“Police report that security video shows the man who murdered the owner of a liquor store in the early hours of the morning, as well as the man suspected in two other attacks that left another liquor store owner and a night manager of a convenience store in the hospital, is one Arthur Lannigan.”

Tack sat at the bottom edge of his and Red’s bed, elbows to his knees, staring at the TV.

“Arthur Lannigan is the same man suspected in the deaths of Natalie Harbinger, twenty-six, and Camilla Turnbull, twenty-seven. Both women’s bodies were found on the same night in different locations in Englewood earlier this summer. Mr. Lannigan is also the man suspected of a rash of murders Friday night, when five prostitutes were found dead in motels throughout Denver. They’d been robbed.”

The door opened and even though Tack knew with the swift way it closed that it was his wife, he didn’t take his eyes off the TV.

“Police raided Mr. Lannigan’s residence in Littleton early this morning to find he had already fled.”

“He hadn’t fled. Spooked him,” Tack grunted. “Slim told them not to go in fuckin’ hot.”

Footage of the cops outside Chew’s safehouse switched to a picture of Chew sitting in an armchair with his leg thrown over an arm and a bottle of beer in his hand. It had to be recent. He was older. Looked haggard. But he had a sly expression on his face that, considering Harrietta or Camilla took that snap, Tack found sickening.

“Police are asking if anyone sees this man to contact the authorities immediately. Do not approach. The suspect is considered armed and dangerous.”

They started another story and Tack lifted the remote in his hand to turn off the TV.

Tyra sat next to him, doing it close and running her hand down his back.

“Honey,” she murmured.

“He needs money,” Tack said, staring at the blank TV.

“Yes,” she replied, pressing close to his arm and rubbing circles at the small of his back.

“He’s gearin’ up.”

His wife said nothing.

“Take one of us out.”

She pressed closer, running her other hand down his forearm to hold one of his hands tight.

“Kane—”

“Snap,” he bit out.

“Oh God,” she whispered.

“And history repeats,” he said.

Her voice was solid when she replied, “No it won’t.”

He turned his head and looked into his wife’s beautiful green eyes.

“No,” he growled, “it won’t.”

Humility

Rebel

Nine fifteen, Sunday morning . . .

“You think I should be relieved?”

Rush stood next to me at Paul and Amy’s while Amy stood across the room, her hand pressed to her stomach, a stricken expression on her face, and Paul stood next to her, giving the ugly to Hank.

And it was ugly.

He was also slurring.

Which meant it was morning and he was either already drunk, or he hadn’t sobered up from last night.

“Mr. Ragowski,” Hank murmured.

“My daughter was carrying on a sexual relationship with a pedophile, who’s old enough to be her father, who ended up raping and murdering her. And I should be relieved about that?”

It was important to note that Hank had not told him he should feel relieved. Hank had just shared the news the man had been caught, as well as relevant details, which he’d kept minimal, though admittedly none of them were good. Even so, they’d eventually find out anyway, since it was all over the news, so someone had to tell them.

I felt for him, but that someone was Hank.

“Paul,” Amy whispered.

“This is it. This is what Diane left. An obscene footnote buried in history, the junkie and the pedophile,” Paul spat. “My one child and all her promise, that’s what’s left.”

I bit my tongue, not literally, figuratively, trying to give him some space to get out the poison.

But just to say, doing that was really freaking hard.

“Paul,” Amy said brokenly.

Paul turned to Rush and me. “And again, who’s this guy?”

“It’s Rebel’s young man,” Amy said hurriedly. “You know that. You met him ten minutes ago.”

Paul switched his attention to his wife. “Yeah. And like I want a man I met ten minutes ago to watch me be humiliated again by my dead daughter.”

I felt my mouth get tight.

Amy paled and reared back, but did it saying, “We couldn’t leave him out in his truck.”

This was arguable, and I knew at this juncture which side I’d argue.

Incidentally, that was where Rush had intended to stay.

Getting the call from Hank sharing this was imminently going down, a call that woke us both up, Rush having had about five hours of sleep, he did not get my egg and bacon on cheesy buttermilk biscuits. He did not get the chance to “go at me.”

We’d gotten out of bed and Rush went downstairs to make coffee, telling me there was a note from the boys that they were off somewhere doing something with Sixx.

We’d taken a quick shower, pulled on clothes, grabbed some travel mugs of coffee and headed over to Paul and Amy’s. And so they could have a modicum of privacy in this emotional moment, he was going to wait for me out in the truck.

It was sweet.

Until Amy opened the door to me, saw Rush in his truck, Hank’s 4Runner pulling up, put things together, and when I told her Rush was my new boyfriend, she insisted he come inside.

I couldn’t talk her out of it.

And with the haunted look in her eyes, I didn’t have it in me to push too hard.

I really needed to learn.

When I ran down to tell Rush, he gave me a hassled look, but as I was sensing was oh so Rush, he got out of the truck and came inside.

Cue quick intros that led into Hank sharing the news.

Bringing us to now.

“Yeah, we actually could leave him in his truck,” Paul retorted.

“I’ll step out,” Rush murmured.

“Oh no you will not,” Amy snapped at him then to Paul, “He’s Rebel’s man. Rebel’s family So he’s family.”

“That’s insane,” Paul bit out.

Considering Rush and I had been seeing each other for less than a week, and they’d never met him, although I was so totally falling in love with him (I mean seriously, how could I not?), it kind of was.

“It is not,” Amy returned. “And further, it can’t be easy for Lieutenant Nightingale to share this with us.”

“He gets paid to do this kind of thing,” Paul shot back.

Oh boy.

Amy’s face got red and she returned, “Yes, on a Sunday morning, away from his family, sharing the delightful news our daughter was involved with a pervert who killed her, I’m sure to do that he gets paid handsomely.”

“Perhaps we should leave you two to—” Hank started.

“Yes,” Amy bit out. “You should. You should go home to your wife and try to forget you know any of this, and if you have any children hold tight to them and enjoy the rest of your Sunday. Thank you for coming. Thank you for not giving up on Diane. I know what you had to share this morning wasn’t easy, but I’m grateful you took the time to do it and I’m also grateful to know this is finally done.”

“It’s not done,” Paul muttered. “It’ll never be done.”

“It seems it won’t,” Amy clipped at him. “Considering, after experiencing my daughter succumbing to drugs, you feel the need to force me to watch my husband succumbing to alcohol.”

“Shit,” Rush said under his breath.

That was when Paul got red in the face.

I really should have pushed it with Amy to let Rush stay out in his truck.

“Now we’re gonna do this in front of two guys I don’t even know?” Paul asked irately.

“Yes, we are, Paul, because I’m a mess. My only child is dead. My husband is slowly killing himself. But none of that negates the fact we have a mortgage to pay and only a part-time income coming in to pay it since you feel the need to be inebriated twenty-four hours a day, like you are right now. So you’re on an unpaid leave of absence that needed to end, oh, I don’t know,” she leaned toward him, “three weeks ago.” She leaned back and tossed out both arms in exasperation. “You’re off, drunk, buying panini makers for goodness sakes! Driving drunk, I might add. This has gotten completely out of hand. The Diane I raised would be ashamed of us.”