‘I’d be only too happy if the bastards who raped her got infected too,’ Deacon said tightly, ‘except that they’ll take it home to their wives and girlfriends, who haven’t done anything wrong other than believing the lying sonofabitch they had the misfortune to trust in the first place.’
Surprised by the leashed viciousness in his voice, Scarlett turned to study his face. His jaw was clenched, his eyes hard, twin streaks of dark red staining his cheekbones. He was holding on to his temper by a thread. Deacon was a natural protector and she’d seen him get righteously angry on a victim’s behalf many times over their ten-month partnership. But this was more than indignant anger. This was fury, and it was personal.
And then Scarlett suddenly understood. She’d known Deacon’s sister Dani was HIV positive, but she had never asked when or how she’d contracted the virus. It was simply not her business. But now, looking at Deacon’s furious face, she realized that Dani had been one of those innocent girlfriends victimized by a lying sonofabitch.
She placed a careful hand on Deacon’s shoulder. ‘Easy,’ she murmured.
Deacon’s chest expanded as he drew a deep breath and slowly, visibly, calmed himself. Closed his eyes. ‘I’m sorry.’
‘Don’t be,’ Carrie said. ‘I couldn’t have said it better myself. So when you report it, it’ll be for the innocent wives and girlfriends.’
Carrie’s ‘when’ rather than ‘if’ seemed to calm Deacon a little further. His eyes opened, and he was back in control. ‘You got it, Doc.’
Scarlett gave his arm a squeeze before dropping her hand to her side. ‘You’ll contact us with anything new?’ she asked Carrie.
‘Absolutely, but I wasn’t finished,’ Carrie said.
Scarlett’s heart sank. ‘There’s more?’
Carrie nodded. ‘Your victim has given birth at least once. From the pelvic spread, I’d say the birth occurred within the past one to three years and that the child was carried to term.’
Scarlett felt the added weight of new dread settle over her. ‘Assuming that the child lived, he’s out there somewhere.’
‘I’d say her child lived,’ Carrie said grimly. ‘Your victim was still lactating.’
Deacon’s jaw tightened. ‘Then we’ve got a baby out there somewhere who’s becoming very hungry.’
Cincinnati, Ohio
Tuesday 4 August, 8.45 A.M.
Marcus stared at the phone on his desk for a long, long moment before forcing himself to pick it up and call his mother. Her maid picked it up on the first ring and Marcus nearly collapsed in relief, like the coward he was. Guilt chased the relief, quickly overwhelming it.
‘Yarborough residence. May I help you?’
Della Yarborough had retaken her maiden name when she and Jeremy O’Bannion had divorced almost twenty years ago now. Here in Cincinnati, the Yarborough name had status and his mother had known the power it could wield. But Marcus and Stone had kept Jeremy’s name, a gesture of love and support for the stepfather who’d legally adopted them, caring for them like they’d been his own sons.
‘Hi, Fiona. It’s Marcus. Is she awake?’ he asked, even though he knew the answer. The quick pickup of the phone meant that his mother was still asleep. That she was still asleep meant that she’d taken sleeping pills the night before. She’d been going to bed earlier and earlier and sleeping later and later as the weeks went by.
‘No, sir,’ Fiona said quietly.
‘Have you been in to check on her this morning?’
‘Yes, sir, three times since dawn. She’s sleeping soundly. Can I help you with something?’
‘Um, well, yes. When she wakes up, have her call me or Stone, right away.’
‘Is something wrong?’
‘No, no, we’re both fine. But there’s a story online that I’d like to talk to her about before she reads it. It will be in the morning papers too, so I need to talk to her before she reads those.’
‘All right,’ Fiona said hesitantly. ‘Should I have her doctor here?’
‘No, I just want her to hear my voice and know I’m all right. Thanks, Fi.’
Marcus hung up, torn between anger and pity and fear for his mother. He’d nearly lost her once. He didn’t want her to get to that place ever, ever again. Especially by her own hand. But there didn’t seem to be much he could do. She’d do what she wanted to do, no matter what he said, no matter how worried he became.
With a slight wince he remembered Cal’s almost identical words from morning meeting. At least I come by my stubbornness honestly.
He checked his cell phone, knowing he had several calls or texts. He’d felt his phone vibrate at least five times during morning meeting. He sighed when he checked his log. Two of the four calls and two of the texts were from Scarlett Bishop. The others were from his stepfather. Marcus knew what the detective wanted – most likely the same thing she’d wanted before he went into the meeting. The list of threats. But he listened to the new messages anyway, just to hear her voice. And how goddamn pathetic was that?
The first message was another request for a status update, asking if he’d sent the list yet. The second message sounded worried. ‘Marcus, it’s Scarlett Bishop. I haven’t heard from you and I’m . . . well, I just wanted to be sure you were all right. If your back begins to bother you, I hope you’ll call for medical attention. I hope you’re simply getting some rest. Could you call me when you wake up? I have a few follow-up questions.’
Marcus played the second message twice more and would have played it a third time had his cell not started to ring in that moment. It was his stepfather, Jeremy, which made sense since the last two messages were from him.
He answered, feeling a bit foolish for listening to Scarlett’s message several times before playing Jeremy’s even once. That Jeremy O’Bannion was his stepfather was a blessing for which he’d be grateful for the rest of his life. The man had come into their lives when he and Stone had been so young, so broken. And so desperate for a good father. Despite being only twenty-one at the time – only eleven years older than Marcus – Jeremy had adopted them, given them his last name and helped drive many of their nightmares away.
Jeremy loved them and Marcus loved him too, even though he and his mother were no longer married. ‘Hi, Jeremy. What’s up?’
A long sigh. ‘God, Marcus, I needed to hear your voice. I’ve been worried ever since Detective Bishop called me.’
Marcus blinked. Hard. ‘Scarlett Bishop called you? Why?’
‘She was looking for you. She thought maybe you’d come to my house for some reason, since you weren’t answering your home or cell. I made her tell me why she was looking for you because she sounded worried.’
A delicious heat curled around Marcus’s heart. ‘I’m fine, just busy. I was in morning meeting. I’ll call her back.’ When I’ve finished that damn list. ‘Where are you?’ he asked when he heard a familiar bark in the background.
‘Home. I went to your apartment to see if you were there, but I only found BB. I . . . brought her home with me for a while. I hope you don’t mind. She’s . . . I know it sounds silly, but sometimes . . .’
‘She’s all we have left of Mikhail,’ Marcus murmured, his heart breaking for Jeremy’s double loss. Jeremy had found out that Mikhail was his son only a short time before Mickey’s murder. Jeremy had always loved Mikhail, who’d been conceived after the divorce in what had appeared to be a one-time fling. Marcus understood why his mother had kept the identity of Mikhail’s father a secret – she’d been worried that Jeremy’s new partner, Keith, would be angry at Jeremy’s indiscretion. But the secret had cost both Jeremy and Mikhail dearly. Mikhail had missed out on having the best father on the planet, and poor Jeremy . . . To have found out Mikhail was his son only to lose him so soon thereafter had broken his heart.