Chapter Nine
B irch popped the lids off of two jars of pasta sauce and dumped the sauce into a pot of spaghetti, glancing at his silent phone just as he heard Grey’s old beater pull into the driveway. Taking the garlic toast from the oven he sliced it up, calling to his brother. “Wash up and come eat. Dinner’s ready.”
He set the table to the sound of rushing water, stepping back as Grey bound into the kitchen and heaped pasta onto his plate before he sat. “Damn this looks good. I’m starving. How’d your day go?”
“It went. How was your calculus exam?” Birch asked, placing his phone on the table and filling his own plate while Grey ran down the questions he aced and grumbled over the ones he struggled with. He choked down a couple bites before the message he’d been waiting for buzzed in. After reading it he got up, grabbing his wallet and keys from the counter. “Sorry, Grey. I need to head out for a bit. I’ll be back in an hour or two.”
His brother smirked at him. “Take your time and tell her I say hi.”
Walking to his truck, he got in and responded to Ryder’s text before backing onto the street.
He was no longer confused.
No longer worried.
No longer furious.
He was where he needed to be to deal with whatever shit storm Ryder and his uncle brought to his doorstep: thoroughly numb.
He learned early on in life to shut down all emotions when he needed to be at the top of his game. Raging and stressing only clouded his mind when he needed it most, and reacting on impulse almost always dug a deeper hole to crawl out of.
After pulling up in front of Ryder’s house, he idled his truck and watched as his partner’s hulking figure emerged from the backyard, his expression unreadable as he got in.
They drove in silence through the downtown area and out onto the southern highway, stopping at a dilapidated gas station that had seen its last customer twenty years ago.
“What do you know?” Birch opened, refusing to look over.
Ryder scoffed and rolled his window down, lighting a cigarette. “It’s a bullshit warrant. I talked with Trevor an hour ago and his lawyer is already filing paperwork to block anything they found at his house.”
Nodding, he stared at the lights of Epson. “And what did they find?”
“Nothing.”
Chuckling humorlessly, he glanced over at Ryder. “See, that was what I thought when I was getting everything ready for your uncle to review. I thought we had nothing. No missing receipts. No late taxes. No missing payrolls. Nothing to bring any heat onto Serpent’s Tongue. Because the thing is, Ryder, I can’t afford to have anything happen. I need it to be nothing. And now I’m wondering if there’s something. And if there is something, I better be fucking brought into the loop now.”
“Are you kidding?” Ryder snarled, flicking his cigarette out the window. “You think I want to go back to jail? Christ, Birch, I’ve been wearing a fucking halo since I got out. Just like you have.” Running his hand over his face, he sighed. “This is messed up, man. But Trevor promised that he’s dealing with it. He said our books will come back clean.”
Revving the engine, he tossed the truck in drive and tore back onto the highway. “Those books damn well better come back clean, Ryder. Because that’s how they went in.”
*
Jocelyn paced her hotel room floor, her phone held tight to her ear. “The paperwork is being processed and copied tonight. I should have my hands on the first account I’ll be assessing tomorrow morning.”
“Once you know what it is, call me and I’ll go over a few specific red flags to watch for,” Angelo said, his voice muffled when one of his children piped up in the background. “Did the cops give you any idea what business you’ll be examining? A name?”
“Nope,” she replied, peeking out her window at the setting sun. “I’ll call you once I know something, okay?”
They ended the call and she sank into the sofa, leaning back and closing her eyes.
She hadn’t exactly lied to her boss: Klaussen and Torres were mum on what they found in Trevor Drayson’s home. Even Bill Fogerty maintained a stoic face as he pulled each pile of documents out and scanned them over before walking them down into the precinct basement to be processed.
But she knew one of those stacks, the thickest one with the crumpled receipts stapled together, was from Serpent’s Tongue Ink. It was the envelope Klassen tapped when he told Birch to talk to his accountant, its contents bursting at the seams of its manilla envelope. It was one of the envelopes she was being paid to assess, her boss having received the contract from those who knew that when you wanted to track the evidence, Jocelyn Carter was the one you wanted for the job.
It was also the only evidence bag Fogerty filed into the Epson logbook, since the rest were being sent to their hometown departments before she would dig into them.
She turned her phone over in her hand and checked the time.
