By the time we pulled up at my place, I was half asleep. I rolled up the window and climbed out. Laurel was blinking at her dashboard.
“Come inside. I’ll make coffee.” She nodded and reached for the handle without looking. I led the way to my front door. She stumbled on the stairs. Twice. “Reyes said you were up all night.”
“Yeah. Miles Yang was brought in yesterday afternoon. He died.” She wasn’t enunciating. She wasn’t even trying.
“Couch.” I pointed. “Sit while I start coffee.”
Laurel aimed for the couch. She sat down and leaned her head back. The woman needed sleep. I knew she wouldn’t willingly take a nap, but hopefully she would crash if I left her unattended. It was that or let her drive home. Driving wasn’t a good option. Whatever adrenaline she’d been operating on had run its course.
I went into the kitchen and finished putting together my abandoned coffee machine. I stuck my head around the corner again. Laurel was asleep. Thank God. If she slept, I could sleep.
Laurel didn’t notice when I untied her oxfords and slid them off. She didn’t even react when I lifted her feet onto the couch. She just turned onto her side and settled in.
In my room, I stripped off my jeans, tossed my hat, and fell into bed. My head was pounding. The sheet next to me moved, then meowed. Nickels wiggled out from under the sheet.
“Did I disturb you?” I asked.
She meowed and jumped off the bed. I closed my eyes. When I opened them again, the room was warm and the sun had shifted. I could hear water running in the bathroom. The clock read mid afternoon. I’d been asleep for five hours. I got out of bed and went down the hallway. The bathroom door was open. Laurel was washing her face at the sink.
“You just wake up?” I leaned against the doorframe.
“Yeah.” She straightened. Water dripped off her chin. I handed her a clean towel. “I haven’t slept that much in a week.”
“You should work on that.” I leaned around her and opened a drawer. There was a stack of new toothbrushes somewhere. I dug around until I found one. “Here. I’m going to start that coffee for real now. If you want, T-shirts are in the second drawer of my dresser. Take your time.”
“Thanks.”
I nodded and left her to it. I didn’t know why I was being kind. Not one of my usual instincts. Maybe I was going soft in my old age. I hit the button on the coffee machine, then went in search of sustenance. Sadly, it was my kitchen so there was no sustenance. Plenty of beer. Andy had left one lone bottle of trendy soda and half a case of sparkling water in my fridge. I heard footsteps in the hallway.
“Is it weird to order pizza for breakfast if it’s after noon?” I asked.
“Depends.” Laurel rounded the corner. “If we drink all the coffee before it gets here, can we have beer?” She had chosen a vintage Little League T-shirt. The sponsor was a video rental place. Half the number on the back had worn off. It was one of my favorite shirts.
“I think it’s probably a requirement. Coffee and pizza would be blasphemy.”
“Sounds like solid logic to me,” she said.
I poured coffee and handed her a mug. She took it to the couch and checked her phone. I called in the pizza, then joined her.
“We’ve got forty-five.”
“This is odd. Right?” she asked.
“What?”
“This. Us. Here. I don’t know if I’m a cop or a guest or your ex or what. Like am I supposed to pretend I don’t know where you keep the coffee mugs?”
“I don’t know.” I shrugged. “I’m pretty sure there are no rules about the proper conduct in this situation. Our circumstances are slightly unique.”
“Just slightly?” She grinned.
“And pretending that you don’t know where the coffee mugs are probably won’t solve our problems.”
“I suppose not.”
“So we’ll figure it out. And it will probably be fucking weird sometimes.”
“Super fucking weird.”
“I’m not ready to forgive you.”
“And I’m still mad that you’re mad,” she said.
“Hey, look, we agree,” I said brightly. “We’re both pissed. And it may or may not be rational.”
“We also both think the other’s job is bullshit.”
“And we both think the other lies to themselves about the morality of the job,” I said.
Laurel started laughing. “Christ, we’re broken, aren’t we?”
