"I don't suck at all. I rock hard. And I will school you soon enough," Rex said as he raised his arms in triumph.

"You wish," Alex said, picking up his controller to get ready for his turn. "I am the master."

Rex craned his neck to catch Colin's attention. "Hey, man! Got any tips for us on angles and s.h.i.t?

"You know anything about video games?" Alex asked as Colin stuffed his laptop into a messenger bag.

"I know a bit."

"Give me a tip," Alex said. "I need to up my game."

Do something cool for Elle's kid? This was a no-brainer-he liked working with the boys, and he liked that he could be a positive influence rather than a bad one. That had to count for something. Plus, Alex was a good kid. "Here's your tip. It's all strategy. You just devise a strategy and follow it. But don't be afraid to pivot if things change, and then to pivot again," he said, then let his own advice register. Because, as he noodled on the words, he realized they might apply to his approach with Elle.

His strategy had been to focus on the physical, then on the fun and friendship, despite her big reservations. The approach had worked, to a point. Each encounter they'd had was hotter than the last, and each moment together seemed to show how good a time they could have. The question was, when would all the fun and games tip over into something more? Something deeper. He'd sensed an inkling of emotion from her at the Mob Museum, and even more the other morning at the cafe by the canyon. Was it time to pivot once again?

"Strategy," Alex repeated, then tapped his temple as he played. "I'm working on my strategy as we speak. Thanks, man."

Alex held out his free hand for a low high-five, and Colin obliged.

As the boys returned to the game, Colin tapped the back of the couch and told them he'd see them later in the week. On the way out, he walked past the vending machine. The Diet Cherry c.o.ke had been restocked. A rarity. He plugged some quarters in and snagged a cold one, then stopped at Elle's office to say a quick good-bye.

A chaste good-bye. A friendly good-bye. To show her he could care for her not only in bed, but also during the regular rhythm of her day. She loved Diet Cherry c.o.ke in the afternoon. A pick-me-up. Yes, it was a small thing. But wasn't it the little gestures in life that often mattered the most?

The door was shut. He knocked and heard some rustling and the squeak of a chair. There was no answer. He waited ten seconds before he knocked once more.

"I'm busy now." Her voice was tinny from behind the walls.

He set the can on the floor and left, sending her a text that the soda was from him.

A few minutes later, as he drove home, his phone rang with a call from an international number. He swiped over the screen immediately, eager for the details from Ryan.

"How's Johnny Cash?"

Colin laughed deeply. Only his dog-loving brother would focus on the four-legged beast first. "I'm on my way home to take care of him now. He is a prince among canines. I took him to the dog park the other night and all the lady dogs ran up to him," Colin said into the speakerphone as he slowed at a red light.

"They can't help themselves around him. You can use him as a wingman if you think he can help you land a woman. Wait. What's the latest with the woman from the benefit?"

Colin tapped the steering wheel and blew out a long stream of air. "Like I said before you left, it's complicated. Speaking of complicated, you know that kid who was following Shan? I've got great news for you." He told his brother what he'd learned an hour ago about the Protectors. "So it's all good. We don't need to worry about him," he said, pressing the gas as the light changed. "Now, why don't you tell me why the h.e.l.l you're calling from Germany at midnight your time when you should be focusing on your woman?"

"Don't you worry. I'm still focusing on her, but you will not f.u.c.king believe what she found out the other night."

"Lay it on me."

"Sophie was jet-lagged and couldn't sleep. So she was working on deciphering the rest of the pattern that I told you about." Ryan was talking about the sewing pattern that their mom had pa.s.sed onto him before she went to prison. She'd asked Ryan, then just a fourteen-year-old, to hold on to it for her, telling him that it was a prized pattern for a dog jacket that she wanted to make when she was freed. He'd held onto the hope that she might be innocent, and so he'd saved the pattern for her, only to discover a week ago, when Sophie tried to make the jacket, that it was a code of sorts. The first row contained addresses that corresponded to the homes of the shooter, and of the two alleged accomplices in their father's murder. Sophie had said there was more to the pattern, and she'd need extra time with it.

"What did she find out? What were the rest of the lines?" Colin asked.

"It's a list of more addresses. They had missing numbers and symbols, but she worked on it and she figured out all of them. She gave it to John, and when he put it together with the leads he's been looking into, he believes the pattern is a h.e.l.l of a lot more than just those two guys. You better be sitting down," Ryan said, his voice heavy and intense.

