“Yes. He didn’t go by that name, though. He had a street persona, kinda like Blake Emerson was for Wesley. I think I was the only one he took and sold. He said he needed the money. It always comes down to money.”

“It does. How did Wes find out about Richard Fischer and his riverboat?”

“The Lady of the River?” she asked bitterly. “I told him. Laurel was never taken aboard the riverboat, but I was. I remembered everything I could, but it wasn’t enough.”

Ultimately, it had been enough, because Fischer’s operation had been stopped. But not in time for Nita or Laurel or any of Richard Fischer’s other victims. “This phone number. Is it yours?”

“Not after this call. I’m throwing the phone away.” She sighed quietly. “Go back to your wife and kids, Grant. Have a good life. That’s what Wesley wanted for you.”

The call ended and Grant stared at the phone for a long, long time. Then he put it on the nightstand and fell into bed, still wearing his clothes.

He went to sleep with the light on.

Chapter Twenty-Six

Cincinnati, Ohio
Tuesday, March 19, 3:05 a.m.

Diesel came awake with a jerk, his eyes flying open. He’d heard a noise. A mewling sound.

No, a sobbing sound. Someone was crying. He glanced at the woman in his arms, relieved to find she was still asleep. She needed her rest. All the literature he’d read said that rest and nutrition would keep her healthy. Would help her keep her levels undetectable, which was Diesel’s highest priority.

Keep her healthy. Keep her happy. Keep her screaming his name when he made her come. Like he’d done twice tonight. And yes, he was damn proud of himself, thank you.

He slipped out from under her body, covering her with the blanket when she curled up into the warm spot he’d left behind. He pulled on a pair of sweats and a T-shirt, then crept from the bedroom, closing the door as quietly as he could.

And stopped short, because Agent Troy was standing on the other side of his door, his fist raised to knock.

“Sorry,” Troy said softly. “It’s Michael. He’s crying.”

Diesel wasn’t surprised. The kid had put on a brave face—a hardened face—most of yesterday. “I heard. I’ll take care of it. Thanks, man.”

“I’ll make sure you guys aren’t disturbed. You should have privacy.” Troy looked over his shoulder, his eyes sad. “The kid’s breaking my heart, Diesel.”

“I know. Mine, too.”

Troy returned to the chair he’d placed by the front door and Diesel went in search of Michael. He wasn’t in his room, so Diesel went to Joshua’s room. Where, of course, Michael lay on the floor, face buried in a pillow.