Like a magician, Prez magics the packet away in his jacket again and shows her his empty hands. “Stop talking and you’ll get nothing.”
She huffs. “So Archer was dead, and I had no more contact. That stuff,” she points to Drummer’s jacket, “well, I’ve got a big habit, and it costs more than what I can earn. Debts started to mount up again. Got another visit, and they told me to get hold of the kid or I was dead. Told me how as well, that I could apply to see her, and you couldn’t stop me.”
“Got a name?” Drummer asks casually, though by the tension in his body he’s far from relaxed.
“It was one of them Herreras.” She taps her fingers on her knees, then looks up. “Alonso. That’s it.” She looks triumphant. “Now can I have my stuff?”
“Alonso Herrera? Are you sure?”
She nods eagerly. “Yeah. That’s right.”
Drummer looks at me. I give a nod, and he takes out the packet again. When he throws it to her, she catches it in both hands and wastes no time busying herself preparing the stuff. A fatal dose, though she doesn’t know it. One that will stop her heart. Not that I think she’s got one.
As if we’re not there, she carries on. Preparing a syringe, she puts a sleeve around her arm, pulling it tight. A look of bliss comes over her face as she puts the plunger down. Then she leans back as though resting her head. She draws in a breath and lets it out. I watch her chest fall and rise.
Then it doesn’t move anymore, the lethal combination working fast.
Both of us stand in silence, watching the woman who is never going to get her hands on my daughter.
As we go back to the cage, Drummer takes his gloves off. He pauses before starting the engine. “You okay, Heart?”
“That shit she spilled, Prez. Woman was pure evil.”
“You don’t need to worry about her anymore. And Amy’s safe. That’s all you need to think about.”
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Marc…
“I can’t believe you’ve never watched this shit before.”
I bump Hyde’s arm with my fist. “Well I haven’t. But it’s great, isn’t it? That Jax Teller? Mmm mmm.”
“That’s all you’re watching it for.” He scoffs.
“Well you’ve got a hard-on for the bikes, and for Tara.”
I laugh as he casts a sneaky look down at his groin to make sure he hasn’t.
As the titles roll he asks, “Another?”
“I think I’m all Son’d out. We’ve watched four tonight.” As he goes to change the channel, I sit back with my glass of wine in my hand. “Is it really like that in an MC?”
Hyde laughs. “Not at the Satan’s Devils. Though, like Jax wanted the Sons to do, we make our money straight, running the businesses. It brings the money in and keeps the heat away.”
Hmm. While I know they’re mostly clean, I reckon there are some things I’m better off not knowing. It’s been a month now, and while there’s no need for them to care whether I’m alive or dead, they still have this prospect looking out for me. Not all the time anymore, he gets breaks while I’m working. He follows me home from work, stays the night, and leaves when I’m back at the station the next morning.
Whether whoever was after me has lost interest or whether Hyde’s company is enough to keep them away, I can’t be sure. No one’s come after me since he’s been here. When I’ve suggested his presence is probably no longer necessary, he tells me I’ve got no choice in the matter, what his prez says is what he’ll do. Sometimes I wonder whether Drummer knows more than me. If there wasn’t a risk, why is he still keeping a man at my side?
It’s good that Hyde’s an easy companion, making himself almost invisible at times so I forget he’s here. He’s also useful. Like when I come home with a thumping headache, ordering in food so I don’t need to cook. And when we’re watching the Sons, he’s quite a laugh and a mine of information. He must have watched this show a hundred times and gives a running commentary on things I might have missed, or what I should look out for.
I’m treating him like a younger brother, and he sees me in a similar way, never attempting to make a move on me, which may be because to him, I’m an older woman. The thought makes me giggle.
“What’s got into you? Christ, women are unbelievable.” He’s shaking his head with a grin. “Thinking about Jax again.”
“On that note, I’m going to bed.”
“You might need new batteries in your vibrator,” he calls as I’m heading out the door.
