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“Is it true?” Her father’s voice echoed in the room. “My Ginger’s with you?”
Norma Rose held her breath, considering what a tight spot Ginger had put Brock in. He certainly didn’t deserve that.
“Damn it,” her father growled. “That girl is so like her mother, God rest her soul.” He let out a string of curses that had the windows rattling.
After a pause, he shouted, “Like hell you will! You put her on a train by herself and she’ll end up in California.”
Ginger had never been shy when it came to talking about moving to Hollywood. Her father, like Norma Rose, thought it had just been talk, but after all Twyla had just admitted, Norma Rose was surprised Ginger hadn’t headed for California. If she’d figured out a way to climb in Brock’s truck, she could have figured out a way to board a train without being seen. Homeless folk rode the rails every day.
“You don’t let her out of your sight,” her father said. “I need time to figure out what to do. This couldn’t have happened at a worse time.” After another curse, he said, “Any harm comes to that girl, boy, and you’ll take a fall. A big one.”
Her father didn’t make false threats, and Norma Rose’s empathy for Brock increased tenfold. Her gaze went to Ty, and she quivered inwardly, for that moment hoping he was the private investigator he claimed to be.
“Don’t tell her we’ve talked, either,” her father said. “She may bolt. I’ll call you at this number tomorrow.”
As her father slammed the phone down, he settled his gaze on Norma Rose. “You should have seen this coming.”
Although her insides exploded, Norma Rose froze. She should have known this is how it would play out. Anything her sisters did wrong came back to her.
“Norma Rose couldn’t have seen this coming any more than you could have,” Ty said. “And you certainly can’t blame her sisters’ behavior on her. She’s not their mother.”
The redness seeped out of her father’s face, and he sighed. “You’re right,” he said rather helplessly. “You’re right.”
Norma Rose wasn’t sure what affected her more, the way Ty had stood up for her, or the way her father had so meekly agreed. Both tossed her somewhere between yesteryear and never land. She was clueless as to how to react.
“The important thing is that Ginger has been found, and that’s she’s safe,” Ty said. “Do you trust Brock?”
“Brock is very trustworthy,” Norma Rose said, gathering her wits enough to speak. Ty’s hand was on the small of her back, patting her gently, and the action stole sensible thoughts faster than she could form them. “Very trustworthy.”
Her father looked at her, and then at Ty, before he nodded. “Yes,” he said. “Brock is. I guess if I have to put my trust in someone—for one of my daughters—he’d be one I know I could count on.” Shaking his head, he continued, “The apple doesn’t fall far from the tree and in this case, I’m glad. Brock’s father is as honest as the day is long. That’s why I had to step in when the doctors didn’t give him much hope.” He shook his head. “Brock didn’t want his family indebted to anyone, and swore to pay back every dime. He nearly has, too.”
“All right, then,” Ty said. “The next step is, what are you going to tell people?”
“About what?” Norma Rose asked, pulling her mind away from the warmth seeping up her back and trickling down her legs.
“People are going to notice Ginger isn’t here,” Ty said.
The warmth disappeared as a shiver shot down her spine, taking with it her relief of knowing Ginger was safe. People would notice. And talk.
“Yes, they are,” her father said.
The chill remained as Norma Rose glanced between Ty and her father. They both expected her to know the answer to that one.
The air burning her lungs refused to move. It was as if she’d jumped off the deep end of the dock, into a never-ending hole. She’d been here once before, years ago. She’d been the one people were talking about. No one would believe her side of the story then and there was no reason to believe they would this time, either.
“Don’t fret, Norma Rose,” Ty said. “Give me a few minutes to think this through and we’ll come up with a viable excuse that no one will question.”
The blood was still pounding in her ears, even though the air rushed out of her mouth, giving way for fresh.
“And you’d better make damn sure your sisters don’t get any harebrained ideas to follow suit,” her father said.
The air caught again. She didn’t have control over her sisters, and she never had. That had been an illusion Norma Rose would never believe again.
Her father sighed and leaned back in his chair, looking as if he’d aged in the few hours since they’d learned of Ginger’s absence. “Why couldn’t they all be like you, Rosie?”
Why indeed? A better question would be why she couldn’t be more like her sisters. Brave enough to make waves, or to learn how to ride those waves despite everything.
* * *
Ty wasn’t exactly sure what he saw behind Norma Rose’s eyes, but it struck him to the core, and sent him reeling. He might as well have been that red puck shooting up the lever to strike the bell at the amusement park. Except there was no resounding ringing of the bell, no little sailor doll to win.
He’d been shot, though, catapulted right into a place he’d never wanted to go. It was as foreign as it had been traveling across the ocean, in a strange and hostile country. He’d survived that journey, and in the years since, he’d used what he’d learned. How to pinpoint his focus, to never take his eye off the target, to never let what flew past his peripheral vision interfere with his aim, his goal.
For years, ever since returning home to a world that had changed, taking away everything he’d held close and dear, he’d honed in his vision on one target, searching only for ways to get a clear shot.
Bodine had become that target. Nothing had changed that in five years. Not a single person, place, or thing had altered his aim or his goal. Yet, somehow, somewhere, between last night and this evening, he’d lost sight of the bull’s-eye that had haunted, teased and twisted him inside out.
Ty knew the dangers of these mixed-up thoughts and, needing a way to clear his vision, he nodded toward Roger. “I’ll be back.”
“Where are you going?” Roger asked.
“I do my best thinking alone.” He didn’t glance toward Norma Rose; the heartrending glimmer he’d seen a moment ago would play with his better judgment, just as she’d done all day.
Ty strode out the door and past Twyla, who was sitting behind the desk. Her gaze was curious, but there wasn’t any of the probing she’d blistered him with this morning, and that, too, gave him reason to be wary. The rapport between Twyla and Norma Rose had changed this afternoon, leaving more questions unanswered, but he’d be damned if he was going to let them gain his interest. He didn’t need to solve any more problems for the Nightingales. Hadn’t needed to solve any in the beginning. He was here to take down Bodine.
The evening air, still warm from the day’s sunlight, met him as he stepped outside, and he took a deep breath, needing to cleanse and refresh his soul, and the purpose he was committed to.
He crossed the parking lot and followed the path behind the barn that led through the woods, to the farmhouse Bodine had rented. He’d never before lost his focus of the gangster, of the carnage he’d left back in New York, and standing there, staring at the two-story farmhouse, painted white with green trim, Ty searched his innermost being for that purpose, willing it to return.
Memories came first, visions of his parents, shot dead in their beds, along with Harry, massacred in the hallway. One man with an old rifle against front men with machine guns.
His captain hadn’t wanted him to enter the house, the home he’d grown up in, where he’d watched his younger brother while his parents worked from sunup to sundown in the bakery just two doors down, baking bread that had sustained not only their family, but also several others living in the lower east side. His hadn’t been the only family lost that night. Bodine had taken out the entire block, to make a statement.
The gangster had claimed Lincoln Street as his own, and he’d chosen the center block to prove it, where innocent families had resided, those who hadn’t participated in his lotteries yet had paid his extortion fines all the same.
Bile rose in Ty’s throat, burning and bitter. He’d been prepared to take down a bootlegger or two with Bodine. Casualties, just as there’d been in the war.
He blew out a heavy, burning gust of air. Nothing had changed.
Nothing.
Bodine still needed to be taken down, and he was still the man to do it. He’d left being a cop on the beat to become a detective, and then, by special invitation, had joined the elite team the federal government had formed, private eyes focused solely on big-name mobsters. New York gangsters, the families who’d started out running lotteries decades ago and had grown into intricate organized crime syndicates that used extortion and murder to rule entire cities.