“But broken in very similar ways. So that’s cool.” Sarcasm was a perfectly functional coping mechanism. There was no need to weigh down honesty with sincerity. “More coffee?”
“Please.” She handed me her empty mug.
We were so polite.
There was a knock when I was getting coffee. Back door, not front. I handed Laurel her mug on the way to the door. Andy. Dammit.
“Hey, tiger.”
“Isn’t it too hot for coffee?” Andy walked past me and got her own mug of coffee from the kitchen. She came back and leaned against the doorway to the kitchen. “Hey, Laurel.”
“Hey, bud.”
“So what’s up? Mom said you guys broke up. Isn’t it too soon for the whole lesbian exes becoming best friends thing?” Andy asked.
Laurel looked at me. It was the first time I’d seen genuine panic from her. Insane dirty cop shoots her, she’s like shrugging and glaring at me. Angry uniform kicks her ass while fake arresting her, no big. But a fifteen-year-old wants a relationship update and she’s having a silent meltdown?
“It’s complicated,” I said. Too late, I realized how vapid it sounded.
Andy started laughing. “That’s insulting to literally everyone in this room. Are you together or not?”
“Not,” I said.
“Are you screwing?”
“Anderson Ward,” I said. Laurel was still rocking a paralyzed thing.
Andy did a teenage sigh-eye roll-huff combo. “Sorry. Are you romantically involved?”
“None of your business. You can ask us questions, but don’t be a dick. That’s not cool.”
“Fine. Are you friends?”
I didn’t want to lie. But I also didn’t know the answer to that question. Honesty would have been easier without Laurel sitting there holding me accountable.
“We’re working on that,” Laurel said.
“Like working on becoming friends?”
“Yeah.”
“Why did you break up?”
“Take it down a notch, kid. You don’t get to interrogate us.” It felt strange to put up boundaries. I’d rarely done so with Andy.
“Is it ’cause of your job?” Andy asked me. “And that whole thing?”
I took a moment to breathe. Maybe I didn’t owe her an explanation. But maybe I did. She was still a kid, but she was on the cusp of adulthood. I absolutely owed her respect. “Yes. And you can speak freely. Laurel knows everything.”
The panic was back in Laurel’s eyes.
“So she knows you’re a drug dealer? And she’s not cool with it?” Andy asked.
“I was totally cool,” Laurel said. She sounded upset. As if suggesting she wasn’t cool with drug dealers impugned her honor. Not the hill I would have died on, but that was her call.
“Then why did you break up with Cash?” Aww, it was nice to have Andy fighting for me. Even if it was based on erroneous assumptions.
“I didn’t,” Laurel said. “I mean, technically, she broke up with me.”
I groaned. And then I realized I’d groaned out loud. “Seriously?”
“I’m just trying to be honest here.” Laurel made it sound like I was the asshole.
“Okay, will someone tell me what’s going on? Mom was all weird and vague. You two are awkward as hell,” Andy said.
I looked at Laurel. I knew damn well I wasn’t supposed to tell people that she was a cop and I was a CI. She knew damn well too. We had an intense staring contest. I wasn’t sure which of us won.
“Have a s
eat, Anderson,” Laurel said in cop voice.
Andy straightened. It looked involuntary. She tilted her head to the side, waited a beat, then sat rigidly next to Laurel on the couch.
“Laurel,” I said. My warning was token. We both knew it.
“You already told Robin, right?” Laurel asked me.
“Yeah.”
“Andy will find out eventually. This way we can control the flow of information and explain the importance of keeping silent.”
“Your call,” I said. Andy was watching our exchange, but she was mildly cowed. This was the most silence I’d ever gotten from her.
Laurel caught Andy’s eyes and held just long enough to guarantee she had her attention. “I’m going to share some information with you, but I need you to promise that you won’t share it. Not with your friends. Not with your teachers. Not with the cute girl at the record store. This is not something you can brag with or use to win an argument or threaten someone. It doesn’t matter how much you trust someone or how cool they are.”