“Why? You been using it?” A cushion hits me on the back, and I go to bed laughing, realising I’ll actually be sorry when Drummer summons his prospect back.
I might enjoy my evenings, but I absolutely hate my days. We’ve come no closer to finding the missing children. Two more now, I remind myself. Garza and I have interviewed and re-interviewed the families, but there’s no pattern, nothing we can pick up on. After leaving the genuinely grief-stricken parents, it guts me that I can do nothing to help. Time’s getting away from us. Every day that passes is an extra day those kids will be suffering whatever fate they’ve stepped into.
We’ve been following up leads, particularly suspected sightings. The faces of the kids are regularly on the news, but there’s nothing to go on. Well, almost nothing.
“What you doing?”
“I might have found a pattern to the times they were taken.” I nod up at Garza, who’s stopped by my desk.
“There isn’t a pattern. We’ve already established that.”
“Yeah, but look. Two of them were taken before school, on the school bus one minute, disappeared the next. Two after school, one of whom walked home alone.”
“And two at lunchtime, and one during a trip.” He shakes his head. “No pattern. Nothing. And don’t forget, the others from their homes in the evening.”
“Phone records.”
“Fuck, woman, don’t you think we didn’t go there first off? Checked their records, nothing came up with the last number that called them, and no unusual texts if that’s what you’re thinking. All the phones have been destroyed.”
And found near the locations where they went missing. No chance to track them. But something got those kids walking off. No sightings of strangers approaching or talking to them.
I’m sure I’m onto something, but Garza’s right. The phone records showed nothing. Everything we think of, we come up against a block.
Another unsuccessful day, like so many others. Hopes of finding the children at all, or at least alive, are fading.
Another two weeks and still no further progress, and another child gone. Warnings are being broadcasted, but still children go missing. We can’t even give a heads-up to parents as to what to watch out for.
When I get home, Hyde looks at me carefully. “Nothing new?”
I throw down my purse and collapse on the couch. “Nothing. These poor kids, Hyde.”
He nods, understanding my frustration. “You look exhausted. Want me to cook tonight?”
I roll my eyes. “Appreciate the offer, but no. You tried to poison me last time. If you want rid of me, just shoot me, alright?”
He’d told me he had no skills in the kitchen and then had gone on to prove it. Laughing good naturedly, he disappears, reappearing with the takeout menus. “What are you in the mood for? Not having you waiting on me tonight.”
He’s right, I’m too tired, the mental toll sapping me physically. We settle on pizza. He orders it and I go have a long soak in the tub. Then we’re back to a couple more episodes of Sons of Anarchy. I’ll be upset when we finish the last season. It’s totally addictive.
The next morning, I wake feeling nauseous. Remembering how tired I was the night before, I think I’m coming down with something. If Hyde had cooked as he’d suggested, I might have blamed him. I’d like nothing more than to stay in bed, but today might be the day we get a clue that breaks the case open. For the sake of the missing kids, I can’t afford not to go into work. I drag myself out of
bed, soon finding it was the right decision. As soon as I’m dressed, I’m feeling more like my normal self again.
Life continues in the same vein for a couple of weeks, and the stress of the job is taking its toll. At nights I come home so tired I’ve barely got the energy to eat. If it wasn’t for Hyde persuading me, most nights I probably wouldn’t even have bothered about food. In the mornings my dread of the day ahead exhibits itself by an upset stomach, and the past couple of days, I’ve actually been sick.
Reed shakes his head as I walk into the office. “Look what the cat dragged in. Well, you look like what a cat would drag in, anyway.” After making his joke, his mouth purses. “This case and Garza getting to you?”
“Yeah.” I nod, putting one hand on his desk as if I need to hold myself up. “Hate that we’re not getting anywhere.”
Reed frowns. “Partners should support each other.” He nods toward Garza sharing a joke at the top of the room, his sycophants surrounding him. “Can’t be much fun working alongside him.”
It’s not, but I’m loyal enough not to discuss the man I’m coming to hate with another detective.
