Return to Poughkeepsie (13 page)

“So the party’s over. What do you need from me?” Ryan took the last gulp of his coffee.

“They’ll likely be buying cops. That’s how this happened.” He tapped the picture of the bloody murder again. “The cop guarding this man’s door was on the take and left his post. Beckett Taylor went in and did him.”

Ryan snapped to full attention. “I thought we never had him for anything.”

“We didn’t. We still don’t. All I have is motive and opportunity. But if he’s back in town, we’ll see a lot more of this type of crap.” McHugh shuffled the picture under another file. “I’m proposing that we let you get bought. And then we can find out more about what’s going on. Say no if you can’t. This is no joke. These people are sub-human. I don’t know how serious you and Trish are—”

“She dumped me.” Ryan set down his empty cup and grabbed the file and the picture underneath it.

“Sorry to hear it,” McHugh added gruffly.

“Don’t be. She’s apparently pretty vindictive. I’ll do this.” He glanced at the name at the top. Chris Simmer was the name of the dead body in the picture. The weapon had been determined to be a small sharp. Hell of a way to go. “Is his throat sliced? Damn.”

The captain added to the horror. “So he wouldn’t scream as he died. I have to be honest with you, I knew this boy. He was briefly engaged to Livia.”

“Wow. I’m sorry. That’s shitty.” Ryan mentally reviewed his comments, hoping he hadn’t insulted the man.

“Don’t be sorry. The kid was an asshole. Tried to kill Livia and damn near killed my son-in-law. It was complicated, but regardless, Taylor’s signature was all over his murder. I will not allow that man back into my city or anywhere near my children and grandchildren.” McHugh pulled the files into a big pile.

“So you want me to be undercover by being a cop.” Ryan nodded. He liked the plan so far.

“That’s the best I’ve got. These bastards are shady and it’s like nailing Jell-O to the wall. There’ll be crazy temptations. This assignment is really horrible—although it could also start you on your way to detective. We’d have to stay in touch the whole time, and you’ll have to be honest with me.” McHugh looked like he was reconsidering even as he explained.

Ryan had to have this assignment. It had to be him. It was fate. Kismet. “Sir, I’d be honored to help protect the city and your loved ones. As long as we’re on the same page—I’m a cop, not the bad guy, no matter what goes down—I’ll start today. What do you want me to do?”

“For starters…” McHugh handed Ryan an old-school map. “Your new beat is all Taylor’s old stomping grounds. I want you to slack off there. Pretend to sleep. Talk to hookers. Ignore crimes. Be approachable.”

“I can handle that.” Ryan began plotting ways to seem like more of an asshole than he already was.

McHugh extended his hand. “Thanks. I feel a lot better having you on this. It’s a service to me, as well as to the public.”

The men shook hands, and before Ryan could leave McHugh handed him another picture, almost as an afterthought. “You might as well see what the devil looks like.”

Ryan nodded, but waited until he was in his patrol car to look. Beckett grinned in the picture. He wore a T-shirt and cammo pants, and it was easy to see the tattoo on his forearm: a cross, a knife, and a music clef intertwined.

Ryan’s brain did a fist pump. This was a hundred steps closer to Nikko and Wade’s killer then he’d ever been.

Two days in on his new assignment, Ryan texted The Red Room of Pain as he walked to his truck: Yes, he was fine and yes, he’d be by for Sunday dinner.

This evening he planned to go drinking in one of the bad parts of town, but one look at his vehicle and he knew his plans had changed.

“Trish, you hosebag.”

Super-glued to the passenger side of his F-150 was what had to be fifty dollars in quarters, forming the gorgeous proclamation SMALL COCK. He shook his head and slammed his palm against his forehead. He shouted into the fading sunlight, “I don’t have a small dick! You have a large vagina!”

An older couple walking their cocker spaniels gave him a disapproving look. He kicked the side of his truck. He called his insurance company, which helpfully suggested he call the police to report the vandalism, then tried picking the quarters off with his keys. There was no way in hell he’d call the precinct and report
small cock
vandalism. He silently gave Trish credit for her diabolical plan. She knew he’d never press charges for this. He would’ve called her to confront her, but he wasn’t sure if she’d deleted her number or renamed herself after a sex toy on his phone.
Bitch.

He stomped into his apartment after re-parking his truck so the penis-libeling side wasn’t visible from the road. As far as he was concerned, his love snake was just fine. He changed clothes, improvised on his plan, and hailed a cab. He had the driver stop at a pawn shop frequented by Taylor’s people back in the day. He asked the cab to come back in an hour.

The pawn shop was hardly what anyone would call busy, and Ryan walked straight to the antique guns. It took enough minutes for the shop owner to make his way over that he had no doubt customer service was not paramount—or even remotely essential.

“You got anything more modern? With a bit of a kick and a dick?” Ryan pulled out his phone and let his badge slip onto the counter. “Sorry. I’ve been drinking a little. Really, I just want to buy something of my own. Sometimes the service weapon doesn’t cut it, you know?” Ryan did his best to look fuzzy.

The pawn store owner gave him a sharp look before shaking his head. “A cop? Shit, you should have your pickings of the evidence room.”

