“I agree,” Cope said. “What we need to do is-”
Whatever Cope had been about to say was interrupted by a knock on the conference room door. “Come in!” Ten called.
“Oh, thank goodness you’re all here,” Kaye said, poking her head into the room.
“Mom, what’s going on? Is it the kids?” Ten’s heart began to race.
“Well, in a manner of speaking.” Kaye rolled her eyes and ducked back into the hallway. She came back supporting a very angry-looking Jude. “Here we go. Let’s get you to a chair.”
“I don’t need a chair, Kaye!” Jude growled. “I need to know why my husband is sneaking around behind my back! What the actual fuck, Cope!”
“Take a breath, Jude.” Ten helped Kaye guide Jude into the closest empty seat. He moved toward the door to shut it when Ronan, Fitz, and Greeley burst into the room. “You want to tell me what the fuck this is?” Ronan shoved a piece of paper toward Tennyson.
“Let’s take a seat.” Fitzgibbon shoved Ronan toward an empty chair, while Greeley sat next to him. Fitz sat on the other side.
“Before anyone says anything else that will land them on their sofas tonight instead of their nice warm beds, Jude, did you get an anonymous letter in the mail?” Carson asked.
“Yeah! What the hell doyouknow about that?” Jude’s dark eyes burned with a barely contained rage.
Rolling his eyes to the heavens, he looked like he was asking for divine intervention. Carson turned toward Ronan. “You got a letter too?”
“Yeah, it just came in the afternoon mail,” Ronan muttered, his eyes glued to Tennyson.
“I just came back from a meeting downtown and brought the mail upstairs.” Fitzgibbon wore a guilty look.
“Did you get one, Fitz?” Cole asked.
“No, not at home and not in the office either.” Fitz looked around the table. “Someone want to clue me in on what the hell is going on here?”
Ten sighed and raised his hand, as if he knew the answer to a fourth-grade math problem. “I got an anonymous letter a few days ago. To be honest it scared the hell out of me.”
“Why the hell didn’t-”
“Hush!” Fitzgibbon ordered Ronan. “Let Ten tell the story. We’ll get through this much more quickly if you shut your hole and listen.”
Ronan grunted and crossed his arms over his chest. “Whatever.”
Ten wrung his hands together. Keeping things from Ronan never ended well for Ten. He should have been upfront with his husband, of course it was too late now. All Ten could hope for was that Ronan would understand everything once he heard the letters. “I didn’t know who sent the letter or why. Like I said, I was afraid. I didn’t know what to do, so I hid the letter in a box of bran flakes that I knew neither Ronan nor the kids would open.”
“Why the fucking hell wouldn’t you tell me about this damned letter?” Ronan asked, waving his own in the air like a white flag.
“You want to know why? I’ll read it to you.” Ten cleared his throat and began to read. “My dearest Tennyson,” he read out loud. “I know something you don’t know. You don’t know me,but I know you. I also know your husband, the great cold case detectiveanddegenerate alcoholic, Ronan O’Mara. I spy with my little eye, a man sitting alone in the parking lot of Bob’s Liquors on Chestnut Street, drowning his sorrows in a bottle of Hennessey. Oh, well, a relapse was bound to happen sometime. I suspect your husband’s drinking has to do with the fact that your little angel, Everly, has grown into a mouthy little bitch.”
Ronan gasped. “I-I, Jesus Christ, Ten, I never-”
Ten wasn’t interested in Ronan’s excuses or apologies at the moment. “The second letter came yesterday.” Clearing his throat, Ten began to read. ““My dearest Tennyson,” he read out loud. “I know something you don’t know. It seems you didn’t take my first letter seriously. I think it’s time you were taught a lesson, so here goes. I spy with my little eye, a lonely man in a bar. He’s twenty-something, handsome, charming, and flirting shamelessly with famed Cold Case Detective, Ronan O’Mara, who wasallegedlyworking late on a case. Your darling husband had a glass of whiskey in his right hand. His left is on the charming man’s knee. I suspect your husband’s drinking and flirting has to do with the fact that you’ve stopped taking care of your husband’s needs. Better act quick before Ronan trades you in for a younger model.”
“Sweet Jesus,” Jude said, his eyes darting back and forth between Ronan and Tennyson, as if he didn’t know which side to take.
“Cope, read yours too,” Fitz ordered.
Nodding, Cope picked his letter up by the edges, as if he wanted to have as little contact with the page as possible. “My dearest Copeland,” he read out loud. “I know something you don’t know. You don’t know me, but I know you. I also know your husband, the great cold case detectiveandman-whore, Jude Byrne. Ispy with my little eye, an angry man, who was fed up with his husband’s promiscuous ways. One little push was all it took to show Jude just who rules the roost. Oh, well, your jealousy was bound to rear its ugly head at some point. You’re lucky Jude survived or Wolf and Lizbet would have become orphans…Again!”
“What the actual fuck?” Jude’s mouth hung open. “This asshole letter writer is accusing Cope of pushing me down the stairs and putting me in the hospital.”
Cope nodded. Unshed tears filled his eyes. “Jude, I didn’t want to say anything because I already felt so damn guilty about your accident and the way I froze when you fell. You could have died and it would have been all my fault. You’re still recovering and I didn’t want this to slow your healing.”
After reading the venomous letters again, this time to Ronan, Ten felt like he could cry as well. He’d done everything in his power to be a good husband to Ronan, to raise kids that would be assets to their community. He volunteered and worked hard. What the hell had he and the others done to become the target of this vicious letter writing campaign?
