by K. A. Tucker
“Do you remember what the case was about?” I interrupt.
“Darlin’, I remember every detail about it, it was so bizarre.”
“And what’d my dad have for you?”
“Well, that’s a story and a half. I suppose I can tell you, seeing as my guy won’t be minding anymore. The way it went was the defendant swore up and down that he had a pile of cash in the trunk and that the cops stole it when they busted him outside this dive motel. I told him no one’s gonna buy what he’s sellin’. But, days later, lo and behold, I get a call from an APD cop—your dad—who tells me that he was there that night and he saw the whole thing shake down, and he had a video to prove it. He was ready to testify for my client against another officer.”
Something like giddiness fills my chest. “Who was the officer?”
“Don’t matter, does it?” He takes a sip of his coffee.
I’d love to push that it does matter, and that he has to give me a name, but I don’t want to give Maxwell a reason to grow suspicious and stop talking. “Did you see the video?”
“That’s the thing. Your dad died before I even had a chance to meet him in person. Needless to say, his testimony never made it to court.”
Despite my attempt to remain calm and innocent, my anger flares. “And you didn’t think it was at all strange that he was shot right after telling you he wanted to out a cop for corruption?”
“Honestly? The fact that he was gonna torpedo a slam-dunk drug bust seemed more strange. I mean, the defendant was guilty, there’s no two ways about it. And once your dad testified, his career in the APD would be as good as done and my guy might actually get out, and go on sellin’ drugs. Wilkes knew that. I couldn’t figure out why he’d do it.”
“You mean other than being an honest cop who wanted to do the right thing?”
“Well, yeah, sure . . . I guess. But that wasn’t the case here.” I glare at him and he quickly adds, “It was pretty obvious that your dad was doin’ one of his drug connections a favor. A retaliatory thing. That’s how all those gangs work.”
“Pretty obvious? Do you argue your court cases on ‘pretty obvious’?” I bite back the sharpness in my tone. I can’t blame Maxwell for thinking that my dad was lying to him. Why shouldn’t he think that? Someone went out of his way to make my dad look like the criminal.
And it sounds like there was one cop who stood to benefit from that.
Maxwell slaps the table once as he stands. “Well! These criminals aren’t gonna put themselves behind bars.”
“What happened to that drug dealer, anyway?”
Maxwell lets out a disgusted snort. “Oh, that idiot went to jail. There was no getting around a trunk full of drugs. ’Course, I threatened the prosecutor with leaking the story to the press. I mean, it’d never stick, but if the public heard that the cops walked away with a hundred grand in drug money, it’d sure tarnish our police department’s shiny reputation.”
I let out a mock whistle, even as dots keep connecting before my eyes. “A hundred grand?”
“Just shy of it, if I recall correctly. Anyway, it was a dirty trick on my part, but Silas fell for it.”
“Wait . . . Silas?”
“Yes, ma’am. He was the prosecutor. And he was so impressed with my bluffing game that he offered me this job. Which is good, ’cause I’m better off putting the guilty guys away than I am letting them go free. Worked out for everyone.”
For everyone but my father. I struggle to keep my voice even. “Did you tell Silas about this video?”
He chuckles. “Not straightaway. You don’t show your whole bag of tricks off the bat. I went in with ‘irrefutable evidence.’ ” He uses his fingers to air-quote. “Not until he agreed to knock off five years did I fess up about your dad claiming to have video proof of the defendant’s claims.”
My gaze wanders down the hall, toward where I know Noah and his uncle sit behind closed doors. Is Silas admitting all of this to him? Is he telling him that he knew about both the drug bust and the video?
And if Silas knew, why didn’t he do anything about it?
“So this drug dealer . . . he’s still in prison?” I need to talk to him.
“Nah, he ended up getting knifed to death by a rival gang inside a few years in.” Maxwell is so casual about it. “Some turf war. As far as I see it, he got what he deserved.”
And his stolen cash ended up going to a poor girl from a Tucson trailer park, it would seem.
