Chapter 22
RJ
“What do you need?” I ask, leaning back, pretending like the back of my neck isn’t dripping with sweat from sitting alone in a room with a cop.
I can’t believe I just signed a CI agreement, becoming my own enemy. But I can only do so much. They’d better be able to do more.
Reed leans forward, and I’m glad for the table’s worth of space between us. “We’ve been tracking the names Clara, or maybe you, passed along this spring that are outside our jurisdiction, just in case they came for a visit. And suddenly, three of them booked flights into town the same week.”
“So?”
“So, we’re worried there’s going to be an event. Basically, an auction. And that can’t happen.”
I rub the back of my neck, not wanting to take on any more work, but knowing I can’t let this go. “What would you need me for?”
“Do your sources run that deep? Could you figure out if the worst is happening here and help us stop it?”
“I don’t know.”
Reed leans back, and I feel like I can take a deep breath for the first time since he sat down across from me. “Will you try?”
With so many competing priorities, it’s all I can do to keep my head above water.
This isn’t my fight. It isn’t even Clara’s.
But I can’t let this slide—I can’t let kids be sold.
And if Clara were here, she’d be asking what we can do to help, what weight she could lift from my shoulders so those kids are safe. “When are they coming?”
He writes the names and dates on the back of his business card, sliding it across the coffee table.
“You do this, and I’ll do my damn best to keep anybody from asking questions about what you kids are doing here that has you walking so close to the line of legality.
If you’re even still on the right side of it. ”
I sigh. “I’ll do the best I can, but if nobody is talking about it, I won’t be able to get you what you need.”
“You could tell me where you find the intel.”
“Would that promise of not looking deeper apply?”
“Depends on what you’re doing.”
I stand up, done with this conversation. “The internet has a lot of dark corners. Look in them and you’ll find enough shit to bury just about anyone.”
He pushes to his feet, a hint of a smirk on his face that makes me wish he weren’t a cop. You can’t go slapping the back of a cop’s head without major repercussions. “Enough to bury even me?”
“I checked. You’re honest, if a bit obsessive. It’s the only reason Clara agreed to work with you.”
He laughs, but it feels like a weapon. “I guess I shouldn’t be surprised. Tell your artist friend that his…reproductions…on the walls are pretty good. And that as long as you deliver, I have no reason to figure out exactly how good they are.”
Walking him to the door, I risk saying what I’m thinking, not wanting him to think I’m a complete pushover. “I don’t much like threats.” Even good cops need firm boundaries, otherwise, the power goes to their heads.
“I don’t much like the things I’ve seen working on this sex crimes task force. And I’m there because I stumbled into this house more than a year ago. We’re both less than happy.”
He gives me a weighted look before I shut the door behind him, dropping my head to the wood.
“How bad is it?” Walker asks from somewhere on the stairs.
“How much time do you have in your schedule? This is going to take up most of mine.”
“Is it worth it?”
I fill him in, both on the problem and on the promise to leave us more or less alone.
“Shit,” he whispers, slumping to sit on the stairs. “Trips was our second-best computer guy, but…”
“But so far, he doesn’t have access to technology.”
“Who’d be better at this? Me or Jansen?”
“You. I’m not sure we can trust Jansen. Not on this. Not yet. He needs to focus on healing. Because otherwise…”
Walker nods, not needing me to finish that thought.
We both know the plan is fucked if Jansen can’t play his part. We can try to cover for him, but there’s no way either of us will be up to cracking a safe within the next month.
At least tonight he seemed fine. A little spacey, but fine. He came up with a pretty good plan for celebrating Walker’s birthday while we’re being watched.
Still, when he laughed too hard, he’d cough, and there were significantly fewer acrobatics than we’re used to seeing when he’s having fun. No climbing statues or front tucks off retaining walls. Which might have been him keeping his cover.
Or it might have been because he can’t.
If our thief is grounded, everything just got a lot harder.
A knock at the door has both of us on edge. But after checking, Walker swings the door open, his face grim.
Officer Reed stands awkwardly on our stoop. “You’ve got a delivery. It looked sketchy, so I came to check it out. The guy ran off that way. I didn’t get a plate.”
He hands Walker an envelope. With a groan, he opens it, a ‘My Sympathies’ card inside, the cover decorated in scattered red roses.
The expected photo falls out, Reed scooping it up before I can get there.
It’s a blurry photo of Clara in profile, anger crossing her face as she twists to the man half hidden behind her.
I recognize the guard she was assigned at the beginning of the year, the one she’s been forced to kill.
The one who deserved it, but who Clara invariably mourns.
Stepping closer, I see that scrawled across the guard’s face is a message in red Sharpie, the scent still clinging to the photo: “RIP. Bloody fingers leave marks. Better watch yours.”
Reed holds the photo for a while before handing it to me. “Any message in the card?” he asks Walker, not addressing the scrawled threat/evidence he’d stared at a moment too long.
“Of course not,” he grumbles as we trade card and photo so he can see the same message I did.
“Is this Bryce?” Reed asks.
“Who else?” Walker answers, curses lingering in the quiet hall after he shoves the photo back into the card and both into the envelope. Outside, a group of drunk students pass by, trying and failing to give each other piggyback rides, their laughter way too bright for our anger.
Reed looks at the kids, brows furrowed. “I wish he’d leave obvious evidence.
Then I’d have something to bring to my superiors.
I could get his deal revoked. He’s been mostly useless as a source.
He gave up three names, and they weren’t even the worst offenders we’ve found in the last year.
Those have come from Clara.” He looks at me. “Or, I guess, from you.”
“It’s the second one we’ve received since we got back,” Walker says, his gaze heavy on mine.
He told me the last one was a photo of the Westerhouse estate gates.
Just a heads up he knows where Clara is.
This new threat worries me, though. Walker and I only know Clara killed that man because she got a phone to Mattie and sent us that coded note.
How does Bryce know? It doesn’t make sense.
Reed sighs. “I’d ask to see the other one, but honestly, there’s not much I can do.”
That’d be impossible. Walker tossed it. “No. There isn’t,” I say.
“If something changes, let me know,” he says before stalking down the stairs and across our lawn.
Walker closes the door, pressing his back to it like he can keep the bad news from sneaking into our home. “How?”
“I don’t know,” I whisper. “That photo isn’t even on his cloud backup. I checked earlier today.”
“Do you think Reed suspects what it means?”
“I hope not. But I’m not the one who can read people. Not like you or Clara.”
He groans. “God, I miss her.”
“Me too.”
His eyes meet mine, and we both know there’s nothing left to say.