Colin slowed the car, pulled over, and cut the engine. "Talk to me. What is it?"

Ryan heaved a sigh then told him the newest wrinkle.

Colin was d.a.m.n glad he'd pulled over. His head fell back against the headrest, the shock of Ryan's new revelation echoing in his bones.

When he reached his home and leashed up his brother's dog, his phone buzzed once more. Elle had messaged him. At last. But when he read the note, frustration seared him to a crisp.

Elle: I'm so sorry. I have to cancel tomorrow. Something came up.

CHAPTER THIRTEEN.

Johnny Cash trotted perfectly by Colin's side as Michael pulled up in his black BMW, a mountain bike on the roof. Colin slowed his pace and met Michael as he stepped out of his car. His brother must have come straight from the office. He wore his usual striped b.u.t.ton-down, tie, and dark pants. When he reached Colin, he whipped off his sungla.s.ses, his cool blue gaze sharp as ever. "Did you talk to Ryan? You ready for the detective?"

Colin pushed his palm down as if to say let's take it easy. "It's just a talk. I've got nothing to hide."

Michael clapped him on the back. "I know that, man. That's not my point. I was just asking. Just making sure."

Colin brushed off Michael's hand. "I get it. But the point is I'm neither worried, nor surprised about anything related to our mother," he said, though that wasn't entirely true. He'd been shocked by the news Ryan had shared about her, but only for the first few minutes. At this point Colin was accustomed to hearing that she was a less than stellar citizen.

What had him so p.r.i.c.kly was Elle's cancellation of their plans tomorrow with zero explanation. Nothing. Not a word. That confused the h.e.l.l out of him, especially because he had no right to ask her what was up. She'd been direct from day one about what she could give and what she couldn't. They were friends-plus-more, and that was that. She'd made no promises, and he had no reason to feel slighted.

Except...she'd been giving off some serious I want more vibes at the cafe the other morning. He'd been d.a.m.n sure they were crossing into the unchartered territory of more-exactly where he wanted to be with her.

But, h.e.l.l, maybe that had been wishful thinking on his part. Maybe he'd been reading too much into one small, sweet little moment. Because this Elle-the hot and cold one-was the one he'd been used to. Push, pull. Move forward, retreat. f.u.c.k, freak out.

Time to wise up and accept what she would give, instead of angling for something he'd never have. Elle was the summit he'd never reach, thanks to his past.

Right now, Colin's present involved a detective, who parked his Nissan Leaf at the curb in front of his house. Colin nudged Michael and dropped his voice. "I never, never, never would have pegged the detective as the owner of an electric car."

Michael laughed. "Doesn't he know he's required to drive a sedan? Four doors, dark blue, unmarked. Just like the movies."

John walked over to the two of them, took off his shades, and said h.e.l.lo. Johnny Cash barked at the man. Colin tugged on the dog's leash, giving him a quick correction. "It's okay, Johnny Cash. If you're nice to him, the detective won't throw us in the pokey," Colin said.

John rubbed the dog's head. "Nice first name for a dog. And I don't have any plans to throw you in the pokey." He paused, then added, "At least, not today." John shifted his gaze to Michael. "Good to see you again, too, Mr. Sloan."

Michael nodded. "I know you were planning on talking to Colin, but I see no reason why I can't be here."

John nodded and shot him a closed-mouth smile. "Not a problem. Happy to chat with both of you about the latest. Do you want to talk inside? Or chat on the porch?"

Colin's street was quiet now, so he opted for the porch.

John dived right into the heart of his visit. "Here's the deal." He took a piece of paper from his pocket then spread open a copy of the sewing pattern on his lap. Johnny Cash lifted his snout to sniff it. "We knew from Sophie's first attempts that this pattern contained more than just a few names. Now that she's figured out all the addresses in it, we were able to track them to who lived in those houses at the time of the murder. We believe that this was a drug dealing route," the detective said, sharing what Ryan had told Colin on the phone.

There it was. The official mention of how unbelievably f.u.c.ked up their mother was. What gnawed at Colin the most wasn't that he shared genes with her, but that he shared choices. The choice to use-c.o.ke for her, pills and liquor for him. The one solace he found was that even before he'd stopped, he'd stopped at using. He'd never moved into the selling, as she evidently had.

