“Seriously, I think this is the first time I’ve seen food enter your mouth in the last week that wasn’t a candy bar,” I said as he crunched into the hard shell of an overflowing beef taco. Another piece of lettuce dangled from his mouth, and I brushed my finger at the corner of my lips as a signal for him to wipe his mouth. He didn’t notice, and the green leaf dropped to the table. “And I see you’re even adding veggies to your diet. Your wife would be proud.”
“It’s all about roughage, if you know what I mean.”
I snorted out a laugh, then sipped my Diet Coke.
Stan ran his napkin across his face, spending extra time on his mustache, then rested his forearms on the edge of the table. “The picture that Miguel drew…it’s, uh…”
“Disturbing. I know. I’m not sure what to think of it.”
“For those in law enforcement investigating a murder, it would appear he drew the crime that he committed.”
I released a ponderous sigh. “I figured you guys would take that stance.”
He sat back in his chair. “Don’t make us out to be the bad guys here. Wouldn’t you feel the same way if you were in my shoes?”
“I don’t mean to point fingers, Stan. Yes, I guess I’d at least raise it as a possible theory. But it’s obvious that he needs a real psychiatrist to evaluate his mental health and determine if he’s even capable of understanding what really happened.” I took a bite of a salad, glancing away for a second before returning my sights to Stan. “Maybe he’s projecting something in that picture, or even imagining it, and then convincing himself it’s actually true.”
Stan eyed his plate, then leaned forward and literally devoured half of a taco with a single bite. “Hold on,” he mumbled as he chewed his food.
Through a gap between two columns, I watched a man and a teenage girl—maybe a father and daughter—enter the restaurant. They paused, then spoke briefly to two men wearing suits. I could see cufflinks glitter from a ray of sun.
“So…” Stan said, holding up a finger as some beef squirted out of his mouth. “You know as much as I do about the process. Right now, they’re tossing around names as to who will be Miguel’s court-appointed attorney. Then, I’d imagine that person would—”
“That would mean charges are pending.” I let my fork drop to my plate, causing a few heads to turn our way.
Stan picked some food from his teeth, then gulped his iced tea. “It’s hard to say.”
“Hard to say, or you won’t say?” I propped my elbow on the table.
“Damn, you like putting me in the corner.”
“This isn’t a timeout, Stan. You’re perfectly capable of being transparent, as you say you are.” I couldn’t help but smile at my connection to his earlier comment.
He rubbed his greasy fingers in his napkin. “You’re putting me in a tough spot.”
I gestured with my hand. “That’s already been established, and I don’t deny it. But I’m concerned about the health and well-being of a child who was under our protection. The system failed him, CPS failed him, and, yes, I failed him. I just want to know what his future holds and when he can move on with this life, whether that’s a week from now…” I shifted salad on my plate, allowing my mind a moment to take the next leap. “Or whether it’s after serving a thirty-year sentence between juvie and Huntsville.”
Stan hunched closer, his eyes shifting side to side.
“Something got you spooked?” I said as he looked around the restaurant. “You’re acting like we’re under surveillance or something.”
“Why would you say that?” His voice had a nervous edge to it.
“You’re worried about Huerta, aren’t you?”
“He’s taken down a lot of careers. With no sleep, eating like shit, and jumping every time he yells squirrel, I’m antsy. Too much depends on me keeping my job.”
“Stan, I really think we’re on the same team…more or less. I don’t want you to lose your job. Then I’d have to break in a new partner,” I said with a wink. “But I can’t drop this just because the police department’s Big Bad Wolf makes people feel uncomfortable.” I realized I was poking my finger into the table, and I stopped. Before he could speak, I added one more observation. “Besides, after talking to Huerta earlier, I think it’s more about the role he’s in. He’s always going to be viewed as the guy out to take down good cops, regardless of how he operates.”
“So you say. I think he’s won you over.”
“Maybe I just saw a different side of him.”
“How do you know it wasn’t what he wanted you to think?” He slurped his iced tea but didn’t take his eyes off me.