There’s no doubt in my mind that Jackie Marshall knew where that money came from, and if my dad died because of that bag of money, I could see how she’d want it to go to us, as some twisted form of compensation.
But it doesn’t explain why she had the money in the first place.
Noah appears from around the corner then. Just in time. Maxwell has confirmed everything, and then some. “Hey.” His blue eyes drift over me on their way to Maxwell and I catch the heaviness of his thoughts in that gaze. “Thanks for keeping Gracie company.”
“You kidding? She’s a doll.”
I roll my eyes.
Maxwell turns to leave, and then stops. “Wait . . . You needed to talk to me about something?”
“He’ll have to catch up with you later. We have an appointment,” I answer for Noah, earning his wary glance. If Noah follows up asking the same questions I just did, Maxwell will see our conversation in an entirely different light. It’s better he thinks my dad was covering for the competition. For now.
“Well, now, y’all enjoy Austin while you’re here. And do me a favor.” He drops a heavy hand on Noah’s shoulder. “Be gentle on this guy. He’s a good one.” With a wink my way, Maxwell strolls down the hall, whistling the entire way.
“Gracie . . .”
I gather my things. “Just think, you wanted to leave me at home with Cyclops.”
“What did you tell Maxwell?” There’s a warning in his tone.
“I told him nothing. He told me everything.” I quietly fill him in.
Noah heaves a sigh. One of relief. He was afraid of what role the boisterous lawyer might have played in my father’s death. Just like he’s afraid of what role his mother might have played.
In Maxwell’s case, though, the only thing he’s guilty of is buying the setup.
“So, what did your uncle say?”
He shakes his head. “He needs time to sort through everything and decide the best way to proceed. Basically, he said that knowing something and proving it are two different things.”
“So he admitted that he knew about it?”
Noah frowns. “About what?”
“About how my dad had video evidence of Mantis stealing money at that drug bust.”
“No, he . . . he had no idea.” His frown grows deeper. “Why would you think that?”
I study Noah intently, searching for hints that he’s covering for his uncle. A downward cast, fidgeting, switching topics quickly . . . Noah’s a terrible liar and, now that I’m getting to know him, I’m easily able to spot when he’s lying or hiding things. After all, I’ve had plenty of practice over the last few days.
But in those pretty blue eyes, I see only confusion.
Silas didn’t tell him that he already knew.
The question is, why?
CHAPTER 34
Noah
“But it’s good, right? That Betsy didn’t turn up in that database?”
“I guess. It means she hasn’t been arrested for anything.”
“So what can we find out here?” Gracie’s shrewd green eyes scan the stark white interior of the Texas State Health Services office as we wait our turn. Thankfully it was quiet today, with only three people ahead of us in line, paperwork clutched within their grasps.
“Any certificates filed with her name and date of birth. Marriage, a childbirth . . . death.”
Gracie’s jaw tightens over that last word. It’s the only sign that she’s at all perturbed. She’s preparing herself for that possibility. Or, maybe at this
point, inevitability.
So am I. But searching for Gracie’s aunt is helping to keep my mind off other pressing issues.
Namely, why would Silas lie to me about the video and that drug bust?
But did he really lie? I’ve been playing the conversation over in my head. He never said he wasn’t aware of the bust or the video. I assumed he wasn’t. There must be some explanation for it.
Still . . . I saw the look on Gracie’s face when she told me and, in her mind, Silas’s name has been added to a long list of people who screwed over Abraham, people she doesn’t trust.
The clerk waves me up.
“Do me a favor and hang back,” I whisper to Gracie and then head for the counter, plastering on a fake smile. “How’s my favorite Health Services employee?”
Chelsea’s hazel eyes are filled with sympathy. “Hey, Noah. How are you doin’?” she asks in that soft Southern twang.
I shrug. “You know . . .”
She takes in my T-shirt. I’m usually in a button-down and tie when I come down here. “You back to work?”
