wasn’t about to tell him to let go and take care of himself. Not yet, at least.

Vic arrived five minutes later, lights flashing on the top of his Honda.

“Way to abuse your privileges,” I called out to him as I waved him over. A cop tried to stop him, but Vic leveled his best “son, don’t fuck with me” look at him, flashed the badge he wasn’t still supposed to have, and was let through with an apology.

Vic was a few inches shorter than me, fifty pounds heavier, and way more badass than any guy his age had a right to be. I filled him in on the details, then finished up with, “I don’t think anyone’s going to come after him, not now that we know to be on our guard, but we’d rather not risk it. I really appreciate your help.”

“It’s the least your mom and I can do.”

I led Vic over to Andreas and Ben. Someone had grabbed Ben’s and Casey’s luggage out of their rental car, and it was stacked in a pile beside them. The suitcases were identical. I knew Andreas’s kids were all close, but I’d never heard anything about either of his boys without both of them being mentioned. Ben was doing his best not to stare at the bags, and—yeah. He needed a distraction tonight.

I made the introductions, and Vic was as perfect as he always was with victims. He had a way of calming people down that was incredible—the only reason Asher had been able to live at home for as long as he had was the fact that Vic could usually talk him out of his rages. He shook Ben’s hand, then actually leaned in and gave Andreas a hug and a gruff, “Sit down before you fall down,” that would have gotten my head bitten off but just got him a nod, which was hardly fair. Vic hoisted both bags like they weighed nothing. “Come on, Ben.”

“You’ll call me again tonight,” Ben demanded of his father.

“I will.”

“And first thing tomorrow, and whenever you hear anything important. Right? Swear.”

“You’ll be first on my list,” Andreas said. “Remember to ice that rib, and if it’s still bad tomorrow, we’re going to the hospital whether you like it or not.”

Ben shook his head. “I’m fine.” He looked at me. “Thanks . . . for saving me.”

I wished I’d done so much more, but I was grateful that at least Ben was out of harm’s way for now. “Of course.”

He left with Vic, and as soon as they pulled away, I felt Andreas sag beside me. “Seriously, you need to sit,” I said, and tugged him back over to the bench. “And you need a pain pill.”

“I’m not taking any of those.”

“Andreas . . .”

He caught my eyes, and I couldn’t look away. It was like being mesmerized by a snake the second before it struck. Those eyes said, Don’t push me. His mouth said, “They fog me up, and I can’t afford that right now. Not until my kids are safe. You hear me?”

“Then ibuprofen,” I managed. “Something safe, something non-narcotic. Seriously, you need something to function if you’re going to be able to go at this hard.”

“Fine. Later.” He jerked his head toward the restaurant. “What’s happening in there?”

“Police are taking witness statements; I talked to the staff. We’re getting the surveillance video.”

“Who’s directing all this?”

“Mark Thibedeau.”

Andreas shut his eyes for a moment. “It figures.”

“Hey, it could be worse. At least we know he’s not going to try to stab us in the back.” He’d gotten rid of the chip he’d had on his shoulder back when Andreas and I were first partnered up. He’d been convinced Andreas was a dirty cop, and tried to use me to nail him. It hadn’t turned out exactly like he’d envisioned, but ever since Erin had come to town, we’d had a truce with the guy.

“I want to see the camera footage.”

“As soon as we get back to the station—”

“I don’t want to watch it for the first time surrounded by a bunch of fucking trauma junkies,” he snapped. “I’m not going to give them their fix, and if there’s something bad in there, I need to know it now.”

What was bad beyond getting kidnapped and . . . Oh. Right. I’d seen Casey forced into the car, but neither of us knew how the girls had been taken. If one of them had been hurt, or God forbid—

My stomach cramped, and I nodded. “Yeah. Okay. There are monitors in the manager’s office.” I stood up and tried to help him to his feet, but Andreas brushed me off and made his way, slow but steady on his crutches, back into the restaurant. I showed him to the manager’s office, where Thibedeau was already staring at a screen on the wall with a pensive expression.

When he saw us, he immediately shook his head. “This isn’t smart, Ruffner. You shouldn’t be a part of the investigation. Your participation could be used against us later in court as a conflict of interest.”

“You want to try and throw me out?” Andreas sounded deceptively calm. “I don’t recommend it. You can’t keep me off this case, so work with me or get the hell out of my way.”

Thibedeau stared at him for a long moment before finally turning back to the monitors. He held up a remote and rewound. “This is the view from the front.” He started the silent video just as the back of Ben and Casey’s car was clipped by a black SUV—a Suburban, maybe, not the most common car ever but hardly unique. Whoever the driver was, he knew what he was doing—he hit the boys’ car just hard enough to knock it askew but not noticeably damage his own vehicle. Two men got out, carrying what looked like saps. One of them hit Casey in the stomach to double him over, put him into a fireman’s carry, and literally threw him into the car a few seconds later.

The other guy went after Ben, but there I was, gun drawn, apparently shouting—I couldn’t even remember shouting. We exchanged shots, and the windshield on the car right next to me shattered. Shit, that had been closer than I’d thought. They retreated, a third guy ran into the car from the side—it had to be the person who’d tripped Andreas; he wasn’t in the frame for most of it—while I got an arm around Ben, and then they drove off. No license plate.

“I’ve got people going after cameras that might get a glimpse of them farther down the road,” Thibedeau said. “Now, the view from the back.” He cued it up and pressed Play without another word.

Compared to the scene out front, this was almost tame. A dark-colored sedan idled in the alley behind the restaurant. Erin suddenly appeared in the picture, moving quickly, her arms wrapped tight around Emily, who looked like she was holding on to her big sister with all her might. The masked man behind them opened the door and motioned them in with a subtle wave of his hand—what was he holding? A gun, a taser? I couldn’t quite make it out. They got in, and just before the door shut—

It had to be an accident, there was no way Emily would have done it deliberately, but as the door was about to shut, Emily stared right into the camera. Half of her face was hidden against her sister’s shoulder, but her eyes were visible, wide and filled with panicky tears. Even without sound, it was clear she was crying, shaking with the force of her sobs. She was a terrified little girl in the arms of a terrified young woman, and I didn’t even realize my own eyes were wet until Thibedeau stopped the video.

“I’ll meet you two back at the precinct,” he said quietly, and shut the door behind himself as he left.

Andreas was still staring at the screen, where the car that had taken his daughters away was frozen half on, half off the monitor. He looked exhausted, in pain, and absolutely, utterly murderous.

Maybe Thibedeau was right. Maybe Andreas shouldn’t be working this case. It wasn’t going to be good for him. But then, at this point, what was? The only thing that could fix the damage that had been done was bringing his kids home safe and sound, and I was determined we’d do it. “You ready to get back to work?” I asked.

“Let’s go.”

Everything between the restaurant and the precinct was hazy. Darren suggested—once—that I take it easy while he and Thibedeau spearheaded the investigation. He offered to stop for coffee, but both Lisa and I declined. Otherwise, the ride was silent.

It didn’t seem that way, though. My ears were still ringing with my son’s anger, my ex-girlfriend’s panic, and my other kids’ absence. They were gone. I couldn’t make sense of it.

And while I was relieved beyond words that at least Ben was safe, his shaken presence made this whole thing too real. If not for him and Lisa, everything at the restaurant might’ve felt like a normal crime scene, if there was such a thing. A normal night where I didn’t see any of my kids because I rarely saw them. Ben standing there, holding his side protectively, eyes wide and face pale, made the disappearance of his siblings too real and too raw. I wanted to take him home, lock down my apartment, and keep him safe under 24/7 surveillance until I was absolutely sure nothing would take him away from me, but I couldn’t. Because I had to find Casey, Erin, and Emily. And I wasn’t even sure if I could have kept Ben safe because his brother and sisters had been taken right in front of me.

Thank God for Darren. He had an impossibly cool head, and he’d thought quickly, coming up with a place for Ben. As soon as he’d suggested his mom and stepdad’s place, it had seemed so obvious, though I felt terrible for putting more on their shoulders than they already had. Somehow, I’d had the presence of mind to discreetly brief Ben on the situation with Asher. Enough that he wouldn’t be blindsided if Vic and Jessica suddenly had to rush off to the home where their older son was living. The last thing Ben needed tonight was another surprise.

Watching him get into the car with Vic, I’d been relieved that he had someplace safe to go, but I’d also been hit with the most profoundly powerless feeling. He was out of my sight now. Out of my hands. Safe and accounted for, but what kind of father let his son go at a time like this?

One who needed to find his other three kids.

Who were gone.

Who might not even still be—

No. Not going down that mental road. They were alive and well until proven otherwise.

Lisa’s silence was unnerving. In the rearview, I surreptitiously watched her staring out the window, face blank and eyes distant. She was tough. Always had been. Like the day we’d found out she was HIV-positive, and that there was a chance our unborn child might be as well, she’d collapsed in panic at first, but then pulled herself together. Same thing tonight. It was almost jarring when she did that. The palpable fear. The hysterical tears. And then . . . this. Stoic, rigid silence. That day half a decade ago, I’d thought she was shutting down and going almost catatonic, but when she’d spoken again, I’d realized she was regrouping. The shock hadn’t worn off, but it was like a switch inside her flipped from “this is catastrophic” to “it’s going to stay that way unless I get myself together and figure things out.”

“The doctor says there are medications to keep this under control,” she’d said with eerie, almost monotone calm. “I’ll talk to her tomorrow about options. And about the baby.” She’d paused and looked me right in the eye. “We’ll need to get you tested too.”

At the precinct, Darren pulled up to the elevator to let us out, and we waited there while he went to park.

Lisa took a breath. “Do you think Ben will be all right?” The question was flat and robotic.

I nodded. “He’s in good hands.”

“Good.” She exhaled slowly, rubbing a hand over her face, and the slight tremor betrayed her cool exterior. “So what now?”

“Now we figure out who might have a motive.”

She blinked. “What the hell kind of motive would make someone—”

“If I knew, I wouldn’t need to figure it out,” I snapped.

Lisa jumped.

I sighed, slumping over my crutches. “I’m sorry. I . . . I’m sorry.”

“It’s all right. I think we’re both going to be wound tight for a while.”

Our eyes locked, and once again, I went back to that crisis when she was pregnant. We hadn’t been in a good place at the time. Having a baby had promised to be the kiss of death to our already floundering relationship. But when the news came—when she was diagnosed and, shortly after that, so was I—we’d needed each other too much. We’d agreed to put aside everything, to rally around each other, and get through it. Had we not done that, I had no idea how either of us would have stayed sane.

If ever we needed to pull ourselves together again, this was it.

I touched her arm. “We’ll find her.”

Lisa put her hand over mine. Her jaw was tight, and she didn’t speak, but she gave a subtle nod.

Darren’s sharp footsteps turned my head. He came toward us, hands in his jacket pockets. We all exchanged looks, but said nothing, and got into the elevator.

As soon as we stepped out of the elevator, it was clear that word about what had happened had made it back to the precinct. People stopped what they were doing. Froze. Stared. And it wasn’t the usual hostility that Darren and I enjoyed most of the time thanks to our reputations as snitches who worked with Internal Affairs.

We didn’t say anything to anyone, and continued toward our desks.

“Hey, Detectives.” Officer Blaine—one of those fresh-faced, perfectly-squared-away types who’d driven me insane even back in my academy days—approached. His eyes were wide. “I heard what happened. Listen, uh, if there’s anything any of us can do, we—”

“We’ll let you know.”

“I mean it.” The earnestness in his tone was . . . well, it annoyed me on most days, but he was talking about helping find my kids. “Everyone here adores Erin. Whatever we can do.”

Ah, that explained it. The whole building loved my daughter. Ironic, considering she was working for Detective Thibedeau. The fact that she could charm the ranks despite working for IA said a lot about her personality.

But at this point, I’d take all the help I could get. “Thank you, Officer.”

“Do you have any leads? Anything?”

I gritted my teeth, and lucky for him, I didn’t have the energy to snap back that if I had a lead, I wouldn’t be here.

Darren spoke up first. “We’re doing what we can.”

That seemed to satisfy Blaine, and he didn’t push the issue.

We kept walking.

“Think we should grab a conference room?” Darren asked.

“Don’t know what good it’ll do us until—” I glanced at Lisa. “Until we have something to work with.”

“Fair enough,” he said.

I carefully took a seat at my desk, propped my crutches against the wall, and rested my fucked-up foot on a chair I’d brought over when I’d come back to work between surgeries. My ankle was throbbing like mad now, but I didn’t dare complain or so much as grimace, or Darren would get on my case about taking a pain pill. He meant well. I understood. But I needed to be clearheaded so I could find my kids.

Lisa leaned against another desk and folded her arms loosely across her chest. “So, we start by figuring out the motive?”

Anyone else, any other case, I’d have said, You start by going home and letting us do our job. But would I have let anyone push me away from this investigation? Hell, they’d already tried. I was way too close to this case to be anywhere near the actual investigation. And Lisa . . . well, she wasn’t a cop, but she was as likely as I was to walk away and let the detached professionals handle it.

Darren drummed his fingers on his own desk. “Can either of you think of anyone who’d want to mess with you?” His eyes flicked back and forth between us.

“There isn’t a cop in this town who’ll say my name without making the sign of the horns,” I said dryly. “But cops don’t fuck with other cops’ families.”

“No, but we can’t rule anything out,” Darren said. “Has anyone you collared been let out recently?”

I chewed the inside of my cheek. “I haven’t actually checked lately. I usually keep an eye on that, but . . .” I gestured at my foot. “I’ve been distracted.”

“Wouldn’t hurt to look into it.”

Nodding, I sat up and opened my laptop.

Lisa unfolded and refolded her arms. “There’s . . .”

We both turned to her.

She kept her gaze down, gnawing her lower lip so hard I was amazed it didn’t bleed.

“Lisa?” I said.

She was silent for a few more seconds, then inhaled. “What about Pitbull?”

The loan shark’s name put my teeth on edge. “What about him?”

“Well . . .” She struggled, but met my gaze. “I do still owe him money.”

“And I put the fear of God into him,” I growled. “He knows damn well if anyone touches one of my kids, he’s fucked.”

“Actually.” Darren sat up, chair squeaking. “She might be on to something. He might be retaliating against your threat. A power play. He’s letting you know he’s not afraid of you.” He paused. “Or someone’s trying to piss you off and put a bull’s-eye on Pitbull’s back.”

I tapped my nails on the edge of the laptop keyboard. “At this point, I don’t think we can ignore any potential lead, so we should talk to him.”

Darren met my gaze. “Am I driving?”

I hesitated, glaring at my crutches. Nothing intimidated a suspect like being approached by a cop who could barely walk. And considering how much we’d roughed him up last time, I didn’t like the idea of giving him any kind of upper hand. I couldn’t run. My hands were occupied, which would mean wasting precious seconds if I needed to draw my weapon.

There was no way I could meet him on his turf right now and expect to get anything out of him. It might even be dangerous, if he saw an opportunity to exploit a weakness.

“I think we need to bring him to the precinct,” I said.

“No way.” Lisa shook her head. “He’ll never set foot in a place like this unless he’s under arrest.”

“That could be arranged.” I paused. “Doesn’t he have a few outstanding warrants?”

Darren shrugged. “I think he had a bench warrant or something when we went down there last time.”

I nodded. “Go grab Officer Blaine. I think I know how he can help us after all.”

Somehow, Pitbull didn’t have any warrants or even unpaid parking tickets. Between the last time we’d roughed him up and now, the bench warrant had evaporated. Bribery or an honest resolution, I had no idea, but it left me with no way to arrest him.

Technically.

Officer Blaine was, as I’d expected, the typical perfect cop. The badge-wearing equivalent of a hall monitor who wore a pocket protector and actually studied for exams. Not the kind of cop who’d bring someone in without a proper warrant.

To my surprise, though, he was willing to bend the rules under certain circumstances.

“The sooner we bring him in,” he’d said as he and his partner headed for the elevator, “the sooner Erin is safe.”

And less than two hours later, Pitbull was in an interrogation room, shaking like a leaf in handcuffs, believing he was a suspect in a murder case. They’d dragged him in literally kicking and screaming, the tough guy loan shark reduced to a blubbering mess as he faced being brought up on charges of killing a man in a carjacking gone wrong.

“He’s all yours,” Blaine said.

I kept my gaze fixed on the loan shark through the two-way mirror. “Thanks.”

Blaine walked away, and Darren stood beside me. “So how do we play this?”

“Same as last time.” I turned to him. “Let me do the talking.”

He didn’t protest. He just nodded. We hadn’t been working together—never mind dating—all that long, but we’d already developed that sixth sense. That telepathy that partners forged after years on the job together. I didn’t have to spell out what he needed to do in there. I just trusted that he would.

Darren opened the door, and I hobbled inside.

Pitbull blinked. Then he rolled his eyes. “Oh God. You?” He faced the camera in the corner and screamed, “Police brutality! Police brutality!”

“Oh, shut up.” I leaned on the crutches. “You want to hold still so he can take those cuffs off? Or do you like them?”

He froze. “Take . . . take them off?”

Darren jingled a set of keys.

Pitbull held still.

Nobody said a word while Darren opened the cuffs. After he’d stepped out of the way, I spoke again. “Looks like you’re in the clear. We got a confession from the actual carjacker.”

“Oh.” Pitbull rubbed his wrists gingerly. “So . . . I’m free to go?”

“Yep.”

He started to get up, but looked at the door. And Darren standing in front of it. The loan shark swallowed hard. “Am I really free to go?”

“Yes.” I narrowed my eyes. “But I would suggest answering a few questions for me first.”

His eyes darted toward Darren. Toward the camera. Then back at me. “Is that camera on?”

I glanced up at it and shrugged. “Don’t know. Rumor has it the camera is out in one room.” I twisted around to look at Darren. “You know if that’s this room? Or the one next door?”

Darren shrugged. “Don’t know.”

“Well.” I faced Pitbull again. “Your guess is as good as mine.”

He gulped. “What do you want, Ruffner?”

“I want to know if anyone wants you dead.”

The guy was already fair-skinned, but he went damn near albino. “Huh?”

“Because, I mean, I can’t imagine any other reason why your name would be attached to harming a cop’s family. You’re smart enough not to fuck with a cop’s family, aren’t you?”

He blinked, nothing but fear registering on his face. “I don’t . . . I don’t follow.”

“You know what would happen if you were involved with something like that, right?” I asked as coldly as I could. “If I found out you went back on your word after the last time we talked?”

His Adam’s apple bobbed. “Man, I don’t know what you’re—” A piece must’ve fallen into place, because he sat ramrod straight, and his eyes were suddenly half-dollars. “Did someone fuck with Lisa? It wasn’t me, Ruffner. I swear to God! I haven’t touched her, I—”

“No one touched Lisa.”

Another blank stare. Another horrified epiphany.

“Emily,” he breathed.

I nodded. “And two of my older kids.”

I didn’t think it was possible, but he went even whiter. “Oh God.” He shrank back against the metal chair. “Ruffner, I swear on my mother’s life, I had nothing to do with it. I wouldn’t touch a kid. Ever.” He looked me in the eye. “Even before we, uh, talked.”

“Then who would?”

“I don’t know!” His voice was strained, bordering on hysterical. “I’m just a loan guy. I don’t—”

“Who have you pissed off, Pitbull?” I growled. “Because what better way to make sure you’re a dead man than to give me a reason to believe you hurt my kid?”

“I don’t know! I don’t . . . Man, I swear, I don’t fucking know.”

I just stared at him. I didn’t speak. Darren didn’t speak. No one made a sound aside from Pitbull’s increasingly rapid breathing.

After a long moment—one that probably felt ten times longer for him—Pitbull said, “I swear to God, Ruffner. I have no idea what’s going on.” He put up his hands. “I do a lot of shady shit, but I never fuck with kids. Ever.”

It was a weird feeling, realizing you were disappointed that a man had just convinced you he hadn’t laid a hand on your kids. We were back to square one. Square zero. My kids were out there somewhere—alive—and I had no leads. No hunches. No hints.

But I wasn’t done with Pitbull yet. As I came around the table, the crutches clicked on the concrete floor, and the sound was actually kind of menacing. I stopped right behind him and loomed, leaning down as much as I could so I was almost speaking in his ear.

“I know you’ve got tentacles in every corner of this town. If anyone so much as whispers about where my kids are or who’s got them, we both know it’ll get back to you. Right?”

He was shaking bad, and nodded. “Y-yeah. I’ll keep an ear to the ground, but I—”

“You’re right.” I put a heavy hand on his shoulder and squeezed. “You will.”

Hours after Pitbull had been released, I sat at my desk, rubbing my tired eyes so I could go over the list of recent parolees one last time. It wasn’t entirely unusual for convicts to want revenge on the cops who’d busted them. Some just wanted to get back to their normal lives after spending months or years in a cage, but others were hell-bent on destroying the people who—in their minds—were responsible for those lost months or years.

I could think of three convicts who might be compelled to fuck with me. A serial rapist named Dean Klein I’d arrested four years into my career. He’d told everyone who’d listen that he was going to take out me and my then-partner, but instead his first priority had been picking up where he’d left off with his heroin addiction. Too bad for him he hadn’t realized how much his tolerance had dropped in three years, and his landlord had found him with the needle still in his arm.

Then there was the murderer named Jason Wells, who was doing twenty-five to life. Every time he came up for parole, “life” seemed a bit more likely, considering he couldn’t seem to face the parole board without mentioning everything he planned to do to me once he got out.

And finally, there was Wesley Turner, who for some reason believed it was solely my fault that he was in lockup for distributing narcotics to middle school kids.

Klein wasn’t an issue, but Wells and Turner were on the list. Though they couldn’t touch me from their maximum-security cells, they had connections on the outside. All communications were strictly monitored, but criminals were not, by and large, stupid. Coded letters and conversations could go a long way. As could former cell mates who’d been paroled, tasked by their still-incarcerated friends to complete “missions” once they were on the outside.

Which meant our suspect—or at least the mastermind behind everything—could be literally anyone I’d ever arrested. For that matter, there was Trent Newberry, the dirty cop who’d been at the heart of the massive crime ring Darren and I had busted . . . Shit, was that only a couple of months ago?

I rubbed my forehead and swore softly.

We had a million possibilities, and not one concrete lead. Cops had enemies. It was an occupational hazard. The problem was sifting through the endless lists of names and figuring out who’d be satisfied to spit on me or write PIG in the dirt on my windshield, and whose grudge ran deep enough to warrant hurting my family.

Footsteps approached. I didn’t look up—I’d memorized that gait. “How is she?”

“Worried,” Darren said. “I told her to call if she hears anything, or if she needs something.”

“Good. Thanks for taking her home.”

“Don’t mention it.” He stopped behind me and touched my shoulder, and I absently put my hand over the top of his. He squeezed gently. “I should probably take you home too.”

“No.” I gestured at the screen. “I need—”

“You need sleep.”

I closed my eyes.

Sleep. Every ache in my bones, not to mention the throbbing in my foot and the thumping in my head, said I desperately needed some of that, but I didn’t see it happening anytime soon. Awake, I could do something. Get somewhere.

Asleep—assuming I could get there—I’d dream. I didn’t want to dream tonight.

Turning my head slightly, but not looking up at him, I said, “You really think I can sleep right now?”

“I think you need to.” He put his other hand on my other shoulder, and kneaded the stiff muscles. “You’re not going to be able to function if you don’t.”

“I can’t function now.” I tilted my head back so I could see him. “My kids, Darren . . .”

“I know.” He leaned down and pressed his lips to my forehead, and God, I didn’t even care if someone saw us. I needed his comfort a lot more than I needed discretion.

“At least if I’m here, I’m doing something.”

“And what good does it do if you’re so tired you can’t see straight? Or you miss an important detail?” He squeezed my shoulders. “You need to be sharp. I’ll keep going while you’re home. I promise.”

I closed my eyes and sighed. “I need to—”

“You need to sleep.” His voice hardened just enough to shut me up. “You’re shaken up, and on top of that, you’re still recovering from surgery. You’ve got to take care of yourself if you’re going to take care of your kids.”

I winced.

“Let me take you home,” he said, softening his tone again. “Take a few painkillers and crash, and I promise I’ll keep working while you’re out.”

Any other time, I’d have dug my heels in and argued, insisting I was fine for no other reason than I didn’t want to accept that someone else knew me better than I knew myself. But I was flagging hard. I’d only been running on a few cylinders since I’d fucked up my ankle. Fewer since the last surgery. And tonight, after everything that had gone down at the restaurant, I was drained, hitting a bone-deep level of physical and emotional exhaustion that I hadn’t even known was possible.

“You’ve got to take care of yourself if you’re going to take care of your kids.”

Those words echoed relentlessly inside my head. And I couldn’t argue with him. Running myself into the ground wouldn’t get us any closer to finding my kids and bringing them home. They needed me. They needed me sharp and rested.

I exhaled, shoulders sinking under his hands. “All right. Let’s go.”

I stayed with Andreas until he fell asleep.

He didn’t want me to. He wanted me to drop him off in front of his apartment and head right back to the station, but there was no way that was happening. He was so tired he was almost staggering, barely able to lift his crutches anymore, and the pinch of pain in his forehead had become a clench of his entire body. Besides, Erin shared the apartment with him now that she was living in the city, and I didn’t want to leave him to see signs of her everywhere with nothing to distract him from her glaring absence.

Instead, I parked and hustled him into the elevator, got him upstairs and into his apartment without giving him a chance to second-guess. It was tougher once we got inside. Andreas stopped in the kitchen to grab a glass of water, and paused in front of the fridge, his thumb brushing the edge of a construction-paper drawing Emily had done. It was a family portrait, lovingly rendered in crayon, with Andreas and Lisa and all of Emily’s siblings, and Emily in the middle holding on to the dog that she kept hinting—in the way an almost-five-year-old hinted, which was by outright asking—that her parents should give her. He already had a name, she’d said. Scruffy Ruffner. It was written across the bottom of the drawing in big blue letters, with the Rs reversed.

I put my hand on his and gently guided it away from the picture. “Let me bring the water, you head back to the bedroom.”

“I don’t need a fucking nanny, Darren.”

I shrugged. “Just being efficient.” I left it at that. After a moment, he walked out of the kitchen, and I exhaled, slowly and quietly. Andreas was going to be an emotional minefield for a while—I’d have to tread carefully. I very deliberately didn’t let myself think about my own latent sense of desperation as I poured a glass of filtered water into a cup, then headed back to join Andreas.

He was already sitting on the edge of bed, his head in his hands, but he looked up when I came in. “Saved you the trouble of bringing me pills. I already took them.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.” He met my eyes. “I might be fucked up, but I’m not an idiot. I know I need something right now, and if I have to sleep anyway . . .”

I wasn’t about to go and count his pills to see if he was telling the truth. Andreas was right—I wasn’t his nanny. I was his boyfriend, and he knew how to take care of himself. He just needed a reminder every now and then.

“Good call.” I passed him the water, and he drank half of it, then shifted onto the bed and settled onto his back with a wince. I sat down next to him and gave in to the urge to brush his hair off his forehead. It was still a little tacky with gel; he’d gone out of his way to look nice tonight, wanting to make a good impression on the boys.

Andreas sighed and closed his eyes. “You’ll call if you find anything?”

“Of course.”

“Don’t keep me out of the loop just because you think I need more sleep. The kids come first.” I need to be able to trust you. I heard it, even if he didn’t outright say it.

“I know they do. I’ll call, I swear. Otherwise I’ll be back in a few hours.”

“And then you’ll need sleep,” he grumbled, but I could see that fatigue was winning out at last.

“I can go another day, I think. If not, I’ll catch a nap at the station.”

“Don’t be like . . .” He yawned. “Paula.”

Paula was another detective, and one of the few who was friendly with us. She’d helped a lot on our last few cases, including helping me pull Andreas out of a burning building last month. She was also a workaholic and a caffeine addict, but there was no denying she got shit done. “There are worse role models to have.”

“Hmm.”

Less than five minutes later he was asleep, and I was on my way back to the station.

Speak of the devil—Paula was there to meet me as I got off the elevator. “I heard,” she said grimly, not bothering to specify what she’d heard. There was only one case right now, as far as I was concerned. “What can I do to help?”

“Are you even supposed to be working right now?” Paula’s schedule was a mystery to me. I wasn’t sure she ever took a full twenty-four hours off.

“Would I be here if I wasn’t?” she countered.

“Probably.”

“Okay, fair.” She folded her arms and blew a loose strand of long blonde hair out of her face. “Thibedeau is hunting down surveillance of the vehicles used in the kidnapping, so I’m hoping we can piece together the route they used, maybe get an idea of where they’re going.”

She followed me into the bull pen. People stopped what they were doing and stared, but I didn’t let it get to me. “And the kidnappers themselves?”

“All masked. We don’t even have a final count. At least four in one vehicle, two in the other if we include the drivers.”

“That’s a lot of manpower.”

“It was well-thought-out.” I went to sit down at my desk, but Paula immediately pulled me back to my feet.

“Nuh-uh, no, you’re not doing this here. We’re getting a room with a television where you can spread out.”

“There’s nothing to spread.” Not enough evidence, not nearly enough to go on.

“Not yet, but there will be, and when you and your case are ensconced in a conference room with a TV and a whiteboard instead of squeezed in at your desk, you’ll thank me.” She tugged me down the hall and into a room that had both of those things, plus a table big enough to seat eight, and a couch along one wall. She looked at it fondly. “I went to every thrift store in the city looking for a couch that was both clean and comfortable. You’ll like it, trust me. You want me to go talk to Mark, see where that footage is at?”

“Sure.” I didn’t mind getting a break from dealing with Thibedeau. Besides, there were still some phone calls I needed to make. “Thanks.”

“Of course.” She left, and I dialed up Captain Hamilton’s number. He wasn’t working this late, but the sooner he knew about this, the sooner we’d get approval for more support if we needed it.

He picked up on the first ring. “Darren, are you and Andreas at the station?”

“I am,” I said, a little taken aback by how quickly he’d responded. “Andreas was wiped, he’s at home. I’ll get him after he’s recovered a little.”

“He was injured?”

“Knocked down. It exacerbated his injury a little, but he’s mostly just exhausted.”

“Well, hell.” He sighed. “Tell me the rest of it.”

This was just the second time I’d given someone a rundown of tonight’s events, and I was already getting tired of repeating it. I didn’t want to dwell on what had already happened, I wanted to do something, but I’d rather the captain heard it from me than anyone else. I would at least give things the proper emphasis.

“All right,” he said when I was done. “I’ll talk to the commissioner, let him know that this needs to be a priority for every precinct until it’s solved. Put together a file breaking down what you know so far and email it to me. I’ll talk to the crime lab too, make sure any evidence connected to this case is put to the front of the line. Who’s working with you?”

“Thibedeau and Morris.”

“Don’t be afraid to requisition some uniforms if you need to.”

“I will.”

“We’ll get to the bottom of this, Corliss. I promise.”

Bold words, all things considered, but my rigid spine softened a little all the same. “Thanks, Captain.”

He hung up, and I stared at the phone for a moment, indecisive. I didn’t have the personal number for Erin’s boyfriend, but I knew the hospital he worked at. I could call and have him paged, and let him know what had happened. Somehow, though, it just didn’t seem right, coming from me. We barely knew each other, and there wasn’t much I could tell him at this stage in the investigation. And honestly, my capacity for dealing with fresh outbursts of unfiltered emotion was running on empty.

Time to punt. I’d let Andreas handle it in the morning.

I went and got my laptop. By the time I was done hooking it up to the TV, Paula was back with a USB key and two cups of coffee. Starbucks coffee. I didn’t get it. “Did you walk four blocks to get these?” I took mine and sipped it. Oh, damn, this wasn’t coffee. I coughed and wiped the back of my hand across my mouth.

“What is this?”

“It’s a black eye. Coffee and espresso. And Starbucks delivers,” she added.

“I thought that was called a red eye.”

She shook her head. “Those only have one shot. They’re for wusses. This’ll keep you up all night, trust me. Here.” She handed me the key. “These are from all the city-operated CCTV cameras Mark could access within two miles of the restaurant. He’s still working on getting copies of the commercial ones, but it’s a start.”

“Let’s do this.”

This wasn’t my first time combing through low-res camera footage for suspects, but I’d probably never paid such close attention before. The police force had installed a number of CCTV cameras at stop lights, tricky intersections, and highway entrances and exits—anywhere there was a high potential for traffic accidents. It wasn’t perfect coverage by any means, but it gave me something to work with. I opened up the original file and pulled up a still of the sedan and the van. I showed it to Paula. “These two, these are what you’re looking for.”

“No license plates. Great.”

“These people aren’t idiots.” I wish they were.

Paula just patted my shoulder and got to work. I took half an hour to put together the basics for Captain Hamilton and sent it off, then went back to surveying camera footage. A lot of camera footage, and the quality was shit so I had to double-check every similar-looking car to make absolutely sure it wasn’t the kidnappers. Trust the city council to go for cheap over effective when it came to surveillance.

“Here,” Paula said around 2 a.m., the first time either of us had spoken in hours. “Here, on Seventeenth, heading for Highway 2. Look.” She put it up on the TV and slowed it to half speed for me. A sedan was stopped behind a truck at a stoplight. I couldn’t see the license plate until traffic was moving again, but once it was—yep, nothing there. A few more cars passed through the intersection, and then a familiar black van pulled through as well. Again, no plates.

“Nice catch.” I pulled up the same video on my computer and checked the address against the map I had open in another window. “There’s another camera at the entrance to the highway, it’s just a quarter mile from there.” I found the relevant file and fast forwarded until I had the same time stamp as the last video. “They should show up pretty soon.”

Only they didn’t. A minute passed. Two minutes. There was the truck that had been right in front of the sedan, but where was the sedan? Three minutes. Four.

“Could they have taken another street?” Paula asked.

“They might have doubled back, but the only place to stop between Seventeenth and the highway is a convenience store. I don’t— Wait.” There went a black van, just like the one we were looking for. I zoomed in on it. No plates. “I think we found one of them, but where’s the other?”

“We must have missed it.” Paula and I checked the footage three times, but no—between one camera and the next, the sedan had gone missing. “They must have ditched it out there.”

“Why would they bother doing that?” Unless they didn’t need it anymore. Oh, fuck. I stood up and threw on my jacket. “We have to go.”

“Why? We can send a uniform out to—”

“No, Paula, we have to go! Or at least I do! If that car was abandoned somewhere, there’s no telling what could have been left with it, and I’m not— I can’t—” I forced myself to take a deep breath. “It was carrying the girls. Erin and Emily were in there.” I prayed she wouldn’t make me get more explicit than that. I couldn’t even think it, let alone say it.

Paula paled and got to her feet. “Okay. Let’s go check it out.”

I drove. The silence in the car was stifling, but I didn’t want to speak. There was nothing to be said, anyway. Nothing that could help. If we found the car and it was anything other than empty . . . I clenched my hands around the steering wheel so hard my knuckles damn near burst through the skin.

There was no traffic at this time of night, so we got to the stoplight at Seventeenth relatively fast. Once we were past it, I slowed way down. It was a two-lane road, empty scrubland on either side that might have once housed businesses, but was nothing but tall grass and weeds now. I looked left and Paula looked right, and after a minute we were almost at the highway. Where was the fucking—

“There!” She pointed. “Turn here, turn right, you’ll see it when the headlights are on it.” I turned us onto the rutted dirt, and sure enough, there was the sedan. It was maybe fifty feet from the edge of the road, partially obscured by a large thorn bush. I skidded to a stop right in front of it, put the car into park, and got out, but left the headlights on. With my flashlight in one hand and my gun in the other, I circled around to the driver’s side. The left rear window was broken, spidery cracks radiating out from a central impact. I couldn’t see inside, though; the tinting was too dark.

My heart beat so hard I could feel it in my eardrums, drowning out every other noise. I put my light away, reached for the door, jerked it open before I could turn away and be sick, Oh please God oh please oh please—

It was empty.

Thank fuck. My knees wavered, and I had to fight for a moment to stay on my feet.

Paula paused to put on a glove—I’d been in too much of a hurry. Then she opened the front door, leaned inside, and popped the trunk. “I’ll check it,” she murmured, and I let her. “Nothing. There’s nothing here.”

Actually, not quite nothing. I looked closer at the broken window as I pulled on a glove. None of the glass had fallen out, but it was clear that something had hit it hard. In fact . . . was that a . . .

I swiveled away as fast as I could and bent over double, gripping my knees hard enough to bruise. I shut my eyes and fought to gasp in air, air that stank of dust and exhaust, but I didn’t care. Paula was beside me in a second, her hand on my back. “What is it? What’s wrong?”

“There’s a . . . there’s a hair. In the crack in the glass. Some blood, and . . . and a hair.” A long, brown hair. A hair that looked like it might have come from Erin’s head.

