Page 14 of Devil and the Deep Blue Fish

“Send Kane and the kid to a friend’s,” Jackson blurted. “Don’t tell me who. We have no idea how the shooter knew where to find the kid—phones are suspect.”

Dex made a low moan in his throat. “Can do,” he rasped. “Which way should I turn when I come out of my street?”

It was a good question—agreatquestion. Two blocks ahead, Jackson could see the lights of the bus brighten as it came to a halt in front of a covered bench. If Dex turned right and was in front of the bus, he’d be looking in the wrong place. If he turned left and the bus had passed him… well, he’d at least find Jackson, and they could look together.

“Call me when you’re there,” Jackson huffed. “I’m about two blocks behind. I should be able to see where it is.”

“Gotcha.Kane!” Dex rasped before he hung up. “Baby, you need to listen and do what I say, okay? Grab Frances, throw on her jacket, and—” The phone went dead, and Jackson breathed a sigh of relief.

Dex had remembered not to use the phone.

Jackson sighted the bus, which had just started moving again. Checking both ways as he came to a darkened intersection, he jogged grimly on.

Dex called to ask which way to turn—left, Jackson told him, hoping—and after that he didn’t remember much. He lost sight of the bus, because it wassupposedto be faster than he was, and was startled almost out of his shoes when a glaring set of headlights coming in the opposite direction swung around, cut into the street in front of him, and pulled a dirty U-turn until it came to a halt at the stop sign of yet another darkened street. This part of Sacramento was largely residential—not a lot of streetlights, just the impression of people sleeping peacefully behind the patter of rain in the leaves.

Which was why Jackson stared uncertainly at the black SUV until the window cranked down and the inside light went on. Jackson got a glimpse of Henry’s brother—truly one of the most masculinely beautiful men Jackson had ever seen, with blond hair, a rectangular face, a charming twist of a smile, and dimples—who was wearing a wet windbreaker and an expression of urgency on his face.

“I got ’em,” he said, indicating two passengers in the back seat with a jerk of his chin. “Get in!”

Jackson’s stomach muscles turned to jelly, and he realized how tight he’d been holding them. He hopped into the passenger seat, and as the door thunked shut and the heater hit him, he suddenly felt the cold March rain deep in his bones and started shivering.

He took a couple of deep breaths, and Henry’s brother—showing an empathy that had made him one of the founding models of John’s porn empire before he quit to become a family man and help run the place—idled at the empty intersection, checking for cars on the nearly deserted street until Jackson got his bearings.

“All right, Mr. Rivers,” he said grimly. “They’re safe, we’re here. Where do we go next?”

Jackson groaned and leaned his head back against the headrest.

And that, he thought, was the million-dollar question.

“Think. Think, think, think…,” he muttered to himself. Normally he would start making phone calls, but he’d already pushed his luck calling Dex. The problem was, he didn’tknowhow the shooter had found their way to Isabelle’s place. With a frown he thought maybe he could ask her.

“Hi, Isabelle,” he said, turning in his seat. To his side he said, “Dex, go down J Street and head toward the Carmichael/Fair Oaks area. I’ll give you directions as we get closer—”

“Is this K-Ski and Billy?” Dex asked, and Jackson gave a sigh of relief because he and Dex knew some of the same people.

“Yeah. We need people who can make Cowboy feel safe and who know who Isabelle knows.” Billy used to model for John and Dex’s company. He’d moved on to working in one of their subsidiary companies, but like most of the kids who worked at Johnnies, he remembered Isabelle Roberts fondly.

“I still see Billy,” Isabelle said softly from the back. “He brought me a bag of romance books for Christmas.”

Jackson turned in his seat again and really looked at the woman. She was shivering in Henry’s hooded sweatshirt and a pair of pajama bottoms that were muddy at the cuffs. She’d been wearing slippers with rubber soles when she’d fled out the fire escape, not sneakers as he’d thought, and they were coated in mud and plastered to her feet. He saw a faint glimmer of pink peeking out at the ends and thought fondly that the woman had probably gotten a pedicure recently, and the graying hair plastered to her head had been cut and streaked. Bobby told him once that his mom had grown old quick in their small town, butonce Bobby was able to move her to Sacramento and give her a job she enjoyed, she’d gotten young and happy again.

Jackson hoped Isabelle Roberts could recover from the events of this night, because she deserved to be young and happy some more.

“Well, somebody raised him right,” Jackson said with a small smile. “And yeah. I think Detective Kryzynski and Billy might be the two perfect people to look after you.” His smile slipped a little. “Isabelle, can you and your friend tell me what happened? I want to make sure it doesn’t happen again.”

Isabelle nodded and, Jackson noted, tightened her grip on the hand of the young man sitting, silent and big-eyed, next to her. “But first,” she said, “my kittens—Lizzie and Janette? Did you—”

“Ellery got them,” Jackson said, hoping that was true. “I’m sure we’ll find somebody to look after them.”

“Oh thank you,” she said, all gratitude, and then, soberly, she added, “So about tonight.” She gave the boy a reassuring smile. “John and Galen had already gotten young Cowboy something to eat, but he agreed to come to my apartment to clean up a little, get some clean clothes, and maybe eat a little more.”

“She made me soup,” Cowboy blurted before giving Isabelle a shy glance. “My mom only ever made soup from a can. And got bread from a bag. This was… real,” he whispered, glancing away.

“What kind of soup?” Jackson asked, hoping to ease the boy’s mind.

“Potato and onion,” came the prompt reply. “Which sounds sort of boring, but it wasn’t.”

Jackson grinned, taking in the recently buzzed hair and the freshly scrubbed appearance—as well as the solid grained-in tan and dirt that could only come from being exposed to the elements for too long. “Surprise food,” he said. “Promising.”

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