by Vanessa Skye
“None of us can, but we don’t have any evidence to the contrary. For the sake of your own sanity, it’s time to let him go.”
Berg felt the tears that were always so close on the surface once again forming behind her eyes. She looked away from Arena and bit her lip. “I-I can’t,” she whispered.
“You can, and you will,” Arena said firmly, taking her shoulders in his hands and giving her a shake. “Tomorrow, I want that ring gone, or I’ll rip it off your finger and flush it down the toilet myself. And if you think I’m kidding, just try me. Now get your shit together. We’ve got several scumbags to catch.”
***
Berg took a deep breath and pushed the dumplings around her plate.
The prospect of letting Jay go had brought her to the dim sum restaurant he had introduced her to and the place where they had shared their first kiss. She had come alone and requested a table near the back so she could see the long hallway leading to the customer bathrooms. The hallway where Jay had grabbed her and pushed her against the wall and ground his hips into hers. It was the moment she had realized she was in love with him.
Even though they had only been there together a few times, Berg still thought of it as their place, and she managed a small smile at the memories. It seemed a fitting place to finally let him go.
She sighed, letting a few tears run down her cheeks.
Arena had been right. Dwelling on Jay’s marriage and disappearance was killing her. He’d broken up with her even before he left. He’d gotten married six months ago. He hadn’t been in contact with her or anyone else.
I survived without him before. I can do it again.
She took a deep breath and resolved to be strong. She had been doing well with Jay, but it hadn’t been all him. Some of it had been her, too. She didn’t need to give in to her demons if she didn’t want to. It was her choice.
Mine.
The hairs of her neck prickled, and she turned around quickly. Nobody was there. She looked around the busy restaurant, feeling as if she was being watched, but none of the others diners were paying her any attention at all, which was a bit surprising since she knew she was thin—too thin—her hair needed a cut, and her clothes needed washing and ironing. She felt like a mess and knew she looked like one, too.
Breakups were hard, but this was hardly the worst thing that had happened to her. It barely made the top five. It happened to everyone.
It was great while it lasted.
She looked down as she spun the ring on her finger. It was a nervous habit she’d started all those months ago as she thought. She touched the black diamond, smiling wanly. It was the first and last decent piece of jewelry she had ever owned, but that was not why she loved it. She loved what it represented.
Correction—had represented.
It no longer represented Jay’s feelings, and she had to accept that. Jay had given it to her in love, and he didn’t love her anymore. He had knowingly married her half sister, of all people. Pretending otherwise only delayed the inevitable.
She couldn’t concentrate at work, she couldn’t sleep, and she didn’t even want to think about all the men—and some women—she had distracted herself with over the last six months, including Short.
Arena will never forgive me if he finds out.
And it wasn’t helping anyway. It hadn’t taken the pain away. It had just postponed it.
She shifted in her seat and felt the myriad of cuts and welts begin to sting as they tore open once more. She bled so often these days she could no longer wear white.
What kind of life is this? I am who I am, and Jay made his choice. How I deal with it is mine. Enough is enough.
She took a deep breath and grabbed the ring, wiggling until it came off her finger, leaving a vivid tan line behind. “I love you, Jay, and I miss you,” she whispered as she looked at the diamond before dropping it on the tray beside the check for her meal. She fished out a few bills from her pocket and laid them on top, even though she hadn’t eaten a thing. She stood and walked away, not looking back.
Chapter Twenty-Four
Arena smiled wide as she walked into the office the next morning, his eyes first taking in her appearance before flicking down to her hand. “You did it,” he said, giving her a quiet round of applause. “And you look like you’ve slept and showered, too.”
Berg nodded grimly and sat. “You were right. It was time. So bring me up to speed?”
Arena quickly caught her up on all their cases and reminded her that they had to testify later that day. “And Short just called me.” He shuffled through the folders on his desk as Berg refrained from blanching. “He’s got a buddy on the Alexander task force. They’re dealing with another torture murder of a dealer. Evidently, Alexander’s message didn’t get through the first few times.”