Paula froze for a second, then slowly started moving again. “Okay. Okay, we need to close the door. We don’t want to lose any of the evidence.” I knew she was avoiding being explicit for my sake. “I’ll call the techs and get them out here so we can bring all this back to the precinct. They’ll analyze it and . . . Darren.” She squeezed my shoulder. “It’s not the worst thing we could have found.”

I nodded, my eyes still shut. “I know.”

“I need you to focus now, okay? I need you to come back. Come on back. You can do this.”

“I know.” Slowly, so slowly my spine creaked, I straightened up. I opened my eyes, and saw Paula watching me, concern written all over her face. There was no one else to see me being weak—especially not Andreas, thank God. The last thing he needed right now was to worry about my ability to keep my shit together. “I’m all right.”

“Of course you are.”

“Let’s get this done.”

We stayed long enough to watch the car get towed away. The crime scene people would work it over once they got it back to their garage, but I wasn’t overly hopeful they’d get much out of it. The only shred of evidence I’d seen in the whole thing had been stuck to the glass; the interior smelled like it had been recently detailed, and the kidnappers had been wearing gloves in the video footage.

We were back to having exactly nothing—the CCTV cameras didn’t extend any farther outside of the center of the city. Or, well, I guess we also knew that someone had been injured badly enough that the kidnappers had had to ditch the sedan. I wondered if Erin had fought with them. I wondered why she’d needed to.

I stopped my wondering right there. It was just going to drive me crazy. “What time is it?” I rasped.

“Almost five.”

Shit, we’d been out for nearly three hours. I’d known the crime scene guys were slow, but I hadn’t known they’d been that slow. I was supposed to pick up Andreas at six. “I need to drop you off at the precinct.”

“Sure.”

Somehow, the ride back was a little less fraught, despite what we’d found. Evidence of an injury wasn’t good, it definitely wasn’t, but it was better than a body. I briefly flirted with the idea of not telling Andreas what we’d found, then dismissed it. If he found out later, from someone other than me, he’d feel so betrayed. I couldn’t do that to him, not when it came to his kids.

“Bring food when you guys come back,” Paula said as I pulled into the parking garage. “I could really go for a tuna melt right now.”

“Weird choice for breakfast.”

“Eh, it’s lunchtime somewhere.” She paused for a second, then leaned over the console and gave me a hug. I didn’t even try to resist. She didn’t say anything, no pithy statements about togetherness or community, and I appreciated it. After a few seconds, she let me go and got out of the car. I let it idle for a moment, just long enough to pull myself back together before I went to get Andreas. I needed to be calm for him, needed to help him keep his sense of perspective. If I could only keep it myself.

Someone knocked on my window. I looked up and groaned. It was Detective Kirk Ross, the douchebag who, along with his equally douchey partner, shared the back corner of the bull pen with me and Andreas. He didn’t like either of us, and hadn’t hesitated to tell me that any fucking chance he got. And there he was, in what was probably the only suit he owned, rumpled and gray like an ancient gum stain, scowling at me from under his moustache. He mimed rolling the window down, and I obliged because I could shout at him better without the glass separating us.

“Look, if you’re here to make one single fucking comment about what happened last night, you can shove it up your ass, because—”

“Whoa, hey!” He had the gall to look affronted. “No need to bite my damn head off. I just wanted to say, I heard about Ruffner’s kids. And . . . look, I’m sorry. That’s fucked up. Let me and Schneidmiller know if you need some help, okay?”

I blinked. Apparently falling into a parallel dimension was easier than I’d thought. “What?”

“What part of that was hard to understand, Corliss?”

“The part where you said we could ask you for help.”

Ross looked uncomfortable, but earnest. “Desperate times call for desperate measures, I guess. Nobody’s kids should be used against them like this.” He pointed a finger at my face. “Don’t get used to it, though. You guys are still bad news as far as I’m concerned.” He walked inside, and I watched him go, then pinched myself hard on the side.

“Ow, fuck.” Yep, still awake. Okay then. Twilight Zone moment aside, it was time to get Andreas.

I hoped he’d slept well, since I couldn’t promise it would happen again anytime soon.

Chemical sleep wasn’t dreamless sleep. In fact, as I crawled out of that haze, I had the jittery, queasy feeling that came with waking up from a vivid nightmare. And in a way, I remembered having that vivid nightmare. More than one, I thought.

Fortunately, though, I’d apparently taken enough drugs that I couldn’t remember the actual dreams. As rattled as I was, I decided that was a blessing.

Or maybe I hadn’t dreamed, and the feeling was because I was in a living nightmare. The sun was rising. The birds were chirping. The coffee was on.

And since Darren hadn’t come in to shake me awake with good news, my kids were still missing.

The fear, the guilt, and the pain were excruciating, but a thick layer of . . . something kept them from hitting me full force. That would come later. Probably when I needed it the least.

I sat up slowly, head spinning and stomach somersaulting. God knew where the drugs ended and the fear began, but I was going to be a wreck for a while, so I decided to just get used to it. What choice did I have?

As I was reaching for my crutches, Darren appeared in the doorway. Ah, that explained why I’d smelled coffee.

“Hey.” He met my gaze with an uneasy smile. “I didn’t think you’d be awake yet.”

“I’m amazed I slept.”

“Those pills are strong shit.” He crossed the room and offered me a hand as I got to my feet. “How’s the pain?” He didn’t ask how I was doing. Maybe it was just because, given all the shit with his brother, he knew damn well what a minefield that question could be. It would make me feel like I needed to say, I’m all right, and I wasn’t. And he seemed to get that.

“Pain’s not as bad as it’s been.” I tucked one crutch under my arm, then the other. My right knee and hip ached furiously, and my back was less than thrilled from the crutches, the weight of the cast, and this off-kilter way I had to carry myself. It wasn’t as bad as it had been, but fuck, I did not need it right now.

Once I was more or less upright, I met his gaze. “Any updates?”

His face fell a little. “We found one of the vehicles.”

My gut clenched. “And?”

Darren swallowed. “There’s . . . there was some blood. And hair.”

I couldn’t breathe.

“It’s not a lot,” he said quickly. “Not . . . not like a serious wound. But the hair is . . .”

I touched his arm, as much for balance as to silently beg him to continue even when I wanted to beg him not to.

Finally, he whispered, “I’m almost certain it’s Erin’s.”

“Oh Jesus.”

Suddenly the crutches weren’t nearly enough.

As if he knew—and maybe I’d visibly wavered or something—Darren put his hands on my shoulders. His touch was firm. Stabilizing and grounding. Comforting in one of those moments when I didn’t think comfort was possible.

I exhaled. “I should get dressed. We need to get to the station and—”

“Andreas. Listen to me.”

I met his gaze again.

“Are you sure you’re up for this?” He said it like he already knew the answer.

“No, but the alternative is sitting here doing nothing.” I nodded toward the bed. “I’ve done enough of that.”

He studied me. And maybe he hadn’t known me that long, but he damn sure knew me well enough that he just said, “Okay. I’ll put some coffee in travel mugs.”

“Thanks.” I paused. “What about you? You’ve been up all night.” It showed, too. His shoulders were sagging, and the dark lines under his bloodshot eyes were alarmingly pronounced. “You need to sleep.”

“I’ve still got some steam.” He pressed a soft kiss to my mouth. “If I need to, I’ll use that couch at the station.”

I took a breath to argue, but damn if I didn’t hear some of my own words coming from him. That undercurrent of stubbornness that had driven my ex-wife, my previous partners, and Captain Hamilton insane. The unmistakable note of The decision is made, so don’t bother arguing.

So I didn’t. “Okay. Let’s get moving.”

The precinct was alive with more activity than I’d seen in a long time. Paula, Thibedeau, and Hamilton were barking orders and sending people in every which direction. People saw us, noticed us, acknowledged us, but didn’t say much or try to get in the way. The usual hostility was gone, though. It was more like the wide berth we gave a fellow cop when he was about to make a break in his case and couldn’t be distracted.

Officer Blaine paused for a quick word of encouragement, but then he and his partner hurried past us, probably not wanting to stick around and find out how pissed Paula could get when people dawdled.

All the activity faded to a dull buzz, kind of like when my ears were ringing after gunfire or an explosion, and everything seemed to be filtered through thick cotton. I was aware of my surroundings, of people moving and talking, but only distantly.

I leaned one of my crutches against a desk to free up one of my hands for my coffee cup, and carefully moved toward the whiteboard in the middle of the bull pen. There was no doubt an identical one in the conference room.

On the board was everything we knew, which . . . wasn’t much. The restaurant. The time of the disappearance. Descriptions of my kids. Names of witnesses. Make and model of the vehicles. The intersections where the vehicles were last seen.

A whole lot of words and photos that added up to a whole lot of nothing.

My gaze shifted to a photo on the end, and I quickly turned away. It wouldn’t do any of us any good for me to scrutinize a glossy eight-by-ten photo of my daughter’s blood.

I sipped my coffee for something to do. The caffeine was hardly necessary. I was wide-awake. It did, however, settle my queasy stomach and keep my head from pounding quite so violently.

Carefully avoiding that one photo, I looked over the board again, and the coffee’s stomach-settling effect pretty much vanished. I was used to the frustration of trying to find and piece together evidence. I was used to a rapidly ticking clock. I was used to lives hanging in the balance while I sifted through files, stared at photos, interviewed dead-ends, and chased wild geese all over the fucking city.

But nothing had ever prepared me for this degree of helplessness. Not even the night Darren had nearly died right in front of me. At least then, there’d been something I could do, even if it was just calling for help and putting pressure on the wound until someone with the proper training took over. Right now, I had no idea where to start. No clue who might be behind this, or why. Not even a hint at where the kids and their kidnappers were. They could’ve been out of the city by now. Out of the state. Out of the country.

My throat tightened. The cotton in my ears and the layer of seminumbness keeping my emotions at bay was almost enough to mute the screams I’d heard from too many parents when they’d learned that a search for a missing child had turned into a homicide investigation. That was one of the reasons I’d stayed in Narcotics for most of my career. No department—not even traffic detail—was completely safe, but I didn’t have the stomach for a department where dead kids were a regular occurrence. It had given me too many nightmares and too much anxiety over my own kids being victims.

I shuddered and closed my eyes.

Those nightmares hadn’t been close to the real thing. I just prayed like hell I never had to hear that bone-chilling scream from my ex-wife or my ex-girlfriend.

Or myself.

A hand on my shoulder made me jump, nearly sending my coffee tumbling onto the floor.

“Hey.” Paula’s voice was as gentle as her hand. “How you holding up, hon?”

I steadied my coffee cup, not to mention myself on my crutch. “As well as can be expected.”

“‘As well as can be expected’ would mean not being in any state of mind to work.” Her eyebrows pinched together.

I avoided her gaze and stared at the useless board instead. “Either I work, or I accept that my kids are gone.”

She jumped slightly. “Well, then let me give you an update.”

Thank God she didn’t push, and I didn’t know why I’d expected her to. She knew me.

She laid a folder out on a desk beside the board, and ran me through what they’d found in the last few hours. It amounted to the same thing as the whiteboard—not much—but it was good to know the investigation was so wide and thorough. There was a lot of comfort just in knowing there were boots on the ground, eyes and ears all over our jurisdiction, and other precincts working with us, including state patrols in surrounding states and county sheriffs for miles. You never knew when a vigilant cop would pull someone over for a busted taillight and realize something wasn’t right.

“So, basically we’ve gotten nowhere,” she said after a while. “But we’re looking.”

“I know. Good work.” I paused. “What I need to figure out is a motive.”

She nodded. “If you have anything, no matter how out there it might be, let’s hear it.”

“I thought it might be one of the loan sharks fucking with my ex-girlfriend, but I’m pretty sure he was telling the truth. At this point, short of interviewing every inmate in maximum security to figure out who’s got a grudge and someone on the outside . . .” I shook my head.

“I’ll send a couple of uniforms to the pen.”

I blinked. “Seriously?”

“Absolutely. And a pair to medium security. They’ll interview every inmate you’ve collared and see what they can find.”

“Oh. Okay.” I scanned over the information she’d laid out in front of me. “They, uh, might have to put in some overtime.”

“The captain’s authorized as much overtime as we need. Any bean counter gives him shit for it, they’re going to have to explain it to you.”

Another moment where I would have laughed at any other time, but couldn’t muster the energy now. “Okay. That’s . . . that’s great.” I glanced at the whiteboard. “Is it insane that I have no idea what I should be doing?”

“You’re doing it, honey.” She patted my arm. “Let us do the legwork. We need you to figure out the motive.”

I nodded. She gave me a gentle hug, then left to send some officers to the penitentiaries.

Figure out the motive. Fine. I was good at that. Always had been. But what motive would possibly drive someone to hurt my kids?

I had an enemy out there. Someone I’d fucked with badly enough that they wanted to hit me where it hurt the most.

“Okay, Mom. I know. I know. I’m sorry.” Darren’s voice grabbed my attention as he came into the bull pen, gaze distant and cell phone pressed to his ear. He winced, probably at something his mother had said, and sighed. “I’m doing the best I can. I promise.” Pause. “Okay. I love you.”

After he hung up, he paused to rub his forehead.

My chest tightened. I knew that look. These days, all it took was his mother or stepfather’s ringtone to make Darren’s features pull tight and his eyes darken. Once he’d spoken to them, he was a million miles away, the pain radiating off him so strongly it was almost visible to the naked eye.

Early on, I’d have asked how his brother was, but like he knew better than to ask how I was holding up, I didn’t. Instead, I touched his arm. “If you need to go to your family, we—”

“Don’t.” He shook his head. “We need to focus on—”

“Darren.” I tipped up his chin so he had to look me in the eye. “You know it means the world to me that you’re working so hard on this, but if you need to go see him, go.”

He winced. I wanted to encourage him, but I didn’t have to spell out what we both knew. Asher didn’t have much time left. He had even less lucid time left. And if things were bad today, enough that his mother was on the phone with him, then his family needed Darren as much as he needed to be there.

Darren exhaled. “I’ll . . . check on Ben too. Make sure he’s holding up.”

My turn to wince. I should have been with my son. But if I was with him, then who would find his siblings besides every cop in a five-hundred-mile radius?

“Tell him I’ll be there when I can.” My mouth had gone dry. “And he can call me. If he needs to.”

Darren nodded. Meeting my gaze, he said, “That goes for you too, you know.”

“Likewise.”

We held eye contact for a moment.

Then he cleared his throat and glanced at the board behind me. “I’ll be back as soon as I can.”

“I know you will.” There was no point in telling him to get some rest.

One last look, and he was gone.

I felt Darren’s absence as acutely as I’d have felt a missing crutch. It fucked with my balance. Made me feel like I didn’t dare take a step. But in a way, I felt better. His family needed him, and my conscience needed him to go to them. What if Asher’s last lucid days or hours happened while Darren was investigating this kidnapping? I’d never sleep again. And Darren would—rightfully—resent me.

So it was better this way. And I still had one crutch, so I wasn’t down for the count.

Hobbling across the worn laminate floor, I went to find Paula.

Paula dropped into the driver’s seat of her car. “Well, that was another dead end.”

I grumbled a few curses as I arranged myself and my crutches on the passenger side. “Whoever did this, it’s not a loan shark.”

“Not a known one, anyway.”

Fuck. We’d just hunted down and interviewed four prominent names from the dirty-money community, and none of them knew anything. Neither of us had any inkling they were lying. They were all good at it, but everyone had their tells, and all four had seemed genuinely oblivious. Of course they’d heard—everyone had by now—but they couldn’t offer anything. If they could’ve, they’d have started by negotiating a price for the information.

“So what now?” I asked.

“Well.” She started the car, but didn’t put it into gear yet. “I think we need to—”

My phone vibrated in my pocket. My heart sped up as I yanked the phone out, but my heart fell as soon as I saw the screen.

Zach.

Fuck. Erin’s boyfriend. I almost ignored the call—I couldn’t cope with giving another hopeless update, and sure as shit didn’t have time for it—but he was probably just worried about her. We all were. I couldn’t begrudge the man for being this concerned about my daughter.

So, I put my phone to my ear. “Hey, Zach. What’s—”

“Erin’s here. At the ER.”

I nearly dropped the phone. “What? Is she all right?”

“She’s here,” he repeated. He sounded like he was walking fast. “She got here about twenty minutes ago. Someone dropped her off.”

To Paula, I said, “Hospital. Now.”

She didn’t hesitate, and the tires were already squealing before I said to Zach, “What’s wrong? How is she?”

He started rattling off some rapid fire medical jargon, but my brain couldn’t process it.

“Zach,” I growled. “English. Is she okay?”

“Yes.”

I allowed myself a heartbeat’s worth of relief, but it didn’t last. Where are my other kids? What’s happening? Talk to me, Zach.

He pulled in a deep breath. “She’s got a concussion. Laceration to the side of her head. They’re taking her up for a CT scan right now, but she’s conscious and mostly coherent. Just really shaken up.”

Eyes closed, I exhaled hard. “Has she said anything about her brother and sister?”

“Not really. I just got down here. She’s . . . she’s a wreck.”

“Shit. I’ll . . . Listen, I’ll be there as soon as I can. Tell her I’m on my way.”

“What’s going on?” Paula asked, gripping the wheel tight as she sped down the street.

“Erin’s at the ER.”

Paula drove faster.

If not for my stupid newly reassembled ankle, I’d have sprinted through that ER like a man on fire. As it was, I moved as fast as my crutches would allow, and in a few long strides, I was at the front desk.

“My daughter is here.” I tried to school the unsteadiness out of my voice. “Erin Ruffner.”

The secretary opened her mouth to respond, but a familiar voice spoke first.

“Andreas,” Zach said. “This way.”

I quickly fell in beside him. “How is she?”

“We’re still waiting on the CT results, but her doctor and I both think the trauma is mild.”

Well, there was that.

“How did she get here?”

“That’s the weird part.” He turned a corner and slowed a step while I caught up. “Someone pulled around the side of the building, dropped her off with a blindfold on, and left. No one saw a thing until she came stumbling in through the front door.”

I shuddered, definitely on the verge of getting violently ill.

He stopped outside an open door. “She’s in here.”

I hurried past him.

And oh my God.

Erin.

Her face was pale and tear-stained. There was a bandage on one side of her head. A few bruises on her neck and arms.

But she was here, and she was alive.

“Dad! Oh my God.” She tried to sit up, but the nurse beside her put a hand on her shoulder.

“Hey,” the nurse said gently. “Easy.”

I hobbled to Erin’s bedside and didn’t care when one of my crutches slipped free and clattered to the floor as she threw her arms around me. I didn’t remember ever having held my daughter this tight. She sobbed against my shoulder, mumbling apologies and all kinds of things I couldn’t understand, but words could wait, if only for a minute. I needed to hold her and make sure she was really here and this wasn’t some kind of sleep-deprived, painkiller-induced hallucination.

“God, I am so glad you’re okay.” I stroked her hair, careful not to disturb the bandage. “Jesus.” I kissed her temple and held her tighter. Even as I held her, though, I was aware of Zach, and of things that needed to happen. I turned to him without letting go of Erin. “I need the tapes from every camera in this hospital. My partner Paula’s parking the car, but she’ll be—”

“Where’s Darren?” Erin jerked back, staring at me with fresh panic in her eyes. “Did he get hurt?”

“No. No. He’s fine.” I gathered her up again. “I sent him home to get some sleep.” Not entirely true, but close enough.

She exhaled against my shoulder. “Thank God. After he and Ben went down . . .” She stiffened again.

“You saw all that?”

“Yeah. After they put us in the car. I was trying to keep Emily calm, but then I heard the guys and the gun, and Casey told me . . .” She shuddered. “Ben’s okay, right?”

“Ben’s fine. He’ll be glad to see you.” I turned to finish explaining what I needed to Zach, but he was gone. Okay. Okay, that was fine. He was smart, and Paula would know what to do, and God knew they could both think more clearly than I could right now. I shifted my attention back to Erin. “We need to talk about what’s going on.”

“I know.” She leaned back against the pile of pillows, rubbing her forehead.

“You okay?”

“Yeah. Just . . . my head is killing me.”

I put a hand on her arm. “Baby, I know you’re rattled and scared, but I need to know if—”

“Casey and Emily are okay.” She lowered her hand, and swallowed hard as tears welled up in her eyes again. “They’re scared, but they’re . . . They were okay when I . . .” She covered her mouth. “I didn’t want to leave them, Dad, but we had to—”

“Erin. Shh. Shh.” I squeezed her hand. “We’re going to find them. Just slow down and tell me everything you know.” I took a notepad out of my jacket and hoped like hell I could do this without shaking. “Anything you can give me will get me closer to bringing them home.”

Her eyes lost focus. Then she closed them and took a few slow, deep breaths, and damn if she wasn’t pulling herself together right then and there. Her voice still trembled, but it was much steadier now as she said, “It’s a house. I . . . couldn’t see much. There’s a full basement. That’s where Emily and Casey are.”

“Okay, good.” My heart was going a million miles a minute as I jotted notes. “How big was the basement? Like a single room, or—”

“I think it was one big room. Concrete all the way around.” She paused. “It smelled kind of . . .” She took in a breath through her nose, as if she could somehow smell anything except solvent and disinfectant. “Swampy?”

“Swampy? Like, moldy?”

“No, there was some musty stuff. Mildew, maybe. But there was definitely something like a swamp.”

“Good. Good.” I wrote it down. “Anything else?”

“It was quiet. I didn’t hear any cars or anything except when they came and went.”

“Did you see their faces?”

She sighed. “No. The guys who picked us up had ski masks on, and when they handed us off to these other guys, they did too.”

“Wait, they handed you off?”

“Yeah. I heard them talking about money, something about agreeing on a different price, or—” She shook her head. “I was trying to keep Emily calm, so I couldn’t hear a lot of it.”

“That’s good, though.” Really good. Holy shit. Someone had hired the kidnappers, then. “Do you know how long they drove?”

“No. I was kind of woozy after I hit my head.”

The image of the blood and hair inside the vehicle made my skin crawl. “What happened? How did you hit your head?”

She swallowed. “One of the guys was trying to blindfold Emily. So, I . . .” She shrugged. “Kicked his ass.”

It was almost enough to actually make me laugh. Or make me insanely proud. And somewhere deep inside, I was. But mostly, I was filled with horror over the prospect of someone trying to blindfold the little one, and of Erin fighting with someone violently enough to get hurt like this.

“Emily’s okay,” she said again, as if to reassure herself as well as me. “She’s scared, but Casey and I kept her as calm as we could.”

“What about him?” My heart thudded harder. “Is he all right?”

“He . . .” She chewed her lip. “He said his arm hurt. Like he might’ve gotten knocked around or something. But yeah, he’s okay.”

“Good.” I paused. “Do you know why they let you go?”

“Because they thought I was going to die.”

I blinked. “Come again?”

“Casey and I heard them arguing. They were . . .” Her eyes lost focus. “They were talking about things getting out of hand. One kept saying ‘This wasn’t the plan, this wasn’t what I agreed to,’ and the other told him there was no going back. Then the first guy said there was no telling if I had a concussion bad enough to make me hemorrhage, and that if I did, they’d be facing murder charges.”

It was just as well I hadn’t eaten earlier, or Erin and I would both be wearing it right now.

“The one said if I did, they could just dump my body somewhere. Or . . .” She shuddered. “Anyway, the other said he already thought they were in over their heads, but he was drawing the line there. He didn’t want to do life or get the needle, and if I was really hurt, they should bring me here. They’d still have Casey and Emily, so what difference did it make if they had me?”

I just stared at her, unable to comprehend it.

So, of course, she went on. “Casey and I figured out that if I faked it—made it look like I was really messed up—they’d do it. They’d drop me here.”

I swallowed a huge, sick lump in my throat. “They could have finished you off and dumped you somewhere.”

“I know.” She held my gaze, her eyes filled with fierce determination, and she didn’t even shudder this time as she said, “But we didn’t know how else to get help.”

“Jesus, baby.” I hugged her again, more aware than ever of how easily I could have lost her. And of what a badass I’d raised.

“I tried to keep track of where we went,” she mumbled into my shoulder. “But they blindfolded me. Went in circles. I . . .” She drew back a bit. “There was a dirt road, though. At the beginning.”

I straightened.

Erin swallowed. “I could hear the rocks hitting the undercarriage. And there were potholes. A lot of them.” She paused, chewing her lip. “And he stopped like he was at a stop sign. Twice. Then there was a red light.”

“How could you tell?”

“Because he stopped longer and he started drumming on the wheel more. At the stop signs, he kind of just slowed down, then took off. You know, like how Mom drives. California stops.”

I did find the energy to laugh at that. “Good to know. So at least two stop signs and a traffic light.” Of course the man could’ve sailed right through a dozen green lights and she’d never know, but it was something. A house in a quiet area with a full basement and a swampy smell near a not-so-well-maintained road with at least one light and two stop signs on the way. It was more than I’d had earlier. And Jesus, it was an impressive amount of detail from a concussed, blindfolded kid who’d just been kidnapped and then separated from her siblings. The last thing I wanted was for one of my kids to become a cop, but damn if Erin wouldn’t make an amazing one.

“Okay. This is all good.” I squeezed her arm. “I need to go talk to Paula. Get this information to people who can start looking. But you did good, baby. Really good.”

She smiled weakly.

I leaned forward and kissed her forehead. “Get some rest. I’ll be back as soon—”

“I’ll be fine. Just find them, okay?”

“I’m doing everything I can. I promise.”

The smile got a little stronger. “I know.”

Out in the hall, I found Paula on her way in. She glanced past me. “How is she?”

“She’ll be all right. Even better once we find her brother and sister.” I took a breath. “And she’s got some information that might point us in the right direction.”

“Oh thank God.” She gestured over her shoulder. “Because there’s nothing useful on the cameras. Just a van with covered-up plates.”

“Of course.”

“So what’s our next move?”

I gnawed the inside of my cheek. “First we call in some protective detail for Erin. Then I need a map.”

“He’s asking for you.”

Hearing my mom say that to me over the phone was like getting a syringe full of guilt injected straight into my heart. My brother was asking for me. Asher hadn’t done that for over a month. He’d just been drifting along in the muddy haze of his disease and all the meds they kept him on to manage it. Manage, because there was no cure for Alzheimer’s and even fewer effective treatments for the early-onset variety. All the nurses at the facility could do was keep him noncombative, and they mostly succeeded. Unfortunately, that usually meant he was just one step above catatonic.

I hated getting pulled away from the case, but in a purely selfish way, I was a little glad too. Asher might be another problem I couldn’t solve, but he was one I was used to at this point. It hurt less to look at him than it did to watch Andreas struggle with what had happened to his family. Finding the blood in the car, watching the hours go by and knowing that the longer this dragged out, the lower our chances got of finding them . . .

Fuck that. I was tired, and fatigue turned me into a pessimist. We’d find Andreas’s kids. Their case was going to be solved. For now, though, I could just sit with Asher and breathe for a little bit. He was more alert than usual today—made sense, if he’d actually been asking for me. He’d forgotten that he had by the time I got there, but he remembered who I was when I walked into his room, so that was something.

A clumsy fingertip traced a line beneath my eye. “You look like you got punched.”

I chuckled and turned to him. “Nah, I’m just tired.”

“You should go to sleep.”

“I can’t. Not yet. Got a case to solve first.”

“You can nap here.” He patted the bed we were sitting cross-legged on.

“I want to.” God, did I ever want to. “But I can’t stay for long. I really do have a case, and it’s . . .”

“A bad one?” he finished.

“Yeah.”

“Oh.” He took his hand away, and I wanted to chase it down and take it back, but I didn’t. The doctors kept saying we had to allow Asher his autonomy, that it was more important than ever now that he had lost almost all of his independence. I took a chance and extended my hand, but he didn’t grab it. He reached up to scratch at his neck instead. “Why is this collar so tight?”

“Special clothes, Ash.” Special as in “clothes that zipped up the back and had a lock at the top so he couldn’t take them off on his own.” Apparently he had a habit of trying to get out of his clothes at odd times of day, so they’d transitioned him to these ridiculous onesies that made him look like an overgrown baby. “Don’t— Hey, don’t scratch at it.” I did take his hand now, to pull it away from his reddened skin.

“I wouldn’t scratch if it didn’t itch, goddamn fucking . . .” His tirade faded before it could get going, which was so unlike Asher.

“I’m sorry.” I was, so sorry I didn’t even know how to express it in a way that would count anymore. There were a million things I wanted for my brother, and most of them were impossible. The least I could do was be with him for a little while.

“I know.” He looked at me, and for a moment I could see him, the him I remembered from five years ago, strong and confident. “You’re going to be okay, Darren.”

Oh jeez, did I look like I needed comforting? I was doing a great job of being there for my brother today. “I’m fine.”

“I know you always say that, even if you don’t mean it. But you’re tough. You’ll come out fine in the end.”

“I . . . Thanks?”

He smiled a little crookedly. “You’re welcome.” His fingers twitched in mine, like they wanted to do something but couldn’t decide on what. A side effect, the doctors had said. Another fucking side effect. Along with the depression, the paranoia, the fatigue . . . It was one thing after another for Asher.

“Do you want to—” My phone went off, and I winced. “Shit. I have to take this.”

“Go ahead.” His eyes were already wandering away from me, but I held on to his hand as I fished my phone out of my pocket and answered. “Corliss.”

“Erin’s back.”

All the breath left my lungs in an enormous sigh of relief. After a few seconds, I pulled myself together enough to speak. “Holy shit, really?”

“Yeah, she’s at the hospital.” Andreas sounded better than he had when I left, that was for sure. Not perfect, but more energized, more alive. “Got dropped there anonymously, and she doesn’t remember much, but what she’s got is enough to do some digging. I’ll send someone to grab Ben from your folks’ house if you can call and let them know to expect—”

“What? No!” It would be on the way for me anyhow, and I needed to get back to the case. “I’ll go get him.”

“Are you sure? There are plenty of people to help with this, Darren, you can take your time.”

“Yeah, I’m sure.” I moved to get up, but now Asher wasn’t letting go of my hand. “Hang on. Ash,” I said. “You have to let go, I need to leave.”

“Why?”

“My case, remember? I have a case I need to solve.”

“You do?”

“Yeah.”

“Oh.” His grip loosened until his fingers fell away.

I leaned in and kissed his forehead. “I’ll be back soon, okay?”

I was already turning away when he said, “Okay.” The last thing I saw him do as I walked out was bring his hand back up to his neck and start to scratch again. I’d have to talk to the nurses about that―he was going to rub himself raw if he wasn’t careful.

“I’m on the way to get Ben now. I’ll be back to the station in an hour.”

“Don’t speed.”

I laughed. “Who am I talking to again?”

“I’m serious. We’ve had bad fucking luck with cars lately.”

“One hour,” I repeated. “I’ll see you soon.” I’m happy for you, I hope this is the break we need, I love you.

“Good.” He hung up, and I sighed. I’d get better at saying what I meant. Maybe when this case was over and everyone was safe.

I made it back to my folks’ place in ten minutes—that had been one of the big selling points of Asher’s facility, that it was so close to home. Ben had obviously already been informed, because he was waiting for me on the porch, pacing anxiously. Vic and Mom were with him.

“Finally!” he exploded as I pulled into the driveway. He was getting in almost at the same time as I got out. “We have to go!”

“We are, in just a second.” I jogged up to my parents. “We got a break in the case, I’ve got to—”

“We know,” Vic said. “Go do what you need to. Let us know how we can help.”

“I will.”

“Thanks for going and seeing your brother, honey,” my mom added, and I sighed.

“He seemed a little better today.”

Mom’s face brightened. “I know! I was surprised when he didn’t get upset when I met him this morning—the hair, you know.” Yeah. Asher didn’t like that my mom was going gray, instead of being the blonde he remembered. “I hope that—”

“Darren! Come on!”

“I have to go.”

“Go on, honey.”

I got back to the car just as Ben was reaching for the horn. “Whoa, message received, there’s no need to annoy the neighbors.”

“I’ll annoy anybody if it gets me to Erin faster.”

Well, I couldn’t argue with that. I pulled away from the house and headed for the hospital, going about twenty over the speed limit and not giving a damn. “Her doctor boyfriend’s there too.”

Ben smiled weakly. “It’s not exactly the way I thought I’d meet the guy, but I’ll take it. Do you like him?”

“He’s good at what he does, and he’s got a sense of humor. Plus he adores your sister, so . . . yeah. I like him.”

“I guess she’s in good hands, then.”

I wondered why he was looking upset. “That doesn’t mean she won’t be happy to see you too.”

He nodded. “I know, but . . . Dad said she was helpful. With the case. She kept it together and protected Emily and got information out of it all, even when they were shoving her out of a freakin’ van. I just . . . I don’t know when my sister got so badass. I don’t know how I missed it.”

I couldn’t help it—I laughed. “Welcome to your dad’s world. Andreas swears he can’t keep up with all of you. He wants to try, though.”

“Yeah. I’m glad he is. It’s nice to know about you, even if it is . . .” Ben shrugged. “Kind of weird.”

“It really is.”

I parked in the emergency lot and we walked into the lobby, where Zach caught us. “Nice timing,” I told him.

“Andreas let me know you’d be coming. Erin’s been admitted, but only for observation at this point.” He glanced at Ben. “Hi. Um.”

“You’re the boyfriend.”

“You’re the brother.”

“One of them.”

“Right, right.”

All aboard the Awkward Express! “Let’s go see Erin,” I suggested, and Zach leaped at the chance to do something.

Watching Erin and Ben’s reunion was bittersweet, all things considered. There were tears, useless apologies from Ben, a gentle slap to the back of his head from Erin, and then surprisingly, I was drawn into the mix.

“Darren!” She pulled me down for a hug, and I didn’t fight it. “Oh my God, thank you so much for saving Ben, I was so worried you guys had been hurt.”

“Not a scratch on me,” I assured her. It was more than almost anybody else could say. “I’ve got to get to the station and get to work. You’re seriously amazing, you know that? How many other people would walk away from getting kidnapped with the kind of information you did?”

Aw, was she blushing? “Thanks. I just hope it helps.”

“I know it will.” I didn’t know exactly how, but I’d get the details soon enough. “I’ve got to go, I’ll see you again soon.”

“You can meet Mom,” Ben said, and I gritted my teeth through a smile.

“Great.” Zach looked about as enthusiastic as I felt, and we shared a sympathetic glance as I walked out. Meeting Andreas’s ex-wife. Who I knew almost nothing about, apart from the fact that the divorce had been her idea and she was remarried and living in another state. Yeah, I’d like to subject myself to that on the second of never, thanks very much.

I made it to the station with ten minutes to spare, and found Andreas and Paula hunched over the table in our conference room, staring down at a map.

“—not really swampy,” Paula was saying. “I mean, yeah, it’s a flood plain, but it hasn’t rained for weeks. I think we’ve got to move closer to the river.”

“The river is too far from the zone Erin indicated, and moving water isn’t going to give you a really swampy smell either.”

“Erin’s directions need to be taken with a grain of salt. I’m not saying she was wrong, I’m just saying, when it comes to swampy—”

“This is super fascinating,” I said brightly as I came up to the table. “Why are we looking for swamps?”

“Darren.” Andreas sounded relieved to see me, which was nice. “Everything go okay?”

“Brother visited, Ben dropped off, Erin seen.” I grinned. “She’s doing pretty good, all things considered.” I didn’t know if he knew his ex-wife was on the way, and now didn’t seem like the time to bring it up.

“And the uniforms are there keeping an eye on them, right?”

I nodded. “So. Swamps?”

“Erin said she smelled something swampy at the house they were being kept at.”

“A house, an actual house? Was she sure?”

Andreas filled me in on the details as Paula did her best to retrace Erin’s impressions of the route and correlate it to where we’d found the ditched car. It ended up putting the kids in the northwest part of the city, and . . . yeah, there was a distinct lack of swamp there.

“So really, we want a house close to a body of water that has a dirt or gravel road.”

“Something like that.” Andreas sighed and prodded the map like it had offended him. It probably had, just by existing. He was right, the river was too far away, and there were no tributaries listed. There were plenty of housing developments in the flood plain—which seemed like a dumb place to build, but what did I know—but it had been so dry lately, Paula had a point. That left the occasional little pond, or possibly even a man-made one. We could look up building permits for something like that, but it would be a tedious process, and there was no guarantee it would be listed if the house was remote enough to escape inspection.

Speaking of man-made, though . . . “What about by the power plant?” I tapped it with my index finger. “They’ve got a big cooling pond right next to them. Vic took me fishing there a few times, and there are some houses pretty close by.”

“Huh.” Paula peered at the map. “Okay, maybe. It’s worth checking out. We could send some uniforms to—”

“We’re going.” Andreas’s tone of voice brooked no argument. “Darren and me. Can you look up all the county roads near there, take a look at their composition?”