“Okay.”
“If you do tell someone, it could put Cash in danger. It could also endanger me or Nate.”
“I got it. I promise.” Andy’s hands were wrapped tight around her coffee cup. Her skin was turning streaks of white and rose.
“I’m a detective with the Sacramento Police Department. I was investigating Cash.”
A minute passed in silence. Two minutes. Andy set her mug on the table. She stood and shoved her hands in her pockets. She looked caged.
“Andy,” I said.
She shook her head at me. “So you dated Cash to investigate her?”
“Yes.”
“How did you get the case? Why was it assigned to you?” Andy asked.
Laurel hadn’t been expecting that question. “I sometimes work with an FBI task force in conjunction with my Sac PD detective unit. The lead agent asked for my help. My sergeant agreed.”
“They asked you ’cause you’re gay?” Andy leaned forward. She was towering over Laurel.
Laurel held steady. “I think that was part of it.”
“Why else?”
“I’m experienced at undercover work. I have a background in narcotics investigations, as does my partner. I fit the physical description they were looking for.” Laurel ticked off points. Andy nodded along. She seemed to relax as Laurel lulled her out of her anger with rote facts.
“I saw you kissing Cash. That day we were barbecuing.” It was both a statement and an accusation.
“Yes.”
“Did they tell you to do that?” Andy asked.
“No.”
“Why did you?”
“I don’t know,” Laurel said.
“That’s not good enough.” Andy wasn’t quite shouting, but she wasn’t using her inside voice either.
“All right, back off a little, tiger,” I said.
Andy spun to face me. “No, that’s not fair.”
“That’s not the point.”
“It is the point. You guys like each other. But they ruined it. They used you. They made Laurel a whore. And they made you a—What do you call someone who hires a whore?”
“A John?” Laurel was so fucking helpful.
“Yeah. A John. They made you a John.”
Laurel and I were silent. I wasn’t sure how to respond to that. It wasn’t a kind assessment. It wasn’t entirely wrong either.
The doorbell rang. I answered it in a daze. Pizza. I signed the receipt, tipped the guy. Laurel and Andy hadn’t moved. I put the pizza on the table.
Laurel dropped her gaze to her lap. Her hands were clenched together. “I have a set of rules for undercover work. Every detective does. What you’re willing to do, what you’re not willing to do. The drugs you’ll use to prove yourself to a perp. The lies you’ll tell. But romantic entanglements are so rare. Most detectives never have to add that to the list.” She looked up at me. “I knew going in exactly what my rules were.”
I looked away. I still couldn’t hear this.
“What changed?” Andy asked.
“I became invested.”
“Is that why you’re still hanging around? ’Cause it’s probably not cool to try to date someone you just took down.”
“No, I wouldn’t.”
“Then why are you here?” Andy didn’t even try to make that sound polite.
“Continuing to date is a cover. Cash is my informant,” Laurel said.
“Why?” Andy asked me.
“I was offered a plea deal. I help Laurel and her partner. They don’t put me in jail.”
“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me. So the cops make her investigate you by dating you.” Andy was angry pointing. It felt confrontational as hell. “You guys—like idiots—fall for each other. And now you have to pretend to date someone you’re legit in love with. But it’s probably totally illegal or against the rules for you to actually be together.”
“Umm,” Laurel said. I fully supported that umm.
“Jesus Christ. And you’re both totally cool with it.” Andy stomped to the door. “This is fucked. I’m a kid and I can see that. You guys need to think about your life choices or something.”
She left Laurel and I staring at each other.
“Well, that was…” she said.
“Yep.”
“You said there’s beer?”
“Yep.”
Laurel went to the kitchen and returned with beer and plates. “I know where the plates are.”
I took a long pull from my beer. “I can see that.”
We ate half the pizza. Finished our beer. I got up and brought back another beer for each of us.
