“With me here, you’re safe. No one gonna mess with this cobra.”
Alex flexed his large arm and curled his fist around, imitating a snake’s movement. Josie rolled her eyes.
“Know the difference between this and a real cobra?”
“No, but I’m sure you’ll tell me.”
“If a real cobra gets ya, you might survive.”
He laughed at his own joke and lay back against the couch cushions. Josie shook her head and decided to make no comment. She didn’t want to encourage him.
“Ya think he’ll find somethin’ down there, Jo?” Alex asked.
“I don’t even care anymore. I just want him back here with me. We could take off. Try to outrun them. Or, if it’s inevitable that they’re going to find me and kill me, I’d rather spend the time I have left with Tristan.”
“That’s heavy. You miss him, huh?” Alex asked, his eyes studying her closely.
She looked down at her lap and her suddenly unappealing breakfast before answering.
“I love him.”
After swearing them to secrecy, Tristan sat his parents down around their dining room table and told them everything he knew. He relived his introduction to a life of crime, his breakup with Fiona, and his life-changing discovery of McKenzi Delaune. They remained silent the entire time, processing the details of the story he told. When he was finished, Tristan sat back in his chair and exhaled, relieved by no longer shouldering this burden alone. Daniel and Bitsy remained quiet, letting the facts and implications sink in.
“I need to find out how Moloney is connected to Josie, why he wants her dead. I don’t want to involve either of you. I don’t want to put you in danger. Just know that I have to do this. I won’t lose her again.”
“I can’t believe she’s alive,” Bitsy whispered, reaching across the table to rest her hand on Tristan’s.
“Most days, I can’t believe it either,” he said solemnly.
“Organized crime, Tristan? You can’t be serious,” Daniel said. “You could have done anything!”
“Honey,” Bitsy said, placing her hand on Daniel’s shoulder.
“I just don’t understand how we lost you,” he said defeatedly.
Bitsy wiped tears from her eyes before they could slide down and ruin her makeup. She looked at her husband and then her son, not knowing how to mediate this battle.
“That’s not important right now, Dad. Can we focus on why I’m here?”
Daniel took a deep breath and let it out slowly.
“What’s your plan, Tristan?” Daniel asked.
“I’m going to go talk to anyone at the station who was working when Earl was there. I also know a few people who work for Moloney in the city. I don’t want to alert him to my presence, so I’ll try them last.”
“This is dangerous. I don’t like the idea of you getting involved,” Daniel warned.
“I’m already involved.”
“I knew Moloney was dicey, but I never dreamed it reached this far.”
“How did you know about Moloney?” Tristan asked, his curiosity piqued by his father’s statement.
Daniel sighed and folded his arms across his chest. He hadn’t planned on ever having to tell this story. He slid his eyes toward Bitsy, knowing she’d be displeased that he’d kept it from her.
“The spring before your sixteenth birthday, Dean Moloney’s son, Dean Jr., was diagnosed with a heart deformity. It was somehow undetected for years. After a consultation with his parents, we all agreed that surgery was the only way to give him a fighting chance. I performed the procedure, assisted by Dr. Marcus. He flat-lined twice on my table, and the second time, we couldn’t get him back.”
“Atrioventricular septal defect?” Tristan asked. Daniel nodded, proud and nostalgic at the memory of his raven-haired boy sprawled across the floor of his office, reading through medical journals like comic books.
“Fiona never told me what happened to him,” Tristan murmured.
“When I explained to the family that we’d lost him, Moloney went ballistic. He told me, ‘You will pay for this. An eye for an eye, my friend.’ His tone was maniacal. I still remember the look in his eyes. I just assumed that it was an empty threat fueled by grief.”
“Jesus, Dad, you think this would have been useful information when Fiona and I started seeing each other?”
“Would it have made a difference?”
“No,” Tristan admitted, shaking his head.
They sat in silence, each absorbing the heavy weighted words laid out before them. Bitsy immediately performed the sign of the cross and squeezed her eyes shut. The Lord’s Prayer whispered across the room and echoed off the walls. Then Bitsy opened her eyes as if remembering a secret of her own.
“There’s something else,” Bitsy whispered, breaking the rhythm of her prayer and abandoning its purpose. The men’s eyes shot up to her remorseful face. “I’ll be right back.”
Tristan and his father sat in silence, surrounded by Audubon prints and Bitsy’s finest china displayed in an antique cabinet. Tristan’s eyes stayed trained on his drumming fingers along the tabletop while Daniel openly observed every detail of his son’s appearance.
Bitsy reappeared carrying a large manila envelope. She took her seat and sighed, letting the guilt and regret absorb into her words.
“I should have given you this a long time ago,” she said, sliding the package across the table to Tristan. “It came about six weeks after they moved.”
Tristan retrieved the envelope and turned it over. A purple bound book dropped heavily onto the polished wood table, the sound of it echoed through the room like a slap to his face.
“I’m sorry for keeping it from you. I don’t even know why I still have it. I just figured that it was better to make a clean break. I never thought that…”
Bitsy’s voice became empty jumbled sounds as Tristan’s pulse raced through his ears.
“This is McKenzi’s diary,” he finally said, running his fingers over the cover. “How could you?”
“I’m sorry,” was her only answer as she cringed away from his angry words.
He turned the envelope over to find his address scrawled in McKenzi’s fourteen-year-old handwriting. Tristan jumped up from the table, clutching the diary, and raced to the comfort of his room. He locked the door behind him and sank to the floor. There he sat for hours, reading the words of his childhood best friend, each entry sending him farther into her world before the hurt.
Moloney sat on the antique chaise in his mother-in-law’s family room feeling emasculated by the very fabric. Its pink floral pattern looked humorous as a backdrop to his large frame and scowling face. He sipped his Jameson and tapped his fingers impatiently on the padded arm of the chair. He’d wanted to leave hours ago. Moloney wasn’t used to not getting what he wanted. The thing holding him here, his only weakness, was his beautiful wife, Jane.
She was a vision, growing more beautiful with age. Her long strawberry blond hair curled around her shoulders, a perfect frame for an angelic face. Moloney grinned as she told a story so animatedly that her hands flung about in a precarious manner. He loved her spunk, her fire. He loved that she loved him unconditionally. Jane made no rules when it came to their life together. She’d promised her devotion and would gladly endure whatever life Moloney provided.
Not that she suffered. Through racketeering, weapons, drug trafficking, and gambling rings Moloney had provided a cozy life. They had prize-winning horses, a private estate, and a beautiful home. All that was missing was a family.
Moloney poured the last of his whiskey into his mouth and swallowed. The burn of the alcohol slid down his throat and past his frozen heart before settling in his stomach. With all his wealth and power, he still didn’t have what he’d wanted most—a successor. His boy was gone and his daughter was across the country living a new life.