“We need money,” she said. Nothing could happen until that was dealt with.
MacLain nodded. “I’ve CDs, mutual funds, a pension I could cash out. How much will it take?”
“At least thirty thousand dollars, and I need it by tomorrow.”
“I can pull half that out of my checking and close out some savings accounts,” he said. “I can swing it.”
“That would be easy, wouldn’t it? Unfortunately, it would send a red flag to WE. They’d get a push notification the moment you accessed your accounts. It would indicate our next move.”
He grinned wryly. “That we have one?”
“Exactly. I think we can safely assume they know you won’t run.” She bit her lip, worrying. “My cash is tied up, too.” It was in the pockets of a man who kept her mother off crack and out of trouble. “What do you have to sell?”
He lifted his arms. “My body.” He was laughing at her, but not unkindly. It was the closest thing to referencing their kisses since he came downstairs. He was behaving himself, and she appreciated it.
“No joke,” she said. “Put you on a street corner and I’d make a mint, but that would take time, and we need it fast.” She studied him over her coffee cup, returning his smile. “I know you have guns.”
His smile dropped. “What will we use when Whitman’s men come looking for us? Harsh words?”
Yes, Marnie hated guns, but no, she wasn’t looking to show up to a gunfight with a smart remark. They needed money, however. “Do you have investment artwork we can fence? Or jewelry?” He shook his head impatiently. “We could do the whole loan shark route. Risk a good kneecapping.” She smiled when his face dropped, as if he wasn’t sure she was kidding. “It’s an option.”
He nodded. “It was my go-to option. So much so, I was on the phone a good portion of yesterday and this afternoon reaching out.” He shook his head. “No one is loaning to me.”
Shit. “You think Whitman put out the word on the street.”
MacLain shrugged. “You have a better explanation?”
She didn’t. “Maybe I could try.”
“They have your name. They know you’re with me, or suspect it. What are the odds you’ll have better luck than me?”
Luck? She didn’t believe in it. Nevertheless, she agreed. Chances were slim. And Caleb, her most-trusted go-to guy for things like this, was out. He had that thing that was tying up his capital. That thing he wouldn’t talk to her about. “So we sell your guns. Not all. Just most.”
“To who?”
“I know people.”
“A fence?”
“What do you care?”
“Because these guns are registered to me. You sell them to a fence, and they could be used to commit crimes and lead right back to me. Not going to happen.”
He was right. “So we use them as collateral for a loan.”
“We’ll use my fence then.”
“You have a fence?” Color Marnie surprised.
“I know people, too.” He winked. “But I’m not sure this is the whole solution. I have a good collection, but not thirty thousand dollars’ worth. We’ll need some other revenue, too.”
“We’ll make sure the fence gives us enough for a buy-in to the game.”
MacLain was instantly interested. “Game?”
Not many people were invited ringside when Marnie took off her mask. She was curious to see how MacLain handled it. “We’re about to go down the rabbit hole.”
MacLain’s smile was borderline feral. “It’s about damn time.”
Chapter Ten
It was two in the afternoon, and Dane still couldn’t shake his guilt over leaving Elizabeth again. When he’d explained that he and Marnie were leaving, she’d cried but hadn’t asked him to stay. She never asked him to stay. He felt as if he’d spent the last year and a half leaving her, and he hated it, but they were visiting a fence he trusted to leverage his weapon collection. How exactly was he supposed to explain that to a twelve-year-old? He sucked at girl things.
And now he and Marnie were sitting on a bus. People didn’t do that in New Hampshire. If you lived here, even if you were dirt-poor, you had a car. He’d seen people ride their bikes in the dead of winter, all bundled and risking their lives on the snowy streets, rather than ride the bus. No one rode the bus. Except him and Marnie. He couldn’t have been more miserable.
His six-foot-two-inch, 190-pound frame hung over his seat, eating most of Marnie’s window-seat portion. The old ladies and students sitting across from them were staring. At him, not Marnie. Somehow, she was invisible next to his bulk. It was bizarre. When Marnie was around, he couldn’t see anything else. Yet here she sat, slumped, staring out the window, blending. Dane wasn’t good at blending. As a cop it didn’t matter, but now, he wished he had the skill.
