Sinful Desire

“Who? Who are they? Who are T.J. and K.? Are they Royal Sinners? Were they involved?”

She shook her head and the focused look vacated her eyes. “I’m tired. I’m so tired. I’m so incredibly tired.”

“Mom, c’mon,” he said, begging. “I’ve done everything you asked. I can’t help you unless you tell me. You begged me to never say a word about the drugs, and I never did. I never said a thing, just like you asked. I followed your word to the letter. For eighteen goddamn years. But, Jesus Christ, I miss my dad. Okay?” His voice rose as he pleaded with her. “I miss him every day. If you know something you’ve never told me, now would be a really good time to share it, since there’s a chance of getting justice served.”

Her lips curved down. She reached for his hand and clasped her bony fingers around it. “I have to protect you. I swore I’d protect you. I will ’til the day I die.”

His leaned back in his chair and shoved a hand through his hair. “I can protect myself. I’m not fourteen anymore. I’m not a kid. I’m a thirty-two-year-old man. So tell me. Who are T.J. and K.? Did they kill Dad?”

“I’m protecting you and your brothers and sister,” she said, sticking to her own party line.

He tried again, hoping to rattle her this time. Press her buttons. “Then did you do it? They all think you did. Everyone thinks you did. The state sure as hell does. Did you kill Dad?”

She narrowed her eyes. “No. I’ve told you I didn’t.”

“You better not have lied to me. For years I have believed in you.”

“Everything I’ve done is for all of you. I love you all so much.”

“You gave this to me—don’t you get it? You gave me this obsession over what really happened,” he said, grabbing the sides of his skull for emphasis. “It’s like a sickness now in me. You asked me to cover up when the cops were investigating my father’s murder, and the details and the secrets eat away at me. It makes it hard for me to have a normal fucking life. Tell me, who are they?”

Her eyelids started to close. “I need to sleep,” she mumbled. “I can’t sleep at night. All I do is lie awake and stare at the ceiling and wish for the light to come.” She rested her cheek against the table. In a minute, she’d fallen into slumber.

And he was hardly any closer to knowing why.

Ryan sat there in silence ’til the hour ended, and the sturdy, brown-haired corrections officer returned to the room.

“Hey, Clara,” he said to the woman in the beige uniform.

She smiled. “Hey, Ryan. How’s it going?”

“Keeping busy. Trying to stay out of trouble. How about you? How’s the family?”

“My oldest starts high school in another month. Time flies, huh?”

“I remember when you were telling me about him starting kindergarten,” Ryan said, because it had been that long that he’d known her.

Clara patted his sleeping mom. “C’mon, Prince. Visiting hour is over.”

Dora raised her head an inch. A line from the table’s edge was pressed into her cheek. Her mouth was open and saliva had pooled in the corner of her lips. She blinked. Then she rose and held out her arms to Ryan.

He hugged her. “Bye Mom. Get some sleep.”

“Come by again, please. And stay safe. Stay away from the Sinners. Just stay away and you’ll be safe then.”

“I will,” he said and kissed her forehead.

He gave a quick wave to Clara. “Take care of yourself, Clara.”

“You, too. Will we see you later this month? She earned some more visiting hours. End of next week, I believe.”

He nodded. “I’ll do my best. Can’t seem to stay away from this place,” he said with a wry smile, and Clara patted him on the shoulder.

As he left, he wished he could simply Google “T.J. and K.” and know what the hell his mother had been talking about. But as he closed the door to his truck, it occurred to him he could do something else with the information. He was grasping at straws, but maybe someone else could make sense of this. Maybe it was time for Ryan to ask for help, to turn to another person who was trying to solve this case.

He dialed Detective John Winston, and passed on the initials T.J. and K.

“I really appreciate that,” John said.

“I don’t know that it means anything.”

“I don’t, either. But it might, and that’s what matters. A lead is a lead, and I’ll see what I can do.”

For the first time in a long time, Ryan felt unburdened.





Chapter Twenty


The scent of roasted rosemary chicken wafted through her penthouse as she turned off the oven and set the roasting pan on top of the stove. She leaned in to the bird, cuddled by potatoes and carrots, and inhaled the delicious scent.