by W Winters
It doesn’t seem possible, but somehow Cody’s large frame gets closer to me as his hands grip my shoulders. “You need to give me something about how he got in,” he tells me, his sharp blue eyes begging me even though his statement is barely spoken, it’s a dark whisper.
With one hand shoving his right hand off of me, I step away from him, regaining myself.
“I was standing right there,” I say and point over by the coffee maker. “And I heard him before anything. He knew my name. He broke into my house yesterday.” The sudden exposure, voicing out loud the lack of boundaries that man has, leaves me feeling numb all over.
“I know,” he says and Cody’s voice is gentle, consoling even. “I know he did that. He left roses. But that was yesterday and that was your apartment, not here…” his voice trails off and then he adds that Taylor told him. Taylor didn’t know what to think, but Taylor hasn’t worked against someone like Marcus before.
“You’re sure you never saw him? He came close to you into this kitchen and you never saw him?”
It takes me a moment to realize he’s questioning if I really saw what I saw. Is that what he’s doing?
Spitefulness lingers in my tone. “He was standing right there,” I practically yell, pointing to the corner. I’m quick to point out the evidence. The physical proof he was here. “He left this,” I say and snatch the flash drive off the counter then shove it into Cody’s chest. “He has the name of the man who left the threat in my office. He said he wants to help me.”
My throat is raw from the indignation of my statements. The evidence lining up. “He was here, Cody! He came into your house and he could have hurt me, but he didn’t.” I keep from screaming only by forcing the words through clenched teeth. The tremors return, the anxiousness from knowing everything that could have happened.
When I look back up at Cody, resting my elbows on the counter in an attempt to steady myself, regret lays in his expression. It takes a moment before Cody’s brow morphs into a straight line, leaving a deep crease in the center of his forehead. The anger that brews there for the man named Marcus only makes Agent Walsh look more protective.
“He came in here and left this for you? And that’s all he did?” he questions again. And again I lie.
I nod yes, although it’s a short-lived motion. “Yes, and then he left and you came. You came in right after. He just left. He was just here.” My sentences tumble out at once and again I cross my arms in front of me protectively. Glancing from the corner where Marcus was and then back up to Cody.
“Are you okay?” he asks yet again and I watch the cords around his throat tighten as he swallows. I respond weakly, “Yes.” I am okay. It’s difficult for me to grasp. The grim reaper himself kissed me. The man who everyone fears wanted to kiss me.
“He didn’t hurt you or threaten you?”
“No, he didn’t. It was the opposite. He said he would help me. He promised to protect me. How did he get in here, Cody?” I ask the more pertinent question.
“I don’t know.” His answer is cold. “We need to get out of here and do a sweep.”
“No, no, don’t tell anyone.” I’m quick to cut him off and then reach for his forearm when his shock and hesitancy are evident. “He has proof; he wants to work with… with us.” I include Cody, praying he’ll listen while a tingling sensation spreads through me that feels an awful lot like desperation. If Marcus knows who’s after me… I would rather work with one devil, than die by the hand of another.
“Hire new guys and have them do a sweep for precaution. Hopefully figure out how the hell he got in. But don’t tell them.” I peer into his questioning gaze as I plead with him. “Please. I want to catch this guy as much as you, but if he knows who’s after me…” I let my plea hang in the air, most of it unsaid as my heart bows in agony in my chest. What am I doing? What am I even asking?
“You need—”
With my hand on his, I leave only an inch between us, praying that he’ll listen to me. “I know what I need. I know the look on your face. The look that you know better and that I’m not all right.” I tilt my head up to meet his gaze and prove I’m all right, keeping my spine stiff and my shoulders squared.
“You want to make a deal with him? A deal with a murderer?” Cody doesn’t hide the slight disgust, which adds another layer to my shame, but there’s also a hint of hope. Because he didn’t say no.
“There was no deal…” I whisper the lie, finding it hard to keep eye contact with the man in front of me. A man who came back here to help me. A man I lie in bed with. A man who right now, looks at me as if I’ve lost my mind.
After a moment of quiet, he questions, “Are you sure about this?”
I don’t hesitate to answer yes. Swallowing thickly, I remember all of Brass’s case. I remember it all and vengeance spurs inside of me. “If we could get Brass—”
Cody cuts me off, changing the dialogue between us as he says, “If we could get Marcus, it would be the end to three open cases and a string of murders.”
“I know. I know.”
“You’re shaken up right now.” Cody’s strong hand lands on my shoulder, pulling me in closer and I pull away just slightly, hating that he’s placating me.
“Come here, Delilah. As me and you. For the love of God, let me hold you.”
“I don’t want to tell.” I offer up my end of the bargain and that’s exactly what this is.
“Let me hold you.” Cody repeats his, his brow lifting and his arms opening.
With my feet planted I tell him, “We aren’t telling anyone anything and we need to see what’s on that flash drive.”
After a short pause of consideration, Cody agrees and pulls me in, telling me he’s sorry he wasn’t here. Murmuring all the right things and it’s in his arms that I feel right again. My mind right and sound. But he can’t hold me forever.
