by Celia Aaron
I shook my head against his chest. “Seems like things have been pretty shitty in your life ever since I walked into it.”
“I don’t think so. I think things were already shitty, but I just didn’t realize it. You showing up was the best thing that could’ve happened.”
Something warm and tingly danced inside me.
A sharp crack filtered down the stairs. Gunshot. My gut knew it before my head did.
“Porter?” Benton called.
I turned and ran to the stairs right as the door slammed shut, throwing everything into darkness.
27
Benton
Another sharp crack shattered the air as I tried to climb the steps in the dark.
“Stay inside!” Panic blazed through Porter’s yell. “Santa is down. There’s a shooter in the woods.”
“Where are the rest of your men?” Arabella blindly gripped my hand as she climbed onto the stair behind me.
“Yeah. That.” A beat, then, “Randy, Chester, Harris—where the hell are you? Someone’s out here shooting at me. Santa took a bullet in his side. I need an ambulance and for you to get your asses out here!”
“We’re almost there.” A voice crackled back.
“A couple of you peel off to the left, and go into the woods. The shooter is on the garage side. He’s at least 100 yards away from the house, got a high-powered rifle. See if you can sneak up on him from the back. The rest of you get out here and help me with Santa.”
“Ten-four.” The crackling fell silent.
“We can’t let him get away. It has to be the man with the light eyes. Has to be.” Arabella tried to push past me.
“Whoa.” I put my hands on her shoulders and pushed her against the dirt wall, no space between us in the narrow stairwell. “If you go out there, he’ll pick you off.”
She tried to shove me off. “If I don’t go out there, he’ll get away.”
“Porter put his people on it. Have faith.”
“In Porter?” I didn’t need to see her face to sense the sarcasm.
“You can’t go out there and get shot. Vivi would never forgive you. Or me, for that matter.”
“I could use one of the doors as a shield, and then maybe get back into the garage. There were some four wheelers in there—”
“No.” The thought of her taking a bullet scared me more than I could comprehend.
She gripped my wrists. “Hey, I don’t need you babysitting me. I’m the lead detective on this case. People are depending on me. If we don’t get this guy and he kills someone else, that’s on me.”
“You can’t control what other people do.” I didn’t remove my hands from her shoulders. “This whole mess was in motion long before you got involved. You don’t deserve to get shot because of it, because of what my father did, or what Judge Ingles did.”
“I’m going out there.” She put metal in her voice. “And you’re going to let me go. So take your hands off—”
I kissed her. I couldn’t let her go, but I couldn’t think of any other way to convince her to stay. It was dumb and rash, but also perfect. She stiffened, her grip squeezing my wrists as I ran my tongue along the seam of her lips, finally tasting what I’d been fantasizing about. It was even better in real life.
Her hold loosened as I pressed her against the wall, her body molding to mine, her soft curves delicious and warm. She let her hands drop to my waist, and I ran my fingers through her hair, gripping lightly. The fact that she hadn’t pushed me away left me in a euphoria all its own. I wanted to tell her how good she felt, but that would require me to stop kissing her. Not happening.
I darted my tongue across her lips once more, urging her to open for me. There could’ve been a full-on firefight outside, but I could only focus on the woman in my arms. Keeping her safe, keeping her with me. With a soft sigh, her lips parted. I took the chance I’d been given and caressed her tongue with mine. The sweet moan that lofted from her lungs was a sound that I would never be able to forget. I delved deeper, tasting her, making some small part of her mine, and giving her a piece of me in return.
She let go and wrapped her arms around my neck, giving herself to this moment, sharing it only with me. I placed my free hand at her throat, her soft skin heaven on my fingertips. Would the rest of her be even softer? Everything inside me was already keyed up, but that thought was like kerosene on an unrelenting blaze. I wanted more, so much more from her, and the way she clung to me told me that she wanted it, too.
A creak, followed by blinding light, and then Porter’s voice, “What the hell, you two?”
Arabella broke our kiss, her pouty lips luscious even in the low light. “Is it clear?”
I didn’t let her out of my hold. Porter be damned.
“My guys are chasing someone through the woods right now. It has to be the shooter. But stay low just in case.” He held the door open, using it as a shield the same way Arabella had suggested earlier.
“Benton?” Arabella gave me an expectant look.
“You have to let her go, you dope.” Porter grinned.
I released her, and she hurried up the stairs.
“I think you’re going to need a minute.” Porter made a show of glancing at my crotch. “Wouldn’t want to take a bullet in the boner.”
“Fuck off.” I adjusted my pants and followed Arabella around the side of the storm shelter.
Santa leaned against the structure, one hand at his side where blood soaked a small area of his khaki Sheriff’s deputy uniform.
“How bad is it?” Arabella knelt next to him.
“Just grazed me.”
“Right in the old bowl full of jelly.” Porter cocked his head to the side as a now-familiar siren pierced the chilly air. “You’ll be fixed up in no time.”
Santa, though pale, still managed a smile. “I’m the first Morrison County deputy to be shot in the line of duty since the 70s.”
“You’re right, Santa.” Porter patted him on the shoulder. “You’re a big fucking deal.”
