Kissing the Killer: A Bad Boy Mafia Romance (Barone Crime Family) (37 page)

I
was almost too
deep into my own research to notice the text.

It had hit me like a flash in Sloan’s office. And the more I read, the more it made sense.

Jean Rodriguez would be about Laney’s age, maybe a year younger. He had behavioral problems even as a young kid and had been diagnosed with severe emotional instability. The file didn’t actually call him a sociopath, but it definitely implied it.

Martin had protected Jean his whole life. When Jean began to act out, Martin used most of his money to pay for top care for Jean. Martin’s wife, Melissa, tried to help the best she could, and between the two of them they managed to keep Jean in check.

Around Jean’s fifteenth birthday, he caught and murdered a neighbor’s cat. He did some time in juvenile detention for that, but only a month. Martin got him out early.

Two years later, he got into an incident at school. Apparently, he had savagely attacked and brutally beaten another school boy over a girl. The details were pretty weak, but he managed to avoid jail time.

After that Martin put Jean in a special school for kids with emotional problems.

Martin did an amazing job protecting his son. I barely knew much about Jean, and I had never bothered to research him before. I knew he had issues, but I didn’t know the extent of his problems. Martin never talked about him, and he clearly went out of his way to try to keep Jean out of anyone’s mind.

Martin was Jean’s biggest advocate and most powerful protector.

When Martin died, Jean graduated from the school. Without Martin’s steady hand to guide him and the money he brought in, Jean was left in Melissa’s care. And Melissa simply wasn’t equipped like Martin was to handle him. Plus, she was working full time to support her other, younger children.

Jean didn’t stand a damn chance.

It was a tragic story. It was a story I should have been more familiar with. I should have known what was happening, should have been there. Martin had buried it so well that it took murders to dredge Jean’s story up. Plus, I was too busy wallowing in my own fucking self-pity to notice that shit. I vowed to help take care of Martin’s family as best I could.

But I was going to catch and put Jean away for a very, very long time.

I only noticed the phone buzz because I was thinking about calling Melissa and checking to see if she knew where Jean was.

Of course, once I saw the message from Laney, I didn’t need to make that call anymore.

It hit me like a knife in the chest.
I’m here. Come get me. It’s Jean Rodriguez, he’s the killer.
And the location was right there.

I opened it up in my maps app. She was just outside town, surprisingly near where Luisa had been found.

I stood, rage flowing through me, and grabbed my gun. I was out and in the car, my engine revving, before I even realized what I was doing.

It was like a year ago all over again. Except now I was Martin, ready to charge into danger alone.

The thought hit me square in the chest.

But as far as I knew, Sloan didn’t believe that Laney was missing. Then again, the text was pretty conclusive. Or at least it would be enough for him to send some troopers with me to check out the location.

Still, I didn’t know how much time she had. I didn’t know how she had gotten her phone, if she was unharmed, or what. The faster I got to her, the more likely it was that she’d be safe.

Or, I could get there and get both of us killed.

I had the biggest decision of my life. I was given a second chance to try to do it right, but I couldn’t make up my mind.

I was torn. I needed to move, to save time, but I also needed backup.

My hands on my phone, I began to drive.

A
lone in the dark
, floating in space.

I heard Jean stomping around upstairs some more. I didn’t understand what he meant by the meth comment, or what had happened upstairs, but I knew that I was incredibly lucky. If he had been distracted a moment later, or if he hadn’t kept my phone in his pants, or any number of other possibilities, I’d likely be dead already.

Instead, Easton knew where I was. I had gotten a message out to him, and he’d come.

Hope bloomed weakly inside me.

Again time passed. Hours, minutes, I couldn’t tell. I could only hear my breathing and Jean’s footsteps upstairs.

Then, abruptly, his steps stopped. There was only my breath, the darkness.

More time passed. My hope warred with my fear for control of my mind.

And suddenly the light again, blinding. Jean descended the stairs.

“I’m back, sweetie,” he said. “Sorry about that.”

I cowered in the corner.

“Took me longer than I thought. Lucky we’re not dead, actually.” He crouched down in front of the cage again, laughing. “Damn lab almost took off half the house.” He shook his head, smiling.

“Please, don’t do this,” I whispered.

“Come on, Laney,” he said. “I’m not so bad, am I?” He laughed.

“Please.” I had to stall for time. “You’re not a bad person.”

