Dirty Money

by Liliana Hart

  I hunkered down in my chair and crossed my arms under my breasts, wishing I’d thought to bring something more substantial than the thin T-shirt and jeans I’d put on that morning. I didn’t miss the numbing cold of the hospital. It was easy to ignore the bone-numbing chill when you were running from patient to patient on a twenty-four-hour shift. Adrenaline and coffee made great internal heaters.

  I’d spent several years during my residency going up and down these halls or crashing on a gurney in a dark room when things slowed down. I didn’t miss it. I much preferred the dead to the living, but in this case, I was relieved that death had been cheated for another day.

  I stood up and stretched, and then checked all of the drip feeds hooked up to Ben Carver’s body.

  “Your wife is going to be pissed you interrupted her spa weekend,” I said in a soft voice. I’d stopped cursing a while back, but pissed was on the list of words I wasn’t sure qualified as cursing. I brushed the hair off his forehead. “If you wanted attention there are better ways of going about it. Posting the pictures of you at Jack’s bachelor party on social media would be a good start.”

  There were few people I could call close friends. Part of that was because I’d never felt comfortable trusting others with the dark parts of my life, of which there were many. The other part was because I was a genuinely private person, and if I was honest, I just didn’t like people all that much.

  I wasn’t the kind of person who made life happen. Jack was that kind of person. He came into a room and commanded it. People were drawn to him—paid attention to him. I did my best to blend into any wall I came into contact with. I was an expert at hiding. It still amazed me that we were married.

  I could never hide when I worked at the hospital. Patients and families had questions and needed reassurances. But in my lab, in the basement of the funeral home, I could hide for hours. For days. The dead needed me. And in a weird way, I needed them.

  I twisted the wedding band on my finger and then leaned down to kiss Carver on the forehead. “I’m so sorry,” I said. “Don’t give up. We need you here.”

  A tear had escaped, and I wiped it away hastily and then wiped my hand on my jeans. I went back to my chair and pulled it up closer to the side of the bed.

  Carver was a brilliant analyst for the FBI. I wasn’t exactly sure what his official title was, but his security clearance was high, he had connections everywhere, and he worked miracles with computers—specifically, his computer Miranda—which had gone missing at the time of his accident.

  He’d been staying with us for the weekend, helping us solve the murder of Rosalyn McGowen, a longtime resident of Bloody Mary who had been ousted as Madam Scandal. She’d been publishing the King George Tattle for months, spilling all of the salacious gossip the county had to offer. Which turned out to be quite a bit. But her identity had been discovered and her life ended because of it. It seemed like weeks ago, but it had only been less than twenty-four hours since we’d made the arrests and filed all the reports.

  But there was no sense of closure. Not really. My father was still out there somewhere, and he’d haunt me until we tracked him down and put him behind bars where he belonged. Our relationship was…complicated.

  I’d been under the impression that my parents had both died after my dad had lost control of his car and gone over a cliff in the Poconos. It hadn’t been long after that the FBI had raided my home, looking for every scrap of information they could find on my parents. I’d also had my life put under a microscope and was questioned for days on end. There’d been no time to grieve. It had just been chaos.

  Apparently, my parents had been using their funeral home to smuggle all matter of things from overseas. They’d been working under a government contract—though which government was never made clear to me—and soldiers who’d been killed were transported to Bloody Mary, Virginia, for preparation, meaning my parents removed the contraband from inside them, and then shipped them on their way.

  Jack and I had found proof of my parents’ extracurricular activities in an underground bunker in my backyard. The FBI had missed it in their many searches of the property, and I wish every day that I had too. Inside had been a goldmine. There’d been boxes of cash and passports, files and flash drives, including a box that had my name on it. Nothing like finding out your parents stole you as a newborn from your biological parents. A couple who were probably fairly normal and didn’t kill people. And let’s not forget about the remains of the man who had a bullet-sized hole in his forehead. Finding that bunker had not been a good day for me.

  And then my dad showed up, back from the dead, and expected me to greet him with…well, to be honest, I don’t know how he expected me to greet him. It’s not like we’d ever been close. But needless to say, we didn’t hug it out.

  Unfortunately for my dad, he didn’t return from the dead before I’d discovered the bunker and removed the body and files. Unfortunately for me, he’s had a lot more practice at being a horrible person, so he was able to steal everything from Jack’s safe where it had all been locked up. Our only saving grace had been the handful of flash drives Jack had given to Carver.

  Carver had been keeping the information from his superiors. No one could know what we had until we could find out who else was dirty—and that included the FBI. The whole operation was too big for my parents to be the only ones involved.

  If I wasn’t his daughter, we’d probably all be dead by now. Believe me, I’ve asked myself more than once why being his daughter kept me alive. Not for some misguided familial connection, that was for sure. But there had to be a reason, and I had a feeling that his patience was running thin. He needed those flash drives, and he needed them now.

  I knew it was Malachi who’d been driving the black SUV that had run Carver off the road. My dad wouldn’t think or care about the fact that Carver had a wife, three small daughters, and one more on the way. Malachi only cared about himself, his survival, and whom he could manipulate to make things go his way.

