In Seconds

thing.”

“So it was your uncle who killed your stepfather.”

“That’s right.”

“With what?”

“My stepfather’s own gun, if you can believe it. He kept it in the house for protection.” She laughed at the irony that seemed to pervade her whole life. “The police knew that much when they arrested Virgil. The gun was on the floor near his body. Whoever shot Martin fired the weapon, dropped it and ran.”

“Not the smartest killer in the world.”

“Definitely an amateur but he did wear gloves. There were no fingerprints on the gun. And thanks to my mother, he nearly got away with murder.”

Myles took out another plate. “Wouldn’t your mother be the one to get the insurance money? How come the uncle was named beneficiary?”

Vivian thought about the autopsy the M.E. had likely performed on her mother today, or would perform in the near future, depending on how many bodies awaited his attention—and in L.A. that could be quite a few. What had the police discovered? Did they realize it was a gang hit? Did they have any hope of tracking down Ink without her help?

She doubted they’d be able to. Now that The Crew had found her despite her efforts to remain hidden, she could call the LAPD and offer what she knew. She planned to do it in the morning. She still wasn’t sure she’d be able to attend the funeral, though.

“Vivian? The insurance?”

“Oh, yes. My mother split the money with him. Uncle Gary claims she put him up to the murder in the first place. She claims—claimed—she was just trying to help him out of a financial mess, since he’d lost his job.”

His hand froze over the pan as if he was wondering whether or not to broach the subject of her mother’s murder; she was glad when he kept their conversation to the story. “What kind of job did your uncle lose?”

“He was a service manager at a Toyota dealership. With the state of the economy, other dealerships weren’t hiring, and he was struggling to find a way to support his family.”

Myles whistled as he slid the second omelet from the pan. “I see. Your mother was behind it all and yet she let your brother go to prison.”

Vivian rubbed her face. “Sick, isn’t it? I couldn’t stay with her after that.”

“But…now she’s gone.”

Vivian didn’t answer.

“Are you okay with that?”

She wasn’t okay with any of it. “I don’t want to talk about how I feel. It’s too complicated.”

“I understand.” He bent to see the gas flame beneath his pan as he lowered the heat. “So where’d you go when you left home so young?”

“I tried living with a friend. But her parents were about to divorce, and I was so worried about making things more difficult for them that I rented a room from a stranger, dropped out of school and went to work.”

He buttered the toast. “Did you ever go back? To school, I mean?”

“Never had the opportunity. I met Tom, got married and had Jake. And Tom hardly let me out of the house. I think he was afraid I’d meet someone my own age, and he’d lose me.”

“How much older was he?”

“Twenty years.”

Probably thinking of his own daughter, already in her teens, he shook his head. “Two decades is a big difference, especially when you’re only eighteen.”

“I’m lucky I got away from him when I did.”

“How long were you together?”

“Six years.”

He pulled a carton of milk out of the fridge. “When did he cut his initials in your arm?”

“After the first time I tried to leave him. He got drunk and showed me what would happen if I ever tried that again.” He’d done a lot more than cut his initials into her arm. He’d also tied her up for eight hours. She’d never forget how badly her hands and feet had hurt once she got her circulation going again.

“Did he drink often?”

“Toward the end, all the time.”

He’d finished the second omelet. After turning off the stove, he carried both plates to the table. “What did Tom do for a living?”

“He was a stockbroker. He was educated, established, successful.”

Myles set the plates on the table. “And he was determined to keep you. How’d you ever get away from him?”

She laughed ruefully. “It was like trying to escape The Crew. After he went to work one day, I packed up the kids and left the state.”

He crossed the kitchen and returned with two forks. “Did your mother help you with finances or anything?”

“No. We weren’t speaking. When she got the insurance money and split it with her brother instead of putting some toward Virgil’s appeal, it upset me so much. I couldn’t believe she’d do that. My brother was the one person I loved, the one person I felt I could trust, and she’d taken him away from me.”

“Did she understand what you were going through with your husband?”

“Not really. I tried to talk to her, but she’d always gloss over it by telling me some men were more possessive than others. She said at least I had one who earned a decent living and wanted to be a good father. Bottom line, she didn’t care, didn’t want me to become her problem. That wouldn’t have gone over very well with Terry, her latest boyfriend, who didn’t want anything to do with me or Virgil.”

He must’ve realized he’d left the milk on the counter because he got up and poured them each a glass. “She sounds very childish and selfish.”

“She was.” As much as Vivian wanted to remember her in a more positive light, she had to be honest enough to admit that.

“So what happened? How’d you get by?” He nodded for her to start eating while they talked, and she did her best to take a few bites.

“There was a woman by the name of Kate Shumley who ran a woman’s shelter in Tucson, Arizona. I’d driven there, hoping to eventually make my way to Colorado, where they’d moved Virgil, but couldn’t go any farther. I had no more money for gas, no money to feed my kids. I’d hoped to get a job, had looked in every major city we passed through, but no one would hire me because I didn’t have a permanent address. So I managed to find this shelter, and Kate took me in. With a state grant, she eventually paid for me to relocate to Colorado, where I’d wanted to go in the first place.”

He added some Tabasco sauce to his omelet. “That was nice of her.”

“A man had called the shelter, looking for me. She guessed it was a P.I., someone Tom had hired, and was afraid he’d figured out where I’d gone.” She found she was enjoying the omelet; it tasted much better than she’d expected.

“How did Colorado work out?”

“Just being close to my brother helped. Especially because I’d been in touch with an organization called Innocent America, based in L.A., which was working to free him. The state had no forensic evidence. A jury had convicted Virgil on circumstantial evidence alone. Still, I didn’t have high hopes that we’d be able to get him out, but they were trying, searching for evidence to prove it was—or could have been—someone else. Then my aunt came forward, and they had what they needed.” She took a drink of her milk. “I thought the worst was over, that Virgil and I would finally get to build new lives.”

“But your brother had joined a prison gang and they weren’t willing to let him go.”

“That makes him sound rebellious or irresponsible,” she said with a grimace. “Or even stupid. But he didn’t have any choice. He wouldn’t have survived prison if he hadn’t joined one gang or another. He was getting into a fight almost every day.”

“There’s always a price to be paid for safety.”