She raised an eyebrow. “Really? Any evidence this time?”
“No evidence, but something better—a suspect.” Arena popped a piece of hard candy in his mouth and grinned. “A guy was seen dumping the body but claims he didn’t carry out the murder and doesn’t know who did.”
“Oh.” Berg gnawed her bottom lip and gave in to the temptation. “Did he say anything about . . .”
Arena shook his head. “He hasn’t seen or heard anything about O’Loughlin or Alexander’s daughter, sorry. He seems to be a low-level minion at this stage.”
“Any chance we could interview him?” Berg asked.
“I’d say not, but I’ll put in a call to Cheney. We’ll see what he says, okay?”
Berg nodded.
***
Arena put his hand on Berg’s arm just as they were about to walk in the district courtroom. “I think I better take this one,” he said, a small frown on his face. “You’ve been . . .”
Berg nodded. “I know . . . distracted.”
“I was going to say the walking dead, but sure, let’s go with your word.”
Berg grimaced. “I’m not going to argue, Arena. I can barely remember this case.” She nodded as they walked in. “A dealer, right? Second charge of felony possession?”
Arena looked relieved. “Yep. Okay, great. I’ll take the stand. It’s all pointless anyway since Oliver’s presiding. The kids will get off with a slap on the wrist and permission to go on dealing.”
Berg snapped her head around. “Oliver’s presiding? Why didn’t you tell me?”
She hadn’t seen Oliver since the night at the club—the night that had cured her of sex clubs once and for all. While she’d fucked her way around Chicago and back since then, she had avoided the clubs and had been determined to never go back. In a way, she was almost grateful to Oliver.
But the judge, undeterred, had kept up his constant barrage of calls until Berg had finally changed her number. She’d claimed her phone had been stolen, and the CPD had issued her a new one with a new number.
Arena frowned. “I didn’t think it was relevant. Why do you care if Oliver’s presiding? Do you want to take the stand instead now?”
She folded her arms, realizing she had given too much away. “No . . . no, nothing like that. It’s like you said—if he stays true to recent form, this motherfucker’s arrest has just been a waste of time. Second count felony possession of meth should be fifteen years in prison.”
Arena kept frowning. “Yeah, well, don’t hold your breath.”
The pair took their seats behind the prosecution before standing as Oliver made his way into the courtroom.
His eyes immediately settled on Berg, and he stopped, staring at her intently before grinning.
Berg saw Arena out of the corner of her eye observing her before he turned to look at Oliver then back and forth again.
“What’s that about?” he whispered, scowling.
“What?” Berg said, crossing her legs and turning slightly away from him.
“Oliver’s looking at you like you’re catnip.” He tilted his head and then leaned closer. “Please tell me you’re not—”
“Of course I�
�m not!” Berg whispered furiously. “I don’t know what his fucking problem is.”
Oliver smoothly conducted the proceedings, but his eyes never left Berg for more than a minute or two at a time.
Berg fidgeted, feeling more and more uncomfortable as Arena watched them both as though they were a tennis match, the deep scowl never leaving his features, obviously trying to figure out what was going on.
When Oliver’s eyes settled on her for what felt like the hundredth time in the past thirty minutes, Berg couldn’t take it anymore. She abruptly stood and gestured that Arena needed to let her out. “You’ve got this, right?” she whispered.
Arena nodded. “But you can’t leave—”
“Detective Raymond?” Oliver called from the bench. “Please remain in your seat until I’ve called for a recess.”
“Sit down, Berg!” Arena muttered desperately.
“No!” She glared at her partner. “Move.”
“You’re gonna get charged with—”
“Detective Raymond, this is your last warning. Please retake your seat, or I’ll have you arrested for contempt,” Oliver said in a tone that was clear he was enjoying himself. “And I’ll be seeing you in my chambers at the close of proceedings, regardless.”
