A Raging Dawn Read online

  Anger at the intrusion swamped me, and I shifted my stance, ready to bolt. But…Evie. She needed to know. Without my cousins gawking at her. I stepped inside and turned to face them head-on. “Jimmy, take the boys downstairs. This is no concern of yours.”

  My cousins were older than I am, but just as I would forever be the girl who got her father killed—no matter what Louise’s tests proved—they’d always be “the boys.”

  Jimmy opened his mouth to protest, but my mother raised her head and nodded to him. “Go on, Jimmy. I’ll handle this.”

  He jerked his chin at the boys, and they left. Jacob stood awkwardly at the doorway, still not stepping across the invisible barrier to my inner sanctum. His face was a question too painful for him to voice. Was he still family or not?

  I sighed and reached for his arm. “Come inside. You should hear this as well.”

  He stepped across. I’d never seen him so frightened. I closed the door and let him hold my hand as we moved past the couch to the table where Evie and my mother waited.

  “Give me one good reason why I shouldn’t call the police,” my mother started, waving her hand over the collection of pills, scattering a few across the table to the floor.

  I resisted the urge to scramble for them. Instead, borrowing Jacob’s strength, I stood quiet, focusing on controlling my fury.

  “Uppers, downers, enough to choke a horse. How could you? What if the police found these? What then? Jimmy could lose everything. You’re under his roof. And how would it look to Jacob’s new boss? Bad enough all that mess you got twisted up in last month. I won’t tolerate behavior like this. It’s an embarrassment to the entire family!”

  Evie kept her gaze focused down, color flushing her pale skin. She was as light as I was dark. I took after my father’s Italian side of the family, but Evie mirrored the strawberry-blond, peaches-and-cream of the Kiely clan, like my mother.

  “Does Ryder know?” Jacob asked in a low, serious voice when my mother paused for breath.

  His question rattled me. “Yes…no…kind of.”

  “I knew that man was no good,” Patsy screeched.

  “Shut up!” My own voice surprised me. And her. She jerked, her mouth hanging open, lipstick feathering into wrinkles I’d never noticed before. “While you were sneaking through my things, did you happen to notice I have prescriptions for all of those?”

  Jacob’s hand tightened on mine, but it was Evie who spoke. “Prescriptions? Are you sick?”

  I slid my sweat-slicked palm free of Jacob’s. Stood alone and faced them all. “I’m dying.”

  Silence slithered through the room, an oily fog of disbelief. Patsy’s body went rigid. Only Evie managed to look up and meet my gaze, her eyes wide. Jacob reached again for my hand, but I stepped farther away from him. I had to do this alone. Even Ozzie was affected, lumbering over to press his body against my legs, offering support.

  I clenched my fists tight, hauled in a breath, and released it. Now came the hard part. “I have a disease called Fatal Familial Insomnia. It runs in families, mainly Italian ones. I had Louise test Dad’s DNA, and he had it as well.” I gave them a second to let that sink in. “It’s probably what killed him.”

  My mother made a noise like she was choking, her hand clutching at her throat, but I pressed on. “It’s always fatal. There’s no cure. But the thing is, since Dad had it, there’s a fifty-fifty chance Evie might as well.” I wanted to hug her, but Mom got there first, wrapping Evie in her arms. “I’m sorry, Evie. You’ll need to be tested.”

  There. It was out.

  Tears slid down Evie’s face as her lips pressed into a single pale line. Jacob’s shoulders hunched tight, his face confused with emotions, his hands empty at his sides as I edged ever farther away from him, the dog between us. He slid over to take one of Evie’s hands in both of his, someone who could accept his sympathy without crumbling.

  I was barely holding on, but I had to finish this, then I could—what? Kick everyone out and retreat for a solitary pity-fest? No. That’s not what I needed. Or wanted. Ryder. His face, his voice filled my mind, giving me the strength I was desperate for. As soon as I was done here, I’d find Ryder. Tell him everything. End the lies of denial. Even though I was pretty sure he already suspected the truth.

  “How long?” my mother finally gasped.

