by Freya Barker
“I don’t know what you’re—” he starts denying, but Bree interrupts him.
“Matthew, this man kidnapped me, chased me through the woods. He’s responsible for at least two killings, one of which I was witness to.”
All the blood drains from his face.
“Then you understand why I can’t help you,” he whispers, sounding breathless.
“I get you think you’re keeping yourself safe, but you’re wrong. You’re not safe, that man won’t think twice about hurting someone—me, or you.”
“He said you had something that belonged to him. Threatened to get me fired for drinking on the job.” He lowers himself in his seat and lifts his watery eyes. “I sometimes have a sip or two during the day. Got me in a spot of trouble at my previous job. This is the only job I could get. If I lose it, I’ll be on the street.”
I’m thinking a bottle is closer to the truth than the sip or two he mentions. His blue-tinged nose tells me he’s well beyond an occasional drinker.
“We’ll help you,” Bree offers, giving me a quick warning glance.
Bleeding heart.
Half an hour later, we’re on our way to the airport with Matthew and his suitcase in the back seat. He has to leave town in a hurry for a family emergency.
At least that’s the story we’re going with.
Detective Bissette is meeting him at the airport to take his official statement before he flies off to see his brother in Ohio. She’d been surprised at the turn of events. A little put out, but when I promised her full disclosure if she’d come to the PASS office tomorrow morning, she said she’d be there.
She’s waiting just inside the automatic doors when I pull up along the curb.
I help the building manager out of the car and walk him inside.
“We’re gonna talk tomorrow,” she says, a warning in her eyes.
She’s crusty as hell, this woman, but she’s also shown herself to be smart. I like her.
“You bet.” I clap Billings on the back. “You have a safe trip. We’ll be in touch.”
He left Bree with numbers to reach him.
Back in the Yukon, the silence suddenly becomes oppressive again and I figure it’ll only get worse the longer I delay.
So I dive right in as I pull away from the airport.
“You should’ve told me,” I tell her.
She’s silent for a moment, probably changing gears.
“When?” she tosses back. “I found out in the hospital when I got shot. I was still reeling from the news when you walked in and told me we were over. Should I have told you I was pregnant then? That would’ve gone over like a lead balloon.”
“I would’ve…” I start before I realize I don’t really know what I would’ve done.
At the time, I truly felt I was doing the right thing. I’d like to think I would’ve done right by the baby as well, but all of that is water under the bridge now.
“See? You don’t even know how that would’ve gone. It doesn’t matter anyway, because I was still coming to terms with the reality of it all when Mom suddenly died, and then that consumed me. I’m sorry, but the truth is I didn’t have it in me to consider you at that time, I was too busy trying to put one foot in front of the other.”
No matter how hard I try, I can’t find fault with what she’s saying.
“I get it.”
I sense rather than see her eyes on me when I turn into my driveway and pull up in front of the garage. Then I face her.
“Do you? Because my world looked pretty fucking bleak at the time. I was terrified, Ted was there and offered a solution, and I jumped at it. By the time I had enough of my wits about me to inform you, it was already too late. After the hysterectomy, I figured what was the point?”
Before I can react, she’s got her door open and is getting out of the vehicle.
I’m still thinking about what she said when she disappears inside the house. My earlier anger wanes as I consider what she must’ve gone through. The many what-ifs I’ve asked myself since finding out don’t serve anyone. Not like we can go back and change what happened.
I can hear her rummaging around in my kitchen when I finally walk in and close the door behind me.
“Bree…”
She turns at the sound of my voice, looking suddenly exhausted. I didn’t think about what dredging all of it up would take out of her. I imagine it was probably as painful as it was for me to hear it.
I cross the distance between us and curve an arm around her waist, pulling her flush against me. She doesn’t resist but her face is still a mask.
“Tygrys,” I mumble, and watch tears well up in her eyes.
When the first one escapes, I bend my head and kiss her gently.
“Hold me,” she whispers, tucking her head under my chin.
I can do that. I can do that as long as she’ll let me.
Chapter Twenty-Two
Bree
“Baby…”
I moan long and deep as his fingers and mouth work me to a delicious, lazy climax.
“Good morning,” he rumbles, lifting his head from between my legs.
“You can say that again,” I concur slightly breathless.
He wipes his mouth with the back of his hand, a satisfied grin spreading on his handsome face. Then he crawls up my body, the bristly hair on his chest brushing against my already sensitized skin. I hiss when his hips drop between my legs, the crown of his cock sliding along my crease.
“How do you want it?”
He’s already poised at my entrance and I notice the tendons in his neck straining. He’s holding back for me.
“Any way you wanna give it.”
My voice is husky as I reach a hand down to grab onto his ass.
“Knees high, Tygrys.”
I do as he asks as he pushes up on his arms and powers to the root inside me.
His strokes are deep and forceful and I have to brace myself against the headboard. His eyes never leave mine, even when he loses his rhythm. His mouth falls open as he grunts his way to release, which comes in long, hot spurts.
