Safe from Harm (13 page)

Elle had to swallow back the tears that choked her before she could say, “I doubt they did. No one knows I keep this here. I just wanted to make sure it was still here. And with that photograph being out of place…I just wanted to double-check.”

Charlotte gave her another squeeze. “Well, then, it's probably nothing. I'm guessing someone was in your office while you were out and saw that picture of your mom and dad and how happy they were that day and just had to get a closer look.”

Elle smiled. Thank God for Charlotte. She didn't know what she'd do without her aunt. “I'm just being paranoid.” She placed the book back on the shelf and set her parents' wedding picture where it belonged, her fingertips lingering for a moment on the edge of the frame. “It's hard to believe next week is the anniversary.”

“Why don't we go away next weekend?” Charlotte suggested. “It'd be good for you to get away for a little while. Maybe we can head up to Chicago, do a little shopping. I can ask Tony to run the bar while I'm out of town.”

“Maybe,” Elle hedged. “I'll let you know.”

Charlotte gave her a look that clearly conveyed she knew Elle would decline the offer, but she didn't push. “Okay. Now, let's get outta here. I think we could use some time by the pool, don't you?”

The thought of lounging by her aunt's backyard pool sounded divine. “Add in a couple of mimosas and I'm in.”

* * *

Gabe's leg was hurting like a motherfucker. He'd been pacing for who knew how long, waiting to hear back from Tom about their chat with Jeb Monroe. He was torn between calling Joe and demanding he drive Gabe to the department in spite of their father's very clear instructions to keep the hell out of it, and the desire to call Elle back to see if she might be up for dinner again.

Unfortunately, he had a pretty good idea what the response would be in either case. But he couldn't continue to sit on his ass. It was driving him up a fucking wall. Finally, frustrated to the point of fury, he returned to his office and powered up his laptop.

He went back through the information Kyle had passed along and the different blog and social media posts he'd already read more times than he could count, trying to come up with anything incriminating he might've missed on a previous pass. But he came up with a big fat fucking nothing.

Then he turned his attention to the photos, trying to put names and faces together. In addition to Monroe's children, Jeb's brothers were also a concern. David Monroe, Jeb's younger brother, wasn't quite as vocal a critic of the government and law enforcement as his brother was, but was more active in other groups that were already on various watch lists.

Then there was Jeb's youngest brother, James Monroe. He already knew that bastard well from their various encounters over the years, long before Jeb Monroe's bullshit vendetta against the Dawsons kicked up. He'd been out to James's house for too many domestic calls to count. Fortunately, James wasn't the brightest of the Monroe brothers and, aside from being an abusive asshole, usually just followed his other brothers' orders, from what Gabe could tell.

Yet at the moment, there was nothing Gabe could pin on any of them.

Gabe pulled his hand down his face to keep from putting his fist through his screen. “God
damn
it!”

His phone rang, and he snatched it up immediately. “What do you have?”

He heard his brother sigh and knew the answer was just going to piss him off before Tom even said, “Jack shit. Jeb did his usual song-and-dance number. We even brought in his son Jeremy and daughter, Sandra.”

“Jeremy's the one who's been following Elle,” Gabe told him. “She pointed him out from the photos Kyle gave us from the FBI surveillance.”

“Yeah, well, he's just as good at being evasive as his father,” Tom said.

“Of course he is,” Gabe scoffed. “He's brainwashed those kids for years.”

“I don't know,” Tom drawled. “Sandra might not be buying into everything her dad has to say. I got the impression she was more afraid than loyal.”

“What about Billy Monroe?” Gabe suggested. “Think we can try to get him to talk now that Derrick's trial is over?”

“Doubt the Monroes are sharing much with Billy these days,” Tom said. “Jeb no doubt saw Billy's initial cooperation on Chris's murder as the ultimate betrayal. Even though Billy ended up reneging on testifying, he still gave us enough to cut a deal for himself.”

“Let's make a trip over to Michigan City and have a chat,” Gabe insisted.

“Can't,” Tom informed him. “Billy got out last week. He's living on State Street in Nelliston.”

Gabe grunted. “Nice neighborhood. He'll fit right in.”

“No shit,” Tom agreed. “I can see if he'd be willing to talk to us but can't make any promises. Might take some persuading.”

“C'mon, Tommy, if anyone can get him to agree to talk to us again, it's you.”

