No Good Deed (52 page)

“That’s not what I was going to say.”

Jack snorted, and Lucy almost laughed. “I think Sean was going to say he told me so.”

“About?”

“The house. I told him it was too big for us, and he said we both had large families who needed a place to stay when they visited.”

Sean kissed her. “Exactly. You’re all staying here. That’s why I picked the place. For family.”

“You won’t feel crowded?” Jack said.

“No,” Lucy said. “There is nothing I would want more than having my family here, in our home.” She squeezed Sean’s hand and sat down on the couch across from Kane and Jack. “I didn’t realize how good I had it.”

“What the hell are you talking about?” Jack said.

She didn’t feel comfortable talking about this, but she had to. She had to accept the past before she could live in the future. “You. Dillon. Patrick. Everyone else. Mom and Dad. Especially Mom and Dad. I shut you all out. Even you, Jack, when you were training me after what happened…” She still had a hard time talking out loud about her kidnapping and rape. “I didn’t think of you as my brother. My
family
. You were my instructor, my coach, my drill sergeant, but not my brother. And Kane—you saved my life two weeks ago.”

Kane shook his head.

“Yes. Because of you, I put on the Kevlar. I don’t wear it all the time, there isn’t a need, but that day, because of something you said, because you cared, I wore it. I was terrified when Sean went down to Mexico to look for you, but not for a minute did I want him to stay home. Because we—all of us—are here for each other. And I never appreciated it, truly appreciated my family, like I do now.”

Kane looked at Sean. “Blitz told me how you found me.”

“I don’t think either of us is in a fighting mood,” Sean said. “Give me a week or two for my ribs to heal.”

“Thank you.”

Sean smiled. “I knew you’d forgive me.”

“Never do it again.”

“I’m not going to lie to you.”

“What does that mean?”

“It means, I’m not making promises I can’t keep.”

Kane grunted. “We’ll talk later.”

The four of them sat back and relaxed. There was no need to talk, no need to further rehash what had happened this past week. “The pool house is all yours, Kane,” Lucy said with a yawn. “As long as you want it. Jack, both the guest rooms downstairs have their own bathroom, so you and Megan will have privacy when Patrick gets here. And if Dillon and Kate decide to visit, we have two guest rooms upstairs.”

“One is empty,” Sean said. “I’ll order some furniture. And maybe I’ll look into finding an architect to convert the space above the garage into an apartment.”

“I don’t think you two are going to want people here all the time,” Jack said. “You’ll get sick of it.”

“No,” Lucy said. “I don’t think so.”

She hugged her future brother-in-law Kane. There was something in his eyes—something had changed. She wouldn’t say it was a softening, but it was a shift. Affection? Relief? She didn’t know.

“I’m glad you’re here, Kane.”

She hugged Jack. “I can’t wait to see Megan. I never really got to talk to her at Christmas.”

“I’ll call Dillon. Order him and Kate to take a weekend and visit.”

She smiled. “I’d like that.” She took Sean’s hand and helped him up. “Time for bed,” she said. “It’s been a long week.”

October. Five months … and then the Rogans and the Kincaids would be united permanently.

And until then, it looked like they would have a full house.

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

I am always grateful to those who help make my books the best they can be. First and foremost, the amazing people at Minotaur/St. Martin’s Press, from art to marketing to production, but especially my editor, Kelley Ragland. She makes me a better writer. Research is also an important part of my writing process, and I couldn’t do that without the selfless group of experts at Crime Scene Writers, specifically Wally Lind, Lee Lofland, D.P. Lyle, and Robin Burcell. They’ve helped me with the details more times than I can count. Coroner Chris Herndon from Colorado was absolutely critical with some information for this book. If I got the death scene wrong, I’m solely to blame. This time around, I needed help understanding how land records were maintained in Texas, and Hadassah Schloss from the Texas General Land Office was extremely helpful.

Writers are so generous with their time to help other writers, and I owe a huge debt of gratitude to my friend Deborah Coonts who is a pilot and a flight instructor (as well as a lawyer and a writer!). She helped make my rescue scene ten times better than the original. Again—if I made a mistake translating her expertise, blame me.

