After Ian fell asleep that night, Sara got out of bed and went to Saxton’s room. He was expecting her, but she knocked anyway.
“Come in,” he said softly.
He was sitting up, leaning back against his headboard, shirtless in long cotton pants. He’d removed the big bandage and now had just a few band-aids covering the majority of his wound. The stitches would be ready to come out any day now.
She let her eyes roam over his half-naked body, ready to feel it pressed against her, hot and sweaty again. She met his eyes and he was watching her with an amused expression.
“Like what you see?” he asked, mimicking her question from earlier.
“Definitely.”
She hopped on the bed and crawled up beside him. He had been holding a notebook, scribbling away when she came in. She reached for it to move it out of the way and saw her name.
“What is this?” she asked.
“My notes.”
He turned it to face her and she saw where he’d drawn a line to her and Ian’s names and a question mark to indicate he was unsure if they were connected to the other things he’d written down. She read over the sheet for a moment, then looked up at him.
“How do you think this gang, the Cruel Crows, are connected to Liam’s murder?”
“That’s what I’ve been trying to find out.”
“But what makes you think they’re involved at all?”
“The information I’ve gotten so far.”
“What information?”
Saxton pressed his lips together, hesitating.
“I’m in danger, too, you know,” she said. “The least you can do is tell me why.”
He blew out a breath. “Well, kind of because of you.”
“What do you mean?”
“The night of the auction, when you mentioned Darren and his knives? It got me thinking, and I went back to ask about him again, this time more closely. I’d checked him out before, but didn’t think much of it. When you said he had all those knives, it made me look a second time, and more closely.”
“Wait. Why do knives have anything to do with it?”
“I have a knife that was found at the scene of Liam’s murder. And it’s sort of a fancy knife, so I thought maybe it belonged to Darren, since he’s such a big knife guy.”
“Does it?”
Saxton shook his head. “But when I was showing people the knife and asking around about Darren, someone mentioned the Cruel Crows. I questioned Darren personally, and it was clear to me that he wasn’t involved. But when I started asking about the Cruel Crows, that’s when I got stabbed.”
“So you think whoever dropped that knife is part of the Cruel Crows and killed Liam?”
“Sounds like it. Obviously, the knife was left by someone at the scene, and Liam’s blood was all over it. Shooting him in the head apparently wasn’t enough. The knife was used to help kill him, so that’s a pretty fair indicator that it belongs to his killer.”
“So, you have this knife?”
Saxton nodded.
“Why didn’t you give it to the police?”
“Why would I do that?”
“Umm, so they can investigate and find out who killed him? So you don’t have to endanger yourself doing their job.”
“The case was closed almost immediately.”
“How is that possible?”
He reached over to tuck a piece of her hair behind her ear. “This is Chicago. Murders and violent crimes happen all the time. That’s why I always have guns, even if they’re illegal. I can’t take the risk of being attacked, knowing that the cops are not on the side of those in gangs or MCs, which are the same as gangs to them. Cops don’t want to get involved with all that. So, most times, they let it go. They call it an assault, an accidental death, or some other thing that means they can close the case and move on without having to spend the time to investigate the murder. Not for a lowly MC member, in their eyes. We’re worthless.”
“But that’s not right. They can’t do that.”
“They do. And I’m surprised you own a gun, actually, but I’m glad. If you had to use it, though, you might end up in big trouble.”
She lifted one shoulder. “I know it’s illegal to have it in the city. But I’m a single mom. I work late and not in the best parts of the city, as you pointed out earlier. What else can I do?”
“I don’t blame you. I’m glad you have it. Did your brother get it for you?”
She nodded.
“Good. I like him for teaching you and doing that. It’s smart to make sure you can defend yourself.”
“Yeah, well, Carter is used to getting himself into trouble. And having to defend himself. But I know deep down he’s a good guy. He wants the best for me and for Ian. He might do illegal things, which I hate, but he doesn’t hurt people. I guess he’s like you. You don’t seem like you’d hurt anyone unless you had to, either. And you might have your criminal business, but you’re still a good guy under it all.”
“You think so?”
She leaned forward to give him a brief kiss. “Yes.”
“I’d like to think you’re right. But I’ve been in my share of fights. And I told you what I plan to do when I find Liam’s killer. You didn’t seem too happy about it before.”
“I’m not. But I understand. If someone hurt Ian, I might be tempted to kill them, too.”
“I’m already a bad influence on you, aren’t I? Got you convinced that murder is okay sometimes.”
“No, it’s not. But revenge is understandable. I don’t agree with it, but I get it. I get why you need to do it, even if I wished you’d change your mind.”
“I can’t.”
She let out a long breath. “I know.”
“Does that make you want to get away from me?”
“A little.”
“Fair enough. Thanks for being honest about it.”
“How will you do it? Shoot him or stab him?” Sara traced the outline of his ab muscles absently with one finger.
“It depends on how it all goes down. Maybe stab him with the same knife that was left at the scene.”
“Is it here? In your house?”
“The knife? Yeah.”
“Can I see it?”
“Why?”
She shrugged. “I don’t know. What if the whole gang has similar knives? Don’t they do things like that sometimes?”
“You seem to know an awful lot about it.”
“I don’t really. I just know that my brother mentioned something like that once. That gangs have symbols and colors. If these Cruel Crows might come after me, shouldn’t I know what the symbol on the knife is, in case they have the same symbol?”
“You have a point. You should know what the crest looks like.”
Saxton slid out of the bed and went to his dresser, where he kept the knife in the back of his top drawer. He brought it back over to the bed, still wrapped in the towel he kept it in. He set it down and lifted one side of the towel off, then the other, to reveal the eagle crest.
Sara gasped loudly and reached down to pick up the knife. She turned it over, inspecting it carefully. Then she slid off the bed and backed away until she felt the wall hit her butt.
“What?” Saxton asked. “Do you recognize it?”
He was still on his feet and took a few steps toward her.
“You do,” he said. “Tell me what you know.”
Sara thought she might throw up. Or faint. Or maybe one then the other. She did recognize the knife, but it couldn’t mean what he thought it meant. There was no way.
“Sara!” His voice was sharp and his expression took on the desperate appearance of an anxious man. “Tell me what you know. Please.”
“I recognize it.” Her words came out in a hushed whisper. She slid to the floor and put her head on her knees. “It can’t be what you think it is. There’s some mistake.”
“Where do you recognize it from?”
“I know who it belongs to.”
Saxton was on his knees in front of her, his eyes wild. “Who?”
She shook her head. “He’s not a killer. He wouldn’t do that.”
“Who?”
She closed her eyes. She couldn’t stand the anguish in his eyes. She whispered, “It’s my brother’s knife.”