The Departed

scared, he was going to try fixing things. But Brendan’s fixes were bad for others. Brendan’s fixes involved things like killing Tristan.
    Shit. Shit. And fuck.
    No way.
    And for some inexplicable reason, a strange sense of peace washed over him, flooding him with not just confidence but resolution, as he met Brendan’s gaze and held it.
    He knew what he was going to do once he got home, too. He was going to try to find that woman—see if she had left the hotel, left town. If she hadn’t left town, he’d be able to find her. If he couldn’t find her, he’d just go to the police. Or maybe Luther. Luther would know what to do.
    One thing was damn certain—Mark was not going to spend the rest of his life like he’d spent the last few months.
    No way.

CHAPTER NINE
    TAYLOR had two stops that morning. The first was easy. It was the florist shop where Leon Beard worked. He was just curious about the man’s rather violent reaction—though, granted, most people wouldn’t be pleased to hear their grandkid had to talk to the cops.
    But it wasn’t like Brendan had been arrested , or even questioned. He had to give a statement, something that should have been expected, considering the circumstances.
    He might have even just ignored the old man, but for some reason, Beard made his skin crawl and his instincts scream. He couldn’t rightly say he’d ever spent five seconds near the guy before and it was possible he’d imagined it. Possible. Not likely. Taylor didn’t imagine much.
    So he’d swing by the florist shop while he waited for Dez to emerge from her cave. She was his second stop. And if he knew her at all, she’d zero in on the one place where she could find caffeine and calories.
    The florist shop was a profusion of autumn colors, pumpkins, and, perhaps not surprisingly, early Christmas décor. It was quiet, as quiet as a tomb, he thought. No music played; nobody greeted him as he came in. Beard’s Floral was the only florist in town so they could be lousy with the customer service, he supposed. And small towns were still small towns. They got used to things and didn’t much care for change.
    But the man could say hello .
    Beard sat behind the desk and, as Taylor approached, he flicked him one glance and then went back to his book. If he’d been there to buy flowers, he would have left. Simple as that. As it was, he veered off, taking his time to pretend to shop around. Along one wall, there was a display of framed artwork of the hotel. Another wall featured crosses. There was a profusion of angels, little cherubs that gazed innocently at nothing. And flowers, mustn’t forget the flowers.
    As he circled through the store and finally came to a stop near the desk, he found Beard watching him now.
    “Anything I can help you find?”
    “No. I would like to send some flowers, though.” Taylor didn’t need to speak with the man about the boy to get a feel for him. He already knew what he needed to know—he didn’t like Leon Beard. He didn’t know why, but he didn’t like him.
    “Who will they be for?” Beard reached for a notepad by his cash register.
    “A young woman at the hospital.” Taylor paused, watched as the man’s mouth tightened. “Poor kid.”
    Something ugly flashed through Beard’s eyes. Oh, yeah. It was official. He didn’t like this man.
    It took fifteen minutes to finish up. And as he left, he decided the timing was about perfect. He watched as a familiar car pulled onto Main Street. He wasn’t the least bit surprised to see her. She wouldn’t be able to resist the call of caffeine—or junk food—for too long.
    * * *
     
    IT was midmorning when she hunkered down in a booth at Denny’s, absolutely delighted to find the chain restaurant in the little town. Small towns like this, they could be hit or miss on restaurants; she knew that for a fact. Denny’s, though, she could trust. She could trust them to give her pancakes and eggs and bacon. And coffee. Couldn’t forget the coffee.
    She had her hands curled around her first cup and it smelled so good, Dez almost whimpered just at the scent of it. Bringing it up to her nose, she breathed it in and sighed, letting the warmth of the mug warm her hands. She wished it would do the same for her entire body.
    The waitress standing by the table laughed. “Honey, you look like you haven’t seen a decent cup of coffee in a month.”
    “You’re not far off,” Dez muttered, taking a sip. It was strong—strong enough to