  “Louise isn’t sure. The way my symptoms are progressing, we guess I might have less than a year.” Probably way less, but they didn’t need to deal with that tonight. The colorful photos of sunbaked beaches covering my refrigerator caught my eye.

  Patsy shook her head. “No. I mean how long have you known? Why didn’t you tell me before? How could you endanger your sister like that?”

  Of course. When would I learn? Nothing ever changed, not in my family. “We weren’t sure until this morning. Thank you for your concern, though.”

  This time it was Jacob who made a painful noise. “What can I do?” he asked.

  “Nothing.”

  Before anyone else could say anything, the door opened, and Devon barreled through it without knocking. “Hey, doc. Jimmy said you were up here. Ready to go? They’re waiting. Grab your doctor gear, and I’ll meet you downstairs.”

  He was gracious enough to make it sound like a question instead of a command, but urgency radiated off him. Or maybe that was just me, happy to latch on to any lifeline that took me away from there.

  “I’ll be right down.” He left, and I turned to Jacob, finally feeling strong enough to let him get close without totally crumbling. I gave him a quick hug and a kiss on the cheek. “Don’t worry about me.”

  “Never going to happen,” he said, stroking my hair back with his fingers. He glanced at the empty doorway. “Want me to come with you?”

  “No. Take care of Evie. Please?” I knew my sister would need time to cry it out before she’d be able to ask any coherent questions or take in what little information I could offer her. And me being here, agitating Patsy, would only make things worse.

  Jacob nodded and squeezed my shoulders. I exchanged my messenger bag for the small knapsack with my first-aid gear. Ozzie followed me, nose to my leg, refusing to stay behind, so I grabbed his leash, and we fled downstairs to the bar, where Devon waited, chatting with Jimmy.

  No one else in my family seemed to notice the way Devon had insinuated himself into our lives. Despite their differences, Jacob—son of a rabbi, former assistant district attorney—and Devon—illegitimate son of real estate tycoon Daniel Kingston, former “fixer” for the Russian mob in Philly—got along so well I was surprised they weren’t exchanging Christmas cookies.

  Even Ryder admired the way Devon had cleaned up the gangs over at Kingston Tower, although he didn’t approve of Devon’s methods.

  Most nights while Jacob and I played onstage, Devon would come in, lean against the bar, jawing with my uncle, and nurse a whiskey. Invariably, he’d soon have a crowd gathered around him, sharing some story that would have Jimmy and the others slapping the bar, bent over laughing. No wonder my family adored Devon.

  I’d always wanted to be that person. The one who could make her family laugh and forget their problems. Like my dad could.

  Chapter 18

  “WHY ARE YOU handcuffing me, detective?” Littleton asked Ryder. “You’re my alibi. There’s no way I could have fired that shot. Shouldn’t you be looking for the shooter, tending to the wounded?”

  Ryder ratcheted the cuffs tight. “You’re involved, Littleton. Besides, I have the right to restrain you. It’s a matter of officer safety.”

  “If you say so. I think my lawyer’s going to call it harassment.”

  The first squad car arrived. Ryder handed off Littleton to be secured in the back by one of the patrolmen. He nodded to the other, who opened the school’s door and held it as Ryder went inside, weapon at the ready.

  “One shot heard,” Ryder told the officer, wishing he’d worn his vest. The adrenaline singing through his system gave him the illusion of inv
incibility, but the tug of his recently healed abdominal muscles reminded him of reality. Rossi would kill him if he let himself get shot again.

  He focused on the empty corridor ahead. Only half of the lights were on, cost-saving measures by the school, he guessed, but no help when it came to spotting shooters hiding in dark corners. Wordlessly, he and the officer stacked up, zigzagging down the hall, checking each room for the shooter.

  No one. And no sounds except his own heartbeat in his ears and the officer’s heavy, ragged breathing over his shoulder.

  Suddenly, footsteps pounded the floor behind them. They both whirled, weapons raised, but it was the second patrolman. “Prisoner secured, SWAT’s on the way. Anything?”

