She nodded unsteadily. ‘Me too. So we’ll prop each other up. But you have to promise me if you ever consider . . . ending yourself again—’

‘I haven’t,’ he interrupted, ‘not since I was ten. That’s when Mom met Jeremy. We were a real family then. Mom was so happy. She got pregnant with Audrey and then we had a baby in the house again. Mom meeting Jeremy O’Bannion was the best thing to ever happen to us – the dad he didn’t have to be. He was only twenty-one when he met Mom. Only eleven years older than me. He could have taken the role of big brother, but he seemed to know how much I needed a father. And he’s always been that for me.’

Scarlett wiped her eyes. ‘I’m glad,’ she said simply, then pointed at the road sign. ‘This is the exit for Saint Barbara’s. Remember, don’t call me Detective.’

‘I won’t.’ He didn’t want to lie to the Bautistas, but he didn’t want to scare them away either.

She smoothed her dress and checked the visor mirror. ‘I look like I’ve been crying, but it makes me look like less of a cop, so the puffy eyes are okay.’

‘You look beautiful.’

‘Thank you. So do you. Do you need anything before we talk to Mila and Erica?’

He squeezed her hand. ‘Just be with me.’

‘Let anyone try to pry me away.’

Twenty-nine

Georgetown, Kentucky

Wednesday 5 August, 8.40 A.M.

Scarlett and Marcus met Trace in the vestibule of Saint Barbara’s. Scarlett had been nervous about seeing her uncle again, but Trace obliterated any nerves with a huge bear hug. She held on a few more seconds than she needed to, because for that moment in time he’d made her feel like a child again. Like the past ten years of her life hadn’t happened.

Like she wasn’t standing in a church of her own free will.

He set her down and tipped her face up, his smile changing to a frown. ‘You’ve been crying.’ He turned his frown on Marcus. ‘What did you do to her?’

‘He’s done nothing,’ Scarlett said firmly. ‘We’ve been talking and I’ve been emotional.’ She slid her arm around her uncle’s waist. ‘Uncle Trace, this is Marcus O’Bannion. He tried to help Tala, was with her when she died. Marcus, Father Trace.’

Marcus stuck out his hand. ‘Father,’ he said politely. ‘You’re the first member of Scarlett’s family that I’ve had the privilege to meet.’

Trace looked down at Scarlett, his brows lifted. ‘Oh, he’s good.’

She laughed. ‘I know.’

Her uncle shook Marcus’s hand. ‘They’re waiting for you in the choir room. Scarlett, I’ve told them only that you’re my niece.’ He hugged her to him again. ‘You look very non-coppish. I’ll let you decide when to tell them who you are.’

‘Are they okay?’ Marcus asked. ‘Physically?’

‘Their feet are pretty cut up. They walked for miles without shoes. I’m so thankful they were picked up by a good person. The trucker recognized that they were afraid and he didn’t ask many questions. One of the women in the church washed their feet and bandaged them, but you’ll want to have them seen by a doctor. You won’t have any trouble communicating from a language standpoint. Their English is impeccable. But they didn’t say much. I showed them the pictures of Mr Bautista and young John Paul, but other than crying and giving prayers of thanks that they were safe, they didn’t say anything more. They’re still very afraid.’

He led them into the church and Scarlett suddenly found it very hard to breathe. She hadn’t been lying to Trace. After all the talking she and Marcus had done, her emotions were like a seething cauldron in her gut. Adding to that the memories of Michelle that had been dredged up when she’d found Tala dead in the alley . . .

She swallowed back the lump in her throat and focused on putting one foot in front of the other. But then Marcus took her hand and held it securely in his. Breathing in the scent of his aftershave, she let it calm her.

‘You okay?’ he whispered.

She tightened her hold. ‘Yes.’

They followed her uncle into the choir room and both she and Marcus went abruptly still. Two petite women sat on metal folding chairs, holding hands even more tightly than Scarlett held Marcus’s. The older woman was visibly trembling, her eyes bright with tears. The younger was barely sixteen, according to the copies of the visas Immigration had provided, but she looked so much older. Her expression was remote, her dark eyes cold and her shoulders bowed.

‘She looks just like Tala,’ Marcus murmured, sounding spooked. He released Scarlett’s hand and stepped forward, going down on one knee in front of the women so that they could look him in the eye. ‘I’m Marcus,’ he said quietly. ‘And I’m so sorry for your loss.’

Mila Bautista’s body began to shake with suppressed sobs, which broke free when Marcus put his arms around them both. Tala’s mother leaned into his shoulder and cried, her heart broken.

Beside Scarlett, Trace sighed softly. ‘He’s for real?’

Scarlett had to blink away her own tears, Mila’s grief and Marcus’s compassion reaching right into her chest and squeezing her heart until it felt bloodless. She pressed the heel of her hand to her sternum to relieve the ache. ‘Yeah. He’s very real.’

‘I read online that he met Tala Bautista in an alley and tried to help her. Is he in the habit of helping strange young women in the middle of the night?’

She glanced up at Trace who was frowning worriedly. ‘Yes, actually, but not like you’re thinking.’ She quietly explained the situation, adding that Marcus had been shot at a second time and that his friend and the doorman had been shot last night. ‘But I still have to wonder who was the target in that alley – Tala or Marcus.’

‘It was Tala.’ Erica Bautista had pulled out of Marcus’s embrace, stroking her mother’s hair as Mila continued to cry against Marcus’s shoulder. The girl’s expression was hard and angry, and Scarlett certainly couldn’t blame her for that.

Scarlett pulled another folding chair over so that she could sit facing Mila. ‘Why are you so sure?’ she asked softly.

‘Who are you?’ the girl asked, her eyes narrowing shrewdly.

‘My name is Scarlett. Father Trace is my uncle. Marcus is my boyfriend and I’m afraid for him, for his safety, so I came along. We want to help you, but nobody really understands what’s happening here.’

Erica continued to study her. ‘You’re with the police,’ she said flatly.

Scarlett blinked, startled. Mila pushed Marcus away, lurching to her feet in panic. Scarlett knew that if she stood up she’d tower over the woman, so she remained seated. ‘I’m not Immigration. I’m not calling them. I’m here as my uncle’s niece. I’m not going to turn you in to anyone. You have my word.’

Mila looked down at Marcus, seeking confirmation, and he nodded. ‘She isn’t lying,’ he said. ‘She really is Father Trace’s niece and she really is my girlfriend. And she really wants to help you. I called her two nights ago when I knew I was meeting Tala. I wanted a woman there that I could trust.’

‘You trust her?’ Mila asked, trembling so hard that Scarlett thought she’d fall down.

‘With my life,’ Marcus said simply, and Mila slowly sat back down.

Scarlett breathed a silent sigh of relief. ‘How did you know?’

Erica shrugged. ‘He is Father Trace Bishop. You are Scarlett. The article in the newspaper said that Detective Scarlett Bishop was first on the scene.’

Scarlett winced. ‘Oh. I didn’t mean to deceive you. Well, yes, I did, but only so I wouldn’t scare you. I meant what I said. I’m not going to turn you in.’

‘Your partner is with the FBI,’ Erica said coldly.

Scarlett mentally reviewed the Ledger article in her mind, then turned to Marcus, puzzled. ‘You didn’t mention Deacon in that article, did you?’