Raw Redemption (Crossing the Line #4)(72)

Ailish closed her eyes and recalled the set of numbers she’d housed in her brain so long. It was the date her mother had left: 09-23-08. Her fingers moved right to left, muscle memory kicking in on the second revolution, until she heard the click and the safe door bumped ajar.

Henrik squeezed her shoulder. “Well done, Ailish.” His praise eased the pressure inside her chest somewhat, making it easier to reach for the plastic freezer bag full of documents and photographs. “What is it?” Henrik asked.

“It’s blackmail.” She swallowed. “Every cop, every politician in Chicago, and even some baseball players who’ve had dealings with Caine. He always makes sure there’s something to use against them if they try to renege or back out.” Ailish closed the safe and stood, holding the bag out to Henrik, who shone the thin beam of light over the bag. “Caine never leaves behind anything. No one ever talks. But we can use these people to testify in exchange for a deal. Kind of like I did.”

Henrik jostled the bag to get a good look at the contents and whistled under his breath. “I already see a few faces that sure as hell won’t want to be recognized.” He turned off the light and focused on Ailish. “I need to make sure you’re good with this, Ailish. He’s your father, bastard or not. I wouldn’t expect you to feel nothing about giving him up to the police.”

Running a finger over the plastic bag, she thought back to the years she’d spent confused about sick, violent words overheard spoken between men in her house. The unsafe feeling. The conflict and guilt over bookmaking for Caine. There would always be a bond with the man who’d fathered her, but a daughter’s loyalty could only go so far. And with the discovery of her second set of books, she would be responsible for untold pain, and this time, it could kill her. “I’m good, Growler.”

“All right, Lish.” Henrik shoved the bag into the back waistband of his pants and removed his gun from the inner pocket of his jacket, checking the clip and replacing it with a metallic slide. “On the way out, you need to stay right behind me. Always behind me, unless I tell you different. Please.”

She went up on her toes and kissed his mouth. “Right behind you.”

Henrik gave Ailish one more long, memorizing look before leading her up the stairs. The silence was so heavy, it weighed down on her eardrums as they paused at the top of the staircase, staying perfectly still while listening for sounds in the house. Then they were moving again, traversing the entryway, her focus on Henrik’s hand where it rested on the butt of his gun. They passed the front door, heading for the side entrance instead which would let them out onto the south side of the property. Where hopefully Derek and the squad would be waiting.

As soon as they entered the kitchen, Ailish knew something was wrong. She lunged forward and laid a hand on Henrik’s back, his muscles tensing beneath her touch. Alarm buzzing along her nerve endings, Ailish turned in a circle, trying to locate the reason for her prickling sixth sense. On the kitchen island was a half-eaten apple that hadn’t gone brown from exposure to air yet. Which meant—

“Midnight snack?” Caine’s voice snapped from behind them.

Before Ailish could even register fear, Henrik had wrapped an arm around her waist and slung her backward, behind his body. Since she couldn’t see over Henrik’s towering frame, Ailish turned her head to the side, watching the horrifying scene play out in the kitchen window’s reflection. As Henrik backed her up against the marble island, his gun was already drawn, pointing directly at Caine. But her father’s stance was identical, his own weapon leveled in Henrik’s direction.

“No,” she whispered, curling her hand in Henrik’s T-shirt. Please don’t let this be happening. Please.

Caine wore jeans and no shirt, his aged tattoos seeming to sag in the murkiness of the reflection. “My own daughter, huh?” His laughter made goose bumps break out on Ailish’s skin. “You know, I’m ashamed to admit I didn’t see this coming. Didn’t think you had the backbone for it.”

“She has more backbone than you do. Must have gotten it from her mother.” Henrik’s voice was steady. “Put your gun down, Caine. It’s over. There are two of us. If you fire on me, I will still put you down, and Ailish will get out with everything the police need to eliminate your operation.”

“Funny you should mention her mother. And bones.” Her father’s smile was almost melancholy, but it didn’t match his mocking tone. “All those hours spent swimming in the pool, Ailish. Back and forth. No idea your mother was buried just a few feet from the diving board the whole time.”

The scream began in Ailish’s belly, but grief made it lose momentum on the way to her throat, emerging as nothing more than a half wail, half sob. Her knees tried to buckle behind Henrik, but he reached behind with the arm not holding his weapon, grasping her to his back in an upright position. It felt as though her insides were pouring blood, but through sheer force of will, she commanded herself not to lose even the twisted respect she’d earned from her father. Later. She could rail over the unfairness of her mother’s death later, when their lives weren’t at stake.

Swallowing a lung’s worth of oxygen, Ailish slid her own weapon free, stepped to Henrik’s right, and aimed the barrel at Caine. Without looking at Henrik, she could sense his surprise, but addressed only her father. “Weren’t expecting that, were you?”