“Nossir. We’re gonna need photos and whatnot.” He scooped up the handbag and cane just as Mason got her back on the sidewalk. Rosie held her things out to her. “Here’s your stuff, miss. You sure you’re all right?”
She turned her head toward him and, with a precision that surprised Mason, reached out and took her handbag, then her cane, from Rosie’s outstretched hands. “I think so.”
“Do you hurt anywhere?” Mason asked.
“All over, but—”
“Best let the medics have a look at you in the E.R.,” Rosie said. “Just to be sure. Damn, Mason, I knew you were desperate for a woman, but I didn’t think you’d run one down in the street.” Then he laughed like a seal barking.
The woman’s head snapped toward Mason again. “You were the one who hit me?”
“Damn straight he was,” Rosie said and turned to Mason. “What’s wrong with you, running down celebrities in the street?” Rosie smiled at her. “I’m Detective Roosevelt Jones. My partner—who talked me into letting him drive due to my alleged aging reflexes—is Mason Brown. And might I just add that it’s a privilege to meet you, ma’am? My wife quotes you to me on a daily basis.” He elbowed Mason. “Rachel de Luca. The author.”
He said it, Mason thought, like that ought to mean something to him. He shrugged at Rosie, but said, “Great to meet you.” Like he knew who the hell she was. He’d never even heard of her. “And I’m really sorry.”
“I’m fine.” As soon as she said it her knees bent a little, and he had to snap an arm around her waist to keep her upright.
“Whoa. Okay, that’s it, you’re going to the E.R.”
“I really don’t have time, I—”
“Ambulance is already here,” Mason said.
“Like I said, I don’t have time.”
He gave the paramedics a wave. “Over here, boys.” Then he turned to her again. “Just go get checked out. I won’t be able to work all day if I don’t know you made sure you’re okay.”
“Oh, well, I wouldn’t want to mess up your day. And mine’s pretty much fucked, anyway.” She clapped a hand over her mouth, and he saw those blue eyes widen behind the crooked glasses.
The lady had a temper.
Just as quickly, he saw her face change. It was like she put on a Halloween mask. Only backward. In this case, the wicked witch was the one behind the disguise.
“So you’re a detective?” she asked, as if she’d only just heard that part of his partner’s spiel. Her voice was a half octave higher, softer, her attitude polite instead of pissed, as if she wasn’t really just aching to kick him in the balls for hitting her.
“Yeah.” And I see right through you, he thought. You wouldn’t give a damn what you said to me if you didn’t know I was a cop. And that makes me wonder why it matters. “Here come the paramedics. Hey, Reno.”
“Hey, Mason.” Reno, an EMT Mason had known for three years, took her other arm and led her to the back of the ambulance. She handed Reno her bag and her stick, gripped the rail, found the step without a single miss, and pulled herself up and in as Mason watched her, thinking she was really good at being blind. And then thinking what a dumb-ass thought that was.
No wonder she was on the bitchy side. He would probably be a bear if he were in her shoes.
“Look, I’ll see how you’re doing later, okay?” He wasn’t quite able to walk away just yet. “I need to take care of things here, get that car out of the road, free up the traffic, climb the paperwork mountain. But I’ll check in on you.”
“No need. I’m not going to sue you.”
That’s what they all say, he thought. Right before they call a lawyer. That was one headache he didn’t need. “I’ll see you later, okay?”
She settled onto the gurney, still sitting up. “All right. Actually, there’s something I’d like to talk to you about, anyway.” Sweet smile, flung at him without warning. He hadn’t been expecting it, so its impact was stronger than it should have been. “Maybe...maybe this little accident was supposed to happen.”
Huh? What the hell did that mean?
He stood there puzzling on that after the ambulance doors closed, until Rosie came over and clapped a hand on his shoulder. “She’s way better-looking in person than on her book jackets, isn’t she?”
“I wouldn’t know, having never seen one. Who the hell is she, anyway?” They started back toward Mason’s car. There were uniforms out in the street taking photos, another one stopping traffic to let the ambulance pull out.
“Self-help author. Big celeb. On TV a lot. Preaches nonviolence, happy happy joy joy shit. You know, like Marlayna’s so into. Positive energy. Love your enemy and raise your vibe. What you get in life is always your own doing and all that. How can you not have heard of her?”
“Like you would have if not for your better half, pal? We’re not exactly vibing on her level, are we now?”
Rosie grinned. “Guess not, bein’ as we been up to our necks in bloodless crime scenes and MPDs lately.”
Missing, presumed dead. Twelve so far. Not a single body yet, though. But back to the blind chick. “Did you hear what she said to me, just before they closed the doors, Rosie?” Rosie shook his head. “She said maybe this accident was supposed to happen. What do you think she meant by that?”
“Shoot, I don’t know. I said I know who she is, not that I’m a true believer. I’ll ask Marlayna, though. She might have an idea.”
“Yeah, you do that.”
Mason’s phone chirped just then, and he pulled it out and looked at the screen.
His big brother Eric’s face—he looked fifty but was only thirty-eight—popped up beside the text message icon. He clicked through, and the message read: Take care of Marie & the boys.
What the hell?
“I gotta go.” Mason turned toward the car, moving on autopilot, then stopping. “Shit, I need a car.” He couldn’t move his until he got the okay.
“What’s up?” Rosie unsnapped his key ring from his belt and held it out.
“Don’t know. Eric’s at my place, showed up in the wee hours and wouldn’t talk to me. He had a fight with Marie or something.” He looked at the text again as he took the keys, a cold chill going up his spine. “Thanks, pal.”
“Holler if you need me, Mace.”
Mason gave a nod and headed around the corner to the parking lot behind the Binghamton P.D. Rosie’s yellow Hummer stood out just like its owner, the only black detective in a mostly white police department, so he didn’t have to look for it.
There was a sick feeling in his stomach as he drove the oversize toolbox out into traffic. He was worried about his brother.
Nothing new there. Worrying about Eric had become the Brown family pastime. Habit, he guessed. He told himself that there was probably nothing wrong. Maybe Eric was quoting a line from one of those damn grim poems he was always reading, scaring the hell out of Mason for nothing.
But he didn’t think so.
* * *
Eric Conroy Brown had gone straight to work after dumping the body, worked the entire day and then headed home late last night just like he always did after the rat had been fed and had crawled back into its hole, leaving him to clean up the mess. It made him feel normal to lie in bed beside his wife and pretend he wasn’t a monster. He knew he was, though. The rat was him. No matter how hard he tried to convince himself it was some other being, some demon