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“Or they don’t care,” Hogan allowed. “Can you leave town for a few days?”
“No. Elijah’s doctor wants him close to the hospital in case he has another spike.”
“Spike?”
After being so open with Val and Burke about Elijah’s health, Kaj had forgotten that he’d been so closemouthed with everyone else. “He has type 1 diabetes. The past two days haven’t helped. I need to get back inside my house, but I wanted you to know about Rick Gates and the note—especially because you’re taking over Aaron’s case.”
“You think they might target me.”
“Desperate people do desperate things. They want Aaron freed.”
“Well, that’s not gonna happen, but I take your point. I’ll have security walk me to my car when I leave the office. Keep me apprised of anything new.”
“I will. Be careful.” Hands trembling, Kaj ended the call. Elijah is safe. Elijah is safe. He repeated the words as he pushed through his front door. His son was safe. That was the important thing.
That and finding out every last thing that Rick Gates knew.
Bayou des Allemands, Louisiana
TUESDAY, OCTOBER 25, 8:05 P.M.
“Get out.” Corey shoved Jace onto the dock, sending the boat rocking dangerously. “You make me sick.”
Jace had cried all the way back to the camp, his posture defeated. Which was exactly what Corey had wanted. He’d break the kid down and build him back to be fucking loyal.
Jace was still sobbing as Corey dragged him to Aaron’s quarters. “You’ll stay here until I come get you. You will not leave. You will not speak. Nod if you understand.”
His gaze fixed on his feet, Jace nodded.
“Good.” Corey gripped Jace’s T-shirt and yanked him forward, raising his fist. “And, boy, if you so much as sneeze, you’re going to find yourself on Cardozo’s lawn next.” Jace cowered. Good. The kid ought to be scared out of his damn mind. “Gimme your shoes.”
Jace blinked up at him, his eyes red and swollen. “What?”
“Your shoes. Give them to me.” He held out his hand, waiting impatiently. “Now.”
Jace toed off his sneakers and warily gave them over.
Corey took the shoes and smacked Jace upside the head with one of them. Hard. With a cry of pain Jace clutched his head. “I bought these shoes, you ungrateful fuck,” Corey snarled. “I bought your food and clothes and gave you a roof over your head and this is how you repay me? By trying to get Aaron back? By lying to me? Do not test me, boy. I will destroy you.” He slammed the door behind him, locking the dead bolt from the outside so Jace would stay put.
He’d beat the fear of God into him, if it was the last thing he did. No, not of God. Of me.
He walked the hundred feet to his quarters and let himself in, stopping short when he saw Dianne slumped over in his easy chair, a half-empty bottle of vodka on the table beside her. No glass. She’d been drinking straight from the bottle. She was in a drunken stupor once again.
We aren’t going to have to keep her sedated. She’s doing it to herself. It was hard to watch her slowly killing herself. But drunks were gonna drink. That was the hard truth. After tossing Jace’s shoes into his bedroom, he carried her to the bed again.
Leaving the bedroom, he closed the door and leaned against it. He was tired. So damn tired. Watching Dianne grieve was exhausting. He’d had to be strong for her because Aaron hadn’t stepped up. Now Aaron never would, not from prison.
Corey would have to tell her that Rick was dead. That was going to rip her apart all over again, especially knowing Rick had gotten involved with a drug gang. But he’d worry about telling her that lie later, once it was safe to take her home. Once the cops were so busy looking at Sixth Day for the abduction attempt and Rick’s murder that they’d stopped looking at Corey.
Speaking of... He checked his phone, unsurprised to see a missed phone call on his Three Vets phone. This was the number the cops had to contact him in an emergency, and Rick’s death would qualify. He tapped the voice mail icon and held the phone to his ear.
“Mr.Gates, this is Officer Nolan with the NOPD. I need to speak with you urgently. Can you please call me back?”
Corey would return the call after he’d taken care of tonight’s business. He’d beg pardon for the delay, saying he’d taken a sleeping pill so that he could get some rest. Actually, getting some rest sounded good, but he’d never take a pill. Aaron was the addict. Not me. Never me.
He got to the comm room only to find that Dewey was a bloody mess. The only reason he was still in the chair was because he’d been tied to it. He was missing three fingers from his right hand and two toes from his left foot, and the tic-tac-toe board carved into his chest was sullenly oozing blood. Looked like X’s had won.
“Dammit, Bobby. I wanted information. I didn’t say you could kill him.”
