Deception (18 page)

He glanced at the display before answering. “Whaddya got, Sarge?”

“You know that homeless guy, Hank, who’s been haunting Main Street?”

Dylan eased out a breath. Nothing to do with Mia or Kayla. “Yeah?”

“He’s dead, Chief.”

Dylan’s stomach flipped at Gary’s tone. “What is it? What happened?”

“The officers on patrol found Hank dead on a park bench. Looked like he’d been eating some leftovers from the Dumpsters.”

“Go on.” A sour knot formed in Dylan’s gut.

“He had a plastic bag near him…a plastic bag with cookie crumbs in it.”

Chapter Thirteen

This couldn’t be good, not the way Dylan’s jaw tightened and his hand clenched the steering wheel.

“Did the officers take it in for evidence?”

He mumbled a few more words into the phone and ended the call, dropping the phone in his cup holder.

“Everything okay? Sounds like someone died.”

“Someone did die—a homeless guy named Hank.”

“Sorry to hear that. I think I may have seen him on Main Street.”

Turning toward her, Dylan put his hand on her knee. “Mia, Hank died after eating Kayla’s cookies.”

Her heart slammed against her rib cage and she caught her breath. “What are you talking about?”

“Hank would pick through the trash cans up and down Main Street for food. Seems he found Kayla’s discarded cookies and ate them. My guys found a plastic bag with cookie crumbs in it near Hank’s body.”

“I-if the cookies killed Hank, they’re going to kill Kayla, too.” She clenched her teeth to keep them from chattering.

“Not necessarily. Kayla is young and strong. Hank was an old drunk with a lousy immune system.”

“It would’ve been better if Kayla had never discovered her St. Regis roots.” Her nose tingled and she pressed the back of her hand against the tip.

“Look, this is bad news for Hank, but maybe we can get some prints from the bag, or the lab can analyze the cookie crumbs to help the doctors treat Kayla. She’s going to be okay.”

“When are you going to talk to the Vegas?”

Dylan started his truck and maneuvered out of the hospital parking lot. “Tomorrow.”

By the time Dylan got to his place, which was really his parents’ old house, Mia’s eyelids were drifting shut. Two days ago, the thought of spending the night with Dylan at his place would’ve filled her with giddy anticipation. Now she could barely drag her feet up the front steps.

“You’re exhausted.” He peeled the sweatshirt from her shoulders and took her hand. “I’m putting you to bed.”

She mustered a small smile. “Ten hours ago, that had a whole other meaning.”

He rolled his eyes and chucked her beneath the chin. “That was three hours ago, and it can have any meaning you like.”

She yawned, and he swept her up in his arms. She tucked her head against his neck as he carried her into his bedroom.

He settled her on the bed. When he started pulling off her shoes, she struggled to sit up. It wasn’t supposed to be this way. She’d wanted to prove to him that she could stand on her own.

He yanked back the covers. “Crawl in here. I’ve got your back.”

“I want to be here for you this time. You’re always the one giving.”

“You’ve given me more than you know. Let me do this for you.”

She peeled off her pants and shoved them off the bed with her legs. “What have I given you?”

“Your confidence.”

“You’ve always had that, Dylan Reese.”

“But now I need it. You don’t know how much I need it.”

* * *

T
HE FOLLOWING MORNING
, Mia sat up in Dylan’s bed, rubbing her eyes. She’d fallen asleep in Dylan’s arms, and he’d held her all night long. Even with her world falling apart around her, she’d never felt so safe. Dylan had that effect on her.

The clinking, clanking and smells from outside the bedroom meant Dylan was still playing caretaker. He seemed to need to fulfill that role right now, and she was too tired to challenge him for it.

She felt for her cell phone on the bedside table, and held it close to her face to view any missed calls or messages.

Dylan had left his home number with the hospital in case Kayla’s doctor called, but unless Mia had slept more soundly than she thought, no call had come through.

She did have a few voice mail messages, and she listened to them with a pounding heart and pent-up breath. Again, nothing from the hospital, but a few frantic calls from Charlie this morning. He’d heard about Kayla.

