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“Ramon Pastor called around 7:00 p.m., saying he’d been attacked by his son. I went to check it out—”
“Why?” I asked, propping my hands on my hips. “You’re on desk duty. Furthermore, you were on dispatch.”
Owens managed to look abashed. “Kavanaugh had it covered.”
I glanced over at Officer Kavanaugh, whose expression said he was mad as hell to be tied up in this.
“Disobeying orders,” I snapped. “This night is not going to go well for you, Owens. Keep going.”
“Mr. Pastor had been hit over the head with a bottle but he said he knew where the boy was—”
“And you took him? You took a drunk, angry father with you to find his son? That’s flagrant breach of protocol.”
The snide expression slowly melted off his face, replaced by worry. “He knew where the boy was but he wouldn’t tell me unless I took him.”
“And you’re not a good enough policeman to figure it out?” I demanded. “This whole town knows Miguel’s been spending time with Tyler. You knew where Miguel would be and you took Ramon with you to watch the fireworks, didn’t you? Maybe get Tyler in trouble?”
Anger seethed in me, my hands shaking with the desire to tear Owens apart.
“And what’s this about assaulting an officer?” I asked.
Owens shot a dark look at Kavanaugh.
“Eyes up here!” I boomed, and Owens snapped to like a scared puppy.
“O’Neill hit me, shoved me off his porch.”
“And what did you do to Tyler?” I asked. “If I go back into that cell what kind of shape will he be in?”
Owens’s neck turned red and splotchy. I put my hand over the paperwork he’d been signing and crumpled it up in a ball. I tossed it, right in front of his face, into the garbage.
Dad cleared his throat behind me and I whirled to face him.
“You got a problem with how I’m handling this?” I asked.
It took a moment but he shook his head.
“Disobeying orders and breach of protocol on top of the letters in your file are enough,” I told Owens.
“For…” Owens looked over my shoulder at my father. “For what?”
“You’re fired.” I held out my hand. “Badge and firearm.”
“I’ll fight you,” Owens said, fumbling as he unhooked his badge and firearm.
“Please do,” I said, relishing the chance to cut this man loose.
I took his badge and firearm into my office and locked it in the top drawer of my desk, then stepped back into the squad room.
“Now,” I said, “do we have any idea where Miguel and Louisa Pastor are?”
19
Kavanaugh shook his head.
“Owens?” The shell-shocked man stared down at the picture of his wife, but I could not be moved by sympathy anymore; the man had made his own bed.
“I didn’t check the house,” he said. “I made sure Ramon got to the clinic and I brought Tyler here. I have no idea where the kids are.”
I had a hunch that if they had been at The Manor, they’d still be there. But only one person knew that for sure—Tyler.
I swung open the door to the holding cells and stepped down the long yellow hallway to cell four, where Tyler sat on a bench, his long legs stretched out in front of him.
His eye going black.
Still so handsome it hurt to look at him. Still so loved I couldn’t imagine he’d actually betrayed me.
“Hello, honey,” he drawled, and I stiffened at the endearment. I didn’t know whether the ground I stood on was safe or was about to fall away under my feet. The kids, Tyler, the gem—nothing was a safe bet.
“You okay?” I asked, nodding at his face.
“Fine,” he said. “Owens hits like a girl.”
“And Ramon?”
“He came after me and I acted in self-defense.” His lip curled. “No crime in enjoying it.”
I imagined he did. Putting fists to Ramon was something I’d dreamed of many times.
“Where are the kids?” I asked.
“You have to trust me, Juliette,” he whispered, and I couldn’t control the sharp bark of laughter that erupted from my throat.
“You’re kidding, right?” I asked, the anger and doubt spilling out from behind the walls I’d tried to build around them. “Trust you?”
He stood, uncurling from his place against the wall, and crossed the cell. His fingers touched mine around the bars and I jerked my hand away.
“What’s happened?” he asked, ignoring my question. “Why are you—”
Suddenly, his face changed. His eyes flicked from me to the doorway behind me and ferocity filled his expression.
I turned to see my father.
“Everything okay in here?” Jasper asked carefully.
“How in the world did I know you were behind this, Jasper?” Tyler asked, stepping away from the bars. “You just can’t stand having me around.”
“Dad has nothing to do with this,” I said.
“Really?” Tyler asked, shooting me a toxic look. “I’m beaten up and thrown in jail. It seems awfully familiar.” He shook his head. “Your father can’t see past the fact that I’m an O’Neill. And you’re listening to him!”