We’re still connected as he sinks through his arms. I relish his weight on me and wrap my limbs around him so he can’t go anywhere.
“I’m too heavy.”
“No, I like you right here.”
I feel his lips smile against my skin.
At some point I wonder if he’s dozed off and I try to inch out from underneath him. Nature calls.
“Bree?”
“Need to go to the bathroom.”
He rolls off me so I can swing my legs over the side, but he grabs for my hand when I stand up. I turn back to grin at him when I see his face is dead serious.
“I know it’ll never be enough, but I’m so fucking sorry.”
I lean down to kiss him.
“Enough of that,” I mumble against his lips. “We’re done looking back.”
We talked last night about regrets. It was good to clear the air, but had been exhausting and I’m done rehashing what we can’t change. Getting hung up on the past is not going to help us move forward.
Detective Bissette arrives twenty minutes after we get to the office.
Lena shows her into the conference room where I’ve been busy marking up the large whiteboard.
I’ve put together a timeline with Sarrazin’s name at the top and arrows linking him to each of the incidents in Palisade, Denver, Grand Junction, and one with a question mark to Aspen, where Bobby Lee was found dead.
“Wow,” she says, staring at the board. “I assume you found something tangible to link that name to all of those events?”
“Yes, but I’ll let Radar explain as soon as everybody gets here.”
“Fair enough.”
“In the meantime, help yourself to some coffee.”
Lena put a tray on the table with a large carafe and mugs, and Dimi was going to pick up some donuts on his way in. It’s bound to be a long morning.
“So how did you ge
t your building manager to talk?” she asks, pouring herself a mug and taking a seat.
“We told him we knew Sarrazin had been by to see him. He clammed up at first, but then I mentioned what happened to me in Denver and his resolve started crumbling. It still took some convincing, but with a plan in place to ensure his safety he finally caved.”
At that moment Lena walks in with Sergeant Fillmore in tow. I start making introductions, but as it turns out the two women already know each other. Not long after the rest of the crew is assembled.
Yanis is the last one in and immediately takes control of the room.
“Right off the bat, I need to be clear that some of the evidence we’ve unearthed was not legally obtained.” He looks at each of the women in turn. “You may take issue with that, but I ask you reserve judgment until you’ve had a chance to get the full scope.”
Fillmore and Bissette exchange a glance.
“I have no issue,” Bissette is the first to react.
In all fairness, she knows us. We collaborated on a case not that long ago along with the FBI.
Fillmore is slower with her response.
“I’ll reserve judgment.”
“Good. I don’t know if either of you knows Detective Bill Evans? He worked with the Denver PD but is now in Littleton.” Both law enforcement officers shake their heads. “He was looking into Bree’s abduction and two murders that seem to be related, but was taken off the case when he started digging too deep.”
“Sounds familiar,” Fillmore volunteers and then turns to the other detective. “You?”
“We had our share of problems in the past, but those have been mostly weeded out by these guys.”
The accolade from Bissette is a bit of a surprise. She wasn’t too receptive of our involvement in police business last time around.
“I was hoping to have Evans here as well, but I haven’t been able to reach him. I just checked in with his department and apparently he’s taken a leave of absence.”
That’s a surprise to me, and concerning.
“He has?”
Yanis glances at me and from the look on his face it’s clear he’s concerned about it too.
“Starting last week apparently.” He turns back to the rest of the room. “I’m going to hand this over to Radar, who’s going to show you what he’s discovered, and then we need to have a talk about the possibility of calling in the feds on this.”
Both Bissette and Fillmore sit up straighter in their chairs. Understandable, calling in the FBI usually means handing over the case, but this one is bigger than any of the individual departments can tackle on their own.
Radar pulls down the video screen and shows the cell phone evidence he uncovered, as well as the financial link between the Albero family and Dan McNeely.
“I’ve uncovered something else this morning, which is why I was a little late.”
Then he drops a bombshell when he pulls up a few images of what looks to be some cocktail party.
“Fuck me,” Dimi mumbles, staring at the screen. “Is that Bobby Lee?”
“It is. Found these through one of her online fan platforms,” Radar explains. “The poster works for a catering company.”
The pictures we’re looking at are candid shots of the singer surrounded by an interesting collection of characters.
In the background you can make out a campaign banner with a partial name visible.
Holy shit.
Yanis
“According to the poster, this was a campaign launch for Delmer Beauregard.”
I didn’t need Radar to confirm we’re looking at the recently elected Colorado Attorney General smiling broadly at a laughing Bobby Lee.
Nor do I need any help identifying the older man with his hand on the Attorney General’s shoulder. It’s a face I recognize well. After all, almost two decades ago he showed up uninvited at my apartment.
Guiseppe Albero.
“Well, that explains a few things,” Linda Fillmore comments dryly.
Yeah, it does. If you’re looking for reasons why several different police departments might experience pressure not to look too closely at anything the Albero family might be involved in, the Attorney General’s influence would be at the top of the list.
