“I don’t care about the picnic basket,” Jack seethed. “Screw the stupid picnic basket. Are you saying you think I was the target?” Jack swallowed, his mouth somehow dryer than it was moments before. “God. Are you saying Ivy was shot because of me?”
Despite his anger, Brian felt pity welling in his chest. The next round of answers would most assuredly be enough to drop his partner to his knees. He wasn’t pulling punches, though.
“I told you there were two ballistics matches,” Brian said. “Don’t you want to know what the second one was?”
Jack waited, his patience wearing thin.
“The third shooting was in Detroit,” Brian replied. “It was a little more than seven months ago.”
Jack’s heart hammered, blood rushing past his ears as he realized what he was about to hear. “No … .”
“Yes,” Brian countered. “The gun used to shoot Mark Dalton is the same gun that someone used to fire at Ivy yesterday. It’s also the same gun your old partner used to plug you in the chest.”
Jack’s heart sank. “I … that’s not possible. Marcus Simmons is dead. He tried to outrun law enforcement when they were closing in on him after my shooting. He ran into a guardrail on the freeway and his car flipped over the edge and exploded.”
“I’m not saying it’s Marcus,” Brian said. “I’m saying it was his gun. What you have to ask yourself is who had ties with Marcus. Someone managed to get his gun, and if I’m not mistaken, they’re going after you for a reason. Why?”
“I don’t know.”
“You don’t seem to know a lot of anything this morning,” Brian said. “Why don’t you think about it for an hour or so and get yourself together. I’ll meet you back at the station in a little bit.”
“What are you going to do?”
“Spend some time away from you,” Brian replied. “You’re not my favorite person right now and I can’t drink to run away from my problems because I have a job to do. You need to take a shower, drink some coffee, and do some thinking.
“I’ll apologize to Ivy.”
“That’s not what I’m talking about,” Brian shot back. “You need to think about who is going after you. You’ve already fouled up Ivy’s life. If I were you I would sear the memory of that picnic into your brain, because it’s probably the last happy memory you’re going to have with her.”
“Don’t say that,” Jack protested.
“Son, I know you’re hurting and part of me feels badly for you,” Brian said. “That doesn’t excuse what you did. You did the one thing you told her you wouldn’t do.”
“What?” Jack already knew the answer. He needed someone else to say it to make his misery complete.
“You broke her heart.”
Seven
“Hey, kid. What do you want for breakfast?”
Ivy fixed Max with a dark look as she shuffled toward the kitchen table shortly before ten. “I’m not hungry.”
“Pancakes it is.”
“I said I wasn’t hungry,” Ivy barked, irritation with Max’s jovial nature and her own hurt warring for supremacy in her muddled mind. “I don’t want to eat.”
“Well, you’re going to eat,” Max countered, refusing to coddle his morose sister. He loved her, but he’d often found tough love to be the best option when she got in a mood … and her current mood looked to be one for the ages. “I’ll make you pancakes and you’ll feel better.”
“Did you ever think maybe I don’t want to feel better, Max?” Ivy challenged. “Did you perhaps think I want to … do whatever I want for a change?”
Max ran his tongue over his teeth as he considered how to answer. “So, do you want blueberries in your pancakes?”
“Ugh!”
“Ivy, I know you’re upset,” Max said, his expression softening. “I know that Jack taking off hurts more than the gunshot wound. I can’t tell you how sorry I am. I’m going to beat him up. Don’t worry about that.”
“Leave him alone, Max,” Ivy said, her voice cracking. “Just … let him go. That’s what I’m going to do.”
Max didn’t believe her. “You’re not letting him go. You’re upset … and you’re angry … and I’m hoping you’re going to turn into one of those real housewives I see on television and beat his car with a baseball bat. You’re not letting anything go right now. That’s written all over your face.”
“Let me be, Max.” Ivy was petulant as she reached down to stroke her black cat behind his ear. Nicodemus slept with her the entire night, not moving as much as a whisker as she cried herself to sleep. He was the only thing she wanted to be around right now.
“I can’t do that, Ivy. You’re my sister and I love you.”
The sound Ivy made was something akin to a wounded animal and Max couldn’t stop himself from going to her. He knew that crying was the last thing she wanted to do, but he also knew that was the one thing she desperately needed to do. He pulled her in for a hug, holding her tightly against his chest as she dissolved into tears.
“I knew this was going to happen,” she sobbed.
“I’m going to beat the piss out of him,” Max promised, rubbing her back. “I’m so sorry.”
IVY couldn’t go to the nursery – mostly because she didn’t want to deal with the hundreds of questions she knew well-meaning customers would flood her with if they caught sight of her – so she opted to work in her own garden after breakfast in lieu of further wallowing.
Max put up a token fight, but when she promised to keep her arm bandaged and not do anything requiring brute strength, he
