Return to Poughkeepsie (41 page)

“Five fucking years, asshole,” she’d shot back as she slammed the car door, weaved through the parking lot, and disappeared.

Beckett winced at the memory. He’d been anything but charming. Not the least bit complimentary. She’d looked fantastic. But he was afraid to say so because maybe she’d attribute that to her happiness with the cop.

He’d decided to give them both some time to cool down. Then he’d catch up with her and fix it. The beer was already settling his frayed nerves.

“She looks good. Not sure how things are going to work out though,” he finally answered Cole. He got up and pressed play on the iPad, wanting to hear Blake’s hopeful song again. On the baby monitor, he could see Whitebread all safe with her kids tucked in around her. “You did good, sweet pea. Did I tell you that? I was duly impressed with your kick-ass Die Hard rescue.”

“I was scared the whole damn time.” Blake’s eyes drifted to the monitor. The song matched the picture.

“That’s because you were amazing. It hurts, and it can be scary. Happens to me all day, every day.” Beckett raised his beer in Blake’s direction.

Cole snorted, and Blake threw a pillow. Beckett ducked and laughed. If he could keep these two men in his pocket for the rest of his days, he would.

Chery hid in the bathroom back at Jared’s. Well, hiding wasn’t exactly right. He knew where she was. But this was the safest spot she could find while he raged outside. She sat on the closed toilet, head in her hands. The blood from her lip dripped onto the floor, ironically making a puddle that resembled a heart.

She wouldn’t make it out alive. She knew this now, and she said a prayer for Vere. In these last minutes of her life, she felt a stunning regret for abandoning her sister. Maybe Beckett would step up and watch out for her. Her tears joined the heart on the floor. This wasn’t love. Now she had clarity—when it wouldn’t do any damn good. Love shouldn’t hurt. Love doesn’t hurt.

The door vibrated with his fists, and her entire body shivered. This bathroom didn’t have a window. Any time she’d taken a shower, the mirror had fogged up for half an hour. The door vibrated again, and Chery turned on the shower, hoping to buy some time. After a few minutes, tendrils of steam seeped from behind the curtain.

He’d stopped pounding, and that gave her a small glimmer of hope. Maybe he’d passed out. Lord knows he drank everything in the house tonight. But then the door handle began to jiggle. She rushed forward and held the knob, the moist air making the metal slippery. He’d remembered there was a key to this flimsy lock. She’d had to use it a million times when Vere had locked herself in this very bathroom while Chery and Jared fought. She’d use the key and force her way in, closing the door behind her and cuddling her sister. She always sang her sister’s favorite lullaby then, trying to bring her back around, grounding her by reminding her of their mother’s love.

The knob twisted in her hands, and terror shot through her. He was so wiry and strong, pushing the door in even though she had all her weight against it. His angry face was filled with victory as he shoved his shoulder through the opening, like in a horror movie.

Chery quivered as she sank to the floor, but she started to sing—just a whisper, really. “Rock-a-bye baby, in the treetop.” Jared pulled her up, his face so close to hers. She sang so quietly, she doubted he could hear her. “When the wind blows, the cradle will rock. When the bough breaks, the cradle will fall…” Her arms were useless, his hands full of venom as they squeezed so hard.

The saddest thing was, with just a few more sips of anything—beer, whiskey—he would pass out. But there was nothing she could do. Chery closed her eyes, singing the last line of the song in her head because he’d wrapped his hands around her throat:
And down will come baby, cradle and all.

The evening became a haze of old times, and the brothers had a blast as the beers flowed. In the wee hours of the morning, Beckett wished he could stay awake, but eventually his body gave out, and Blake tucked him in on the basement couch like a baby. He hadn’t even been smart enough to protest, and when his phone buzzed, it was already Monday morning. He rubbed his eyes and took a look at the screen—a text from Chaos.

You know where Chery is?

“Shit.” Beckett called him immediately. “What the hell are you asking
me
for. I’m in New York.”

“Boss, we thought she was sleeping in. But she’s not here. Her window’s unlocked, and I think she crawled out.”

“What happened when Vere woke up?” Beckett stared at his feet.

“I did the shit Chery does in the morning, and I took her to the place she goes to. I looked at the store, but nothing. No one knows where she is.” Chaos was frazzled.

“Fuck.” Beckett needed a minute to think, but Chaos kept talking.

“She with the assbag, you think? I mean, we set the alarm. She went to bed before I walked Gandhi, so I set it after he took his dump. I don’t know. Tell me where the ex-boyfriend lives.”

“You call the number I’m about to text you—it’s the place you dropped off Vere—and tell them Vere’s sister Chery is missing. Ask them if Vere can stay the night. Tell ’em Chery might be in trouble. Then you pack heat and take my employees with you to check out the asshole’s house. I’ll send you that address too. Keep me posted. I’m on my fucking way.”

Beckett ended the call just as his brothers came down the stairs, questions all over their faces.

“Sorry—was I too loud? What the hell happened last night? Ahhh, remember when I was trying to be a better fucker?” He texted Chaos the information while he talked. “Well, I wound up being the king of the misfits down in Maryland. Like, my congregation is assholes and down-on-their-luck bastards. My employees are bottom of the barrel, un-hireable twat hairs. But it worked. A lot of them got on their feet for a while.”

