by Meghan March
My mind kicked into high gear to process all the shit he was throwing at me.
“Thanks for calling. I’m on my way. And yeah, I got some shit I need to tell you in person … so if you could meet me there, I’d appreciate it.”
“What the fuck does that mean?” Hennessy demanded.
“I’ll fill you in when I see you.”
“Fine. Be there in ten.”
I hung up, and Elle was watching me. “What happened?”
“Someone stole the Charger. I gotta get to Chains and check out the warehouse to see if anything else is gone.”
“Do you think it was Mathieu?”
I shrugged. “I didn’t get any calls from the alarm company, which makes me think it must have been. Anyone else would’ve tripped the alarm. He had keys and the code.”
“But why would he steal the car?”
“He must’ve expected me to go to the cops and give a description of his car. He knew I wouldn’t realize the Charger was gone until today. That would’ve bought him enough time to get out of town.”
Elle nodded and frowned. “I can’t go with you. I have to check on my mother and make sure she’s okay. And then I have to figure out how to break this all to her, plan a funeral, and get her to agree to rehab.”
Shit. Talk about the morning from hell for both of us. “What if you just make sure she’s situated and work on the funeral stuff. I say you let Hennessy deal with telling her about any motive for the murder. That’s not going to do either of you any good right now. And then rehab … Maybe wait until I’m back so I can be there if you need me?”
Elle leaned in and pressed a kiss to my lips. “Thank you. I’ll wait.”
I pulled her in closer and stole another taste before releasing her. “Call me if you need me. I’ll be back as soon as I can. We just have to get through today. That’s all you need to focus on.”
I didn’t want to leave Elle to deal with that mountain of shit by herself, but when I pulled up to Chains an hour before we were scheduled to open and saw Hennessy’s car parked in the alley, I knew this was preferable to telling him over the phone.
I shut the door of the ’Cuda and turned to the warehouse. The overhead door was down, the service door was closed, and the locks were intact. It reinforced what Elle and I had discussed. Mathieu stealing the Charger made the most sense.
Hennessy climbed out of his car and barked some orders into his phone before ending the call and walking toward me. He surveyed the exterior of the building.
“Doesn’t look like the scene of a break in.”
I worked through the locks and opened the door before heading for the alarm panel to punch in the code. Hennessy followed me inside.
All of the other cars sat in their spots and so did the bikes. Nothing else was missing.
“Anything else gone?” he asked.
I shook my head. “Not a damn thing.”
“Inside job?”
“Looks that way.”
“Assuming it wasn’t your girl.”
My eyes cut to him, and I huffed out a laugh. “No. It wasn’t Elle.”
“Then your other employee—the kid?”
“Had to be.”
“You don’t sound too fucking surprised here, Lord.”
“Because I’m not,” I replied, meeting his narrowed eyes.
“Are you gonna fill me in here, or are you gonna make me pretend I’m a detective or some shit like that?”
His comment might’ve been funny on any other morning.
I considered how to tell him what I knew, and I decided the direct route was the only one worth taking.
“I think I found your murder weapon. For Bree and Jiminy and Denton Fredericks.”
Hennessy’s posture changed instantly. He was no longer relaxed; he was all cop.
“Tell me you took it in on pawn, man. Otherwise I got a really bad feeling about this.”
“Found your killer too.”
Hennessy’s eyes pinned me. “You better lay that shit out right now, or we’re gonna have a problem.”
“Let’s just say grand theft auto is a hell of a lot less prison time for him than murder.”
“The kid?”
“Yeah.”
“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.”
I filled him in on everything I knew. Telling him about the gun—how Elle had no idea Mathieu must have been lifting it from her purse and replacing it—and about his motive. By the end, Hennessy’s face was set in stone.
“Just when I think I’ve heard it all. Nothing should shock me anymore. Not a goddamn thing. But fuck.”
“I know. Trust me—I know.”
“I need to get back to the station. I got a shit ton of work to do now. Where’s the gun?”
“He grabbed it when he ran. We need to report it missing, and I want you to be really fucking clear on the fact that when it’s recovered, even though it’s registered to Elle, she didn’t have a goddamn thing to do with this.”
Hennessy waved off my concern. “Of course. But she’s still going to need to come in and give a statement about where she left it and how she didn’t notice it was missing.”
I forced a laugh. “Have you seen that woman’s purse? Do you know how much shit she carries around? You could hide a goddamn puppy in the thing and she might not know it was there until it started howling for food.”
“Women,” was all Hennessy said. “But you be sure to let her know I’ll be in touch.”
We started for the door again, and I remembered something. “I might not have the gun, but I’ve got the round I test fired from it. It’s downstairs in the range.”
Hennessy stopped midstride and turned. “I don’t even want to know how this all unraveled, do I?”
I shook my head. “Does it matter?”
“Not as long as you’re telling me the truth.”
I met his stare and held it. “There’s nothing I’ve ever wanted to tell you less than that Mathieu was responsible.”
“I believe you. You know it’s not your fault, right? I see it all the time—some people are just wired wrong. No amount of saving is enough to set them right.”