"Surprise," Michael said with disdain. "Inmate 347-921 was a drug dealer, in addition to being a murderer. What next? She ran a child p.o.r.nography ring? Oh wait. She probably operates an underground s.e.x slave business from prison." Michael shoved a hand into his dark hair. "Every f.u.c.king time it's something else with her."

"Sorry to be the bearer of this news." John's voice was steady, a stark contrast to Michael's. "We believe these men were at the top of the pattern not only because of their potential involvement in the murder, but because of their role in the drug ring, and we think below them is the list of people Dora was selling to regularly. Presumably she hid her route in the pattern so no one in her family would know what she was doing. We'd previously thought Stefano was her dealer, but it seems he was a step up. He was her supplier and provided the drugs she sold. That's why she owed him money-for the drugs she procured from him." John turned to Colin. "But we don't believe Stefano was the one who recruited her for it. Do you know anything about how she got involved? Can you remember anything?"

Michael raised a hand and cut in before Colin could say a word. "Why are you asking him?"

"Because of the friends he had when he was younger," John said to Michael in a cool, even tone. "That's why I'm here talking to him."

"I'll answer it," Colin said firmly, taking the reins. He loved his big brother, adored him to the ends of the Earth, but Colin wasn't a kid anymore. "The answer is no. I have no clue how she got involved in dealing drugs. I had no idea she was selling, but it doesn't surprise me because she was a f.u.c.ked up, desperate woman. But if you're asking for details about the drug business the Royal Sinners were in, I'll tell you anything I know. I've been upfront with you from day one, Detective. When I was thirteen, I hung with the wrong crowd. I was friends with the wrong people, and yes, I was friends with the brother of one of the men whose address was in the pattern. T.J. Nelson's brother Paul. He was fifteen and I was thirteen, and when Ryan told me T.J's name was in that pattern, I was shocked-and frankly embarra.s.sed that I was ever friends with his brother. We did stupid s.h.i.t. Egged houses, TP'd them. That was as far as we went. But we knew what the older guys were doing because we heard them talk."

"What did you hear?"

"They were always talking about territory. They claimed 'hoods' for fencing their stolen goods, and when they moved deeper into drugs, they claimed sections of neighborhoods for selling those, too. They marked everything that was theirs with gang logos, insignia, personal graffiti. They'd have a field day on Facebook today with the way they tagged stuff."

John nodded. "The gang culture, oddly enough, loves social media. They post pictures of themselves online, on Instagram and Facebook, holding wads of bills from their drugs, or showing off phones they stole."

"That's what it was all about then, too, in an old school way."

"What do you know about T.J. Nelson?" John asked.

"He's the guy you think brokered Stefano's. .h.i.ts, right?" Michael chimed in. After Sophie uncovered the code in the pattern, and Ryan delivered some fresh details on potential names, the detective had enough info to pinpoint the suspected accomplices. A pair of cousins, T.J. and Kenny Nelson, were believed to have helped Jerry Stefano pull off the murder. When Stefano wound up going to prison for the crime, he never gave up their names. But the detective had new evidence pointing to their roles-T.J. as the broker and Kenny as the getaway driver.

John nodded. "We think that's a strong possibility. We want to know more about him, and how big his role was."

"Big? Like he was a mastermind of the whole thing?" Colin asked, trying to get to the heart of what the detective needed to know.

But John kept certain details close to the vest. "There are a number of possibilities we're looking into. Tell me what you know of him."

Colin sighed deeply, rewinding to his days as a thirteen-year-old, picturing T.J. Nelson, the towering older brother with the short mohawk, gold earring, and menacing smile. His arms were made of steel, and he had a head for strategy. He was always plotting. "What I remember overhearing was T.J. talking about who was handling what in the Royal Sinners. He was very focused on which guys were responsible for which areas. The territories, they called them," Colin said. "And they also talked about the protection of them."

"Of the territories?" John asked, his voice tight and clipped, a shift from his previous tone, as if he were holding something in.

Colin nodded. "Yes. I didn't have any of the details, but that's some of what I overheard when he was around. Who handled the fences. Who picked up the drugs. That sort of thing." Colin held up his hands like an innocent man, telling the whole truth. "I had no clue my mom was selling, dealing, or using. But given what you figured out with that pattern, maybe that's what she was doing talking to them. Maybe she was picking her territory for selling."

"Seems she got a prime one," John said. "Any idea why she would?"

"She probably blew somebody," Michael said with a sneer.

Colin leaned forward, speaking in a stage whisper. "John, I wanted to let you in on a little secret. You might not have picked up on this, but Michael's not a fan of our mom."