“Divide and conquer?” Paula asked, apparently rhetorically, because she kept going. “Got it. You boys have fun tramping around a swampy pond.”

“Thanks for the vote of confidence.”

“I’m confident that I’m going to have more fun than you,” she said. “Coffee for me, then road work. Darren, you want some for the ride?”

“Maybe when I get back.” I felt okay—tired, but I was keeping it together. Paula left, and I turned to Andreas. “What will we do if it smells swampy?”

“Start looking for the right road, the right house . . . anything that stands out.”

“If they have a garage—”

“I’m not expecting to find a sign that says, ‘Kidnapping Fuckers Here, Please Shoot Us in the Face,’” Andreas snapped. “But we’re not going to know if we don’t go and check. It’s better than sitting around here all day.”

I held up my hands. “Okay. Fine. Let’s go.”

We were halfway down the elevator when he said, “Sorry. I’m just . . .”

“You don’t have to apologize, I get it.”

“I am apologizing, though. I feel like we just got a huge break, but that I’m not smart enough to put it together.”

“Hey, no.” The elevator opened into the parking garage, but I pushed the Hold button and reached for Andreas’s hand. “We’re a team, right? So there’s no ‘you’ failing at anything. We succeed together, we regroup together, we solve this together.”

“That simple, huh?”

“Oh shit no, are you kidding me? I’m going fucking nuts,” I confessed. “I can only imagine how you feel. But I’m serious about the togetherness part.”

Andreas smiled, and I felt like I’d accomplished something huge. “Very eloquent.”

“I’m a goddamn poet.” I leaned close to him, and he reeled me in for a fast kiss, over too soon. I resisted the urge to press for more. “I guess we should—”

“Jesus Christ! Would you two stop holding up the elevator?” Detective Schneidmiller, one of our more vocal critics, stopped in front of the open door, glaring even as he panted a little. “My knees can’t take another round of those stairs!”

“Ooh, you should have those looked at, might be time for a replacement,” I said as I released the button and walked out.

“Jackass! Just needed to get my damn jacket, had to hike all the way down here and found you two canoodling, I don’t need this shit—” The elevator door closed on his tirade, and I turned to Andreas.

““Canoodling.’ Is that making out while in a canoe?”

“Darren.”

“I’m serious,” I said as we got into my car. “It sounds like the sort of thing you’d do while balancing a paddle across your lap. Also, how old is Schneidmiller? Doesn’t he still have to pass a physical?”

“You can paddle me across your lap when this is all over if you stop talking about Schneidmiller.”

“Done. Sold. No take backs.” It was nice, bantering like this. Almost enough to pull my mind away from the task at hand, but there was no avoiding it for long. It was a short trip to the Wright County Power Plant, but figuring out where exactly to go once we got there was a little trickier. In the end I parked at the trail head for the activity area. At the very least, we could establish whether the smell was right, and Andreas wouldn’t have to negotiate any mucky water on his crutches.

“Oh wow. It’s . . .”

“Swampy. Yeah.”

“Like, really.” The stench of rotting vegetation was almost overpowering, actually. “It must be the thermal heating effect. The power plant speeds up the rate of decay because of the increased temperature of the water.”

“Jesus. And you and your dad fished here?”

“I didn’t say we caught anything.” I wrinkled my nose. “Actually, this might be why we never came back.”

“No kidding.”

A middle-aged woman with a corgi on a leash chuckled as she passed. “It’s not like this all the time,” she assured us. “Just at this time of year. As soon as the rains come, the smell evens out some. And in the winter you don’t notice it at all!”

“Do you live near here?” Andreas asked.

“I have for almost twenty years.”

“Are there a lot of housing developments in the area?”

She made a face. “Not many new ones since the city started redirecting funds toward more ‘urban renewal.’ Who wants to live downtown though, that’s what I say. Too crowded, the traffic is terrible, and there’s so much crime!” Oh, she had no idea.

“But there are some?” Andreas pressed.

“Of course. This is Wright County’s farm country! Plenty of people want to live out here.”

“Are any of the roads unpaved?” I asked.

“Goodness.” She chuckled. “Most of them are, once you get off the main drag. It’s a bit of a maze out here, to be honest.”

“Great,” Andreas said dully. “Thanks for your help.”

“Well, I don’t know how much help I’ve been, but you’re welcome. If you two are thinking about buying,” she added with a little twinkle in her eye, “I know of a couple nice places that aren’t on the market yet, but whose owners would give you a good deal.”

I blushed to the tips of my ears, and Andreas had to answer for both of us. “We’re not looking right now, but thanks for the advice.”

“You’re welcome!” She continued on her walk, and despite how little information we’d actually gotten out of her, Andreas seemed to have regained his equilibrium.

“Is it the thought of me or a mortgage that has you terrified?”

“Neither!” Gah, why did I sound squeaky? “Neither, just . . . houses. Buying. Things. It’s all so . . .”

“Adult?”

I opened my mouth to retort, but then had to stop and think about it. Huh. Maybe that was the issue. I’d rented ever since I moved out of my parents’ house—hell, I still thought of their house as “home.” It certainly wasn’t the prospect of living full-time with Andreas; we were practically doing that already. “Yeah. Adult.”

Andreas grinned. “Welcome to your thirties. Now—” His phone rang, and he answered it with a sigh. “Paula, we need help narrowing things down.”

Her voice was loud enough to carry to me: “No, you need to come back here.”

Andreas’s grip on the phone tightened. I moved in to hear better. “Why? What’s happened? Has one of the kids—”

“No, no one else has turned up. Not one of your kids, at least. Sorry.”

“What is it, then?”

“Some guy who calls himself Pitbull walked in a minute ago. He says he has information about the case, but he’ll only speak to you.”

Our eyes met incredulously. “Are you sure about that?”

“Would I lie about some idiot named Pitbull?”

“We’re on our way.”

It was a weird feeling to be in a hurry to speak to Pitbull without also being in a hurry to rip out his throat. Though that option was still very much on the table if he was wasting my time, and the list of things that weren’t a waste of my time was exceptionally short. He’d better be praying like hell that whatever he had to say was on that list. Especially since he was playing the “I won’t talk to anyone but you” game, and he wouldn’t talk to me on the fucking phone.

While Darren drove like a bat out of hell, I made calls. I had the captain send uniforms out to the area around the power plant. What they were looking for, I couldn’t be sure. Just canvas every house. Every pedestrian. Every possibly sentient piece of livestock. If Emily and Casey were close enough to smell the pools outside the power plant, then somebody out there had to know something. If they didn’t, then . . .

Then that was something I couldn’t think about right now.

As the precinct came into view, I called Paula to find out where Pitbull was waiting for me.

“I stuck him in an interrogation room,” she said dryly. “It was the only way I could make sure he was alive when you got here.” I didn’t know if that meant he was driving her crazy or everyone else in the building, but I wasn’t surprised either way.

“Which room?”

“Three.”

“All right. We’ll be there in a minute.”

Darren turned into the parking garage, and I thought I heard Paula trying to add something just before I hung up, but if it was important, we’d be face-to-face in the next three minutes anyway. Wouldn’t be the first time one of us had hung up on the other.

Darren let me off at the elevator, then went to park. I considered going up without him, but in the interest of not killing Pitbull with my bare hands, I decided it was better to have my cooler-headed partner with me.

He didn’t make me wait long. The car door had barely slammed before he was jogging across the garage, and he stopped beside me a second before the elevator opened.

On the way up, he stared at the numbers above the door. “How are you holding up?”

“I could ask you the same thing.”

Gaze still fixed on the numbers, he exhaled. “When this is all over, I think we could both use a drink.”

“Sounds good to me.” I didn’t even know if he meant after we’d found my kids or after his brother had passed, but I suspected there would be some serious drinking after both of those happened.

The elevator opened, and Darren kept the doors from closing while I hobbled out. Then he followed me.

“Pitbull’s in interrogation room three,” I said. “Paula put him there to—”

“Andreas!” An all-too-familiar voice stopped me in my tracks so fast, Darren nearly collided with me. “There you are!”

I blinked, and sure enough, right in front of me with her dark hair loose and her eyes wide, standing beside the captain with a Styrofoam cup in her hand, was my ex-wife.

Marcy came closer. “What’s going on? Nobody will tell me—”

“I have to go talk to someone,” I said tersely, and continued past her. “Give me twenty minutes, and—”

“Twenty minutes, hell. I need to know—”

“You will.” I didn’t stop. “But—”

“My son is in danger, Andreas,” Marcy snarled. “Don’t you dare shut me out right now!”

I halted and, as much as my crutches allowed, spun around. “Marcy, there are two choices right now. One, I can stand here and brief you on everything I know. Or two”—I gestured sharply over my shoulder—“I can get in there and talk to someone who might have a lead on where Casey and Emily are.”

The anger immediately evaporated from her expression. So did most of the color.

“Okay.” She waved me on. “Go. Just . . . promise me you’ll tell me something when you can.”

“I will.”

I didn’t wait for a response or another dismissal, and continued—faster—toward the room where Pitbull waited for me. Admittedly, I felt guilty for blowing her off. We had a cordial relationship, and she had every right to be worried sick.

But time was of the essence. Every minute I spent explaining things to her was another minute I didn’t have whatever nugget of information Pitbull—if he valued the current shape of his skeleton—had come to give me.

Outside interrogation room three, I stopped for a second to glance through the two-way glass.

Pitbull was pacing the room. He was jittery, alternating between folding his arms and wringing his hands. He’d always been the twitchy type, but I hadn’t seen him that nervous or agitated since the night I’d shoved a pistol up under his chin.

Darren touched my shoulder. “How do you want to play this?”

I swallowed. “We let him talk. See what he has to say.” In a low growl, I added, “And he’d better have some useful information.”

“Andreas.” Darren’s hand was heavier on my shoulder. “Keep your cool with him. Even if he is fucking with us.”

“We don’t have time to be fucked with.”

“And we have even less time for you to be locked up for assault and battery.”

I stiffened. He . . . did have a point. “All right. I won’t touch him. Let’s go.”

He didn’t hesitate. Without a word, he opened the door, and then followed me into the room.

Pitbull spun as we came in. “Finally. Jesus.”

“Don’t start.” I stopped, leaning on my crutches. “If you’d been willing to talk to me on the phone—”

“I didn’t want anyone hearing. This place is crawling with cops on my friends’ payrolls.”

Darren and I exchanged uneasy glances.

Pitbull came closer and dropped his voice. “The people who snatched your kids? They were pros.”

“Tell me something I don’t know.” Seriously. Or I will fucking kill you.

“I mean, I don’t know for sure. Okay?” He showed his palms. “But some guy who owed me money, he came by the club and paid off his whole loan. All at once. Cash. Interest.” He swallowed. “Said he’d just hit the jackpot. Couple of drinks later, he’s telling war stories about jobs, and shows us a big old bruise on his ribs. Said he got it grabbing some cop’s kids.”

My blood turned cold. “What else did he say? Anything?”

Pitbull shook his head. “Naw, man. I didn’t want to grill him in front of my people.”

“Do you know where I can find him?”

“Yeah. He goes by Brando. Real name’s Brandon Wallace. He’s got a studio. Little shithole over on Twelfth and Pax.”

“You know the apartment number?” Darren was already writing it down.

“Uh . . .” Pitbull thought for a second. “Four. Definitely four.”

“You sure?”

He nodded.

Darren and I glanced at each other. Then he gave a subtle nod and started for the door. “I’ll get the car.”

A second later, the door thumped shut behind him.

Pitbull gulped, backing away from me. “I ain’t lying, Detective. I swear.”

“I know.” I looked him right in the wide, terrified eyes. “Because I’m pretty sure you’re smart enough to know what’ll happen if you send me on a wild-goose—”

“I do. Absolutely.” His back met the wall, and I was legitimately shocked he didn’t piss himself. “I don’t know what else you want.”

“I want you to tell me if there’s anything you’ve left out. Any details.”

He chewed his lip, staring at the floor between us. Then, “No. No, man. That’s it. But . . .”

I raised my eyebrows as he raised his gaze.

Pitbull shifted nervously. “After you all cleaned house? With the cops who was dirty? You didn’t get ’em all.”

“I can’t imagine we did.”

“Yeah, but . . . just . . .” He hesitated. “Rumor has it, you didn’t get all the dirty cops. And some of the guys you didn’t catch aren’t right in the head. Like, scary not right in the head.” Pitbull swallowed. “Just be careful who you trust, man.”

It was almost funny to hear those words from a loan shark who’d roughed up the mother of my daughter. Any other day, it might’ve been funny. Today, it just made me cold.

“‘Brando’? Really?” Darren laughed dryly as he drove us toward Twelfth and Pax. “These guys need to be more creative with their nicknames.”

It was the first thing he’d said since we’d left the precinct. The silence had been weird. Not that anything was particularly comfortable right now, but he was uneasy in a way I hadn’t seen before. And not the way he’d been after he’d come from visiting his brother.

“You all right?” I asked.

He glanced at me. “Yeah. Why? I was just thinking the guy’s got a weird nickname.”

I didn’t speak. Just watched him. He squirmed in the driver’s seat, staring straight ahead.

Then he exhaled. “You’re going to talk to your ex-wife, right?”

Oh. That.

“Of course.” I shifted my gaze toward the GPS, which said we were eight minutes from Brando’s apartment. “Right now, she’s on her way to the hospital to see Ben and Erin. And we’re hopefully on our way to find out who hired someone to kidnap my kids.”

Quiet again.

“Do you think I should’ve stopped and explained things to her?”

“No. No.” He sighed, shaking his head. “No, and I don’t know why it’s bothering me so much that she’s here.” He ran a hand through his hair, and for the first time, let it show just how bone-deep tired he really was. “I think my brain’s just all fucked up right now.”

I gently squeezed his thigh. “I know. And you don’t need any of this right now. You should be taking care of your family.”

“No. I need to be helping you find yours.”

“I appreciate it. You know I do.” I gave another light squeeze. “But if you need to be with your parents and your brother, then go.”

The look he shot me said nothing if not Are you sure? Like he was really considering taking me up on it. But then he shook his head again and faced the road. “No. There’s nothing I can do to help my brother, and Vic is taking care of my mom. At least with this, I can do something.”

I envied him that confidence. Me, I’d never felt more helpless in my life.

Brando’s apartment was, so far, living up to Pitbull’s description. It was in one of the severely depressed neighborhoods near the industrial part of town. One of those neighborhoods the more affluent citizens wanted razed because they were crime-riddled eyesores, or insisted didn’t exist at all.

The building was visibly crumbling. It looked like a three-story fire hazard, cobbled together out of something slightly sturdier than cardboard, with bare light bulbs hanging in the hallway and stairwell, at least two of which were burnt out. The interior walls had as much graffiti as the exterior, and judging by the distinctive smell of spray paint, some of it was recent.

Naturally, Brando’s apartment was on the second floor, and this building didn’t include an elevator. Though even if it had, I wasn’t sure I’d have gotten in it.

Darren eyed the rickety stairs. “You want to wait down here while I—”

“No.” I held my crutches in both hands, the wobbly railing in the other, and hopped onto the first step. Just that impact—and I wasn’t that big of a guy—seemed to rattle the building. But these stairs were dividing me from someone who was involved in kidnapping my kids, so . . . I hopped up the next one. All the way up, I just tried not to think about the fact that I’d have to come back down.

As I made it past the top step, the door to apartment five flew open and an irritated black woman poked her head out.

“What’s with all the noise? My baby’s sleeping!”

“Sorry, ma’am.” I tucked my crutches under my now-sweaty armpits. “Just trying to get up the stairs.”

She looked me up and down, gaze pausing at my cast. Then she scowled and stepped back inside, closing the door with a bit less force this time.

I couldn’t blame her. Nothing worse than living in an apartment with a baby, and having some inconsiderate asshole make noise at the most inopportune moment. I just hoped her baby wasn’t a light sleeper or borderline insomniac like Ben and Erin had been as infants. I hoped hers was more like—

My breath hitched.

Like Casey. Or Emily. Both of whom could sleep through anything.

I winced at my own thought, then quickly forced it out of my mind. I couldn’t help them if I was too busy getting maudlin over them.

We stopped in front of apartment four. With Darren behind me, I knocked.

“Who the fuck is it?” came an annoyed male voice from the other side.

“Two assholes with badges and guns,” I growled. I smacked my badge against the peephole.

On the other side, there was some movement, followed by some muffled cursing. “Just a minute.” A second later, three locks opened—a chain and two dead bolts. Paranoid much? When the door opened, a lanky white guy in low-slung jeans and nothing else leaned on the jamb. There was definitely a bruise on his ribs. I tried not to think about whether it came from an elbow, a foot, or a fist.

The guy exhaled. “Can I help you pigs?”

“Yes.” I gripped my crutches tighter just to keep my hands off his windpipe. “I’m Detective Ruffner. This is Detective Corliss. We need to ask some questions.”

“Detectives, eh?” He watched us with heavy-lidded, incredibly bored eyes. “I don’t see any badges. How do I—” His eyes flicked past me, and I assumed Darren had shown him his badge. “Okay. So what do you want?”

“Are you Brandon Wallace?” I asked.

“My mom calls me that.”

I tightened my fists, reminding myself they were more useful there than in his left eye socket. “You go by Brando?”

He grinned, almost puffing out his chest like he was thrilled we’d heard of him. “Yeah. So what do you want?”

Your head on a—

“Where were you the night before last?” Only years of training and practice kept the murderous undercurrent out of my voice. “Between nine and ten?”

He tilted his head, resting a hand on the doorjamb and cocking his hips like he wanted to show off his toned torso while he was deep in thought. “Huh. You know, I don’t really remember. I’m a busy man, so I—”

“Why don’t you try remembering?” Darren wasn’t so subtle about his distaste for Brando’s games. “Because it’s kind of important that you answer.”

“Yeah?” He was taunting us, the fucker. “Why’s that?”

“Just answer the question.” My patience was waning rapidly. “Where were you?”

Brando shrugged. “I was here.”

“Can anyone vouch for you?” Darren asked.

The idiot flashed an enormous grin. “Just the girl who was getting my dick wet.”

I gritted my teeth. “We’ll need her name and number.”

Brando laughed. “She’s not hard to find. Soon as the sun goes down, she’ll be over on Fifth Ave with all the others. Just look for the one who’s walking like she got fucked by a horse.” He grabbed his crotch for emphasis.

I glanced at Darren. His puppy-dog eyes were a distant memory, and he stared Brando down with nothing but icy, barely contained fury that mirrored my own. Facing Brando again, I cut to the chase. “We’ve got an informant who saw you paying off a loan shark named Pitbull.” I paused, watching for a tell. His lips twitched subtly, and his posture wasn’t quite so relaxed. “Where’d you get that money?”

He narrowed his eyes. “None of your business unless you’re the IRS. So, you know, when I finish my tax return, I’ll send you a copy and—”

Sudden movement shut him up and startled me, and in the time it took me to blink in surprise, Darren had stepped around me, grabbed Brando by the throat, and slammed him against the wall hard enough to crack the drywall.

“What the fuck, man?” Brando squawked. “Police brutal—” He howled when Darren dug his other hand into that angry bruise on Brando’s chest.

“You want to play games?” Darren snarled, his face inches from Brando’s. “Because I know a good one. It’s called ‘How long can I press my thumb into your jugular before you pass out?’” For emphasis, he pushed in his thumb, and Brando gagged.

“Jesus!” Wide eyes darted back and forth from me to Darren. He met my gaze, and the fear in his eyes deepened. Quite likely because I probably looked as stunned as he felt. “Okay! Okay. Just . . . not out here.”

“You gonna talk?” Darren didn’t let up on Brando’s throat. “Or are you gonna jerk us around?”

“I’ll talk! I’ll talk!”

Darren held on, looking straight into Brando’s eyes. I couldn’t see his expression, only the way it made Brando try to draw back.

I was about to tell Darren to ease off, when he let go.

Brando slumped over and coughed, clutching his bruised side and revealing the Brando-shaped dent in the drywall. His landlord would be thrilled.

While Brando was occupied with getting his breath back and letting some blood return to his brain, Darren turned toward me. Rage still burned in his eyes, but he was in control. And he’d sure as shit gotten Brando’s attention.

We stepped inside. Darren shut the door behind us.

“Come in, Detectives,” Brando croaked with equal parts fear and sarcasm.

“Now might be a good time to talk,” Darren said coldly.

“Whatever.” Rubbing his throat gingerly, Brando looked at me. “So you must be the good cop.”

“No. I’m the one who wouldn’t have let you go.” I wasn’t even joking.

His eyes darted between us again, and he drew back into the dent he and Darren had made in the dingy wall. “What the fuck do you want?”

“No more games.” I glared at him. “I want to know who paid you to kidnap my kids.”

In an instant, his eyes went round and his jaw went slack, but he recovered quickly. Sort of. “What? No, I . . . You’ve got the wrong guy.”

“Do we?” Darren asked. “Because our informant gave us your name, your address, and told us you were drunk and bragging about kidnapping a cop’s kids. And right now, we’ve got two others in custody who said they worked with you. First person to give us the information that leads us to the kids might have a shot at a plea deal.”

Brando gulped. “What? But I . . . What are they saying?”

“You tell us,” Darren said flatly. “Or you take your chances when your buddies roll on you.” He gestured at me. “He shook one of them up bad enough, the guy was pretty eager to give a statement.”

Again, he eyed us both.

Then, slowly, he deflated, and it was like the Brando persona slipped away in favor of Brandon Wallace. Not a smarmy kid who liked to taunt cops, but an adult who knew when he needed to man up and cooperate.

Well-played, Darren.

Motioning for us to follow him, Brando pushed himself off the wall and shuffled into the corner of his studio apartment that was apparently the living room. He dropped onto the sofa, offering us the mismatched folding chairs on the other side of a footlocker that doubled as a coffee table. We both stayed standing.

“There isn’t really much I can tell you,” he said. “My crew and I, we usually just steal shit, you know? Cars and whatnot. But then Weyland and I were leaving the courthouse after our probation hearings, and this guy stops us. Says he’s got a guy who needs a job done, and they’ll pay us a fuckload of money.”

“Can you give us a description of the guy?” Darren flipped open his notebook.

Brando nodded. “Yeah, he was a white guy. Clean cut and all. Last person in the world you’d expect to offer something like that. I actually thought he was a cop at first, but he checked out.”

“Checked out?” I asked. “With who?”

“Weyland made some calls. Checked with people we knew. Couple of them even said they’d been approached by the same guy for the same job, but didn’t take it because they didn’t deal in people.”

I shuddered. “So why did you take the job? I thought you just stole things?”

Brando’s cheeks colored, and he stared at the well-worn and stained carpet between his feet. “I owed people money. A lot of money. The cash they were offering . . .” He sighed, then looked at us again, all the fight gone from his posture and his expression. “I couldn’t pass it up. I mean, we grilled the guy as much as we could. This wasn’t a human-trafficking thing. It wasn’t anybody getting killed.”

Nausea tightened my throat, and before I could speak, Darren asked, “What was it, then?”

“They didn’t give us a lot of details. Just said they wanted to fuck with a cop who’d fucked them over.” Brando’s eyes locked on mine, and he drew back like he thought I might take a swing at him.

“Tell us how the job went down,” I said.

He pulled in a deep breath. “We had people inside and waiting in cars. Figured we’d follow everyone out and make our move. When Weyland saw the older daughter and the younger one go in the bathroom, he changed the play a bit, and had me grab them on their way out. Lead them through the kitchen and out the back door.”

My blood boiled, and I hoped Erin had fractured a couple of his ribs when she’d left that bruise.

Brando went on. “I took them out the back, put them in one of the cars, and then they grabbed the other two. The boys. Tried to, anyway.” He shook his head. “Somebody got in the middle of it. Shot at us. Crane tried to shoot him too, but thank God, Weyland stopped him. I mean, we weren’t in this for murder, you know?”

I was definitely going to get sick if I heard much more. I glanced at Darren, who’d blanched. How did somebody take the realization that a thief trying to stay out of maximum security might be the only reason he was still alive?

Brando pressed his elbows onto his thighs. “That’s all I got, man. That’s how the night went down, and all the details I had. I’m surprised they gave us that much.”

Nothing in his tone or expression suggested he was lying. Maybe it was wishful thinking on my part—I was desperate for something that might lead us to Emily and Casey—but I believed him.

“We need you to put us in contact with Weyland,” I said.

He scowled, but nodded, and wrote his buddy’s information on the back of a Chinese takeout receipt.

After I’d tucked that away in my wallet, I turned to Darren. He shook his head as if to say he had nothing else to ask.

“All right.” I pulled a set of cuffs out of my pocket and handed them to Darren.

Brando’s eyes widened, and he drew back like we were passing a venomous snake between us. “What the fuck? I told you what you—”

“You kidnapped my kids,” I said through my teeth. “Trust me. You’re safer in a holding cell.” I glared down at him, and he paled.

Darren motioned for him to get up and turn around. After he’d cuffed Brando and read him his rights, he put him back down on the couch and motioned for me to join him at the opposite end of the tiny apartment. We both turned so we could still keep an eye on our cuffed suspect, but kept our voices low so he didn’t hear us.

“What do you think?” Darren asked. “About his story, I mean?”

“I think he’d still be fucking with us if you hadn’t put the fear of God into him.”

He managed a quiet laugh, and I was grateful for that. Nodding toward Brando, he said, “I think he’s telling the truth.”

“Yeah. Me too.” I touched his arm. “You okay?”

He nodded. “You?”

“As okay as I can be right now.”

That seemed to be enough for him. Beggars couldn’t be choosers at the moment. “So after we dump his ass in holding, what’s our next move?”

“Next move is we find Weyland and the guy who put them up for the job.”

“Paula might have some connections. Or Pitbull.”

“Right. We’ll put in a call to her, and get him on the horn too.” I shifted my gaze toward the front door. “In fact, you can do that while I’m getting down those fucking stairs.”

When we brought Brando into the precinct, Paula took one look at the three of us and promptly took the guy off our hands, which was good because mine were starting to shake. I’d been running on next to no sleep for the past forty-eight hours, there was more caffeine in my veins than blood at this point, and I was starting to get punchy. Almost literally, in Brando’s case. I didn’t like the way I’d lost my temper with him, but I didn’t like the fact that he’d helped kidnap and terrorize Andreas’s kids either. One definitely weighed more strongly on my conscience, and it wasn’t Brando’s tender feelings.

Walking up and down those flights of stairs hadn’t done Andreas’s foot any good. He was wincing as we made our way to the conference room, and it was on the tip of my tongue to ask him to stay here while I went to pick up Weyland myself. Maybe I could talk him into it.

Someone had left bottles of water and sandwiches in a cooler in the conference room. I regarded them with suspicion until Andreas noticed them and smiled. Actually smiled, and unwrapped one of them almost immediately.

“So. Not poisoned, then?”

“Nah. Marcy left these. She always uses this kind of cooler.” He tapped the top of it with an index finger. “Turkey and Swiss, probably. She used to make these for me when she knew I was going to pull an all-nighter.”

“Ah. So your ex-wife made them.” I glanced down at the sandwiches and back at him. “Are you sure they’re not poisoned?”

Andreas rolled his eyes. “We’re divorced, not at war. Eat. I can hear your stomach growling.”

The sandwich was okay, but the water tasted like nirvana. I downed a whole bottle without stopping to breathe, then reached for a second. I waited for Andreas to be in the middle of a bite before saying, “I can go get Weyland if you want to grill Brando some more.”

He shook his head and swallowed before speaking up. “Are you kidding me? I’m not letting you go into that part of town alone.” The address Brando had given us was on the upper north side of the city, where a public housing crisis in the eighties had led to refitting a bunch of old clothing factories into lower-income family housing. They’d been neglected ever since, and would probably be condemned if the city council ever bothered to get formal about it. As it was, they were mostly forgotten, which made them a good place for bad things to happen.

“I could take someone else with me. Blaine, maybe.” He might be squarer than a Rubik’s Cube, but he seemed eager to help, and he’d move faster than Ross or Schneidmiller. It wouldn’t be too hard to hunt him down and ask.

“In that neighborhood, he would only get you shot faster. Don’t even try this with me, Darren. I’m not in the mood to fight you right now.” But I will, his dark eyes shouted, so I gave up.

“Fine. So we’ve got an address, but we don’t know what this guy looks like. We should get a description before—”

“I’ve got you covered!” Paula walked in, waving a cell phone in one hand. “Brando—and how adorable, right? It sounds like a stripper name—was more than happy to pull up some pictures on his phone. I’ve got one of him, Weyland, and some guy named Crane right here.” She grinned. “Gotta love millennials. They can’t resist the chance to take a selfie.”

“Hey! I resent that remark.” Just because I occasionally used Snapchat with Erin . . .

“Aw, Darren.” Paula patted my shoulder. “At least you’ve never taken a selfie during the commission of a crime.”

Andreas’s jaw dropped. “You’re kidding me.”

“Nope. Say hello to Dumb, Dumber, and Dumbest, complete with masks and guns.” She turned the phone toward us. Brando was on the right, a black mask pulled high on his forehead, one hand wrapped around his friend, the other holding what looked like a Glock 9mm. One of the other guys had his tongue out, and the last one was flexing his biceps. Holy shit. We were going after the frat boys of the criminal underworld.

“Marcus Weyland is the one in the middle,” Paula added. “Is it wrong for me to think that drawing a dick in permanent marker on his cheek would really complete the picture?”

I laughed, then turned it into a cough in a last-ditch attempt to save my dignity. “We, uh . . . This only accounts for three of the kidnappers. There were at least five people total.”

“Brando apparently doesn’t know the others—they’d been hired before he and his boys agreed to pick up the slack, and there was very little fraternizing between the crews. According to him, the only one the other guys would deal with was Weyland.”

“What about the go-between? The man that hired them originally?”

Paula frowned. “I’m not sure where he fits into things yet.”

“Brando said he was approached outside the courthouse.” Which was a ballsy move, and hopefully a bad one. “If we look up the date of his last probationary hearing, we might be able to pull the security camera footage from then and get a visual on the guy who hired him.”

“Maybe.” Paula sounded a little doubtful. “It depends on how far back his hearing was. They don’t keep that footage forever.”

“The real question,” Andreas broke in grimly, “is where they took my kids.”

“Brando says he doesn’t know. After they abandoned the sedan, he and Crane rode along in the back of the van. It had no windows. He said they got out just long enough to get paid and were driven back into town the same way. It was still too dark for him to get many details about the house.”

“I bet he’d remember something if I asked him a little more directly.”

“Oh, no.” Paula put down the phone and squared off with Andreas. “Don’t think I haven’t seen his neck—I recognize the shape of a hand, and you’re damn lucky he’s too scared out of his mind to even think about pressing charges, because—”

“Actually, that was me.” I smiled weakly when she turned her glare on me. “Sorry?”

“Darren, for Christ’s sake. Who ever thought Andreas would be the levelheaded one in your partnership?”

Andreas ignored the jab. “Is there GPS data on the phone? Can we use it to track down where they went?”

Paula sighed. “I thought of that, but no. He had it turned off for the job.”

The faint hope that had appeared on Andreas’s face drained away, leaving his jaw tight and his eyes unsettlingly bleak. “Then the original plan stands. We go find Weyland and see what he knows.” He threw his sandwich wrapper in the trash, then looked at me. “You done?”

“Yep.”

“Then let’s go.”

It was a half-hour drive to Weyland’s place, and Andreas spent most of it answering messages and fielding calls from his family. No, he didn’t have anything new to report yet. Yes, we were working a promising lead. No, he didn’t think it would help if her parents flew in. Yes, he’d found the food—thanks for that, Marcy. He sighed as he disconnected the last call.

“Her parents?” I asked quietly.

“If Marcy had her way, she’d call in every family member from Los Angeles to New York and have them come get underfoot in the name of ‘providing moral support.’”

“How big is her family?”

“She’s one of five. The kids have something like . . . twelve cousins on her side? Maybe thirteen?”

“Wow.” I couldn’t imagine having that many people in my life. It had always just been me, Asher, Mom, and Vic—and for a while, Melissa, Asher’s ex-wife. No aunts and uncles, no cousins, no grandparents. Mom had been an only child, and Vic hadn’t talked to his only sister for years—she lived in Hong Kong, apparently. “That sounds overwhelming.”

“It made every holiday into a circus, that’s for sure.”

“Do you miss it?” Jesus, why had I asked that? It was none of my business, and I wasn’t even sure if I wanted to know the answer.

Andreas focused in on me, and I knew we’d gone from idle banter to something more serious. “Miss what, exactly?”

I shrugged. “You know, having that kind of . . . support, I guess. More people to rely on.”

“Not at all.”

He sounded sure. I glanced at him. “Really?”

“It’s not as nice as it’s made out to be. Everybody’s got an opinion on how you should be living your life, raising your kids, taking care of your house . . . Marcy was the one who left me, and her parents still refused to have anything to do with me for almost five years because, as they put it, ‘If I wasn’t a cop, she wouldn’t have had to leave.’”

I frowned. “How does that make sense?”

“It doesn’t. Family doesn’t have to make sense. They get to say shit and do shit that no one else ever would, and you have to take it because they’re family. Get mad and it creates a schism that no one wants to deal with. I’m lucky Marcy and I split when we did, honestly—the kids were mostly grown and we didn’t have to fight over custody.” He looked out the windshield and pointed. “There’s our building.”

Right. Back to work. I managed to park the car right in front of the place, a minor miracle considering all of the other vehicles vying for spots and the fact that the street was more pothole than pavement. We got out, and I didn’t have to be a detective to know that we’d already been identified. People walking along the sidewalk seemed to vanish, and by the time we were approaching the front door of the building, there was no one in sight.

“Not gonna get a lot of help here,” I commented as I opened the door for Andreas.

“As long as we don’t— Shit, there, he’s running!” Andreas pointed, and I looked down the first-floor hallway, where a familiar face had just turned and begun pounding his way up the stairs.

I thrust my keys at Andreas. “I’ll go after him, you stay with the car!” There was no way he could handle a chase right now.

I ran up the stairs after Weyland. I couldn’t see him, but I could hear his footsteps a flight above me. He went up and up, and I was momentarily grateful I’d been spending so much extra time on the treadmill lately—there was a stitch in my lung and side where I’d been stabbed, but it wasn’t unbearable. I wouldn’t be able to keep this pace up forever, but for now I could stay with him. “Marcus Weyland! Stop!”

He didn’t stop, but he did turn down the third-floor hallway. I followed him, dodging bags of trash that lined the hall and narrowly missing getting smacked in the face with an opening door. “Oh, sorry, Officer!” Yeah, I could tell she was really sorry—sorry she hadn’t connected with my nose. I didn’t stop, just kept running for the end of the hall, where I would finally have him cornered—

Only no, because he jumped—jumped—through the open window and onto the fire escape, and started heading up again. “Shit,” I muttered breathlessly. I didn’t jump onto the fire escape—it was already shaking under the force of Weyland’s activity, and I didn’t want to push the rickety thing too hard. I climbed out and began to follow him up.

The fire escape let out onto the roof, which was covered with old, patchy tar and broken glass. Weyland was already on the far side of the roof, looking at me with something like frustration. “Don’t you fucking pigs know when to quit?”

“We wouldn’t be here if you hadn’t decided to become a kidnapper,” I shouted back. “You’re under arrest, Marcus. Don’t make this hard. The more you can tell us about the job you just pulled, the easier things are going to go for you.”

“Bullshit!” He turned and stepped up onto the ledge of the roof. My mouth went dry.

“Marcus.” I held up my hands placatingly, keeping them far away from my gun. “Marcus, c’mon, don’t do this. You don’t have to jump.” If he did, we’d lose our best lead to finding the kids.

He scoffed. “What, you think I’m suicidal? I ain’t that afraid of you, cop.” He smirked. “But that don’t mean I’m not gonna jump, either.”

He turned and leaped in a single, smooth motion.

I raced over the edge of the roof, my heart in my throat, only to see—

Weyland, clinging to the fire escape one building over. He’d managed to grab onto it with both hands, and as I watched, he swung a leg over the rail and hoisted himself up. “See you later, Officer!” he said with a grin, then started running down it.

I wasn’t about to try to make the same jump. It was ten feet away, and I didn’t know if my arm would support me. There was another fire escape on the corner of this building, though, close enough that I could keep an eye on him as he descended if I hurried the hell up. I ran to it, swung over the edge of the roof, and headed down as fast as I could. The metal creaked and groaned under my weight, and after a floor and a half of descent, one of the anchors holding the fire escape to the brick siding broke away as I rounded a corner, sending the whole thing lurching. I clutched at the rail and held still until I was sure it wasn’t going to tip, then kept running. I couldn’t afford to be cautious right now. I couldn’t let Weyland get away.

