Page 9 of Volatile Vice
I suppose we both had a lot on our minds. Not that I’m going to clue my younger brother in to that facet of my personal life.
But one thing is for sure. I’m having this place checked out right away.
Hawk leans down and brushes my upper arm. “It’s all going to be okay, Ray.”
Okay. This is the exact opposite ofokay. And I don’t see any way of making what happened to Brick in my bed—the bed I slept in through the bulk of my childhood—okay.
I burst into tears, throwing my arms around Hawk’s broad shoulders. “Oh, Hawk, I don’t know what to do!”
“Easy.” He rubs my back. “Everything’s going to be okay, Ray.”
“How can you say that?” I wipe my eyes. “Mom says Brick Latham is dead. In my bed!”
“I know.” He squeezes my shoulders. “But you’rehere. You weren’t there. You had nothing to do with it.”
I pull back. “Of course I had nothing to do with it. You didn’t think?—”
He shakes his head quickly. “Of course not. No one does.”
“Mom and Dad…”
“They’re okay. They got home last night and didn’t even notice until this morning.”
I grab a tissue from my nightstand and blow my nose. “We should have a dog.”
“What?”
“A dog. Sam was a great guard dog. When I got sick and Mom and Dad had to take care of him during my hospital stays?—”
“Raven, please. Be glad theydon’thave a dog right now. Whoever did this would have just killed it.”
“Oh, God.” I fall back into Hawk’s arms. Then I pull back again. “Do you think this has anything to do with Diego?—”
He holds his fingers to my lips. “Shh.” He looks around my bedroom. “I don’t know, Ray. I just don’t know. Come on. Let’s go.”
* * *
I arriveto the police at our home, my own bedroom full of people.
And on the bed?
A zipped-up black vinyl body bag.
I gulp.
At least I don’t have to look at the body of Brick Latham—that nice man who was helping me with my nonprofit foundation. Who only wanted to take me on a date last night.
Why would anyone harm Brick?
My heart sinks into the pit of my stomach like a heavy stone dropping into the icy depths of an unending ocean. I stumble, nearly falling as the officers turn to look at me. My mother is there, her face bleached to a sickly white and her eyes rimmed with red.
“Mom?” I ask, my voice barely a whisper. “Where’s Dad?”
“He’s out back talking to our attorneys on the phone.” She points a shaky finger out the door. “Hawk went out there.”
“Is Dad talking to one of the attorneys from Brick’s—Mr. Latham’s—firm?”
She shakes her head. “I don’t know, Raven. I just don’t know.”