Berg turned and looked at the man.
Rather than looking pissed off at her rudeness, he looked practically giddy with delight.
“Charge this,” she said as she gave him the finger, pushed past Arena, and walked out of the courtroom, the wake of shocked muttering trailing out the door behind her.
In her haste, she walked straight into another person, nearly knocking her over. “Sorry,” Berg mumbled, her hand automatically going out to steady the woman before it registered who she was. “Fuck.”
“Nice to see you, too, Berg,” ASA Maroney sneered.
Can this day get any worse?
Berg sighed.
“Actually, it really is good to see you . . . washed and awake, anyway,” Maroney said as she inspected Berg closely, head to toe.
“Don’t even think about it, Maroney,” Berg said. “I’m not doing shit for you.”
The ambitious ASA had left her mostly alone during the last six months. Berg had assumed she’d realized she wouldn’t be any good to her in the state she was in. She had been waiting for the woman to turn her in—it would’ve almost been a relief—but she never had.
“Over Jay’s marriage, at last?” the bitch said with a smile. “I see the sad little ring he gave you finally came off.”
“Fuck you.” Berg turned to walk away.
Carla caught her arm, and Berg considered breaking the woman’s hand.
“I’m not done with you yet,” Carla said.
“Listen closely, you bitch,” Berg muttered. “I am done with you. Understand this—I will quit my job and go to jail before I help you again. But trust me when I say, I’ll be taking you with me. If you don’t believe me, just try me . . . and if you don’t take your fucking hand off—”
The door to Oliver’s courtroom was yanked open, and the uniformed bailiff walked out, handcuffs dangling from his hand.
He looked at Berg and shook his head. “That was stupid.” He sighed.
Berg yanked her arm away from Carla. “Are the handcuffs necessary?”
“You tell me,” he said.
Berg snorted. “Fine, I’m coming.”
Carla laughed. “You really are a stupid, self-destructive bitch, aren’t you?” She cackled, shaking her head as she walked away.
***
Berg sat on the cell’s hard cot listening as a lone set of footsteps made their way through the outer door and toward her cell.
“I must admit, I was hoping to see you in handcuffs,” Judge Oliver said with a smug smile. “But a cell will do for now.”
Berg didn’t bother to move or even look at him.
“I do so love our little tiffs, sweetheart, but it would be better kept out of my courtroom,” he said with gentle rebuke in his voice.
“You finished already? What did you give our dealer, a pat on the back? An all-expenses-paid holiday? Key to the city?”
“Never underestimate the power of a second chance, Alicia. It’s what I’m offering you now. Let’s move on from all the . . . unpleasantness . . . and start our lives together.”
Berg sighed. “Seriously, I don’t know how many other ways to say fuck you!”
“Ah . . . if only. I don’t understand why you keep resisting, Alicia. Jay’s gone and has been for quite a while now. Come back and we can pick up where we left off.”
“Never gonna happen,” Berg said, folding her arms.
“Last time you were under my care, you came four times. Was that not enough for you? Did that not silence your thoughts long enough? Because it was the tip of the iceberg, darling. Whatever you need, I can give it to you.”
“What I need is for you to leave me the hell alone!” Berg yelled. “Take a hint—I will never be with you again. Ever! I’m stronger than I was two years ago, and I’m damn sure worth more. Jay might have left me, but I don’t need him, you, or anyone else to get on with my life!”
“You’re wrong, Alicia,” Oliver said, shrugging. “We will be together, sooner than you think. It’s inevitable.”
Berg shook her head. There was no point arguing with him—the man was insane.
“In fact, one sweet session on my bench and I’ll drop the charges and get you out of this cell.”
“You and Maroney really have the Chicago extortion and blackmail market cornered, don’t you? I’d rather stay in here permanently than give either of you what you want, thanks.”
Oliver clenched his jaw. “Has Blonde Ambition been causing you problems? Darling, all you had to do was ask. You want me to talk to her and get her to back off? Consider it done.”