He had a head start on me that should have given him a significant advantage, but his fire escape was more cluttered than mine, so we hit the ground at almost exactly the same time. He swore and sprinted for the end of the alley between the two buildings, dodging around dumpsters and kicking disintegrating cardboard boxes into my path. I skirted them as best I could, ran right through them when I wasn’t able to dodge, but the gap between us was widening and there was nothing I could do to stop it apart from shooting, and it wasn’t like I could just shoot him in the back. We were fucked.

Weyland got to the end of the alley, ran out into the street with a triumphant whoop—

And promptly bounced against the hood of my car. He fell off it with a groan and was immediately knocked to the ground as Andreas rather forcefully opened his door into Weyland’s legs.

“Marcus Weyland.” Andreas got out of the car with surprising grace, given the cast, and pulled out his cuffs. “You have the right to remain silent.” He tossed me the cuffs as I arrived, panting, and then he leaned in closer to our groaning perp. “But I suggest you don’t if you know what’s good for you.” He continued reading Weyland his Miranda rights as I tried to catch my breath.

“How . . . did you . . .”

“I used my eyes. Rooftop chases aren’t exactly subtle. After I saw him jump, it was just a matter of timing.” He straightened up with a wince, and I finally got my ass back into gear and moved forward to get Weyland to his feet and into the back of the car. Andreas handed me the keys. “You drive now, Usain Bolt. I need to have a talk with Mr. Weyland.”

“I ain’t telling you nothing! Get me a lawyer!”

“No?” Andreas turned a dead-eyed stare on Weyland, who blanched. “Let’s test that theory.”

I got into the driver’s seat, and Andreas got into the back. He got right to the point. “Do you know what happens in prison to men who’ve murdered children?”

“Fuck you, I haven’t killed anyone!”

“Answer my question, Marcus. Do you know what happens to child-killers in prison?” Andreas paused, but there was no answer. “It’s ugly. Real ugly. A guy like you, somebody who thinks he’s smart, somebody who convinces his little friends to go along with his get-rich-quick scheme—you’ll figure it out real fast, once word gets out what you were a party to.”

“Ain’t nobody dead, man, it was just—”

“You took my baby,” Andreas said simply, dispassionately. It made hearing it even worse, somehow. “She’s four, almost five. You took her, and you gave her to people you don’t know, who are doing God knows what to her, and we’ve heard nothing from them. There hasn’t been a request for a ransom, or an offer to trade. Nothing but silence. So if she dies? If they kill her? You’re a murderer, just as much as they are. And if that happens, I give you a month, tops, before someone carves your crime out of your hide and leaves you as a warning to the other inmates in the hole we’re going to stick you in. Your only chance for clemency is giving us the information we need to find her before anything unforgiveable happens.”

Weyland didn’t say anything, just stared at Andreas like he couldn’t comprehend the words coming out of his mouth. I drove slowly, splitting my attention between the road and the backseat. “I don’t . . . I . . . Look, man, it was just business!”

“Uh-huh.” Andreas nodded. “And it’ll be just business when you wind up on the wrong end of a shiv too. Because even if you give me the information that could help, and it’s too late? You’ll still be on the hook, Marcus. But if you tell me where you took my kids, and we’re able to save them?” He sat back. “Then the situation changes for the better for you. And that’s the only advantage you’re going to have, after leading us on that little chase.”

“I . . . uh.” His hands jerked like he wanted to lift them. “Shit. Uh . . . okay. Okay, look, I can give you an address, but that’s all I’ve got, okay? We didn’t do names, we didn’t do numbers. They paid us in cash and said when we were done, we were fuckin’ done, so whatever they got goin’ on in that house, it has nothing to do with me or my guys.”

“Where’s the house?”

He rattled off an address with a street name that sounded vaguely familiar. I took the nearest turn that would lead us back toward the power plant before calling Paula. “We found Weyland,” I said as soon as she picked up. “He gave us the last known location of the kidnappers and Andreas’s kids.”

“Give it to me, I’ll get our people moving.” I passed it on. “Good, okay. We’ll get there as soon as we can. Don’t go in without backup, Darren! Tell Andreas that too!”

“Got it.” I hung up and glanced over my shoulder. “You have to tell me how to find this place.”

Andreas looked up from his phone. “We’re less than ten minutes out. We’ll probably get there first.”

“Are we waiting for backup?”

“Hell no.”

“Crazy.” Weyland looked between the two of us with wide eyes. “You fools are crazy. Let me the fuck out, man, I don’t wanna get myself shot because you’re feeling impatient!”

“If you try to get out of this car, I’ll shoot you myself,” Andreas said.

The ride was tense. The smokestack of the distant plant got bigger and bigger, and before long I was turning down a gravel road into what looked like farming country. The address was the third house on the left, a big white-sided place with a wraparound porch. It looked downright homey, but as I got out of the car, the scent of swamp was redolent in the air. There were no other vehicles around that I could see, but that didn’t mean anything.

I locked the car after Andreas got out—childproof locks for the win, Weyland wouldn’t be going anywhere unless he broke the glass—and pulled out my gun. “How do you want to do this?”

“Fast.” He’d pared down to one crutch so his dominant hand was free, and even though it had to be agonizing, his face showed no signs of pain. “Don’t bother knocking, just get through the front door and head straight for the basement. I’ll cover you.”

“Got it.” I walked up to the front door, checking the windows on either side as I went for movement. Nothing. I tried the doorknob, and was surprised when it easily turned under my hand. That was a bad sign. Either they weren’t here, or . . . or there was nothing left to protect.

I couldn’t wait any longer. I slammed the door open and rushed inside, looking for the entry to the— Basement, just off the kitchen, there it was. I ran down the stairs, my legs shaking so hard that I almost fell at the halfway point, kicked open the door at the bottom, and emerged into a concrete-floored basement that was—

Empty. Completely empty except for some water bottles, granola bar wrappers, and a feathery purple barrette. I leaned against the wall and let the warring relief and disappointment I felt break over me. Fuck. Fuck, we were so close. They’d been here, Casey and Emily had probably been here just hours ago, and now . . .

Andreas appeared beside me. In the distance I could hear sirens approaching, but the only thing I could focus on right now was him. He looked around, and I heard his teeth grind before he limped over to the corner and picked up the barrette. He held it like it was made of ice, so fragile it would break with the slightest hint of pressure, and I knew that his composure was holding by less than a thread.

Another dead end.

The last thing I wanted to do was nothing. Sitting down felt too much like giving up. As defeated as I was right then, we had to keep pushing on and doing . . . something.

But as soon as we returned to the precinct, Darren and Paula all but forced me to sit and put my foot up. Admittedly, they were right. I was supposed to spend time with it elevated so it wouldn’t swell. It was already throbbing, and with as tight as the cast had become in the last few hours, there was definitely some swelling going on. And now that I wasn’t moving, all the other body parts were chiming in too. Crutches were fucking brutal. So was hobbling around God’s green earth on one foot. My hip, my back, my hands . . . I was a wreck.

Mentally, I was way worse. Lying on the couch in the conference room, foot dutifully elevated while I turned Emily’s barrette over and over between my fingers, I didn’t know what to do next. The fear and hopelessness sank deeper. Our one and only lead had come up dry. My kids had been there, and now they were gone, and where they were now, I had absolutely no idea.

Paula, Darren, and Captain Hamilton were interrogating Weyland and Brando, digging at them for any scrap of information they might have. Someone had to know something. And if they didn’t start talking, they were going to be dealing with me.

I closed my hand around the barrette, gripping it tight enough for its plastic edges to bite into my palm. We needed some sort of lead. Something. A concrete motive. But . . . what the hell would motivate someone to—

Best not to think too hard about that. I’d been at this job long enough to know there were some sick fucks out there, and I was too close to my breaking point to think about what those sick fucks might want with my kids.

Occasional footsteps passed by the conference room door, which was ajar, but one set broke away from the usual rhythm. I looked up as Marcy appeared in the doorway.

“Hey.” She leaned in slightly. “Can I come in?”

I eased myself up onto an elbow. “Yeah. Sure.”

She stepped in and closed the door behind her. I started to get up, but she gestured for me to stay where I was, and brought a chair from the table a little closer to the couch. “How’s your foot?”

“Not happy.” I settled back down, resting my hand behind my head on the wadded-up jacket I’d been using for a pillow. “It’ll be fine.”

She looked at the cast. Her lips were tight, and the dark circles under her eyes reminded me of those rough few months after each of the kids were born. How we’d both run on fumes for what seemed like years. I’d have sold my soul for that to be the reason we were so drained now.

“We’ve got a couple of suspects. They’re being questioned right now.” It sounded so useless, but I needed her to know something was happening even while I took the worst-timed break imaginable.

“Paula told me.”

“Oh. Good.” So Paula was keeping her up-to-date. Thank God. Paula’s head was much clearer than mine, and dear Lord, I owed that women dinner at the most expensive restaurant in town when this was all over. Nobody worked as hard as she did, and she’d saved my ass more times now than I could count.

I realized after a while that the silence between me and my ex-wife had been dragging on. “So, um, how are you holding up?”

Sighing, she sat back against the chair. Her shoulders drooped like it was taking a colossal effort just to stay upright. It probably was. “I don’t even know, honestly.”

I nodded. “Yeah. I know the feeling. How are Erin and Ben?”

“As well as can be expected. They’re both staying at her boyfriend’s place right now.” She paused. “He seems nice.”

“Yeah. He’s a good guy. And I’m especially thankful for him right now.”

Marcy nodded. “They’re safe with him, right?”

“Yeah.” As far as I know. “They’ve got hand-vetted and totally trusted officers with them around the clock, and the condo has cameras everywhere and requires a key card just to get into the building. It’s probably the safest place for them right now.” Not that cameras had done a damn bit of good to stop the kids from being taken in the first place, but I didn’t mention that to her.

She studied me, probably searching for my uncertainty. Then she shifted a little, squaring her shoulders. “Do you think Casey’s okay?”

“Yes.”

Her eyebrows flicked up. “Really?”

I nodded, wishing I was more certain. I tried to find hope in the fact that the kidnappers had let Erin go once they’d realized her injuries could be fatal. Even if their motive had been to avoid prison time, the fact was, they didn’t seem interested in killing the kids. Or at least, one of them wasn’t. The other had apparently argued—

I pushed that thought away and cleared my throat. “We have to assume they’re both all right. I’m not going to entertain the idea that they’re not.”

She winced. “I’m sorry. I . . . I’m worried about Emily too.”

“I know. But Casey’s your son. Lisa’s probably as focused on Emily as you are on Casey. It’s okay.”

Marcy chewed her lip. “I should call her. She must be losing her mind.” She didn’t ask for my ex-girlfriend’s number, so I could only assume she had it. Or maybe she knew she could get it from Erin. Either way, I wasn’t going to stop her from getting in contact with Lisa. At this point, everyone involved deserved whatever comfort they could find, and maybe two mothers consoling each other over their missing kids was what they needed.

I thumbed the edge of Emily’s barrette. Marcy didn’t need to know—or pass on to Lisa—that we’d lost the scent. That we’d been in the room where Casey and Emily had been, but now they were gone.

As casually as I could, I tucked the barrette in my pocket. Then, slowly, I sat up. My foot still throbbed, and now my head did too, but I’d been sitting still for too long.

I gestured at my crutches. “Could you hand those to me?”

She stood and retrieved them for me. As I started to stand, she offered her arm, and I took it. Once I was settled on my crutches, she said, “So what happens now?”

“We see what Paula and Darren have gotten out of the suspects.” I nodded toward the door. “Hopefully that’ll lead us somewhere.”

“‘Hopefully’?” Her voice was little more than an alarmed squeak.

I sighed. “This is how investigations run. You remember.”

Marcy pursed her lips, and then her shoulders sank again. “Yeah. I do.”

“Marcy.” I squeezed her arm gently. “I promise—I’m doing everything I can. I will find them.”

She covered her hand with mine, and I recognized that stoic expression. Her composure was cracking, but she was hell-bent on keeping it together and having faith in me.

“Come here,” I said, and pulled her into a hug. She held me tighter than she had in a long, long time, and the breath she released sounded like a barely contained sob.

“I am so scared,” she murmured.

Squeezing my eyes shut, I refused to let her hear the words echoing inside my head: Me too. As much as she’d always harped on me to open up instead of shutting her out, to talk about how I felt, this wasn’t the time. I knew her, and if only this one time, she needed to believe I had it under control. That I wasn’t scared out of my mind, and that everything would be okay. Right now, that was all I could give her.

“I’ll find them,” I said again. “I promise.”

Please, God, don’t let me be lying.

Eventually, we let each other go. She’d gathered her composure, and I was pretty sure I’d gathered mine. We exchanged a quick look and subtle smiles, then headed out into the bull pen to see if there’d been any updates.

Paula hadn’t pulled anything useful out of Brando. Neither had Hamilton or Darren. Not even when they’d convinced him Weyland was rolling on him in the next room. At this point, it was safe to say we’d extracted all we could from the idiot.

Weyland had lawyered up before Darren had even closed the interrogation room door, and they were currently waiting for his attorney to show up. Apparently his sister-in-law was a high-powered defense attorney, and she’d be along after she finished with another client.

So with both of them on ice, we had . . . nothing. Again. Still.

As Paula finished explaining the situation to us, Darren materialized, looking flustered and irritated.

“Lawyer’s still en route,” he grumbled to Paula. “Apparently her meeting ran late.”

“Of course it did.” Paula rolled her eyes. “I’m going to go have a uniform get both of those idiots something to eat. At least then they can’t complain about being mistreated.”

As she walked away, Darren turned to us, and I could tell the instant he realized Marcy was standing there. He straightened, irritation vanishing in favor of nerves. “Oh. Um. Hi.”

“Darren, this is my ex-wife, Marcy. Marcy, this is Darren. My partner.” I paused. “In both senses of the word.”

She blinked, and then a smile spread across her lips as she extended her hand. “So you’re the man I keep hearing about.”

Darren and I both tensed.

“Uh . . .” He shook her hand, shooting me a What now? look.

“Huh?” Then it clicked. “Erin told you, didn’t she?”

Marcy laughed with as much enthusiasm as she could probably muster right now. “She can’t stop talking about the two of you. So, it’s nice to finally put a face with the name.”

Darren chuckled. “Yeah. It’s, uh, nice to meet you too.” They both smiled, but the uneasiness was palpable from both sides, and I didn’t quite know how to fill the silence either. Darren glanced past us, and he took a breath like he was about to speak—probably to excuse himself to get back to work—but then his phone jingled in his pocket. “Crap. I’m sorry. That’s my mom. I gotta take it.” He bowed out and left the bull pen.

Saved by the bell, considering how worked up he’d been over meeting my ex-wife. I suppressed a laugh.

Marcy watched him go, then turned to me. “Well, it sounds like when this is all over, we have a lot of catching up to do.”

“Yeah. You could say that.”

“I’ll let you get back to work, though. I think I’m going to go call Lisa.” She adjusted her purse strap on her shoulder. “Then go see how Erin and Ben are doing.”

“Okay. And I’ll keep you updated as much as I can.”

“I know you will.” She hugged me gently, and left.

Once she was gone, I leaned on my crutches, released a breath, and rubbed a hand over my face. I couldn’t say which was worse—the physical or emotional fatigue—but damn if they weren’t both wearing me down. Except I had to keep moving forward. Had to.

“Detective Ruffner.”

I turned, and Officer Blaine approached with a large envelope in his hand.

“A courier just dropped this off.” He handed it over. “It’s addressed to you and marked Urgent.”

My pulse sped up. In theory, I should’ve had it checked for anthrax or something, but I didn’t see any residue on the outside, and the envelope was too thin to be an explosive. So, I tore the seal.

Inside was a photo and a piece of paper.

The photo nearly made my stomach lurch up my throat. Casey and Emily. They were sitting against a wall, wrists and ankles bound with duct tape. The newspaper propped up against Casey’s leg was undoubtedly today’s.

I pulled the piece of paper from the envelope. No letterhead. No signatures. No return address. It looked like it had been printed on a typewriter.

Detective Ruffner,

Now you know how the families of these men and women feel.

I skimmed the twenty or so names listed below. I didn’t recognize all of them, but enough were familiar that it took seconds to put the pieces together—they were dirty cops who’d gone to prison after my investigation.

There was no ransom. No demand. Just some fucker taunting me with my kids. Trying to make me suffer for turning on my fellow cops.

“What does it say?” Blaine asked, voice and eyes filled with concern.

I read it again, a cold sense of horror settling in the pit of my stomach as I realized we had no idea what the endgame was. Or if there was one at all.

The cold ran even deeper. If there were no conditions for my kids to be released, then . . . what?

For the first time, it occurred to me this might very well be the work of someone smart enough to pull a plan together, but too unhinged to see it through without bloodshed. The kind of person who held a bank full of people hostage, thinking they’d actually get the money and the airplane from the city, and upon realizing they were epically fucked . . .

I shook myself, unable to imagine further and suddenly even more frantic to get my kids to safety. To Blaine, I quietly said, “Get Captain Hamilton.”

Blaine darted away and broke into a jog. I leaned heavily on my crutches and stared at the photo. The letter. The photo again.

As I studied the photo closer, I realized Casey had turned himself slightly to shield Emily, and she’d pressed herself against him. There was some comfort in that, knowing they weren’t alone. A hell of a lot more comfort in knowing that they were alive, and as far as I could tell from the photo, no worse for the wear aside from a bruise on Casey’s cheekbone.

Question was, where the hell were they?

Blaine returned a moment later with the captain hot on his heels.

“This just came.” I handed him the letter and photo. “They’re not asking for anything. Just . . . taunting us.” I swallowed. “Taunting me.”

The captain skimmed the brief letter, then eyed me grimly. “You know if they do make demands, the city doesn’t negotiate with terrorists.”

Also something I didn’t want to think about. “I know.” I gestured at the papers in his hand. “But I’d be willing to bet money the kidnappers are associated with someone on this list. A disgruntled family member. Maybe a spouse, or a sibling, or . . .” I shook my head. “We need to start digging into the families and social circles of everyone on that list.”

“Good thinking. I’ll assign some uniforms.” Hamilton turned to Blaine. “Get every officer in this precinct who’s not preoccupied. Have Marla call in any street patrols who can be spared too. And someone get in touch with the courier company—find out who sent this.”

Blaine gave a sharp nod and hurried toward the stairs.

Hamilton took the list from me. “Meanwhile, you and Detective Corliss are off the clock for the next ten hours.”

“Ten—”

“Because you both need to sleep, and you need to take care of that foot.” He held up the list. “If anything develops, I will personally call you, but you’re both on the verge of collapsing. You won’t help the investigation in your current states.”

I started to protest, but what could I say? He was right. It was a miracle Darren and I were still standing. “All right. We’ll get out of here and see you in the morning.” He didn’t need to know that I had every intention of coming back as soon as I had a catnap.

Hamilton nodded. Then he took off, barking orders into the bull pen and waving the list. “Anyone not working on a hot case, you’ve got a new assignment as of now.”

I left him to it, and went looking for Darren.

As I rounded a corner, Paula saw me, and hurried toward me. “Oh good. There you are.” She touched my arm. “Darren’s in the conference room. You . . . might want to go talk to him.” Her features were taut like she was just stopping herself from grimacing.

My heart plummeted. Oh no. “Thanks.” I hurried down the hall, ignoring the aches and bruises that my crutches irritated with every step.

In the conference room, Darren was sitting on the couch where I’d been elevating my foot. His elbows were resting on his knees, his head bowed and pressed against his clasped hands.

I knew. I could feel it in my gut. I wanted to believe it wasn’t true, but . . . I knew.

I hobbled closer and joined him on the couch. “Hey.” I rested my hand between his shoulder blades. “You all right?” It was stupid, but I didn’t know what else to say.

Darren swallowed, but he didn’t look up. “Asher’s gone.”

My heart sank deeper. The words weren’t a surprise, but that didn’t make them any easier to stomach. I wrapped my arms around him and kissed his temple. “I’m so sorry, Darren.”

He didn’t make a sound as he leaned into me. Melted, more like. As he lowered his hands, his phone clattered to the floor, but neither of us made any move to pick it up. For a moment, we just sat there. I stroked his hair. He just breathed. At this point, I couldn’t imagine he could do much more.

“He killed himself.”

I jumped. “What?”

“Hanged himself.” Darren rubbed a hand over his face and exhaled again. “With his sheets or . . . something. I didn’t catch everything. But he killed himself.”

“Oh my God.” I held Darren tighter. “I am so sorry.” On some level, I was sure Darren was relieved. His brother had been suffering unimaginably for a long time, and the end had been inevitable, but this must’ve been a hell of a blow. “Do you want me to drive you to the home?”

“No. No, that’s . . . the last place I want to be.” Darren sat up and cleared his throat. “I don’t want to think about this right now. I need to get back to work.”

“Darren, you need—”

“I need to get back to work.”

“Actually, no. You don’t.” I touched his face. “The captain’s already got us off the clock for the next ten hours. Wants us to go home and sleep.”

“What about the case?”

I hesitated. I didn’t dare tell him about the new development. It was huge—possibly the break we’d been looking for—but he’d want to pursue that instead of focusing on his family and his grief. As much as I desperately needed and wanted him on this case—he was a damn good detective—it wouldn’t be fair. Not now. He and his family needed each other.

Finally, I said, “He and Paula both promised to call if anything develops. But he’s right—we both need some sleep. And I think you’re going to need some time off for—”

“No.” He set his jaw, stubbornness cracking through the grief. “I’m not taking time off while your kids are still out there.”

“Darren, your family needs you.”

“You are my family.”

Fuck if that didn’t hit me right in the chest. I gathered him into my arms again and kissed the top of his head. “You know I appreciate how focused you are on this case, but you’ve got to take care of yourself.”

“And do what?” He pulled back and met my eyes. For the first time, the threat of tears glittered in his. “There’s nothing I can do for Asher. He’s gone. But your kids are still out there. I can do something.” I started to speak, but he squeezed my hand. “Andreas. You know me. You know the last thing I can do is sit at home and feel sorry for myself.” He blinked, and one of those tears slid free. “Especially when I know this is killing you and there might be something I can do about it.”

I gnawed the inside of my cheek. Wasn’t I exactly the same way? I’d barely been able to cope with putting my foot up for an hour to ease the swelling.

“For the moment,” I said finally, “we need to get some sleep, or we won’t be any use to anyone. Paula and the captain will stay on top of everything.” I paused. “Do you want to go see your parents?”

He flinched and swiped at his eyes. “I should.”

“That’s not what I asked.”

He held my gaze. Then he sighed. “They’ll understand if we don’t stay long. Let’s go.”

I wasn’t quite sure how I managed to get us from the precinct to my parents’ house without getting into a wreck. I’d insisted on driving—I knew that Andreas’s leg was causing him pain, and I wasn’t about to add to that when I didn’t have to—but when I stopped the car in their driveway and suddenly realized that, holy shit, I was already in their driveway, the fact that I was surprised worried me. It was a distant worry, though—the kind I could ignore because the screaming in my head was already so loud.

I sat there with my hands on the wheel and stared at the garage door until Andreas broke the silence. “Do you want to leave?”

“I . . . No.” I even meant it. I knew I needed to be there, I just didn’t know what to say once I got inside. Sorry Asher is dead, Mom. Sorry I didn’t notice he was a little sharper lately because he was flushing his pills down the toilet. Sorry he was aware enough to know how much he hated his life. Sorry he was able to work out how to end it. A sheet looped over the top of the bathroom door before he closed it, with his neck wrapped tight in its folds. He’d strangled, slowly and painfully, and yet no one had heard a thing. Story of his fucking life.

“Darren. Darren.” Andreas’s hand on my shoulder shook me aware again, out of the place in my head that was stuck on picturing Asher when he’d been found by the staff. Thank God it hadn’t been my mother. I met Andreas’s worried gaze.

“Sorry. Let’s go in. Or, really, you don’t have to. You could—”

“I’m going.” He got out of the car and reached back in for his crutches, then looked at me expectantly. “You coming with me?”

Yeah. I could do that.

Vic met us at the front porch, looking positively gray with fatigue. Even his moustache was drooping. “Hey, kid. C’mere.” He held out an arm to hug me, and I went to him, biting my lip and determined not to cry. I had to hold it together now. I didn’t have time to break down, not with Emily and Casey still out there.

“Where’s Mom?” I managed once I was sure my voice wouldn’t break.

“She’s in his bedroom. Has been since she called you. She won’t talk to me.” I could hear the pain in his voice at that confession, like he was failing somehow because my mother couldn’t face him.

“I’ll go see her.”

“Thanks, son.” He pulled back, then looked over my shoulder at Andreas. “Christ, are you nuts standing there like that? Get inside, get on the couch, prop that leg up.” Andreas went without complaint, giving Vic exactly what he needed right now: someone to take care of. I hoped I’d remember to thank him when this was all over.

I walked down the hall toward the bedrooms. Asher and I had shared one until he went away to college, and when I walked in, for a moment all I could see was the room the way it had been, with my boy band posters on the wall and his row of books taking up all the shelf space. He’d been the salutatorian of his high school class. Mom had kept his special stole, so proud of her oldest son. It was in a box somewhere now.

After Asher got sick, when he spent a few years living with them here before managing his disease got too hard, this had been his room again. It hadn’t been empty long enough to lose the feel of him, somehow, and I had to guess that was why Mom was in here, rather than in her own bedroom.

The door was open, and Mom was sitting on the bed with her head in her hands. She hardly made a sound, barely moved, but I knew she was crying. This was how she dealt with things—quietly, by herself, so other people wouldn’t worry. She hated making a fuss. Well, too bad. She wasn’t going to do this by herself. “Hey, Mom.”

She didn’t look up. I went over and sat down beside her on the bed, wrapping one arm lightly around her shoulders. I kissed the top of her head and waited.

“How . . . how didn’t I know?” She didn’t move her hands, but I could still hear her through them. “He was my baby. I knew everything about him. I was always the first to know. Why didn’t I know this?”

“Because he didn’t want you to. He’s smart, he’s always been smart.” I knew I was using the wrong tense, but I couldn’t help it. Asher was just too big to belong to the past.

“I knew he was unhappy, and I let it happen. He was so— And now he’s—” She finally lifted her head, and the full force of her devastation hit me like a punch to the throat. I couldn’t breathe, staring her sorrow in the face. I couldn’t stop the tears from slipping out of my eyes either, the ones I’d been able to hold back with Vic. Mom reached out and wiped my cheek with her thumb. Her hand was desperately cold. “Oh sweetheart.” That was all she could say, no word of consolation because she had none to give me. “Oh, my sweetheart.”

I wrapped her up in a real hug this time, and she clung to me and broke loose against my shoulder. I just held on, as tightly as I could, and cried with her. Tears couldn’t do justice to this kind of grief, but they were all I had right now. No screaming, no hitting, no running until I collapsed and couldn’t drag myself back to my feet. All of that would have to wait. If I let it happen now, I wasn’t sure I’d be able to stop it, and there was still too much to do.

I didn’t know how long we sat there—long enough for her tears to soak through my shirt, and for me to finally get mine under control. Long enough for her sobs to taper off, until at last she said, “I don’t know what to do.”

“You don’t have to know yet.”

“There are . . . things, I need to—to call Melissa, and talk to the f-funeral director, and move his things out of the—out of the—”

“You don’t have to do it all by yourself. Let me and Vic and Andreas help.”

She shook her head. “No, sweetheart, you’ve got a case. Ash-Asher isn’t, he’s not g-going—” She whimpered a little, then firmed up again. “No.”

“Call Marla, then.” Captain Hamilton’s secretary was an old friend of my mother’s, and I knew she could be relied on. “She’ll be hurt otherwise,” I added, and my mom nodded. Of course, talking about someone else’s pain was enough to get her to change her mind. I felt bad, playing on my mother’s insecurities that way, but if I couldn’t be there for her—and I couldn’t, not yet—then she and Vic needed to be able to rely on someone else for help.

I kissed her temple. “Thank you. Do you want me to go get Vic?”

“Not yet.” She reached up and framed my face with her hands. They were so cold. I covered them with my own and held them tight. “Darren . . . I don’t know what I’ll do if it happens to you too.”

My blood went as cold as her hands. This was something we didn’t talk about. She knew I was coming around to the idea of getting tested for the early-onset Alzheimer’s gene, for Andreas’s sake if nothing else, but it wasn’t an openly acknowledged thing between us these days.

“Don’t worry about it.”

“I can’t help it. I know you don’t like to think about it. I’m sorry, but, baby . . .” Her hands started trembling, and I held on tighter. “What if it happens again? What if I lose both my boys? You’re all I have.”

“That’s not . . .” Only it was kind of true. Like I’d said to Andreas earlier, we’d never been a big family. “You’ll have Vic. And yourself.”

She smiled slightly. It looked painful. “Oh, sweetie. Once you’re a parent, you’ll come to realize that that’s just not enough.” She shook her head. “I’m sorry. You have so much to deal with right now, you don’t need this too.”

“Mom . . .”

“It’ll be okay. I’ll be fine.” She kissed my cheek, then pulled her hands back and pressed unsteadily to her feet. “C’mon, let’s go see your daddy.” I let her lead me out into the living room, where Vic and Andreas were speaking quietly together. As soon as we walked in, Vic was on his feet.

“Jessica?” The uncertainty in his voice broke my heart.

“Honey.” My mom walked over and let him hug her, and I saw some of the tension he’d been carrying when we’d arrived finally dissipate. “I told you—I’m fine. It’s fine. We should let the boys go; they’ve got work to do.” She turned to Andreas, her mask of geniality firmly in place. “Have there been any new developments?”

“A lot of people are working on it,” Andreas said, but there was a moment where he looked almost . . . guilty? What was that about? “Darren and I are off for the next nine hours or so, though.”

“Of course you are. You need to rest. And to eat.” Mom headed for the kitchen. “I’ll get you something to take home with you.”

“Jessica—” Vic began, but she was already in the other room. “Damn it.” He looked at me. “How . . .” Is she? Are you? I wasn’t going to make him choose.

“Holding steady, I guess. When—” I had to pause to clear my throat. “When will the funeral be?”

“Not for a few days, at least. Gotta get in touch with Melissa, the people he used to work with, fix things up at the funeral home.”

“Okay.” Funeral home. Right, because we had to bury my brother. Because he was— Fuck, fuck, fuck, I didn’t want to think about this right now.

Mom saved me from getting lost in my thoughts. She walked over to me with a casserole dish tightly covered with plastic wrap, and handed it over. “It’s chicken cauliflower with cheddar and salsa verde. It’s all precooked, you just have to heat it up.” I took it, and she moved on to Andreas, bending over and hugging him where he still sat on the couch. “You have to remember to take care of yourself, you hear me? Even if you don’t want to.”

“I know.” He hugged her back, then got up and retrieved his crutches. “We should head home, unless you need anything else from us right now.”

“Oh no, we’re fine.” Sure she was, as fine as china, so brittle one false move would break her in half. “You boys go.”

“Call Marla,” I reminded her as we headed for the door.

“Sure, sweetie. I’ll do that.” I kissed her goodbye, shared a final hug with Vic, and then we were back outside. It was dark out. Shit, how long had we been in there?

“A little over an hour. Not long.”

I didn’t realize I’d said that last bit out loud. Shit, I must really be tired. Maybe a few hours’ sleep would be a good thing. If I was lucky, I wouldn’t even dream. I already knew that all I would see would be Asher anyway.

“Your place?” I asked as we got into the car.

“Sure.”

It wasn’t a long drive, but by the time we got to his apartment, I was wiped out. I let him shuttle me upstairs, through the motions of cleaning up and into bed before I could even think to protest. He settled in next to me, and that was good. I had to get something off my chest, though.

“As soon as we find your kids, I’ll schedule the test.” I’d meant to do it earlier, but something had always come up at the last minute. Or maybe it had just seemed that way to me, so I didn’t have to face reality. “If it comes back positive—” I didn’t know what I wanted to say, exactly. Maybe Run as far and as fast as you can, because I don’t want this for you. But I already knew he wouldn’t do that, and I couldn’t quite imagine facing a future without him anymore. Even if it was a future where I didn’t remember our past.

Andreas couldn’t roll toward me, not with his bulky cast, but he tugged until the space between us was gone and my head was on his shoulder. “Whatever happens, we’ll handle it together. Go to sleep.”

I did.

I felt . . . not necessarily better after seven full hours of sleep, but more human. It seemed like I could have slept for another seven on top of that. My body ached with fatigue, and I could only imagine how Andreas felt after all the running around he’d done yesterday. He didn’t let on, though, just took his pills and let me snooze a little longer while he showered, then made coffee while it was my turn. It could almost have been any other day, except my brother was dead and two of Andreas’s kids were still missing.

I wasn’t going to think about Asher, though. Or at least, I’d do my best not to dwell on him. I was going to focus all my energy on hunting down a new lead in the case. There was still the surveillance footage outside the courthouse to go through—it should have arrived at the precinct by now if Paula had put in for it yesterday—and had anybody found out anything about the house they’d used? There’d been a For Sale sign up outside of it, so there had to be a realtor out there somewhere who could give us some more information.

I was feeling pretty level by the time we got to the precinct—I could do this, I could do my job and figure things out and not be a burden. So naturally, as soon as we stepped off on our floor, something happened to disrupt my careful equilibrium.

“Oh good!” Paula called out as soon as we got off the elevator. She waved her phone. “I was just going to call you guys. I’ve had people go through the list of officers in the letter looking for obvious leads, but there’s no smoking gun yet. I want to show their pictures to Brando and Weyland and see if maybe they recognize one of them, or one of their names. I know it’s a long shot, but—”

“Wait.” I was confused. “What are you talking about? What letter?”

“The letter Andreas got yesterday, with the picture of his kids . . . thaaat he didn’t tell you about.” She winced. “Shit, I’m sorry. I’m . . . going to go get some coffee. I’ll be right back.”

“You have a full mug in your hand,” I pointed out.

“I— Yeah, but it’s cold now, I’ve been running around and— Anyway, I’ll be back in a minute, you guys talk!” She made her escape, and I turned my incredulous stare on Andreas.

“What the hell is she talking about?”

“It came in yesterday,” he said. His face didn’t give anything away; I couldn’t tell if he was sorry or stoic. “An anonymous drop from a courier with a taunting letter and a picture. They looked fine, just scared.”

“Jesus Christ.” I ran a shaking hand through my hair. Fuck, when had my hand started shaking? “This is a huge deal! Why didn’t you tell me this?”

“Because right after I got the letter, you found out your brother committed suicide!” His voice was soft, but intense. “It wasn’t the right time.”

“Is now a better time? Finding out like this, from Paula, instead of from you?” Anger flamed in my chest, an unwelcome emotion—I needed to be calm and cool right now, not give in to the hurt I felt. That would only open the door to all the other painful emotions I was doing my best to fucking ignore right now.

“We couldn’t have done anything about it last night anyway, not after Hamilton told us to leave.” He shook his head. “You haven’t missed anything, Darren.”

“That’s funny, because it sure feels like I have.” I resisted the urge to point a finger at him. Barely. “Do. Not. Coddle me. If you think I’m too compromised to work on this case right now, then file a goddamn complaint with the captain, but don’t hide things from me and expect me to be grateful for it.”

“Would you have let yourself sleep if you’d known?” he demanded. “Or would you have worked yourself into the ground until you collapsed? Even without what happened to Asher, that would be a lot to ask of you.”

“Well, I guess we won’t know now.” I felt the anger drain away, leaving me numb. “You and Paula have fun interrogating our suspects about their connections to dirty cops.”

“Darren . . .” He trailed off, and I walked toward our conference room filled with grim determination.

The funny thing was, I didn’t really blame him. I might not have trusted my own reaction yesterday either. But it hurt to know that he felt the same way, like I couldn’t pull myself together enough to put the fate of his kids above my own issues. I’d meant it when I’d said that he—they were my family now. And I needed my family, but I didn’t need to be handled with kid gloves. I fucking hated that Andreas thought I did.

I watched Darren go, my heart sinking with every step he took. Deep down, I knew it was his grief and frustration making him lash out, but it still hurt. And I wasn’t all that surprised he was pissed. If there was one thing he hated, it was being left out of the loop. I just hoped that once he’d had a chance to collect himself, he’d understand that I’d only been trying not to overwhelm him.

And as guilty as I felt about not chasing him down and sorting this out right now, I had to get back to finding my kids. Every hour they were gone meant, statistically, a drop in our likelihood of finding them. I didn’t let myself dwell on that, though.

The bull pen was a zoo. During the hours Darren and I had been off, dozens of people had been brought in. Some were related to cops on the list. Some were friends, neighbors—even the cops who’d worked with them without realizing they were dirty. Phones rang. People talked over each other. Papers shuffled. Drawers banged shut. God knew if anyone had gleaned anything useful from even one of these interviews, but they damn sure hadn’t been sitting around with their thumbs up their asses.

“Detective Ruffner?” a female voice came from behind me.