I swallowed and shrugged off his comment. I had a long way to go before I’d feel absolved for my part in this. I locked up the warehouse and headed for the back door of Chains.
“I’ll be right back.”
Hennessy leaned up against his car. “I’ve got a shit ton of calls to make. Gotta track down the kid.”
It had to be done, but I still felt the words like a cheap shot to the kidney.
I unlocked the back door, punched in the code, and headed for the basement. I hustled down the stairs and hit the light at the bottom.
“Fuck.”
Mathieu sat in the folding chair, Elle’s gun held loosely in his right hand, barrel pointed at his face. An empty bottle was at his feet, and he clutched a half-full fifth of Wild Turkey in his left hand.
He looked up at me, and his eyes blazed with that crazy light I’d never noticed before last night. His knuckles were crusted with blood, and a deep cut sliced through his eyebrow.
“Shit, kid. You need a doctor.”
He laughed, and the rusty sound echoed in the cinderblock room.
“More likely gonna need a hazmat crew,” he said, lifting the gun and gesturing with it.
“There’s no need for that because you’re going to put the gun on the floor and kick it toward me.”
His chuckle was more muffled this time, because he was swigging from the bottle. When he pulled it away from his lips, he held it out toward me.
“You wanna share my last supper?”
“Mathieu, there’s no call for what you’re saying.” I kept my voice calm and even, thinking fast for a way to keep him from blowing his brains across the room. For the first time in a long time, I wasn’t carrying. My .45 was tucked in the glove box of the ’Cuda.
“You shoulda been thanking me,” Mathieu said, his words slurring. “�
�Cuz you know that’s how things work on the street. We got each other’s backs. Can’t let someone disrespect you or we’ll be weak. You gone soft, Lord. Didn’t expect that from you. Thought you still knew the code. Lived the code.”
His ramblings were punctuated by the swinging gun and bottle. My only option was talking him down.
“I know you did it for me—and for Elle. You were protecting us, and I get that.” Even as I said the words, they rang false in my mind.
Mathieu shook his head. “No. You don’t know. You’re just sayin’ that shit so I won’t eat a bullet. Too fuckin’ late, man. Too fuckin’ late. I saw your face last night. I ain’t getting locked up for this shit. I’d rather be in the ground than a cell.”
“There’s no reason for that.”
He lifted the gun to his head again. “There’s every fuckin’ reason. You ain’t the brother I thought you were. I got no one. I got nothin’.” His thumb flicked the safety off. “I’m done. Made my peace. Time for me to cash out.”
Footsteps thudded down the stairs, and Mathieu’s eyes widened.
“What the fuck is taking you so goddamn long?”
The gun swung toward me as Mathieu registered Hennessy’s voice.
“You brought the fuckin’ cops.” His arm shook as his finger closed over the trigger.
My chest ached as I yelled the words that would give Hennessy a fighting chance. “Stay the fuck out of here!”
But Hennessy had already come too far—putting himself directly in the line of fire.
“Sorry, cop. You’re done.”
Mathieu pulled the trigger, and the deafening percussion of the shot filled the basement as I dove toward Hennessy.
Heat lit across my arm as I missed my target and three more shots rang out. I hit the concrete floor and slid toward where Hennessy had dropped to a knee and taken aim.
Static filled my ears, and I lifted a hand to my shoulder. It came away with only a slight smear of red.
“Fuck. He got you.” The words sounded muffled as Hennessy holstered his gun and lifted the sleeve of my T-shirt away from the wound.
“Barely,” I said. “Don’t worry about it.”
Because I wasn’t worried about it. It wasn’t my first close call, but God-willing it’d be my last.
No, my eyes were on Mathieu’s crumpled body. Blood already pooled around him on the cement. I swallowed back bile as the reality of what had just happened hit me hard.
Hennessy caught the direction of my gaze. “I’m sorry, Lord. I didn’t have a choice. He fired first—”
The buzzing in my ears was starting to quiet. “Don’t. I know. He didn’t intend to leave this basement alive.”
Shock held my eyes on Mathieu, and I barely listened as Hennessy called it in.
The absolute madness of yesterday was crushed by the events of today.
Part of me couldn’t stop thinking I’d failed Mathieu on every level, and the other part of me recognized what Hennessy had said earlier: some people were just wired wrong. The crazy in Mathieu’s eyes hadn’t been the boy I’d thought I’d known. Somehow I’d looked right past it to the good that had always been there.
My thoughts were interrupted by Hennessy holding out a hand. “Come on. Let’s get the fuck out of here so the techs can preserve the scene. They’re on their way. There’s a bus coming to check out your arm.”
I took his hand and stood. “I don’t need an ambulance. It’s just a graze.”
Hennessy shrugged. “Your choice. I’m just doing my job.”
I could almost hear the unsaid: And some days I fucking hate my job.
“I’ll be investigated for this, so I’d appreciate you giving a full statement about what happened before and after I came down the stairs.”
“They’ll get the truth. He fired on you first. Fuck—he fired on me.”