“If they’ve got their eye on you, you don’t get to touch shit. Never mind.” Ryan gathered up his badge and phone before giving the shop owner the finger. “Fuck you very much.”

The message was sent. Ryan had made his first official appearance as a slightly crazy cop.

11

Sweet Treasures

“H
OW’S
T
ED
?” L
IVIA
F
INISHED
W
IPING
D
OWN
the counters on Monday afternoon.

Blake burped Kellan before settling into an easy sway. “Your father reported he left the hospital and he’s home. I want to go check on him.”

She leaned against the now-damp Formica. “At the very least I’d like to slip him a few dinners. Have you heard from Eve?”

“It’s been two weeks. Not a word.” Blake shifted the baby so he could cradle him.

She paused for a moment, captured by the sight of Blake’s bicep flexing to protect Kellan’s head. She was sure her hormones were a giant bag of crazy, but Blake was hot holding the baby, simple as that.

Livia came close to kiss the baby’s head and then Blake’s lips. “Thank you.”

“For burping him?” He leaned forward to kiss her forehead.

She shook her head. “For fighting for this. For us. Every day.”

“It’s an honor, Mrs. Hartt.” Blake shifted back into his easy sway, keeping the baby locked in his slumber.

“When was the last time we slept? Do you remember?” Livia went to the fridge. She knew she had some items that were long past their pitching date.

“Define sleep? Like in a bed and closing your eyes until you’re done?”

She smiled. “Now that is ridiculous talk. I mean like four hours drooling in the rocker.”

“I think I indulged in that pleasure on Wednesday of last week. Someday they’ll want to sleep, right? That happens?” Blake smiled as Emme bounded into the kitchen wearing a unicorn outfit.

She saw Kellan asleep and spoke in an exaggerated stage whisper, “Daddy, baby brother Kellan is asleep. Don’t sneeze!”

Blake mouthed, “I won’t.”

“Mommy, today at school a man said hello to me. I told him he was a stranger and I don’t talk to his type.” She proceeded to drag a chair over so she could climb onto the counter.

Livia felt herself pale and watched Blake stop mid sway. “Where was Miss Jenny?”

Emme got herself a package of fruit chews from the cabinet. “Frank bumped his head and there was blood. I was playing frogs with Sawyer, and it was my turn to run away. I was by the woods fence.” She used her teeth to rip into the package.

Livia held herself back. All at once she wanted to gather her girl up and beat the hell out of her teacher. It was irrational—the teacher at Emme’s preschool was excellent.

“What did he say to you, exactly?” Blake asked, resuming his sway.

Emme was too smart to be played. “Am I in trouble? Mommy?”

She searched her parents faces, big green eyes filling with tears.

“Of course not,” Blake said. “But you were right, he was a stranger so your adults need to know what he said.”

Livia went to Emme and cuddled her up, kissing her head. “Tell me what happened with the stranger. We’re proud of you for doing the right thing.”

Her daughter clutched the fruit chews like a stuffed animal. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry.”

Livia pulled Emme off the counter and hugged her hard, forcing her own tears back with superhuman strength. “No. You did great. Shh.”

She carried the sniffling girl to the rocker and sat, humming her favorite lullaby. Emme began out and out crying. Blake laid Kellan down in his playpen and began to help Livia comfort their girl.

“Hey, look at me, sweetheart. It is so okay. I’m so glad you told me and Mommy. That was really brave.” He patted her back and kissed her cheek.

Through hiccups and sniffles, Emme gave her version of the events. “Well, I was being a frog, and Sawyer was the frog catcher, so I ran to the fence, and I stepped in the No Zone just for a minute. Just for a second. And that’s when the stranger said, ‘Emme.’ And then he asked me if Daddy had a drawing on his arm, and he showed me a picture of this.” Emme turned Blake’s hand until they could all see his brothers’ mark. “He had a long mark under his eye, like an old boo-boo. And then I told him he was a stranger, and I left.”

Livia hugged Emme closer. “It’s okay. You’re here. I’ve got you. I’ve got you.”

She began humming again and rocked the chair out of habit. Emme sniffed herself to sleep. Livia rested her head on her daughter’s. Blake shook his head and looked at his tattoo. Livia raised her hands and shrugged, asking him what the hell they were going to do without actually saying the words.

Blake pulled an ottoman closer and sat, placing his hand on her back. Her sleeping breaths shuddered from time to time, her body still crying just a little.

“I’ll tell your father. I’ll find a way to tell Eve. And Emme’s not going back to that school.” Blake looked ready to defend them all with just his anger and fear.

Something her father had told her a million years ago trickled up Livia’s spine and into her consciousness:
“Do you know what we call Beckett Taylor down at the precinct?
The Bloody Bastard.”

Livia loved Blake with all that she was. He was an amazing father and husband, but there was no way she was putting her children in danger. And she was scared they were already there.

Eve added diamond earrings and stepped away from the mirror. Technically this was her room at Mary Ellen’s mansion, but in her nearly two weeks of official “employment” she had yet to spend the night. The girls weren’t imprisoned, so to speak, but strongly encouraged to remain.