“Hey, shall I get you a cup of coffee? The real stuff, not from public enemy number one over there. Or should I say, our new interrogation tool?” He grins.
I summon a smile, remembering our early morning conversation almost two months ago now. Christ, it seems more than that. I consider his offer, but my stomach’s still feeling queasy today. It’s probably the thought of working with Garza is literally sickening. “No to the coffee. Thanks, Reed. Maybe later.”
Going to my desk, I log on to the system. A smell of expensive but heavy smelling aftershave wafts to me, making my stomach roll. Garza pulls up a chair and straddles it without waiting for permission or invitation. He’s far too close, right up in my personal space.
I swallow a couple of times until my stomach settles enough for me to speak. “Got anything new?”
“Sure have.” He puts a report down in front of me. “Got a sighting. Man lingering outside a school. Plaid jacket, white shirt, grey trousers and loafers. The facial description’s there.” He nods at the paper. “Oh, and he had a bottle of some kind of spirit in his hand, taking a drink. He wasn’t exactly in plain view, he was hiding behind a wall.”
My sickness is banished by my excitement. The first possible lead we have. Of course, it could be a red herring, but even so, something to work on.
“Oh, and if you don’t mind, can you brief the press this morning? Not that we’ve got much to tell them, but they’ll still want an update. Reynolds has gone out, and I’ve got to be somewhere else.”
I don’t mind at all. It means I’m not going to be stuck in the car with him and that repulsive smell all morning. Maybe by afternoon it will have worn off. “Sure.” I tap the new report. “Want to release this?” It might get people calling to give us tips on who the potential suspect is.
“Sure. You do that, Hannah. I’ll see you later, okay?”
The press eagerly eats up the one new lead we have, and by afternoon it’s all over the news. It’s even coming up on the news feed on my phone.
I go home feeling slightly more optimistic, and for once cook something for Hyde and myself rather than ordering in. But I still go to bed early, unable to keep my eyes open any longer.
The next morning starts just as normal. Hyde follows me to work and then peels off to do whatever errands he runs in the daylight hours. I go up to the office and pull out my chair, but immediately a shout reaches me.
“Detective Hannah!”
I sigh. Reynolds. What a way to start my day. Wearily, I walk to his office and see Garza already in there.
Reynolds’ mouth is pursed, and his nose is pinched. He’s breathing heavily, and his cheeks are red. He waits for me to enter but doesn’t invite me to sit. Garza is leaning back in his chair, his hands clasped behind his neck. He pops his gum, and a small smile plays at his lips.
I don’t like this at all.
“Well you’ve gone and fucked up now. Only knew it was a matter of time. Most useless detective I’ve ever had in this department.” Reynolds is spitting the words at me like bullets from a machine gun. I turn to look at Garza, surely he should be worried as we’ve worked this case together, and he’s taken lead. His smile has only widened.
“I don’t understand—”
“You don’t understand? I don’t understand why you fucked up and now the bureau’s going to have a lawsuit against it.”
“What? Why?”
“You were specifically told not to release information on the sighting of a man near a school yesterday until it had been checked out.”
That’s plain wrong. “No, Garza told me to tell the press.”
“Garza told you to leave that bit out.” As I’m opening my mouth to contradict, Reynolds’ hand goes to his forehead and doesn’t give me a chance. “Turns out it was the fucking vice principal. He’s been suspended from his job because of his drinking. He’s suing us.”
“He shouldn’t have been drinking,” I say automatically.
Reynolds throws me a look of exasperation. “The point is, your partner here followed down the lead and identified who it was and eliminated him from the investigation before your little titbit hit the news.”
My eyes meet those of my partner. “Why didn’t you tell me that?”
“Didn’t see I had a need to. Had already told you not to release it to the press.”
No, he hadn’t. Had he? For a second doubting myself, I run over yesterday’s conversation in my mind. He had definitely told me to release it, I remember it clearly. But when I look at him again, I see there’s no point in arguing. He’s set me up.
