Page 75 of Alec’s Dream

“Doug’s got a buddy, Keith Worthmore, who lives in Florida. Keith’s a piece of shit—the town should’ve thrown a parade the day he decided to pack his shit and move to Florida.”

“This Keith guy got a sheet?”

“Yep. Started as a juvenile. Stupid shit, disturbing the peace, underage drinking. But when he hit majority, he opened himself an adult record. Breaking and entering. Burglary. Grand theft auto. When he got bored stealing shit, he moved on to possession with the intent to sell. Did six months for that. He got out and promptly went to his ex’s house, beat the shit out of her and found himself back behind bars for another year. Then he was picked up on suspicion of murder. He got out of that because the States Attorney refused to prosecute due to lack of a murder weapon.”

Christ. None of that was good, but the murder charge gave Alec serious pause.

“You think he was good for the murder?”

“Fuck, yeah. Didn’t happen in Kent County, next county over. But the deceased was a known associate of Keith’s. The man also owed Keith a lot of money and didn’t have it. As soon as the murder charges were dropped, Keith packed up and hightailed his ass down to Florida. Good fucking riddance.”

“I’ll have McKenna get a last-known on Keith,” Alec told him.

“You plannin’ a trip south?”

“Nope. Macy needs me here.”

Jonny gave him a tight nod. “I’ll be in touch. Headed to Macy’s now.”

“Right.”

Without another word, Jonny let himself out and Alec went in search of Macy.

They were all safe.

They were all under his roof.

And as fucked-up as the situation was, he’d made progress breaking through Macy’s defenses.

Thank fuck.

23

My nerves were shot. I needed a bottle of tequila and Becky, STAT!

I’d bitch, she’d listen. Then I’d get angrier and she’d commiserate. Then I’d break down and cry and she’d hold me together. Then once my tears had dried, she’d threaten bodily harm and make me smile.

That was Becky. Always there. Always breaking her back for those she loved.

But I didn’t have the luxury of a full-blown come-apart. Not right then while I was in Alec’s huge bed with a very scared Rory, a still-silent Caleb, and Jocelyn thankfully happily munching on a banana. I hoped Alec was truthful about me making myself at home, because I’d rummaged under his bathroom sink, then in a linen closet looking for a towel to put under Joss so he wouldn’t be sleeping in banana goo.

“I hate him,” Caleb whispered.

“It’s not nice to hate someone,” Rory meekly corrected.

“I don’t care. I hate him.”

“Who?”

I looked at my son’s face twisting in anguish, and my muscles locked.

“Dad!”

One word. Guttural. The one syllable that sounded rough and painful.

Jesus.

My sweet baby boy who was no longer a baby, but a young man in pain.