The Departed

to get in there, burn the thing. Best chance. Yeah. Starting toward his desk, he jerked open a drawer and grabbed the lighter in there.
    “Open the door, son. Need to talk to you.”
    “Don’t want to. Need to be alone.”
    “Brendan…” The doorknob rattled.
    Brendan smirked. Like he wouldn’t have fucking locked it.
    Outside he heard voices—raised, irritated. Fine, yeah, argue with my dad while I—
    Turning, he froze.
    Dez Lincoln stood in the door of the bathroom. She rocked back on her heels as he gaped at her, a faint smile on her lips. “Hey, Brendan.” She glanced back at the bathroom shared by his bedroom and the guest bedroom, then back at him. “Nice house. I would have killed to have my own bathroom as a kid.”
    “What are you doing in here?” Sweat slicked his palms. Clutching his journal, he stared at her. Outside in the hallway, he could hear his dad, still arguing with Jones.
    He’d thought Jones was the problem. In the beginning, he’d thought that cool-eyed bastard would be the problem. But it had been this bitch screwing things up, bit by bit. Being at the resort. Showing up at the hospital with Tiffany. Being here now .
    She sauntered farther into his room. With that smug smile still on her face, she glanced down. “Oh, hey, you keep a journal? I always thought about doing it. But I’m lazy. What kind of stuff you write about?”
    “What are you doing in my room?” he snarled.
    “Easy, kid.” She laughed softly, shaking her head. “You should chill out a little.” And she came closer…closer.
    SO damn angry. Unlike his father, she got a better read on him. It wasn’t so much psychic skill that was needed, though. It was his face—he showed too much. Every thought, every action, they all showed on his features. An open book, she mused. And the closer she got, the more tense he got.
    One hand closed into a fist.
    Out in the hall, the men had gotten silent. She took another step, closer…closer…
    He was fast, she had to give him that. Damn fast, especially for a wiry, mouthy little punk. He moved like a snake, striking out and attempting to deck her. She managed to squawk out a surprised scream as she dodged it—she’d seen it coming a mile away. He choreographed his moves as clear as day and she wasn’t about to get hit, not until she had to, anyway.
    He snarled and tried again. From the corner of her eye, she saw Taylor and the kid’s dad bursting into the room and this time, she didn’t move out of the way. His fist caught her in the gut and the air exploded out of her, even though she bent some, right before the impact, lessening the blow to some extent.
    Joshua bellowed out the boy’s name in shock. “Damn it, Brendan, have you lost your mind?”
    Taylor didn’t bother with words. He just caught the boy’s fist before he could try another—not that Dez planned on letting him land another one. Brendan snarled and growled, sounding more like a rabid animal than a person. Taylor ignored that. In a matter of seconds, he had the kid’s hands pinned behind him, while Brendan’s face was pressed against the wall.
    He wasn’t hurt and Taylor wouldn’t hurt him, but the kid sure as hell was pissed.
    And scared now, because in the scuffle, he’d dropped the very thing he’d tried to protect—just as Dez had hoped. The journal lay open on the floor. And that wasn’t the only thing. Apparently he’d done more than write in the journal. It held drawings on loose paper, now spilled out. No wonder he’d been so determined to keep it from her. Swallowing, she knelt down, one hand reaching out to touch the image of a familiar downcast face.
    But she stopped, her fingers hovering just an inch away. Slowly, she curled her hand into a fist and pulled back. With her heart slamming away inside her chest, she looked up and stared at Brendan. Still struggling to catch her breath, she said hoarsely, “That’s Ivy.”
    With his face pressed up against the wall, he panted out, “Fuck you, bitch.”
    Dez just stared at him. Fuck. This…this wasn’t how she’d wanted this to happen. She’d just needed to know if the damn journal was here , not have the fucking evidence spread out in front of her. Damn it —
    She’d screwed around the wrong way and now they were fucked. Royally. Even if they weren’t officially connected, any evidence here would be tainted. She went to rise and saw Joshua. He was crouched on the floor, staring at the spread of pictures there.