Keep Her Safe(107)

“You can’t rule his theory out, though.”

“His theory is the backbone of this investigation, now, for what it’s worth, without any hard evidence.”

“Thanks to Stapley.”

Silas shakes his head in disbelief. “If Abe was murdered by those two, they will be punished to the full extent of the law.” He sounds resolute, and yet his expression shows only worry. “But we may have to be satisfied with simply clearing Abe’s name with reasonable doubt and moving on with our lives.”

“I know that.”

“Make sure that girl out there knows that. You don’t want her following in her mother’s footsteps.”

“She’s the strongest person I’ve ever met. Gracie would never become that.”

“Let’s hope not.”

“Dina says she’s just like Abe. Except, you know . . . a girl.” A girl who has me ensnared in her spell.

“Yes, I’ve noticed.” I feel Silas’s shrewd gaze on me.

Can he tell I’m falling hard for Abe’s daughter?

I clear my throat. “I may need a loan for Dina’s rehab. Just until Mom’s insurance—”

“Judy’ll call to sort that out. She can send a payment to the rehab center first thing tomorrow.”

I sigh with relief. “Thanks, Silas.”

“Don’t mention it. I’m always here for you. Don’t ever doubt that.”

It’s true. He always has been. And I was a dick today. “I’m sorry. I should have just picked up the phone and told you about Klein yesterday. This whole thing is . . . it’s making me crazy.”

“I told you it would, son. It’s done that to all of us.” His eyes wander outside, to where Gracie sits, his face suddenly grim as if burdened with a thousand unspoken worries. “For what it’s worth, she didn’t deserve this. None of them did.”

“At least now maybe we’ll get justice for Abe.”

He stands and pats my shoulder. “Yes, sir. Justice.”





CHAPTER 44


Grace

The elevator music finally cuts out. “Grace?”

I pause for a moment, absorbing the sound of my mother’s voice, clear and strong, even after only a few sober days. What will a few months without drugs coursing through her veins do? Will I actually get my mother back? Do I dare hope?

“Hello? Grace?”

“Mom.” Unexpected tears start rolling down my cheeks. I feel like I’m in a daze.

“What’s wrong?” she asks, panicked.

“Nothing. Everything’s great. You wouldn’t believe what just happened.” I tell her about Canning’s press conference. By the time I’m done, she’s sobbing into the phone.

“You can’t be serious. Is this a joke?”

“I am! I mean, no, it’s not a joke.” I quickly explain the last several days.

“The FBI? Did Silas call them?”

“No, actually we have Jackie Marshall to thank for that. They were already investigating by the time we got here.”

The door to the kitchen opens and Kristian steps out, sauntering over to me with that casual swagger of his.

“The man who came to your hospital room was an FBI agent. His name was Kristian Klein.” I watch as Kristian pulls a cigarette pack out of his back pocket. I had no idea he even smoked. I wonder if he’s allowed to light up in the backyard of a crime scene. Something tells me he’d do it with or without permission.

“Klein . . .” my mom repeats, and I can picture her brow furrowing. “That does sound familiar.”

I doubt it, but I’ll let her hold on to that. “You don’t need to be afraid, Mom. No one’s coming to Tucson to get you.”

“And what about you? You’re there in Austin, right in the thick of things.”

“I’ll be fine.” I left out the part about Mantis pulling us over. Details she doesn’t need to know. “Besides, I have Noah here to protect me. And Cyclops.”

Klein paces aimlessly around the yard, puffing on his cigarette. Listening to my every word. On impulse, I toss the tennis ball, aiming it to fly a foot or so in front of his face, just close enough to startle him. I get nothing but a raised brow in response.

My mom chuckles. It’s a soft, nostalgic melody. “I knew that dog would bite someone eventually. Glad he made it count.”

“So . . . How’s Desert Oaks?”

“It’s okay,” she admits grudgingly. “They’re awful strict, though.”

“You’re surprised?”

“No, I guess not. But does the FBI need me there? I could come. I could—”

“No, you need to stay in rehab. You’re still detoxing, Mom. You won’t be credible as a heroin addict and you need to be credible. For Dad.”

“Yes. Of course. I just . . . I want to help.”

“I’m sure they’ll want to come out to speak to you at some point.”

“I’ll tell them everything I remember.”

Everything you should have told them fourteen years ago, that bitter voice inside my head chirps. I push it aside. What’s done is done.

“Oh! I remembered something! That’s what I wanted to tell you. About that guy who broke into the house. I mean, it’s not really anything, but I thought you should know. It probably won’t help—”