* * *
HE felt like the first-class bastard most of the world considered him to be, but as they walked back to the café, he couldn’t make himself apologize. It had worked.
If he had just
told
her the place was old, it might not have worked.
Showing her, springing it on her like that, had done what he’d hoped, and now at least, he could honestly tell the men in charge of the investigation that Dez was one of his people and she was here under his authority…and he could also tell them all that they couldn’t and wouldn’t discuss confidential investigations.
They wouldn’t like it, and he didn’t give a flying fuck.
It would work and he knew it.
It was dancing perilously close to abusing his authority, and if it were anybody but Dez…he blew out a breath and looked away. If it were anybody but her, he knew he’d do what he could, but in the end, the person would have to deal with his or her own mess. This was Dez’s mess, but he wouldn’t risk her going into a place that would push her to the brink of madness. Not if he could at all stop it. If it took him close to a line, then so be it. If Dez wasn’t worth losing everything for, nobody was.
The contract would cover her ass, it would keep her out of the damn jail even for a few hours, and that was what mattered—that…and he had a feeling there was more going on here than the small police department was prepared to handle.
Ivy, their victim, wasn’t local.
It was all too likely this was veering rather close to something he might have to take an interest in anyway. Especially since it had led one of his people here. Not that Dez was really
his
anymore
.
From behind the protection of his sunglasses, he could watch her without her noticing and he kept an eye out, waiting until that pale, ashen look faded, until her eyes stopped looking so tight and pinched, until her breathing became a little less ragged and the tension left her shoulders.
They were almost to the restaurant when she finally took a deep breath and some of that tension finally eased. She stopped and leaned against the building at her back, staring at him. “That was a low blow, you know.”
“Yes.” He crossed his arms over his chest and stared at her. He wanted to brush his hand down her cheek, soothe that line that still lingered between her brows. Then he wanted to pull her against him, warm her—she was still cold. Even though she wasn’t shivering, even though she hadn’t said anything, he knew she was still cold. They always lingered with her like this, left her chilled, and it was worse when it was those she couldn’t help. Those disembodied spirits that were more echoes than anything else.
But he didn’t. He couldn’t. Instead he stayed there, waited, and watched.
“You can be such a fucking bastard sometimes, Jones,” she muttered, shaking her head and staring off past his shoulder. “You couldn’t have just warned me it was an old place and probably not the ideal place for me to be?”
“And if I’d said that, just like that, would you have taken me at my word?”
She stared at him, her dark eyes boring into his like she was trying to see clear through him. Disgusted, she admitted, “The hell if I know.”
“That’s what I figured. This way, I knew you’d get the point.”
“So what do we do now?” she asked, staring at him, her face grim. She was still pale, despite the color slowly returning to her cheeks.
“You have to go give a statement. But I imagine you know that.” He slid his hands into his pockets, because he ached to touch her. So badly did he ache to touch her. “I’ll make some calls, though. We’ll have them come to your hotel.”
“I’m not staying at the hotel anymore.” She brushed her hair back, a habitual gesture. Then she absently toyed with the silver chain around her neck and he found himself staring at her fingers, then the scar tissue—remembering that night, how close she’d come to dying. The days that followed.
And the day he’d taken her home…the day he’d taken
her
.
He couldn’t think about that now. Slipping a hand into his pocket, he rubbed his thumb over the smooth surface of the golden cross he carried.
Focus, damn it
. Had to focus. He tore his gaze from her neck.
“That hotel, I swear, it’s highway robbery,” Dez said with a wry laugh. “How can it stay in business in this little place? Anyway, I was going to see if I could find a room to rent or something for a week or two. Either that or just a cheap hotel.”
Don’t,
he thought, staring at her. He could offer her a room out at the manor, but he wouldn’t. He knew he wouldn’t, knew he
shouldn’t
. This was the worst time in the world for him to be around her. And that was the worst place in the world for her to be. There was a possibility she’d find ghosts there, as well.
Assuming there
weren’t
any ghosts there, even if he made the offer, she wouldn’t accept. But it was a bad idea anyway. Not that she wouldn’t figure it out, but he didn’t need her at the manor and he didn’t
want
her at the manor. His head was fucked up enough there as it was.
Fortunately, he had the willpower to keep from blurting that much out. However…he could do something for her. “I’ll see what I can do about getting you a place to stay. Since you’ve signed the contract, we will pick it up.”