Cody
“I saw your APB. Figured you’d want to come see this.” Officer Brady nods his head as I walk carefully across the street while avoiding piles of litter and head to the back of the convenience store.
“Just put it in last night,” I call out over the loud drone of traffic behind us. The APB for Herman Jackson went out the second I got his name from the flash drive Marcus sent. The fucker was as good as dead. Apparently someone else thought the same.
The city is bright and lively against the stark yellow tape I know so well, draping the crime scene and bringing in onlookers.
Brady lifts the tape and the two of us duck under. With my watch telling me it’s 9:00 a.m., I know it’s been an hour since the body was found. It took that long for me to get through morning traffic so I could see it for myself.
Someone offed Herman Jackson before I could. The rage that boils inside of me, knowing I can’t question him, isn’t unexpected.
“You sure it’s him?” I question, keeping my pace with his as we avoid the trash bags and stand over the body. With his dark beard, height, and evidence of a long-ago broken nose, I know this is him. Herman’s dead on the street in front of me.
Fuck. I stare to my right, hands on my hips as Brady pulls out the victim’s wallet from an evidence bag to check for ID. The crowd doesn’t try to hide their curiosity, but from this angle, I know they can’t see a damn thing.
After I hired Evan’s crew, we did a full sweep, we checked the camera footage. Bastard must’ve had Delilah’s phone tapped when I told her the code. He was there before she even got there, turning off the cameras. I won’t make that mistake again.
She’s not allowed to be by herself. Whether she likes it or not. Dread eats me alive at the thought of Delilah and him being left alone together. She knows damn well what he’s capable of; we both do.
It’s not going to happen. It can’t happen.
“Yeah well, judging by the body, he was already dead, probably forty-eight hours at most.” Brady’s voice brings me back to now. Back to the fact that this fucker was dead before Marcus even told Delilah about him.
I give Brady a nod, short and to the point. “You have any idea who did it?” Brady questions. He’s a street cop who I’ve seen a handful of times. Enough that I know his name. I know he has a wife and kids, two, I think. Running a hand over the back of his head he adds, “If you’ve got any leads, I’ll take them. Unless the FBI is taking this case from me?”
Clicking the side button to my phone with irritation, I note Marcus hasn’t written back.
My own message to him sits there. You crossed a line going to her. If you touch her, I’ll kill you. I won’t think twice about it.
“This one’s yours. He was only wanted for questioning. I put it out for a friend,” I answer Brady, feeling a tightness linger in my chest.
“All right,” he concedes, and another cop calls him over, back to the street side, her hand covering a phone and telling him someone needs him.
“You good here?” he asks me and I nod, patting his back for good measure. “Thanks, Brady.”
Again I drift back to the texts, hating that he’s one step ahead of me. Pain lingers in the message. Acts done in fear are harmful and lack intelligence. He told me that once and it stuck with me, because it’s so fucking true. I never should have sent it. I gave him the edge. I can’t deny that his willingness to approach Delilah scares me. What Marcus is capable of, terrifies me. Even if I feel pity for him. Even if I brought all this on…
“Walsh, you hear me?” Officer Brady questions, staring up at me from where he’s now crouched on the ground next to the body.
“No, what’s that?”
“There’s a note if you want to take a look at it. Just in case it has to do with your case.”
A note? Goosebumps spread in an instant, taking me back to the first case that I ever worked on where Marcus was involved.
Already tucked away in a ziplock plastic bag, Brady passes me the note.
It’s not in his handwriting, it’s in the font of a phone message. Same size too.
That motherfucker. It takes everything in me not to react when I read it. To stay calm and pretend to rack my brain for what it could mean when I know damn well it’s from Marcus.
* * *
I’ll be her hero this time.
The hero gets the kiss.
* * *
The coroner and another cop come up alongside us, distracting Brady for a moment as he watches them. With fire in my blood, I hand the note back to him, clearing my throat to get his attention. “Sorry man, I have no idea, but I’d get that to processing.”
I’ll be damn sure to keep an eye on the forensics for this case, but I already know it’s a dead end.
There won’t be any evidence. Marcus doesn’t leave anything behind. He’s too careful. All this was intended as a show for me.
“If you could keep me updated with the case, I’d appreciate it,” I say then tilt my head to stare down at the body and add, “I want to know all of his connections.”
“What is it you think he did?” Brady questions, standing up and wrinkling his nose from the stench.
I keep my tone as casual as I can. “He threatened a lawyer I know, trying to cover up a case she was working on.”
“How do you know it was him?”
“A kid IDed him.” That was the first call I got. This was the second.
And there’s not a damn thing I can do now, but question Ross Brass without a warrant. I already know how that will end.
Delilah
With the suspect Herman dead, Claire didn’t fight me when I said I wanted to get back to work. She did say I had to see the department psychologist first though. Luckily, he cleared me.
He doesn’t know about Marcus and Claire doesn’t either. That is, nothing apart from the incident in the parking garage and the suspicion that it may have been Marcus. The leading theory now is that it was someone hired by Herman. At least that’s one of several.