Arabella scanned the tree line. “Any idea where the shot came from?”
“Nope.” Porter pointed in a wide, useless arc. “Somewhere over there.”
“We lost him.” A voice crackled through Porter’s radio. “He may have already hit the highway by now.”
“Damnit!” Arabella rose, any hint of her earlier softness gone. “Let’s get those boxes and get back to town. Whatever is in them is the key to this mess.” She kept her eyes on the trees. “We have to figure it out before the next body drops.”
* * *
Charlotte stared as Porter and I carried the banker’s boxes into the police station. I’d called her down to the station. We couldn’t risk leaving her unprotected at my place, not to mention she wanted in on the investigation.
The officer at the front desk breathed a sigh of relief as Arabella strode in. “Ms. King here tried to argue her way into your office. Garvey’s too.”
“It’s all right, Helen. The Kings are helping me with the investigation.”
“Logan shot, a deputy shot, the Chief busy with Lina—it’s like the whole place is coming down around us.” Helen, an older woman with a flustered air blanched. “Has there been someone else? Another murder.”
“No, I think we have plenty, don’t you?” Arabella hurried past and pulled open a set of double doors to an office area.
“What are those?” Charlotte tapped my box as we followed Arabella past the reception desk.
“Files from the judge’s place. One of them is from the firm.” I hefted the box a little higher as Arabella led us to a conference room to the right.
“Maybe we should have gone to my office.” Porter frowned at the peeling dry erase board and the pock-marked table. “Why do I have such better stuff?”
“Because you get way more funding from the county and the state.” Arabella pulled a chair across the dull tile floor and sat down. “We get whatever the town gives us, which isn’t much.”
“Righ
t.” Porter examined one of the plastic chairs and sat.
“Why did Judge Ingles have stuff from the firm?” Charlotte opened her laptop and searched the wall for an outlet.
“Either Dad gave it to him or he took it.” I sank into another one of the chairs, this one with a worn cushion.
Arabella propped the door open with a brick that seemed to be sitting outside the room for just that purpose. “Helen! Can you brew us some coffee?”
“Sure thing,” Helen yelled back.
No one else was in the office. “When do you think Chief Garvey will be back?” I pulled a chunk of folders from the firm box, while Charlotte took the other half and set them in front of her.
“With Lina awake? I don’t know. He may not come back today.” Arabella glanced at a clock above the white board. It was ten minutes slow. “I’ve got a few hours to work with before bedtime. Let’s—”
“You’re going to bed?” Porter gawked at her. “There’s a killer on the loose and you’re—”
I kicked his chair. “Bedtime for her daughter, you idiot. She’s got to go put Vivi to bed.”
“Oh.” He grinned sheepishly. “My bad, Arabella. I forgot you had that little one.”
“It’s fine.” She grabbed a dry erase marker and began writing names on the board. My father’s name materialized at the top of a circle. Light Eyes and Judge Ingles shared a spot in the center.
“Let’s see what we have here.” Charlotte set down her laptop bag and flipped open the first folder.
I grabbed one and did the same as Porter drummed his index fingers on the table. The noise quickly became maddening.
“Try the laptop.” I pulled it from the box and slid it to Porter.
He opened it as I started combing through the file. Documents concerning my subdivision—specifically receipts—lay inside. I flipped through them. Plenty of them were from businesses in and around Azalea. But they were all paid in cash. Invoices from construction firms had been paid in cash, as well. It wasn’t normal practice, not when it came to such large expenditures. But the invoices had been broken up over weeks, so each payment didn’t seem so damning.
“These are from a New Jersey business. Ray’s Roofing.” Charlotte pulled out her phone, her thumbs flying. After a few moments, she said, “It’s not a thing. At least not in the town listed on the receipt for work done.”
I flipped back a few pages. “For roofing, right?”
“Yeah.”
“What lot is that receipt for?”
“This is lots four and five—the ones around the corner from your place with that big oak tree between them.”
Pulling out a document, I slid it over to her. “Same here.”
She picked up the paper. “This is for Gary’s Roofing. Lots four and five.”
“They double billed for costs.” I thumbed through some more records. “It’s like they built the subdivision twice over. One set of bills getting paid with cash. The other set entirely make believe.”
Arabella stopped writing. “They did the fake ones to defray tax costs, right?”
“Yeah, that has to be it.” I grabbed another manila folder. “The real work would get paid for in cash, which is a smart way to wash dirty money.”
“How does money get dirty, exactly?” Porter stared at the laptop screen.
“It’s not physically dirty, it’s—”
“I know that.”
I continued, “It’s money that doesn’t have an explanation. Like money made selling drugs or prostitutes or underground gambling operations. Illegal money that doesn’t get reported to the IRS. Because it isn’t reported—and it’s all cash—it’s dirty. And because it’s dirty, it can’t be used.”
“Why not?” Porter cocked his head to the side, likely imagining a Scrooge McDuck pool of cash and wondering why he couldn’t spend it.
Arabella jumped in. “Because if you went and bought, let’s say, a house for half a million bucks or even a hundred thousand dollars, you can’t show up to the closing with all that in cash. The seller wouldn’t accept it because the IRS would be all over them and you, wanting to know where that money came from. That kind of money can’t just appear out of thin air without raising questions.”
