security fob, she unlocked the thing using the actual key, and it took forever for the fucking thing to start.
He didn't like that Camry of hers. Way too unreliable.
And while he was at it, he didn't like how she'd avoided his eyes just now.
When her car finally decided to get with the program, she took off and he rode her bumper out of downtown and into another section of suburban houses. He knew immediately which one was hers: the little Cape Cod with the bars over every window, even those on the second floor. The car parked parallel to the curb right in front was no doubt the babysitter's.
Vin waited at the foot of the driveway while the garage door went up and she drove inside. As the panels trundled shut, he hoped he would catch another glimpse of her, but she stayed in the car.
Which was no doubt safer, and therefore a very good thing.
He waited some more.
And then there she was at the window in the kitchen, lifting her hand in a wave. Returning the good-bye, he waved and put his hand over the horn to give a little beep…but then stopped, figuring she wouldn't appreciate any attention being drawn to her.
He headed off with a frown cranking his eyebrows together, her situation chillingly obvious. She was still running from that ex-husband of hers…running not just scared, but terrified, and expecting at some point to be found. For God's sake, she wasn't even chancing it by opening her car door until she was locked in the garage.
His first thought was that he wanted to build her a fortress and arm the fucking place with a platoon of soldiers like Jim.
His next was of the way she'd answered his question before she'd left his car:
She was going to bolt. Whether or not those two deaths last night had anything to do with her, she was going to pull a runner. And the idea of never seeing her again, of not knowing what happened to her, of not doing anything to help, panicked the shit out of him.
About fifteen minutes later, he pulled into the Commodore's garage and parked next to his black Range Rover. For some reason, as he got into the elevator, echoes of the nightmare he'd had about Devina came back and he heard that voice again:
On the twenty-eighth floor, he stepped out into the corridor—
Vin stopped. The door to his duplex was open and voices were coming out of his place. A number of them.
It was hard to believe Devina had gotten movers to come over this late—it was past midnight, for fuck's sake. So what the hell was going on?
Striding over, ready to give whoever was in his digs a hard time and then some, Vin burst inside with all proverbial guns blazing.
Cops.
There were four cops standing in his front hall, and they all looked over at him at the same time. Holy shit, it had finally happened. All those bribes to city officials, all the misrepresentations, all the tax evasions…it had finally caught up with him.
“Can I help you, Officers?” he said, going total poker face.
“He's here,” one of them called out.
As he wondered how many were in his study, his eyes shifted to the living room—
With a whispered curse, he took halting steps forward and gripped the carved jamb of the archway. The place looked like it had been hit with gale-force winds, furniture tipped out of place, paintings hanging cockeyed, liquor bottles smashed.
“Where's Devina?” he asked.
“In the hospital,” someone answered.
“She's
“Hospital.”
He turned to the cop who had spoken. The guy was built like a bulldog, and with the hard expression he had on his face, he looked like one, too.
“Is she okay? What happened?” Vin eyed the handcuffs that were being undipped from the man's belt. “What do you need those for?”
“You're under arrest for assault and battery. Please show me your hands.”
“Excuse me?”
“You are under arrest for assault and battery.” The cop didn't wait for compliance, but grabbed Vin's right wrist and slapped the cuff over it. A quick wrench and Vin was locked in. “You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law. You have the right to have an attorney present during questioning. If you cannot afford an attorney”—now the guy's voice grew wry—“one will be appointed to you. Do you understand these rights as I've stated them?”
“I haven't been here since this afternoon! And the last time I saw Devina, she was leaving—”
“Do you understand your rights?”
“I didn't do any of this!”
“Do you understand your rights?”
Vin hadn't been arrested for years, but it was like riding a fucking bicycle; it all came back to him. Except for one salient part—back then, he'd known precisely why he was being taken into custody because he'd actually commited the crime.
“Answer me something,” he demanded as he wheeled around to confront the badge. “Why do you think I hurt her?”
“Because she said you did, and going by the busted knuckles on your right hand, I'd say you were in an altercation very recently.”
Devina…had lied. Big time. “I didn't hit her. Ever. I had no reason to.”
“Oh, really? You mean when she told you she'd been with your buddy, that didn't tick you off? Hard to believe.”
“Let's get you booked. And then you can call your lawyer.” The cop glanced around the ruined living room— which still managed to look expensive, even as trashed as it was. “Something tells me you won't be needing a public defender.”
Chapter 25
Jim woke up on Sunday lying on his side, with Dog tucked into his chest, and the television on mute in the background.
The on-the-side part and the soundless TV were standard operating procedure. Dog, however, was a nice addition: Warm, friendly, and he smelled like summer air for some reason. The only time it got a little disorientating was when Dog dreamed, his paws twitching, his jaw working, muffled growls or woofs coming every once in a while.
You had to wonder what he dreamed about. Clearly, there was running involved, given all that footwork, but hopefully it was because he was doing the chasing.
Jim arched his neck and checked out what was on the television. The local news was featuring that almost beautiful but very blond newscaster, who evidently covered weekend mornings. As she ran through her reports, images appeared to the left of her head and taped footage replaced her every now and again. School board vote. Pothole problem. At-risk youth program.
And then a familiar picture flashed: Vin's face.
Jim shot up, grabbed the remote, and hit the volume…and could not believe what he heard: Vin arrested for beating his girlfriend. Bail to be set shortly. Devina in the hospital for overnight observation.
“And in other news,” the anchorwoman continued, “there has been a second brutal attack downtown. Robert