Stress and fatigue almost made me snap, What? but I caught myself. Everyone here was working their asses off to find my kids, and I wasn’t about to alienate a single one of them.

I turned, and a young African American officer in a patrol uniform was approaching. Officer Garland, from her nametag.

“Yes?” I said.

She motioned for me to come with her. “I’ve got something you’ll want to see.”

I adjusted my grip on my crutches, then followed her out of the chaotic bull pen. She fell into step next to me—not that it was difficult right now—and explained as we walked, “My partner and I have been scouring the security tapes from the courthouse, looking for whoever your perps were talking to.”

Now she definitely had my attention. “And?”

“Well, they were there when they said they were, but their story doesn’t quite check out. They weren’t approached by a random plainclothes individual. There were two of them, and it looks like the conversation wasn’t exactly out of the blue.”

“How do you mean?”

“I mean both suspects looked like they were waiting for someone. They were approached by two individuals, had a brief exchange, and then all went their separate ways.”

“Interesting.”

The lab where she was working through the tapes was on the second floor at the end of a ten-mile long hallway, and my leg was throbbing by the time we got there. I ignored it. “All right. Show me what you have.”

She turned a computer monitor toward me, revealing a surveillance video on pause. Two men I instantly recognized as Brando and Weyland were standing at the upper-left corner, huddled beside one of the courthouse’s many pillars.

The video started. The guys were having a hushed conversation, leaning in close and keeping their heads down. Both were agitated. They shifted nervously and kept looking around.

After a minute or so, two other men approached from the bottom of the screen. The conversation was brief. Gestures to a minimum. Facial expressions hard to read. When it was over, the two newcomers continued on their way, never once revealing their faces to the screen. Weyland and Brando kept walking too, and though there was no sound, it didn’t take an expert lip-reader to see the “Oh fuck” Weyland uttered just before they disappeared from the frame.

I gestured at the screen. “I want to know who those guys are.”

“We’re working on it, Detective.” She nodded toward her partner, who was squinting at another screen, flickering images reflecting on his glasses. “So far, all we’re getting is the backs of their heads.”

“It’s like they knew where every camera in the building would be pointed,” her partner grumbled, and stabbed a key on his keyboard. “I don’t have a single shot of their damn faces.”

I scowled. “Get anything you can from businesses within a two-block radius of the courthouse. These assholes can’t know where every camera in the city is pointed. You get a look at either of their faces, text me a still immediately.”

“Will do,” Garland said with a sharp nod.

Before I left, I had her pull up a few stills and send them to my phone. While she got started with that, I hobbled back toward the elevator, and on the way, called upstairs to have Weyland and Brando taken from their holding cells to the interrogation rooms. And specifically, to make sure Weyland went first and Brando saw him go. Since Weyland had lawyered up, I couldn’t talk to him. That was fine—as long as Brando knew Weyland was also in an interrogation room, I had some leverage.

I stood behind the two-way mirror and watched him twitch for a minute. As much as I wanted to get in and drag the truth out of him, years of interrogations had taught me that there was an art to it. If I wanted him to believe he and Weyland were being played against each other, I needed him to spend some time imagining the worst-case scenarios.

It was working too—he was getting twitchier by the second. His eyes flicked back and forth from the door to the mirror, and he couldn’t sit still. He wasn’t cuffed, so he got up and paced, muttering to himself and running a shaky hand through his hair every now and then. When he was starting to visibly sweat and almost hyperventilate—which took maybe ten minutes—I stepped into the room.

He took one look at me and gulped. “I told you everything I know. I—”

“Sit down,” I growled.

He did, and nervously placed his palms on the table as if that might cool him down. Then he folded his hands, leaving sweaty handprints on the stainless steel. “So, what’s—”

“You told me you were randomly approached at the courthouse by a clean-cut white guy who offered you a job.”

He sat straighter. “I—”

“Don’t fuck with me.” I took out my phone and showed him one of the images Garland had sent. “That’s you, Brando. You and Weyland. For two guys who just wrapped up hearings, you’re not in a big hurry to get out of the courthouse.”

His poker face might’ve been rock-solid, but the loss of color in his complexion gave him away. So did the uneasy glance at the two-way mirror.

“Tell me the truth, Brando.” I pocketed my phone again. “You weren’t randomly approached. You two were waiting for someone.”

He chewed his lip.

“You might as well start talking,” I said. “My partner’s in the next room squeezing Weyland for the same information. First guy to tell us the truth might have a shot at a plea bargain.”

He squirmed, eyes flicking toward the glass again. “I thought he had a lawyer. You can’t make him talk.”

“And you don’t think his lawyer is smart enough to tell him when it’s time to talk?”

That took care of what color remained in Brando’s face. He wasn’t just nervous like a guilty perp who’d been cornered—he was damn near translucent with fear.

I shifted my tone to something a little gentler. “I need you to tell me what—”

“I can’t.” Brando pressed his elbows into the table and raked both hands through his greasy hair. Without looking up, without even moving his mouth in any way I could see, he murmured, “Take me somewhere outside the station, and I’ll talk.”

“What?”

He lifted his head. His eyes flicked toward the glass again. Then, scratching his jaw and partially obscuring his mouth, he quietly said, “Take me outside the station, and I’ll talk.”

Under any other circumstances, I’d have wrung his neck for wasting my time. But Brando knew how to fuck with cops. He knew how to play games and dance around answers. When we’d confronted him in his apartment, he hadn’t been this scared. Not even when Darren had slammed him into the wall.

“All right.” I stabbed a finger at him. “But so help me, if I don’t get an answer—”

“You will. I promise.”

I wasn’t usually one to take the word of a criminal.

But a scared kid staring back at me and looking like he was about to crumble?

Yeah. I believed him.

I stepped out of the interrogation room and texted Darren.

Need your help. Meet me by Interr.Rm. 2?

I almost expected him to either ignore me or tell me to fuck off. He was a consummate professional, but he wasn’t himself right now. He shouldn’t have even been at work. Not with this raw grief pulling him to pieces.

But he responded that he was on his way, and minutes later, he joined me.

His expression offered nothing. “What do you need?”

I gestured at Brando, who was back to twitching and pacing. Damn near shivering even though the room was quite warm. “He might have something for us, but he won’t say anything unless we take him out of the station.”

Darren’s brow furrowed. He watched Brando silently.

“I think he’s afraid of who might overhear him,” I said. “I don’t know if he’s playing us or not, but—”

“If he is, he’s doing a damn good job of pretending he’s scared shitless.”

“Yeah. That’s why I want to give him the benefit of the doubt.” I paused. “Look, I know you’re upset about—”

“It’s fine,” he said curtly. “Let’s go see what he has to say.”

I nodded and reached for the door. We could hash this out later. Whatever Brando had to say couldn’t wait.

We took him to Darren’s car, and I briefed Darren on what I’d learned so far as he drove us to one of the parks down by the river. One I’d brought Darren to back when I’d decided I could trust him, and had needed to tip my hand without the possibility of eavesdroppers. In fact, I was pretty sure this was the picnic table where we’d sat to have that conversation.

Brando was too restless to sit. I eased myself down on the bench to take some weight off my ankle. If the fucker decided to run, he wouldn’t get far, and he’d have to take whatever Darren gave him until I caught up enough to pry him off.

He’s not in a good space right now, I wanted to say. I’d suggest you not fuck with either of us.

Given the way Brando kept eyeing Darren, I decided that wouldn’t be an issue. He was probably still scared after Darren had snapped and damn near strangled him.

“All right.” Darren pushed his hands into his pockets and looked at Brando. “So why can’t we do this at the station?”

“Because I don’t know who was behind that glass,” Brando snapped, but he sounded more shaky than angry.

“Fine,” I said. “There’s no one else here. Now talk.”

“Okay. Okay.” Brando started pacing on the damp grass. “Look, we knew we were meeting those guys. One of them, he showed up at Weyland’s place two nights before we had to go to court. And he was in a uniform.”

“A cop?” Darren asked.

“Yeah. He didn’t have a name tag on, though. Looked like there’d been one, but he’d taken it off. Anyway, he told us he had a job for us, and he’d give us details after our hearing.” He folded and refolded his long fingers. “He said he could place us at the scene of a murder and that it wouldn’t take much to convince a jury we’d had the guns in our hands. They’d get a slam-dunk conviction if they wanted to.”

Darren glanced at me, then back at him. “What murder?”

Brando shook his head. “I don’t know. He had pictures of us, though. Like he’d been following us for a while. And then he said we’d know how much clout he had when we went to our hearings, because the judge would reduce our probation from eighteen months to three with”—he made air quotes—“a warning that one more screw up, and we could kiss our freedom goodbye.” He looked me right in the eye. “And that’s exactly what the judge said. Like, those exact words.”

“And after the hearing?” I asked.

He glanced around nervously. “We waited. Right where he said to wait. When he and the other guy showed up, they told us when the job would happen, what we’d need, and how much we’d be paid. And I mean, what could we say? The cop told us that first night that we either went through with it, or we’d go down for murder and my girlfriend and Weyland’s wife were dead. He had pictures, man! He even had one of Weyland’s son.” He showed his palms. “We’re crooks, man, but we don’t fuck with kids. Never. But . . . with the shit he said, and the pictures, and . . . I mean, what were we supposed to do?”

Darren tapped his pen on his notepad. I gnawed my thumbnail. Under normal circumstances, the obvious answer was Go to the cops. But if they’d been threatened by a cop . . .

“The weird thing was,” Brando went on, “they told us we were just supposed to shake these guys up and steal their car. Like it was supposed to be a carjacking. But a few hours before the job, when the cop called us to give us a location, he changed the deal. Doubled the price, but said he wanted the kids themselves.” Brando pushed out a shaky breath. “None of us wanted that, but . . . man, we were in too deep to back out.”

Darren and I exchanged glances.

“We’re going to need a description,” I said quietly. “As much as you can give us.”

Brando’s eyes narrowed. “Man, I’m already taking a risk here. How do I know my girl’s gonna be okay? And Weyland’s family?”

“Tell us where they are,” Darren said, “and we’ll get them security detail. Twenty-four seven until this is over.”

Brando didn’t move. Didn’t speak.

“My family’s on the line here too,” I said. “You help me find mine. I’ll make sure we protect yours.”

“What about me?” Brando asked. “Keeping me in jail doesn’t keep me safe from fucking cops.”

Darren turned to me. “You still have any favors left with the US Marshals?”

“I will if they know my kids are missing.”

That seemed to ease some of the tension in Brando’s posture. “Get me and Weyland someplace safe with our families, and I’ll give you a description.”

His refusal to just give us the information was irritating, but at the same time, I didn’t blame him. Whoever we were up against was dangerous as fuck.

To Darren, I said, “Let’s get back to the station. As long as one of us keeps an eye on him, he’ll be fine. I’ll call the Marshals in the car.”

By the time we were back at the precinct, a friend from the US Marshals was on his way. We also had a sketch artist on the horn, and she’d agreed to coordinate with the Marshals and meet them at an undisclosed location to do a sketch. After that, as promised, Brando and Weyland would be taken someplace safe.

We put Brando back in the interrogation room for the time being, and hovered outside it while we waited for the Marshal.

We stood in silence, watching Brando on the other side of the glass. This hardly seemed like the time to deal with anything personal, but as long as there was a momentary lull in the chaos, it was probably as good a time as any.

“Listen,” I said. “I’m sorry. About yesterday. I wasn’t trying to keep anything from you.”

Darren exhaled, and in the dim light, he suddenly looked years older and a hundred times more exhausted. He scrubbed a hand over his face, and I realized he’d forgotten—or just hadn’t bothered—to shave. “I understand why you did it. And you were probably right. I don’t think I could’ve handled anything else.”

“I know.” I rested a hand on the small of his back. “For what it’s worth, I’m really glad you’re here. With as much as you’ve got on your plate right now, anyone else would’ve collapsed.” I reeled him in a little closer. “I feel guilty for leaning on you at all, but I—”

He silenced me with a soft kiss. “I want to find your kids. More than anything.”

“I know. And thank you.”

Our eyes locked. Neither of us probably had the energy required for a smile, but a kiss—a short, chaste one—wasn’t too much to ask.

As we pulled apart, my phone vibrated.

“Oh please let that be Officer Garland,” I murmured as I took it out. Sure enough, it was.

First, a text:

Got one—cameras in coffee shop cross lenses w/hallway cam. He couldn’t hide from both.

The next message was a photo.

And my heart stopped.

“Holy shit . . .”

Darren craned his neck. “What?”

“We got a face on the cop who approached Brando and Weyland.” I turned it so he could see it. “Look familiar?”

Darren’s jaw dropped. “Is that who I think it is?”

“Yep.” I scowled. “Officer fucking Blaine.”

“Blaine?” I couldn’t quite believe my eyes. “The one who’s been helping us out?” The guy who was so square he could be used to build a bookcase? That Officer Blaine? “Why the hell would he do something like this?”

“There has to be a connection to the list. Something that isn’t obvious, or we would have had him in here for an interview with the first round of people.” The edges of Andreas’s fingers were white, he was gripping his phone so hard. “We need to find him. Now.”

“We will.” It was entirely possible that Blaine didn’t know he’d been made yet. He might still be in the precinct. “You talk to the captain, I’ll go check Blaine’s desk.” The beat cops had set up shop one floor down, and I ran to the stairwell so fast that the door crashed against the wall. One floor down, sixteen steps, and they felt like an eternity. I went straight to the lieutenant on duty. “Where’s Officer Blaine?”

The man shrugged. “I don’t know, detective. Haven’t seen him in the past hour or so. You might ask his partner.”

“Who’s his partner?”

“Officer May, at the desk over by the window there.” He pointed, and I moved before he could even lower his hand. The cop was idly paging through a report laid out on his desk, but he looked up when I got close.

“Detective Corliss!” He almost snapped to attention, as eager to please as a puppy.

“Where’s your partner?”

Officer May frowned. “Um, he said he was gonna go get lunch about an hour ago.” He shrugged. “I told him I thought it was kind of early, but he said he wanted to keep busy. Kept expecting you guys to call us in to help out with more important work, especially after he’s the one who made contact with the courier who had the letter.” He puffed out his chest a bit. “Do you need our help, Detective?”

Oh, this guy’s bubble was about to get burst hard-core. “I need your help, Officer May, in finding Officer Blaine, who’s just been linked to two of the men responsible for kidnapping Detective Ruffner’s children. You need to—”

“What? No!” May jumped out of his chair like his ass was on fire. “Howie would never have any part in something like that! He’s never wanted anything more than to be a good cop! His father was a cop, his grandfather was a cop! Even after his dad was sent to prison, Howie just wanted to do his duty.”

“Apparently he only believes in protecting and serving when it suits him. What’s his father’s name?”

May’s bluster was already starting to evaporate under the newfound gravity of his partner’s massive fuckup. He looked at me with eyes so wide it was like his irises were floating in milk. “He . . . Uh, it’s, uh, Folsom. Rory Folsom. He and Howie’s mom got divorced when he was little, and Howie took his mom’s maiden name, but he and his dad got pretty close after he turned eighteen.”

“Hold that thought.” I pulled out my phone and called Andreas. He answered on the first ring.

“What have you got?”

“Is there a Rory Folsom on the list?”

“There is.” He didn’t even have to think about it. He probably had the list memorized at this point. “Back when Newberry’s pet drug dealers were doing business, he was one of the cops who made a habit of looking the other way in exchange for a percentage of the profits. He got ten years.”

“He’s Blaine’s father.”

“Fuck, how did we miss this?”

I was tempted for a moment to say, We didn’t miss anything, because I had no fucking idea this list even existed until this morning, but I took a breath and moved on. I wasn’t angry at Andreas for trying to take care of me, not now. I didn’t have the energy for that. “Different last names, it happens. I’m surprised he chanced it, bringing us that list, though. We would have made the connection eventually.”

“He probably figured his time was already limited once we got our hands on Brando and Weyland. He tried to speed things up. I take it he’s not downstairs?”

“Nope. His partner”—who was currently wringing his hands in front of his chest and looked halfway to fainting—“says he went out to get lunch an hour ago.”

“That’s a long time for lunch.”

“Too long,” I agreed.

“Hamilton just tried to call him and got no reply.”

“Blaine knows something is wrong. He might be running as we speak.”

Andreas swore. “We need to check his home, now.”

“I’ll meet you at the car in two minutes.” I hung up and looked at Officer May. He was just as young as Blaine, if not quite as crisp—a little soft around the edges, with his tie loose around his neck and his name badge crooked on his chest. He looked like the kind of guy who probably enjoyed cookouts on the weekends and watching ESPN no matter what sport was playing. The kind of guy who would hang out at his partner’s place every chance he got because he wanted to bond. “What’s Blaine’s address?”

“Seventeen South Broadway, it’s a townhouse,” he said faintly. “Blue trim around the windows and a bright-blue door. I—I helped him paint it.” His hands were shaking. “I had no idea he— It just doesn’t seem possible, I mean . . . to kidnap kids, I can’t believe he would do this! Howie is always so nice! Everybody on our beat loves him!”

“You can spend your whole life with someone and still never know everything there is to know.” I swallowed around the lump in my throat. “Officer May, I need you to go upstairs to Captain Hamilton’s office and let him or Detective Morris ask you questions about Blaine. I need you to go fast and tell them everything you know, because people’s lives are on the line, all right?”

He nodded, seeming grateful to have a goal. “I can do that.”

“Then go.” He walked to the elevator. I continued to the stairwell and headed down again. Andreas was already waiting by the car, and I relayed the address to him as I got in. “Backup?” I asked over his phone’s monotone directions toward South Broadway.

Andreas nodded curtly. “Hamilton insisted. They’re supposed to wait for us to go in, though.” His jaw tightened and relaxed rhythmically, a familiar sign of annoyance.

“The captain thinks Blaine’s already run?”

“He’d know enough not to stick around if he thought we were getting suspicious. Which means he could be anywhere now. He could be with Casey and Emily, and . . .” Andreas slammed his closed fist against the dashboard. I jumped a little. “He was right there in front of me! Right there, looking me in the face and telling me he wanted to help, he was concerned, he had our backs! And the whole time, the whole time, he was playing me.”

“He was playing all of us.”

“I think he’s enjoying it.” Andreas’s voice was bleak. “Watching all of us scramble for clues, leading us around by our noses. He thinks we deserve it for putting his father in jail.”

“Which is where his father deserves to be,” I said emphatically. “It doesn’t matter what Blaine’s rationale was for doing what he did, the point is he lost any moral high ground that might ever have existed when he became a fucking kidnapper.”

“Folsom was one of those ones . . . he was in kind of a gray area. How much did he really know, how bad were his crimes in light of everyone else’s? He was getting a cut, but it wasn’t a huge amount of money. Less than twenty grand. Enough to buy his wife a new car and pay off some credit cards, that’s all.”

I wasn’t about to let Andreas talk himself into feeling sorry for doing his job. “If all it took to turn Folsom into a dirty cop was a Ford Fiesta and paying off his Mastercard, then it just means that he sold himself cheap. It doesn’t make him any worthier of absolution than his dumpster fire of a son.”

Andreas actually cracked a smile. “A Fiesta? Really? That’s the first car that came to mind?”

“Folsom’s a cop, that means he’d buy cheap and reliable.” His smile grew a little bigger. “What? They’re easy to fix and you can park them anywhere!”

“I had no idea you were such a fan.”

“I’m not, I just—”

“You have reached your destination.”

Oh. So we had. We parked, got out, and found two cops waiting for us in front of number seventeen, with its new trim and rickety-looking stairs.

“There was no answer when we knocked,” one of the officers said. “The door is locked.”

“Then break it down.”

“Or—wait.” This was a bachelor pad if ever I’d seen one. Why was there a flowerpot on the little porch? Not that men couldn’t be gardeners, but this one was full of dirt and nothing else. I lifted it up and—

“Key.” I handed it over to the cop closest to the door, who opened it and immediately got out of Andreas’s way. I followed him inside.

I could already tell it was empty. Blaine probably hadn’t been here since this morning. The doors to every room were open. Dirty dishes were piled high in the sink, and laundry was overflowing the hamper. It was all completely casual, like the guy had nothing to hide. Not that I thought he’d have the kids here, but that he could live and act like he wasn’t keeping such a dangerous secret . . . it was worrying.

The last few cases we’d worked, it might not have been obvious who the perpetrator was at first, but once we knew, it had been like a light bulb going off: Oh, of course! This person is an overconfident egomaniac, that person is a narcissistic sociopath. I see it now, the darkness inside of them. I wasn’t getting that feeling now, and I didn’t like it. Blaine seemed like just . . . a guy. Just another cop, somebody who came to work and went home and had the overenthusiastic Officer May as his partner. He seemed normal. Unremarkable. It made his capacity to do what he was doing—and to taunt Andreas about it—even worse.

The four of us combed the place looking for clues, for anything unusual at all, but after half an hour, we came up empty. It just wasn’t that big a place, and there was nothing evident to tie Blaine to the kidnapping. Nothing except—

“Look,” Andreas said, pointing at a picture on the wall. I leaned close and took in the slope of the roof, the trees framing the porch, and the gravel driveway. “It’s the house.”

The house that Weyland had led us to, the house where the kids had been deposited after they were grabbed and had stayed until just a short time ago. The house where we’d missed them. There were people standing in front of it: an older man who looked vaguely familiar, a woman I didn’t know at all, and two younger men. One of them was Blaine.

We needed to find the other one.

“So.” Paula pushed a strand of hair out of her face and tapped the folder under her hands. “The house originally belonged to Rory Folsom’s parents. He inherited it six years ago and moved into it with his second wife. After he was arrested, his wife filed for divorce and put the house up for sale. A chunk of the proceeds are supposed to go into a legal defense fund for Folsom, but the house hasn’t moved yet. His wife has since moved back to Michigan, where she has family.”

“What about Blaine’s mother?” I asked.

“She’s been out of the picture for the past four years. She lives in Hawaii. It’s unlikely either of Folsom’s exes are helping with this, but we have detectives reaching out to both of them to make sure.”

“What about this guy?” Andreas pointed to the picture, where our unidentified man had his arm slung around Blaine’s shoulders.

“That’s his brother, Gary. He’s a patent lawyer with a firm here in town. He’s got a perfect record—not even a parking ticket to his name. We’re still working on tracking him down, but it’s possible he doesn’t know anything about what Blaine is doing.” Paula turned to Officer Garland. “What’s the news on the traffic cameras?”

She grimaced. “We followed Officer Blaine’s car as far as we could once he left the precinct, but our surveillance stops here.” She pointed at a red pin in the map on the wall. There was still plenty of city beyond it. “I’ll do my best to find local security cameras and track them down, but there’s a lot of ground to cover.” Too much. There was too much ground to cover. Our clock was ticking down, and we had let our prime suspect slip right through our fingers.

“What about speaking to Folsom?” Andreas demanded.

“I sent someone to question him, and he professed total ignorance of his son’s actions.”

“I want to talk to him.”

Paula shook her head. “Hamilton will never okay that.”

“I don’t give a fuck what Hamilton is okay with. Someone has to get the truth out of Folsom and that’s going to be me!”

“No.” It slipped out before I could stop it. Andreas turned to me angrily, but I found my voice and kept going before he could yell. “Folsom is in prison. It’s a good bet all of his contacts are too. His entire network from when he was a dirty cop is most likely in prison. What kind of support could he give Blaine? He has no assets, his wife is leaving him, he’s probably afraid for his life. He’s not going to be the one stirring the pot. We need the brother.”

Officer Garland frowned. “He’s a lawyer, you really think he’d help Blaine do something like this?”

“He’s a patent lawyer, not a criminal lawyer. But yes, I do.”

“Why?”

“Because they’re family, and look how highly Blaine places family. He’s doing all of this because he lost his family, and he blames that on Andreas, not on the cops being fucking dirty. In his fucked-up mind, that’s probably a lot easier and makes more sense than admitting his father was a dirty cop.” I paused. “So now he’s retaliated by going after Andreas’s kids directly. Blaine wouldn’t tell his father because he doesn’t want to increase the man’s suffering, or make his circumstances worse when all of this came to light. But he’s still got his brother, and you can bet he’s going to use him.”

I didn’t meet Andreas’s eyes. I knew what he was thinking, and yeah, of course what had happened with Asher was on my mind, maybe coloring my perceptions. My own brother hadn’t confided in me, hadn’t let me in on his darkest secret, and that hurt hard enough that I felt like I was bleeding inside my chest. I would have done almost anything to keep him from doing what he’d done. What would Gary Blaine have done for his little brother? What would he be willing to do?

“We need to bring him in.”

Gary Blaine’s house was in an area not too far from the city center, a neighborhood that seemed to exemplify gentrification. There were organic pizza parlors and all-natural grocers on every corner, and you couldn’t drive more than a block without seeing another trendy coffee shop. I could barely look out the window without rolling my eyes. Good thing Darren was driving. He didn’t seem to need any help finding the address, either.

“You know this area?”

“A little. Asher and Melissa had a house out here. Vic called it their McMansion.” He sounded surprisingly level, talking about his brother. I wasn’t going to second-guess it. Whatever Darren was doing to deal was working, for now. “They sold it during the divorce, got a lot of money for it. Gary must be doing well.”

“Or his wife is.” Mrs. Gary Blaine ran a travel agency—she was out of the country right now leading a tour in Madagascar. Convenient.

“Or that,” Darren agreed. He turned right, then stopped in front of the second house down. It was typical for the area: two stories, grayscale stone siding, and a tidy little green lawn whose grass was probably genetically engineered to stay exactly two inches tall. I went to open my door, but Darren put a hand on my arm. “Let me go knock. If he’s there, you can join us.”

What he was carefully saying was that all our efforts to contact Gary Blaine so far—his cell phone, his work phone, even his boss—had come up empty. It was looking more and more like he’d gone AWOL alongside his bastard of a brother, and if that was the case . . .

Darren’s hand moved down to cover mine, gently prying my fingers out of my thigh. “I’ll be right back.”

“Yeah, go.” I watched as he walked up the tidy concrete steps to the front door and rang the doorbell. Nothing. He rang again, stepped off the porch and glanced in the window of the garage, then went around to the back.

“No lights,” he called out as he reappeared. “The back door is locked and there are no cars parked inside. I don’t think he’s here.”

I shut my eyes and rubbed the bridge of my nose. I was so tired of coming up empty. So fucking tired of it, and yet that was all I was getting.

“Hey.” Darren shut the door and grabbed my hand again. “We’ve already put out an APB on him, and officers are checking his office as we speak. We’re going to find him.”

I knew that Darren believed that, and for what it was worth, I believed it too. I just didn’t know if we’d find him in time to get anything useful out of him, and that was all I cared about right now. I sighed. “Let’s head back to the precinct, see if anything new has come in.” I’d take a fucking trail of bread crumbs right now if I thought they’d be useful.

We were halfway back when the captain called my cell.

“Ruffner.”

“Where are you and Corliss?”

“On our way back.”

“Good. Tell him to step on it. There’s someone here who will only speak with you.”

I straightened. To Darren, I muttered, “Drive faster.” The engine whined, and the scenery blurred a little more. “What’s going on, Captain?”

“You aware that Officer Blaine has a brother?”

My heart sped up. “Yeah. We’re actually trying to hunt him down and—”

“He’s here.”

“You’re shitting me.”

“No. Turned himself in about ten minutes ago as an accomplice to Blaine.”

“We’ll be there in ten.”

“He’s waiting for you in interrogation room three.” The captain hung up.

“The brother turned himself in,” I said to Darren.

“Are you serious?” He accelerated again. We were on city streets, and we could only go so fast without drawing a uniform’s attention or flattening a pedestrian. Times like this I would’ve liked a siren on my unmarked. Not just the little magnetic bubble light—a siren that screamed Get the fuck out of my way.

“Yeah.” I drummed my fingers on the armrest. “Captain didn’t say much else. Just that the guy turned himself in, and he’ll only talk to me.”

I didn’t want to hold my breath that this was the lucky break we desperately needed, but I hoped like hell it was.

At the table in the interrogation room was a white guy in his thirties, hands cuffed in the front, and he was obviously related to Blaine. Unless there was another doppelganger brother out there, he’d been in that photo.

I hobbled into the room with Darren on my heels.

Gary glared at Darren. “I’m only talking to Detective Ruffner.”

“He’s my partner.”

Darren shut the door behind him. “I can leave if—”

“No.” Gary’s shoulders slumped, and he sagged back against the chair. “He’d be watching from there anyway.” He gave a sharp nod toward the two-way mirror.

I leaned on my crutches and watched him for tells. “Start talking.”

“I’m turning myself in,” he said shakily. “Give me a plea bargain, and I’ll tell you how to find the kids.”

The mere suggestion of negotiating with him, using my children’s whereabouts as leverage, brought a roar of fury out of me. I lunged toward him as much as I could on crutches, but Darren stopped me with a firm hand on my chest.

“Andreas.” His voice was smooth and calm, but hard-edged. “Look at me.”

I did, ready to snap his neck too if he didn’t get out of the way.

But as we held each other’s gazes, I understood.

He knows where the kids are.

I don’t like it any more than you do, but it’s all we have.

He’ll get his—we need to find the kids.

Exhaling, I stood down. He kept his hand on me for a second, studying me like he wasn’t sure if I was really staying back.

“I’m good. I’m . . . Let’s . . .” I adjusted my grip on my crutches and nodded sharply toward the perp. “Let’s find out what he knows.”

Darren’s slow nod was more reassuring than anything I’d ever seen. He had this.

He let me go, moved to the table, and leaned over it, looming above Gary Blaine, and I couldn’t imagine there’d ever been so much pure, black hatred in his expression. “Here’s how it’s going to work. You tell us where the kids are. Once they’re safe and sound, we’ll discuss a deal.”

Gary narrowed his eyes. “I’m a lawyer, Detective. I know how this game is—”

“You kidnapped the children of a cop. The only leniency you’re going to get is whatever he”—Darren pointed at me—“begs the jury to give you after he tells them how you had his kids taken right in front of him. Do I make myself clear?”

Gary blanched. I didn’t blame him. Darren never struck me as intimidating, but right then, he could’ve sent me back a few steps.

“You’ve got thirty seconds to give me something I can use,” Darren hissed. “Or I will see to it—”

“Okay. Okay.” Gary put up his hands as much as he could with the cuffs on. “Look, I was in on it. I won’t lie. But my brother . . . he’s . . .” Gary shook his head. “He took it too far.”

My stomach jumped into my throat. “Where exactly does it become too far when kidnapping and battering my kids isn’t too far?”

He cut his eyes toward me, then dropped his gaze. I regretted the question. The answer was going to come sooner or later anyway, but I wasn’t so sure I wanted to know.

He stared down at his cuffed hands. “It wasn’t supposed to be a kidnapping. Howie and I, we agreed to pay someone to carjack your sons. Steal the car, shake them up—shake you up—and be done with it. And I was pissed about what happened to our dad, so yeah, I agreed to it.”

Well, that much lined up with Brando’s story. And Erin’s, for that matter.

“It was only supposed to rattle some cages.” He shot me an uneasy look. “Yours in particular. Next thing I know, we’ve got . . .” He flailed, cuffs rattling. “I knew it was too much, but didn’t know how to get out of it.”

The fact that he had information was the only thing keeping me from strangling him with his own intestines at this point. I folded my arms tightly across my chest, as much to look intimidating as to suppress the growing chill.

“What changed?” Darren asked. “How did this escalate from a carjacking to a kidnapping?”

Gary avoided our eyes. “This was Howie’s plan from the start. He knew I’d never agree to taking things that far, but he also couldn’t afford to pay the fuckers on his own.” Letting his head fall back, he sighed up at the ceiling. “He knew once things got rolling, I’d stick with him because I didn’t want to go to prison any more than he did. He’d have me by the balls.” With a bitter, almost hysterical laugh, he looked at me. “Surprise, Howie!”

I was terrified of the answer, but asked anyway: “What’s the endgame?”

Gary swallowed, shaking his head apologetically. “I don’t know. I don’t . . . I don’t know. That’s why I’m here. If he’s thought it through, he didn’t tell me. I don’t . . . I don’t have a fucking clue what he has in mind. But I do think that at this point, he knows he’s in way over his head.”

Darren shifted uneasily. “Is he panicking?”

“Not yet. But I don’t know what his next move is. I don’t even know if he’ll know it until he makes it.” The fear in Gary’s eyes made my skin crawl. My theory about an unhinged lunatic was closer to accurate than I’d hoped, and that only made the inevitable outcome seem more grim. We needed more from him, and in my mind, I was already choking the man to within an inch of his life before Darren calmly spoke.

“Where are the kids now?”

I exhaled through my nose, thankful he was taking the lead. One of us had to have a cooler head, and it sure as shit wasn’t me right now.

Gary swallowed. “They’re at a house out in East Aspenwood. That suburban development south of town. It’s . . .” His eyes lost focus. “Thirty-one Jenner Way.”

My heart sped up. A location. God, please, let them still be there.

Then cold dread settled itself in my churning gut, and before I could stop myself, I asked, “Are they all right?”

He shot me another wary look, and for two very, very long seconds I was completely certain I was about to hear the worst possible answer. But then he nodded. “Yeah. They’re shook up, but . . . yeah. They’re okay.”

Darren turned to me. How do you want to play this?

Fuck. We needed more information, but every minute we waited was another minute my kids were in danger.

“He’s coming with us.” I nodded toward Gary. “We don’t have time to fuck around, and we need all the information we can get from him.”

Gary swallowed, but nodded. “Okay. Yeah. I’ll tell you anything you want.”

“I’ll get the captain,” Darren said. “We can assemble a team and—”

“Wait,” Gary said. “If he sees SWAT or something, he’ll . . .” I didn’t think it was possible, but he turned even whiter.

“He took it too far.”

My stomach flipped again. “He’ll what?”

Gary pushed out a long breath, then looked me right in the eye. “Look, our dad was roughed up in the rec yard recently. Guards just stood back and let it happen, and when it was over, no one said anything. Once Howie heard about that, he fucking lost it.” His eyes flicked from me to Darren to me again. “I don’t know what he’s planning to do. Or if he’s planning anything beyond making Detective Ruffner suffer as much as possible for making our father suffer.” He gulped. “All I know is, he’s got your kids and he’s gone off the fucking rails, and I don’t know what to do about it.”

“Shit,” Darren breathed, scrubbing a hand over his face.

Gary wasn’t finished. “But he also knows how cops work. If he’s got half the force descending on him and he realizes there’s no way out, suicide by cop is not below him. Every time we’ve visited our dad, he’s told me on the way out that he’d take a bullet before he went to prison.” His Adam’s apple jumped. “And at this point, I can’t promise he won’t take the kids with him.”

Ice water slithered through my veins. That was one mental image that could knock me off my feet and fuck my ability to focus. I wasn’t normally a praying man, but today wasn’t a normal day.

Darren, despite his own gauntlet of distractions, stayed focused. “Why this house?”

Gary moistened his lips, staring down at his hands. “It belonged to another cop. Detective Worley.”

I remembered the name. Another dirty son of a bitch currently taking up space in prison.

“His wife couldn’t keep up with the mortgage after he was convicted,” Gary continued. “The bank foreclosed it. It’s abandoned at the moment. Going up for auction next month.” He exhaled. “After you guys figured out where the farmhouse was, we had to move them someplace else, so we went there.”

“And he’s there now,” I said. “With the kids.”

“I’m . . . I’m not sure where he is. He wasn’t answering his phone, and . . .” Gary shook his head. “But the kids are there. I went there before I came here. They’re—”

“Then why the fuck did you leave them there?” I snapped.

Gary flinched, but managed to meet my gaze, and he sounded almost childlike as he said, “Because Howie’s far enough off the rails that if he thinks I took your kids back to you, it would be my kids cuffed in that basement next.”

My throat squeezed around what little breath I could still draw. He was a father himself, and he’d gone through with this fucked-up plan? But no matter how terrified and furious I was, I couldn’t question his decision to protect his own kids. Given the choice—the horrifying, inhumane choice—I’d have protected my own too.

Gary cleared his throat. “You need to find Howie first. Get him in cuffs, then save the kids. Otherwise . . .”

I shuddered.

He wasn’t done, though. “Listen, when I realized your daughter was hurt—like really hurt—I told him this had to stop. I mean, I barely talked him into dropping her off at the ER, and—” His head snapped toward me. “Is she okay?” It was weird, seeing genuine concern in the eyes of a man who’d arranged to have my children kidnapped.

“She’s fine,” I said through my teeth. “And for your sake, you’d better hope the other two are too.”

“They are.” He brought his cuffed hands up so he could scratch his forehead. “They’re . . . they’re fine.”

“Why the hesitation?” Darren demanded.

Gary exhaled. “They’re scared, all right? My brother, he’s been . . .” He winced. “It’s like he forgets these are kids. Even the older one is still a kid, you know?”

“Yes, I know,” I growled.