Gabe heard his brother snort. “Like I said, no promises.”

“Thanks, Bro.”

Gabe hung up and checked his watch.
Christ.
It was only half-past four. His head was swimming with all the bullshit he'd been reading and he couldn't take another damned minute of it. He had to figure out something else to do to make the time pass or he'd lose his fucking mind.

Before he could change his mind, he dialed Joe's number. “Hey, loser. You need to come entertain me.”

Joe laughed. “That so? What'd you have in mind, asshat?”

“
Godfather
marathon?”

“I'll go one and two with you,” Joe agreed, “but you're on your own for the third, Bro.”

Gabe groaned. “Dude. Was three even an option?”

He tossed his phone onto the desk and blew out a harsh sigh. Hanging with Joe would keep him occupied for a while. But this sitting around “taking it easy” shit had to go…

Three weeks. It'd been three weeks since he'd buried his boy in the family cemetery at the edge of their property. For some fathers, that would be the end of things. But this was far from over. He'd been preparing for war for most of his life, and he wasn't going to back down now.

He wanted to make sure Gabe Dawson and Elle McCoy knew they would be the first casualties.

The whore was jumpy, glancing over her shoulder everywhere she went, always with friends or her aunt, Charlotte Mulaney, if she was out after dark. But it'd been a week since the boys had vandalized her car and the deputy's house, since Jeb and two of his children were brought in for questioning in the incident. They'd handled it just like they always had, as Jeb had trained them to do, and the police had had no choice but to let them go.

But to be on the safe side, he'd asked his brothers, David and James, to continue to keep an eye on the whore from a distance in the week since, reporting back on her routine. And, as usual, they'd taken care of their missions without question, providing Jeb with the intel he needed. Now he knew where she had her hair done, where she bought her groceries, where she liked to jog in the morning, what time she went to bed every night.

And Gabe Dawson? He was boring as hell. The man was still laid up with his leg, unable to go much of anywhere without someone else hauling his ass around. But he'd soon be back to work, back enforcing the government's tyranny. Jeb would see to it he wouldn't do that much longer—or anything else for that matter.

He'd been waiting for the perfect time to deliver the next message. And today was the day to make his next move.

“Jeremy!” he called from his study, where he'd been writing his current blog post.

A moment later, his son entered the room, wiping his hands on a mechanic's rag. “The tractor's nearly fixed,” he announced. “Brian should be able to mow later today.”

“It can wait,” Jeb told him. “I have another job for you.”

“Yes, sir.” He stowed the rag in the back pocket of his jeans. “What is it?”

“I want you to pay a visit to your cousin Billy, drop off a package.”

Jeremy licked his lips, his gaze darting around the room at nothing in particular. “What kind of package?”

“What's it matter, boy?” Jeb demanded. “Your brother never questioned my orders. You want to be like
him
, a hero for the cause, or wind up a useless waste of space?”

Jeremy squared his shoulders, red creeping up his neck. Whether it was humiliation or anger turning him red as a beet, Jeb didn't care, so long as it was enough to make him do his duty. “What do you want me to deliver, sir?”

Jeb nodded his approval. “That's more like it.” He gestured toward the kitchen table. “It's a message to remind Billy what happens to traitors. He planned to sell out your brother Derrick, to give evidence against him in his trial.”

“But he didn't,” Jeremy pointed out. “He changed his mind.”

“It doesn't matter!” Jeb roared. “He was unfaithful to the cause, unfaithful to his family. I cannot—
will not
—allow insubordination to go unpunished. Is that clear?”

Jeremy nodded. “Yes, sir.”

“Make sure you leave it somewhere he can find it, but not where you'll be seen,” Jeb continued. “If you fuck this up, I'll cut you loose, boy. Is that clear? I'm not going to let you drag me down because you're incompetent.”

Jeremy's voice cracked with a little healthy fear as he replied, “Yes, sir.”

Jeb gave him a terse nod. “Say the words with me now.”

“‘Blessed be the Lord, my rock, who trains my hands for war, and my fingers for battle,'” the boy said in unison with Jeb, as instructed.

“Go on, then.” Jeb gestured to the doorway. “Don't disappointment me.”

* * *

Gabe winced as he genuflected and crossed himself before entering the empty pew. It wasn't his usual way to spend a Saturday morning, but he'd been avoiding today's visit for a while now and couldn't really put it off any longer.

