Darkness, Take My Hand (Kenzie & Gennaro 2)

“And these other people—Stimovich and Stokes—what’s their connection to the neighborhood?”

“We believe they might just be random. Thrill kills, no motivation outside of the kill itself.”

“So why are Angie and me being targeted?”

Bolton shrugged. “Could be a ruse. We don’t know. Could be they’re just trying to rattle Ms. Gennaro’s cage because she’s involved in tracking them. Whoever Arujo’s partner is, they both intended for Mr. Kenzie and Ms. Gennaro to be in this from the start. Kara Rider’s role was specifically designed for that purpose. And then, maybe,” Bolton said, and looked at me, “he’s trying to force Mr. Kenzie to make that choice Hardiman spoke of.”

Everyone looked at me.

“Hardiman said I’d be forced to make some kind of choice. He said, ‘Not everyone you love can live.’ Maybe my choice is between saving Phil or saving Angie.”

Phil shook his head. “But anyone who knows us knows we haven’t been close in over a decade, Patrick.”

I nodded.

“But you used to be?” Bolton said.

“Like brothers,” Phil said and I tried to detect bitterness and self-pity in his voice; I only heard a quiet, sad acceptance.

“For how long?” Bolton said.

“From the crib ’til we were, like, twenty. Right?”

I shrugged. “Around there, yeah.”

I looked at Angie but she stared at the floor.

Bolton said, “Hardiman said you’d met before, Mr. Kenzie.”

“I never met the man.”

“Or you don’t recall it.”

“I’d remember that face,” I said.

“If you saw it as an adult, sure. But as a kid?”

He handed Phil two photos of Hardiman—one from ’74, the other from the present.

Phil stared at them and I could see he wanted to recognize Hardiman, to have this make sense, for there to be a reason this man had targeted him for death. Eventually he closed his eyes, exhaled loudly, and shook his head.

“I’ve never seen this guy before.”

“You’re sure?”

He handed the photos back. “Positive.”

“Well, that’s too bad,” Bolton said, “because he’s part of your life now.”

An agent drove Phil home at eight, and Angie, Devin, Oscar, and I headed to my place so I could fill an overnight bag.

Bolton wanted Angie to appear vulnerable, alone, but we convinced him that if Evandro or his partner had been studying us, we should appear as normal as possible. And hanging out with Devin and Oscar was something we did at least once a month, though not usually sober.

As for my moving in with Angie, I insisted upon it, whether Bolton gave a shit or not.

Actually, though, he liked the idea. “I’ve thought you two were sleeping together since we met, so I’m sure Evandro assumes the same.”

“You’re a pig,” Angie said and he shrugged.

Back at my place, we settled into the kitchen while I pulled clothes from my dryer and stuffed them into a gym bag. Looking out my window, I saw Lyle Dimmick finishing up for the day, wiping paint off his hands and placing the brush in a can of thinner.

“So how’s your relationship with the Feds?” I asked Devin.

“Deteriorating by the day,” he said. “Why do you think we were shut out of the Alec Hardiman visit this afternoon?”

“So you’re demoted to babysitting us?” Angie said.

“Actually,” Oscar said, “we asked for this specifically. Can’t wait to see how you two do in close quarters.”

He looked at Devin and they both laughed.

Devin found a stuffed frog Mae had left behind on my counter and picked it up. “Yours?”

“Mae’s.”

“Sure.” He held it up in front of him and made faces at it. “You two might want to keep this guy,” he said, “if only to provide some counterbalance.”

“We’ve lived together before,” Angie said and scowled.

“True,” Devin said, “for two weeks. But you’d just walked out on your husband, Ange. And neither of you spent too much time around each other back then, if I remember. Patrick practically moved into Fenway Park and you were always out nights clubbing your way through Kenmore Square. Now, you’ll be forced together for the length of this investigation. Could be months, even years, before it’s over.” He spoke to the frog. “What do you think of that?”

I looked out the window as he and Oscar giggled and Angie fumed. Lyle descended the scaffolding, radio and cooler grasped awkwardly in one hand, bottle of Jack sticking out of his back pocket.

Watching him, something bugged me. I’d never known him to work past five and it was eight-thirty now. Beyond that, he’d told me this morning that his tooth hurt…

“Got any chips around here?” Oscar said.

Angie stood, went to the cabinets over the oven. “With Patrick, a good food supply is never a safe bet.” She opened the left cabinet, rummaged through some cans.

This morning, Mae and I ate breakfast, but that was after I talked to Lyle. After I talked to Kevin. I’d come back in the kitchen, called Bubba…

“What’d I tell you?” Angie said to Oscar and opened the middle cabinet. “No chips here, either.”

“You two’ll get along just fine,” Devin said.

After Bubba, I’d asked Lyle to keep his music down because Mae was still asleep. And he said…

“Last try.” Angie reached for the right cabinet door.

…he didn’t mind because he had a dentist’s appointment and was only working a half day.

I stood up and looked out the window, down into the yard below the scaffolding, as Angie screamed and jumped back from the cabinet.

The yard was empty. “Lyle” was gone.

I looked at the cabinet and the first thing I noticed were eyes staring back at me. They were blue and they were human and they weren’t attached to anything.

Oscar grabbed his walkie-talkie. “Get me Bolton. Now.”

Angie stumbled back along the table. “Oh, shit.”

“Devin,” I said, “that housepainter…”

“Lyle Dimmick,” he said. “We ran a check on him.”

“That wasn’t Lyle,” I said.

Oscar caught on to our conversation as Bolton came over the walkie-talkie.

“Bolton,” Oscar said, “fan your men out. Arujo’s in the area dressed like a cowboy housepainter. He just left.”