Chapter 27 - Delaney
DELANEY
One day, when we’re old and surrounded by gorgeous grandchildren, I will look into your eyes and smile, knowing you really were the love of my life.
—Delaney’s Secret Thoughts
“Thank you so much, Nonna. I really appreciate it,” I tell Ryker’s great-grandmother over the phone as I jot down the last few instructions for his favorite meal. “And you’re sure this is the one?”
“The air is getting crisp, and I know my boy. Chicken noodle soup and fresh bread from the bakery, and he will be a happy man, Delaney. He was always the easiest-going of all my grandsons. You come over next weekend while the team is away, and I’ll teach you to make the sauce and meatballs. Okay?”
“I’d love that,” I tell her, ignoring the emotion building up in my throat. I’m not sure I’ll ever get used to the way Ryker’s family has accepted me, but it’s a pretty amazing thing to experience. “Thank you again.”
“Goodbye, sweetheart. I’ll see you soon.”
“Bye.” I end the call and fold my paper in half, ready to lock up and get out of work.
I should be able to handle soup, right?
I mean, it’s not like you can burn soup. It’s a liquid, not a solid . . . right?
Before I can overthink it, I grab Tori’s leash. “Come on, Notorious. Let’s go get that box of pots and pans I packed up the other day.”
She lets out a happy chuff. She knows it’s time to go home, and home means Ryker, and Ryker means treats.
The kitchen was installed this morning, and in true fashion for the two of us, Ryker and I hadn’t thought to get any pots and pans yet. He’d wanted to, but I convinced him there was nothing wrong with the set I had here. It’s not like I’d ever really used them.
Looking at them now, they do look a little worse for wear.
Oh well, they’ll do for our first home-cooked meal in our new kitchen.
I figure food is my husband’s love language. Or more specifically, feeding me.
So what better way to express my love than by doing the same for him with his favorite meal. I doubt it will be as good as Nonna’s, but it’s the thought, right? And if he’s still hungry after dinner, I’m sure I can think of something he can spend the night eating.
For a hot minute, I stand in my old kitchen, wondering if I should give up on the plan to make him dinner and just offer myself up as a main course instead. Nonna may think his favorite meal is chicken noodle soup. But I’m pretty sure I might just come before that . . .
“You’re a hard lady to track down these days, Ms. Rousseau.”
What the fuck?
My head snaps to the door Detective Brooks stands in front of, and I freeze. “What are you doing in my apartment?”
His head tilts slowly, a creepy, almost catatonic-like gaze staring back at me. He pulls the toothpick from between his lips and points it at me with the strangest smile on his face. Almost non-existent. Definitely creepy as fuck.
“But it’s not actually your apartment anymore, is it, Ms. Rousseau?” He takes a step and shoves the metal front door closed behind him with his foot. And something about the snick of it closing has me panicking.
What the hell is happening?
How am I locked in my apartment with this man?
Shit. Where’s my phone?
I left it on the counter when I grabbed the box.
Brooks takes a step forward, but I hold my ground. For now. “What do you want, detective?”
“I want to know why, Ms. Rousseau.” He looks different now than he did last week.
He’s not in his normal suit. Today it’s gray track pants and a matching zip up. My eyes go to his hip, but there’s no badge and what looks like no gun.
Is he unarmed?
“Why?” It’s getting harder to hold still with every step he takes closer to me.
“I don’t know what why you want answered, detective.
This feels like a puzzle, but I haven’t been given the clues.
” I fake a smile, going for calm and easy, but I probably look psychotic.
Maybe he’ll feel like he’s looking in a mirror.
“Why you? What is it about you that makes it so easy to send the wrong men to jail and get the right men off without ever being charged?”
“I don’t understand,” I stutter, starting to wonder if there’s more to this than Ryker. Could he have been connected to Dennings in some other way? Wouldn’t he have been recused from the case then? “What wrong men? Ryker was never guilty. He never belonged in jail.”
“Fuck Roger Dennings. I don’t give a fuck about the overprivileged prick. He cost me a fucking fortune on the game the day you and your little boy toy killed him.”
What?
Holy. Shit.
There’s a whole lot to unpack there.
“Then who?” I push, wondering if I dropped my box how easy it would be to grab the cast iron skillet first and whack him in the head with it. Fuck. He’s probably more likely to kill me with the thing than I am to knock him out.
How am I getting myself out of this?
Think, Delaney. Think.
“Can you really be that stupid?” His eyes fall on my phone, and my stomach sinks as he reaches for it.
Fuck.
“Uh-uh-uh . . .” He wags his spindly finger back and forth, and I want to cry.
I made it twenty-four years living with my father. Being smarter than the men he brought home with him. Twenty-four years, and he was the only man who ever hurt me. But in the past five months since he’s gone to prison . . . A thought rolls around in my head. Not a good one.
Oh, fuck no.
“Tell me you aren’t mixed up with my father,” I demand in a way any smart woman wouldn’t. But it doesn’t matter. His eyes give him away before his mouth ever opens.
He was in bed with my father.
Is my father the wrong man who’s been imprisoned in his mind?
If so, Brooks is more fucked in the head than I even thought.
My father was a murderer, a drug dealer, a mid-level distributor, and an extortionist. And those are just the crimes I think of off the top of my head. The ones I’ve seen with my own eyes.
“Who do you think kept him clean for all those years, little girl? Your daddy wasn’t smart enough to do it himself.
But his money was green, and he was willing to pay whatever it took to get the job done.
” He takes another step closer, stopping this time within reaching distance as bile rises up my throat.
“Your daddy always paid his debts too. But then again, he always had you to use as collateral if something fell through.”
“What?” The word shakes as it falls past my lips. The man I knew was a lot of things, but he never sold me. “What do you mean?”
“You see, when your daddy hired me to kill your momma, he used you like a bond. He needed to pull the money together and told me if he didn’t have it when I came back with proof of death, I could have you instead.
” This disgusting man sticks his tongue out like a lizard, and I gag.
“I actually hoped he wasn’t good for the money that time.
You were young and tight with curves for days.
But the fat fuck came through with the money, so you got to stay home.
So color me surprised when you showed up in the hospital having been attacked by one player and defended by another.
” He shakes his head. Your name had just gone around the precinct not too long ago when you put the miserable bastard in jail, and look at you now.
Looks like you came out smelling like a fucking peach. ”
He walks around the small counter space separating us and lunges, grabbing me by the front of my hoodie.
Ryker’s hoodie. I drop the box as the fucker yanks me toward him, kicking and screaming and clawing wildly to break free.
But he holds me there, suspended, until a wild sound comes screeching through the apartment, and I’m thrown to a heap on the floor, my head bouncing off the hardwood as I see Brooks kick Tori.
“Fucking pig,” he groans, and it’s the last thing I see before the world goes dark.