He pulled down the padded kneeler attached to the pew in front of him and gritted his teeth as he slid down onto his knees. It'd been three weeks since he'd been shot, but it'd most likely be a few more before he could really get around as he wanted to.

After he'd finally settled onto the kneeler, he slipped his Saint Michael medal from beneath his shirt and pressed a kiss to the silver before letting it rest against his chest. Before she'd died, his mother had given him and his brothers identical necklaces bearing the patron saint of police officers. He'd worn his every day since.

There'd never been any question Theresa Dawson's boys would go into law enforcement—the Dawson family history pretty much guaranteed it. Gabe's father and grandfather had had reputations that'd gained them the kind of notoriety that got their names in newspapers and history books—and on shit lists. And Theresa wanted to make sure her boys were protected after she was gone.

Gabe had never been particularly devout and hadn't been to Mass in years—in fact, the last time he'd gone had probably been Kyle's confirmation. But after the close call on the courthouse steps, he couldn't shake the feeling that his mother had been watching over him—just as she'd promised she would. And it was time he'd kept his promise to
her
to get his ass to church now and then.

As he knelt there, offering up a prayer of thanks that was long overdue, he tried not to remember the day she'd made her promise, tried to keep her voice from invading his head and bringing back all the pain he'd tried to suppress for years. Too bad it didn't work.

It was almost as if she were there beside him, smoothing his hair, the lilac-scented perfume she'd worn wrapping around him, a sensory hug that was a poor substitute for the real thing but was comforting nonetheless. He felt someone join him on the bench and the scent grew stronger. Startled, half expecting to see the ghost of his mother there beside him, his head snapped up.

But it wasn't Theresa Dawson kneeling beside him.

“Dad?” he whispered. “What are you doing here?”

His father sent a glance his way but then returned his gaze to the crucifix at the front of the church. “Promised your mother I would come to pray for you boys every week,” he murmured. “And I have.”

It was then that Gabe noticed that his father gently grasped one of his mother's old handkerchiefs in his fingers instead of a rosary. The delicate cloth still held the scent of her perfume.

“I didn't know,” Gabe said softly.

His father took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “Well, it was between her and me. Didn't see the need to talk to you boys about it.”

That Gabe could believe. The Old Man didn't talk much about anything, let alone the wife he'd buried years before. Maybe if Mac had been a little more open about what he'd gone through in the years since, the relationship between him and Kyle might not have been pretty much nonexistent until Kyle had returned to town and they'd been forced to deal with shit. They still had a way to go toward repairing things, but Gabe was relieved as hell to finally see the Old Man making an effort.

“What?” Mac grumbled.

Realizing he was staring, Gabe looked away. “Nothing. Sorry, sir.”

They knelt in silence for several minutes more before Mac reached over and clasped Gabe on the shoulder in the closest thing to a hug Gabe had received from him since he was a teenager. Then, in a move that would've made Gabe keel over in shock had he not been kneeling, his father put his hand on the side of Gabe's head and pulled him close to press a kiss to his hair. Without a word, he rose and left the pew, leaving Gabe kneeling there with his mouth agape.

But Gabe didn't have any time to mull over what the hell had just happened before his phone began to vibrate. He glanced down to see Tom's number. He instinctively started to answer it, but the many lectures they'd received from their father every Sunday before Mass, including a very specific outline of what would happen to each and every one of Mac Dawson's sons if they
dared
to be disruptive in church and disrespect their mother, the priest, and God himself made Gabe send it to voice mail. He resumed his prayer, but a few seconds later, the phone began vibrating again. With a sigh, Gabe crossed himself, rose, and left the church before answering the phone so as not to disturb any of the other parishioners who were still praying.

“Hey, Bro, what's up?” Before Tom could answer, he went on in a rush, “You'll never guess who I just bumped into at the church. The Old Man. I guess he goes every week—”

“I'm coming to pick you up,” Tom interrupted.

“I'm fine,” Gabe assured him. “Doc Morales cleared me to drive yesterday during my follow-up visit.”

“Then meet me at Elle's house.”

Panic squeezed Gabe's lungs and he picked up the pace, damning his leg for not fully cooperating with his need for haste. “Why? What's wrong? Is she okay?”

“That's what I want to make sure of,” Tom told him. “I can't get in touch with her. I already have a car in route. How far are you from her house?”