“Is that Sarrazin?” Bissette asks, getting up and walking to the screen, pointing at one of the other images.
I recognize Bobby Lee from behind, a man’s arm visible around her, his hand on her ass. The rest of him is off camera, but the detective is not pointing at him. She indicates a smaller group to the left of the singer, one individual turned to face the camera, a dark scowl on his face.
“It is,” I confirm his identity. “And he doesn’t look happy.”
There is no mistaking where his glare is directed. This may well be the link we’ve been looking for.
“Yanis,” Bree calls my attention and I look over at her. “I’m thinking we should skip the CBI and go straight for the feds.”
“I agree,” Bissette agrees, the first time she’s spoken up. “We need to call in the FBI.”
“I can give SAC Sanders a call,” Bree offers.
Sanders is the relatively new special agent in charge of our small local FBI satellite office. We worked with him once before and although we had a rocky start, he turned out to be an okay guy. Still, I’m not sure he’s the right guy to call in for this. It’s too big for him to handle.
“I think we need to contact the Denver office,” I suggest. “Anyone have any contacts? Bree?”
“Actually, what about Matt Dunlop?” Radar offers. “He was the tech from the Denver office who helped out in the Lock&Load case? We exchange messages occasionally. I can give him a call.”
“Do it.”
Twenty minutes later, I get off the phone with James Aiken, Special Agent in Charge of the Denver Bureau, who was very interested to hear what I had to say. So interested, I barely started to explain my reason for calling before he cut me off with the announcement he’s flying in this afternoon. Something tells me he’s not entirely unaware of recent events.
Walking back into the boardroom, I interrupt a discussion around Dan McNeely.
“What about him?”
I look at Sergeant Fillmore, who turns to me with an angry expression.
“Released on bail this morning,” she bites off, holding up her phone. “Just got notification five minutes ago.”
“I have a contact at the Mesa County District Court,” Bissette shares. “I just texted her and she was able to tell me the Assistant District Attorney suggested bail set at fifty thousand.”
“What?” Bree pipes up. “That’s ridiculous. For the amount of damage he’s done? Not to mention shooting at Yanis.”
If not for the serious situation, I might’ve smiled at her disgruntlement on my behalf.
“You’re right,” Fillmore agrees. “If there is any clearer indication someone is flexing some mighty muscles, I don’t know what is. Not only is it fishy the ADA asked for what is probably one tenth of what bail should’ve been, but you’d expect the magistrate would’ve called him out on it.”
“It gets better,” the detective announces after her phone pings with another message. “Guess who took over as Mr. McNeely’s lawyer? The same snake who got Albero out of that money-laundering trial that made headlines some years back.”
“Any guesses as to who is footing that bill?” Dimi comments, getting up from the table. “Anyway, I should head out. Jake is at the vineyard waiting for me to relieve him.”
Our coverage at Flynn’s Fields hasn’t changed much, despite McNeely getting caught. We can’t know for sure if there won’t be another attempt at sabotage, so Joe agreed we’ll stick to the twenty-four-hour coverage. It puts a strain on my team, but Shep, Jake, and my brother have worked out a schedule between them. One that thankfully doesn’t require me to jump in.
Between Radar, Bree, Kai, and myself we can keep up with the bulk of the other contracts.
“I should
probably go too,” Linda announces. “I don’t want to raise any suspicions back at the station by being away from the office too long.”
“Understood. Let me show you out.”
I walk her through the lobby to the front door.
“Keep me in the loop? You have my personal cell, right?”
“I do,” I confirm. “And I will.”
“Tell Agent Aiden if he needs to talk to me, I’m happy to meet with him but it’ll have to be after hours.”
“I will. Stay safe out there.”
She smiles, but it doesn’t quite reach her eyes.
She’s seasoned law enforcement, I’m sure it doesn’t escape her what a potentially explosive and dangerous situation we find ourselves in. Something that undoubtedly weighs on everyone’s mind.
It makes me even more worried about Bill Evans’s whereabouts.
“Boss, call on line one. Says his name is Bill?”
Speak of the devil.
I walk to the nearest desk and pick up the phone.
“You’re not answering my messages,” I grumble.
“I was a little busy and my phone is compromised,” he says, his voice low. “I’m on a pay phone at a gas station.”
“Jesus, what the hell have you been up to?”
“Tailing our friend. Or at least I was until someone started taking potshots at my car. It’s out of commission.”
I notice Bree following Dimas and the detective out of the conference room and I wave her over.
“Where are you?” I ask him before putting my hand over the receiver and mouthing, “Bill,” to Bree.
Behind her I notice my brother opening the door for Bissette.
“Outskirts of Rifle. Sinclair on Hwy 6.”
Fuck, that’s an hour each way.
“Hang tight. I’m gonna come get you.”
“Yeah, that’d be good. Heads-up, though, I think he’s on his way…fuck.”
“Bill?”
I hear a few clanging sounds and footsteps running away. Then a soft click as someone hangs up the phone.
“What’s going on?”
Concern is etched on Bree’s face.
