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‘I don’t know. He’s never told me. I never asked.’ He straightened, kissed the top of her head. ‘Let’s go, or he’ll get to the shelter before we do. He doesn’t live far.’ He pulled a battered old laptop from a lower desk drawer and slid it into his computer bag.
‘What’s with the old-style laptop?’ she asked.
‘It has no internet card. Has no WiFi or even Ethernet cable capability. I use it when I either don’t want any chance of someone hacking into my system or when I’m unsure of the file source. I don’t want to corrupt the entire Ledger server if I open a contaminated file.’
‘Diesel taught you that?’
‘I knew it myself. I’m moderately skilled with systems, but Diesel is an artist.’ He shouldered the bag, then came back to her for a kiss that took her breath away. ‘For courage,’ he murmured.
‘Mine or yours?’
‘Ours.’
Thirty-two
Cinci
Wednesday 5 August, 4.30 P.M.
‘I haven’t been to the Meadow in years,’ Marcus murmured from the passenger seat of Scarlett’s department car, his gaze fixed on the roofline as they approached the shelter. This time of day, he might catch a glint of sunlight off the barrel of a rifle, giving them a split-second warning. Sometimes a split second was all a person needed.
Scarlett’s gaze was fixed ahead as she drove, searching every shadow and suspicious movement in the ground-floor windows. ‘You’ve been to the shelter?’ she asked, and he knew he’d surprised her.
The Lorelle E. Meadows shelter had been around for as long as Marcus could remember. Located in the part of the neighborhood that had not yet been gentrified, it was sandwiched between two buildings with windows that had been boarded up even when he was a kid.
‘Many times. Jeremy would bring Stone and me down here on Saturdays to help in the soup kitchen while he worked the clinic. I was twelve or so, Stone ten when we started. We were regular volunteers for years. Of course we were the only volunteers with our own bodyguards,’ he added wryly. ‘Mom insisted.’
‘I understand why.’
‘So did Jeremy. He’d bring Sammy with us.’
‘Sammy was Jeremy’s first partner, right? Stone mentioned him to Deacon and me when we were interviewing him last November. He said that Sammy died in the car wreck that burned Jeremy’s hands. And that later Jeremy married Keith, that they’d been friends since high school.’
Marcus nodded, pleased that she’d remembered his family’s history, odd as it was. ‘Yeah. We didn’t know that Sammy and Jeremy were lovers at the time. We just thought they were friends. And that Jeremy trusted him to keep us safe.’ His lips curved sadly. ‘I don’t think Jeremy’s been down here since Sammy died. He was so lost, he kind of drifted for a while.’
‘That’s when Mikhail was conceived?’
‘Yeah. That Jeremy was Mikhail’s biological father was something only Mom knew until last fall, when Mikhail found out the truth. Even Jeremy hadn’t known.’ Even though he’d understood her reasons, her actions had made Marcus want to shake his mother for not allowing Jeremy to know his son. And Mikhail to know his father. It was damn sad. His mother had kept it secret because she was afraid of Keith, afraid he would take it out on Mikhail if he found out that Jeremy had . . . taken comfort from her while grieving Sammy.
Too damn sad. ‘I often wonder how things would have been different if Jeremy had been allowed to be Mikhail’s father from day one. I mean, he always treated him like he treated us when he came to visit – like his own son. Ironic, because Mick was the only one of us brothers who really was his.’
‘What do you mean? How things would have been different?’
‘Jeremy did things with us every day. He was our dad. He made sure we ate our veggies and did our homework and never, ever forgot that having wealth was a privilege. He made sure we knew what it meant to give back to the community. Mikhail didn’t get that. I got out of the army when he was twelve and couldn’t believe what a brat he’d become. A spoiled brat. So I did with him what Jeremy had done with us.’
Her voice softened. ‘You became his father figure. I didn’t realize you were so close.’
Marcus nodded, his throat growing thick. ‘The last five years, yes. I made him deliver papers for the Ledger and made sure he had a curfew, even though he had a bodyguard. I played ball with him and checked his homework. And when Diesel was building affordable housing, I put Mickey’s rich ass to work. He whined at first, but he really enjoyed it.’ His lips curved on a good memory. ‘Especially when he started to see muscle tone, because “the chicks” dug it.’ He drew a breath and let it out, the good memory fleeting, a painful one taking its place. ‘Mom was smothering him to death with bodyguards. He never got a second to himself. He was like a pacing cat in the zoo. I was the one who convinced Mom to give him some freedom, to get him a car when he turned sixteen.’ He closed his eyes, made his mouth utter the words. ‘When he ran away, I felt responsible. He picked up his friend and drove to the cabin, then gave his friend the car keys and told him to come back in a week and get him.’
‘You know you weren’t responsible, Marcus. The monster that shot him was.’
‘I knew Mom was scared for him, every day. But I didn’t want Mickey growing up scared of shadows, like me and Stone. Too scared to sleep with the light off.’ He met her eyes, no smile on his face or in his heart. ‘Don’t you tell anyone I said that. We both got over it.’
‘Your secrets are safe with me,’ was all she said, and his heart cracked in two.
‘I know.’ He shrugged, forced lightness into his tone. ‘It’s just . . . not very manly to be afraid of the dark.’
She smiled at him. ‘Your manliness has never been in question. Nor is your love for your brother. You wanted him to have an easier life, a better life. You wanted him to be a good man and you showed him how.’ She swallowed hard, her eyes suddenly bright. ‘You’re go
His chest felt like it was going to burst open. ‘Thank you.’
Coming to a stop in front of the shelter, she scrubbed the moisture from her eyes, took a long look around them, then up. ‘Appears clear. Stay low and don’t dawdle.’
‘Yes, ma’am,’ he said obediently.
They made it through the doors with no issue, immediately ru
Scarlett slid it into her jacket pocket. ‘Thank you, Diesel. I appreciate it.’
‘Diesel!’ The delighted cry came from a small boy of about five who was hobbling across the room using crutches. On his leg was a bright green cast.
Diesel looked down in surprise. ‘Emilio?’ He went down on one knee. ‘What are you doing here? What happened to your leg, kid?’
Scarlett looked at Marcus, brows raised in question. ‘Pee Wee Soccer,’ he murmured. ‘Diesel coaches.’ The stu
Emilio gazed up with unadulterated hero worship, because even on one knee, Diesel towered over the boy. ‘My brother’s got the croup. That’s what my grandma said. She took him to see Dr Dani.’
‘I don’t know who he is,’ Diesel said, and the boy giggled.
‘She,’ Emilio said.
‘Dr Dani is Deacon Novak’s sister,’ Scarlett explained. ‘She’s taking care of Tommy and Edna, the two people Marcus and I came to see.’
Diesel’s mouth bent in mild interest. ‘Deacon’s sister? She got white hair like he does?’
‘Only kind of,’ Scarlett said. ‘Think Rogue from X-Men – black hair, white streaks.’
Emilio’s smile turned little-boy sly. ‘She’s real pretty. You should meet her.’