“An apology isn’t going to hack it this time, Detective Hannah. Go to your desk and clear out your things.”
“You’re suspending me?”
“I’m firing you. Garza’s been keeping me updated, and to be honest, you just don’t come up to the mark.”
I can’t believe this is happening. “I’m going to fight you on this,” I tell him. “I’ve done nothing wrong.” I’ll go to the union.
“It will all be in my formal report, and I think even you’ll agree your performance has been quite lacking.”
And a report, written by him, quite damning.
Stunned, knowing there’s nothing I can say until I can get someone in my corner, understanding it’s better to keep my mouth shut for now, I leave the office.
Garza follows me, that smile I want to knock off his face still taunting me as he stands and watches me get my things together. As he escorts me out of the office, Reed’s eyes widen when I pass him, but I can’t explain. It’s hard to see through my frustrated tears.
At reception, I hand over my warrant card and police-issue gun and holster.
And that’s it. Done. This job I so wanted to do some good in the world with has spat me out. The bad guys I wanted to put away? Well, they’ve won.
For the moment.
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Heart…
A couple of mornings after Susie Clyde met her demise, I watch that little prick Hyde sauntering into the clubroom like he owns the place. I never had a problem with him before, but now I’ll be inclined to side with Slick when it comes time to voting him in. He’s the reason Marc was able to leave the compound in the first place, and what does he get for his punishment? Being invited to live with her in her fucking house for the last two months, that’s what.
Fucker looks far too happy and comfortable. And so he would be, he’s probably getting his cock in her every night. A brief memory of how it felt when mine was in her tight cunt has my dick swelling, and I change the direction of my thoughts fast. While I’ve been resisting the club girls, she’s probably been getting it on with the fucking prospect.
No. No way is he ever getting my vote. He should count himself lucky if I don’t put him in the ground.
He’s chatting with Jekyll, they’re sharing a joke
together. Do the other prospects know how cushy Hyde’s life must be? Fuck it, he’s probably getting home-cooked dinners every night too.
“Prospect!” I yell and wave my empty beer bottle. Just the sight of him makes me want to drink.
“What’s got you riled?” Peg walks over and pulls up a chair, turning to lift two fingers at Jekyll before he sits down.
“Fucking prospect.” I nod toward the man walking over to join us carrying a beer in each hand.
“Whatcha done now, Hyde?” Peg asks wearily.
“What? Me?” He points to himself, looking confused. “Nothing.”
“And that’s the fuckin’ point.” Taking my beer, I point the bottle at him. “You got an easy life staying with the bitch of a cop.”
“Bitch?” He seems taken aback. “She’s nice.”
She’s fucking nice? My assumptions seem to be confirmed if he’s sticking up for her. “’Bout time you got back here and did some real work.”
Hyde’s eyes widen. “I’ll do whatever the club wants me to do.”
Peg’s watching me closely, but his words are for Hyde. “And at the moment we want you to watch out for Marcia Hannah.” His good leg kicks out a chair. “Here, sit down. Have you seen anything going on that makes you think someone’s still after her?”
Hyde takes the chair and plants his backside in it. With a wary glance my way, he addresses himself to the sergeant-at-arms. “Nothing at all. But she’s not having it easy. Comes home dead tired each night. She’s working too hard, and that partner of hers is putting it all on her. She’s taking it to heart, too. Worried as fuck about finding those missing children.”
My eyes flick to Peg’s. We’ve been doing some digging of our own.
“And on top of it all, I think she’s got something cooking in that oven of hers.” Hyde sighs and rubs his hand over his face. “I’m worried about her.”
“What d’ya mean she’s got something cooking? Don’t like the food she serves up?”
Hyde huffs a laugh. “Nah, I don’t mean like that. I saw the signs when I lived with my sister. Sick in the mornings, exhausted at night. Going to bed early. She’s lost weight too. My sister did at first. Hates the smell of coffee.”
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