Finding a place wouldn’t be an issue. His family had had its hands in everything—including real estate. He didn’t give a damn what happened to the money, but he did pay attention, simply because it was his responsibility. One of the rental houses had gone vacant a few weeks earlier—he’d gotten the e-mail from the lawyer who handled everything. As far as he knew, it was still sitting empty. She could stay there, once he’d made sure it was in decent shape.
It was better than a hotel, at least.
But in the meantime, they needed to find a place where she could give her statement. Shit.
“Stop glaring at me,” Dez muttered.
“I’m not glaring at you.” Shit. He probably was. Then he sighed and looked away. “How did you end up out here, Dez?”
Here—now. Why the hell here and why the hell
now
?
“You’ve already figured out the answer to that. Why do you need me to spell it out?”
“Maybe because it’s not adding up.” He looked back at her and lifted a brow. “And maybe because you’re not telling me everything.”
She wrinkled her nose at him. Then she jammed her hands in her pockets and started to walk, ignoring the restaurant and walking down the sidewalk like she didn’t have a destination or a goal in mind. He fell in step beside her. “Aren’t you hungry?”
“After your little display back there? Hell, no. I may not eat for a week.” She hunched her shoulders up and shuddered. “His name was Tristan. A nice kid. Strong. You know that saying, ‘Only the good die young’? I swear, it could have been written with him in mind. This kid…Taylor, he was good. I’m talking solid-gold good. He stayed for one reason: that girl. He needed to save her and he wasn’t going anywhere until he did it. He couldn’t move on.”
“So he knew about her. All along.”
“Yeah.” She lifted her head, staring off into the distance. “If you go back through the obits, or talk to people around here, they’ll tell you he killed himself. They’ll tell you, ‘What a shame, we don’t get it. He was such a bright, nice young man.’ And he was—he was a nice kid, would have been one hell of a man. And they are right…they don’t get it. They are clueless. That boy didn’t kill himself.
They
killed him. Those boys who put that girl in there. They killed him because he didn’t want to go along with their little prank…and he wasn’t going to allow it. They killed him to shut him up.”
“Fuck.” He closed his eyes as he realized what she was saying. He’d already assumed
one
kid had been involved, but as a prank? A fucking prank? And they’d killed another to silence him. Taylor closed his eyes. “You’re certain.”
“Yeah. Pretty damn certain.” She licked her lips and shot him a narrow glance. “There was a boy yesterday, when I was getting ready to go up in that fort thing—he had on some sort of security uniform, and his name tag read
Danvers
. That ring any bells?”
“There is a Mark Danvers on staff. He’s eighteen, works in the security department at the hotel.” Taylor frowned absently, going through his mental files, ticking off the faces until he came to the right one. “Skinny kid. Dark hair, cut short.”
“That sounds right. He saw me. Could have called for the rest of security, done something to stop me from climbing out there…slowed me down a lot. But he didn’t.” She stopped now and turned to him. A cold wind kicked up, blowing through her short, dark hair. “He knew. He’s involved somehow and he was scared to death, but he knew. And when he figured out what I was up to, he was relieved. Somebody needs to talk to that boy, and they need to do it without his buddies around. Soon, too, because if the others would kill to go through with their plan…what are they willing to do to protect their secrets?”
Taylor didn’t even want to think about that.
* * *
MARK waited thirty minutes before he slipped out of the house. He took his bike. He didn’t ride much anymore. Not since he’d started hanging with Brendan and Beau—the Mustang was so much cooler than a fucking bike—but as he pulled on the cold-weather gear he used to use back when he biked all over these roads, he felt some of the stress easing away.
He never should have started hanging out with them.
Never should have gotten so caught up in the idea of that shit. He knew it now, wished he’d seen then. Out in the garage, it was chilly, but he ignored it. He lived five miles outside of town. It wouldn’t take him long on the bike, but man, he was going to freeze his ass off. He grabbed an extra fleece from the wall and tugged it on as he laid out the plan.
He’d look for her, first. Look for the woman, and then if he didn’t find her…shit. He didn’t know. Maybe the guy he’d seen hanging around. The blond guy. He wasn’t from town, but there’d been something about him. Or maybe Luther. Luther would know what to do. Luther always had the answers. Shit. He’d figure it out on the ride. Riding always cleared his head.