  The truth was, Carver’s chance of survival wasn’t all that great. When Jack and I arrived at the scene, Carver was already on a gurney and being precariously lifted up the steep ravine where the car had run off the road. The paramedics said he’d flat lined twice on the way to the hospital.

  Carver’s skin was as white as the sterile sheets he was lying on, and there was a large white bandage on the side of his sandy blond head. The only thing that had stopped the SUV from going into the Potomac was a tree. Unfortunately, the tree hadn’t been very yielding.

  Ben’s nose was broken from the airbag, and someone had sewn a straight row of stitches into his forehead, closing the jagged gash there. The smooth, somewhat childlike face was going to be scarred forever.

  I’d stolen a look at his chart once he’d come out of surgery and been brought into ICU. Other than obvious contusions and abrasions, he’d had some internal bleeding, and a broken rib had punctured his lung, causing it to collapse. His collarbone and leg had been broken in multiple places, and his pelvis had been crushed. The surgeons had gotten Carver stabilized and stopped the bleeding, but he had a lot of surgeries ahead of him. It was going to be a long and painful road to recovery.

  My phone buzzed and I dug in my bag until I found it. Jack’s face was on the screen, and I didn’t hesitate to answer. It had been hours since I’d heard from him.

  “Any luck finding the computer?” I asked by way of greeting.

  “None,” he answered. “But I didn’t have much hope. I don’t know how, but Malachi knows we gave those flash drives to Ben. He knows the computer was the key to deciphering his encryptions.”

  “But he didn’t know I’d asked for the flash drives back.”

  “I’m thinking he’s got surveillance on the house. He might have listening devices set up as well. I would if I were him.”

  “Or maybe Carver’s accident is the perfect distraction to get us out of the house so he can do another search,” I said.

&nb
sp; “He won’t find them,” Jack said. “And the house is being watched while we’re gone. Inside and out.”

  “Where are you?” I asked.

  “Down in the parking lot. I just talked to Michelle again and she was able to catch an earlier flight. She should land around two, and I’ve got a couple of guys going to pick her up and deliver her to the hospital safely. See you in a few.”

  Jack hung up, and I took a relieved breath. There was something about being a cop’s wife that was vastly different from being the best friend or lover of a cop. I’d been all three, and the moment I’d said, “I do,” I’d felt the weight of what that meant. I paid extra attention when he dressed in the mornings and strapped on his weapon and badge. I noticed the slightest changes in expression or the way he carried himself if he had a rough day.

  And I worried. Worried like I never had in my life. Maybe that was because I’d never had anyone to worry about on such a deep level. Jack had always been my friend, and we’d been through a lot together—including him being shot three times while on a SWAT raid in DC—but we were connected on a level now that I didn’t realize was possible for two people to achieve. I’d never known true intimacy or what it meant to become one with another person until Jack. But there was a price to pay for that kind of love, and I realized every day that one of us might be taken away from the other. It left a hole inside me I couldn’t bear to think about.

  Jack had been sheriff of King George County for a handful of years, but just because he was in charge didn’t mean he had it easy. The budget and resources were small for a county our size, and his cops didn’t get a lot of chances to investigate or see the kinds of things cops in the city did. Not that he was complaining. There were worse problems to have than teenagers partying in the fields, breaking up the occasional barroom brawl, or getting livestock out of the road.

  But things had changed in our small, sleepy county over the last year. I used to worry about keeping the funeral home in the black, but I’d had more business than I wanted recently. People had lost their minds. Maybe it was the economy, or politics, or toxins floating in the air. Who knows? But people were shorter of temper, shorter of tolerance, and the vast ways of killing their neighbors seemed to be endless. The increase in violent crime was just one of the many things that bothered Jack, though crime was still low compared to other counties our size.

  The truth was, there would always be evil in the world. Just like there would always be good. The battle between the two went back to Adam and Eve, and to think we’d somehow change it thousands of years later was naïve. So it was best to suit up, fight, and protect.

  Chapter Two

  I heard the electronic doors open from down the corridor, and the sound of steady footsteps followed, along with a few murmurs from the nurses’ station. I glanced at my watch and saw it was well after midnight. I’d lost track of the time.

  The curtain slid open and there was Jack. He looked tired, but I was glad to see him. I stood and he immediately came to me and pulled me into his arms. Before Jack, I didn’t like to be touched or held. I’d put every distance I could think of between me and anyone who wanted to get close. But I couldn’t imagine going without his touch now.

  “Mmm,” he said, rubbing my back in slow circles. “That’s nice.”

  “Very nice,” I said into his neck. “You think Carver would know if we made out a little?”

  “Once upon a time, I would’ve said no,” Jack said. “But after I witnessed him at the bachelor party I can’t say for sure. Let’s just assume that he always knows.”

  But even as he said it, he leaned down and kissed me softly. It wasn’t a kiss of fire and passion, but one of contentment, where the heat could flame into something hotter.

  When he released me, I took a step back and really looked at him. “You need to get some sleep.”