I could feel knots forming under both shoulder blades. “Is there something I’m missing here?”
He puffed out a breath. “Listen, I have no knowledge of any conspiracy or anything, but why do you think he kept me out of that room?”
“Sounds like you know the answer.”
He tilted his head. “Could it be because he knew that I would see he was bullshitting you and that I’d have a hard time not saying something to you about it?”
The thought had crossed my mind, but for whatever reason, the former IA detective had come across as authentic.
“Now that you’ve reawakened the cynic in me, tell me why I should care?”
“Okay, I don’t know for certain that charges are pending. Those types of discussions don’t include me. Only Rick Huerta and the DA have those conversations. But…” He scooped some loose cheese off his plate and shoved it in his mouth. “Something that Huerta said after I dropped off the picture that Miguel drew.”
“What? What did he say?”
“He shook his head, then chuckled and said, ‘We’re moving in the right direction. Ms. Nash doesn’t know how much help she was.’”
It felt like the blood flow to my extremities had been cut off. Inhaling a deep breath, I said, “That little shit. I was just a pawn to get information out of Miguel.” My intensity and volume rose with each word out of my mouth.
Stan held up both hands, signaling for me to keep my emotions in check.
“What else did Rick the Dick say?”
“He’s been called that a thousand times, but when you say the phrase, it has the extra emphasis,” he said, obviously looking for a response from me. I just stared at him. “As for Huerta, he said something about reviewing the tape from the play room—the room you and Miguel were in. Did Miguel do anything I didn’t see that might cause Huerta to take another look at the recording?”
I tilted my head back to take another sip of my Diet Coke, but only ice dropped into my mouth. “Honestly, the whole scene could be used as a case study for kids exposed to extreme forms of trauma. But to hear Huerta admit that he’s looking at the tape just shows me intent. He wanted—at least expected—Miguel to respond in way that might make him look guilty, even if he didn’t recite the step-by-step process of how he supposedly killed Tommy.”
“I hate to admit it, Ivy, but you could be right.”
Lifting from my seat, I took two steps toward the drink machine for a refill, then stopped and turned to Stan. “How far will Huerta go to pin this on Miguel?” He opened his mouth, but I jiggled my cup. “Hold that thought. I need more caffeine.”
I had to wait in a line of five people before I could get a refill. I pushed my cup against the metal bar, but only syrup came out. No carbonation. I called over an employee, and he quickly opened the cabinet and switched hoses from one canister to the next. When he was done, I reached over to fill my cup, but bumped against someone else’s cup.
“Sorry,” I said, looking up to see one of the men in suits from earlier. He was young, around my age. I quickly noticed how his suit coat hung awkwardly on his body.
“Sorry wasn’t paying attention,” he said, taking a step back while extending a hand. “Ladies first.” He had eyes like chestnuts in milk, and I couldn’t stop staring.
“Lady, you going to get your drink or what?” a sassy tee
nager asked from behind me. I didn’t move for a second, so she huffed and walked around me. She filled her cup and walked off.
“You look familiar,” I said to the man.
I realized that sounded liked a cheesy pickup line, and I immediately wished I’d stifled my thoughts. But I was drawn back to his warm eyes, and out of nowhere, I could feel a tingle inside.
He smiled, a small dimple forming at his chin. “Are you a Sprite girl, or do you have a Coke fetish?”
I blinked a couple of times.
“Oh, that didn’t come out quite right,” he said, holding a hand to his head. I tried not to notice that he didn’t wear a ring. Or that I cared one way or the other.
“No worries,” I said, feeling my cheeks redden. “I’m a Diet Coke woman.” I tottered back and forth like a little girl.
“Diet? I would think that’s the last thing you need.”
Did he just run his eyes up and down my body? I was wearing my standard outfit: khakis and flats. Then again, I also had on my green V-neck sweater, which brought out a couple of curves on my body. I couldn’t help but rake my fingers through my hair. “It’s just a habit. Something I’ve been drinking since I was a teenager.”