And always, my family keeps me sane and caffeinated. I love you all.

Read on for an excerpt

from
Allison Brennan
’s next book

POISONOUS

Available in April 2016 in hardcover

from Minotaur Books

Dear Ms. Revere:

My name is Tommy Wallace and I live in Corte Madera, California. Last summer my stepsister, Ivy Lake, was killed and no one knows who did it.

I talked to the detective and she said she can’t talk to me about what happened. She was nice and everything, but told me to talk to my dad. I thought she couldn’t talk to me because I was too young, so when I turned eighteen last week, I went back to the police station and Detective Martin still wouldn’t talk to me about what happened to Ivy.

I am writing to you because you help people. I’ve been watching your show and you find out what happened to people who died. I went to your website and read the article about how you found out what happened to an architect who was killed last year. That was in Atherton, which is not far from me at all! You said you wanted to find out what happened to him because his family deserved to know the truth and have closure. I don’t really understand what closure means, but if it means knowing who hurt Ivy, that’s what I want.

No one is like they were before Ivy died. My dad says that the police don’t know who killed her or why. My stepmother gets mad all the time because the police haven’t arrested anyone. My dad thinks that Ivy’s boyfriend killed her. My sister thinks that Ivy’s best friend killed her. My stepmother thinks that I killed her.

I would never, ever hurt anyone even if they were really mean to me. But now Paula won’t let me come to the house to visit unless my dad is there, and he works so much he isn’t home hardly at all. Austin says she’s scared of me. He called her stupid. (I told him it wasn’t nice to call people stupid. I don’t like being called stupid.) I miss Bella and Austin so much sometimes I cry. (My mom says it’s okay if boys cry sometimes, but my dad says I’m too old to cry.) I don’t know why Paula thinks I would hurt Ivy. She wouldn’t let me come to Bella’s birthday party because my dad was out of town. I don’t want Bella to think I don’t like her anymore. My mom tried to make me feel better by taking me for an ice cream cone. I love ice cream more than any other food. I thought she was mad at me, but when my dad came back from his trip he came over and my mom yelled at him the same way she yelled at him when they were getting the divorce. My dad left and didn’t say good-bye to me. I think he’s mad at me, too.

I want everything to go back to the way it was before Ivy died, but Austin says that can’t happen. He told me the only thing that will fix everything is if the police find out who really killed Ivy, and then Paula will know I didn’t do it. But the police don’t seem to be trying anymore. My dad says that we pay their salaries and they should be working harder. I don’t have a job so I don’t pay their salaries, is that why Detective Martin won’t talk to me?

I don’t want anyone to think I hurt Ivy. I don’t want Austin to get in trouble for coming to see me when he’s not supposed to. I want to go to Bella’s birthday party in April when she turns six and give her a present. If you can just tell my stepmother I didn’t do anything wrong, she’ll have to believe you.

Thank you for reading my letter.

Sincerely, Tommy

Thomas Andrew Wallace

CHAPTER ONE

Monday

Maxine Revere and her right hand everything, David Kane, flew into SFO on Labor Day. Max didn’t like traveling on holidays, but she didn’t have much of a choice with her hectic schedule. They took a shuttle to the car rental lot and David handled the paperwork while Max scanned her email for anything she needed to address immediately. A dozen messages down the inbox was an email from her lover, Detective Nick Santini.

I know you’re angry that I cancelled our plans this weekend. I’ll find time later this week to come up for a day. Let me know when you land.

Max didn’t know why she was still so irritated at Nick. She’d planned on flying in a few days before her scheduled meeting with the detective in charge of the Ivy Lake homicide—thus avoiding flying on a holiday. But Nick called her Thursday night and cancelled. He said he had to swap shifts at the last minute. Something about his excuse didn’t ring true, so she pressed him for the reason. Maybe what bothered Max the most was that she had to push him before he told her the truth. His ex-wife was fighting for sole custody of their son and he had a critical meeting with his lawyer. Max hadn’t met Nancy Santini, but she doubted she’d like the woman who was attempting to prevent a good father like Nick from spending time with his own child. She was manipulative and vindictive, and why Nick couldn’t see it, Max didn’t know.

