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“We saved you time,” I tell her. “By the time you found out where he is, he’d have the time to hurt more kids.”
“Are you telling me, Mr.….?”
“Vestri. Rafaele Vestri.”
“Mr. Vestri, are you telling me that this man still fosters children?”
Megan taps a hand on her knee, brows drawn together. “We don’t know for sure. One of the neighbors thought she heard a scream.”
“She also thought she saw a kid at one of the windows,” I add.
“Thought? She isn’t sure?”
Goddammit. “Will you check on this man?”
“I will, Mr. Vestri, you have my word.” She pushes the laptop aside. “If he is fostering children, we need to make sure he isn’t abusing them. We will definitely look into that. Why don’t you leave me your contact information, you and Mr. Madden, and I will let you know as soon as I find something out? I promise you I will do my best to shed light on this case.”
Yeah, I’ve heard all this before. We thank her, and I tug Megan to her feet so we can go.
Despite the officer’s assurances, I feel as if we’ve accomplished nothing today other than cause Zane more distress.
“If he has foster kids now,” Megan tells me quietly, “they’ll hunt him down to make sure they’re okay. It’s going to be fine.”
But deep inside I know that answers never come to you the easy way. You have to go after them, battle for them—and it seems this time is no different.
Chapter Twenty Three
Megan
Rafe is upset, and I understand why. Still, the officer was nice, and she promised to do her best. Dylan had warned us that without evidence the law couldn’t do much. We gave it our best shot. Now the report is there and it’s a start.
I also know it’s not enough. That the presence of that man in the city has Zane on edge and fighting to preserve his sanity. It looks like it’s becoming a thin line.
Rafe doesn’t believe that the police will help. Truth be told, I don’t either. Back when I was afraid for my life, when I had a killer at my back, and I’d prepared to run away, Rafe dealt with it on his own. Well, with the help of our friends, but still. The police were informed after the fact. After Rafe took the killer down, saving me from his hands, and almost dying in the process.
On most days, I try not to remember that terrible night when I thought I might not see Rafe again. When I thought he’d die, and that I’d die, too.
How could I have foreseen this day, with him and with our son—being so happy and unafraid?
Unafraid for us. But Zane is another matter altogether. I don’t like the way he’s been since we left the police station, quiet and closed off. Like his hope went out once more. Can’t blame him, not after what the officer said.
This isn’t right. Everything is so wrong, I don’t know where to start to make it right again.
But all I can do today is hold my baby son, stroke his hair and kiss his cheeks, and remember that there is goodness in this life.
That things which terrified me proved not to be the monsters I expected. That fighting for the ones you love is rewarding, and Zay is proof of that. A little fussy, chubby proof squirming in my arms.
God, I love my two boys. I love them and want to keep them close to my chest, close to my heart—safe in my arms forever.
And the same goes for my friends.
I buckle Zay in his car seat and we drive home in silence. I sense Rafe would rather do anything but go back to work today. He wants to take action, but doesn’t know what to do, except wait for the police to tell us what they find out.
Also, he’s not the only one who has work and chores and babies to take care of. Life goes on.
We enter our apartment and I stand inside the living room, the baby in my arms, thinking.
Holding Zay soothes me, but I’m going back to work in a few days, and we still haven’t figured out who will look over him while I’m gone.