  Ryder shook his head and motioned him to silence, wondering where all the people were. They hadn’t heard any more shots. Where were the panicked victims fleeing the scene? The silence felt heavy, lifeless, as it draped like shadows around them. What the hell had happened here?

  They came to a T-intersection. The NA meeting was in the cafeteria, to the right, but the danger could come from any direction. He positioned one patrolman in the intersection to watch their backs while he led the other forward. It was slow progress, clearing each potential area of ambush before proceeding. They passed a bank of lockers and came to their first body.

  It was a man, flannel shirt and jeans, face up. From the blood on his hands, it looked as if he’d tried to claw his mouth and throat open, tear his own tongue out.

  “Jesus,” the officer behind him breathed.

  “Call it in.”

  “We have one down,” the patrol officer radioed softly into his shoulder mic.

  They stepped around the first victim. Even if he had been alive, with just the two of them, they would have kept moving forward to engage the shooter and prevent further harm. Stopping the threat was priority.

  Ahead was a display case. Leading up to it was a trail of handmade Christmas decorations featuring sparkles and glitter that dusted the floor like snow. Except where it had caked in the blood of the woman who had crashed headfirst through the case’s heavy plate glass.

  “Is she?” the officer asked.

  Ryder spared a glance. A sheet of the glass had sliced down, and the woman’s head hung by a bloody string of tissue he couldn’t identify. Like the first man, her face was devastated. As if she’d been trying to destroy it.

  What the fuck? His belly muscles recoiled from the sight even as he and the patrolman pressed forward.

  The scene reminded him of how Rossi had described Leo Kingston’s victims from last month. Leo had given them a special formulation of PXA and persuaded them to torture themselves to death. Had more PXA made it onto the streets? After all, an NA meeting by definition meant junkies.

  His thoughts were interrupted by more bodies, all clustered around the cafeteria entrance. Bloody gashes where eye sockets should have been, noses and mouths and throats ripped to shreds, either by hands or the cafeteria’s forks and knives. The air stank of burned coffee and fresh blood.

  A few of the victims appeared to be still breathing, tiny pink bubbles breaking through smears of crimson. Ryder couldn’t hear any gasps, not through the adrenaline haze clouding his senses, making the scene even more surreal as the frothy bubbles burst in silence. His flesh crawling, he turned away to survey the rest of the room.

  At a cleared area at the far end of the cafeteria, they found their shooter. At least, she held a pistol. She sat on a swivel office chair, her back to them. Scrawled on the tile wall above her in giant letters, the blood still dripping: I HATE YOUR FACES!

  A semiautomatic dangled from her left hand, hooked by a finger. The window across from her was starred with a small hole. That’s how he’d been able to hear the shot so clearly from outside. She’d shot out the window. A signal?

  He and the officer approached her from opposite angles, careful not to cross their line of fire as they passed more bodies.

  “Drop the gun,” the officer ordered, his voice shaky.

  The woman didn’t move. Ryder motioned to the officer to cover him and sidled forward, knocking the gun free from the woman’s hand as he approached from behind. He stepped in front of her. It was the last woman to enter the school, the one Littleton had laughed with. She’d been spared the disfiguration of the others. But he wasn’t sure that was a good thing.

  Her throat had been slashed. A precise cut, just deep enough to get the job done. Not much blood. The killer had cut through her airway, and she’d suffocated. It would have been a long, agonizing death.

  “What the hell is that?” The officer joined Ryder. He pointed to the business card sticking out of the woman’s throat as if she had been given a second mouth and was holding it in her newly formed blood-red lips.

  Ryder craned his head to look at the card without touching it. It was his.

  He glanced up, his gaze raking over the carnage polluting the school cafeteria. Kids played and ate here. It was supposed to be a safe place. And some butcher had turned it into a bloodbath.

  His jaw tightened. He said nothing, couldn’t even look at the other officer. All this. Littleton and his damn Brotherhood. They’d done this for him. A warning to Ryder.

  No way Littleton would ever be charged. Hell, Ryder was his fucking alibi.

