“Put her on speaker,” Scarlett said, then greeted Grant’s wife. “I haven’t talked to your husband since yesterday evening. I have tried calling him several times, though. I think he forgot to give us something last night.”

“What was that?” Mrs. Masterson asked warily.

“His brother’s cell phone. He mentioned that it was in the safe in Wesley’s apartment here in town, but it wasn’t there when we inventoried the evidence.”

“I don’t know anything about that,” the woman said. “But I’m worried. I drove down this afternoon so that I could be with him while he made the funeral arrangements. I got to the hotel after eight, and fell asleep. When I woke up, he still wasn’t back.”

“I talked to him around eight,” Dani said. “He was leaving the funeral home.” She opened her mouth, then closed it again. “Can I call you right back?” she asked.

“Of course. Please hurry, though. I’m worried sick.”

“I will,” Dani assured her and ended the call.

“What’s going on?” Diesel asked her.

“I don’t know. Hold on.” She walked quickly to the nurses’ station and spoke for less than a minute before returning to them, her face abruptly drawn. “Kaiser’s visitor is Father Emerson. He’s giving him last rites.”

“Holy shit,” Scarlett muttered. She drew her badge from her pocket and motioned them to follow her. She spoke with the same nurse, who led them through the double doors into the unit.

Quietly they crossed to Kaiser’s room, Marcus pushing Diesel’s chair. Sure enough, there was Grant Masterson standing by Kaiser’s bed. Holding a folded blanket in his hands, looking down at the killer with absolutely no expression at all.

“Get me in there,” Diesel said to Marcus.

Scarlett flashed her badge to the cop on guard duty, who frowned at her but let Marcus push Diesel into the room. Diesel caught the last part of what Grant was saying.

“—my brother, you sonofabitch. An undercover cop. You killed him.”

Kaiser’s eyes were wide. And scared. “You’re . . .” He gasped. “Lying.”

“No, but you’re right about one thing,” Grant said, so very quietly that Diesel had to strain to hear. “We will meet each other in hell.”

“Father Emerson,” Diesel said softly. “Grant,” he snapped when the man didn’t move.

Grant turned, his eyes flickering with something like horror. And maybe relief? His gaze focused on Diesel, swung to take in the group at the door, then back. “Mr. Kennedy. We meet again.”

“And not in hell.” Diesel made himself smile, even though part of him wanted to tell Grant to do it, to smother the bastard. But that would make Grant a murderer, and they might never find Evelyn Keys and her baby. “Cora is here. Waiting for you.”

Grant faltered. “What?”