Page 22

I link my fingers behind my head and grin like the Cheshire Cat. “That’s right. You need me.”
“Damn straight I do.”
“So, tell me about your brilliant idea.”
“My niece.”
“Which one?” I ask wryly. Keene’s wife, Alison, happens to be sisters to both Caleb and one of Hudson’s other owner’s wives. I was flabbergasted to find out they were three of six siblings who apparently have more branches to their family tree than the one that’s strung with lights at Rockefeller Center every Christmas.
“Gore.”
“Horrid name. Couldn’t you men convince one of the wives to think of something better, or did they nut you during labor?”
Keene aims a look in my direction, riddled with filth. “Gore is the nickname of Caleb’s second eldest, Laura.”
I do some quick mental digging and recall her age around late twenties. “Isn’t she a bit old to be a nanny?”
“Did you notice Caleb’s been running the Norwalk office the last quarter?”
I straighten in my chair. “I’m not a frigging idiot. Of course, I did.”
“Did you ask him why?”
“I figured you’d loop me in when it was time for me to know.”
“That time is now.” Keene tells me how Dr. Laura Lockwood, affectionately labeled Queen Gore by the paparazzi, was involved in a mass casualty event in the ER where she works.
I put the pieces together. “The same one where Bailey got injured.”
“Yes. During the course of the event, Laura took a bullet to the shoulder, preventing her from returning to work for the first few months.”
“I’m so fucking glad that monster’s gone.”
“We all are.”
“If Paulie Tiberi wasn’t killed by the police, I don’t know what I’d have done,” I admit.
“You’re not the only one,” Keene concurs.
My head tips back as I recall the information I received from the Greenwich police versus what was on the news. Somehow, I always wondered how none of the victims were exploited—now I know. “The victims weren’t named because you all put pressure on the media.”
Keene’s brow quirks. “I don’t know what you mean.”
I roll my eyes. “Christ, for a while, it was the only thing on the news. I kept expecting news crews on my doorstep. I was grateful Bailey was asleep by the time coverage would come on. The last thing I needed to do was remind her of why she was in her damn casts.”
Keene makes a non-committal grunt, his disgust over the media coverage apparent. “It was nothing.”
I think about Laura Lockwood before I probe, “I assume your niece has been in therapy?”
“Both physical and psychological.”
“Since when?”
“Almost since they finished snipping off the last stitch.” Keene leans forward, bracing his elbows on his knees.
“Why hasn’t she returned to work?”
“That’s between her and her doctor.” His steady gaze meets mine, telling me hell will freeze over before he answers that particular question.