“A.D.A. Hale, I presume?” I offered my hand. “Thank you so much for speaking on my behalf. I’m in your debt.”
“Not at all.” The ADA’s grip was firm like his nephew’s. “The way Chris tells it, without you, we would have never put things together with Mary’s crimes.”
“Detective Beckett told me you’re going to help Justin.” I smiled at the boy whose crush I had yet to address. He grinned.
“I’m going to do everything I can.”
“Thank you. He deserves that.” I glanced at Chris, whose sky-colored blue eyes were pale with weariness. “At least you know the truth. And maybe you and Justin can be friends.”
“Maybe.”
ADA Hale patted Chris on the shoulder. “I’ll get the car, and then we’ll head over to impound and pick up Lucy’s vehicle. Then you can both get home and get some rest.”
I waited until he disappeared around the corner.
“Thanks,” I said to Chris. “For everything. Can I talk to Justin privately?”
Chris looked surprised but nodded. “I’ll wait outside.”
Clearly a bundle of nerves, his hands in his pockets and head down, Justin danced from foot to foot.
“Hey,” I touched his arm. What did I say to this boy whose new life I’d nearly ruined? It would be easier if he hated me.
“Hey,” he said.
“Listen, about what you said at your mother’s house? In the upstairs bedroom?”
“Yeah.” He flushed crimson, which only made him look younger. “I’m stupid. You wouldn’t be interested in me.”
“It’s not that. At all. But I’m fourteen years older than you. Considering everything I stand for, it’s inappropriate. I’m not going to give you the whole, ‘sex is about love thing,’ because it isn’t always. But between two people with the kind of history that there is between us? It could ruin any sort of friendship we might have. And I don’t want that.”
His eyes were watery. “You want to be my friend?”
“Of course I do. If you’ll have me.”
“I can deal with that.”
I smiled and linked my arm through his. “Then let’s get out of here.”
Justin left, promising
to meet ADA Hale in the morning. ADA Hale dropped Chris and me off at the impound lot, and I thanked him again.
“You could have gone on home with your uncle,” I said after I’d paid for my car. Chris and I wandered the massive lot, searching for my Prius. “I’ll be fine.”
“I’d rather go with you.” He slung his arm around my shoulders. The gesture felt comfortable, easy. In so many ways–the ones that mattered–we were the same. “So Slimy Steve was selling kids. He’ll have fun in prison.”
“At least he’ll stay there this time.” But Steve was just a cog in an ever-growing machine. How many other children were being trafficked while I celebrated? I leaned into his embrace and told myself it was because of fatigue. “You know what I meant back there, right? When I said ‘for everything?’”
“I kept you out of jail.”
“You kept me from killing Steve. I had the cyanide. If you hadn’t have been with me, I would have done it. And I would have been arrested.”
“I know.”
We faced each other, faces close, body heat mingling. “I
will
take care of Mother Mary.”
“I have no right to ask you to do that. I never should have mentioned it.”
I laid a hand on his chest, over his heart. “You are a good person. You have an aunt and uncle who love you–who have dedicated their lives to helping you prosper. I will not let you throw that away. I won’t let you sink into my dark place.”
Because it would make me feel guilty, and I don’t like what that says about me.
His heart beat against my hand, its steady rhythm calming me. I patted his chest. He took my hand in his and held it close.
“I won’t let you live in the dark place by yourself.”
My throat tightened, a swell of emotion rose in my chest. I swallowed it down. “See? Not a sociopath. Honestly, you’re not even good at pretending to be one.”
He smiled. “If you say so.”
“Just calling it as I see it.”
“That’s what I like about you.” Still holding my hand, he pointed to the southwest corner of the lot. “There it is.”
A huge yawn tore through me, and I gave him the keys. “You drive. I’m taking a nap.”
Inside, the car was warm, and I sank into the seats, my eyes suddenly heavy. “You know the way to my place from here?”
The corners of his mouth twitched into a grin. “Of course I do.”
“Creepy stalker.”
He laughed, pulling out into traffic. Comfortable silence embraced us, and I slid toward sleep.
“Lucy?”
I closed my eyes, longing for the warmth of my bed and the sound of Mousecop’s relentless purring. “Yeah?”
“My mother is dangerous.”
“I know.”
“We have to stop her.”
“We will, I promise.”
I thought again of Kailey on the auction site. Of the predators huddled in front of their computer screens in darkened rooms, waiting to buy a child. Of the masses of kids with no chance of being saved. The police knew what Mother Mary was capable of now. If Todd had his way, all of Philadelphia PD would recognize her on sight.
But what about all the faceless predators with money to burn?
We would look for Mother Mary eventually. But for now, I had other targets in mind.
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See Them Run
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Please consider leaving a review for
All Good Deeds
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Skeleton’s Key (Delta Crossroads #2)
Ashes and Bone (Delta Crossroads #3)
Welcome to Las Vegas (short story)
Without a doubt,
All Good Deeds
is the toughest book I’ve written to date. Writing about such a dark subject takes its toll on a person, but figuring out Lucy was exhausting. Her character came to me in layers, evolving from an arrogant woman who believed she had all the answers to a character I hope readers empathized with. She is dark and twisty and inspired by some of my greatest fears.
Many thanks to Dr. D.P. Lyle (
Howdunit Forensics, A Guide for Writers
) for his patience and willingness to answer my numerous questions on cyanide, its effect on the body, and its presence at autopsy. Thanks to William Simon for his expertise in computer programming and police procedure. Thanks to the Philadelphia Police Department and the National Center for Exploited and Missing Children for guiding me through the search for Kailey Richardson. Special thanks to Heather Cathrall for being my virtual eyes and ears to the city of Philadelphia.
I’d also like to give a heartfelt thank you to all the survivors of sexual abuse–both childhood and adult–who share their stories so that others may learn from them. Without their bravery, the subject matter would have been even more difficult to handle correctly.
Thank you to the ladies at Stacy’s Killer Thrillers for their continued support and enthusiasm. To my Indie author colleagues: your support and willingness to share your knowledge is invaluable.
To all the bloggers and reviewers who read and support my books: I can never say thank you enough. Word of mouth is vital to any author’s success, and I’m grateful for each of you.
To Kristine Kelly, my line editor and dear friend, thanks so much for your support of my writing and your honesty. To Catie Rhodes, who puts up with my barrage of texts about story lines and plot points and title stress–you’re the best critique partner I could ask for. Without my developmental editor Annetta Ribken’s tough love,
All Good Deeds
would have been a failed mess. I’m forever grateful to you! And to Melinda Vanlone, my tireless cover artist: you put up with so much, and always with a smile. Thanks for helping me figure out my vision of Lucy.
Finally, to my readers. Writing for a living is a dream come true, and without you guys, I’d be miserable in a day job. From the bottom of my heart, thank you!