Thicker Than Water (33 page)

“But—you just—”

“I just gave you a little release. You were like a pressure cooker, woman. Something had to give.”

She lowered her eyes. She didn't know what the hell to think, what the hell to make of any of this. She'd thought…she didn't know what she'd thought. It didn't matter. Only Dawn mattered.

He was at her dresser now, rummaging in an open drawer, taking out underwear, then jeans from another drawer.

“I…I can dress myself.”

He went still, his back to her. “Are you sure?”

“I'm sure.” She didn't tell him to get out and give her a minute to pull herself together, but she thought he heard it in her voice.

He sighed, nodded. “Okay, then. I put some leftovers in the oven to warm. Why don't you come down when you're ready, get something to eat? Can you manage the stairs?”

“I managed them on the way up.”

“Okay.” He turned, sent her a searching look. “Your crutches are there, beside the bed.”

She returned his gaze but kept all expression out of hers. “Okay.”

He lingered in the doorway for a moment, but when he turned and started to leave, she said, “Sean?”

He turned back.

“I—I'm glad you're here. I'm not sure I could get through this alone.”

He smiled a little crookedly, gave her a nod and turned to head down the stairs.

S
he cursed herself for foolish pride every time she banged her tender ankle or lost her balance as she awkwardly put her clothes on. She repeated those curses as she learned, by trial and error and damn near hurling herself to a painful death, the correct way to go down stairs on crutches.

Finally she arrived in the kitchen, breathless and probably red in the face from exertion, which she supposed was better than from embarrassment, both over what had transpired between them upstairs and over allowing herself to become so dependent on him during the past several hours.

Sean was removing a tinfoil-covered casserole dish from the oven, so she hobbled to a chair and sat down, leaning the detestable crutches against the table. They promptly fell over.

“Not exactly at pro status with those things yet, are you, Jones?”

“No, and I hope never to get there.”

He set the dish on the table, using a folded towel instead of a trivet. There were plates and forks for each of them, and he'd even brewed fresh coffee. She peeled the tinfoil off the dish to see her own leftover macaroni and cheese, with two fried chicken legs lying on top of it. She lifted her brows and looked at him.

He shrugged. “Why dirty two dishes when one will do?” He helped himself to a piece of chicken, dropped the second one onto her plate, then used a large spoon to scoop enough macaroni and cheese onto his plate to feed three of him. Then he handed her the spoon.

“That's very efficient of you.” She added a scoop of the macaroni to her plate.

“You want coffee?”

“I can get it.”

He sent a disparaging glance at the crutches on the floor, then at her, and quickly got up and filled a mug with coffee. He went to the fridge to add a splash of half-and-half, then spooned in some sugar, without being told, then set the cup down in front of her.

“Thanks.”

She took a sip, amazed that the coffee was good. Then again, she supposed a man living alone would have to learn to make decent coffee or die of caffeine deprivation. Her hands moved on autopilot, picking up the fork and scooping up some of the food, but she stopped halfway to her mouth, her stomach going queasy at the thought of eating.

“I know it's hard,” Sean said. “And it seems like the coldest thing in the world to do something as self-involved as eating when we still don't know where Dawn is. But you have to try.”

She took a breath, knowing he was right, and forced the food into her mouth, chewed without tasting and swallowed. Her stomach lurched, and she pressed a hand to it until the spasm passed.

“Okay?”

She met Sean's eyes, shook her head. “No. I can't eat, not now. I'll throw up.”

“It's okay. Can you at least manage the coffee?”

“I think so.”

He reached across the table, pushing the sugar bowl toward her. “Add some more of this, then. It'll help.”

She did as he suggested and slugged back the coffee. “I should call Rodney. I was short with him before. He didn't deserve that.”

“I apologized for you.”

“I ought to do it myself, though. He adores Dawnie. I should tell him he's welcome to wait it out with us.”

“We won't be here long. We'll have a lead to follow soon.”

“You think?”

