Late that night, Peter and York tailed Ann to the train station, and from there, to the apartment York had provided for her.
Watching Ann and another man hurriedly get out of a car and enter the complex, Peter nudged York. "Your little mistress just brought her lover home. Aren't you going to go up and catch them in the act?"
York shot Peter a look and dialed Mark's number. "Pull up the surveillance footage."
Peter let out a bored whistle and drove back to his own apartment building.
On the ninth floor, as the elevator doors opened, the two men saw Darleen Ferguson leaning against the apartment door, so tired she was swaying. They exchanged a look.
York steadied her. "What are you doing camped out here in the middle of the night?"
Darleen looked up, and Peter's sharp eyes immediately spotted the red handprint on her cheek. "Who hit you? I'll go teach them a lesson for you."
"My dad," Darleen said miserably.
Peter's clenched fist slowly relaxed. "...On second thought, maybe let's not."
York opened the door, and the three of them went inside.
"Mom and Dad were fighting today," Darleen explained. "Dad got angry and smashed one of Mom's wedding bracelets. Mom was so upset she hasn't eaten all day. I couldn't stand it, so I said a few things to defend her, and Dad slapped me."
Peter handed Darleen an ice pack. "Next time your parents are fighting, just stay out of it."
Seeing York sitting silently on the sofa, Peter couldn't resist prodding him. "York, your sister just got hit. Are you going to say something?"
York finally looked up at them. "What do you want me to do? Go back there and beat up my own father?"
Peter shot back, "If you've got the stomach for it, that's not a bad idea."
"Why don't you go?" York retorted.
Peter grabbed Darleen's arm. "Come on, let's go. We'll leave him to his brooding."
After Peter and Darleen left, the apartment fell silent, leaving York alone.
He looked around the empty room, then pulled out the crystal pendant he always carried and warmed it in the palm of his hand.
—

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