The air laid into him with a cold bite, one that he welcomed. For the first half of the ride, he didn’t make himself think, not at all. He just rode and let his mind drift.
But as he got closer to town, he made himself start thinking, made himself start trying to plan. If he couldn’t find the woman, and if he couldn’t figure out who the guy was, the next person was…who? Half the police department had their lips firmly plastered to the ass of Brendan’s father. He didn’t know who there he could trust. Luther seemed to be the right call, but Luther wasn’t a cop anymore. Still, he would know who to trust, Mark thought.
So caught up in his thoughts, he was only dimly aware of the engine. He heard it, but he wasn’t paying attention the way he should. And it didn’t dawn on him until it was almost too late…it was coming way too fucking fast.
At almost the last second, he jerked his head—saw the vehicle, that sunlight glinting off the Mustang’s gleaming windshield. Swearing, he jerked the handlebars. The wheel hit something and he went flying.
* * *
BEAU swiped a hand over the back of his mouth and told himself he hadn’t just done that. What the hell had he been thinking?
He’d just seen Mark and lost it—the fucking pussy had said something. He knew it. They
all
knew it. All of them. Shit, shit, shit. Mark was the weak one; he was the one who’d talked. They needed to just stop pussyfooting around and deal with it before he fucked them all.
He saw Mark lying crumpled on the ground and he gripped the gearshift—his hand sweating, his heart racing. He could do it now. Take care of it. It wasn’t like he didn’t have the vehicle for it.
Up ahead, he saw something, though. Through the trees—sunlight glinting off paint.
Shit. Heart racing, he pressed on the gas. Easy-like. Couldn’t let anybody see him peeling out of there, right?
Shit. What the fuck did he do now? Wasn’t like he’d
hit
Mark or anything, right? He’d go talk to Brendan. Brendan would know what to do.
S O close to time.
I wanted
a more peaceful day for us, my pretty angel. My only.
But it was tomorrow, and it would seem there was no peace coming anytime soon. It was a concern, because unrest made people jumpy, made them look.
Not that there was much to see, after all. But still, it was a concern. But no one that would stop this special day. It only came once a year, after all.
* * *
YOU stupid motherfucker.
Brendan stared at Beau, resisting the urge to get up and wrap his hands around the idiot’s neck and just
squeeze
. “What in the hell were you thinking?”
“We know it’s him,” Beau said simply, staring at Brendan with a blank look. Like he wanted some sort of pat on the head.
“And your point is…?”
“What are we supposed to do? Just be quiet and not say anything?” Beau shook his head. “We got to do something before he runs his mouth.”
Across the room, Kyle laughed. “Shit, you’ve taken one hit too many in football, Beau. Anything happens
now
, it automatically looks worse for us, and since we’re all friends, it looks worse on
all
of us. Can you at least tell us he hit his head hard enough that he won’t remember what happened?”
Beau reached up and scratched at his scalp, looking confused.
“Guess we can take that as a no,” Kyle muttered.
Brendan sighed. Kyle swore and then looked at Brendan. “What the fuck do we do now?”
Brendan shook his head and stared at Beau for a long minute. He had ideas. But he didn’t want to do anything until he knew what was going on with Mark first. Shit. How in the world had everything gotten so screwed up?
He blew out a breath and shook his head. “Listen to me, damn it.” He pointed at Beau and bit off, “Listen good. You don’t do anything else. You got it? That was so fucking stupid.”
“But…”
“No.” Brendan shook his head. “Just shut up and listen. You could have fucked all of us. You don’t tell the others; you don’t mention this. It didn’t
happen
, you hear me?”
“O-okay.” Beau nodded, licking his lips. “It didn’t happen.”
Brendan turned away and shoved a hand through his hair, his mind racing furiously. “We need to just keep it cool, play it easy. We don’t have school tomorrow, so that’s good. And I heard my dad talking with somebody from the school board about either canceling school for Tuesday or setting up counseling and shit, because of what happened at the hotel and shit. They think we’re ‘traumatized.’ ”
He’d drop a few comments, see if he couldn’t get his dad to throw his weight for an extra day off. They needed to make sure Beau wasn’t going to lose his mind again—Beau of all people. Shit.
* * *
THE day that Taylor Jones dreaded was almost here. Tomorrow. Fuck. It was tomorrow. The flowers were already ordered—he’d taken care of that earlier in the week, thank God. Daisies. Anna had always loved daisies.