They’d stashed his truck outside Manchester and walked to the end of the bus line. It was a risky move, bringing his gun collection on public transportation, but he figured it was also so unlike him it wouldn’t occur to anyone to come looking for him there.
Fifteen thousand dollars’ worth of revolvers, automatics, rifles, and accompanying gear were stuffed into his huge black duffel. He could have outfitted the Alamo for a guaranteed win. Now the weapons were positioned under their feet, forcing their knees high, making him feel like a dweeb sitting there, vulnerable and irritated. His concealed-carry license expired when he left the force. If he was caught carrying, there’d be questions, possible confiscation, and neither he nor Marnie would make the appointment with his fence.
Twenty minutes later, in the middle of Elm Street, he activated the passenger stop button. With a blast of hydraulics, the bus let them out on the corner of Elm and Central Streets at Veteran’s Memorial Park. Dane grabbed Marnie’s arm to prevent her from rushing ahead.
“Hey.” He swung the massive bag over his shoulder and lumbered along. “You’re going the wrong way. It’s this way.” He pointed. It was his fence. He should know. “And be on alert. Something’s been gnawing at my belly about this. My guy sounded squirrelly on the phone when I confirmed our meet.”
“Afraid he’ll back out?” Marnie scanned the block and park.
Afraid, no, uneasy, hell yeah. “I’m getting a feeling.”
“Feeling?” She pursed her lips as if suppressing a smile.
He didn’t blame her for being amused, but he needed her to take this seriously. Dane trusted his gut. It had saved him more than once. A car drove by, forcing him to raise his voice to be heard. “Just be on alert, will you?”
Marnie flinched. “You draw enough attention without yelling. Just”—she pulled her collar high around her neck—“play it cool.”
Hmm. He wasn’t the only one whose nerves were strung tightly. He wondered how much of her unease had to do with this section of town. It was a hotbed of criminal activity. And she knew people. He wondered how deep her connections here ran. Sure, there were plenty of students and mothers with strollers amid homeless people hanging in the park even at these temperatures, but he knew from his days walking the beat that one block up and four to each side was where most of the illegal activities in Manchester occurred—pickpocketing, drug dealers, carjacking, mugging, and thievery, all within sight of the City Library and the Manchester Institute of Art.
“MacLain!” Dane turned and saw Detective Lucas Sullivan standing next to his unmarked police car. His partner, Detective Tim Reynolds, was sipping coffee, eyeballing Dane, leaning on the hood. Damn. He didn’t want to look over his shoulder to see if Marnie had stopped. If she was smart, she’d keep walking.
Reynolds was sneering, as normal, and gave the impression of being hungover. His blue eyes were bloodshot and there was a pastiness to his pale skin, like he’d pulled one too many all-nighters. Dane didn’t know what Joe was thinking. There was nothing about Reynolds that said surfer dude to him. Maybe Joe was thinking of Sullivan. Both were blond, but Reynolds dressed like an executive. A real snappy dresser. His overcoat, shiny shoes
, and pin-striped suit weren’t bought with a detective’s salary, the guy was sketchy—what detective could afford thousand-dollar suits? It was Sullivan who reeked of California dreaming and Boy Scout, despite his Boston origins and cheap suits.
“Sullivan.” Dane shifted the duffel more comfortably on his shoulder and hoped the detective wouldn’t ask him what was in the cumbersome and heavy bag. Both detectives approached and stopped a few feet from him. Between the three of them, they took up the whole sidewalk.
Sullivan was a recent addition to the precinct, up from Boston PD. Harper said she knew him. Dated him, actually. He’d contacted Dane a few times over the last year for interviews regarding Dane’s ongoing cases. Seemed like an okay kind of guy, on the level, as opposed to Reynolds, the dick. When Alice was murdered, Reynolds was one of the detectives who took pleasure in throwing up roadblocks in her case.
Sullivan’s white shirt was the only relief from black; his trench, suit, and tie were all black. And he was a big man who looked fond of attending a gym. “Funny seeing you on the mean streets of Manchester, MacLain. I heard tell you’ve been hibernating up north someplace. In the boonies.”