If the guy was acting, he deserved an award. He sounded genuinely distraught. Peter’s sister had left a message, too. She sounded much less distraught, and she seemed to want to make sure Mia didn’t have plans to make any claims to Peter’s business or his photographs.

Mia would have to assure her that she and Peter had signed a prenup, which cut Mia out of any rights to Peter’s photographs. And
she
had every intention of abiding by the prenup, even though Peter had tried to render it null and void.

Dylan pushed open the bedroom door and poked his head into the room. “Do you feel like some breakfast?”

“Yeah, thanks.” She held up her phone. “Nothing from the hospital.”

“I called this morning. Kayla’s holding her own. She hasn’t regained consciousness yet, but all other signs are good.”

“And Hank?”

“The coroner will wait for the autopsy, but it looks like poisoning.”

Mia drew her knees to her chest and wrapped her arms around her legs. “If Kayla had eaten all those cookies, she’d be dead right now.”

“But she didn’t, and she’s not.”

“Are you going to interview Charlie and Tina this morning? He left about a million voice mails for me. Sounded very concerned.”

Dylan crossed one index finger over the other and held them in front of him. “You are not going with me. This is official police business.”

“Don’t worry. I have my own business today, besides going to the hospital and checking up on Kayla.”

“You’re going to look into what it would take to turn Columbella into a hotel? I mean, since you’ve looked at renovation already.”

“Nope. I’ve made my decision.”

“Without vetting the hotel idea? Linda must’ve given you the hard sale on the renovation plans.”

“I’m not renovating.” Mia shoved off the covers and hugged Dylan’s T-shirt around her body.

Dylan shook his head. “You’re going with the hotel without even looking into it?”

“I’m not turning it into a hotel either.”

Crossing his arms, Dylan raised one brow. “No renovation. No hotel. What do you plan to do with Columbella House?”

Mia opened her arms, taking a deep breath. “I’m tearing down the whole thing.”

Dylan’s brow rose even higher. “You’re tearing down the entire house? What are you going to do with the property?”

“I’m sending it back to nature, Dylan.” As she uttered the words aloud for the first time, she felt a measure of peace. “I’m going to leave the land there for people to enjoy. Maybe turn it into a park.”

“You
have
changed.”

“I’d been thinking along those lines for a few days now. What happened to Kayla last night sealed the deal.” She shook her hair from her face. “That house has caused too much trouble over the years.”

“Now you sound like Kylie Grant. It’s a house, Mia. It’s the people who have caused the trouble.”

“Maybe, but the people have left their mark on the house. It’s not a happy place. Can’t you feel it? Even my grandparents couldn’t live there in the end.”

He took two steps into the room and pulled her into his arms. “You do whatever you want with the house, and maybe you’ll feel like coming home once in a while to visit your park.”

She smooshed her tingling nose against his chest. She didn’t want to think about leaving Coral Cove right now. Didn’t want to think about leaving Dylan and coming home for a visit once or twice a year.

“Now that I’ve come to a decision about the house, I want to concentrate on finding Marissa. She has a daughter to meet. Can you help me with that, Dylan?”

At least if she had him working on her sister’s case, she’d have an excuse to call him every week…every day.

He combed his fingers through her bed-head hair. “I’ll help you. I still have those postcards. I’ll give Matt a call and then start there.”

She blinked and looked up into his face. He’d always been there for her and always would be. “I knew I could count on you.”

“Always.” He tugged at the hem of his T-shirt that she’d worn to bed last night. “Eat some breakfast before you go to the hospital. I’ll touch base with you this afternoon about the Vegas.”

Her arms encircled his waist. “You’re not getting off that easy.”

He ran his hands beneath the T-shirt and caressed her back. “Do you mean you want to have your way with me again between the sheets?”

She choked and tried to pinch at some nonexistent love handles. “That is
not
what I mean.”

“Oh.” His hands stopped their circular movements on the bare skin of her back.

“Before Kayla’s friend called me last night, you were about to tell me about this.” She zigzagged a fingertip along his tattoo.

“Relentless.” He dropped to the bed, pulling her onto his lap.

“It’s a part of you, Dylan. A piece of the puzzle. A key to how and why you changed.”

He creased the edge of the pillowcase several times before he started talking. “You noticed the same tattoo on Rocco Vick, the man who accosted you at the Sea View.”

