The Departed

Staring at them in unconcealed horror.
    As though he’d sensed her gaze, he looked up.
    His voice was agonized as he rasped, “Is this why you were here? Did you know?”
    Shit. What did it matter now?
    “Yeah. I knew.” She stared at him, hating herself for screwing this up, for ripping his heart out.
    An anguished scream left him and he slammed his fist into the ground. Then he surged to his feet, his face pale, his eyes dark with fury. “Damn you,” he snarled.
    For a moment, she thought he was speaking to her.
    But then she saw that he was talking to the kid.
    Taylor let him go.
    Brendan turned to face his dad, all big eyes and sadness. “Dad, what…what are you talking about?”
    Joshua swooped down, grabbing one of the pictures. “This, damn it. I’m talking about this—what the fuck is this?”
    “It’s that girl.” Brendan shrugged. “I thought she was pretty and I wanted a picture of her.”
    “Don’t fucking lie to me,” he snarled. “What the fuck is this?”
    He grabbed the journal and that was when Brendan snapped—all but transformed, his handsome face going ugly with hate. “Give me that,” he growled, lunging forward. Taylor stopped him.
    Dez almost wished he hadn’t as Joshua flipped through it. “Oh, God…oh, God…”
    He looked at his son, shaking his head. “How…Tristan…you…”
    Then he closed his eyes, going to his knees.
    “Hey…” Dez, her heart a cold, miserable knot in her chest, moved toward him.
    In the edge of her vision, she saw Brendan. Saw him spin, grab something—a guitar, it looked like an electric guitar. Taylor intercepted, coming between the father and the son before Brendan could bring the guitar down over his father’s head. Dez heard Taylor grunt, watched as the instrument connected solidly with his forearm. The sickening, wet crack was terribly familiar—the sound of a bone breaking was a sound she’d heard before, a sound she never wanted to hear again.
    She bit back her cry and circled around as Brendan eased back, watching Taylor with a taunting smile. “Stupid fuck,” he jeered. “How you going to handle me with a broken arm?”
    Dez got in front of him, keeping one hand behind her, hoping Taylor’s instincts were as good as they’d always been. They were. A second later, she felt the familiar weight of his gun. She slid the safety off before she brought it out from behind her—never show your weapon unless you’re prepared to use it. She didn’t want to shoot this boy, but she would.
    “He doesn’t have to worry about handling you, kid,” Dez said quietly.
    His eyes went wide at the sight of the gun.
    She smiled at him sadly. “I can handle you just fine. Put the guitar down, Brendan. Put it down. Nobody else has to get hurt.”
    He swung it back and forth, shaking his head. “You think I’m fucking stupid ? You want to arrest my ass, take me to juvie or something.”
    Oh, Brendan—you wouldn’t end up there after what you’ve done, she thought sadly. Assuming the locals could make the charges stick, and that would be dicey. She just didn’t know. But she didn’t say any of that. Instead, she nudged the journal with her foot. “Arrest you? Man, I’m not an official agent. I can’t arrest you. And this? Hell, this shit is compromised now.” She shrugged and grimaced—looking pissed off and worried wasn’t at all hard. She wanted him to feel comfortable enough to put that guitar down, but she didn’t see it happening.
    She had a bad, bad feeling in her gut. Very bad. Damn it, she’d screwed this up. All to hell and back.
    “Come on. Put it down.”
    He just laughed, backing his way out of the room, keeping his back close to the wall and his eyes on them.
    They couldn’t let him leave—not like this. No, the locals might not be able to arrest him for this , but Taylor could damn well have him arrested for assault, and that would buy them time for something— anything .
    If he left, though, he was going to hurt somebody else. She could see it in his eyes, could all but feel it.
    Apparently Brendan’s dad had the same feeling. Or at least the same desire not to see the kid leave. Joshua, finally able to pick himself up, got to his feet. With fury and heartbreak glinting in his eyes, he glared at his son. “You’re not leaving this house, Brendan. Don’t even try.”
    Brendan sneered at him. “And how the hell you going to stop me? Fucking pussy.”
    “Enough,” Joshua snapped. He took one step toward