Page 18 of Devil and the Deep Blue Fish

He could say that now because Henry was going to be okay. Henryhadto be okay.

God help them all if Henry wasn’t okay.

“So,” Jackson asked on a shaky breath, as Dex followed what was now Fair Oaks Boulevard down into Carmichael. “Can you remember any names?”

“Someone…,” Cowboy whispered. “Someone called Mrs. Twitty?”

Jackson’s eyebrows went up. “Mrs. Tweety?”

“No… that’s what Retty called her. Twitty. But it wasn’t her real name. She… she welcomed us. Was dressed real pretty. In pink and cream with a necklace.”

“Classy,” Jackson said, and he wasn’t being sarcastic—he got how sometimes a woman who was put together could frighten a kid who was dressed in hand-me-downs and needed a bath.

“Yeah,” Cowboy said, nodding. “She gave directions. Said, ‘Put him upstairs in the room with the four. We’ll have our first meeting tonight.’ And Retty sort of laughed.” His voice fell. “It was a mean laugh,” he murmured. “I didn’t like that laugh.”

And hence, Jackson thought, that organized escape. “You got good instincts, kid,” he said, and at that moment, Dex took a left, which gave Jackson a block to finish this interrogation. “One more thing,” he said. “You ran away a couple of weeks ago, right?”

“Yessir,” the kid said, and it was the “sir” that tugged at Jackson’s heart.

“Have you met any other escapees, any other kids that started out at the Clean Living place?”

Cowboy’s voice dropped. “We don’t talk about it,” he whispered. “Nobody talks about it. You talk about your tricks or who’s giving away food or where you can get a bath. Nobody talks about that place. Nobody.”

“Okay, then,” Jackson said, his voice going soft. “No more of that tonight. We’re going to find you a place to sleep and some folks to keep an eye out for you—and maybe to take you on atrip or something, somewhere you don’t have to worry about these people, and you and Isabelle can get some rest. How’s that sound?”

“Okay….” The boy’s voice wobbled. “You don’t suppose… my mom? Would she want me back?”

Jackson wanted to claw at his chest and rip his heart out so it didn’t have to feel like this. “I don’t know,” he said at last. “But we can’t find out until this mess is over, okay? If shedoeswant you back, this will put her in danger. If… well, if she doesn’t….”

“She’s the one who gave me to Retty in the first place,” Cowboy said, sounding destroyed and proving once again that kids were smart and illusions were a luxury someone like Cowboy had never been able to afford.

“Jackson,” Isabelle said, “I have some money. I could take him—”

“John and I will pay,” Dex said. “And we’ll discuss particulars later. I’ve got an idea, but I gotta run it by Kane first. But yeah, we’re calling this a company team-building exercise, Isabelle, and you’re not worrying about a penny.” He sighed. “And you let us know if you need out,” he finished, but Jackson got a look at Mrs. Bobby’s Mom, her arms around Cowboy, holding him to her chest and rocking him back and forth.

She wiped her face with the back of her hand and shook her head. “Not going anywhere,” she whispered. “Don’t worry, sweetheart. I’ll want you. I’m not going anywhere.”

Next to him, Dex took an uneven breath, and Jackson did the same.

“Here we are,” Dex muttered. “A block from K-Ski’s house. It’s still pissing down rain. Jackson, there’s an umbrella under the seat.”

Jackson stared at him, soaking wet from his run down J Street. “Sure, Dad,” he said, some of his natural sarcasm slipping through.

Dex gave him a flat look. “Shut up and take the umbrella,” he snapped. “I can control very little about this situation, but you can take the goddamned umbrella.”

And Jackson remembered that Dexwas,for all intents and purposes, a dad. He and his husband had been caring for Kane’s niece, Frances, for the last four years. They’d been doing teachers’ meetings and school presentations and juggling schedules to make sure that kid was the most beloved child in the state. And no, watching this kid, who had been so much likeallof them at one point or another, be terrified for his life wasnotokay.

“Fine,” Jackson said, taking it, and then glaring at Henry’s brother. “It’s pink. It’s got pink fucking flamingos all over it. I’ll take it, but by God, I will find a way to make you pay for this.”

“I can live with that,” Dex muttered, and then Jackson took the umbrella and went trotting down the sidewalk.

Both Detective Sean Kryzynski and his boyfriend, Billy, answered the door in sweats and T-shirts, hair askew, eyes squinted against the light, after being awakened out of what Jackson hoped was a sound sleep. He assumed so—Billy was going to school and working as a manager at one of the retail places John and Dex owned, where they could funnel kids who’d made their movies and were ready to move on, and Sean was a police officer who, by definition, worked fifty or so hour workweeks.

At their feet, a small dachshund yipped until Billy bent down and scooped him up with an “Enough,” and then a spate of what might have been fearsome Spanish, but the dog kept staring at him with adoring eyes.

“Sorry,” Billy mumbled, smoothing the little dog’s fur. “Rivers, the fuck you doing here?”

Jackson swallowed, and Kryzynski’s cop sense kicked in. “What’s wrong?”

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