Blood Always Tells by Hilary Davidson (always you kirsty moseley .TXT) 📗

her husband, but Mr. Monaghan grabbed her wrist and shoved her back.

You should be thanking me, you ungrateful bitch. You should be—

Desmond stepped forward, lifted the gun, and fired right into his stepfather’s face. Mr. Monaghan didn’t even have time to scream. He dropped to the floor with an almighty thud.

There was a horrible stillness in the room after that. Desmond couldn’t move. His mind was still trying to process what he’d done. He watched his mother go to Mr. Monaghan and touch his face.

Give that to me, his mother said, taking the gun from his hand.

I’m sorry. I’m so sorry, he tried to say, but his words were garbled. His mother understood them anyway.

No, baby, I’m the one who’s sorry. I didn’t want to believe he’d be capable of… of… what he did. I didn’t want to believe my own senses. I failed you. There were tears standing in her eyes. But I will not fail you now.

Desmond could barely see her face through his tears.

I want you to get out of here. I don’t want you in the house when the police come. You’ve been in too much trouble. They’ll lock you up and they’ll try you like an adult.

No, he cried.

Listen to me. She touched his face. A Black boy barely gets a start in this world. One false move and your life is over. People like us don’t get a second chance.

He wanted to ask her what she was going to do, but he could only half-wheeze words at her.

Swear to me, swear before God, that you will never tell anyone what happened here tonight, his mother said.

I swear, he whispered.

I love you. She kissed his forehead. Now get going, she ordered. Not a word to anyone, ever. This is your only chance.

Those were the last words she said to him as a free woman. The next time he saw her, she was already in a prison jumpsuit.

It was a nightmare Desmond could never wake up from. He had murdered his stepfather, and his mother had taken the blame for it. Sometimes he had dreams about that night, and he would wake up screaming. His ex-wife had mistaken it for post-traumatic stress disorder. She couldn’t have imagined that it wasn’t what he’d seen on the battlefield that haunted him. He’d never been able to speak about it to anyone; whenever he felt as if he were getting too close to another person, he pulled away, certain he’d betray himself sooner or later if he didn’t. Deep inside, he wanted to confess. He longed to say, I shot a man dead, and take the punishment he knew he deserved. But that would render his mother’s sacrifice a waste, and he could never let her down. The only way he could keep his secret safe was to be completely, utterly alone.

Chapter 45

Iorio and Reich weren’t impressed with him when they saw him in the hospital early Wednesday morning. “Can’t stay out of trouble, can you, man?” Reich asked when he came in. The big cop was a little friendlier now than he’d been a couple of days ago, when Desmond first encountered him. Or maybe he was just amused by the idea of someone strangling Desmond on the street.

“It wasn’t a random mugging.” Desmond heard a whispery, scratchy quality in his own voice. It was as if his body remembered what it felt like to be strangled, and the fear he’d felt had curled up into a ball and lodged itself firmly in his throat. Still, he was grateful to have his vocal cords cooperating at all.

“You sure are a magnet for trouble,” Reich said.

Reich’s words echoed something Desmond’s mother used to say to him. You catch trouble like a magnet. Trouble’s just attracted to you for whatever reason. You’re going to have to work twice as hard as anyone ever should just to keep it at bay.

At least Iorio had the decency to look sympathetic. “How are you feeling?”

“Peachy.”

“What can you tell us about the guy who attacked you?”

“He was a solid six three and built. Other than that, I didn’t get much of a look. He attacked me from behind.” He took a sip of water through a straw. It felt as if it were going the wrong way down his throat. “There was a woman there, too. About five ten and very slim, blonde, and heavily made up. She was like a decoy. She bumped into me before he attacked.” He looked from one to the other. “I think the guy was Max.”

“Why would Max want to attack you?” Iorio asked. “It doesn’t track.”

“I’m the only reason you know about Max. If Dominique hadn’t told me about him…” His throat clogged up, and he took a couple of deep breaths. “Her death, and Gary’s, would’ve been written off as an accident.”

“But you’ve been talking about Max since we met you,” Iorio pointed out. “Before that, you were telling the police in Pennsylvania about him. So, why would Max want to get rid of you now? You’ve already done the damage of letting the police know about him.”

“That cat’s out of the bag,” Reich added. “Attacking you now would only draw attention to him.”

“I’ve been trying to figure that out.” Desmond didn’t want to share what was really going through his head. Was the attack retribution for showing up at Max’s family home on Long Island? He had the sense Max hadn’t taken that visit kindly. He knew about it, and he wanted to make sure Desmond couldn’t stir up more trouble for him and his family.

“Anyway, how would Max know to find you at your sister’s apartment building?”

“I had the feeling someone was following me last night, when I walked down Park from my hotel.” Desmond knew he’d been stirring up hornets’ nests, running around New York and asking questions no one wanted to answer. Trinity Lytton-Jones was a psycho. Maybe she sent the thug over.

“But why attack you?”

“Maybe Max figured Tom Klepper