John laughed lightly; the momentary tension had vacated. "That's coming through loud and clear."

"To answer your question, I have no idea why she would get a prime route, as you say. Except that she was desperate, and maybe she had some strings to pull, because she was willing to do whatever she had to do to get what she wanted. That's what I know to be true about her. Maybe she and Stefano were working together," Colin said, because that seemed plausible to him.

Michael cleared his throat. "What's going on with the Royal Sinners these days, Detective? I follow the news; I've been reading up on them, seeing more and more stories about them rising in power. More crimes, more problems, more trouble. More organized, too, than their rival gangs. I keep hearing 'Don't mess with the Sinners.'"

"Yeah, we've upped the security at the center during the repairs just to make sure the kids are safe," Colin added.

A somber look flitted into the detective's eyes. "You hear right. They're a top priority for Metro, and my men are working hard on gang enforcement and prevention. We've got an anonymous tip line for concerned citizens to report suspected gang activity, an anti-gang initiative, and public education is going strong. We're doing everything we can on the enforcement front. Last week, we had a few more arrests of Royal Sinners members for grand theft auto, and some from rival gangs for burglary."

"Glad to hear it's being taken seriously. Some of my other clients have also been asking about it and increasing their security services based on what they've been reading in the news," Michael said. "They want to protect themselves, and to know the authorities are working hard on it, too."

"I a.s.sure you, we are. And you can let your clients know that you've talked to Metro and that we're committed to this," he added. "We're doing everything we can to dismantle the gangs, member by member."

That last word latched onto Colin's brain, making him wonder if his old friend Paul had gone down the path of his brother into the Sinners.

"Hey, what happened to Paul? We didn't stay friends."

"Paul Nelson is dead," John said, matter-of-factly, and Colin's blood froze. "Shot three times in a drive-by shooting a few years ago. Retaliation from another gang over a murder. One we think T.J. was involved in. Both T.J. Nelson and Kenny Nelson are on the run now. They're wanted for other crimes over the years."

His whole body turned to ice. "Wow," Colin said heavily, grappling with the shocking news. "Paul died before he was thirty."

"Gangs are a young man's business," John said. "You don't find many old men in street gangs. The young men usually die or wind up in prison by the time they hit thirty. Like Stefano. Like Paul."

"What about T.J. and Kenny Nelson? They must be in their forties. What's their secret to a long life as a gang man?"

"I'd like to know. Because they're the exception to the rule," John said, then thanked them for their time and walked away.

The bell above the door jingled. Marcus looked up from his math book as a guy in jeans and a black T-shirt entered the convenience store where he worked.

Marcus nodded a h.e.l.lo then returned to the page in front of him, as his mind replayed the day. Talking to Elle had unburdened him, and he was more fired up than ever about his plans. College, living on his own, getting to know his unknown family-he'd wanted all of that for so long, and he was close to having it. Living with his dad had been stifling for so many reasons. Sometimes he missed seeing his stepmom and his little sisters now that he was no longer at home with them, but Marcus was glad to live with his friends. He was on a path to becoming an a.s.sistant manager here at the store, and that was helping him make ends meet, along with his savings from little jobs over the years.

As he worked through some equations, the guy grabbed a bag of chips and sauntered over to the counter. He was about Marcus's age, maybe a year older. He had a goatee, light eyes, and a black and blue fingernail on his right hand, as if he'd slammed it in a car door.

The guy tossed the bag on the counter, as if it were a prize he'd won at a fair. "I'll take this tasty bag of barbecue chips, please," he said, stretching out the last word.

"Sure," Marcus said, scanning the bag. "That'll be a dollar and two cents."

The guy jammed his hands into his pockets, riffling around. He pulled out a flip phone and set it on the counter, eyeing it dismissively. "Someday I'll get an iPhone." Stuffing his hand into his pocket again, he produced a wadded-up bill, then spread it open. "s.h.i.t. I only have a one."

"That's cool. I got it," Marcus said, reaching into the change tin to grab two pennies.

"You are the man," the guy said with a too-wide grin as he pointed his index fingers at Marcus like guns.

"No problem."

The guy glanced at the textbook and stabbed his finger against it. "You learning algebra or something like that?"

Marcus nodded, not bothering to explain that he was well beyond ninth grade math at this point. "Studying for school."

"College?" the guy asked, as if he'd never heard of it before.

"That's the goal."