  Jack was tall and broad through the shoulders and chest. Men nowadays seemed smaller, scrawnier, with their thin builds and baby-smooth skin. But when you looked at Jack there was no doubt that he was all man. His beard was well past a five o’clock shadow, his jeans and T-shirt were rumpled, and the scar through his eyebrow was stark white like it got when he was tired, irritated, or under stress. His badge was clipped to the front of his jeans, and his weapon was at his side. I knew he was wearing an ankle holster as well. He never left home without either of them.

  “I was about to tell you the same thing,” he said. “I’ve got to wait for Michelle to get here, and there’s no reason for both of us to go without sleep. You go ahead home, and I’ll come as soon as I see her settled.”

  “I’ll wait with you for a little while,” I said, moving back to my chair.

  “How is he?” Jack asked.

  “Lucky to be alive. He’s going in for another surgery in a few hours. His chances of survival still aren’t great, but every hour he’s with us is a good sign.”

  “Carver’s tougher than he looks. But he’s going to be mighty pissed that pretty face of his got messed up. He was always happy it was the one place on his body that didn’t have any scars. Plus, he said it was his boyish good looks that attracted his wife.”

  I’d only recently found out why Jack and Carver were so close. Why they trusted each other unconditionally. Carver had shown me the thatchwork scars across his chest and arms from when he’d been tortured. Jack was right. Carver was tough. And he’d get through this. I had to believe that.

  “He showed me his scars,” I said.

  Jack blew out a breath and took the chair on the other side of the bed, and then he stretched out his legs and laced his fingers so they rested on top of his stomach. “Yeah, he told me. He wanted you to know he trusts you too. Carver is a good friend to have.”

  “Maybe he shouldn’t trust me,” I said. “He’s here because of me. If there hadn’t been a witness to the crash, we’d be standing over his body in my lab right now. He could’ve been in that ravine for hours without anyone knowing.”

  “You think it was coincidence there was a witness?” he asked. “I don’t believe in those. What I do believe is that God can outmaneuver Malachi Graves any day of the week, and He’s on the side of the good guys.”

  I didn’t say anything in response.

  “It’s not your fault, Jaye.”

  I flinched when he said the words, especially since I’d been thinking the opposite for the last several hours.

  “Really?” I asked. “If we hadn’t taken those flash drives, Malachi wouldn’t still be hanging around, popping up every time I turn a corner. What could possibly be on them that’s so terrible that it’s worth all this? How has this become our problem?”

  “I could think of a lot of things that could be on them,” Jack said grimly. “Your father isn’t just a petty criminal.”

  “If I had to do it again…” I said, shaking my head. “I would’ve just set fire to that bunker and been done with all of it. I wouldn’t know about my real parents. I wouldn’t know about any of this. I just want him out of our lives. This shouldn’t be our fight.”

  “Sometimes we don’t get to pick our fights,” he said. “And I think you underestimate your father. You’re still his daughter, whether you share blood or not. You grew up under the same roof. There was a reason the FBI questioned you for so long after he and your mother went over that cliff. For a man who’s committed treason, murder, and God knows what else, it’s hard to believe anyone around him on a daily basis wouldn’t have some knowledge of his activities.”

  Something cold slithered through me and I stared intently at the monitor, avoiding Jack’s gaze. Is that what he thought? What everyone thought? That I’d known all along what my parents had been up to and chosen to look the other direction? Or worse, taken part in it?

  “Don’t get that look on your face,” he said. “I’m not saying I don’t believe you. I know you had no clue what your parents were up to. I know what your childhood was like and your relationship with them. But that doesn’t mean I can’t unde
rstand how others might think differently.

  “If I was FBI or any other organization who had an interest in your dad, you would be the first person I’d talk to. And I’d keep talking to you until I was satisfied. Your dad is thinking the same way. He wants those flash drives. But he also wants to see how much you know. He’s been watching you, catching you alone so he can have long conversations and bring up the past. It’s not because of nostalgia.”

  “I think I know that better than anyone,” I said coldly. None of this was Jack’s fault, but I couldn’t help the hurt that had been building over the last three decades. “It’s time to end this. We’ve got the flash drives. Carver wasn’t able to get through the encryptions to see what was on them. We need to find someone who can. And if we can’t, we need to destroy them so Malachi can’t get his hands on them.”

  “That’s easier said than done,” Jack said. “Carver’s the best.”

  I pressed my fingers into my eyes hard, my frustration at a boiling point, and then I looked back at Jack. “We have to catch him,” I said, not bothering to hide the desperation in my voice. “I can’t keep living like this. I just can’t, Jack. I thought I’d put my childhood behind me. I thought I’d put my parents’ deaths behind me. And then his resurrection, only to find out they’d stolen me and smuggled me into the United States along with the dead soldiers they’d betrayed. Who even knows if my mother is dead like he claims? How much more am I supposed to take?”

  It felt like the words were coming out of someone else’s mouth. I was detached from reality, living in this parallel universe where I watched someone else’s life implode with every piece of information collected.

  “How am I supposed to hide from him? He pops up like a damned daisy every time I turn around. You think we’re safe? He hit Carver today. Who’s next? You? Me? You think he cares?”