Birch was due to meet her in fifteen minutes. Their plan for an evening run on the high school track was hastily made a few hours before their worlds collided on Trevor Drayson’s veranda, and while she wasn’t certain he’d show, she hoped he would because they had air to clear. Fast.
Changing quickly, she brushed her hair into a ponytail and tied her laces, ensuring her hotel key card was in her wallet before she went down to the lobby and out the door.
She took a moment to orient herself amid the new construction, jogging west toward the high school as the street lights came on.
By the time she hit the track, she was where she needed to be to work through how numb she’d felt standing beside the patrol car, her police escorts marching down the steps with her assignment in hand.
There was a flash of accusation in Birch’s eyes when he first saw her, his gaze moving between her and the deputies. A silent blame. But fast as it rose, it was just as quickly replaced by a look of defeat so all-encompassing it showed in the hunch of his back, the hang of his head. There was no shame, no guilt. Only resignation, as though he’d accepted the situation.
Or expected it.
She heard the sound of a rhythmic stride on her left and she veered to the side, righting her path as soon as Birch matched her pace.
Neither said a word as they rounded the first lap, then the second. Anger, frustration, and worry were pounded out under the soles of her shoes, the overwhelming swirl of thoughts in her head combining into three realities she needed to address.
She needed to do her job.
She needed to separate what she knew about Birch from what she hoped he was.
And, finally, she needed to accept it if she discovered he wasn’t who she wanted him to be. If he was one of them. If he had known who she was and why she was in town. If he was just another guy who hoped stealing her heart would ensure their freedom.
They continued to run lap after lap, their breathing growing more ragged as they both pushed past their own runner’s high and entered a punishing stage that tested the limits of their endurance.
He was the first to give, his pace dropping to a dragging walk before he bent over and gripped his knees, the sweat dripping off him. Slowing on her last lap, she collapsed on the grass beside him, close enough to see his face under the yellow lights encircling the track but far enough away to keep herself from reaching out to him.
The quiet of the night was interrupted only by the intermittent sounds of cars in the distance, the fields around them deserted.
“Whatever it is they think I’ve done, I didn’t,” Birch finally said softly. “No matter how this plays out, I want you to know that.”
She stared up at the stars, the weakest ones hidden by the glare of the lights.
There was nothing she could say.
In twelve hours, she’d be starting her search to prove him wrong. She would be analyzing every penny that passed through Serpent’s Tongue, responsible for compiling a list of every inconsistency Bill Fogerty could use to bring charges. She would be reporting to her boss, a man who did not send his employees on fools’ quests.
She would be tackling this job as she did all the others: unattached, uninvested, and undeterred.
Birch sat up, draping his arms over his knees. “For a second there when I saw you at Trevor’s, I thought you had the cops tail me.”
“I would never—”
“I know,” he interrupted, his attention on the scoreboard in the distance. “Well, I don’t know for sure. But I do, you know?”
She nodded and mimicked his pose. “I suppose I can say the same. When I saw you on that porch, it brought back a lot of memories.” Her nose wrinkled in disdain. “I tend to attract men who want to use me to stay out of jail.”
His brows shot up. “I would never—”
“I know.” Giving him a slight nudge of her elbow, she echoed his earlier words. “Well, I don’t know for sure. But I do, you know?”
He sighed and looked to the sky. “It’s so messed up. I studied up on business accounting when we opened the place. Took a few online courses, made sure we documented every expense and invoice, set up a savings for taxes so we wouldn’t be fined. Even lined up a successful accountant with good references.” With a humorless chuckle, he lay back and put one arm behind his head. “All I wanted to do was play it straight. Stay out of jail and keep River and Grey out, too.”
She wrapped her arms around her knees and pursed her lips. “Then there’ll be nothing to worry about. If Trevor’s crooked and Serpent’s Tongue is clean, it’ll turn out okay. From what I know right now, your business is one of many that Trevor was involved in somehow.”
He looked over at her, the defeat in his eyes breaking her heart. “You know, I once heard the phrase ‘shit rolls downhill.’ And yeah, it’s a gross visual if you really think about it, but when you grow up at the bottom at that hill, you learn pretty fast that things only turn out okay for the guys at the top.” Glancing across the field to his truck sitting solo in the parking lot, he held his hand out to her. “Am I good to give you a lift home?”