Of course, if Grant hadn’t come back, Keith would have found another way to help him. He’d spent months learning about poisons. Which ones left a signature behind for a medical examiner to find and which ones didn’t. He loved the long-distance lethality they offered. Some of them were even supposed to feel good.
That appealed to Keith. He didn’t like hurting his siblings, but sometimes it was necessary. Like with Everett.
Keith’s stomach twisted at the memory of Everett’s bulging eyes and tongue.
At least he was free now. He’d escaped his pain. Four more and it would finally be Keith’s turn to escape, as well. No more nightmares.
That thought lightened his step and calmed his shaking hands as he entered the police station. Because he was a public defender, the police knew him and allowed him access to Grant with hardly any trouble. He entered the interrogation room and shut the door behind him.
Grant looked tired but unhurt, other than a small cut. The thug Keith had hired hadn’t done his job and slowed Grant down enough to give Keith a shot at subduing him.
Maybe Grant was going to be even harder to deal with than Keith thought.
He studied the man sitting at the table, thinking of which way would be best to help him. If it weren’t for the fact that Keith would certainly be caught, it would be an easy thing to paralyze him with the spray Keith kept in his briefcase and shove one of the poison capsules he’d made down Grant’s throat. By the time the paralytic wore off, Grant would already be gone.
But it wasn’t Grant’s turn. He’d lived with Lavine for only a heartbeat of time compared to the others. It wasn’t fair that he would get to go first. Amanda was next. Then Trina. They’d both earned their place in line.
Grant looked up in surprise. “Keith? What are you doing here?”
“Isabelle called me and told me the police were holding you for questioning,” said Keith. “Have you been charged with anything yet?”
“No, but I’m pretty sure that won’t last much longer if Mathews has anything to say about it.”
“Do you know if they have any evidence against you?” asked Keith.
“Mathews said something about finding my fingerprints in Everett’s house.”
Keith tried to hide his surprise that the police had even bothered to check for fingerprints. Everett’s death should have been more convincing than that. What had he missed? He needed to find out before he went to help Amanda.
“Maybe they were just bluffing, thinking they’d get a confession out of you.”
Grant shoved his fingers through his hair in frustration. “I don’t know what else it would be. I’ve never been in his place, so my fingerprints can’t be there.”
Even though Keith knew the answer, he was playing a role and needed to ask the right questions to be convincing. “Did you kill him?” he asked, feigning sincerity. Using that word—kill—nearly made him choke with rage and disgust. It was such an ugly word for the gift Keith had given Everett.
“Hell, no!” shouted Grant.
Keith held up his hands. “Okay, I believe you. Our job now is to convince the police. Do you have an alibi?”
“I was with Isabelle.”
Of course he was. Isabelle still hadn’t gotten over her crush on Grant and likely never would. But that was okay. Keith would free her from that unrequited love, too, soon enough.
The door opened and Mathews entered. He looked like he hadn’t slept in days, or if he had, it was in the same clothes he was wearing now. Keith wondered if his wife’s illness had taken a turn for the worse, though he knew better than to ask the man about her. Mathews didn’t like answering questions about his personal life.
He set a short stack of folders on the table and said to Grant, “I need to know where you were on the following dates: January eleven, seventeen, thirty, February six, nineteen, and March three.”
Those were the dates Keith had freed each of the others. Somehow, the police had made the connection, and Keith was pretty sure it was Grant’s or Isabelle’s fault.
Now that the police knew the deaths were connected, they were going to investigate them. Keith’s time was running out.
He struggled to remain calm and tried to channel his panic into what would appear like anger. “What is this about?” he asked Mathews.
“Murder. We’re looking into the deaths of six more people that might have been tied to Everett.”
Murder? The word made Keith’s mouth twist in disgust. What he’d done hadn’t been murder, and he wanted to scream at Mathews until he took back the ugly insult. If only Keith could explain what they’d been through—if only Mathews could know for himself what it was like to suffer the way Lavine’s children had—he wouldn’t ever use such a disgusting word to describe the sacrifice Keith had made to save them.
Grant picked up the files and leafed through them. He didn’t look surprised at what he saw, which meant he’d seen it before. That lack of surprise also made him look guilty.
Keith’s mind scrambled to find a way to make the most of this turn of events. If Grant was charged with the murders and put behind bars, then he’d be difficult to access when it was his turn. And Keith didn’t need Grant to take the blame. He already had someone else in mind for that on the off chance that he needed to remove any suspicion that would fall on him.
Keith didn’t mind going to jail for helping his siblings, but what he did mind was the possibility he’d be put on suicide watch, unable to escape the memory of what Lavine had done to him—what he still did to him in his dreams every night. He’d be stuck in this world, suffering indefinitely with no means of escape.