I climbed the stairs behind him, thinking that for as long as I lived, this basement would always be tainted. I’d been so proud of my set up—the firearms ID equipment and the range. And now … now I never wanted to set foot down here again. It was a fucking crime scene.
Chains wouldn’t be opening today … or probably anytime soon.
My numbers would run into the red really fucking fast, but that fact paled in comparison to what had just happened. Swallowing my pride and admitting to my brother I couldn’t swing the payment next month was nothing compared to this. My customers would get over it. Life would go on.
For most of us.
When we stepped into the alley, we had another visitor.
Rix.
“Came to get my car,” he said in greeting. “Decided on the Charger.”
Mother. Fucker. Of all the shit timing on the planet.
“This isn’t a good time.”
Rix looked closer at my arm.
“The fuck happened to you?”
“Nothing you need to worry about. But if you don’t want to be surrounded by cops, you’re gonna want to get a move on.”
Hennessy stepped out of the back door and into the alley. Rix’s eyes landed on him.
“Seems like you’ve already got one here.”
“Good to see you too, Rix,” Hennessy said.
“I’ve never said it was good to see a cop,” Rix tossed back.
“Then you best be moving on, because there’s about to be a whole lot more of us.”
“The fuck happened here?”
“None of your business, man.”
“Everything that happens in this neighborhood is my business.”
“Not today.”
Rix got in Hennessey’s face. “You think because you’re a cop you’re so much fucking better than me?”
“Not because I’m a cop.”
Hennessy had balls of steel—that was for goddamn sure. But Rix didn’t need to know what had just happened. He’d find out soon enough.
“I’ll get back with you on the car soon. Let’s table that discussion for another day.”
Rix eyed us both, and it was obvious from the ticking in his jaw that he hated being in the dark.
“You know I’ll find out what’s going on. I got my sources. Don’t need to get my information from a cop.”
“Then like I said, you best be on your way,” Hennessy replied as broken pavement crunched under the tires of the police cruiser turning into the alley.
Rix gave me a chin jerk and strode to his car. “I’ll be in touch.”
I nodded in response, and Hennessy and I both watched as he started up his Caddy and pulled away.
A second police cruiser and the ambulance pulled into the alley a few moments later, and I steeled myself for what was next.
“Mama, you’re up?”
It was one of those stupidly obvious statements, but my surprise got the better of me, and it tumbled out. My mother was sitting at the dining room table, one hand lifting a teacup to her lips. It was only nine, and I didn’t think she’d been up this early in years.
“I have a funeral to plan today.” Her words were crisp—no hint of slurring.
“I know. I thought I’d see if I could help.”
“I’ve already called the funeral director. He’s coming to the house in an hour to go over everything.”
I was surprised she hadn’t said she’d called the priest. Hesitantly, I asked, “Do you want me to call Father Benedict?”
My mother’s eyes swung to me. “Whatever for?”
“To talk about the mass?”
She shook her head and sipped her tea.
“That man is going to hell whether he gets a mass or not. But I suppose … people will talk if we don’t have one. The last thing I want is people having more to talk about.” I expected a snide comment about people having plenty to talk about because of me, but she added, “Margaux told me what I did to the library. I must’ve gotten the attention of the whole neighborhood last night.”
The way she said it, it sounded like she had no recollection of her actions. And maybe she didn’t. I’d
been black out drunk exactly once, and we all knew how that had turned out.
“You didn’t attract any attention, Mama. The only person who was here was Doc Monroe. He came to … umm … help calm you down.”
Her face—already drawn—paled further. “Why would you call him? Of all people, why would you call him?”
“Because he’s the doc?” I replied, my answer coming out more like a question.
She lowered her teacup to the saucer with a clatter. “A woman should never be seen by a man when she’s at anything less than her absolute best. That wasn’t well done of you, Eleanor.”
Her vehemence surprised me. “I’m sorry, Mama. I didn’t know what else to do.”
Her hand shook as she reached for the teacup again. “Oh well. I suppose he should know the whole of what he’s getting.”
I choked on air. Yes, it was possible, because I did it.
“Wha—what?”
She looked at me, and I felt like this was some kind of twisted déjà vu—like a few weeks after my dad died, when she’d called me home one weekend from college, and I’d arrived to find movers packing the entire house. That was when she’d dropped the bomb about getting remarried. Somehow, her announcement had been secondary to the fact that she needed me to determine if there was anything I could get rid of from my room to make the packing go more quickly. It’d been like a gut punch followed by someone ripping your heart out. And now this?
“Mama, are you saying you’re going get remarried again? Like, now?”
She straightened. “I’ll do whatever I like, Eleanor. And this time, I’m not getting married. I don’t want to sentence John to the fate of the black widow.”
“But—”
“But nothing. I’m a grown woman, and I’ve been trapped in a hell of my own making for over a decade. He tried to get me to wait after your father died, but I couldn’t. Now, I don’t have a lot of good years left, so I’m going to make the most of them.”
“But, Mama, what about—”
A knock on the door interrupted my stuttered words. Was the funeral director early?
Margaux’s voice carried from the foyer, and footsteps signaled the arrival of whoever was at the door.