“Right.” I nodded. “The only way to use it is to go to businesses that only take cash. But you can’t live like that, not anymore. You need credit cards and bank accounts and an entire electronic trail to purchase houses or real estate or fancy cars or that yacht you’ve had your eye on. If you tried to buy those things with unaccounted-for cash, the IRS would swoop in and bust you in no time. If you went to your bank and tried to deposit half a million in unaccounted-for cash, the IRS would get you there, too. Dirty money. To make it clean, you’ve got to give it a history, get it into the banking system steadily. Then it’s laundered.”
“So, Dad and Judge Ingles were washing the money by getting it into banks without raising suspicion?” Porter’s eyebrows drew together as he followed along.
“Looks like it. The New Jersey people would send the money, all dirty cash, to Judge Ingles and Dad. Then they’d take that money and pay for what they could in cash. Like the subdivision improvements or—”
“The shitty burger joint’s renovation.” Charlotte held up a thick file. “Same thing. Two sets of receipts. There’s the florist here as well as the antique shop and a few more businesses.”
Porter cocked his head to the side. “But if they paid the dirty money for stuff, how did they get clean money back?”
Arabella leaned over my shoulder and studied the documents. “When Benton and his neighbors bought their houses. They paid clean money for them. That entire subdivision is a giant cash-washing machine. When Letty made money on flower sales. When the burger place got customers. Those last two are heavy cash businesses. But their actual operations likely served more as a tax harbor than anything else. No way they made more than they spent.”
“Oh.” Porter nodded as if he grasped it all, but I wasn’t so sure.
“Even with all that, there must be more somewhere. Something we’re missing. Those things were somewhat finite. The subdivision was built. The businesses aren’t churning much money. There’s something else.” Arabella returned to the board, writing out clues, names, and bits of information.
I settled in to review every piece of paper I could get my hands on. “We’re going to need more coffee.”
28
Arabella
“Bennon?” Vivi looked up at me with her big eyes.
“He’s working on something.” I stroked my hand down her hair and placed the fourth story of the evening on her bedside table. Mom guilt.
“He want to come see me?”
“Of course.” I couldn’t help but smile. “He did, but we’re trying to fix something, and it’s taking a lot of extra work.”
“That why you not home?” She hugged her unicorn stuffie tight.
“Right.”
She dropped her voice. “Sarah Ellen said people got dead. She said you were supposed to find who made them get dead.” Her eyes widened. “Are you going to get dead?”
I took a breath as the gut punch resonated through me. “No, sweetheart. I won’t get dead.” I kissed her hair.
“Don’t get dead, Mommy.” She threw her arms around me and squeezed. “Please.”
I hugged her and swayed back and forth, rocking her slowly the way I used to do when I could cradle her in my arms. “Nothing’s going to happen.” I kissed her crown again, then pulled the sheet over her as she lay down.
“Promise?” She still had round cheeks, the baby not completely faded from her. I could still kiss her cheeks and hug her until she protested and informed me she was a big girl. Sassy and full of heart. I hoped she’d never change.
“I promise.” I dropped another kiss on her nose and stood. “Now get to sleep. School in the morning.”
“Will you take me?”
“I’ll try to, baby.”
“Bring Bennon?�
� A sly smile twisted her cherub lips.
“I don’t think so.”
“Bring Bennon.” The question was gone, replaced with a command.
“I’ll think about it. Now go on and get some sleep.” I flipped the light off and met Mom in the hall.
“You can’t go back out there.” She put a hand on her hip, her fragile frame even smaller in the dimly lit living room.
“I have to.” I swept my hair back and grabbed a ponytail holder from the odds and ends drawer just inside the kitchen.
“No, you don’t. What you have to do is be here to raise that baby. Vivi needs you. Alive.” Her scolding felt just as rough as it had when I was an unruly teenager. She could somehow manage to put four buckets of guilt into a thimbleful of words.
“Mom, this is my job. I’m the one—”
She grabbed my chin and tilted my face down to hers, her lips pressed in a thin line and her eyes searching my forehead.
“What are you doing?” I finished tying my hair back.
“Looking for a lightning scar, since you clearly think you’re the chosen one.”
“Oh my god, Mom!” I gently pushed her hand away, then skirted the edge of the couch to escape her. “You’ve been watching Harry Potter too much with Vivi. This is what I do, okay? I’m going to solve this case and make the city safe for us.”
“We are safe. It’s the rich bastards around here that keep winding up dead.”
“What, Mom, what?” My fatigue began to boil over into anger. “You just want me to let them get picked off one by one and do nothing to stop it?”
“They aren’t us.”
“I promised to protect and serve everyone in Azalea, not just us!”
“They don’t give a damn about you! They don’t need you. Vivi does. I do. Those people were happy to lord their money over us—over you—the whole time you were growing up, and even after. Why are you so desperate to sacrifice yourself for them?”
“It’s not about us versus them!” I slammed my hand on the back of the couch. “It’s about doing what’s right. It’s about—”