One more fucking day. Then it was behind him for another year. Another year for him to wonder and wait for there to be news. But there never was. Not that he hadn’t looked, quietly. But the trail had long since gone cold. He wouldn’t admit, though, not even to himself, that he’d never know what had happened to her.
One more day…and already, he couldn’t think of anything but her, his sweet kid sister who made him laugh so easily. Part of him wished the damn phone would ring, that Dez would need him for something, just so he could escape these thoughts for a few hours longer. Until tomorrow, please God, just until tomorrow.
But Anna deserved better than that.
He’d been awake since before dawn and it had found him sitting in his bed, staring at nothing as he went back and thought of every last little detail about the girl.
Her smile. The way she laughed. The times she’d gotten him in trouble for pranks she’d come up with. And how he hadn’t minded so much—because it had been Anna.
And he remembered the horror as they all realized she was missing. All these years…never knowing. The bitch of his job was that he knew he’d probably
never
know. That her killer would likely go unpunished.
“Anna…God, I’m sorry.” A tear slid free and rolled down his cheek. Taylor didn’t bother wiping it away.
He missed his baby sister.
* * *
DEZ climbed out of the car, ignoring the dry, skittering whispers that danced along her flesh as she placed one booted foot on cemetery ground. People who thought ghosts were stronger at night were clueless. Ghosts didn’t care what time of day it was.
Right now the sun was a thin, watery light high in the sky and although she couldn’t see a soul, Dez knew she wasn’t alone as she made her way through the graveyard.
She didn’t know why she was here.
Tristan was gone. She sighed and wondered if she could talk to his parents, if she
should
. She needed to find a way to give them the closure she’d promised their son, but right now, all she had was the knowledge that he hadn’t killed himself. It was empty knowledge without proof.
But Tristan hadn’t called her here.
Something…no, some
body
else had.
She couldn’t see the soul. Couldn’t even really
feel
whoever it was. The soul wasn’t strong enough. Either too long dead or just too weak in general. But somebody was tugging her.
And there were others, too. Mostly echoes—not truly ghosts, just the remnants of their memories, the lingering of their emotions, echoes of their passings. She believed most of them had truly passed on to what waited beyond…this was just like…well, the afterdeath, perhaps.
Only a few of the souls felt
complete
enough to truly be called ghosts and none of them were strong enough to manifest. The rest, they were just the lonely echoes of their mortal lives. She wondered if they’d ever find a way to let go, wondered what happened to their true souls if some remnant continued to cling. And those were only some of the questions she had.
It was a terribly depressing thought, she decided.
Those whispery echoes, so forlorn and sad. Dez lowered her shields as much as she could and reached out. “Hello?”
No answer.
“If you want to talk, I’m here.”
There was
almost
a shivering sigh on the air—almost the echo of a sound. So hesitant and faint.
“I’ll hear you, you know. All you have to do is focus a little. Reach out to me and just think about making me hear you. And I will.” She skirted around the base of a large marble angel, absently stroking the petals of the flowers that had been placed there.
The silence lingered.
Sighs gathered and she felt the press of their presence, but nobody answered.
Dez reached up, rubbing the back of her neck, frustration mounting hard. She wanted so desperately to be able to help, but she didn’t know how. She couldn’t reach out and focus until the soul actually
reached
for her first. And there was nothing. Simply nothing.
The air was thick with sadness, heavy with it. It almost broke Dez’s heart. After another circle around the marble angel, she ambled back over to Tristan’s grave and crouched down, absently picking up a few dead leaves and tossing them aside.
In the back of her mind, she heard more vague whispers. No words, nothing she could lock on. But there was somebody
there
…watching her. Somebody who
needed
her, or was at least aware of her.
It seemed the only time the departed were really aware of her was when they wanted her help. But this one wasn’t reaching out. As the ghostly brushes against her subconscious grew stronger, colder, she shivered. Staring at Tristan’s marker, she murmured, “At least I was able to help you, right?”
She jumped when there was a harsh, almost broken sound that echoed all around—it was so loud she
felt
it. It sounded like a sob. She could almost taste the tears.
Swallowing, Dez rose and looked around.
“Who are you?” she asked again.
But once more, there was nothing but the sound of the wind, and those ghostly, lingering sighs.
“I can’t help you until you talk to me,” Dez said quietly.
