Paternal grandparents—really well-off—who’d disinherited the asshole father and uncle who’d had their shitload of guns available for a trio of fucked-up teenagers to take, to use, to kill what came to be ninety-three people in the space of minutes.
What a fucking family, he thought, strapping on his off-duty weapon, shoving his wallet, ID, and phone in his pockets.
On the way out, he pulled out his phone, called Essie. An actual call because she might ignore a text.
He jogged down the steps as she answered.
“I’m heading to the house I told you about, meeting Realtor Renee. Come on and see it with me. Bring the gang.”
“It’s a hot, lazy afternoon, Reed.”
“That’s why it’s perfect. We’ll go to the park after, the dog and kid can run around. And I’ll take you all for pizza to celebrate me making an offer. I really think this is the one.”
“You said that with that weird Victorian three months ago.”
“I liked the weird Victorian, but it had a bad vibe when we walked through it.”
“Yeah, yeah, vibe, bad. You’re a house-shopping addict, Reed.”
Since it might be true, he evaded. “It’ll be fun. This one’s only a few blocks from your place.”
“It’s over half a mile.”
“A nice Sunday stroll, right? Then the park, pizza. I’ll spring for a bottle of wine.”
“That’s so unfair.”
He laughed. “Come on. I need somebody to talk me out of it if it’s wrong, or into it if it’s right. The damn water heater’s on the death watch here again. I really do have to get out of this place.”
He knew by the long, windy sigh, he had her.
“What time’s your appointment?”
“Two. I’m heading there now.”
“Puck and Dylan could use the walk and the run-around time. Hank and I could use the wine. I’ve got to get it together first. Don’t make a damn offer until we get there.”
“You got it. Thanks. See you.”
He glanced back at the building. Someone who couldn’t spell had added some fresh graffiti advising somebody else to FUK A DUKE.
He assumed they meant duck, but maybe they knew somebody named Duke. Maybe they wanted to fuck an aristocrat or something.
In any case, it was just another sign his time there had to end.
Still, a decent coffee shop had opened up a couple blocks away, and somebody had bought one of the neighboring buildings with big talk of rehab and spiffy condos.
Gentrification could happen.
Another reason to get out. He’d appreciate seeing the neighborhood cleaned up, spruced up, but he didn’t want to live out his life in a condo.
As he drove, he imagined setting up a grill on his new back deck. He knew how to grill—sort of. Maybe he’d even learn how to cook something besides scrambled eggs and grilled cheese and bacon sandwiches. Maybe.
He’d have parties with the grill smoking—or in the great room in the winter with the gas fireplace going. Keep one of the three bedrooms as a guest room, turn the other into what would be his first ever actual home office.
Buy a big, and he did mean big-ass flat screen for the wall and sign up for every fucking sports channel on cable.
That’s what I’m talking about, he decided as he cruised into what he had determined would be his new neighborhood.
Older homes, sure, but he didn’t mind older. Most had been remodeled with the ever-popular open concept, the snazzy bathrooms and kitchens.
Lots of families, and he didn’t mind that, either. Maybe he’d come across some sexy single mom. He liked kids, kids were no problem.
He pulled up into the drive of the sturdy two-story brick, thought how much he’d liked the unabashed weirdness of the Victorian over this more traditional. But sturdy was good, sturdy was fine. And the owners had definitely put some effort into curb appeal with the plants, shrubs, the new doors on the garage.
He could use a garage.
As he got out, he glanced at the car already parked there. Not Renee’s, his extremely patient Realtor. Curious, he noted the license plate—pure habit—as he crossed what he told himself would be his brick walkway.
The woman opened the door before he pressed the (his) doorbell.
“Hi! Reed, right?” The attractive blonde in the tailored red shirt and white pants held out her hand. “I’m Maxie, Maxie Walters.”
“Okay. I’m supposed to meet Renee.”
“Yes, she called me. She had a family emergency. Her mother had a little fender bender—nothing serious,” she said quickly. “But you know moms. Renee’s going to try to get here, but she didn’t want you to have to delay or postpone—especially when we got the inside scoop the sellers are cutting the price five thousand tomorrow.”
“That doesn’t hurt a thing.” He stepped inside, scanned the high-ceilinged foyer he’d admired on the video tour.
“I’ve just been familiarizing myself with the property. It does have some lovely features. Original hardwood floors, and I think they did a terrific job refinishing them. And don’t you love the open feel of the entrance?” she continued as she gestured him ahead, closed the door.
“Yeah, the house has a good feel.” He wandered the living room—staged well, he thought as he’d seen every level of staging—and imagined that big-ass screen on the wall.
He liked the sight line, straight back to the kitchen with the wide breakfast counter, and the dining area, to the wide sliders that opened onto the back deck he wanted for his own.
“So you work with Renee?” He didn’t know why he asked. He knew everyone who worked with Renee.
He turned toward her. Blond and blue, mid-twenties, about five-four, and a hundred fifteen. Good muscle tone.
“We’re friends,” she said as she led the way toward the kitchen. “Actually, she’s been my mentor. I only got my license three months ago. Granite countertops,” she added. “The appliances are new. Not stainless, but I think the clean white suits the space.”
Her voice, he thought. Something about her voice. He stopped on his way to that beckoning deck, turned with the breakfast bar between them.
“Do you cook, Reed?”
“Not really.” He thought the flirty smile she sent him just didn’t fit the space between her nose and chin.
She stepped up to the counter. “You’re a police detective. That must be exciting. Not married though?”
“No.”
“It’s a great house for a family, when you start one.”
She shifted. He couldn’t see her hands, but her body language … Every instinct went on alert. The eyes, the hair, even the shape of the mouth with that slight overbite were all different. But the voice.
It clicked, just an instant too late. She’d already brought up the gun. He dived for cover, but she caught him twice, in the side, in the shoulder.
He hit the refinished hardwood behind the granite breakfast counter hard, with stupefying pain exploding through his body.
“Some cop.” With a laugh, she strolled around the counter to finish him off with one to the head. “You did a better job protecting some idiot kid way back when than protecting yourself now. Say goodbye, hero.”
He saw her face change from eager to shocked. Now he had his gun out. He fired three times, forced to use his left hand as his right couldn’t hold his weapon.
He heard her scream, thought he hit her, thought at least one shot hit before she used the counter to block. Before he heard her running for the front door.
“You motherfucker!” She screamed it as she ran.
He had to drag himself across the floor, brace the weapon as he cleared the counter. She’d left the door open. He heard the sound of a car starting, tires squealing.
She could come back, he thought. If she came back … Teeth gritted, he pushed himself to sit, back to the counter, gasping against the pain as he fought for his phone.
He passed out, felt himself fade. He didn’t know how long. Struggling to breathe against the pain, he pulled out his phone.
He started to hit nine-one-one, then thought of Essie and her family.
She answered on the second ring. “We’re coming! Five minutes.”
“No, no. Don’t. Stay back. I’m shot. I’m shot.”
“What? Reed!”
“Need ambulance. Need backup. Fuck me, passing out again. Need BOLO…”
“Reed! Reed! Hank, stay here, stay with Dylan.”
“Essie, what—”