Cole clapped Beckett on the back, pride blooming on his face.

“Yeah, but, you see, I pictured, like, I don’t know, doing something huge. Saving the world.” Beckett shrugged.

Blake shook his head. “Sometimes you can save someone’s whole world just by smiling at them. Kindness is one of those things that has immense value to the person experiencing it.”

“Well, anyway, Chery’s like that—or she was. She works for me at the liquor store, and I’ve been helping her out. She’s got a shitty résumé because she’s got a sister who needs her help and a boyfriend who kicks the crap out of her. Now she’s missing. I got to get down there and see what the hell’s happening.” Beckett ran his hand through his hair. “I’ve got a horrible feeling.”

Cole squeezed his shoulder. “You need help, brother?”

“Thanks. No. This is one asshole—up here we got a ton of them. I’ll be back soon. Won’t take me too long to sort this out. Eve and I had a fight-ish thing. So I’ll text her, but if you could keep an eye on her…” Beckett held up his arm, and his brothers’ arms met him in the middle.

“We can try our best,” Blake said. “But she’s like protecting a shark.”

“Don’t I know it.” Beckett shook his head.

He’d already stayed too long, but he hated leaving. What the hell had Chery gotten into? He knew it was Jared. Motherfucker.

“Should’ve killed him,” Beckett said as he jogged back to his car.

31

Mine

M
ARY
E
LLEN
T
OOK
A N
ICE
B
OWL
of cereal in the morning because it was good for her digestion. She would never admit it to anyone, but in the recent years, things had become dire if she didn’t have her morning fiber. Officially, she was fifty-three. According to all paperwork, she was thirty-eight and holding. Her fourth face lift had gone a little bit awry, and her eyes didn’t completely close. She sipped from her orange juice glass and tried to ignore the flashback to her juice cleanse last month. Her lips were still numb from the injections a few days ago.

They weren’t typical, the reasons for her grip on her youth. She just wanted to remain daddy’s little girl for as long as possible. He was starting to forgive her for the Sevan thing, she could tell. Of course he needed the money back, but they’d work together to make that happen. They’d work
together
, just as she’d always wanted. Perhaps she’d mail Sevan a thank-you note in the end.

Her brother had looked simply murderous when she passed him on the way out of Daddy’s house yesterday, of course with a smile on her face. Those were the perks of fighting like a woman. Her brother could most likely maintain status quo with the business—at least for a while before he gambled the whole thing away—but she knew her father wanted more for his legacy. Soon she’d have an opportunity to show him what she could provide. The man was eighty-three. Time was a villain who couldn’t be forgotten, but infamy would last forever.

She just liked his approval. And that wasn’t so wrong.

Now January was an issue. She’d known the woman was more than she claimed, and yet she’d never expected such blatant disrespect. To leave the party, leave her protection duties when things were clearly falling apart,
and
take a hostage with her? Mary Ellen touched the linen napkin to where she was almost positive her perfectly plumped lips were. Seems January had a weakness after all. Or at least she hoped she did. Mary Ellen stood and tucked her satin robe around her.

She jumped at an unexpected knock on the door to her suite. Her staff knew she needed private time after her cereal. What on earth could this be? She signaled the interruption to enter with a stern voice.

Instead of Bart, January waltzed in wearing jeans and a T-shirt like a common house painter headed to a picnic. Mary Ellen was already angry, but this sloppy attire and unannounced entrance was a slap in the face. What the hell were her people thinking?

“You have some nerve. My orders were for you to be killed. Can you explain why you’re still looking at me?” She tapped her fingers on her satin robe.

“You’re insane. That stunt you pulled last night was a giant ass fuck to so many people. You think that’s the way to build trust? To get cooperation? Seriously? I will hand it to you, though. You can improvise the fuck out of a disaster.” January closed the door behind her and put her hands on her hips. “But trotting out Ryan? Kidnapping women and children, including a police captain’s daughter? I’m shocked you’re still looking at me, to be honest. You’ve pissed off a crapload of people. And they’re not going to forget.” January looked her up and down.

Mary Ellen hated the way the girl seemed to catalogue her with just a glance. “The way I conduct my business has
nothing
to do with you. As far as I’m concerned, you’re Miracle Grow for my roses now. Bart?” She smiled pleasantly.

January advanced and stopped just short of the woman’s face. “Here’s what you need to know: Poughkeepsie is mine. The people. The shops. The cops. I decide what happens to them.”

“You can talk whatever type of gibberish you want. You’re just an animated dead body right now. Bart?” Mary Ellen stood.

A loud thump hit the door, and January bent down to look in her eyes. “That would be Bart dropping dead.”

A trickle of fear almost made Mary Ellen gasp, but she stayed silent.

“I killed my way in here, motherfucker. The dude with the hand surgery? Gone. His smoking friends? Corpses. The pedophile with the eye scar? Spectacularly dead. You messed with my family. That’s not allowed.” January pulled a knife from her hair.