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“Shut up.” He takes a sip from his coffee, and I swear his damn eyes are sparkling like he inhaled Christmas decorations and they all lit up inside his head. “It’s a good feeling.”
It sure is. The happiness looks good on him. I hate to shatter it, but here goes…
“I talked to the police this morning. It’s pretty fucking clear they won’t investigate, like you said. That Kenneth isn’t registered as a foster parent anymore, so they don’t have anything to go on. Evidence is something we don’t have, so we’re fucked.”
Goddammit, I don’t need coffee. What I need is something stronger, but it’s too early in the day to get shitfaced—and too irresponsible with Megan and our baby waiting at home.
So coffee it is. I sip at it, making a face. It sucks to be so pissed off after the night I’ve had with Megan, but hell if I can relax while that man is still out there, free.
“What can we do?” Dylan eyes me. “You have something on your mind.”
“We go after the guy.”
He doesn’t seem as shocked as I thought he’d be. He probably remembers clearly the fact that I went after my parents’ killer on my own. I would have killed him, too, if he hadn’t stunned me with the revelations about my father’s Mafia past and then pulled a gun on me.
I’m not planning on killing Kenneth Shaw. But I want him in prison.
“Breaking and entering,” Dylan says, turning his mug on the table, round and round. “Check the house. Then what? What do you expect to find?”
Hell if I know. I shrug. “We could wait and force a confession out of him, record it on our phones.”
“Yeah, right.”
“Any better ideas?” I snap, and he grins.
The son of a bitch actually grins, only this time there’s no joy behind it. It’s more like a grimace. “I’m in.”
I nod. “Who else do you think would join in?”
“Everyone,” he says without hesitation, his grin fading. “I don’t see another solution, you’re right, and neither do the others. Also…” He looks down at his half-empty mug. “I think we should hurry.”
I frown. “What’s on your mind?”
“I just had a thought.”
“Don’t strain yourself.”
“Har, har. You’re so fucking funny.” He jabs a finger down at the table. “Look, if the police go talk to Kenneth Shaw, if they find him and actually tell him what we’re accusing him of, what do you think he’ll do?”
“Fuck. They may scare that asshole. He might bolt—and then how will we find him again?”
“Worse yet, how will we get justice for Zane, how will we make sure he doesn’t hurt anyone else? Or…”
“Christ, what if he goes after Zane?”
“They won?
?t tell him Zane’s name.” Dylan’s face is white as chalk.
“Unless he has seen Zane in town, and he puts two and two together.”
“Fuck.” Dylan’s face grows paler. “No way. He won’t know Zane if he sees him. That shit only happens in bad movies.”
“It doesn’t matter. We’re doing this anyway.” I push my chair back. “Call the others.”
“Right on it,” Dylan grunts, whipping out his phone, and hell.
If this isn’t like a bad movie, then I don’t know what is. Let’s just hope it ends well before the final credits roll.