“But Howie . . . he tells them every chance he gets that their father is an inept cop, or that he just doesn’t care, or else he’d have saved them by now. It’s, uh . . . taking its toll.”

I had to fight hard to keep from vomiting. As if I didn’t have enough guilt over being the farthest thing from Father of the Year. Dear God, if something happened to them and they left this earth believing I didn’t care enough to find them . . .

I swallowed the bile scorching the back of my throat.

“Anyway. Your daughter. When she was hurt, that was when I realized how cold Howie has turned. He didn’t care if she hemorrhaged because that would just make Detective Ruffner suffer more.”

I bristled, grinding my teeth.

Gary met my gaze, but quickly dropped his. “He was perfectly happy to let her die until I convinced him that if she did, we were going to prison for murder.” He gulped again. “I don’t know if he’ll kill them. Problem is, I also can’t say for sure that he won’t. Absolute best-case scenario? He uses the kids as human shields when the cops close in.”

More bile rose in my throat. Darren and I exchanged glances. With a subtle head tilt, he suggested we step outside.

“We’ll be right back,” I said, and followed Darren into the hallway.

As soon as we were out of the room, Darren turned to face me. He cupped my face and looked me in the eye. “Are you sure you can handle this?”

I nodded. By all rights, I should’ve been taken off this case from the start, but the captain probably knew as well as Darren did that it wouldn’t do any good. Hell, leaving me on the case kept me more or less playing by the department’s rules. Cut me off, and I’d do things my way.

Holding Darren’s gaze, I whispered, “I have to.”

“I know.” He pressed a light kiss to my lips. “But if you need to tap out, either because it’s too much or—” he gestured at my leg “—I’ve got this. You know I do.”

And I hate myself for every second I’m depending on you when you’re supposed to be grieving.

But all I could say was, “I know. And thanks.”

Something like a smile flickered across his lips, but then his eyes darted toward the interrogation room door. “I don’t know what our options are here. We could send him in to flush out Blaine, but all it would take is someone in the precinct tipping off Blaine that we’ve been talking to him.”

I didn’t even want to think about how many more dirty cops might be in Blaine’s pocket on this. How many of them had been involved in—and compromising—this search. “I think our best bet is going in on our own.”

“Andreas.” Darren shook his head. “You heard Gary. Blaine gets a whiff of cops, and God knows what might happen.”

“Then we don’t let him get a whiff. He’ll be expecting us to do this according to Hoyle.”

His eyebrows rose slowly. “What do you have in mind?”

“He’s probably watching for surveillance. Any uniforms show up at the door or start canvassing neighbors, he’ll be paying attention to them. But if we can create some kind of diversion and get him to the front door, he’ll be distracted while we’re letting ourselves into the basement from the back.”

His eyes flicked toward my cast. “‘We.’”

I scowled. “Okay, I don’t know how much I can do. But stay with me. Blaine is still a cop. How many cops do you know who can ignore a domestic that’s about to turn violent?”

Darren blinked. “Not . . . not many. But they’re not usually harboring kidnapped kids at the same time.”

“It’s worth a try. Staging a car accident or having someone show up asking to use the phone is too obvious. But the neighborhood where he’s hiding is a shithole. One of those places that got hit hard during the last couple of recessions. A lot of abandoned houses and a lot of squatters. Lot of people moving in and out, so he probably doesn’t know the neighbors. Not well enough to be suspicious if people at a party start having a fight that spills out into the road.” I paused, scenarios running through my head a few dozen at a time. “We don’t want to put civilians in the middle of it, but if his neighbors or some squatters are having a house party, and a couple of people Blaine’s never seen before come out screaming . . .”

“You think he’d come out and break up a couple of drunks?”

“Yes.” I gnawed the inside of my cheek. “Especially if some part of him knows he’s fucking up, it’s entirely possible that in his mind, going out and breaking up a fight—particularly if it means rescuing a woman who’s about to be roughed up—would redeem him. Not make him a good cop, but cement the fact that he’s been a good cop all along.”

“Yeah, I follow,” Darren said. “And . . . the guests would be undercover cops?”

I nodded.

“That’s . . .” Darren’s eyes lost focus for a moment, and then he smiled a little. “That’s actually brilliant. Except, how do we make sure the couple involved in the domestic aren’t cops Blaine would recognize?”

“Shit . . .”

Darren straightened. “Doesn’t Internal Affairs owe us a few favors?”

“They do, yeah.”

“Think Thibedeau might loan us a couple of his guys?”

“Only one way to find out.”

It wasn’t funny. Or, well, it was without context, but within the bounds of the situation, it wasn’t really all that funny. Still, I couldn’t quite keep the edges of my mouth from curling up as I watched Paula and Thibedeau hash out the details of the party in record time in the conference room, with him pushing back the whole way.

“Of course I want to help,” he repeated, “but if you’re looking for cops who know how to convincingly throw a party, you shouldn’t be looking at my department.”

“For Christ’s sake, it’s not hard!” She raised a hand and ticked off the necessary elements. “Music, booze, plenty of warm bodies, and one pair who knows how to fake a good fight. Done.”

“Our yearly departmental dinner takes place in an ornamental teahouse, Paula. The last time Curtis hosted a Super Bowl party, we ended up spending more time watching a rerun of the Westminster dog show than we did football. These aren’t party people!”

Paula raised an eyebrow. “Well, that answers a question I never wanted to ask about how you spend your free time, but you’re missing the point, Mark.”

“Which is?”

“That you’re the only ones who can do this. Unless you want us to waste more time begging for officers from other precincts, who would undoubtedly give us a load of crap just because they could before getting their asses in gear—” the glance she threw my way wasn’t accusatory, but it was definitely knowing “—then we need you guys to buck up and get moving. Officer Garland has already gotten us access to one of the neighbors’ houses. You have twenty minutes to make you and your people look like they don’t dream about forensic accounting, because that’s when we’ve got to move. Capiche?”

Thibedeau sighed. “Fine. I’ve got a dirty T-shirt and a pair of shorts in my gym bag downstairs—will those suffice?”

“I’m sure they’ll be perfect.” She shooed him out of the room, then turned to me. “He’s wound tighter than Big Ben. I don’t know how Erin gets along with the guy as well as she does.”

I half smiled. “She’s a people person, she could get along with almost anybody.”

“I guess so. Where’s your partner?”

“Talking to his exes.” Not quite both of them at once, but he’d been on the phone with Lisa when Marcy had walked into the precinct, yet again, asking for another update. Like Andreas wouldn’t have contacted her with anything new. I’d left the ladies to him and gone to sit in on Paula’s beautiful smackdown, and now I had nothing to do but twiddle my thumbs and wait for the operation to get underway. “I figure you and I should be the ones to go in after the kids. Andreas isn’t quite up for that level of athleticism, and they’ll recognize me.” At least, I hoped they would. I’d only met Casey once, and Emily was probably seriously upset.

Paula nodded. “He can stay out back in the getaway car.” Being suburbia, there were no alleys there, only fences separating one house’s yard from the next, but there were gates, and the road behind the house Blaine was holed up in connected not to another string of houses, but to a city park. No one would wonder why a car was parked there. “We can make this work. Thibedeau can monitor things from inside the neighbor’s house, let us know when to move. You and I get the kids out, Andreas gets them to safety, and then we bring the hammer down on Blaine.”

“Sounds good.” It was about time something did.

“We can finally— Hey!” She scowled at the door to the conference room, which was slightly ajar. “Who is that?” She marched over and jerked it open, looking around with a glare. “Shit.”

“What?”

“Probably nothing, just . . . someone was hanging around out here, I saw their eyes. It might be someone in the know, might not be, but the sooner we move on this, the better. The last thing we need is someone to tip-off Blaine.” She shook her head. “I’m going to go hurry Thibedeau up.”

“He’s probably in the men’s locker room, changing.”

“Then I’ll just have to stand outside the door and shout encouragement,” she said with a smile, and left.

For the moment, I was alone. I should get up. I should go find Andreas, make sure he was handling Marcy okay and that he knew the timetable. I should confer with Officer Garland about the house, check the street maps around there again, get my equipment together. There was a lot I should be doing, but I felt frozen. Almost without thinking, I pulled out my phone and dialed a familiar number.

“Darren? What’s going on?”

“Hey, Vic.” I ran a hand over the back of my neck. “How’s Mom?”

“She’s doing okay. Got a couple of friends over, and she napped for a while. Could be worse. How are you?”

“We got a break in the case. The suspect’s older brother turned himself in; we’re getting ready for a raid.”

Vic hmmed. “Sounds tricky. You stay safe out there, kid, and keep your partner safe. But as glad as I am that your case is going well, I wasn’t asking about it. I was asking about you.”

My eyes prickled, and I shut them while I tried to figure out what to say. “I’m— I mean, you know. It’s not good. None of this is.”

“Yeah, I know. You holding it together?”

I bit my lip. “I have to.”

Vic sighed. “I know why you feel like that, Darren. But you’ve gotta be honest with yourself, okay? Get help when you need it. That’s why you called me, isn’t it?”

Damn Vic and his thirty years as a cop. There was no keeping a secret around him. “This case is fucking me up. Not just because of Andreas and the kids.” They were the worst part, by far, but . . . “The guy behind this is a cop.” I couldn’t give away too many details, but Vic would read between the lines. “His dad was a cop too, but he’s in prison now. I don’t think he knows what’s going on. It makes me wonder, what the hell would he think of what his kid is doing? Would he be appalled? Would he be pleased? How could he raise someone who turned out so fucking . . .” Did Blaine seriously believe his father would appreciate what he was doing in his name? Or were way more people seriously screwed up than I gave them credit for?

Vic sighed heavily. “You know, if I could have fixed things for your brother, I would have.” He sounded pained. “I’d have given my right arm to give him some hope when he needed it, but it wasn’t meant to be. And that’s the sad truth for any parent. No matter what we do to or for our kids, heap our fuckups onto them or give them every opportunity in the world, in the end we can’t live their lives for them. Whatever you do with yourself, good or bad, that’s on you. It doesn’t matter what this cop’s dad would say about what he’s doing, because it’s indefensible either way. I like to think the man would be horrified, but if not? Fuck ’im.”

I smiled weakly. “You ever wish you hadn’t saddled yourself with us?”

“You mean, do I wish I’d stayed a grumpy, lonely, workaholic cop with nothing to look forward to except TV dinners and splurging on the occasional bottle of Scotch? Are you kiddin’ me?”

“Dumb question, I guess.”

“Damn straight. Now get back to work.”

“Yes, sir.” I ended the call and was a little amazed at how much better I felt. There was something about Vic, about the constancy of him, that was incredibly reassuring. Everything could be chaos—shit, everything was chaos—but Vic stayed solid, even when he was in mourning. He was exactly what I needed, and if that wasn’t the ideal parent, then nothing was.

“Hey.”

I turned toward the door fast enough to make my neck ache, anxious to get my eyes on Andreas. “Is everything okay?”

He looked—well, he looked exhausted, which wasn’t surprising. “I managed to talk Marcy out of calling the governor, if that’s what you mean.”

“What good would that do?”

“Absolutely none, but she’s desperate. Lisa’s handling it better.” Or at least not letting on if she isn’t, Andreas’s shrug said loud and clear.

“We’ll have them back. Soon.” I tried to keep my voice confident.

Andreas grunted noncommittally. He was probably tired of hearing platitudes. “How did the party planning go?”

“Thibedeau’s going to coordinate from inside the house. He’s trying to find something casual enough to wear to a party. He looked like Paula was asking him to jump in a dumpster when she said he had to change.” That got a little smile, so I continued. “Paula and I will go in, armed, while you keep the car running. As soon as we give the signal that we’ve got the kids, Thibedeau’s people will take Blaine down.”

“You think his people can handle that?”

“Blaine’s played things carefully, but he’s just one guy. According to Gary, he’s in this alone now. Internal Affairs might not get a lot of action, but they should be able to handle him, and we’ll have backup nearby.” I got up and walked over to him, took his hand, and leaned my forehead against his. He pressed a kiss to my cheek but didn’t speak. His arms trembled a little around the crutches. I wanted to ask him to stay behind and rest his ankle, but I might as well ask him to stop breathing. He had to see this through.

When this was over, we were going on vacation for another fucking month. They didn’t count if you were too injured to enjoy the time off.

If Gary Blaine’s neighborhood had been creepily Stepford, the house that Howie Blaine was squatting in was on the other side of the spectrum. The sidewalks were cracked, the grass was dying, and the fence was missing enough posts that, forget using the gate, Paula and I were going to be able to walk right through it to get to the back door.

The party was in full swing, and if it lacked a little enthusiasm in the people department, the music was loud enough to make up for it. I picked up my radio. “Is Blaine even going to be able to hear a fight going on over all that, Thibedeau?”

“The music choice was Paula’s, so blame her if your ears bleed, and yes.” He sounded dry but assured. “The sparring pair is actually a married couple that’s worked for me for five years, and they’ve assured me that when they fight, they’re impossible to ignore.”

“And they’re still together?”

I could almost hear his shrug. “It takes all types. They’ll be heading outside in just a moment, stand by.” We waited for a moment, and then—

“JESUS FUCKING CHRIST, ISAAC, WHAT IS WRONG WITH YOU?”

I winced. “Damn.” She was on an entirely different street than the one we were parked on, music still going, and I could still hear her as clear as a siren. “How is that possible?”

“Kristy minored in opera,” Paula said. “As soon as Thibedeau clears us, we go.”

I patted my vest and took in the comfortable weight of my gun and nightstick. I didn’t usually carry a stick since making detective, but today was an exception. The fight raged on and on, and for a minute I wondered if Blaine wasn’t just going to try to ride it out, hedging his bets and not intervening.

“WHAT, A KNIFE? YOU THINK YOU’RE MAN ENOUGH TO COME AFTER ME WITH A FUCKING KNIFE? YOU CAN’T EVEN STICK ME WITH YOUR DICK!” There was a scream, and then—

“He’s coming out, go now,” Thibedeau said. “Squad Two, maintain your position until I tell you we need you.” Squad Two was our backup, waiting in case things got crazy. Crazier. Paula was already out of the car, and I paused just long enough to squeeze Andreas’s hand before following her.

We were through the fence and at the back door in under ten seconds. There was plenty of ambient noise, but I was still careful as I broke out the glass pane closest to the handle. I reached inside and unlocked the door, then led the way in.

The place smelled like it had been empty for a while, dust and a hint of mildew in the air. There was a full trash bag in the kitchen, though. I moved into the living room, looking for the stairs. The kids would be in the basement, that was Blaine’s MO. More secure, easier to keep them quiet . . . My heart pounded as I approached the basement door. We were so close—

“What the hell is that officer doing out there? Squad Two, I told you to hold your position!”

“He’s not with us!” the man in charge of our backup exclaimed. “I don’t know who that is!”

“Wait, I recognize him.” Thibedeau sounded tense. “It’s Officer May.”

Paula looked at me, shocked. “Blaine’s partner.” Fuck.

“They’re talking,” Thibedeau continued. “May is trying to reason with the man—he must be out of his goddamned mind. We’re as good as made. Squad Two, prepare to—” The rapid crack of gunfire cut Thibedeau off. “Officer down! Officer down, I repeat, Officer May is down, my people are returning fire, Squad Two, get in here! Blaine is heading for the garage!”

It was like getting a cattle prod to my spinal cord, shocking me back into motion. I turned to the basement door, unlocked it, and jerked it open. I went down a few steps, and inside, I found—nothing.

It was empty. The kids weren’t here.

Blaine had already moved them. They had to be in the car. That meant—

“Hold your fire!” I shouted as I pounded back up the stairs, Paula close on my heels. “Do not fire on the garage, do not fire on Blaine’s vehicle, the hostages are in there!”

“What the hell?” Andreas growled. I’d almost forgotten he had a radio. “What the fuck are you saying?”

I didn’t answer, already sprinting toward the door to the garage. I opened it just in time to see Blaine back out, tires squealing. In the backseat I saw Emily, tucked protectively into the curve of Casey’s body, staring right back at me. Her eyes widened as they pulled away.

“No.” Absolutely not. He wasn’t getting away with this, he wasn’t disappearing with the kids. Not again.

“Get the car started!” I shouted into the radio as I ran for the back of the house. By the time I cleared the fence, Andreas was revving the engine so hard I could smell motor oil in the air. I jumped in and slammed the door shut just before he started to move.

We weren’t losing them this time.

We weren’t.

Darren was barely in the car before I gunned the gas and tore after Blaine. Fortunately, this car had a light bar, and I switched on the blue strobes.

Beside me, Darren radioed everyone else. “Blaine is headed south on Jenner Street. The minors are in the car. Repeat, the minors are in the car. Use extreme caution pursuing.”

I gritted my teeth and accelerated. His radio crackled with voices and updates. I didn’t understand much of what they said, though. Blood was pounding too loudly in my ears, and my entire focus was on closing the distance between us and the man who had my kids.

One tinny voice broke through: “I’ve got a visual at Jenner and Third. Vehicle is southbound at a high rate of speed.”

My mental map only took a second to calculate, and I turned hard down a side road. Darren said nothing even though he must’ve known I was heading west now instead of south. Three blocks later, I turned down Division, which was wider, less encumbered by other vehicles, and didn’t have so many lights. And it intersected with Jenner. As soon as I was around the corner, I put the pedal to the floor.

After several blocks, Darren said, “Next light is Jenner. He’s coming up to Division, and— There!” Darren pointed ahead. “That burgundy sedan! That’s him!”

The car flew through the intersection. I made a hard left to go after him. There weren’t many cars, but there also wasn’t much space. I had to swerve around two cars, just missing one in the oncoming lane, but I recovered and flew after Blaine. Now that I could see him, I wasn’t losing him. Darren kept everyone else updated on the radio, and I was vaguely aware of other units saying they were almost in position to head off Blaine, but mostly, I focused on that car.

Blaine hung a right onto another main road. Now we had more room, but the traffic was thicker. Shit. On the bright side, he had to slow down to get around a clump of congestion at an intersection, which gave me time to catch up. Once he broke free from the congestion, I was hot on his tail.

Beside me, Darren fumbled with his seat belt. His radio was nonstop chatter. Other units were closing in from all directions. All we had to do was get a few cars in front of him, and he’d have no choice but to stop.

Blaine tried to lose me on a series of sharp turns. When that didn’t work, he sped down an alley that nearly clipped the side mirrors off our cars. At the end of the alley, he hung a sharp left so we were going the wrong way down a one-way, and two blocks later, he tore onto a four-lane highway. Some drivers tried to get out of our way. Others seemed oblivious, or panicked and didn’t know what to do, but I managed to get around them and stay on Blaine’s bumper.

In the rear window, I could see the outline of my son in the backseat. He was hunched over, probably protecting his sister.

Up ahead, a light turned yellow. Cars started to slow down. I laid on the horn to get the other drivers’ attention. Several swerved out of the way. Others stopped where they were.

The light turned red.

Cars from the cross street started to go.

Blaine and I both tore through the intersection. Brakes squealed. Horns blared. A pickup truck turned so hard it nearly rolled and just barely missed my car. A minivan tried to avoid Blaine’s, but they swapped some paint before Blaine gunned it and kept going. He didn’t even hesitate.

My heart jumped into my throat. “Shit.”

“If he’s got half the force descending on him,” Gary’s words echoed in my ears, “suicide by cop is not below him.”

My pulse pounded and my stomach somersaulted.

“And at this point, I can’t promise he won’t take the kids with him.”

Son of a bitch.

I took my foot off the gas. To Darren, I said, “Give the order to stand down.”

He stared at me for a second, and I thought he might question me, but instead he clicked on his radio. “All units, stand down. Repeat, all in pursuit, stand down.”

“Copy that.”

“Copy that. Standing down.”

“Copy that.”

In my mind, I could see them, one by one, backing off and letting Blaine and my kids disappear into the distance. Destination . . . God knew where.

Our one shot, and it was gone.

I nosed the car off the road, put it in park, and let the engine idle. I rubbed my hand over my face, and when I tried to curse again, my voice was thicker than I’d expected.

“Get a helo on that car,” someone crackled on the radio. “Set up a roadblock and—”

“No,” I snapped. “We box him in like that, he’ll hurt the kids.” I’d seen that happen before. A driver being pursued. Panicking. Nothing left to lose. I didn’t need to find out how unhinged Blaine was by seeing how he’d handle hitting a spike strip in front of a police roadblock.

There was silence for a moment, then a heavy sigh from someone. More chatter followed. The order for the helo being called off. No roadblock. No spike strip. A lot of frustration over letting this asshole slip away.

I heard most of it, but only registered the very basics. Sitting there in the car, I was trying to keep myself together, but failing miserably. The cop in me knew I’d made the right call. Really the only call that wouldn’t result in my kids or some innocent people getting killed.

The father in me, though . . .

I knew right then and there that if one single memory would haunt me all the way to my grave, it’d be the moment I watched that car disappear. No matter how this played out, no matter how things finally ended, nothing would ever erase the guilt, the horror, and the bone-deep fear of knowing I’d let a madman get away with two of my kids. Again.

Darren’s hand materialized on the back of my neck, and he kneaded gently. “You made the right call.”

“Did I?”

“Yes. It was getting too dangerous.”

“But how the hell do we find them now? They could be headed God knows—” My voice cracked, and my composure wasn’t far behind. I swallowed, not that it helped. “Fuck . . .”

“We’ll find them.”

Part of me wanted to lash out that he had no way of knowing that, and no cop could promise any outcome of any search. But dear God, another much more vocal part of me needed to hear it. I needed to believe I hadn’t just torpedoed our last chance at saving Casey and Emily.

I turned to Darren. His expression was impossibly stoic despite the dark lines under his eyes and the lack of color in the rest of his face. He looked like he hadn’t slept in weeks.

And it was then that I remembered he probably hadn’t slept any more than I had recently. Fresh guilt balled in the pit of my stomach. I had no right to be leaning on him now. Not when he was grieving his brother.

I put a hand on his leg. “I am so sorry I’m dragging you through all this right now.”

Darren shook his head. “Don’t. Just don’t. We need to focus on finding your kids.”

“I know, but . . .” I sighed. “I’m barely keeping it together. I don’t even know if I should stay on this, or back off and let more objective cops handle it. Before I make a mistake and—”

“Andreas.” He put his hand over mine and squeezed. “Your cop instincts are still there.” He nodded toward the road in front of us. “If they weren’t, we’d still be chasing them, and someone would get killed. It was a hard call to make—and God knows I wouldn’t want to be a father making that call—but it was the right one.”

My eyes stung, and I stared out the windshield, but didn’t let go of his hand.

“If you want off the case,” he said gently, “you know the captain will understand. Everyone will. But I think we both know you’ll just drive yourself insane.”

“I think that’s a given no matter what.” I swiped at my eyes, still trying to hold myself together and still failing miserably. “If there’s ever been an investigation I cannot fuck up, it’s this one. Some crazy fucker has my kids, and I—” My voice broke again, and this time, so did I. “I have no idea how to get them back.”

“I know.” He brought my other hand up to his lips and kissed my knuckles. “But you’re not doing this alone. Half the force is on top of this.” He gave my hand a firm squeeze. “We’ve all got your back, Andreas.”

I sniffed sharply and cleared my throat. “Yeah. Half the force who still blames me for—”

“They can be pissed about that bust all they want, but these are good cops. They’re not going to let petty shit get in the way of helping kids.” He paused. “Some of them probably still think you can go fuck yourself, but you better believe they’d take a bullet to save Emily and Casey.”

I closed my eyes and let out a long breath. “God, I hope you’re right.”

“I am. Now let’s get back to the station and regroup with—”

My cell phone chirped to life. Fuck. What now?

The number was unrecognized, so I answered with a terse, “Ruffner.”

“Dad?”

My stomach lurched. “Casey?”

“Yeah, it’s me.” His voice was uneasy. In the background, I could hear the distinct if muffled sound of Emily crying. And an engine. They were still moving. “We’re okay. We’re—”

“Where are you?”

“Detective Ruffner.” Blaine. Fuck. “Nice try with that party.”

I closed my eyes and put the phone on speaker. “What the fuck do you want? They’re kids, Blaine.”

“Yeah. Sucks when a cop fucks with another cop’s family, doesn’t it?”

It took all I had to keep my voice level. “Enough games. They’re kids.”

“And they’re disappointed as hell in their father. She’s been crying ever since you pulled over.”

I very nearly vomited at the thought of my kids watching me back off. “I didn’t want to get them killed,” I growled through my teeth.

“That’s not how they see it.”

I wanted to tear into him, but this wasn’t an opportunity I was likely to have twice. As long as I had him on the phone, I had to keep my cool. Detective, not Dad. “I want to negotiate.” The words came out, and I didn’t take them back.

Blaine was quiet at first, and I thought he might’ve dropped the call. Then, “Go on.”

“What is it you want out of this?”

He laughed, the condescension palpable on the line. “I’m getting what I want, Detective.”

I gritted my teeth. “Yeah? And how does this end? You just keep taunting me with my kids until . . . what, exactly?”

Again, silence. Beside me, Darren squirmed.

“There’s got to be something we can negotiate,” I said into the phone. “All I want is my kids, Blaine.”

“And we’re not negotiating a goddamned thing over the phone.” His voice was icy and sharp.

I bit down on a sarcastic observation that nothing he said now could be any more damning than the mile-long list of charges already against him. He was getting paranoid like a nervous, cornered animal, and I didn’t dare spook him. “Fine. When and where?”

The silence dragged on, and I was about to snap my phone in two from pure frustration when he said, “Midnight. Tonight.” Then he rattled off an address. “Come alone, Ruffner. I so much as smell another badge—even that detective you’re fucking—and you won’t like what happens to your kids.”

And this time, the call disconnected.

“Are you going?” Darren asked.

“Yeah.” My voice sounded as hollow as I felt. “What choice do I have?”

“Maybe . . . not getting yourself killed?”

Exhaling, I glared out the windshield. “I don’t know what else to do. The only way I have any shot at getting Emily and Casey away from him—”

“Andreas.” He touched my hand. “It’s not going to do them any good if you walk into a set of crosshairs.”

I swallowed, and made myself face him. My voice was thick as I whispered, “What else can I do?”

He didn’t have an answer.

The silence lingered for a long moment before I finally spoke again. “Look, from what his brother told us, there’s a chance Blaine’s as desperate for this to be over as we are. Since he hasn’t offered us any kind of endgame or made any demands, I have to assume that’s where he’s at right now. I’m out of cards and out of ideas. Unless you have any suggestions, I’m meeting him tonight.”

Darren studied me. Then he pushed out a breath and gave my hand a hard squeeze. “Just be careful, all right? I want your kids back, but I want you to come home too.”

The address turned out to be an abandoned parking lot a few miles out of town. I wasn’t even sure what had been here before. Maybe a gas station or a restaurant that had been demolished. All that was left now was blacktop, the stripes faded and every crack filled with weeds and grass.

I didn’t like the idea of coming alone, but even Darren hadn’t tried to talk me out of it. Whatever Blaine’s initial plan, I was inclined to believe his brother was right—he was in over his head. Like a terrorist holding hostages in a surrounded building, the best way to end this was to negotiate with him.

Five minutes after I arrived, a car pulled in, a small white light glowing on top of it. A taxi.

As I got out of my car, Blaine stepped out of the cab, and a second later, it was gone. He was covering his bases, wasn’t he? Making sure I couldn’t put out a message to be on the lookout for his car. God knew what creative plan he’d dreamed up to leave and slip under my radar when this was over.

We faced each other, and there was something eerie about him in the stark white beams of my headlights. Like I could actually see both the bright-eyed perfect cop and the man who’d kidnapped my kids. His T-shirt, leather jacket, and jeans were as squared away as his uniforms always were, his hair arranged like he’d actually taken the time to put himself together. That was . . . more than a little disturbing.

“You want to negotiate.” Blaine folded his arms and studied me. “What are you offering?”

No telling me to put my weapons on the ground. No patting me down. Of course not—he knew I wouldn’t fire on him. As much as I wanted to splatter his brains all over this pavement, we both knew I wouldn’t. Not when he was the only one who knew where my kids were.

I swallowed. “What do you want?”

He smiled. “Come on, Ruffner. You’re gonna have to make an offer.”

“Yeah, and it would help if I knew what you wanted first. Don’t make this like Christmas shopping for my ex-wife.”

That got a laugh out of him that made my skin prickle. “Fair enough.” The humor vanished, and his eyes looked black in the low light. “You’ve got a list of names.”

“The people on your letter?”

He nodded, still staring intently at me. “What I want is immunity for me and an unconditional pardon for my dad.” Eyes narrowing, he said, “So. Counteroffer.”

I’d suspected as much. If he was driven by what he perceived as an injustice I’d committed against his father and dozens of other cops, then it was no surprise this was where he wanted to start. I swallowed. “I’ll trade your father for my kids.”

Blaine’s teeth snapped together. “What? You don’t have the power to do that.”

I laughed dryly. “I didn’t just put away cops, you know. The mayor went down. Judges too. You don’t think I’ve got dirt on the governor?”

He watched me, his expression blank as he probably tried to decide if I was bluffing. “So why is she still in office?”

“She’s still useful.” I gave the most flippant shrug I could muster. “Always good to keep a few high-ranking politicians in your pocket. You know, for those times when you need someone with more power than you.”

Slowly, his eyebrows climbed, taking my pulse with it. Blaine wasn’t stupid, but he had to know my reputation. There were still plenty of people in the city who believed I was an even dirtier cop than everyone I’d taken down. Combined. If he’d obsessed over me enough to go to the lengths he had to get revenge, then he’d probably heard the rumors that I hadn’t taken down the narcotics ring because they were breaking the law, but because they were impeding on my turf.

“So,” I said, “do we have a deal?”

He swallowed, but then his nerves vanished and he lifted his chin. “How do I know the pardon won’t be fake?”

“What good would that do me?” I showed my palms. “All I want is my kids, Blaine. I couldn’t give two shits who’s sitting in prison and who’s not.”

He grinned. “Then you won’t mind pulling the other cops while you’re at it.”

My poker face nearly faltered, but I held it. “Which ones?”

“Doesn’t matter.” He shrugged. “If you’ve got the power to get my dad out, then why stop there?”

I shook my head. “If I do that, the public will notice, and—”

“Not my problem.”

“Actually, it is. If you want your father to walk, you don’t want a massive public outcry when the governor pardons that many people after she very publicly supported their conviction.” I paused, thinking fast. “I can get you your father and two more. Then you can use their pardons as leverage to get everyone else’s convictions overturned.”

His lips quirked, and he shifted his weight. My heart was racing now, my stomach somersaulting with panic every time I offered a card. As it was, I was going to be in a world of hurt when the captain caught wind of this. Darren and I had discussed the idea of broaching the subject with Hamilton before I met with Blaine, but we’d agreed this was an extreme form of Better to beg forgiveness than ask permission.

“You really have two choices here, Blaine.”

“Oh yeah?”

“You give me back my kids in exchange for your father and two cops off the list. Or . . .” I inclined my head. “If you won’t agree to that, or if anything happens to my kids besides them being returned safely to me, I will use my connections to make sure your father’s life behind bars is a level of hell you can’t begin to imagine.”

It was a dangerous gambit, but the slight upward flick of his eyebrows told me I’d hit the nerve I’d been aiming for. Underneath the bluster and the crazy, there was a son who desperately wanted to help his father. A son and a cop who didn’t want to be responsible for his father’s increased suffering in prison. Blaine wasn’t some terrorist willing to go down as a martyr in the name of a cause; beneath the surface, he was a kid who knew he was in way over his head and facing off against a cop who was quite possibly dirtier than he’d realized.

“All right,” Blaine said sharply. “My father and two others off the list.”

Relief wanted to sweep through me, but I didn’t dare let it. Not until this was all over and my kids were safe. Anything could still go to shit at any moment.

“I have one condition,” he said.

I nodded.

“Same as tonight—you come alone, or you don’t like the results.”

I gave another nod.

He eyed me warily. “And what guarantee do I have that no one will be waiting to intercept me after we make the exchange?”

“You were smart enough to come here in a cab, and I’m assuming you’re smart enough to wait until I leave to call the next one.” I shrugged. “And I’m sure you’ve got people left on the inside who will radio you if there’s an alert or a roadblock.”

He worked his jaw. Yeah, he still had people on the inside. Just like I’d figured.

“So,” I said. “When and where? This will take some time to—”

“Yeah, yeah.” He waved a hand. “You’ll meet me at the old Cranston plant south of town. The place where they used to bottle up gases. You know it?”

“I know it.”

“Good. I’ll call you with a time, and you’ll bring my dad and the other two cops.” He grinned, looking downright maniacal in the high beams. “I’ll even let you pick because I’m feeling charitable. They all come with unconditional releases, and they come with you and no one else. Then you get your kids back.”

With no other options, I nodded and extended my hand. “All right. We have a deal.”

He shook my hand, his grin broadening. I didn’t trust him any farther than I could throw him, but this was all I had.

Now I just had to explain the plan to Captain Hamilton.

“Are you out of your fucking mind?” Captain Hamilton bellowed, rattling the windows of his office.

“I don’t see what choice we have, sir,” I said. “I’m not suggesting we actually pardon them. We can use—”

“No. Absolutely not.” The captain shook his head. “I’m sorry, Andreas. I want to get your kids back as much as anyone, but if we cave in to that kind of blackmail, we’re going to start seeing a hell of a lot more of this shit. And I can’t promise your kids won’t be targeted a second time.”

I gripped the handles on my crutches, trying not to lash out at my boss.

“We have to do something, though.” Darren was leaning against Hamilton’s office door, arms folded loosely across his chest. “At this point, we have zero idea where Blaine is keeping them, and there’s no telling when or if we’ll figure it out. This is the only shot we have.”

My stomach lurched, but I was getting used to that feeling.

“Besides, if you’d listen to what we’re saying, we’re not suggesting actual pardons, here.” Darren absently ran his knuckles along the edge of his jaw. “Some of these cops were well and truly dirty, but I think some were just desperate. Otherwise good cops who got tangled up in something they shouldn’t have.” He finally lifted his gaze to me, then Hamilton. “All we need is for Blaine’s father and two of the other cops to agree to help in exchange for some time off their sentences.”

Hamilton’s eyebrows climbed his forehead. “Help . . . how?”

“Andreas takes them to the meeting place. They make the exchange. And once the kids are back with Andreas, the inmates cuff Blaine.”

Hamilton was quiet like he was chewing on the idea. “That might actually work. Especially since some of these guys are probably itching for a way to redeem themselves.” He scowled, and he still didn’t seem quite convinced. “But what about Blaine’s father? If we let him in on this, there’s a damn good chance he might side with his son. If we don’t let him in, he’s potentially caught in a crossfire.”

Darren shifted his weight, and his lips tightened. “Fuck.”

“I say we tell him,” I said.

They both turned to me.

“If we don’t, the others are liable to say something on the way to the meeting anyway. He’s been a cop long enough to know how dangerous it is for a hostage exchange to go south, and he’s not going to want his son to get killed.” I paused. “It might not even be a bad idea to tell him there’s a sniper trained on Blaine. Given the choice between watching his son die or go to jail, he probably won’t blow it.”

“It’s still a gamble,” Hamilton said. “As it is, you’ll be the only one on the ground and you can barely walk. If there’s some kind of nonverbal thing going between father and son—some signal for Blaine to shoot you—there’s no guarantee you’ll see it.” He gestured at my fucked-up ankle. “And you sure as hell won’t be able to move fast enough to get away.”

“I don’t think there are a lot of guarantees at all right now,” I said. “Except that if I don’t hand off someone to Blaine, my kids are . . .” I couldn’t even say it. “There’s going to be a certain amount of risk no matter what. Sending in two cops like Darren suggested, and not keeping Blaine’s father in the dark? That seems like the closest thing to a safe bet we’re ever going to find.”

Hamilton’s brow pinched, and he was silent for a long, long time. Finally, he sighed. “All right. I’ll get on the horn with the warden and see what I can do about getting some fake pardons written up. You two get down to the prison and find us a couple of inmates who want to shave some time off their sentences.”

I nodded as adrenaline surged through me. This was a risk, but it was something. Better than sitting back and hoping for a miracle.

“How much negotiating power do we have?” Darren asked. “Some of these guys are in for ten-plus years.”

Hamilton’s eyes flicked back and forth between us. “You get two men to agree to our terms, and I’ll get a judge to sign off on theirs.” He pointed at the door. “Go make it happen.”

We had twenty-four hours.

Blaine had called this morning with his deadline, and despite Andreas growling that we needed more time, the asshole had put his foot down. So now we had twenty-four hours to choose dirty cops who would be likeliest to back us up in the field, to inform Rory Folsom of what his son was doing and convince him to back us up, and to figure out something—anything—that could increase Andreas’s odds of surviving the upcoming confrontation. Any scenario including hostages carried extra levels of risk with it, and with Blaine as off the rails as he already was, there were no guarantees moving forward. Hell, he’d shot his partner in cold blood. Officer May was in the ICU, his chances wavering at fifty-fifty. Who was to say that Blaine wouldn’t just get Andreas in his sights and gun him down before we could even make an exchange?