She dropped her smartphone into her purse without actually responding to Nick’s message. What could she say? That she understood? She didn’t, and she wasn’t going to lie to Nick about how she felt. He didn’t want her opinion on the matter, and she certainly wasn’t going to tell him she would be waiting with intense anticipation for his unconfirmed arrival. If he drove the hour to Sausalito to see her, great. If not … well, she really didn’t have much say in what he did or didn’t do. He’d made that perfectly clear when she started asking questions about his custody battle.

David approached her, rental keys in hand. “Whose head did you bite off?”

She looked at David and raised an eyebrow. When she wore heels, she and David were eye-to-eye. “Excuse me?”

“When you’re mad at someone, your eyes narrow and the lines in your forehead crease.”

“You’re telling me I have wrinkles. Terrific.”

“It’s Nick.”

“If you know, why did you ask?”

David led the way to the rental car without responding. It was a rhetorical question, but Max wished David wouldn’t act as if she were on the verge of dumping Nick. She was the first to admit she didn’t do long-term—or long-distance—relationships well.

Nick was different. She wasn’t being a romantic to think so; she wasn’t a romantic at heart. Yet when he’d cancelled their weekend plans, her gut had twisted uncomfortably. She didn’t want it to be over so soon.

David popped the trunk of the luxury sedan and maneuvered his lone suitcase into the trunk alongside Max’s two large bags. Her laptop and overnight bag went into the backseat. She sat in the passenger seat and slid the seat back for comfort. After five and a half hours on a plane, she wanted to stretch her long legs.

She could travel light if she had to, but she didn’t know how long she’d be investigating this case. She’d told Ben she wanted ten days for the Ivy Lake investigation. He scowled at her—it was the only word that fit his irritated-with-Maxine expression. Then she told Laura, his admin, not to schedule anything for two weeks. She’d almost skipped town before Ben found out she’d blocked off so much time, but he’d called her on the way to the airport and whined at her. She’d already recorded the October show—early, she reminded him—it wasn’t like she had to rush back. If she needed to do any re-takes, they had a sister studio in San Francisco.

“You took a week off in Lake Tahoe, and now an investigation that shouldn’t take more than a few days you’re taking two weeks?”

“Good-bye, Ben.” She’d hung up on him. She wasn’t going to explain herself. She knew what needed to be done to keep her show running smoothly, and she’d do it.

David pulled out of the parking space and merged into the dense traffic that would take them through San Francisco and across the Golden Gate Bridge. Max stared out the window. She liked San Francisco, but didn’t have the love affair with it like she did New York City. She’d never once considered living here, though she grew up only forty minutes south of the city. She couldn’t put her finger on why—maybe it was simply that San Francisco was too close to her family.

“Why does he let her get away with it?” Max asked after several minutes of silence.

“What are you talking about?”

“Nick’s ex. The games she’s playing.”

“He’s not letting her get away with anything,” David said. “There’s a process.”

“She’s trying to deny Nick the right to see his own son.”

“No,” David corrected, “she’s seeking full custody so she can leave the state without violating the joint custody agreement.”

“Why do you know more about this than I do?” She had mixed feelings about David’s relationship with Nick. While it made her life easier that her closest friend actually liked the man she was sleeping with, she didn’t particularly appreciate that Nick and David had conversations that she wasn’t privy to. Lately, Nick had been talking to David more than her.

“This is an area I have more experience in than you,” David said.

“Maybe I should have been a judge,” she said.

David’s spontaneous laughter didn’t improve her mood.

“I would make a good judge,” she added defensively. “I’m exceptionally good at weeding through fact and fiction.”

“Perhaps in criminal court,” he said and cleared his throat. “Not so in family court.”

“I’d certainly put a stop to her blatant manipulation tactics. She’s changed her mind three times about where she and her boyfriend are moving. And who is this boyfriend, anyway? First they’re getting married, then they aren’t, but are planning on moving in together? With Tyler in the house? How can Nick put up with it? Doesn’t he have a say in who his minor son shares a house with? This whole situation stinks, and it’s not going to end well for anyone.”