Only Her (A K2 Team Novel)(80)

Sally whined.

“What? Now you’re the booze police?” He glared at the dog peering up at him with worried brown eyes. Pretty Girl leaned her shivering body against Sally’s. Damn dogs. They picked up on every stupid emotion, and right now, his emotions were paying a visit to hell.

Shit. Sally was right. If he started drinking now, he’d never stop. Ever. He poured the contents of the glass down the drain, following it with what was left in the bottle. “Happy?” Sally gave a bark that he took to mean yes. Pretty Girl wasn’t so sure, apparently. She buried her face into the fur of Sally’s neck.

“Dumb dogs.” Didn’t they know he needed a drink or five? He dug in his pocket for his phone, and finding it, he called Tom. His head doc was more than happy to see him after lunch. A few seconds after disconnecting, he got a text message ping.



Might have a lead on Layla. Will let you know.



Cody stared at Wizard’s text, afraid to believe she’d finally been found. It probably wasn’t her, so he wouldn’t get his hopes up. He answered, thanking Wizard for not giving up, grabbed his keys, and left to see his head doc.

As he pulled out of the driveway, he eyed Riley’s house. His chest hurt at the thought of never walking across the street again. But he’d caused an innocent girl to be tortured, had seen with his own eyes what had been done to her, and he didn’t think he could ever be at peace with that. He wouldn’t wish himself on his worst enemy, so he wasn’t about to drag Riley down with him. She was too special to wallow in his mud hole.

When he arrived, Tom was out front, waiting for him. Cody felt bad about bringing him out on a Sunday afternoon, but the man had said to call any time of the day or night.

“Coffee? Water? Soda?” Tom asked as they walked down the hall.

“I’m good, thanks.” A lie. He was far from good.

“You remembered something?”

Yes, and I wish to God I hadn’t. Cody wandered around the office, stopping to study two framed pictures that looked like a child had drawn them hanging side by side. Only a black crayon had been used in the one on the left, and best he could tell, Cody saw a kid with his mouth wide open, as if screaming. The top of his head was blown off, and black gooey stuff was oozing out. It was a raw cry for help, and too close for comfort to how he felt. He tore his gaze away to look at the one on the right.

With that one, he guessed the artist was a few years older as the picture was more refined. It was also a happy scene. A boy played with a small dog in the front yard of a pretty house surrounded by colorful flowers.

Tom came to stand next to him. “The same boy drew both of those, two years apart.”

“Obviously, he wasn’t well when he drew the first one. What was wrong with him?”

“He caused the deaths of his parents and baby sister.”

“Jesus.” Cody shifted his gaze to Tom. “And he’s better now?” He had to be, or he wouldn’t have been able to draw the happy picture.

“Yes. It wasn’t intentional. It was his bedtime, but he wanted to finish a drawing he’d started, a birthday present for his mother. He snuck a candle and some matches into his room. Long story short, he fell asleep, and he must have knocked the candle over. The carpet caught on fire, and he was afraid he was going to get in trouble, so he hid in his closet. He was burned pretty badly, but he was the only survivor. He was five years old.”

Cody tried to think of something to say, but he had no words. Finally, a question occurred to him. “I thought there was patient confidentiality or whatever. It’s okay for you to tell me about him?”

“He gave me permission when he asked me to hang his pictures in my office. He said, and I’ll quote him exactly, ‘Nobody is as bad as me, and if I can get better so can they.’ I think he has a strong message to share. He said I could show people his pictures and that if I thought it would help, I could tell his story. His aunt and uncle are raising him, and they love him like one of their own. His latest thing is visiting hospitals and taking sick kids crayons and coloring books.”

Tom moved to the chair in front of his desk. “Come sit. Let’s talk.”

“How do you stand being around people like me and that boy every day? Isn’t it depressing?” Cody sat in the second chair.

“Sometimes. But the reward is getting a picture filled with puppies and flowers. Makes it all worthwhile.” Tom stuck out his right leg, rotating his prosthetic foot. “Damn phantom itches. Even after all this time, I still get them. Talk to me, Cody.”

He took a deep breath, and then told Tom his nightmare.