Surviving Ice (Burying Water, #4)(80)

“My pleasure, ma’am. Glad I could help.” This woman has helped—and burdened—me so much more.

“Isn’t that right, Fefe? You should say thank you to this man.” Royce’s mother looks up at me and smiles. “She just loves company. The detective on the case has been over a few times and she’s always at his ankles.”

I fight to keep my face calm, curious. So Fields has been here? “Have they told you whether they have any leads?”

She shakes her head through a sip of coffee. “They don’t seem to know anything. At first they said it was a robbery. Then they said it was likely a disagreement between the shop owner and someone. And then, just a few days ago, that Detective Fields started asking questions about Dylan’s old job at that company.”

“Alliance.”

“Yes. Them.”

“Are they thinking this is related to his old job?” This could just be routine questioning. This detective may just be doing his job thoroughly.

“They’re looking at all possibilities, he told me.” She shrugs. “He took my album, though. The one I made with all the pictures Dylan sent me over the years while on deployment. He promised he’d give it back to me when he’s done. It’s all I really have left of my son.”

A sinking feeling hits my stomach. “Pictures of him with the Marines?”

“Yes.” She smiles sadly. “He knew I loved getting pictures from him, seeing him safe and sound. Most times he’d just email them over, but I’d print them out and put them in this big square scrapbook. He kept doing it while he was at Alliance, though he wasn’t sending nearly as many pictures by the end.”

Which means there’s a chance that Fields now has an album with pictures of both Mario and Ricky.

Fuck. If he puts two and two together, then Ivy’s eyewitness testimony is all the more important.

And it makes her a threat to them.

And to Bentley.

It’ll take Fields time, though, to do that. Unless a Mario is named in that album. Then it won’t take much time at all. “I wonder if Dylan sent you a picture of us . . .”

Her face crinkles into a smile. “Oh, I don’t know. I’ll be sure to check the pictures more carefully when I get it back. I don’t remember seeing any Johns in there, but of course, he rarely included names.”

Okay. If Dylan’s mom didn’t identify them by name, then that may buy me some more time. I reach over to grab a pen. On the corner of the newspaper, I jot down my new cell number. “If you need some help, please give me a call.”

“I’ll call you when I get my album back. Thank you, John. That’s so kind of you. All of you boys have been so good to me, coming by to visit.”

“Family is important to all of us.” I smile and feel like a complete hypocrite.

I say my good-byes and leave, my guilt over being involved with this cover-up growing with each step.





TWENTY-NINE


IVY


“Rough morning?” I ask, eying Sebastian’s stony face from the passenger side. Considering he left my bed at five this morning after logging in eleven hours of sleep and getting laid—repeatedly—he should be outright chipper, not in this mercurial mood.

Which makes me wonder where he goes when he’s not with me.

My distrustful side tells me he goes home to a girlfriend. Maybe they’re on the outs, but still . . . that shit ain’t cool. I push those thoughts out of my head, though. They’re a sign of insecurity, which is the last thing I will let creep in.

“Have you ever had someone you trust completely betray you?” he asks softly. I don’t think he meant to say that out loud, though, because when I turn to study him, he’s clamped his mouth shut.

I can’t help staring at his profile for a long moment. He shaved off his short beard, and he looks very different. Younger. No less handsome, though I can’t decide which look I prefer.

“I don’t think I’ve ever trusted someone completely.” Except maybe Ned, and look where that got me, because I trusted him not to do something so stupid as to get himself shot.

“There’s something for you on the backseat,” Sebastian says, abruptly changing the topic.

I turn to find a small white Macy’s bag sitting there. With a frown, I loop my finger around the string to grab it. Inside is a brand-new bottle of my favorite perfume.

“I figured you needed another one.”

“Yeah. I did. But . . . how did you know which one?”

“I took the lid with me yesterday.”

“Sneaky.” I didn’t notice. “So you really like it or is this a subtle hint?”

He smirks. “I really like it.”

“Thanks.” I guess I know what he was doing for part of this morning, at least. I tuck the gift into my purse. “When do you think you’ll need to go back to work?”

“I’m taking some time off. A few more weeks, at least.”

“So this isn’t just a normal vacation?”

“Considering I’m about to spend another day cleaning up a ransacked house, I’d say that it’s definitely not a normal vacation.”

I reach over to pat his knee—affectionate gestures are not really my thing, but I desperately want to touch him—and offer, “I appreciate the help. Thank you.”