“Still easing in.”
Her gaze flickers over my shoulder and hardens slightly. “Can I help you?”
“I’m with him.” Gracie’s voice carries that typical cool, indifferent tone.
I stifle my groan. Chelsea has never been subtle about her interest in me. She isn’t my type, but she’s sweet, and having a clerk here who will rush my requests has made me a god among my coworkers. Bringing another girl here—especially one that looks like Gracie—was a dumb move on my part. Not that Gracie gave me much choice.
“This is my cousin,” I lie. “She’s visiting from out of town.”
“Oh! Cousin. Of course.” Chelsea tucks a strand of golden-brown hair behind her ear, the relief on her face unmistakable.
“Fourth cousin, twice removed. We could legally marry.” Gracie ropes her arm around my back, sending my blood racing.
I do my best to ignore her touch and slip forward the piece of paper. “Can you check these names against your records?”
With another fleeting glance Gracie’s way, Chelsea accepts the slip of paper. “Give me a few minutes, okay?”
I wait until she’s out of earshot. “Fourth cousins, twice removed? Is that a real thing?”
“I have no idea, but the look on her face was totally worth it.” Gracie’s arm slips away, and I miss it instantly.
“These kinds of searches normally cost money and take days, if not weeks. And she knows I’m not here for work. This information isn’t available to just anyone. She’s doing us a huge favor.”
“She’s not doing me the favor,” Gracie mutters, studying her fingernails.
And it clicks. I can’t help my grin at even the possibility.
She looks up in time to catch it. “What?”
“Nothing. Just, if I didn’t know better, I’d say you were jealous.” I brace myself for a punch or a kick.
She lets out a derisive snort instead. “Whatever. I’ll be in the restroom.” She wanders away, but not before I catch the flush of her cheeks.
* * *
“There’s no Betsy or Elizabeth Richards in the system with that birth date, or even that birth year.”
“And you checked Nesbitt, too, right?” Gracie asks, citing Betsy’s father Brian’s last name.
“I checked them all,” Chelsea explains with an overly sweet smile.
Gracie’s face crumples with disappointment.
Chelsea turns her attention back to me. “This isn’t a bad thing. It means she’s alive, right?”
“Or she died in another state.”
“Well . . . I could put in a call for you with the national registry office. It’ll take a bit to hear back, though.”
I was hoping she’d offer that, and that I wouldn’t have to ask. “Thanks, Chelsea. You’re the best.”
She grins, flirtier this time. “Don’t you know it. See you soon?”
“Definitely.” I trail Gracie out, keeping my forced smile on until I’m past the doors. “Don’t worry, we still have plenty of places to check. Real estate records, voter records, the DMV, the IRS . . .”
“How long will that take?”
“A while,” I admit reluctantly. Weeks. Months.
“Aren’t there any cute girls you can bat your eyelashes at to speed that up?” she mutters sourly, walking ahead of me, her hips swinging with each step.
I struggle to smother my smile. “You hungry yet? We could grab food and then, I don’t know, drive around Austin and—”
“Track down this Mantis asshole?”
A flashback of those hard, beady eyes hits me and Dina’s plea to keep Gracie safe, to not let her get herself into trouble by being her usual bullheaded self, fills my head. “How about we do the opposite and stay far away from him?”
“Fine,” she mutters reluctantly. She purses her lips. “Do you remember where my house was?”
“Yeah, why?”
“Because maybe there’s a chance my dad hid this video there and it somehow got missed.”
“Gracie, it’s been fourteen years! There’s no way—”
“It’s worth checking!” She throws her arms out to the sides. “What the hell else do we have to do anyway?”
“Well . . . I could turn the heat on in the pool and—”
“Really, Noah? Let’s take a break from figuring out who murdered my dad and go swimming?”
I heave a sigh and mutter, “Yeah, that’s what I thought.”
