Chapter 47
RJ
Ifall backwards into the water, reacquainting myself with the drysuit and the extra bulk I’m wearing under it.
My flippers push me deeper, bubbles flowing in front of my face.
The dry bag strapped to my belt is an added impediment.
The pool isn’t ideal for this practice, but it’s all I’ve got to work with unless I give up a Saturday to drive out to the country.
Sweat coats me, the water kept warm for the normal swimmers.
The dive instructor in Mexico told me I’d be slower in cold water, that I’d have to take it easy and to take special care of my fingers and toes. But half of his advice doesn’t matter. I’m not going down. I’m going across.
Finding a waterproof automatic auger was a bitch, but now that we’ve gathered everything I need to carry with me, I can practice swimming with the awkward weights strapped around my middle.
I’m glad I’m here—I’m struggling to stay level as I take laps around the deep end.
But I think this will work. It will be dark, freezing, and creepier than I’d like, but it should work.
It has to.
Pulling myself from the pool, I stash my gear in the car, reminding myself to drop it at Black for Jansen, then head to my next stop.
I’d called off the tail earlier, but still, I watch as I drive, just in case.
Everything is coming together, but that doesn’t mean that we’re out of the woods.
Nothing is certain. Not yet. Jasmine reached out to Walker just yesterday and told us she’s cleaned all the footage of us in Chicago, so she can be checked off our ‘guest list.’
That means there’s only one guest left. Probably the most important, but also the most impossible to get where we want, when we want them.
There were too many dirty cops in the suburbs, no way we could drop a tip and have someone look into it, not with the Westerhouse’s level of power and influence.
Which just leaves Reed. And I have a feeling he won’t be enough.
If he can’t help, it’ll be hard and slow, but we’re pretty sure the Westerhouse legacy will still fall.
We’ve planted enough seeds that at least some of them are bound to fruit; it’s just going to take longer than we wanted to fill our basket.
It’s not like the legal system works fast.
Finding parking for the meeting is harder than I thought it would be, making me wish I’d just parked at home and walked, but it’s brutal out, so I thought this was the better choice.
At least it’s easy to stop at a convenience store on the way and grab a pack of cigarettes.
The Bluetooth button and glue are already at home.
The needles and thread should arrive tomorrow, along with the water shoes and the motor and remote for the contraption Walker designed.
All our shopping is almost done. I just need a tiny touchscreen, and we’re ready.
It feels weird being out alone today. But Walker needs a buddy on his errands more than I do, so solo it is.
There are still so many things left for both of us to do, and so little time to get them done.
Worst of all, I can’t test my network worm before I need it, so it’s got to be as clean as I can make it now.
At least my finals are finished, my grades recorded, and my diploma ordered.
Goals that I’ve been working toward for years that pale when compared to the battle I’m currently in.
Mama insisted on going out for dinner to celebrate last night, and it was a good time, even if Jade was a little chilly with Pops while we were there.
Telling them about my post-grad job working for a ‘start-up’ with the five of us was awkward, though.
So was telling them I’d be staying in Dinkytown over break except for Christmas Day.
But I’ve got to be here. There’s no other option.
Walker and Jansen had similar conversations with their families, Jansen even telling his mom he’s not driving up at all after his falling out with his sister.
As she’d seen how bad it was when they were there together on Thanksgiving, she only gave a token protest. And all our families were so damn understanding that I feel like the biggest ass out there.
But this is important. One Christmas in exchange for getting Clara back.
Trips too.
Even though I’m still not sold on his rehabilitation.
The heat of the Irish pub flows around me as I enter, the smell of salt in the air comforting. I wave off the hostess as I weave to the table in the back corner, Officer Tom Reed already there, casual in his street clothes.
“Any news?” I ask as I slide into the booth across from him.
“Hello to you, too,” he says.
“If you want to waste time, that’s your choice. I, however, have too many things to do and not nearly enough time to do them in. So, any news?”
For a second, I worry I’ve been too curt, that I’m going to end up in bracelets at the back of a cruiser again, but after a moment, Reed laughs, and I slump a little in relief in my seat.
“You don’t take anyone’s shit, do you, kid?” He leans back, holding a beer in his hand like a prop in a play. “Actually, we lost one of your threads. He fell completely off the face of the planet as far as we can tell.”
“Who?”
He tells me the name, but I don’t recognize it until he says something about the guy living in his mom’s basement. Then it clicks.
“That’s who I used to get into the auction group,” I say, the hair on the back of my neck standing up.
I don’t know why, but this seems bad.
“Well, he’s done a runner. We’re investigating other routes into the group, but right now, you’re our primary source.”
“The auction is coming up way too soon for me to be your only source. That’s not acceptable.
It’s not enough.” The anger that’s been hovering under my skin over how helpless I am, over how far away Clara is from me with only an idiotically intelligent man as her back-up, turns my words into barbs.
I can’t be responsible for anything else.
Not right now. Not when the one person in this world worth more to me than anybody else is in danger. “This isn’t my job. It’s yours.”
Reed looks appropriately chagrined. “I know. But if we can’t get the evidence, we can’t get a warrant.”
A server comes up, and I wave him away, not wanting to spend more time with the cop than I must.
“They’re offering tickets for a ‘test-run’ the night before the auction closes. There’s no location yet, but I can’t be there that day. I can’t be your inside man.” Because Clara needs me. Even though these girls need me too, she’s my priority. She always will be.
“What’s the date?”
I give it to him, the numbers practically etched on my soul at this point. The night of no return.
“If you get a location?”
“I’ll let you know. But only verified buyers are getting invitations. I will not be on that list.”
He takes a sip of his drink. “Why does that date sound familiar?”
I grimace, wishing he hadn’t already put it together. “It’s Clara’s wedding.”
“And Representative Westerhouse is hosting? Shit, kid. If we’re assuming correctly, that’s one messed up guest list.”
“Yup.”
“You invited?”
I scoff. “Right. Like they’d be okay with her other boyfriends attending?”
Reed smirks, like he’s so smart he’s figured out what we all are to each other—he literally saw her passed between all of us in the front lawn last winter.
It’s not important. Not now. I don’t mention that despite what I just said, Walker is at a tux fitting right now.
We needed at least one of us to stand up with them, to be the distraction while Clara and Trips are locked into carefully kept itineraries.
We’d planned on Jansen originally, but Walker’s a solid second choice.
I’m just glad Clara forced the invitation.
Or maybe Trips did. Not that I want to give him any credit.
Reed covers his smirk with his fingers. “Well, I’m going to find a reason to be over in that neck of the woods that night, but I’m not sure I’ll have any backup. Not if we can’t get into the auction website.”
I stand, done. “Find a way in. I’m not going to be much help from here on out. Those girls? They’re your responsibility now. I’m not a cop. And I’m not a hero.”
He sets down his prop beer, having not taken a sip. “Got it. If you change your mind on either of those things—” He slides a card across the table, and I know he’s offering me a spot working for the cops.
“No thanks. I’ve got a job,” I say, turning away from the man.
I like the one I’ve got, at least when we’re all together.
The visit a bust, I message Jansen, giving him the thumbs up to buy the guns and blanks. It’s almost go-time.