“Five minutes, tops,” he said, suppressing a groan as he jumped behind the wheel of his 1970 Dodge Charger that he and his brothers had lovingly restored when they were teenagers. He normally used his beat-up pickup truck when he was tooling around town while off-duty, but the truck's clutch was tricky and would've been hell on his leg, but he was damned glad to have the extra horsepower at the moment. “Just so you know, I don't plan on sticking to the speed limit.”

“No worries,” Tom assured him. “You might even get there before the cars that've already been dispatched.”

“So you gonna tell me what the hell happened?” Gabe demanded over the growl of the Charger's engine as he started her up.

“Billy Monroe is dead,” Tom informed him.

Gabe's stomach sank. His mouth was dry when he asked, “What? How?”

He heard Tom's muffled curse and something about a turn signal. Apparently, he was en route to Elle's house as well. A moment later, his brother replied, “Explosion this morning. Took out his house and part of the neighbor's. The neighbors weren't home, but Billy wasn't so lucky.”

“You're sure he was home?” Gabe said.

“Positive. The guys from Station Eleven got the fire put out and found his body inside. Well, part of it anyway.”

Gabe breathed a harsh curse. “You think it was Monroe? Do you think he found out Billy was supposed to come in tomorrow to give a statement?”

“If I was a betting man, that'd be what I'd put my money on,” Tom admitted. “But I'd also bet that there's no way in hell we'll be able to prove it.”

“Gotta be him,” Gabe agreed. “There was no way he was gonna let Billy get away with turning against the family. He's not a ‘forgive and forget' kind of guy.”

“How close are you now?” Tom asked.

Gabe narrowed his eyes, glancing at the small green street signs that zipped past him as he sped toward her house. “Couple more blocks,” he said, his heart racing faster the closer he got. Just then he saw the entrance to her subdivision and slowed slightly to take the turn. “Turning onto her street right now.”

He didn't wait for his brother to respond before hanging up. He screeched to a halt outside her house and grabbed his service weapon from under the seat where he'd stowed it. He quickly checked the clip before getting out of the car and approaching the house, his Glock at the ready. When he got to her front door, he stood to one side and knocked loudly.

“Elle!” he called, his heart hammering. He pounded again on the door. “Elle, you okay?”

He was just about ready to kick open the fucking door when he heard the dead bolt turn and the door swung open to reveal Elle standing there in cutoff shorts, a T-shirt, and bare feet, her hair pulled back into a ponytail, tiny red spiral curls having slipped out to frame her face.

“Gabe?” she said, frowning. Her gaze darted over his shoulder to the other cars arriving, including Tom's. “What the hell…?”

“You okay?” Gabe panted, the pain in his leg cutting right through him now that his adrenaline was beginning to ebb.

“Yeah, I'm fine,” she said, pushing open the screen door and coming out onto the porch with him. “Can't say the same about you. You look like shit.”

He attempted a grin. “Aww, honey, you say the sweetest things.”

“Elle okay?” Tom yelled.

Gabe nodded, shifting his weight off of his aching leg. “Yeah, she's good.”

When Tom turned away to deal with the other arriving deputies, Elle pulled open the screen door and pegged Gabe with a no-nonsense look. “So,” she said, “would you like to come in? And by that I mean, ‘Get your ass inside and explain what the hell is going on.'”

“How could I refuse such a kind request?” Gabe mumbled, limping past her. “But we'll have to wait for Tom. I only know the CliffsNotes version.”

A few minutes later, he was sitting in Elle's kitchen with a cup of coffee, trying to keep his hand from shaking as he lifted the cup to his lips. Gabe wasn't sure if it was the pain affecting him or his fear for Elle's safety. Either way, he wasn't going anywhere in the near future.

As soon as Tom joined them, looking a little drained and out of sorts himself, he filled them in on Billy Monroe, not sparing any of the gory details. Elle dropped into the chair next to Gabe's and shook her head.

“Poor Billy,” she murmured. It was only then Gabe realized she'd been crying before they'd arrived, her eyes still a little red and puffy.

“I got this, Tom,” Gabe said, jerking his chin toward Elle. “I'm going to need to stick around for a few before I drive home anyway. I'll keep Elle company for a little while, check the place out, make sure she'll be fine before I leave.” He glanced at Elle, “As long as that's okay with you.”