He’d always known that getting caught was a possibility, so, to protect himself from that ever happening, he’d found another man to take the blame. Months ago. He’d brought Dale to Isabelle’s attention, knowing she’d never be able to turn him away. Once Dale was part of her life, so was Wyatt—a man who looked enough like Keith to pass as him, with a history of violence.
And if a grudge against Isabelle for keeping his son away from him wasn’t enough proof of motive, there was one as yet undiscovered fact about Wyatt that would be.
Wyatt would go back to jail, and Keith would be free to take care of whoever was left.
It was a solid plan, but something had gone wrong. Something had caused Mathews to suspect Everett hadn’t committed suicide. What was it?
He leafed through the files as Grant finished with them, pretending that he’d never seen the images of death before. Thankfully, the paralytic he used metabolized quickly and was hard to trace even if one knew what to look for. So far, no one had, and there was no mention of it in the tox screen. “These are all suicides. You can’t charge Grant with a suicide.”
“We’re working on getting the deaths reclassified,” said Mathews.
“Why?” asked Keith.
“Because of the timeline. The deaths happened in order of when these people came to live at a certain foster home. That’s not a coincidence.”
Keith’s body stiffened with shock. He hadn’t expected anyone to see that pattern, though maybe he should have. All he’d been thinking was that it made sense to free the ones who’d suffered the longest first.
Now he was going to have to change how he did things. Amanda was supposed to be next, but maybe Isabelle or Trina was a better choice. He would have preferred to get Grant out of the way to make it easier to get to Isabelle, but he was probably going to have trouble with Grant. The man was too strong not to put up a fight. And he was well trained. Grant had to remain last on his list because the chances of making his death look accidental were slim. It would have to be a surprise attack. Nothing else would work.
A bullet in Grant’s head, followed by another in his own. That was what he needed to do. They’d die together as brothers so neither would have to go alone.
“That can’t be right,” said Keith. “I was the first one to go live with Lavine, and I’m still alive.”
Mathews’s eyes narrowed in suspicion. “Then maybe you should tell me where you were on those dates, too.”
“I was traveling some of them.” And he had proof. He’d paid well for it, hiring a man who looked like him to fly in his place and use his credit cards so there were nice, solid records.
“Traveling where?”
Keith looked at the list of dates again as if he hadn’t committed them to memory. “I was in Mexico on vacation for three of those weeks.”
“Can you prove it?”
“Absolutely. Call the airlines for their passenger records if you don’t believe me.”
“I want your flight information on my desk today.”
“Fine. Whatever. If you’re done throwing out baseless suspicion, give me a few minutes with my client,” ordered Keith in his professional tone.
Mathews glared at both of them. “I’ll be back in ten. While I’m gone, have your client explain to you how his fingerprints were all over the papers on Everett’s desk.”
Once the detective was gone, Keith turned to Grant. “Can you explain that?”
“Either he’s lying to try to get me to confess to something I didn’t do, or those were the papers I helped Everett pick up off the restaurant floor. Isabelle helped, too, so her prints are likely there, as well.”
No way was Keith going to let Isabelle spend even one hour in jail. “Okay. I’m sure there were witnesses there who can verify that’s what happened if it comes to that.”
Grant gave him a hard, glittering stare. “If you went to Lavine’s first, why aren’t you dead?”
“Assuming there is someone killing these people, perhaps they got the wrong date for me. Lavine adopted me days before you came. Maybe that’s the date he’s using for me.”
“It’s possible.”
Keith waved off Grant’s suspicion with a negligent flip of his hand. “Listen, Mathews will know soon enough that I wasn’t around and he’ll clear my name. I suggest you focus on your problem. Do you remember where you were on those days?”
Grant nodded. “Oh, yeah. I remember. Trouble is, it’s classified, so I can’t say.”
“Is there anyone who can?”
Grant let out a deep sigh as if even trying was futile. “Maybe. I can give you the number for Colonel Monroe. He might be able to help.”
“And if not?”
He met Keith’s gaze, and for a moment, Keith wanted to free Grant right now. The poor man was suffering so much. He probably didn’t even realize why.
Grant said, “If Monroe can’t help, then I’m completely fucked, ’cause I won’t give out classified information.”
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Dale heard Isabelle scream, the tortured squeal of crushing metal and glass, followed by her silence.
Panic made his voice crackle. “Isabelle?” he shouted into the phone. “Isabelle? Are you okay?”
There was no answer, but he could hear the sound of screeching tires and realized she’d been in a car accident.