He nodded. “Jax got the feds to send her their list of every piece of real estate ever owned, rented or borrowed by Mordecai Young and his closest cohorts, a handful of whom are still alive and doing time. Most of the property was confiscated by the government and sold at auction after the raid. But some had been sold just prior. Those are the ones she's most interested in.”

“And what is she doing about that interest?”

“Right now they're just going over the lists, prioritizing. As soon as they've got the most likely sites, they'll have local authorities drive out to those places and report back on what they see.”

She went stiff in her chair. “If they alarm him…”

“I know. I mentioned that. She assures me they'll be under instructions to use unmarked cars and to do very careful drive-by recon. Nothing that might tip him off.”

She pursed her lips. “What about when they figure out where he is? What then?”

“I don't know.”

“Sean, he won't give her up without a fight. My God, it could turn into the raid on the Young Believers all over again.”

He licked his lips. “Don't think I haven't thought of that.”

“I want that list. I want to find out where he is before they do.”

He nodded slowly. “I asked for it, but Jax wouldn't budge. I could go over there, try to lift a copy.”

“And get yourself arrested.”

“It wouldn't be the first time.”

She pursed her lips. “I don't know. I have to think.” Leaning down, she picked up her crutches, got to her feet. “Let's go talk to Rodney, then we'll head into the newsroom, work from there.”

“You need some sleep.”

“I need my daughter.”

He bit his lip, nodded. “Okay. However you want to do it. You're calling the shots on this.” He got to his feet, leaving his food barely touched, and headed for the front door ahead of her. Taking her jacket from the coatrack, he draped it over her shoulders, then opened the door for her.

“Bring the cordless phone. My cell's still in the car.”

“It'll ring that far from the base?”

“Halfway. Leave it at the edge of the lawn. We'll hear it if it rings.”

He nodded and went back in for the phone, giving her a head start. Not that it mattered. She moved at the speed of a tortoise, she thought. Still, she was nearly at Rodney's front stoop by the time he caught up. She could see the old man, sitting there on his screened-in front porch, in his wicker rocking chair. Odd, this late in the fall. It was chilly enough that he had to wear a jacket. His back was toward her, but she could hear him clearly as she drew near. Being hard of hearing himself, Rodney tended to speak more loudly than was necessary.

“I told you everything I know,” he was saying into the telephone. “Julie is home now. She's with that MacKenzie fellow.”

Julie stopped in her tracks, frowning. She felt Sean come up beside her and sent him a quelling look. He went silent and listened.

“No, her injuries aren't serious enough to stop her. She's on crutches. Left ankle's all wrapped. And she must have hit her head, too. It's been patched up.”

Sean looked down at Julie, his brows drawn together.

“Lieutenant Cassandra Jackson, she's the one in charge,” he said. “Yes. Yes, I'll call you the second anyone makes a move. I
will
stay by the phone. Call me back as soon as you know what I should do next.”

Nodding at something the other person said, he lowered the telephone into its cradle. Julie sent Sean a look, then started forward. He dashed ahead of her up the two steps, opened the porch's screen door and held it for her. At the creak of its hinges, Rodney swung his head around fast, then surged to his feet, looking guilty as hell.

“Rodney,” Julie said slowly. “I hope to God that conversation wasn't what it sounded like. Because it sounded as if you
were keeping someone informed of my every move. And I can only think of one person who'd be interested in that kind of information.”

Rodney blinked. “I don't under—”

“Dawnie's kidnapper,” she said. “Are you working for him, Rodney? Have you been keeping him apprised of our situation this whole time?”

The old man's brows shot upward, and his jaw dropped.

“Don't look so wounded!” she shouted. “It's obvious you've been reporting to someone. Who the hell else could it be?”

Rodney licked his lips and shot a look toward Sean as if seeking assistance, but Sean only returned a firm, steady stare. “Tell us, Rodney. Tell us the truth.”

Sighing as if from the very depths of his being, Rodney nodded. “Yes, I suppose it's time. You're not going to like it, Julie. But…well, maybe you'd better sit down.”

“I'm not sitting, and this isn't going to be a long conversation. If you know where my baby is, just tell me. Just tell me, for the love of God!”

