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Cade’s phone rang just as he reached for his third slice of pizza. He had actually taken time to eat dinner with the family, allowing his daughter, who was in a much better mood, to drive to get take-out. Harper had improved since the last time she’d been at the wheel but still seemed to have the same love of speed he did. They had returned home to sit familiarly around the kitchen table as they had for years, each grabbing pieces from two of their favorite pies—meat lover’s versus vegetarian—Dylan devouring slice after slice.
“Gotta take this,” he said, spying Voss’s number on his phone, then saying into the cell, “I was just about to head back to the office; what’s up?”
“We know where Hollander lives,” Voss said, all business. “Got hold of his parole officer and he gave me the address, which is an apartment in Astoria. The unit is registered to Denise Aimes, who just happens to be Bruce Hollander’s first cousin.”
“Let’s go.” He was already out of his chair and heading for the back door. Rachel, who’d sat across from him at the table, was on her feet. “I’ll be at the station in ten. Wait for me.”
“Make it eight. I want to bust this guy.”
He clicked off and Rachel, deadly serious, asked, “What?”
Glancing back at the kids, he said, “Looks like we might have a lead on Hollander.” He looked like he was going to say more, something important, but instead just added, “I’ll let you know. Sit tight.” Both Dylan and Harper were staring at him, the dog still patrolling under the table for any scraps that may have fallen. “You two, stay in tonight.”
“Like we were going anywhere,” Dylan complained.
“It’s like a jail here.” Harper’s bad mood had apparently returned.
“Hopefully not for long.”
He pulled Rachel onto the back porch, yanked the door shut, and said, “Sit tight. This could be the end of it, but we don’t know. I’ll call you. We’ve got a lot to talk about.”
“What?”
“I can’t say right now, but when I get back . . .”
“You’re leaving it like that, teasing me so I can worry?”
“Don’t worry. I’m handling it.” He winked at her.
Her eyes were filled with concern, but as she attempted a brave smile, he couldn’t help himself. On impulse, he pulled her into his arms and kissed her. Nothing earth shattering, just a quick, light buzz against her surprised, soft lips.
“Stay safe,” he said as he let her go, and she blinked, stepping backward touching her lips.
He thought she might say something about him kissing her being “not okay,” or “uncool,” or protest in any way she could. Instead she just stared at him as he jogged to his truck, parked in front of the garage, and roared off. “Lock up!” he yelled through the pickup’s open window and then he turned his attention to the street ahead, his focus on finding Hollander. If that prick turned out to be the murderer who was hell-bent on terrifying Cade’s family, it would be all Cade could do not to beat the son of a bitch up one side and down the other.
* * *
Voss was waiting outside and motioned to the police SUV they’d driven earlier.
“I’ll drive!” he yelled as he collected his service weapon from its locked case, slid the pistol into his holster, and grabbed an extra clip, then stepped out of his truck. No way would he be able to stand her puttering along at two miles below the limit. Before she could argue, he was behind the wheel, so she handed him the keys, and by the time she was clicking on her seat belt, he was already driving out of the lot, bouncing over the skirt to the street and hitting the gas. “Tell me what you know,” he said, connecting from the side street to the highway, turning on his lights, and deciding against the siren as he headed west. Dusk was falling, the sun having just set, traffic sparse.
“According to the parole officer, so far Hollander’s kept his nose clean. Stayed out of trouble.”
“Yeah, right,” Cade said as he sped toward a slower-moving vehicle, a pickup with a camper attached. He nosed out, saw there was no oncoming traffic, and shot around the long vehicle, then tucked back into his lane but kept up his speed.
“Goin’ to a fire?” Voss asked, holding on to the armrest.
“Worse. What about the footage at The Right Spot? And Moretti’s car?”
“Still unclear. Could be that Hollander was the driver, but maybe not.”
“And still no sign of Moretti.” Cade’s jaw clenched. He wanted to nail the ex-con, put him away forever and solve this case. It seemed likely as hell that Hollander was out and seeking revenge for the murder of his son.
Except...
Why hadn’t he contacted Lucas, his grandson? Wouldn’t that have been a normal thing to do? Lucas was his only grandchild, at least as far as Cade knew, and the only remaining link to Luke. Then again, what was normal about Hollander?
But why start killing with Violet and Annessa?
