I clamped my teeth together. He had never had anything growing up. He had been abused and exploited and framed for murder before he even got a start in life. He worked hard for what he had. He earned every penny. I would not take it from him.

“Dutch, I’m not changing the accounts. It’s yours. It’s all yours. And that’s final.”

He started for the bathroom again. I put my hand on his chest. He instantly covered it with his own.

“Please, Reyes, please take my name off.”

He bent until his mouth was barely a centimeter from my own and whispered, “Never.” Then he went into the bathroom and closed the door as I stood in the middle of our bedroom on the verge of hyperventilating.

After I was able to breathe without almost passing out, I rambled into the kitchen.

“Well?” she said when I took down a clean cup, having left mine in the bedroom. But, hell, I could afford a dozen cups. I could afford a thousand. No, I could afford thirty billion. “How was your night?”

I put the cup down, ran to her, and cried in her arms for a solid thirty minutes. One for each billion in my bank account.

21

Coffee

Debauchery

Madness

One down. Two to go.

—STATUS UPDATE

By the time Reyes came out, Cookie and I were at the kitchen counter drinking coffee. Well, I was drinking coffee and going over some articles she’d printed out. Cookie was staring off into space, in total shock. She had a bit of drool leaking from one corner of her mouth. I reached over with a napkin and sopped it up. She didn’t move.

“You told her?” he asked, getting a fresh cup himself.

“Should I not have?”

“Not at all. If anything happens to me, she will be the one you rely on most. She needs to know this stuff just as much as you do.”

He turned toward me and leaned back against the counter. He wore a dark red button down and his signature jeans. They weren’t tight, but they weren’t loose. They had the perfect fit around his hips. Over his ass. Through his crotch.

“Do we need to go back to the bedroom?” he asked from behind his cup.

I straightened and cleared my throat. Then I offered him my best pleading face. “Reyes, please take my name—”

“No.” He said it softly as though it were a caress. “It’s done. It was done over seven years ago.” He stepped to me, lifted my chin, and brushed his mouth across mine. “No more crying. And I think she might need medical attention,” he said before grabbing his jacket and walking out.

It took another three cups of coffee to settle my nerves. Once Cookie came to, we went over the papers she’d brought. It was all the news articles she could find on each death at the children’s home.

“Charley,” she said, still unable to wrap her head around what had happened, “he put your name on the accounts even before he met you? Before he got out of prison?”

I nodded and closed my eyes, trying not to think of the injustices that had been done to him all his life, including this one. “What would possess him to do such a thing? That’s his money, Cook.” Tears slipped between my lashes, and Cookie grabbed me up again.

“He loves you, hon. He’s always loved you. Even if you’d never met, he was looking out for you.”

“But I don’t deserve it.”

“Charley.” She set me at arm’s length. “He believes you do, and quite frankly, so do I. That money will come in handy. And if nothing else, Beep will be an heiress.”

A hiccup of laughter escaped me. “Okay, that makes the whole thing worth it. But I’m still not comfortable with it.”

“I doubt you ever will be. I can’t even imagine that much money.”

“Right? So, seriously, how many Dumpsters do you think that would fill?”

A knock sounded at the door.

“Come in!” I yelled. “It’s your ball and chain.”

“Ah.”

Uncle Bob walked in, looking very masculine in his brown suit and tie. “Looking good, Ubie.”

“Thanks, pumpkin. Court,” he said by way of an explanation.

“Up for murder again?”

“Not my court. I have to testify in court.”

“Oh, of course. Sorry.”

“I just wanted to let both of you know, I’m going to ask you one more time who hired you before I get a warrant and/or have you arrested.”

“Aw, thanks for the heads-up, Uncle Bob.”

Cookie simply raised her brows at him, completely content in the knowledge that she would win in the end.

He let out a frustrated sigh. “I’ll do it.”

“I’m sure you will. But if Joplin is so worried, why hasn’t he asked me himself? And if he’s harassing you about it, why don’t you tell him to fight his own fights?”

“Because I’m not in the third grade, and he’s a control freak. He is very, very interested in who hired you and why.”

“That’s strange. Why don’t you tell him to mind his own bees wax and ask him why he’s so worried?”

“Because I’m not in the third grade, and he’s a control freak. Are you even listening to me?”

“Maybe he doesn’t want Team Davidson showing him up.” Cookie and I high-fived, we were that good.

He shrugged. “He said something about you blowing the case.”

“Sounds to me like Joplin is worried he doesn’t even have a case and he’s trying to blame it on someone else.”

“You’re probably right. Still, the two of you might want to pack an overnight bag.”

“As if they allow those in jail.”

He leaned down to kiss his wife, then walked out.

“See you later, hon,” Cook said. “If I go to jail, don’t forget to pick up Amber from school.”

When she received nothing but a grunt and the sound of a door closing, she giggled. “It’s driving him crazy that we won’t give him a name.”

“It’s the little things.” I thumbed through the papers. “The nurse at the home?” I asked, steering her back.

“Okay.” She pointed at one paper in particular. An employment record for the nurse in question. “She’s worked there for years, but check this out. She left for several months to take care of her ailing mother. While she was gone, there were no deaths. Now, I know what you’re thinking,” she said before I could say anything. “The deaths were spread out over years. But as soon as her mother died and she went back to work at the home, another child passed away of an asthma attack.”