Cody’s on board to keep quiet about what happened between Marcus and me, plus the flash drive. It’s not like we could use it in court anyway. It’s inadmissible evidence because of how it was acquired. The kid IDing Herman we can use, though. Now it’s just a matter of tying Herman to Brass.
The terminology “rot” is all I’ve got to work with and that’s not enough for a warrant. I don’t need a warrant to know that Herman worked closely with a man named Harrold Reynolds. He owns a dry cleaning business on Thirty-fourth Street. He was never a suspect in any case, but he was brought in countless times for questioning. His lawyer is familiar to our firm. He represents the mob.
It doesn’t make sense. Or least it wouldn’t without the bank accounts and proof of laundering. His former secretary is one of the women I suspected was murdered by Ross Brass, although I never did know why.
And there’s the connection, if only I can find new evidence that wasn’t tampered with that would lead Ross back to the secretary’s murder, which connects him to Reynolds who is already connected to Herman. It could be my way in. My mind spins, going through everything just as it has all morning and afternoon well into the evening. Glancing at the clock in the upper right corner, it’s already 8:00 p.m. It’s time to go.
But the case doesn’t quit.
Ross Brass committed a series of murders and got off on evidence tampering. The man whose release got me so worked up that I fell into a PR nightmare. I know he killed those girls… the laundering part is new, though.
Maybe Ross was the first man for hire. He isn’t the starting point, so we’ll have to look back further. I’m not sure, but the evidence on the flash drive files isn’t enough. There are deposits to a number of bank accounts, but none can firmly be traced. Not without a warrant and I don’t have evidence I can submit to get that warrant.
The theory: The mob hired Ross to launder. Ross used the money and Harrold Reynolds to commit other crimes, eventually leading to murders. When he got caught, he hired Harrold’s buddy, Herman, to get him off. It worked, but I pissed off Ross with my comment and Herman was hired again. Maybe I would have been murder number five. Maybe I still will be.
It’s only a theory with weak connections. Still, it’s a theory. My tired eyes stare at the white computer screen. There are so many pieces, so many crimes and only so much information I have that can go toward motive.
I click my phone on, wondering if I asked Marcus, would he tell me? Does he already know? Staring at his phone number listed under just the letter M, it feels like I have a direct line to the devil. It’s unused. Not a message has been sent back to him since the first text two nights ago… But I have it. I could use it. I could nail that son of a bitch if only I had more to go on. If I could get my hands on something definitive that no judge can dismiss.
A ping from my phone catches me off guard, my anger waning at the sound.
* * *
Are you doing all right?
The text from Cody stares back at me.
Am I all right? No.
Cody can tell I’m not and I hope he thinks I’m off because I came in close contact with Marcus. He’s got a hired man outside my door and it’s… at best, distracting. At worst it’s causing rumors and could be a potential lawsuit. “If the DEA allowed someone to come back to work while under protection…” Claire’s warning from earlier today echoes in my head. Telling her my boyfriend is just being protective earned a laugh and then a stern, “That better be all this is.”
Better than this morning, I message him back.
* * *
I don’t know what to think or really, what I was thinking when it all happened.
The shrink this morning told me to “jot it all down." As if it’s that easy. As if there are no repercussions. If I do, it’s evidence. If I don’t, I’m opening myself up to committing obstruction of justice. So, I haven’t written a damn thing.
I text Cody again, even as I stare at the bottle of expensive white wine that was waiting for me when I got in here. I’m fine. Not getting much work done, but I’m fine.
It’s a lie. When did I
become such a liar? Every other sentence out of my mouth today has been a lie.
When Cody asked me if I was all right being alone. When Claire questioned if I was stable enough to come in. Not to mention the lying I did in the shrink’s office.
Just thinking about that session has me eyeing the bottle of Valley Pines Pinot, my favorite wine, wanting to uncork it and have a long, slow sip of the sweet addiction. Hide away in a bottle and pretend like this past week never happened.
How can a small series of events over such a short period of time drastically affect me like this? They make me question who I am.
For instance, the wine. I know who it came from… and yet it remains where it is and I have every intention of drinking it. Maybe I felt unsafe at first.
I did what any normal person would do, what the previous version of myself would do.
I asked who brought it to my office. The bottle of red came in a pretty bag with a bow—and a note. I thought you might need this.
First roses, and now wine. It’s another gift from Marcus. I know his handwriting now.
He watches me; he must. How else would he know that I keep wine in the office and more importantly, that I was out, confiding in the psychologist just so I could get back in here. It was the perfect opportunity for a delivery man to bring in a package and no one would object or question in broad daylight. No one was here who would have thought it was suspect. It’s clearly a gift from a friend who heard what happened. I’m certain that’s what they all thought. Bought and paid for by John Smith according to Greg, the delivery man who signed in and left the wine with security.
Instead of telling anyone, I added it to my growing pile of secrets.
Marcus gets into places he shouldn’t be able to. He hides his identity with disguises and multiple aliases. Marcus is truly like a ghost. Coming and going as he pleases with no obligation to the laws the rest of us abide by.
