“If Kaiser was Richard’s security manager at the riverboat, he may have had access to his home security as well,” Diesel said. “He’d probably know how to deactivate Richard’s alarm.” He rubbed his forehead. He was so tired. “That’s all I know except that I’m starving and my head is pounding like hell.”

“I’ll take you back to the safe house,” Adam said.

“We’d like to search your brother’s apartment,” Deacon told Grant. “We’ll also need to take your prints so we can eliminate them.” He pulled on a pair of gloves and slipped the green leather book into an evidence bag. “Thank you. I’m so sorry about your sister and your brother. But we appreciate the light you’ve shed. Will you be returning to Cleveland?”

“Soon,” Grant murmured. “When will you release my brother’s body?”

“As soon as the ME is finished with her exam,” Deacon promised. “I’ll ask her to conduct Wesley’s autopsy next.”

Diesel stood, feeling shaky from hunger and stress. He put his arm around Dani’s waist, relieved when she leaned into him.

“There is one more thing,” Marcus said as he helped Scarlett to her feet. “How did Wesley find out that Laurel was dead or even where to start looking?”

Everyone went still and looked at Grant.

Grant shrugged. “I don’t know. I was hoping you did.”

Diesel studied the man’s face. Grant knew something more that he wasn’t saying, but he’d shut down. The man was done. At least for the moment. But then he’d just learned that his brother and sister were dead. A man was allowed to shut down for a little while after getting news like that.

Grant dug a single key from his pants pocket. “This is the key to Wes’s apartment. I’ll sign whatever I need to so that you have permission to search. But if I don’t have to be there, I don’t want to be.”

“You don’t have to be,” Deacon said. “But we would like the opportunity to talk to you again before you go back to Cleveland—just in case we have more questions after searching your brother’s things.”

Grant’s lips curved bitterly. “So in other words, don’t leave town. I won’t.”

Cincinnati, Ohio
Monday, March 18, 10:40 p.m.

“Here.” Cade shoved a thermos full of warm water through the bars of the old pedo’s basement cell. “You can mix it with the formula.”

He’d gone to the store and paid a loitering teenager a few bucks to buy him some more antibiotic cream, some rubbing alcohol, more painkillers, Epsom salts, a few cans of baby formula, and a bag of diapers. The teenager had been so happy to get a twenty for his troubles—in advance—that he hadn’t given Cade a second look.