It took a moment, but I could feel the muscles in my cheeks spreading my smile a mile wide. Geez, one guy takes a look at me, and I’m completely smitten.
After refilling our drinks, we turned to each other and held up our cups, as if we were toasting the event. Neither of us said another word, and we went our separate ways.
I took a couple of sips on my way back to the table, my mind still replaying the nice man’s smile, wondering where I’d seen him before. Outside of his awkwardly fitting suit, I could have seen him on the cover of a model magazine. As I crossed the room, I noticed a man walking up to our table. He was attractive, middle-aged, with dark, wavy hair and a chiseled chin, but he seemed pissed. He pointed a rigid finger at Stan, who was trying to get up from the chair without touching the guy.
I hurried in that direction. Ten feet before I reached the table, a girl popped her head out from behind the man. They were the two people I’d seen entering the taco joint earlier.
“That’s her, Daddy.” With hair that hung like wet seaweed, the teenager stabbed her finger toward my chest. “She’s the bitch from the video I showed you.”
I stopped and lowered my cup, wondering if I was about to deal with my fifteen minutes of fame. “Can I help you?”
The father quickly invaded my personal space. “You…” He took in a phlegmy breath. “Because of you, my son is dead.”
It was Mr. Gideon. I took a step back and quickly glanced over at the girl. It had to be Monique. I never actually saw her the previous day. “Mr. Gideon, I can’t tell you how sorry I am for your loss.”
“Sorry?”
Stan jumped in front of me. “Sir, I’m going to have to ask you to calm down or you’ll need to leave.”
“Russell Gideon isn’t going anywhere.”
I recognized the voice as I slowly turned my head to see the man with the fancy suit and cufflinks. It was the lawyer, Herbert Ross, one of the larger assholes in his profession who had a habit of representing parents who had been wronged by the state. In fact, he had tried to bully my coworker, Kari, and me a couple of weeks back on behalf of one of his clients. His fancy wingtip shoes clapped against the tile floor at a different octave than all other shoes.
“Ms. Nash, I would say it’s a pleasure to meet in person, but…” The corners of his mouth turned upward into a smile. He looked like a slightly more human version of the Grinch.
I chose not to respond, my mind still wrapping itself around the assertion that I had caused Tommy’s death. Yet, at the same time I couldn’t imagine the hole in Russell Gideon’s heart.
“Listen, everyone,” Stan said, making another attempt to keep the scene from escalating. “We have no reason to raise our voices or turn ugly. I think we should all just go our separate ways.”
My eyes gravitated to the right, where the man from the drink fountain had pulled up behind Ross. I held up a finger as I felt my brow furrow. “Do you work at his firm?”
The man nodded. Then I recalled everything. He had been at a deposition I was forced to give a few months back. Another threat of a lawsuit. He was nice enough, but he still worked for the enemy. He gave me a tight smile, then shifted his eyes to Ross, probably to ensure King Herbert hadn’t seen him offer any type of congeniality to the other side.
“Did you know my client and his daughter met with Detective Rick Huerta last night?” Ross asked.
It was obvious that Ross knew about the partnership Stan and I had, as well as Stan’s presence at the hostage crime scene. Ross knew all the tricks of the trade, and by showing an alliance with the lead detective, that was his way of saying Stan might be in the hot seat as well. Stan looked like he’d been punched in the kidney; he knew he should have been involved in the interview, or at least had been aware of it.
“If you say you did, then I believe you. I’ll talk to Detective Huerta later. For right now, Ivy and I will—”
“And Ms. Nash…oh my, what we have in store for you. Let’s just say it will be a game-changer. Or should I say a lifestyle-changer.” His scrawny chest seemed to double in size.
Ross, with his pungent cologne that smelled like whiskey-soaked leather, was trying to intimidate me. His spiteful tease only pissed me off, but I couldn’t cap my curiosity. “What are you talking about?”
“I’m here with Russell and his distraught daughter, Monique, to review the details of the lawsuit I’m about to file. CPS and Ivy Nash will be the chief defendants, and when the verdict is delivered, you are going to wish you were never born,” he said, moving a half-step closer.