“So you want to just bury everything Andy said and pretend it never happened?” Laurel asked.
I laughed. It was only a little forced. “Yeah. Let’s do that.”
She reached out her bottle. I tapped the neck of mine against hers. “We’re healthy.”
“You’re not a whore,” I said. We could gloss over all that unpleasantness. For now. But she needed to know that.
“You’re not a John.”
“Thanks.”
“One thing,” Laurel said.
“What’s that?”
“I know you don’t trust me. I get that. But I need you to trust me professionally. Trust that I’m working for your best interests.”
Sure she was. Cops always worked for the best interests of drug dealers-turned CIs. “I will as long as you actually work for my best interests.”
“I will.” There was something desperate in her tone. I looked up. She was staring intently at me. Something in her eyes made the words a covenant. I desperately wanted to believe her, and I hated myself for that trust.
“It goes both ways though.” I gathered our plates and bottles and took them into the kitchen.
“What do you mean?”
I came back and leaned against the doorway to the kitchen. “The complaint that was filed against you. Assholes like Gibson. It affects me too. I don’t want to be collateral damage when some dick is trying to ruin your career.”
Laurel grinned. “Gee, thanks.”
“You know what I mean.”
“I do. I just don’t think you can do much about that stuff. I can’t even do anything about it,” she said.
“I can’t if I don’t know about it. You have to trust me professionally too.”
Laurel nodded. “Yeah, okay.”
I didn’t know if either of us meant it. We could have been exchanging empty words. It felt better than silence though.
Chapter Seven
The closer I got to Braddock Farm, the more numb I became. Last time I’d been to the farm, it made me sick. I had expected the same this time. Instead it was underwhelming emptiness.
Today, I wasn’t fighting Clive. He and I had never been good at it. Not when I was the unruly kid he was raising, not once I’d grown and we were equals. It helped that we rarely disagreed. But now we disagreed.
It didn’t ma
tter. Today, I’d bury my disbelief. He would hide his distrust.
I didn’t know if I should be disappointed in myself for giving up on Clive so quickly. It didn’t feel like giving up though. It felt like waiting. At some point he would get his comeuppance. He would admit how wrong he’d been. Hopefully, Henry wouldn’t need to actually kill someone for that moment to come to fruition.
Until then, I would wait. Every day that passed in stasis felt like it degraded my bond with Clive. But that was on him. I’d done everything I could.
I parked behind the house. Shelby’s car was there. Not surprising. She did work at the farm, after all. But I hadn’t been expecting her. Maybe she could be a buffer. I didn’t know if wanting a buffer was a good or bad thing. I let myself in. Clive and Shelby were at the dining room table with every piece of paper in the house spread before them. Dining room meant serious.
“There’s my little felon.” Shelby jumped up and hugged me. “I’m getting more tea. You want some?”
“Sure, thanks.” I didn’t want tea, but I knew better than to tell her that.
“Hey, Cash.” Clive leaned back and wrapped his arm around my waist. I hugged him back briefly. I knew I was stiff, but I didn’t try to hide it.
Shelby came back with a glass of iced tea for me. She topped off her and Clive’s glasses. I sat across from Clive. An upside-down look at the documents on the table suggested they were in the middle of a financial review.
“This looks fun.”
“It’s worse than it looks. We’ve been doing this for hours,” Clive said.
Shelby gave him a sympathetic look. “You know how he feels about numbers.”
I smiled at her. “I remember.”
“They aren’t natural. I like soil. That’s real. This isn’t real.” He sounded petulant.
“That’s silly and untrue,” Shelby said.
“So why are you guys torturing yourselves?” I knew we needed to review our finances. The farm needed to be indisputably separate from my business. But we had already done the bulk of that work. This was overkill.
“I want the farm to be sustainable on its own,” Clive said. That wasn’t new information. Our goal had always been independence. “Our last projections put that date roughly five years away. We clearly need to move that timetable up.”
The Price of Cash Page 6