“More likely,” Reynolds said, “he’s been hiding his sorry self.”
Ah. Reynolds was referring to the brass asking around for him, probably in response to Dane contacting the commissioner about Alice’s case. Again. No one left that meeting happy. The cabin seemed a reasonable alternative than being stuck in an interrogation room while his plane to the Caymans boarded. Well, Dane had bigger fish to fry now.
“Reynolds.” Dane arched a brow, not hiding his contempt.
“When are you going to stop making trouble for everyone, MacLain? Get a hobby. Hell, get a job.” Reynolds delivered his reproach with a level of unconcern that made Dane wonder why he even bothered. The detective didn’t care about anyone or anything that didn’t serve his purposes, and so far, the only thing Reynolds cared about was making his name in the precinct. He wanted the rank of lieutenant. Dane hadn’t a doubt he’d get it one day. Soon, probably.
Sullivan tilted his head toward Reynolds. “He’s been helping me with your caseload. Doesn’t like how the extra work is cutting into his fantasy football time.”
Reynolds sneered. “Fuck you, Sullivan.” Then he pivoted and stormed back to their car.
Dane would have used the distraction to glance over his shoulder to see if Marnie was waiting for him, but Sullivan never took his eyes off him. “You stop me for a reason, Sullivan?”
“You got something to hide, MacLain?” A breeze ruffled the detective’s blond hair. He eyed the duffel but dismissed it with a grimace. Sullivan was also an ex-MP, army. Two wars in the last ten years made them a dime a dozen, but it did mean Sullivan and Dane had a lot of experiences in common. Odds were Sullivan knew what was in the canvas bag.
“How’s Elizabeth? And Harper?” Sullivan asked. The look in the detective’s eyes was too interested, almost beseeching.
“Don’t get me involved.” Matchmaking was not Dane’s bailiwick.
He knew Harper broke it off with Sullivan. She didn’t go into details, and truthfully, Dane was grateful. He had enough on his plate. But now that Sullivan was working the WE case, his odds of getting a second chance with Harper were zero. She was mad at the whole of the MPD, especially the homicide department. The grandchild, child, and sister of a cop, she knew what loyalty was, and she knew they’d failed that litmus test. In her loyal eyes, Sullivan sided with the MPD, so he didn’t have a snowball’s chance in hell with her. Dane wasn’t going anywhere near that mess.
“Just being polite.”
“Polite, huh? Well, how’s this for polite? My family is wondering why all the evidence I supplied to your department is missing.”
Sullivan glanced over his shoulder toward Reynolds in the car. The guy was eyeballing them, oozing resentment. “They’re not alone.”
Not what Dane expected to hear. Not in the least. “So you haven’t drunk the Kool-Aid?”
“No.” Sullivan appeared to choose his next words carefully. “Did you know the camera in the evidence locker was under maintenance during both break-ins?”
“Are you surprised? Your precinct is corrupt.”
Sullivan shook his head. “You see, I’m not so sure. I’m thinking there’s a few bad apples messing it up for the rest of us. Ever wonder why a detective from Boston was placed in this tiny city?”
Yeah. Constantly. “You pissed someone off.”
The detective laughed and then glanced over Dane’s shoulder up the street, not trying to hide his curiosity. “She took a left up Amherst Street, maybe waiting for you in the alley behind the library.” Dane didn’t take the bait. Sullivan suppressed a smile. “See you around, MacLain. Try to remember you’re not the only one looking for Alice’s killer.”
“Officially?”
Sullivan scoffed. “Hell, no. I like my job.” He walked back to the car and his fuming partner.
Dane waited until their car disappeared onto Elm Street traffic before he searched for Marnie. As Sullivan predicted, she’d been waiting behind the library.
“Sullivan is clean,” Marnie said. “No mysterious unaccounted-for blocks of time on his résumé. No money squirreled away in a hidden account. He might be useful if he’s not gunning for you.”
“He says he’s on my side.”
“That would be too much to ask,” she said. “People are on their side. He’ll help you if it’s in his interest. So we make it his interest to be helpful.” She shrugged. “Maybe.”
“His partner, Reynolds, might have something to say about that.”
“Reynolds?” Marnie looked confused. “Sullivan was with someone?”