Cold sweat broke out across my forehead. I pushed my chair back from the conference table and rubbed my hands over my eyes, the words on the file I’d been going over scrambled by the image of Andreas taking a bullet to the head. Jesus Christ. I thought I was going to lose my lunch, not that I could remember eating one. Marcy had brought in sandwiches, again, and I was sure I’d choked one down, but . . .

Andreas grabbed my shoulder. “You okay?”

I nodded. “Yeah, I just . . . give me a minute, I’ll be right back.”

“Take as long as you need.”

The fucked-up thing was, I could tell that he meant it. If it turned out I needed half an hour, the rest of the day—fuck, the rest of the night too—he’d understand. I could see it in his eyes, so exhausted, their light as sallow as his skin and yet, somehow, still compassionate. He would give me time he’d never give himself without a second thought. It made my heart feel like it was slowly being ripped out of my chest, the fruitless urge to make him feel better, to assure him that things were going to work out. I nodded again, needing air, needing space, and got up from the table. Paula and Officer Garland didn’t even look up, too engaged in their search for the right candidates to help with our sting. Which was what I should be doing, but . . .

I took the elevator down, stumbled out into the parking garage, and sat on the first step of the concrete staircase that I could have used to get down here but didn’t trust my legs to right now. I took a few deep breaths of the slightly ashy air, grimaced, then realized I was sitting right next to the building’s smoking zone. And Schneidmiller was there too, looking at me like I was fouling the atmosphere worse than his cigarette. Great. Time to move.

I pushed back to my feet, but Schneidmiller was already stubbing out his cigarette and creeping into my space. “So, you’re pickin’ through the list of guys you helped put away, huh?”

“Can’t hide anything from you,” I deadpanned. “This is why you’re such a great detective. I’ve got to—”

“You should go with Barry Gronkowski.”

I frowned. “Who is—” But wait, no, I was remembering the file now. Gronkowski was a cop on the periphery of the mess with Trent and the mayor, a man whose biggest flaw had been turning the other way and letting things happen rather than actively facilitating them. He’d been given one of the lightest sentences, only five years. “That doesn’t make sense. He’ll be out in under a decade, why would he want to risk his life to help us take down Blaine?”

“He’s got a teenage daughter with cystic fibrosis.”

I shrugged, uncomprehending.

Schneidmiller sighed. “Her lungs don’t work, okay? She’s already had one transplant but her body rejected it; she’s been in and out of the hospital for months. The wife is overwhelmed, doing what she can between having to work and taking care of their kid, but it’s tough. There’s no telling how long she’s gonna last. Trust me, Barry would do anything to get a reduced sentence if it means spending more time with his daughter before she goes.”

“How do you know this?”

“I go over to their house once a week to help out. Ross takes another day. We’ve known Barry since the academy.” Schneidmiller closed the distance between us. “Actions have consequences, Corliss. These are the ripples from what you and your partner did. You got a kid who might kick off any day wishing she could see her dad, you got a freak like Blaine taking it out on Ruffner’s own children . . . What do you think of your handiwork now, huh? Still worth it?”

Honestly, I wasn’t sure half of the time anymore, but no way would I admit that here. “Nobody put a gun to Gronkowksi’s head and made him go along with it. He chose to break the law, to abuse his authority, to stand by and watch while people did drug deals that led to God knows how many ripples of their own. So yeah. It sucks, but it’s worth it.”

Schneidmiller nodded reluctantly. “Maybe so.”

“Thanks for the advice.” I headed back toward the elevator, and this time he let me leave.

It was officially a cold day in Hell if I was actually listening to Schneidmiller. On the other hand, we needed people with a strong reason to want to work with us and evidence that they weren’t completely morally bankrupt, and this guy seemed to have that. I walked back into the conference room with a little more energy and pushed files out of the way until I found his. “This guy.”

Paula frowned at it. “He’s a short-timer, why him?”

“He’s got a sick kid he wants to get back to. Or so I’ve been told,” I added.

Andreas’s lips twisted with a dark smile. “It always comes back to that, doesn’t it.” It wasn’t even a question. Nothing motivated a person like family, and the bond between children and their parents was a brutally effective one to manipulate. “Fine.”

“I think maybe this guy for the second.” Officer Garland pushed another file forward. “Noah Wiles. He’s young, he just barely got started in his career when everything went down. He had an older partner that was in way deeper than him, and from the look of things, Noah might have taken some heat he didn’t have to to keep the other guy from going away for life. I met him, a few times.” She sighed. “He seemed like a really good guy. A good cop. I think he’d jump at the chance to earn a little of his dignity back.”

“Seemed doesn’t count for shit, Garland. Everyone thought Blaine seemed nice when he’s actually a kidnapping, partner-shooting son of a bitch.” You could have polished a diamond with Andreas’s voice, it was so rough. “We have to be sure. Do you think you’re sure of this guy?”

She paused, then nodded. “Yeah. I think he’s a good call.”

“Okay then.” Paula reached out and took both the files. “I’ll go get the details ironed out with the captain and start mustering the lawyers. We have to move quickly if we want to get this approved in time to get visits in today.” She left, and Officer Garland sat in uncomfortable silence with us before quietly excusing herself.

After she left, the silence was still uncomfortable, and that wasn’t what I wanted right now. Life was awful and everything sucked, but if I kept dwelling on it, I wouldn’t be able to haul myself upright again. I turned to face Andreas, reached under the table, unceremoniously picked up his broken ankle, and put it in my lap, spinning his swivel chair around in the process.

“Ow.”

“Oh please, this can’t hurt worse than leaving it on the floor to swell up does.” Every muscle in his thigh felt tight, and I carefully pressed my fingers into his quad. Andreas groaned and tilted his head back, eyes falling shut, and I grinned. Pay dirt. “Sore?”

“Little bit,” he grunted.

“That’s what you get for—” I was about to say for being the getaway driver, but stopped myself at the last second. He was already thinking about that; I didn’t have to grind it in his face. “I was thinking we should get you a walking boot,” I continued, switching gears.

Andreas opened his eyes. “Zach said I wasn’t supposed to be in one of those before six weeks.”

“Dr. Hicks is a very accomplished surgeon, but he’s not the one walking into a potential firefight, and neither are you if you’re going to be doing it on crutches. They kill your mobility and will make it harder to handle a weapon.” God, that wasn’t a picture I needed in my head, but there it was, crutches/gun/fumble and— Yep, now Andreas was shot again. I wanted to excise my brain. “It would just be for the meet.”

“You think he’d go for that?”

“He’s your doctor, not your boss.”

“No, apparently that’s you.”

“Damn straight.”

Andreas chuckled, and I suddenly felt about ten times lighter. “I suppose I could insist. I can’t let him tell Erin, of course. She’d flip out.”

“You don’t want to let her know about the exchange?”

“Oh, God no.” He shook his head firmly. “If—if we were getting the kids back some other way, sure, I’d tell her. I’d tell all of them, right away. They have a right to know what’s going on with their siblings, or in Lisa’s and Marcy’s case, with their kids. But this is different. For better or worse, Blaine has fixated on me. I know pretty well what I can and can’t take, and at this point I know I can’t take my family’s worry. If it was just for the kids it would be okay, I could do that, but I can’t handle them being afraid for me right now too. Not if I want to keep my head tomorrow.”

Too much love. “Too distracting.”

“Yeah.” We kept the peace for a few minutes, my hands still working the kinks out of his muscles, before he spoke up again. “I know you’ll be watching.”

“Of course I will.” I’d do more than that if I could, I just didn’t know if it would be possible.

“If things go wrong, I need you to promise me that my kids will be your first priority. Not me.” I was already shaking my head, but Andreas kept going. “You have to do this for me, Darren. I need to know you’ve got their backs.”

It was selfish of me, so terribly selfish not to say yes immediately, not to just do what he wanted. But the thought of losing Andreas tugged at the ragged edge of the shroud blanketing my grief, threatening to pull it back and expose every raw nerve and bloody emotion hemorrhaging inside of me. “I do, you know I do, but I’m your partner.”

“And I’m their father. And after them, you’re the most important person in my life, and I need you to be with me on this.” He reached his hand out, and I grabbed it mindlessly, too hard, but he held on just as tight. “I need to know you’ll protect them first. Please.”

“Yes.” It was one word, one blistering ingot of a word, but it took some of the strain out of Andreas’s face. “But you better do fucking everything to keep yourself safe, do you understand me? That’s my demand.”

“I will.” Once he’d done whatever was necessary to protect his kids. It was the best I could hope for.

“I love you.” Oh shit. This wasn’t how I’d intended to say it, on the heels of negotiating for his fucking safety. I didn’t know why it had taken me so long to articulate how I felt when it was so easy to feel, when he’d already said it to me, but now . . . now it had the air of a reluctant confession, which wasn’t how I’d meant it at all. I wasn’t telling him because I was worried about tomorrow, but because I had to say it. I had to let something out. My damn body wasn’t strong enough to keep all these emotions locked up, and love was the only one I had worth sharing.

Andreas grinned. “I know.”

I blinked at him. “Did you just . . . Han Solo me? Seriously?”

“Yep. Cue carbonite bath. My timing will never be better than this.”

“Carbonite what?” Paula stood in the doorway, looking at us with one raised eyebrow. “Never mind. We’ve got permission to visit three of our favorite felons in prison.” She fanned herself with the files she held in one hand. “Who’s up for a field trip? And I’m driving this time, guys.”

After spending too much time with suspicious lawyers and frowning prison officials, we finally got in to see our targets. Barry Gronkowski was the first, and he was just as grateful to talk to us as Schneidmiller had said he would be. His lawyer explained the terms of the deal to him—a sentence reduction from five years to six months. Maybe even time served, depending on how things went tomorrow.

“Arrest Howie Blaine? What the hell, what’s he done?”

By the time Paula was finished with the explanation, his face had gone white.

“Ah, that ain’t right,” he said heavily. “Ain’t right at all, bringing your kids into it like that.” He met Andreas’s gaze. “For what it’s worth, I’m sorry.”

Andreas didn’t blink. “Prove it.”

“Yeah, I guess I . . .” He ran a hand over his face. “But it’s gonna be dangerous tomorrow, right? I could end up gettin’ killed.”

“We’re going to take every precaution we can, but it’s a possibility,” I said. “But it’s also your best chance to see your own kid again. Detective Schneidmiller spoke up for you,” I added, and the lines in Gronkowski’s face lightened a little.

“Yeah? Really?”

“Really.”

“Huh.” He looked down at the papers in front of them, then at his lawyer. “I guess I’m in, then.”

Noah Wiles took a little more convincing. “You want to make me cannon fodder,” he said, his voice full of bitterness. He was a slight guy, a little shorter than me and thin as a reed. The bones at his collar and wrists were stark beneath his skin, and his face was set in an expression of mulish distaste. “That’s all I’m good for, huh? First my partner, now you guys.” He set a finger on top of the paperwork his lawyer had presented him with and pushed it back across the table. “Screw you.”

“Noah,” his lawyer began gently, but Andreas was evidently done pussyfooting around.

“You think you deserve something better?” he asked, managing to seem menacing without even shifting his weight. “Let me guess. You spoke up for your partner, took some of the heat off him because you thought it was the right thing to do. You ended up in prison together, but I bet he doesn’t even look at a little fish like you anymore, does he? You’re not big enough to intimidate, not strong enough to make use of. Your loyalty would be a liability to any cop on the inside, having a guy like you trailing along after them like a lame puppy begging for treats. You’re no good to anyone on the inside, Noah. Not even to yourself. Take the chance to get out while you can or kiss any hope of a decent future goodbye.”

Jesus, that was a brutal assessment, but I couldn’t say Andreas was wrong. Neither, it seemed, could Noah, and his lawyer pulled the paperwork in close again. “Noah, this is the best offer you’re going to get.”

“Great.” His lips were a tight, unhappy line as he took the pen and signed his name where his lawyer indicated. “Back to being a good little soldier.”

“If you were really a good little soldier the first time around, you wouldn’t be in here.” Paula took the papers and smiled insincerely. “Thanks for your cooperation, Mr. Wiles.”

Rory Folsom was the last one we saw, and he was . . . well. I thought Andreas could do a good “inscrutable” impression, but he had nothing on Rory. Part of it was the bruising purple spreading across his right cheekbone and eye—it was hard to read a guy’s expression when his face was swollen like a ripe plum. Part of it was a natural gravitas, though. This wasn’t a man who made decisions fast or lightly. He stared at us in total silence while Paula explained things for the third time tonight, and after she presented the deal to him—his sentence reduced by half, with the possibility for early parole—he just kept staring.

Andreas was this close to jumping across the table, I could feel it. We didn’t have time to waste waiting for Rory to decide he’d like to speak sometime this century, but we couldn’t afford to antagonize him either. I pressed one of my feet against Andreas’s good one, then spoke up. “If you don’t believe us, we can get your son Gary in here to talk to you. He’s already surrendered himself to us.”

“Gary’s a slick little shit.” His lips were puffy, but Rory easily made himself understood. “He’ll find a way to wriggle out of anything. Always a momma’s boy, that one. But Howie’s my kid, through and through. When he commits to something, he doesn’t waver.”

“And this time around he committed to kidnapping and attempted murder, among many other things,” Paula said. “He’s certainly committed to keeping you safe, Mr. Folsom. Are you committed to doing the same for him?”

“Sounds like he’s got your hands pretty well tied, Detectives.”

“I’ve already told you what your fellow hostages will be doing after the exchange is made, Mr. Folsom. Are you going to obstruct them, possibly resulting in the death of your son, or are you going to smooth the way and make this whole thing as painless as possible?”

“For what? So my boy can join me in here?”

I leaned in. “So we can keep two innocent kids from paying for your son’s mistakes. And so your son doesn’t end up on a slab in the morgue, his head blown open after our sniper is forced to take him out. Those are the choices in play, Rory. There are no other options.”

“You’re a cold little bitch, aren’t you?” he remarked casually. “You like having this guy watching your six, Ruffner?”

“I’m trusting him to do it tomorrow,” Andreas said. “And he’ll be watching yours too, so think about who you’re calling a bitch, Folsom. Are you in?”

Rory Folsom smiled. He was missing a front tooth, the socket still bloody. “Sure, Detectives. Sure. I’m in.”

I could see why Zach had been reluctant to switch me to a boot. As I drove our three dirty cops to the scene of the exchange, my ankle throbbed like a son of a bitch. The boot itself was all right—it was the lack of crutches that was a problem.

“You’re way too soon after surgery to be putting any weight on this,” Zach had said last night. “As it is, you’ve already jarred everything enough that you’re definitely going to need another procedure. Possibly more.”

“Fine. Just do it. I have to be able to move tomorrow.”

He’d scowled, but he’d agreed to do it. And he’d also sworn not to breathe a word to Erin about it. As far as she was concerned, he’d been called in at eleven thirty at night to deal with an emergency patient, not her father getting fitted for a boot so he could run—sort of—if today’s scene went south.

I’d stayed on the crutches when I could, though I’d had to do some walking just to get used to it again. I’d even spent some time with my foot elevated, but what little movement and weight-bearing I’d done had taken its toll. At least I could still drive.

Our meeting place was an abandoned plant outside of town. It reminded me of the old warehouse I used to use as a rendezvous point with my various contacts. Or, if the situation warranted it, a place to rough them up without anyone overhearing. That made me even less comfortable with this. I knew every crack, crevice, and pigeon in that warehouse. I’d installed motion sensors and cameras. No one went into or out of that building without me knowing it.

The plant was an unknown. It was at least three or four times bigger than the warehouse, and with far too many potential sniper perches.

Paula and her team—handpicked cops and a couple of trusted federal agents—had been here late last night and again this morning to sweep it and plant their own snipers. According to them, the place was clean. I wasn’t so sure.

A rusting chain link fence surrounded it. There’d been a checkpoint outside where employees probably showed their badges before being waved in by a bored sentry, but the gate was wide-open now, and the guard shack was covered in graffiti. There were fresh tire tracks in the dust, and Paula had brought her team in through the rear gate, so Blaine was most likely already here.

My kids were already here.

As my heart thumped wildly against my Kevlar vest, I gripped the wheel tighter, but otherwise tried to keep my nerves under the surface.

My three passengers had been quiet the entire ride. Rory Folsom was beside me, hands cuffed in his lap. He’d been staring out the window since we’d left the prison, and kept staring out it now. He’d been snide and cocky with us yesterday, but he was much more subdued today. I wondered a few times if someone had slipped him a sedative, or if he was just defeated. Dirty cop or not, it must’ve been tough for a father to watch his son committing a heinous crime like this, and even tougher to watch him—help him—take the fall.

Behind me, Wiles and Gronkowski were equally fascinated with the scenery. They, too, were cuffed. I wasn’t expecting any of them to try anything stupid—especially not the boys in the back, who were eager for their reduced sentences—but nobody was taking chances.

I followed the road to the middle of the plant. There was an old parking lot here, and I didn’t like the looks of it at all. The warehouse to the south had far too many broken windows and other nooks and crannies that would hide a rifle muzzle or the glare off a scope. To the north and east, all kinds of corroded machinery still stood like the gnarled, decaying remains of a Martian city. Again, too many places for someone to hide with a full magazine.

And right smack in the middle of the lot was the sedan I’d chased yesterday.

I pulled in and stopped about twenty paces from Blaine’s car. As I shut off the engine, I said, “You all stay here until I tell you otherwise.”

That got me a couple of grunts of agreement, and more silence from Folsom. I still wasn’t entirely sure if he was on our side, but at this point, he didn’t have much choice. Not after Paula had reminded him this morning in no uncertain terms that one of her best snipers would have his weapon trained on Blaine’s head until everything was over, and that she’d order him to take the shot if Folsom did anything stupid. The man might have been a cold son of a bitch, but he was still a father. I doubted he wanted his own son’s blood on his hands.

If push came to shove, though, I was confident my other two passengers wanted to see this through. If Folsom tried anything, I doubted he’d get far.

I got out. So did Blaine. The slamming car doors echoed through the deserted ruins. As we crossed the space between our vehicles, I didn’t think shoes had ever crunched so loudly on gravel-dusted pavement.

We stopped an arm’s-length apart. Blaine extended his hand, but I didn’t take it.

“No games.” I looked past him, my stomach somersaulting as I made out Casey’s hazy profile beyond the glare on the window. “I brought what you asked for, and I’m here alone. Let’s just do this.”

Blaine grinned. “Cut right to the chase. I like that.” He craned his neck to look past me. “My dad’s in there?”

“Yes. Along with two others. Just like you asked for.”

He met my gaze again, and his expression was stone-cold serious now. “And the pardons?”

“In my inside pocket.” I gestured at it. “I’m reaching for those, not a weapon.”

He studied me uneasily, but then gave a single nod.

Moving slowly, I reached into my pocket and withdrew the three envelopes. He took them from me, and we stood there in excruciating silence as he opened one and read it.

After a moment, he nodded and tucked them into his jacket. “All right.” He turned toward the car and made a beckoning gesture. When the door opened, my pulse went haywire. Even though the sniper was focused on Blaine, I didn’t like the idea of my kids anywhere near the crosshairs of a high-powered rifle. As they got out of the car and Casey hoisted Emily onto his hip, they were too vulnerable. Too far out in the open. Especially if Blaine had brought anyone to this party, and I still wasn’t convinced he hadn’t.

If I’d been agitated leading up to this, I was downright twitchy now. Gaze still fixed on my kids, I motioned for my own passengers to get out. They were cuffed, but could still operate the doors, and in a matter of seconds, I heard each door in turn open, then close. More feet crunched on gravel. Then, several paces behind me, they all stopped.

Emily clung hard to Casey. She watched me like a hawk, her eyes wide, but she didn’t make a sound. Dear God, I hoped it was because her brother had told her to stay quiet, not because she was too traumatized to speak.

“All right.” I tried not to shift my weight. Partly to keep my poker face intact, and partly to keep from leaning on my furiously aching foot. “Everyone’s here. You’ve got the pardons.”

“Yeah.” He narrowed his eyes. “But I know you, Ruffner. You’ve got something up your sleeve.”

My blood turned cold, but I didn’t let it show. “I just want my kids back.” I motioned toward the three cuffed cops. “I brought what you asked for. Let’s—”

“And you know, I’ve given it some more thought, and . . .” He cocked his head. “What guarantee do I have that someone won’t blow off my head as soon as you have what you want?”

Behind him, Casey shifted uneasily, tucking Emily’s head under his chin and flicking his gaze around our surroundings.

“Just give me back my kids,” I said, hoping it came out as more of a growl than a plea.

Blaine tilted his head toward the three cops. “Take off the cuffs.”

I’d expected as much. The only reason I’d cuffed them in the first place was to give me some leverage. So, one by one, I took off the cuffs. Then I faced Blaine again. “There. Now give me back the kids, and they’re all yours.”

“Actually, I have a better idea.” Blaine waved Casey closer. My son approached, but hesitantly. Blaine locked eyes with me again. “As a show of goodwill, I’ll let you have one of them back now. The other stays with me until I get to the border.”

My stomach flipped. Kidnapping was a federal offense—state lines wouldn’t save him now, and hell if I was letting him take one of my kids to Mexico or Canada. “That wasn’t our deal.”

“No, but I don’t trust a man who’s willing to turn on half the force.” He sneered at me. “I need some insurance so I know I’m going to get out of here alive. So, I’m keeping one of them”—he gestured at the kids—“until I’m over the border. And if I see so much as a speed trap out there . . .” That maniacal grin slowly came to life. “Well, as I’ve said before, you won’t like what happens.”

I ground my teeth, reminding myself that once he had Gronkowski and Wiles close by, this would all be over. We weren’t taking it to any goddamned border. They’d arrest him well before that. All I had to do was play along until the chess pieces were in place.

I released a resigned breath. “Fine.”

Blaine smiled, and it definitely wasn’t that pretty-boy golden-cop smile that had annoyed me from day one. Something far more chilling. “Good. So.” The smile turned to a sociopathic smirk, and he waved toward the kids. “Your choice.”

“My—” I almost choked. “Are you shitting me?”

“No.” He batted his eyes. “I told you—this is a show of goodwill. So, pick one. You’ll get the other back at the border.”

Horrified, I shifted my gaze to Casey. With the subtlest tilt of his head, he indicated Emily. My heart physically hurt. I wasn’t choosing between my kids. I sure as fuck wasn’t letting one sacrifice himself for the other, because God knew Casey had no way of knowing this was going down right here, right now. As far as he knew, he was volunteering to go with Blaine, and there was no guarantee he’d be let off at the state line.

But I also couldn’t justify letting Emily stay in the middle of this. If things got hairy, Casey had the situational awareness to take cover, and the physical strength to at least try to defend himself. She was four.

And Blaine had better be hoping this all went smoothly, because there wasn’t a jury in the land that would convict me for tearing him limb from limb.

I swallowed. “Emily.”

Casey’s lips twitched, but he slowly eased his sister to the ground. He whispered something to her. She didn’t let go, but he said something else, and she reluctantly did. As soon as she was out of his arms, she sprinted past Blaine, and I crouched as much as I could in the boot so I could hug her.

“Daddy!”

“Hey, pumpkin.” I indulged in a few seconds to hold on to her. Thank God she was alive. Then I pulled myself together and said, “Honey, I need you to do something for me.”

“’Kay.”

“See the car behind me?”

She nodded against my shoulder.

“I want you to go get in the backseat. Get down on the floor, and stay there. Okay?”

Another nod.

I loosened my embrace, but she only tightened hers. “Daddy . . .”

“I know, baby.” I pressed a kiss to her temple, and mentally ripped Blaine’s still-beating heart from his chest. “I need you to do that for me, okay?”

Silence. But then, just as reluctantly as she’d let go of Casey, she let go of me. Tears were streaming down her face, and her eyes were wide with confusion and fear, and I was pretty sure I actually felt my heart break.

I nodded toward the car. “Go, baby. Please?”

Her features crumpled a little, like she was about to burst into sobs, but then she glanced back at Casey, who gave her a nod. Without looking at me again, she trotted past me. The car door opened. Then closed.

I met my son’s gaze. His expression was unreadable. If ever I’d needed a motivation to survive this, I sure as shit had one now. I needed him to know why. That I could never in a million years choose between my kids. Maybe he’d forgive me. Maybe he wouldn’t. But I needed him to know.

Slowly, I started to stand, faltering as my ankle violently protested. “Okay.” I showed my palms. “So what—”

“You son of a bitch!” Casey roared. He shoved Blaine aside and lunged at me. His fist connected with my face, knocking me off-balance, and then he hit me again, and we both toppled. Pain and shock vied for dominance. “What the—”

Casey forced me down, and everything seemed to still for a split second as he whispered, “Sniper.”

A second later, a gunshot echoed through the plant. A bullet zinged off something.

Suddenly the whole world exploded with activity. Shouts. People running. Casey hauled me up, and we stumbled toward my car. Another bullet ricocheted off the frame, dangerously close to both Emily and Casey. We ducked behind the trunk, my ankle on fire, and I tried to get my bearings. I’d lost track of the three cops. They’d likely taken cover, and Blaine . . . where was Blaine?

Shit. As I tugged my weapon out of my ankle holster, I turned to Casey. “Get in the car with your sister. Both of you, stay down.”

He swallowed. “What about you?”

“I’ll be fine. Blaine isn’t the only one who brought a sniper.”

Casey’s eyes widened. Then he did as he was told and disappeared around the side of the car. The door slammed, and the car rocked a little as he got in. It wouldn’t stop a bullet from a high-powered rifle, but it was better than being out in the open.

With my kids as safe as they could get, I scanned my surroundings for Blaine. I started to get up, but . . . big mistake. Oh fuck. Pain.

Another bullet shattered the back window. I thought I heard Emily cry out.

Another. This one way too close to my head.

I needed to get better cover. But I couldn’t—

Casey grabbed my arm, pulled me partway up, and dragged me around the side of the car.

“I thought I told you—”

“You looked like you could use some help.”

Not Casey.

“Darren.” I stared at him. “What the fuck? I thought—”

“Yeah, I know.” He was kneeling beside me, craning his neck to peer through the windows. “Did you really think I’d let you go in alone?”

“You’re an idiot.”

“And you’re out of the line of fire. You’re welcome.”

I actually managed to laugh. The last place I wanted him to be was in the middle of this, but I was damn thankful he was here. “You see him?”

Darren shook his head. He had his pistol tucked close to his chest, and he squinted at our surroundings. “I’m not sure if he’s in the car, or if he—”

Gunfire. No bullets came near us, though, and those sounded like rifles.

Darren touched his earpiece, probably pressing it closer to make sure he heard properly. Then he muttered, “Roger that. Any visual on Blaine?” Pause. “Copy. Keep an eye on him in case he decides to get stupid.” He turned to me. “He’s behind the car. Sniper’s been neutralized.”

Thank God for that.

“You’d think if he wanted to kill me, he’d have done it last night,” I grumbled.

“No.” Darren shook his head, still scanning the plant. “Because I think he wanted to kill you in front of your kids.”

I nearly choked on my own breath. There was no telling if he was right, but I wasn’t putting anything past this unhinged son of a bitch. “Jesus . . .”

“In his mind, you destroyed his father and made him watch.” Darren squeezed my shoulder, still scanning our surroundings. “He wanted . . . I don’t know. Justice. And destroying you and making your kids suffer is that justice.”

“Fuck.” I rubbed my eyes. “He had to know there’s no getting out of something like this alive.”

“Yeah. I think he knew that. As long as he got whatever justice he wanted . . .”

I shuddered.

Darren glanced down. “Can you walk?”

“Not really, but that won’t stop me. Where are the three cops?”

“Paula, do we have a visual on the others?” Pause. His eyes darted back to me. “Gronkowski is down. Wiles and Folsom are out of sight.”

I winced. Gronkowski had agreed to help us so he could be with his terminally ill daughter, and now he was hurt. Fuck. This was getting better by the minute.

“Let’s focus on Blaine,” I said. “The others can’t have gone very far.” And I doubted they’d run. Not with what was on the line. I was more worried they were hurt somewhere.

Weapons ready, we both got up. My ankle was a mess, but if I just used the boot for balance, putting the majority of my weight on my other foot, it was bearable. Probably thanks to adrenaline and endorphins, and I had no doubt I’d pay dearly for this later, but there weren’t a lot of other options.

We inched toward the other car.

“Blaine?” Darren called out. “The whole place is surrounded. You might as well come out.”

“Fine.” Blaine’s voice came from just beyond his car. “Fine. I’m coming out.”

Neither of us lowered our weapons. Moving slowly, Blaine rose, hands on his head, and stepped out from behind the car.

“You win, Ruffner.” There was something his tone that made my hair stand up. “I surrender.”

“The hell you do,” I muttered just loud enough for Darren to hear.

Blaine came closer, his expression unreadable but something wild in his eyes. Something insane. He’d been dangerous before, but now he was a trapped animal.

“Stop right there,” Darren ordered.

Blaine kept coming. “I told you, I surrender.” He lowered his arms to his sides and shrugged. “I’m turning myself in.”

Movement behind him drew my attention, and I realized Folsom was heading toward the car. He was crouched low, eyes fixed on his son, and moving with the practiced stealth of a longtime cop.

Over the hood of the car, his eyes met mine. I didn’t know the man, but I recognized something in his expression. A hint of the telepathy that forms between cops.

His eyes flicked toward Blaine. Back to me. Back to Blaine.

I nodded, hoping like hell I was reading him right.

“Stop,” Darren repeated to Blaine. “I don’t want to shoot you, but—”

“But I’d be happy to.” I trained my pistol on Blaine’s face. “This really how you want to go down? Because if it is, just say the word.”

That made him pause. As if he really was unhinged, but not far enough to know how to deal with someone coldly granting him suicide by cop.

“Andreas,” Darren hissed.

“Go with it,” I said as quietly as I could. I limped closer to Blaine, grunting when fresh, sickening pain shot up my ankle. “This how you want to end it? All over the headlines as the deranged cop who kidnapped another cop’s kids?”

Icy fury replaced the insanity. He stared at me over the top of my gun, nostrils flaring and eyes narrow, oblivious to Folsom inching closer.

Then Folsom’s foot crunched on the gravel.

Blaine spun around. “What the—”

Folsom tackled him. In the blink of an eye, he had his son on the ground, facedown with his arms cranked up behind his back. “You’re done, Howie. This is over.”

Darren and I exchanged startled glances, then lowered our weapons.

“Either of you got a set of cuffs?” Folsom asked.

Darren tossed him a pair. Folsom quickly cuffed Blaine, then jerked him to his feet. He looked at him like he was going to give him one of those poignant father-son lectures I always sucked at. Where he told him how this was wrong and he needed to let this shit go, and he’d had so much potential to be a good cop.

Instead, disgust twisted Folsom’s face, and he shoved Blaine at Darren before walking away.

While Darren read Blaine his rights, I hobbled back to the car to check on my kids.

It was over. They were safe.

Now I just needed to see them and reassure them and—

I almost made it before the pain became too much. Whatever was wrong in my ankle was a hell of a lot worse now, and without the adrenaline and endorphins, it was unbearable.

I dropped to my knees, barely noticing the crack of my kneecaps on the gravel-littered pavement, or the way that gravel bit into my palms. Had it hurt this much when I’d broken it in the first place? I could’ve sworn it hadn’t. Then again, I’d been unconscious for a little while. That was what I needed now. Darkness. Which probably wasn’t far off. That, or I was going to puke. Maybe both.

Someone touched my shoulder and helped me turn so I was sitting instead of kneeling. I must’ve been closer to the car than I’d realized, because now I was leaning against it.

“Fuck,” I groaned.

“You okay?”

Casey.

I blinked my eyes into focus. I was about to tell him that yes, I was fine, when Emily leaped into my lap and grabbed on.

“Daddy,” she sobbed against my shoulder.

“It’s okay, baby.” I stroked her hair. “Everything’s okay now.” I kissed the top of her head and looked up at Casey. “You all right?”

He nodded and gripped my hand almost as tightly as Emily held my neck. “We’re good. And it’s . . .” He threw a wary glance around us. “You guys got him?”

“Yeah.”

Casey exhaled. His whole body seemed to go slack, and his lips quivered like he was trying and failing not to break.

“Come here.” I pulled him closer. He didn’t really break down—just sniffled a bit—but he sure as shit held on. I let my head fall back against the car. The pain was nauseating, but the relief was mind-blowing.

“Now that is a sight we’ve all been hoping to see.”

I looked up to see Paula standing over us, and I smiled.

She crouched beside us. “Anyone need medical attention?”

“No.” Casey sat up and wiped his eyes. “We’re okay.”

Paula frowned. “I still want both of you to get checked out at the ER. Just to make sure.”

Casey didn’t protest.

“And you.” She turned to me. “That ankle of yours is getting—”

“I know. Believe me. I know.”

She paused. “Looks like you’re going to have a hell of a shiner too.”

“A shiner?” I touched my face, and sure enough, my left cheekbone was tender as fuck.

Casey cleared his throat and sheepishly said, “Uh. Sorry about that.”

“Nah. That was an impressive right hook.”

He didn’t laugh.

“Relax.” I squeezed his shoulder. “I’m pretty damn sure you saved me from taking a bullet. This?” I pointed at my eye. “Is not a big deal.”

He exhaled and sank onto the pavement next to me, leaning against the car.

Paula smiled and patted my knee. “You three just catch your breath for a minute. I’ll see about that ambulance.”

I didn’t think an ambulance was entirely necessary. A car would suffice. But at this point, I didn’t have the energy to argue with her or anybody else.

The ER didn’t bother trying to separate Emily and me. She’d need a parent with her anyway, and I doubted the jaws of life would pry her off my neck. As it was, she’d clung to me all the way to the hospital.

While the doctor scowled over my ankle—which hurt like a motherfucker now that the endorphins had worn off—a nurse checked Emily. There’d been some concern she was dehydrated, but she was okay, if a bit hungry. I didn’t think I’d ever seen someone that excited over hospital food.

She did let me go long enough for me to get some X-rays, but only because that meant passing her off to Darren, who was more than happy to be clung to like a spider monkey. As soon as we were back in my curtained-off part of the emergency room, with my leg elevated and iced within an inch of its life, she was glued to my side again.

Darren gazed down at us and smiled. “How are you feeling?”

“I’ll be a hell of a lot better when they get around to giving me some drugs.”

He laughed as he laced our fingers together. “Say the word, and I’ll rattle some cages for you.”

“No.” I squeezed his hand. “I think you’ve already done more than enough.”

He smiled, but it faltered a bit.

“Thank you, by the way,” I said. “I didn’t want you in the line of fire, but I’m really glad you showed up.”

“You weren’t surprised, were you?”

I chuckled. “Not really, no.”

Our eyes locked, and we both smiled for real. Then he leaned down and kissed me softly.

“I’m glad you’re okay.” He stroked Emily’s hair. “You and the kids.”

“Me too.” Exhaling slowly, I relaxed against the hard pillow. “This is finally over.”

“No shit.”

Thank God. Everything would finally be back to normal.

Except . . . it wouldn’t.

I looked up at him. “If you need to go be with your family right now, just say so.”

“I am with my family.”

“You know what I mean.”

“I know.” He kissed me again. “And I’ll spend time with them soon too. They postponed the memorial service until this was over, so . . .”

I winced. “Jesus. They didn’t have to—”

“They wanted to. They knew this was important and it couldn’t wait.” He pressed his lips to mine again, probably to stop any protests I might’ve come up with. “They understand. Trust me.”

I didn’t argue. Combing my fingers through his hair, I whispered, “God, I love you.”

Darren grinned. “I know.”

A laugh burst out of me. “Shut up.”

He chuckled. “I love you too.” One more kiss, and he stood up again. “I’m going to go check in with Paula and the captain.”

I just nodded.

He left, and I wrapped both arms around Emily. She was dozing now, still holding on, but not as tight as before.

“Hey.”

I opened my eyes as Casey came in. “Hey. You doing all right?”

He nodded. “Yeah. I’m good.” He gestured over his shoulder. “Mom’s on her way. Her and Lisa. I was going to go out and wait for them, but wanted to see how you were doing first.”

“I’m good.” I paused. “By the way, I’m sorry. When Blaine made me choose between the two of you, I—”

“Dad.” He shook his head and put his hand on my forearm. “I know. I didn’t want Emily in the middle of that either.”

“But you know I could never really choose between you kids. Right?”

Casey smiled and nodded again. “I know.” He watched his sister sleeping for a moment. Then he met my gaze. “We knew you’d get us out. Both of us did. That asshole tried to tell us you wouldn’t, but . . . we knew.”