CHAPTER 35
Commander Jackie Marshall
April 25, 2003
“Alright, Gary Bird. Time to go inside!” I holler, grasping the young dandelion by its base to give it a good yank. This time next week, our front garden will be overgrown with them again.
“It’s Larry Bird, Mom,” Noah corrects with annoyance. “And it’s Friday.”
“And too late for bouncing balls. Respect the neighbors.”
“Yes, ma’am.” He tucks his basketball under his gangly arm and trudges up the pathway. At eleven years old, he’s just inches shy of meeting me in height.
“You spendin’ the night, Jenson?”
“If that’s okay with you, ma’am.”
I give Jenson’s ginger hair a muss. “You know you’re always welcome. Go on, now.”
“Yes, ma’am,” they chirp in unison.
But Noah lags behind, a frown zagging across his forehead.
“What’s the matter?”
“Did Abe say if he was gonna stop by tonight?”
My stomach knots at the mention of Abe’s name. I haven’t talked to him since he came here looking to tear my head off. “He’s workin’ tonight.”
“Oh, okay.” He looks so crestfallen, it makes my chest ache. “He hasn’t been around much.”
“I promise you, he’s just been busy with work.”
“What’s got him so busy all of a sudden?”
“A special project,” I lie quickly. If “project” means lurking around every slum in Austin, looking for his prostitute sister-in-law. “You go on. You have a friend waitin’.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
I leave a peck on his cheek. “And just because it’s Friday night don’t mean y’all can be playin’ that Nintendo ’til the sun rises.”
With a sheepish grin—because that’s exactly what those two boys will do, and then they’ll sleep half the day away—he trudges down the hall.
I suck back the last mouthful of whiskey from my glass and welcome the familiar burn. It’s too tempting to go for a refill, especially after how hard these last few weeks have been. I decide there’s no harm in one more.
I’m turning to go inside when headlights catch my attention. A car pulls into our driveway. I know it’s not Blair; he’s in Denver at a sales conference. For a split second, I hold out hope that it’s Abe, coming to tell me that he gets my side of things, that he sees what a difficult position I was put in.
That hope is dashed quick
ly enough, though, as Mantis steps out of the driver’s seat.
“Wonderful,” I mutter, wishing I had that refill already so I could suck it back. I need a drink to deal with this asshole. And after that latest big bust—coincidentally, at the same motel I followed Betsy to—he’s strutting around like Canning’s prize peacock. “What do you want?”
“That’s how you greet visitors?” The porch steps creak under his weight.
“When they arrive uninvited on my doorstep and their name is Dwayne . . .”
“We need to talk.”
“About that God-awful cologne you’re wearing? Seriously, it should be banned from production.”
He flashes me a cold smile. “Wilkes has been shooting his mouth off, making accusations he shouldn’t be making.”
Dread slides through my limbs, even as I steel my expression, not wanting to give my panic away. “Shooting his mouth off about what?”
Mantis drops his voice. “What he thinks he saw at the Lucky Nine bust last week.”
I let out the softest exhale of relief. This isn’t about Abe and me. “And what does he think he saw?”
“Nothing that he should be nosing around the evidence logs and then questioning me about.”
There’s only one reason I can think of for Abe to be doing either of those things—Mantis and his guys didn’t turn something over. I don’t have to ask what. This bust is the topic of the week around the department. I doubt I’m the only one who wondered why there was no money mentioned in the haul, along with the drugs and guns. With a bust like that, there’s always money.
But everyone knows that dirt-bag dealer is guilty and deserves to be behind bars, so even though people might be wondering, no one’s saying it out loud.
No one except Abe, it seems. Because he always does the right thing.
If Abe is nosing around and has said something to Mantis, then he’s likely going to bring it forward, and if he goes to Internal Affairs with this, it’ll be hard to ignore his accusations. And if it gets out in the press that Canning’s star drug hounds are pocketing drug money?
The department’s reputation will be smeared, Canning’s valiant war on drugs in this city will be tarnished, and his drug task force will be dismantled. All of their busts may come into question.