I glanced at Monique. She wore thick eyeliner, black-painted fingernails, and piercings on her nose and right eyebrow. It wasn’t her Gothic look that caught me by surprise; it was how she clung to her dad, her head cuddled against his shoulder as her hands wrapped his torso. And even though her brother had died a day earlier, she didn’t seem sad, just angry. I knew that every person grieved in different ways. Apparently with this family, it was about finding a vicious attorney and filing a lawsuit to inflict as much damage as possible.
“Stop looking at my daughter!”
Russell barked so loudly, I flinched.
Stan held up his forearm, as if he were readying himself for a confrontation. “Sir, I can’t allow you to be abusive. Ivy, let’s get our things—”
“I’m sorry for your loss, Monique.” My instinct to show compassion had spilled out.
“Loss?” she said, releasing her hold on her dad. “I watched my brother get shot in the head.” She pointed a finger at her own head and pretended to pull the trigger. “I saw his blood splatter all over the wall. I think part of his brains were blown out. His face was unrecognizable.”
“Monique, dear, please don’t speak about Tommy in that way. It’s just so hard to deal with,” her dad said, pinching the bridge of his nose.
“You were there, in the room?” I asked Monique.
“Of course I was in there. That lunatic had us hostage, and I was stuck in the room with—”
She couldn’t say her brother’s name.
“And you shared this with the detective yesterday?” I asked.
“Ms. Nash, what she shared or didn’t share is none of your concern. You’ll soon have other things to worry about,” Ross said, brushing lint off the arm of his suit.
Monique screamed at the top her lungs, pulling at her hair with two fists.
“Dear, dear, what’s going on?” Russell said, trying to put his arm around her and calm her down.
Stan and I glanced at each other as Monique’s scream morphed into gasping grunts. Ross didn’t know what to do, it appeared, so he pulled out his cell phone and started scrolling down the screen. His hunky assistant faded into the background, not uttering a word.
“I’m okay,” Monique finally yelled ou
t. “Just let me be. Let me say what I want to say.”
Russell again tried to put his arm around his daughter, but she swatted it away and turned her attention to me again. “You, Ivy Nash…your so-called Child Protective Services agency is a joke. My mom and dad open their home to help a sick, twisted kid, and this is what we get in return. A dead son. A dead brother.”
My pulse raced out of control, but I did everything in my power to keep my emotions in check, at least outwardly. Inside, I was a mess, a mixture of heartfelt pain for this girl and her family, and even a bit of anger for being put in the crosshairs.
“Monique, darling, this isn’t going to do you or anyone a bit of good. I wish it did. I wish it would bring Tommy back. But it won’t,” her dad said, his voice cracking.
Monique didn’t give him another look. Bubbling with tears, her dark eyes shot lasers at me.
“I don’t know what to say. I didn’t want anything to happen to your brother. It honestly breaks my heart to see a foster family go through this because I know what you guys sacrifice to allow kids like Miguel into your home and take care of them.” I think my first tear reached the corner of my eye. “I’m just…sorry.”
“And you think sorry will bring my brother back?” She leaned forward while poking herself in the chest making a loud thudding noise. It seemed over the top, but everything about the scene could fall into that category.
“No, it won’t. I would do anything for your brother to still be alive.” I could feel my voice shaking from the inside out.
My words didn’t seem to help. Even with her dad trying to pull her closer, she seethed, panting loudly, spit flying everywhere. She didn’t seem to care or notice.
“I’m wondering if I need to call for backup,” Stan whispered to me. “Maybe paramedics too.”
I noticed everyone in the restaurant looking in our direction. A few had risen from their chairs, likely wondering if they were about to witness a complete meltdown. I wondered the same.
Monique glanced down at the floor, then quickly up at her dad. My sights volleyed back and forth between the two. He seemed to shake his head ever so slightly. Was he telling her something with his body language?
The Ivy Nash Thrillers: Books 1-3: Redemption Thriller Series 7-9 (Redemption Thriller Series Box Set) Page 8