A lump rose in my throat. “I never stopped trying, that’s for sure. Letting him drive off with you two was . . .” I couldn’t even finish the thought.

Casey leaned down and hugged me and Emily. “You always told us car chases were too dangerous.”

I squeezed my eyes shut. “Yeah. I just didn’t want to get you both killed.”

“I know.” He stood again and cleared his throat. “Anyway, I’m . . . going to go wait for Mom. You want me to bring her in here too?”

“Yeah. Please.”

“Okay.” He started to go, but hesitated. “By the way, everything you told us the night this all happened?”

I nodded. That conversation seemed like decades ago.

“I’m sorry,” he said quietly. “For getting pissed off. It just caught me off guard, I guess.”

“It’s all right. I shouldn’t have kept everything from you kids. It won’t happen again.”

“Still. I could’ve been less of a dick about it.” He glanced down the hall. “And your boyfriend . . . he seems really cool. Maybe we can actually get to know him before we all go home.”

“I’m sure we can work something out.”

“Sounds good.”

He lingered for a moment in that slightly awkward silence where neither of us really knew what to say. Then he gave me one more quick smile, and went out to wait for his mom.

I closed my eyes and sighed into my daughter’s hair. Now that this was all over, exhaustion was setting in. I’d had precious little sleep recently, and the sheer stress had drained me like nothing I’d ever experienced. If not for the pain in my ankle, I probably would’ve fallen asleep a long time ago.

As I lay there with Emily dozing on my chest, though, as the dust settled and reality sank in, even the pain couldn’t keep me awake.

It wasn’t easy to carve out space for a meeting at the hospital, but Paula had a knack for spreading herself out like a cat when staking a claim, and managed to snag us a table in the cafeteria.

“Gronkowski will make it,” Captain Hamilton said as soon as I sat down. I let myself slump against the chair.

“That’s good news.”

“The bullet shattered his femur, so he’s not going to be running marathons anytime soon, but he’ll recover. His kid’s actually in here right now—her doc wrangled a shared room for the two of them, so he’s happy as a clam.”

“A clam on morphine.” Paula grinned. “If he’s not rhapsodizing about the pretty lights, he’s poking himself in the leg and wondering why it doesn’t hurt.”

Yeah, I’d wait until the drugs had worn off some before I went and thanked him for his help. “What about Wiles?”

Paula shrugged. “He ducked and covered once the bullets started flying, hunched behind Blaine’s car, and stayed out of the way. Basically useless, but at least he didn’t obstruct anything. Folsom is the one I’m impressed with. I wasn’t sure what to make of him after last night, but he really went after Blaine.”

“He was so . . . disgusted.” And his son had seen that, seen the contempt on his father’s face as I’d led him over to a squad car. His breath had stuttered in his lungs, his legs almost giving out. He’d failed—completely and utterly failed—the man he’d put on a pedestal. As much as I hated him, I knew that had to hurt. I shook my head a little. “Folsom came through when we needed him. He earned his reduced sentence.”

“At this point, we’re going to see if we can’t get all of them fully pardoned,” Paula said. “Make their deals as good as we actually told Blaine we would.”

Bullet in the leg or not, cuffing his own kid or not, that was a damn good deal. “What about Officer May?”

Paula and the captain shared a grim look. “May didn’t make it,” she said. “He died early this morning. Blaine is looking at murder in the second degree, at least. In addition to the dozens of other charges we can get him for.”

“Well, shit.” May had been a good guy. Overly earnest and stupidly trusting, but a good guy. “Tell me we at least got the rest of Blaine’s people.”

“We apprehended his sniper at the plant. We’re chasing down a few other contacts right now, but nobody’s getting out of this.” Paula patted my hand. “We’ve got a handle on it.”

“And you’ve got a week off, starting now.” I opened my mouth, but the captain didn’t even pause. “Your mother is expecting you to call the minute you’re done with this case, so as far as I’m concerned, you’re done with this case. Don’t make a liar out of me.”

“I—” Surely not. There had to be more to do; this case had been all I’d lived and breathed for the past . . . forty-eight hours? Was that all? That Andreas was off the case now I figured, and that was good: he needed the break. He needed to be with his kids, safe and sound. But I could do more. I could—

No. I had responsibilities I couldn’t put off much longer. It wasn’t fair to make my parents wait any more. “I’ll call her.”

“Good. Get on that.” Paula compounded the dismissal with a little shooing hand motion, and I knew when I wasn’t wanted. I stood up, stifling a groan at how incredibly tired I felt now that the adrenaline had worn down, and headed back toward Andreas’s room. I should tell him I was going, let him know I’d call him tomorrow to check and see when his next surgery was going to be—Zach had not been pleased by the state of his ankle—and make sure he—

The first words that came to mind when I glanced into his room were “puppy pile.” Andreas and Emily were on the bed, just like they’d been when I’d left last time. Lisa was here now, though, and she was slim enough to fit up there with the two of them. Emily had a hand on each of her parents even while she was asleep, and Andreas was completely passed out. His older kids had pulled up chairs around the bed and were talking quietly amongst themselves, Erin and Ben surrounding Casey like parentheses. I couldn’t quite bring myself to interrupt the sense of calm that permeated the room, and backed away quietly. I’d meant it when I’d told Andreas that his family was my family, especially Emily and Erin. But some things were better with people you shared a history with, and the aftermath of a trauma like this was one of them. I’d talk to them all again soon.

I turned and almost ran into Marcy, who was carrying a tray of coffee cups. “Shit!” I helped her steady them. “I’m so sorry, I should have been paying better attention.”

“It’s fine, no harm done.” She smiled the smile of someone who’d had all her prayers answered: positively beatific. “Are you coming to join us?”

“Not right now. I’ve got some things to deal with at home . . .”

“Oh God, of course. Your poor brother. Ben told me. I’m so sorry.”

“It’s fine.” It totally wasn’t fine, but I wasn’t going to get into that with a woman I barely knew in the middle of a hospital hallway. “But yeah, I should go. Would you let Andreas know I’ll call him in the morning?”

Her smile was back. “Is that really all you want me to tell him? No ‘lots of love,’ no ‘miss you baby’?”

“He already knows I love him, and he’d glare me into oblivion if I called him baby.” Outside of the bedroom, at least.

“I’m glad he has you, Darren.” There was nothing but honesty in her face. “I can’t tell you how big a relief it is to know he’s got someone who loves him and is looking out for him. And who can legally tase him when he gets unbearable,” she added.

I choked on a laugh. “I’m really not supposed to do that unless there’s no other choice.”

“Sometimes it doesn’t feel like that man gives you a choice. Or at least it didn’t for me, but . . . you’re better for him than I was, I think.” She lifted her tray a few inches. “I should get these to the kids before they get cold. I hope I get to see you again before I fly out this weekend.”

“We’ll see.” I couldn’t promise any more than that, and she seemed to get it. Marcy moved on into the room, and I headed for the exit, pulling out my phone as I went. I dialed Vic’s number, just in case my mom was resting.

He answered on the first ring. “Darren? You okay?”

“I’m fine.”

“What about Andreas and the kids?”

“They’re all fine, Vic. Everything worked out.” Well, mostly. “Andreas will be in the hospital for a while getting his ankle fixed again, but nobody else was badly hurt.”

“Thank the Lord for that.”

“How are you and Mom?”

I heard the creak of his armchair in the background. “We’re holding steady, kid, holding steady. We’ve got more casserole dishes in our damn fridge than your mother knows what to do with, so she’s moved on to stress baking. If I see one more damn cream puff, I’m gonna lose my lunch.”

I chuckled. “Whatever, you love her baking. Listen . . . can I come over? Now?” All of a sudden the urge to be with my parents, to play the part of Emily and hand over my burdens to someone more capable, was almost overwhelming.

“Of course you can. We want you here. Your mom and I always want you here.” I could hear the now more than ever even though he didn’t say it, and I fought down the lump in my throat as I got to my car.

“I’m leaving the hospital now, I’ll be there soon.”

“Drive safe, kid.” He hung up, and I got inside, clenched my hands on the wheel, and took a deep breath. I wasn’t abandoning Andreas. He understood that, probably better than I did. We all had to go where we were needed, and right now my parents needed me. There were arrangements to be finalized, decisions to be made. I didn’t even know what had happened to Asher’s bod—to his body—

“Stop it.” I couldn’t think about that yet, not and drive safe like Vic had asked. I forced all my emotions back and started the car.

It was a quick trip back to the house, and that was good, because I was flagging with exhaustion by the time I got there. I turned off the car, hauled myself out of it, and headed slowly up the stairs to the front door. My mom had it open before I could do it myself, her eyes wide and bright. “Oh, sweetheart.” She reached for me, and I walked into her arms and buried my face in her hair. She smelled like vanilla and sugar and fresh-baked bread.

“Mom.” I could barely get the word out; it felt like my throat was closing in on itself. A second later Vic’s arms spread across my shoulders, and I all but collapsed into their strength. I started crying, and I couldn’t stop.

“C’mon, son, let’s take this inside, huh? Jessica, let the boy breathe.”

“He’s fine,” my mother said, one hand stroking the back of my head. “He’s just fine.”

I didn’t feel fine, but I thought I might get there eventually.

The memorial service was nice, as these things went.

Mom rented out a nearby church to fit everyone in. My parents weren’t particularly religious, and Asher never had been at all, but it was a pretty place, the pews illuminated with Prismacolor sunlight streaming in through the stained glass windows. Plus, the rental included tables, tablecloths, and serving dishes, which was good because my mother had made enough food to feed an army and she was determined that everyone get a bite of it.

About a hundred people showed up, most of them former coworkers and friends of Asher and his ex-wife Melissa. I was surrounded by lawyers—it felt a little like swimming in a shark tank. There were a few speeches made after everyone had filed inside and sat down, but not by me. Vic talked on the family’s behalf, better able to keep his cool while my mother and I sat silently and clutched each other’s hands. He told some funny stories about Asher as a kid, how he’d been able to talk his way out of anything, how he’d talked me into doing the most ridiculous stunts on his behalf. “Kid was destined to be a lawyer,” Vic said to general appreciation from the crowd.

Melissa talked some, and to my surprise I was able to listen to her without the animosity that used to hit whenever I was reminded of her existence. It had taken me a long while to even be able to speak to her after she and my brother had divorced postdiagnosis, but the more time went on, the more I realized there was no way my brother hadn’t done his share of pushing them apart. Asher had been a lot like Mom, insofar as he absolutely hated having other people take care of him. He had always despised the thought of being a burden.

A few other people got up to talk, but I tuned them out, turning my head and checking the door for probably the fifth time in ten minutes. Andreas was supposed to be discharged today. Well, technically, he was supposed to be discharged tomorrow, but he’d fought Zach tooth and nail to get it fast-forwarded to today so he could be here for the service. His surgery had gone pretty well, but an infection had set in that made the fight a little tougher, and Zach wanted to keep him on IV antibiotics for longer.

“But whatever, don’t listen to me, I’m just your surgeon, what do I know?” he’d said this morning, when it had just been me and Andreas in his room. Marcy had finally flown home with Ben and Casey, although the boys had promised to be back before the month was out for another, hopefully less exciting visit. Emily was back home with Lisa, although she was set to spend a lot of the next few days with Andreas, since Captain Hamilton had insisted on another week’s convalescence for him. Erin was already back at work, and seemed happy to be there.

“If you can’t make it, it’s okay,” I’d told him once Zach left. I’d held the service back for as long as I could, but as Vic put it, Asher’s ashes weren’t getting any warmer. People needed closure.

Andreas had pinned me in place with his stare. “I’ll be there.”

I hoped he would be, but I wasn’t holding my breath at this point. I was ready for this whole thing to be over, honestly, but once the speeches were done, it was time for the receiving line. Which—whatever fucker had invented this, I wanted to punch him in the teeth. My folks did okay with it, Vic shaking hands and Mom accepting hugs with all her natural graciousness. Fuck that, I wasn’t hugging any of these people who hadn’t bothered to come and visit my brother during years’ worth of seclusion, not even in the beginning when he would have recognized them, when he could have—

“You look like you want to bite someone’s head off.”

“Oh, Jesus Christ.” How had Andreas gotten right in front of me without me even noticing? I didn’t care that there was a line behind him and he was on crutches, I threw my arms around his neck and held on for dear life. He held me back, hard, just as hard as I needed, and I felt the tension in my jaw slowly release. “Fuck, thank God. When did you get here? How did you get here?”

“Erin dropped me off.” His voice was a comforting rumble against my temple. “I’m sorry I couldn’t be here sooner.”

“I don’t care, you’re here now.”

“Hey, Darren.” Vic set a steady hand on my shoulder. “Why don’t you and Andreas go sit down, huh? Jessica and I have got this. Get the man some food too—you look like shit, son.”

“You’re nothing but charm, Vic,” Andreas said. We disentangled and left the line behind, heading over to an unclaimed pew and getting off our feet. Andreas did look tired, washed out, and in just enough pain to make the lines at the corners of his eyes deepen, but he was here. He was with me, and I hadn’t realized how much I needed him until he’d shown up.

“How’d it go?”

I shrugged, sitting close enough to Andreas that our shoulders brushed with my movement. “Fine. Good turnout, lots of people saying nice things, and better yet, everyone’s eating. It’s everything my mom wanted.”

“Yeah, I get that.” He reached out and took my hand. “What about what you want?”

I sighed and looked down at our hands. “I don’t get what I want. I want . . . I wish he was here, and healthy, because he would have given me so much shit over you. He would have told you every embarrassing story from my childhood he could remember, and showed you all the worst pictures of me as a teenager. He would have loved you.”

“You think so? With all my baggage?” Older, HIV positive, two exes and four kids and a reputation for assholery that’s wholly deserved? He didn’t say it, but I could see an edge of uncertainty in his eyes.

“He’d have loved you,” I reiterated. “He called himself almost too Stepford to be healthy; he liked complicated people. And you make me happy, which he’d have said was the most important thing. At least, once he was an adult, he would have. Asher was kind of a dick as a kid.”

Andreas chuckled. “What kid isn’t?”

“I bet Erin wasn’t.”

“You’d be surprised. She pulled a few nasty pranks on her brothers when she was little. They had to team up to get anything over on her.” He closed his eyes and tilted his head back, and I watched as the tendons in his neck stood out, like they were just begging for attention.

No. I wasn’t going to have these thoughts at my brother’s memorial service. It was all over but the chitchat at this point, though. “Let’s get out of here.”

He glanced over at me. “Don’t leave early for my sake.”

“I’m not, trust me.” I leaned over and kissed him on the cheek, then started to stand. “I’ll just go tell Mom—” He pulled me back down before I could walk away, and kissed me again, an honest-to-God lip-locking, breath-stealing kiss. There probably would have been tongue fucking too, if we weren’t in a church and he wasn’t on half a dozen different drugs.

“You,” I managed once he let me go. “You . . .”

“Yes?”

“Nothing. Just . . .” Just I was stupidly in love with him, and the only time my heart didn’t hurt lately was when we were together. “I’ll be right back.”

“Okay.”

Of course, my swift farewell turned into something way more protracted when Mom realized we were leaving. There were more goodbyes, huge portions of food shoved into the backseat of my car, and promises to call them soon. Which I would have done anyway—there were still plenty of boxes of Asher’s stuff to go through, and while it wasn’t easy, there were some things in there I didn’t want to give away. I would have called them without being reminded to do it four times.

By the time we got back to Andreas’s apartment, got ourselves and a metric ton of leftovers inside, and got him medicated and on the bed, I felt as tired as he looked. I flopped down next to him, pulled off my tie, and threw it on the floor.

“Maybe someday,” I said, “we’ll both be healthy, and our families will be drama-free, and we won’t have a case more complicated than a lost puppy to deal with. That day will be a goddamn miracle. I don’t think a day like that has happened in the entire time we’ve known each other.”

Andreas rolled over and wrapped an arm around my middle. “Never say never.”

Ha. My life had been a roller coaster ever since I was given Andreas for a partner, and I didn’t see that slowing down anytime soon. I wasn’t entirely sure how we’d fit together when there wasn’t some emergency pressing at us—it was the only dynamic we knew.

I was looking forward to finding out, though.

“I’m going to have to redo a lot of what I did last time.” Zach scowled at my X-rays. So did I. The emergency surgery had helped, but even I could see on the X-rays that there was still work to be done. And God knew the pain hadn’t let up despite me being a good little patient and taking my painkillers regularly. Zach shook his head as he turned to me. “Hopefully this will be the last procedure, but no promises. It’s a fucking mess in there.”

I wondered how different his bedside manner would be if he weren’t dating my daughter. Or maybe he was just this blunt because of that time I’d punched him while coming out from under general anesthesia. Either way, I actually liked it. Don’t bullshit me—just tell me like it is.

I nodded. “Whatever it takes so I can walk on the damn thing again.”

His lips tightened, and I suspected the surgeon in him wanted to chastise me for everything I’d done to my stupid ankle two weeks ago. He’d warned me about ditching the crutches, after all. But I was pretty sure he understood. If I hadn’t been able to walk that day at the plant, the pain in my ankle would be the least of my worries right now.

“I won’t lie,” he went on. “Your ankle’s never going to be the same as it was before you broke it.”

“I don’t expect it to be. Just maybe less . . .” I waved at the X-rays.

That brought a quiet chuckle out of him. “I’m pretty sure we can improve on all of that.”

“Good.”

We shook hands, and he walked with me out to the waiting area. While he went back with another patient, I sat down with the scheduler to figure out my next surgery. Once it was scheduled for two weeks from now, I left.

There was no sigh of relief on the way out the door, though. Even with a plan to unfuck my ankle, my stomach was still jacked up. I’d been nervous all day about my appointment with Zach. Surgery had been inevitable. The only questions had been, how many and how extensive?

But hobbling out of his office, I was still nervous to the point of queasy, and it had nothing to do with my ankle. I was on my way to another appointment, and this one scared the fuck out of me.

The other office was a ten-minute drive from the hospital, but it felt like hours before I stepped into the air-conditioned room. Soft music played from hidden speakers, and a fish tank bubbled in the background, but the whole place seemed eerily silent. Maybe because the only sound I could focus on was my own heartbeat, which ratcheted up as I met Darren’s eyes from across the pastel-colored waiting room.

He didn’t even try to smile. He had his phone on his knee, but he wasn’t looking at it. Not distracting himself with video games. Not perusing Facebook. He just drummed his fingers on the case as his other knee bounced rapidly.

“You okay?” I asked as I sat beside him.

“What did Zach say?” He met my gaze, brow pinched, and if I knew him, he was hoping I wouldn’t notice that he’d completely ignored my question.

Under the circumstances, I let it slide. I gave him the rundown on my disaster of an ankle, and he put the surgery date in the calendar on his phone. That gave me mixed feelings. Of course I’d have done the same thing, but every time he wrote something down or set himself a reminder, it was a nod to the elephant in the living room.

To the reason we were sitting in this office.

Neither of us spoke for a while.

Then Darren broke the silence. “Promise me something.”

My gut clenched. I was afraid to ask, to find out what processes his brain was going through as he steeled himself for today’s news, but I nodded. “Okay?”

He stared at the industrial-grade carpet at his feet. After a moment, he turned to me. “When your ankle is healed, I want us to go somewhere.”

I blinked. “Where?”

“I don’t know. I don’t care.” He shrugged. “I just want a couple of weeks away from everyone and everything.” Reaching for my hand, he added, “Except you.”

I nodded as I laced our fingers together. “That sounds like a really good idea.”

His face lit up. “Really?”

“Yes.” I freed my hand, wrapped my arm around his shoulders, and kissed his temple. “Anywhere you want to go.”

“So, like, someplace with beaches and hot guys in Speedos?”

I laughed. “Those places usually have hot women in bikinis too.”

“Eh. They’re all yours.”

“Well shit. This is sounding better by the minute.”

He snorted, leaning against me. “Shut up.”

I just chuckled and kissed the top of his head. I definitely liked the idea of a trip someplace sunny and sandy. The sooner the better too.

Because I want you to remember it.

My gut clenched. The thought of him going down the same road Asher had was terrifying and heartbreaking. From nearly the beginning, every thought I’d had about our future had included caveats like We need to do it before . . .

After today, those caveats would either evaporate, or they’d become far, far too real. If the tests revealed that he didn’t have the gene, we’d be able to breathe. Go on with our lives. Have a future that was as perfectly uncertain as any other couple’s.

But if he had it . . .

I closed my eyes, holding him a little tighter against me. No matter what, I wasn’t going anywhere. I loved him. End of story. My heart physically hurt at the thought of watching him suffer like Asher had, but no way in hell was I abandoning him.

“Mr. Corliss?” A young nurse in cheery pink scrubs smiled at us from the doorway beside the desk. “Come on back.”

We both stood, and it was hard to say who struggled more with the simple act of getting out of the chair. It killed me that I couldn’t put a reassuring hand on his back as we followed the nurse into the hallway.

She took us to an office instead of an exam room. There was an enormous desk made out of some expensive-looking hardwood. The stereotypical green banker’s lamp. Framed degrees on the wall flanked by bookcases stuffed with thick medical texts. I knew it was typical of a doctor’s office, but that didn’t ease the déjà vu. Not after I’d sat in a room like this after my HIV test had come back positive.

Dread trickled down my spine like cold sweat. Was I sweating? Fuck, I didn’t know. All I knew was I needed this to be over now, and at the same time, I hoped the doctor wasn’t in any hurry to come in here. We needed to know, and I wanted to know, and I didn’t want to know.

“Dr. Gilliam will be with you in just a minute.” The nurse was still smiling like people didn’t routinely come in here for devastating news. “Can I get either of you some coffee or water?”

We both shook our heads, thanking her quietly.

She left the room as we took seats in the leather chairs in front of the desk. Now that I didn’t need to hold on to my crutches, I took Darren’s hand, and he responded with a death grip. I rubbed my thumb back and forth along his, not sure who I was trying to reassure more.

Fifteen long, long minutes later, the door opened again, and a silver-haired women walked in. “I’m sorry to keep you waiting, gentlemen.” She looked at me and extended her hand. “I’m Dr. Gilliam.” Her eyebrows rose above her wire-framed glasses, asking, And you are?

“Andreas Ruffner.” I shook her hand. “Darren’s . . .” I glanced at him, not sure how to introduce myself.

He smiled, though his eyes were too full of fear to echo it. “My boyfriend.”

“Oh.” It wasn’t a curt sound. Not a disgusted one. More like This is a piece of information I wasn’t aware of, but all right. After we’d shaken hands, she sat down behind the desk and put a file folder in front of her. Her expression was serious as she opened the folder. “Well, Darren, your results came back—”

There wasn’t much of a pause. Long enough for her to skim over the sheet in front of her, maybe. A second, if that. But God, it felt like days. All this worry and fear, Darren’s fate, it all came down to whatever followed that pause, and I wanted to scream at her to get on with it even though she’d barely stopped long enough for a breath and—

“—negative.”

Everything froze.

I held my breath. So did Darren. His hand tightened in mine, the bones nearly grinding together.

The doctor’s eyes flicked up from the chart, and her smile told me we hadn’t heard her wrong. There was no but.

“Negative?” Darren whispered, his voice as taut as his posture.

“Negative.” She closed the file and folded her hands on top of it. As if she understood how much we were both struggling to comprehend the information, she added, “You do not possess the gene, Darren.”

Darren squeezed his eyes shut, and his entire body deflated except the hand still gripping mine for dear life. He pressed his other elbow into the armrest and covered his eyes, not making a sound.

Dr. Gilliam gave him a moment before she softly asked, “Do you have any questions?”

“No.” He shook his head, but didn’t look up. “Thank you.”

She watched him. Then me. After a long silence, she rose. “You gentlemen take all the time you need to process. Just let the front desk know when you leave.”

I nodded. “Thank you.” It was weird how her response—and ours, for that matter—was almost the same as it probably would’ve been if the news had been bad. We’d been hanging by a thread, desperate for the answer, knowing his future and ours hinged on what she told us today, and once the answer came . . . it was jarring. Earthshaking. Such a profound, bone-deep relief that it seemed near impossible to comprehend. Was this what it felt like to win the lottery? Like you knew you should’ve been overcome with joy, but you were just . . . stunned into silence?

The door closed behind Dr. Gilliam.

I put my other hand over the top of the death grip we still shared. “Hey. You all right?”

Darren nodded again. He sniffed sharply before he looked at me. His expression was impossible to read, but his eyes were red and wet.

“Come here,” I whispered, and pulled him into my arms. The chair’s armrest bit into my ribs, but I didn’t care. I just held him close and let the stunned feeling gradually give way to the relief I’d been expecting. Somehow, I didn’t break down with him.

Darren sniffed again, still holding on to me. “Is it weird to feel guilty?”

“Guilty?”

He nodded, five-o’clock shadow hissing against my shirt. “Like, why do I get to dodge this bullet when Asher didn’t?”

I stroked his hair. “I don’t know.” Survivor’s guilt was a complicated thing, and hell if I knew what to say to assuage that feeling.

After a moment, he sat up and wiped his eyes. Then he released a long breath. “I feel guilty, but . . . I do feel better.” As he met my gaze, a smile slowly formed. “Maybe I can actually sleep now.”

“Me too.” In fact, as the relief sank in, I suddenly felt like I could sleep for days. Judging by the way Darren’s shoulders were beginning to sag and his eyes were getting heavy, he probably felt the same way. And maybe that was what we needed.

I put a hand on his forearm. “Should we get out of here?”

Darren nodded. “I can’t decide if I want a drink or if I just want to face-plant in bed.”

“You and me both.”

We got up and started toward the door, but he paused with his hand on it. As he turned to me, the smile on his lips was a tired one, but it seemed more heartfelt than a moment ago. “Maybe after we’ve crashed for a while, we can start planning that trip.”

The trip. Someplace sunny and sandy. With no fear that there was a ticking time bomb waiting to turn Darren’s mind against him.

I leaned on one crutch and touched Darren’s cheek. “Anywhere you want to go. Let’s do this.”

Darren just smiled, and we continued out of the office.

Six Months Later

“You know,” Darren said as we took our seats by our gate, “even if you didn’t have eight tons of metal in your foot, I would still expect you to set off the metal detectors.”

I shot him a glare.

He snickered. “Oh come on. Your saccharine-sweet personality is bound to set off some kind of machinery, don’t you think?”

I tried to hold the glare, but . . . damn those puppy-dog eyes. They still got to me every time. Chuckling, I shook my head and patted his leg. “You’re lucky I love you, you know that?”

He flashed a grin. Then he gestured past me. “I’m going to go get a bottle of water. You want anything?”

“Sure, I’ll take one.”

He smiled, gave my thigh a gentle squeeze, and got up.

While he strode across the concourse in search of drinks, I propped my foot up on my carry-on suitcase. After spending so much time in and out of casts and boots, it was becoming a habit to elevate the damn thing whenever I was sitting down. Especially since our walk across long-term parking and the seventy-two-mile-long terminal had left it aching. Not bad, but enough to be irritating.

It had taken two more surgeries before Zach was satisfied that my ankle wouldn’t fall apart in a strong wind. The second procedure had been relatively minor too, so I was thankful for that. After that one, he warned me that if I didn’t take care of it this time, he’d rebreak it on purpose just to teach me a lesson. I’d issued him a similar warning when he and Erin started making noise about moving in together. I was pretty sure he knew I was joking.

From where I sat, I could see Darren perusing the shop’s newsstand with a couple of water bottles tucked under his arm. He wasn’t looking my way, so he didn’t notice me staring. Or smiling like an idiot. What could I say? He still got to me. I didn’t see that changing anytime soon.

My phone buzzed. I pulled it out, and there was a text.

Back order came through—should be ready when you get back.

I glanced at Darren, who was still in the shop, and quickly replied, Perfect. Thanks.

Then I pocketed my phone and tried not to hide my ridiculous smile. Which wasn’t easy. Even before that text had come through, I’d been more relaxed than I’d been in a long time, and hell—I was excited. I couldn’t even remember my last real vacation.

Along with Zach and Erin, we’d been visiting my boys and ex-wife for the weekend. Now my daughter and her boyfriend were headed home, and Darren and I were on our first real vacation as a couple. Darren had been like a kid on Christmas planning this thing. He’d run me through the itinerary a few times, but the gist of it was three weeks on an island I still couldn’t spell or pronounce.

As we’d packed in our hotel room last night, he’d mentioned he felt kind of guilty for taking a long vacation right now.

“Things have been so quiet,” he’d said after wedging his toiletry kit into the stuffed suitcase, “doesn’t seem like we need a vacation, you know?”

“Isn’t like we can take off when things are chaotic.”

“Fair point. Might as well take advantage—God knows how long this quiet is going to last.”

Actually, I was pretty sure I knew how long it would last. Unbeknownst to Darren, I’d asked the captain to keep us off the big cases for a little while. We hadn’t had any real downtime since we’d brought down the citywide narcotics ring, after all. And with Darren finally getting tested to see if he had the gene for the disease that had slowly and horrifically killed his brother, he needed some breathing room.

Captain Hamilton hadn’t protested. In fact, he’d asked me three times if I was serious, or if it was the pain meds talking. By that point, I’d been off the drugs, though, and it was absolutely me making the request. Given that Darren was still grieving his brother, and I was still fucked up in the head after what had happened with my kids, it didn’t take any arm-twisting to get us both on unofficial light duty.

What I hadn’t told him was that the downtime wasn’t just so we could each get our heads together. It was for us too. As a couple. The day of Asher’s funeral, Darren had commented that we’d never had much time together where life wasn’t in utter chaos, and that had needled at me for a while. What if when we did have some downtime, we realized it was only the stress keeping us together? Like how the adrenaline had kept me on my feet when things had gone down with Blaine. As soon as everything had calmed down, the adrenaline and endorphins had ditched me, and my feet hadn’t stayed under me.

Surgery could fix my ankle. Hell, it had. Mostly.

Our relationship? If it wasn’t on solid ground without the world falling apart all around us, then we needed to find a way to put it there. And since I wasn’t so hot at fixing relationships anyway, I decided we could use all the help we could get.

So instead of chasing down dirty cops and ugly homicides, we’d had the more boring detail lately. The kinds of cases that were just interesting enough to warrant assigning detectives, but meant bullets weren’t flying at our heads and we were usually home by six. Things like proving a dipshit banker had sunk his own boat for the insurance. Or that the bakery on Sixth Street was actually a front for a slightly successful but not very intelligently run weed-selling operation. So fucking exciting. Though I had to admit, it wasn’t very often we ran into cases like the accountant’s wife who’d hired a hitman to take out her husband, and then reported the guy for running off with the money.

Most detectives found assignments like that insulting. Typically, I would have too. These days, at least until I had caught my breath and was sure about things with Darren, I didn’t complain. Neither did he.

In the end, though, I didn’t have anything to worry about. Without the bullets flying, we settled easily into a life outside of work. Even after spending all day together, it was never a question that we’d spend the evening the same way. In fact, between my last two surgeries, we’d ditched both of our bachelor pads and rented a bigger place together. One with enough room for my kids to visit, of course. Including my orthopedic surgeon-in-law who needed to learn to give it a rest when, yes, I was going to carry that box up the goddamned stairs.

Living with Darren turned out to be perfectly boring. His less-than-neat habits were a bit less-than-endearing in a shared space, and he could have done without me forgetting to DVR that sitcom he liked for some reason, but that was really the extent of the teeth-gnashing. Kind of ironic, given how things had started between us, but I didn’t bitch. The fact that our life together wasn’t flawless made me believe it was real. That neither of us was on our best behavior just to keep the peace. Every time we sniped at each other over something stupid, and then wound up in the same bed that night as if it had never happened, I believed a little more that we really could make this thing work.

When the whole world was on fire, we leaned on each other and got each other through it. When everything was boring and nothing was happening, we stayed close just because we wanted to. It was perfect.

The future was anyone’s guess. We were cops—anything could happen to either of us. That was the reality of our job. At least I still had the relief of knowing Darren had dodged a genetic bullet. As long as we kept dodging the literal ones, we were good.

A theatrical groan shook me out of my thoughts, and I looked up just as Darren dropped into the seat beside me. “Jesus fuck.”

“What’s wrong?”

“Ugh.” He handed me one of the water bottles. “Is it just me, or does air travel bring out the worst in people?”

I chuckled as I unscrewed the cap. “Oh come on. I didn’t snarl that hard at the TSA guy.”

Darren laughed. “No, you didn’t. But the lady in front of me in line?” He tilted his head toward the shop he’d just left. “Swear to God, she spent five minutes chewing out the cashier for giving her two nickels instead of a dime for change.”

I rolled my eyes. “Wouldn’t it be nice to have such enormous problems?”

“Right?” He sighed, then put his hand on my leg. “How’s your ankle?”

“Eh. Nothing that won’t be helped by staying off it for a while.”

“Well, we have a seven-hour flight.” He frowned at the ankle in question. “Don’t joints sometimes swell up in the air? Maybe we should check with the airline and see if they can—”

“Darren.” I laced my fingers between his, vaguely aware of—and not caring about—the guy scowling at us from another seat. “Relax. I’ll be fine.”

“But I don’t want you to be—”

“I’ll be fine.” I gave his hand a gentle squeeze. “Zach prescribed some muscle relaxers in case I need them, and I still have some pain pills left if it gets really bad. But it hasn’t been more than an annoying little ache since that last surgery.” To emphasize, I flexed my ankle a few times. The ache intensified, but barely. “Don’t worry about it.”

He scowled at my foot for a moment, but slowly, he started to relax. “Just say so if it’s not, okay? Don’t be a martyr.”

“Deal.”

We exchanged smiles. If we’d been somewhere a bit more private, or at least more familiar, we probably would’ve stolen a kiss. Surrounded by strangers who might or might not have an issue with two men being more affectionate than holding hands? Strangers who’d be sharing our plane for several hours? Maybe not. So, a look sufficed. I’d make it up to him once we were in our hotel suite.

A few minutes later, the plane started boarding. Normally, flying made me tense—not nerves so much as general irritation—but I didn’t think much could kill my good mood today. A few hours of misery were a small price to pay for the R&R that awaited us on the other end.

For the next three weeks, it was just us, the sun, and white sand beaches. When we came back, we’d be relaxed, refreshed, and ready to get back to the real cases.

And Darren’s ring would be ready.

Explore more of the Bad Behavior series: riptidepublishing.com/titles/series/bad-behavior

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Bad Behavior series, with Cari Z

Risky Behavior

Suspicious Behavior

Romantic Behavior (January 2018)

Anchor Point series

Just Drive

Afraid to Fly

Chief’s Mess

Rank & File

Going Overboard

Kinky Sprinkles

Rain Shadow (a Bluewater Bay story)

Starstruck (a Bluewater Bay story)

Running With Scissors

Roped In, with Marie Sexton

Finding Master Right

Static

Writing as Lauren Gallagher

Stuck Landing (a Bluewater Bay story)

Razor Wire

Writing as Ann Gallagher

Lead Me Not

All the Wrong Places (a Bluewater Bay story)

Writing as Lori A. Witt

The Tide of War

See L.A. Witt’s full booklist at: gallagherwitt.com

Bad Behavior series, with L.A. Witt

Risky Behavior

Suspicious Behavior

Romantic Behavior (January 2018)

Panopolis series

Where There’s Smoke

Where There’s Fire

Where There’s a Will

Friendly Fire

House Rules (in the Rules to Live By anthology)

Tempest

Shadows & Light

Changing Worlds

Soothsayer

A Blinded Mind

Surviving the Change

Camellia and Camellia: Spring Blossom, with Caitlin Ricci

Perilous

L.A. WITT is an abnormal M/M romance writer who has finally been released from the purgatorial corn maze of Omaha, Nebraska, and now spends her time on the southwestern coast of Spain. In between wondering how she didn't lose her mind in Omaha, she explores the country with her husband, several clairvoyant hamsters, and an ever-growing herd of rabid plot bunnies. She also has substantially more time on her hands these days, as she has recruited a small army of mercenaries to search South America for her nemesis, romance author Lauren Gallagher, but don’t tell Lauren. And definitely don’t tell Lori A. Witt or Ann Gallagher. Neither of those twits can keep their mouths shut . . .

Website: gallagherwitt.com

Twitter: @GallagherWitt

Email: gallagherwitt@gmail.com

CARI Z is a Colorado girl who loves snow and sunshine. She likes edged weapons, prefers books to television shows, and goes weak at the knees for interesting men and exciting explosions (but not at exactly the same time—that would be so messy).

Blog: carizerotica.blogspot.com

Twitter: @author_cariz

Website: cari-z.net

Enjoy more stories like Reckless Behavior at RiptidePublishing.com!

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www.riptidepublishing.com/titles/long-shadows

Can’t Hide From Me
www.riptidepublishing.com/titles/cant-hide-from-me

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