There wouldn’t be a response, though. She could accept that. Okay. So she’d just come back. Give it time. Sooner or later, she’d get whatever connection she needed, because she couldn’t rush this.
The ghost simply wasn’t ready to speak to her yet.
Still, despite her unease, she was oddly hesitant to leave and she found herself doing another slow circuit around the cemetery. She might have done it endlessly.
But her phone rang, the jingling tune sounding strident and harsh in that place of silence and unrest. Jolting, she reached into her pocket and pulled it out in a rush, silencing the sound before it could shatter the quiet any more than it already had. Her heart was racing before she even lifted it to her ear. It was Taylor.
“Yes?” she asked, her voice creaking.
“I need you at the hospital. Immediately.”
Swallowing, she closed her eyes. She didn’t want to ask. She didn’t want to—was it Ivy? What had happened to her? “Why?”
“That boy. The one you saw. He’s been in an accident. Get here. Now.” In typical Taylor Jones fashion, he delivered those words in a short, concise fashion and before she could ask a single thing, he hung up.
That boy. Mark.
Shit
.
Dez lowered the phone and cast one final look around the cemetery. “Whoever you are, I’ve got to go. But if you want my help, sooner or later, you’ll have to speak to me.”
The wind gusted through the cemetery as she headed back to the car, blowing the tail of her coat around her legs, sending leaves swirling around her in gusts.
And although she knew she wouldn’t see anything, Dez knew she was being watched.
* * *
“I usually have to be in a town a few months before I have to visit the hospital twice,” she muttered as she joined him in the hallway on the way to Mark Danvers’s room.
Taylor just frowned. “If you really think he knows something, then we need to know now so we can have somebody placed here to watch him. This town is too small to be able to spare it unless it’s absolutely necessary.”
“Gee, I never would have thought of that,” she drawled, giving him a look of wide-eyed innocence as she fell into step next to him. “The two or three stop signs in lieu of stoplights never would have clued me in to that. I’m surprised you even get cell phone reception here.”
“Smart-ass,” he whispered, nodding to the nurse as she came out of the room. He caught Dez’s arm and gestured to the doorway. “He’s in there. You’ll need to give the cops a minute to get the kid’s parents out.”
Dez shook her head. “I think you should leave them in there.”
Taylor opened his mouth to argue, but she slanted a look his way. “He wants to talk. He’s scared and he wants to talk…Give him a chance to do the right thing.”
“And if he was involved in that boy’s death?”
“I won’t let him talk about that right now. I just want to know about the girl…and what happened today.” She made a face at him. “I’m not new at this, you know. And it’s not like I don’t know what
not
to ask or anything. I can keep him from talking about shit he shouldn’t talk about without a lawyer. But you need to at least give him a chance…and let him have his folks. I’ve got a bad feeling about this.”
Hell. So did he.
Against his better judgment, Taylor nodded and stepped aside, following Dez into the hospital room.
* * *
IF the boy had looked pale and scared yesterday, it was nothing compared to how he looked now.
Pale and scared and bruised didn’t even cover it.
He must have sensed the tension from his parents, because Dez and Taylor hadn’t been in the room more than five seconds before the boy opened his eyes and turned his head to look at them.
Dez ignored the parents, focusing solely on Mark. She’d wondered if she would feel regret coming from him—regret for helping her yesterday—but so far…no. All she felt was exhaustion and pain. And fear. A lot of it.
“Hey.” She studied the big-ass bandage on his head and wondered how many stitches were under it. “Don’t take this wrong, man, but you look like hell.”
He gave her a weak grin. “Well, maybe it’s a good Halloween costume.”
“You think they’ll let you out to go trick-or-treat?” She moved around and eased a hip down on the edge of the bed, automatically sensing the best way to reach out to him, talk to him. He was tired of hiding, tired of being afraid, tired of lying.
He really did want to talk.
So she’d let him. And she’d hope his parents loved him as much as they seemed to.
“Nah. I scrambled my brains—they’re keeping me for a day or so, they tell me.” He closed his eyes and sighed. “Better off in here for a while, I guess.”
“Yeah. I’m thinking so. Although I’m curious just how you ended up in here.” She waited until he opened his eyes and looked back at her. Then she lifted a brow and asked, “You got any idea what happened?”
His mother reached over and laid a hand on his shoulder. “He already explained all of this. He lost control of his bike. It happens.”