“Oh come on. I’ve always been rotten, you know. Now I’m taking my final rotten revenge on your asshole stepbrother. Or should I say boyfriend? Either way, you’re into some kinky shit, and I like it. I’m going to kill him slowly, and I’m going to make you watch.” He laughed, shaking his head. “Crazy, right? I just decided that. I’m going to cut his throat for you, Laney. I’m going to make you watch.”

“He’ll catch you,” I said fiercely, not sure where the sudden confidence was coming from.

“Probably,” Jean agreed, sliding off his pants. “But not before I have you.” His face got close to mine. I could smell his rotten breath. “Open your mouth, Laney. Scream for me.”

Before I could answer, there was another bang from upstairs. Jean’s head snapped toward the door.

“What the fuck now?” He stood and quickly walked away.

More footsteps as Jean went upstairs.

I was terrified but hopeful. It had to be Easton. It had to be him.

Screams, yelling. And then, gunshots. They rang through the air loudly, more than I would have guessed.

I was floating, alone, in the dark, listening to bullets fly above me.

I
looked over at Sloan
. “This is it.”

He nodded. “We’ll go in together.”

The troopers had surrounded the old abandoned farmhouse. Smoke was rising from one window, though we had no clue why. It didn’t seem like a fire was raging.

“You should stay here,” Sloan said.

“Not a chance.”

“We can handle it. You’re a civilian now.”

“Sloan,” I said, staring at him, “I’m coming.”

“Fine. Stick with me.” He held up his radio. “Everyone in position?”

The troopers all confirmed their positions and their readiness. I took my gun from its holster, chambered a round, and prepared myself.

“Shoot only if you have to,” Sloan said.

“I got it.”

“Easton.” He looked at me for a second. “Be careful.”

I nodded. “Yeah. You too.”

We began to move toward the house, the other troopers moving in unison.

I had made the right choice, even if it was the hardest decision I had ever made in my life. Every inch of me had wanted to drive out here alone and go thundering in with my guns blazing, but I knew that was the wrong choice. I had to be smarter, more measured. Otherwise, people died.

I wasn’t letting anyone else die because of me.

Sloan had been easy to convince. Frankly, he figured that even if it was nothing, they hadn’t lost anything. And if it really was Laney with the killer, well, it would all be over.

Even the desk sergeant I had slugged agreed that we should go.

Five minutes later, four state trooper cars plus Sloan and I were on our way, tearing down the roads, heading toward the location Laney had sent me.

I felt more dread than anticipation. The last time I had busted into a killer’s house, my partner had been brutally murdered in front of me.

Back then, I had been fighting for my own obsession. I was so deep in the case that I could barely see Martin. Now, though, I was fighting for a completely different reason.

I was fighting for Laney, to save the life of my stepsister, of the woman I wanted more than anything else.

I followed Sloan as we moved fast and low toward the house. Two other troopers moved ahead of us, one holding a heavy battering ram. We stopped just outside the door and listened.

Absolutely silent. My heart was beating fast in my chest, nerves eating at the edges of my mind. But I had never been more sure about anything in my life.

The trooper swung the battering ram, hammering it into the door. It splintered and then exploded inward on the second swing. We moved inside.

The place was mostly barren. I followed Sloan down a hall as the other troopers burst in through the back. We went room by room, calling out clear.

In the kitchen, we found the source of the smoke. Apparently Jean had been making something, maybe a poison or some kind of drugs in a large makeshift chemical setup. From what I could tell, the thing had exploded, and relatively recently.

“Empty,” Sloan said. “But someone was here.”

I nodded. “What is that?”

“Best guess is meth. Popular stuff around here.”

“Probably how he’s getting money. Making and selling the stuff.”

Suddenly I heard a sound around the corner. I stepped forward, gun up, to check.

Standing ahead of me, framed in a doorway, was a young version of Martin. I gaped, almost as if I were seeing a ghost, and then quickly shook my head.

“Easton,” Jean said, his eyes bugged open. “How?”

“Jean Rodriguez, you’re under arrest,” Sloan called out.

Jean took a step toward me. “Stop,” I said.

The other troopers were yelling and moving around. Jean reached into his pants.

“Don’t do it,” I called to him. “You don’t have to do this, Jean.”

It was almost like we were alone in that room. I was standing face to face with the killer that had been haunting me. Worse, it was my past there, too. Jean represented every single failure that had ever happened to me, all wrapped into one.