“Yes.”

“And I told you Rocco was a member of the Fifteenth Street Lords.”

“Uh-huh.” She held her breath, hoping for more, afraid to move in case it broke the spell.”

“And I told you I was a member of the gang, too.”

Her breath rushed from her lungs. “You told me you were undercover.”

“Undercover and embedded. I
was
a member of the Lords.”

A little tremble rolled through her body. He must have been in danger every minute of his life. “Th-that must’ve been nerve-wracking.”

“Something like that.”

“The experience of being in a gang changed you? You got your fill of big city police work then?” She bit her bottom lip. Did she really want to know what he’d endured as a member of that motorcycle gang? Had he done anything to prove himself?

“It was more than that, Mia.”

The folds of the pillowcase grew more intricate, and the hand that had been supporting her back slipped to the bed.

He cleared his throat. “I was responsible for a woman’s death.”

She closed her hand around his agitated fingers. She wanted to dismiss his claim. He was the kind of man who would take responsibility even when the blame lay elsewhere. But an easy dismissal of his inner torment wouldn’t go far.

She needed to allow him to work through his pain, find expiation, just like she planned to do with her sister.

“What happened?” She slid from his lap and huddled in close to him on the bed, still keeping possession of his hand.

“I’d gotten close to a woman, a girl, in the gang.”

Swallowing, she tightened her grip on his hand. She’d have to be strong to get through this.

He jerked his head. “It wasn’t like that. Melody really was just a girl, and she had a scumbag boyfriend in the Lords.”

“Rocco Vick.”

“Exactly.” He shifted on the mattress and she sank against his arm. “Melody wanted out. The drinking and the drugging made her sick, the violence sicker. I got a read on Melody and I approached her.”

“She helped you?”

“I didn’t ask her to. I offered her a way out. She was grateful and volunteered to feed me information.” He clutched the hair at the nape of his neck. “I should’ve refused.”

“But she wasn’t a little girl, Dylan, and she wanted to help.”

“My superiors encouraged me to pump her for information, to send her into dangerous situations.”

“You couldn’t refuse.”

“They threatened to pull me out, and all those years I’d sacrificed to the job, the years I had to pull away from Devon and her son, they all would’ve been wasted.”

She sealed her lips. Dylan didn’t need to hear platitudes right now.

“So I followed orders. My intel was leading to some good busts, and the Lords started looking over their shoulders.” Closing his eyes, he tipped his head back. “Then it all came crashing down.”

“Someone blew your cover?”

“Melody blew my cover.”

“She turned on you?”

His head snapped back to attention. “She had to. They caught her and…and forced the information out of her. I never blamed Melody.”

“What happened to her?” Mia reached for a glass of water on the nightstand and knocked it over.

Neither of them made a move to rescue it and watched the water dribble down the nightstand and soak the carpet.

“The Lords murdered her.”

“That man, Rocco?”

“No. I don’t think he would’ve had anything to do with it, but he blamed me for Melody’s death.”

“He should be blaming his buddies in the gang.” She leaned her cheek against his arm and hung her arm around his broad shoulders, stiff and tense. “Once your cover was blown, did they come after you?”

“They tried, but by that time, I knew about Melody. Then it was all over.” Hunching his shoulders, he braced his hands on his knees. “My department pulled me out. Sent me to the department psychiatrist.”

“Did it help?”

He snorted. “No.”

“Did you even give it a try, Dylan? It might have helped.” She couldn’t see Dylan Reese pouring out his fears and insecurities to a shrink, but other cops did it.

“The only thing that helped was coming back to Coral Cove. These people have faith and confidence in me.”

She nuzzled his ear and whispered, “I have faith and confidence in you, too.”

“Still?”

“Is that why you were hesitant to tell me about the tattoo and Melody? Did you really believe your experience would make me think any less of you?”

“It should. I caved to the brass and got a woman killed.”

“You were doing your job, and as sweet and helpful as Melody may have seemed to you, she’d hooked up with a man like Rocco Vick and willingly stepped onto the dark side.” She shook his arm. “Not every woman is a blameless damsel in distress waiting for your charge to the rescue.”