Dez ignored the mom. “You look awful scared, Mark. People who look that scared are usually scared for a reason.”
A muscle jerked in his jaw. He blinked rapidly, like he was trying to get something out of his eye…or maybe like he was trying not to cry. A harsh sob escaped him.
“I wanted to tell somebody,” he blurted out.
Mark’s dad straightened. “What’s going on here?”
“Dad, I wanted to tell you—”
The older man held up a hand. “I don’t know what’s going on, Mark, but you need to be quiet now. I want a lawyer in here.”
“There’s no need for one,” Dez said quietly. “I’m not a cop.”
Mark shifted his glance to Taylor and lifted a brow. “Don’t tell me
he
isn’t.”
Dez turned her head and looked at Taylor. “Taylor. Can you go outside?”
Taylor narrowed his eyes.
“He wants to do the right thing.” She held his gaze, silently begging him to listen. “Let him talk…and when he’s done, we’ll know if we need to have him protected—I’ll tell you. You know I’ll let you know. Later, the cops can talk to him. He’s not going anywhere.” She shifted her eyes to the boy and asked, “Are you?”
Mark swallowed and whispered, “No.”
“Mark, be quiet. You don’t need to say anything else,” his mother said, glaring at Dez. “Whatever this is, we’ll deal with it. I don’t want you in trouble.”
He laughed, but the sound was harsh and ugly. “I don’t need to say anything? Damn it, Mom, I do, too. I
need
to, because
not
saying anything is killing me. I can’t live with this inside me. And you don’t
want
me in trouble? I
deserve
trouble.”
“Mark…”
He looked up at his dad and said quietly, “You always taught me that when I screwed up, I had to accept responsibility. That’s what I’m going to do.” He looked back at Dez and said, “I want to tell you. He doesn’t have to leave.”
Taylor swore under his breath, then looked at Dez before looking back at Mark. “Actually, it’s probably best if I do. Ms. Lincoln isn’t…well, she’s not bound by the same constraints that I am. Think of her the way you’d think of a doctor or a priest, for the time being. You can talk to her. But it’s best that I’m not in here while you discuss this.” Then he gave Mark a faint smile. “I’ve met grown men who lack your courage, you know that? As admirable as it is, it makes it harder for me to walk out…but I’m glad to see it.”
Without another word, he turned around and left the room. As the door swung shut behind him, Dez looked back at Mark. “I don’t want to know
anything
except what was going to happen yesterday and what happened today—I need to know about the girl and I need to know if you’re in danger, Mark. Got that? I don’t want to hear what happened months ago and I don’t want you trying to tell me. You can tell the cops all that later…
with a lawyer
, damn it. Get a good one, one who can cut you a deal. But for now…Yesterday. Today. That’s all…Am I clear?”
He stared at her and nodded slowly.
“Okay, then. Are you in danger? Did somebody try to hurt you?”
“Yeah.” He licked his lips and then glanced at his mom when a harsh, startled cry escaped her. “I’m sorry, Mom. For everything.”
He looked back at Dez and said, “It was Beau. I recognized his Mustang—he has a plate on the front of the car, it reads
BOKXASS
: ‘Beau kicks ass.’ I didn’t see him, but I know that Mustang. I was riding, and he was almost on top of me, getting faster. I just jerked the handlebars, felt the wheel hit something. I…I don’t know after that.”
As his parents crowded around him, Dez remained silent. Finally, though, his father asked, “Mark, are you
sure
it was Beau? I mean, why would he do that?”
Mark started to cry then.
Deep, ugly sobs. There was poison in those tears, Dez suspected, poison that had been festering inside him for months and months. His parents stared at him, in complete and utter shock, for the longest time. Then, slowly, they looked at her. His dad was the first one to start to understand, and she saw that dawning horror, watched as he stumbled back a little from the boy who desperately needed him.
Rising, Dez moved and slid an arm around Mark’s shoulders as she met the father’s gaze. “You know what happened yesterday,” she said quietly.
The older man nodded.
“Your son was there. He could have done two things: He could have screwed around and made it harder for me to help. Or he could have done what he did. He made it possible for me to help…whatever else happens, whatever you hear, remember that.”
The mother continued to stare at them, mystified.
Dez ignored them and caught one of Mark’s hands in hers. “You need to get this out, Mark. You said it yourself. It’s killing you. Get it out…and let me help. However I can, I’ll help.”