He shook his head slowly. “I don't know where she is, child. Lordy, if I did, I'd be on my way there myself. I might know, though. In a little while.” He glanced at the telephone. “When he calls back.”

“When
who
calls back?” Sean asked, his voice so sharp it was almost frightening.

Rodney said, “Sit down, listen, and I'll tell you.”

“Rodney…” Julie began.

He sighed. “Fine. Fine, I'll just blurt it out, though this isn't the way I would have preferred to tell you. Julie, the man on the phone just now—it was Larry Jordan. It was your father.”

He didn't need to tell her to sit down again. Her one good leg dissolved, and she was just lucky Sean was close enough to catch her as she lost her balance and began going over backward. He gripped her around the waist, then took the crutches away. He leaned them against the wall, then helped her to a chair and lowered her into it, taking another one close beside her.

“I think you'd better explain yourself,” Sean said. He was looking at Jones, his expression worried, searching. “Julie told me her father went to prison for murdering her mother.”

“She told you the truth,” Rodney said. “And there he'll remain, most likely for the rest of his days. But he's not the same man he was when he did what he did. I can attest to that. He's changed.”

Julie dragged her eyes upward to focus on his pale blue ones. “I don't give a damn how much he's changed,” she whispered. “But I would like to know just how you know so much about him, and why the hell you're keeping him posted on my life.”

Rodney licked his lips. “I was his cell mate for twelve years, Julie.”

She blinked, stunned. “You were in prison?”

Rodney nodded. “Armed robbery. I did twenty-two years. Every last day of my sentence. For the last twelve, Larry and I were cell mates. More than that, we were friends. He saved my life once, when I got on the wrong side of a thug with a shiv. I owed him and swore I'd pay him back one day. He called me on it when I was about to be released. Asked me to find his little girl, to watch over her the way he would do if he were able, and to let him know, sometimes, how she was doing.”

Sean licked his lips, looked at Julie. She sat there, trembling all over. “How dare he ask about me? How dare you tell him anything about my life? About my daughter? He killed my mother!”

“I know. And it haunts him. He makes no excuses. The man was a drunk—a mean drunk—and he knows it. He knows he deserves the time he's doing. He knows you have every reason to hate him forever, and he doesn't expect any less. But, Julie, that's between you and him. What's between him and me is that he saved my life. I owed him. I used every cent I could get my hands on to pay a private eye to help me track you down.”

“So you found me, and then you moved in next door and pretended to be my friend?”

He shook his head. “Pretended? Now, you know better. You're angry and overwhelmed and worried, and I don't blame you. But you know better, Julie. I love you and that girl of yours as if you were my very own. You know that.” Tears welled in his eyes.

She was furious. She wanted to lash out at him, to rage at him. But she couldn't. Sniffling, she said, “We loved you, too, Rodney. And we trusted you. But you betrayed us.”

He lowered his head. “I gave my word. The man is paying for his crime, Julie. His heart is broken. And you can't possibly hate him for what he did as much as he hates himself.”

“Don't even think of asking me to forgive him.”

He shook his head slowly. “I wasn't. He knows that's never going to happen.”

Sean placed a hand on Julie's shoulder, quieting her for a moment. “Rodney, when we came in, you said you might know where Dawnie is when someone called you back. How is that possible?”

He nodded rapidly. “Yes, yes, that. Well, you told me it was Mordecai Young who took Dawnie. And of course you know every one of his associates didn't burn with him in that raid wound up in prison. Turns out one of them, a fellow by the name of Gray, was the no-account who called himself Young's lawyer back then. He was taking a portion of the drug money for his services and covering Young's ass in court. For a while, anyway. He's in Attica. Same prison where I was. Same prison where Larry still is.”

Sean blinked, sending Julie a look that told her this was Very Good News. But before she could search his eyes for clarification, he was focused on Rodney again. “So he's going to question Gray?”

Rodney licked his lips. “If Gray knows anything, he'll give it up. Larry's been in that prison a long time. He's respected, has a lot of men loyal to him. Gray will talk.”