“Easton,” he said, “I hate you.” There was almost no expression on his face.

“Give yourself up, Jean. Please.” I paused then added, “Think of your dad.”

His face twisted into a mask of rage. “I think about him every day.” He pulled a gun from his pocket.

“Stop,” I yelled, but it was too late.

Jean leveled the gun at me.

An explosion of bullets met him.

I couldn’t tell who had actually hit him, whether it was me or any of the other troopers that had fired. But in the end, Jean’s body crumpled backward, riddled with blooming red bullet wounds. He tumbled down the basement steps.

I moved forward, ignoring Sloan’s warning. I flipped a switch but the light didn’t come on.

I moved carefully down the steps, my gun forward. A beam from a flashlight danced from behind me, probably held by the trooper that was right on my heels.

Jean’s body was gone.

“He’s still alive,” I said.

“Easton!”

I paused, recognizing the voice. “Laney?”

“I’m here!”

I ran down the steps, two at a time, hitting the bottom landing and running into the basement.

The trooper couldn’t keep up with me.

I felt the knife first. It slid into my side, slicing into me. I let out a grunt of pain.

“Die,” I heard, a wet whisper from my right.

I pressed my gun against Jean’s head and pulled the trigger. He fell to the ground, not moving.

“Fuck,” I said.

The trooper appeared at my side. “We need an ambulance!” he yelled. “We have a stabbing!”

“Easton!” Laney yelled. “Easton, what’s happening?”

I pushed past the trooper and dropped to my knees. Laney was huddled in a cage, manacles dangling above her head. She stared at me and was unhurt.

“Laney,” I said softly. I could feel the pain, feel the bleeding, but I didn’t care.

I had her. I had her. She was safe and the killer was dead.

Suddenly, the world tilted.

“Easton?” she said, pushing against the bars. “Somebody help!”

“Laney, this was for you.” I smiled at her weakly. I saw black coming into the edges of my vision.

Someone grabbed me before I fell.

My side ached like a mother fucker.

I came to slowly, my eyes blinking awake. I was lying on my back in a bed and there was a beeping sound next to me. The room was lit by harsh fluorescent lights.

“Easton?”

I turned my head with a little effort. Sitting there by my side was a fucking angel.

“Laney.”

She smiled. “Hey. You’re awake.”

“Where the hell am I?”

“You’re in a hospital. You were stabbed.”

I grinned. “Stabbed? So what?” I tried to sit up.

“Not so fast,” she said, smiling. She pushed me back down. “You need to see the doctor first.”

“Are you okay?” I asked her.

She nodded. “He didn’t touch me.”

“Laney, I—”

“Later. Tell me later.”

I reached out and grabbed her hand before she could move away. “I love you.”

She blinked, surprised. “I know that. I love you too. Now talk to the doctor.”

I laughed softly, even though it fucking hurt. “Fine.”

The doctor explained it all pretty succinctly. I had a stab wound to the side, but I was lucky that it hadn’t hit anything vital. I was going to be in a hospital bed for a few days, and in pain for a few weeks, but I was going to be just fine.

I was lucky. I was so damn lucky, but Martin hadn’t been. And neither had his son.

“It’s all over now,” Laney said after the doctor was gone.

“It never should have started.”

“Stop,” she said quickly. “It isn’t your fault. I read the file you have on Jean.”

“Kid had problems, sure, but his dad was handling it.”

“His dad was hiding it. Jean was a walking time bomb for this sort of thing.”

I sighed. I knew she was right, but still some part of me blamed myself for all the hurt that I’d caused.

“Stop blaming yourself,” she said softly, whispering in my ear. “You saved lives. You didn’t take any.”

I grunted. “Fine.”

“Plus,” she said, smiling wickedly, “you’re much sexier when you’re confident.”

I laughed and reached around her to grab her ass. “Even with a knife wound, I’m still the sexiest man you know.”

“I can’t deny it.”

“Damn right.”

She leaned over and kissed me on the lips.

It really was over. Laney was safe and Jean was dead. No more women had to die because of some sick fuck’s revenge.

His totally misguided revenge. He never did find out that I wasn’t the cause of his father’s death, even though I blamed myself.

Didn’t matter anymore. Really never did matter. It happened and I had tried to make it right. Maybe I did, in some small way.

Maybe I could start to move on, forgive myself.

With Laney’s help, anything seemed possible.