“I’m not fucking you!”
Oliver laughed, turning to leave. “Maroney’s a freebie. As for the rest, I’ll let you think about it. But know this, Alicia—I have a plan for the future, and you’re in it.” He walked out.
Twenty silent minutes later, Berg heard two sets of shoes heading her way.
The court bailiff appeared, unlocked the door, and held it open for Arena.
“Come on,” he said, “I’ve posted your bail. You really pissed off Oliver. He won’t drop the charge.”
“Whatever,” Berg said as she stepped out of the cell and walked down the hall beside Arena.
“Whatever?” Arena halted, his voice rising. “He’s charging you with criminal contempt of court. This could be the end of your career! There is a very real chance you’re going to go to prison.”
Berg scoffed and resisted the urge to tell him the end of her career was inevitable. Between Oliver, Maroney, her father, and Jay, something had to give—and soon. “Prison? The guy lets off drug dealers, but he’s going to send me to prison for giving him the finger? Unlikely.”
Arena sighed. “I don’t know what’s going on in your head, and I don’t have the time or schooling to figure it out. We’ve got to go. Cheney pulled a few strings and got us some time with the suspect in the most recent dealer murder.”
“Let’s go,” she said.
Chapter Twenty-Five
Cheney met them outside CPD’s 8th precinct. “Guys.”
The building was larger and newer than the 12th, and as such, it was being used as a base of operations for the FBI’s task force.
Berg noticed Cheney had aged during his six months with the task force. What little hair remained on his shaved head was now white, and there were deep frown lines on his thin face.
“I managed to get you twenty minutes before this guy is sent to federal prison for holding,” Cheney explained. He flashed his badge as he guided them through the front door, past patrol, and into the rear of the building where the interview rooms were located. “No one knows you’re here, so there’s no recordings or observers. His lawyer’s gone. Claims his name’s Dylan Bryant, but he’s got no ID and there’s
nothing on the system under than name. No fingerprints in AFIS. We’ve drilled this guy pretty good, but let me know if you get anything.” His voice was flat. He clearly didn’t expect any miracles.
“What’s he told you?” Arena asked, pouring a handful of nuts out of a bag he’d pulled out of his pocket.
“Nothing much. He admitted being hired to drive the mutilated corpse to the location and dump it. He was paid in cash by a guy he claims he never met before. He either can’t or won’t give us a name. He says the car and the body were brought to him, so he doesn’t know where the kid was tortured and murdered. The MO is the same as the three other dealer murders you are familiar with—tongue cut out, eyes gouged, the works. Bryant also denies knowledge about any other murders.”
“That’s a lot of bullshit claims coming from one guy,” Arena said, raising an eyebrow before tossing more nuts in his mouth.
“Tell me about it.” Cheney looked at Berg critically. “How are you?”
Berg shrugged and managed a small smile. “Fine.”
He nodded. “You look . . . better.” He rubbed his stubbled jaw and sighed. “I haven’t heard anything abo—”
Berg held up a hand. “I know . . . thanks.”
Cheney shook his head and grimaced. “I really can’t understand. I mean, you think you know someone . . .”
The reason for Cheney’s aged face was becoming clear to her. She felt a rush of affection for her fellow detective. “There’s something more to this, Cheney,” Berg said, crossing her arms. “We all know it.” She gestured to Arena to include him in the conversation. “People don’t all of a sudden go from upholding the law to breaking it, just like that.” She snapped her fingers. “There’s more to it.”
Arena nodded, still chewing, and dusted off his hands.
Cheney shrugged. “Okay, I can accept that. But he’s made no effort to contact us, given us no information. He’s either with them or dead.”
Berg clenched her fists.
“I’m sorry to say it like that, Berg. I know you two were . . . regardless, no one’s seen or heard from him in over six months, and he voluntarily skipped his check-ins for two months before that.”