“Doesn’t matter. He’s not our problem. Let’s get these guns sold. I’m feeling like a thief, and I don’t like it.”
“Boy Scout.” Marnie chuckled. “As a detective, I get knowing a fence, but why would the guy do business with a cop? Seems a bit risky to trust you won’t screw him. It’s not like you’re dirty.”
“Ex-cop, and no, I’m not dirty.” It made him feel good to say that, because giving his guns to criminals as leverage, even if it was only temporary and he’d get them back, made him uneasy. He kept telling himself it was for a good cause. “This guy owes me one, and he’s more afraid of me than he is of Whitman. He’s our best bet to get the money today, and using the guns as collateral takes that kneecapping you spoke of out of the equation if something goes wrong on our side and I can’t pay the money back in time. I don’t hold up my end of the deal, he gets the guns. But that won’t happen. I’ll make sure of it.” Dane didn’t want to think too hard on what he was doing. His plan gave them the money they needed in the safest way available to them while preventing Whitman and his people from getting tipped off they were in play. Thinking too hard would mean changing his mind, and then where’d they be? Back to square one, with no plan and WE on their ass.
They traveled six blocks before he turned down a walkway and indicated his fence’s house. Marnie held back, surveying the street. “Are you sure this is your fence?”
The neighborhood was run-down, and the house wasn’t any better. Cracked siding, chipped white paint on the front door revealed red paint beneath. It was a familiar house and had looked much the same when Dane had come here for the first time as a beat cop responding to gunfire. That was a lifetime ago. It was how he met Randall, the fence. His fence now. “This is the place.”
Marnie stopped him from approaching the house just yet. She grabbed his jacket and tugged at it, not meeting his questioning gaze. “I want you to be sure about this.” She tilted her head toward the house, her gaze skittering to his face and then away just as quickly. “Once we step inside there and make the deal, we’re committed. You need to be sure you want to do this.”
“I don’t want to do this. But I will.”
“I know you.” She lifted her chin, met his gaze. “I do. And the man I know will have a hard time s
tomaching breaking the law. You should let me do this alone.”
“You know me, huh?” He supposed she was talking about all the eavesdropping she’d done via Skype, or maybe her research. What she didn’t know about him could fill a book, but what did that matter? Her lips were so close, and she was so beautiful. He couldn’t resist. Dane kissed her and felt her melt in his arms. Then she was holding him, returning his kiss with a passion that fed his own. The canvas bag slid off his shoulder onto the walkway with a clang. The noise startled them both, forcing him back to reality. He wasn’t used to feeling this way. The case against WE had consumed what life Elizabeth didn’t fill. Making room in his heart for Marnie felt a lot like weakness, as if he didn’t deserve her until he resolved the threat. It didn’t stop him from wanting her and wanting how she made him feel—he just wasn’t sure how he was supposed to go forward.
Dane rested his forehead on hers, gratified that she was also out of breath and equally affected by the kiss. “One day,” he said, “you’ll learn I don’t need saving.” He dropped a kiss on her nose. “Until then, thank you.” Her blush had her pursing her lips and squeezing her eyes shut. Intimacy wasn’t Marnie’s strong suit. He suppressed a chuckle, because he knew it would annoy her. He found it funny that Marnie was more comfortable slugging it out than receiving a compliment. He liked her a lot, and just the way she was. “Come on.” He took her elbow and kept her close as he approached the door.
This was Pine Street. Litter flew in the breeze, and front yards were neglected. Drugs were sold in doorways and alleyways. A million years ago, he’d walked these streets in uniform, fresh from his time in the army. He’d thought he had everything figured out then, seen his future as if it were mapped out. He was a good guy, and it was his job to fight the bad guys. Yet he’d been wrong. He’d known nothing. About his job, his fellow cops, his lieutenant, the justice system, or even his wife. Life was gray, and the law didn’t work for him or Elizabeth, and certainly not for Alice. Yet breaking the law, even for the best of causes, even when the law was in the wrong…it wasn’t who he was. It wasn’t who he wanted to be. Dane had devoted his life to upholding the law and built his identity around it, as his father and grandfather had before him.
Betrayed by a Kiss Page 11