  Ryder stalked away from the woman’s body, his pulse beating in his ears so hard his vision vibrated in time with it. More footsteps sounded as additional officers arrived. “Clear the rest of the building. See if there’s anyone living we can help,” he ordered.

  They found three still breathing, but the medics said it didn’t look good. His rage grew. If the animals who’d done this were trying to warn Ryder away, they’d made a serious mistake.

  He was going to hunt them down exactly like the beasts they were.

  Chapter 19

  “THANKS FOR COMING,” Devon told me once we were in his Town Car heading toward the Tower, Ozzie poking his nose between us from the rear seat.

  “Thanks for the rescue. Thought you’d be busy dealing with Eugene Littleton tonight. Isn’t that why you hired Gena Kravitz to get him off?” A guess, but I was pretty sure I was right.

  He did me the courtesy of not smiling. “Gena helped me with the red tape after Daniel’s stroke. I figured she’d be the right person to handle Eugene’s case.”

  “Helps that she and Manny Cruz are involved.”

  “Helps. But I didn’t bribe Manny if that’s what you’re insinuating.”

  “Still, you got what you wanted. Littleton’s free. Or is he? You don’t have him locked up down in those damn tunnels, do you, Devon?” After our conversation this morning, I was only half-joking.

  “Don’t worry, doc. I figure the cops can handle Eugene for a night. No sense putting myself on their radar.”

  “Thought you didn’t trust the police.”

  “I trust them to do their job—for the most part. I just don’t trust them to get the job done.”

  “You mean get the job done the way you want it done. So if Ryder doesn’t find Littleton’s partners, what happens then? You’ll take care of it?”

  “Street justice is better than no justice at all.”

  “You make it sound so noble. Can’t you see, once you start, there’s no stopping? You become just as bad as they are.”

  “Do you really think so? Ask the women who live in the Tower and the children who now actually play in the playground instead of running past it, scared of getting killed by a stray bullet or worse.”

  I touched his arm. He shrugged free, his glare edged with suspicion. He’d seen how I could enter other people’s minds. Even though no one else believed in my new ability, Devon did.

  “No. I can’t touch you and read your mind. It only works on coma patients. But why are you worried that I could? Devon, you need to let the cops do their job.”

  His snort of disdain fogged the icy air between us.

  “Okay,” I tried again. “Then work with Ryder. You tru
st him. Feed him information and let him work inside the law.”

  He hunched his shoulders and gripped the steering wheel.

  “I don’t want to see you get hurt.” I played the one card that might have a chance of breaking through to him. “Esme needs her father.” Ozzie nodded his head, as if in agreement, and made a small noise of longing at the sound of Esme’s name.

  “Esme deserves a father who’s a better man than I can ever be. She’s better off without me. But someday, maybe she’ll be able to return to this place and find a city worth fighting to save instead of a cesspool sliding deeper into the sewer.”

  “You think by playing vigilante, you can clean up the whole city?”

  “It was my father who corrupted it. Daniel twisted every level of government, funneled the hard work of honest people into shell companies run by criminals far worse than the ones I worked for in Philly. You have no idea how far it goes, Angela. It’s as if the cancer inside him ate through to the city he controlled.”

  Devon was right about one thing: His father had warped and corrupted every life he touched. No wonder Daniel Kingston’s other son, Leo, had become a sadistic serial killer. But playing vigilante, no matter how honorable his intentions, wasn’t the way to cleanse the family name.

  “You think you’re creating a legacy for Esme,” I argued, “but have you considered maybe she needs her father in her life now?”

  We stopped at a red light. He turned to me, the streetlights outside the car casting a glow around him. “I don’t want Esme anywhere near my kind of life. I just wish I could somehow make things easier for her.”

  I touched his arm again, and this time he accepted it, looked up, and met my gaze. “It takes time. And good people in her life. Maybe she needs a home, not a school filled with strangers.”

  “It’s too risky—”

  “For her? Or you? It’s been a month, and the Russians haven’t come after you. You’re too powerful now that you control Kingston Enterprises.” He was silent. “I think you’re scared. Of being a father. Of letting anyone get close to you again.”