23. 23 - Maverick
W ho are you, Zella?
The words bounce around in my brain as I scour missing person records from the approximate time of her birth. It would help if she knew the exact date, but I’m working across a two-year window, just in case.
Nothing of note so far. One or two possibilities, but nothing that genuinely feels like a lead.
After working through each file, I have four left to do some follow-up checks on, but dissatisfaction is thrumming as I stretch. I don’t think any of them will lead to Zella.
Grabbing my phone, I pull up the app we use to track our camera locations and click through to Zella’s apartment. A brief glimpse is enough to tell me it’s still untouched. No sign of Ethan Moore.
Although from what Zella told me, that’s not unusual. By the sounds of it, he used to leave her for days at a time.
Sometimes her food would run low, and she’d have to ration it.
Irritation turns to anger, and I throw my phone down. Moore will get what’s coming to him, whatever Zella thinks. I’ve seen the other side of him, thanks to Ryder and his trailing.
Asshole’s a sick bastard. That he hasn’t abused Zella physically, or fucking sexually, is both a miracle and a mystery I need to unravel.
Given his other activities… why not?
My pen taps on an empty page.
Maybe he genuinely cared for her. But his actions don’t stack up with that.
When my phone lights up again, I reach for it with a curse. “Martinez.”
The man who started all of this doesn’t waste any time. “I expected to hear from you earlier.”
“My apologies,” I say coolly. “I wasn’t aware we were working to a timescale.”
John Martinez huffs but doesn’t push. “Is there any news?”
Hesitating, I stare at the wall in front of me. Martinez hired us to look for dirt on Ethan Moore, and we’ve got it in spades. Photos of him at Club X, video footage from the subtle pin camera attached to Ryder’s collar.
And then there’s Zella.
“Nothing yet,” I tell him shortly. “We’re close.”
Martinez grunts. “I hired you because I heard you’re the best, Brooks. Don’t let me down.”
I grit my teeth, wondering why the fuck I took this job in the first place. The man’s an asshole.
But if we didn’t, we wouldn’t have found Zella.
“We are the best,” I say simply. It’s the truth. We get shit done, and the powerful across the city know it. And the money they’re happy to hand over from their dirty pockets funds the main focus of our work – helping those who need it.
Like the girl who’s somehow managed to work her way inside my thoughts.
Ending the call, I scan the images in front of me. My eyes move across the wall, to the case that never comes down.
Every person in law enforcement has that one case. The one that never came home. It fuels them, colors their perceptions, their decision making. It makes them better.
But sometimes it consumes them.
Digging into my pocket, I pull out the picture. I don’t know why I still carry it around. Maybe it’s a fucking punishment, like Ryder says. A little self-immolation every time I see the innocent, smiling face, the mother and daughter.
I couldn’t save them.
Taking a breath, I put it away, carefully folding the edges and sliding it back into my pocket. Maybe I couldn’t save them, but Zella is right here.
And I want to give her answers, help her fill the gaps that might otherwise consume her, once her excitement wears off and the reality of her life so far sets in.
A few hours later, I check the camera again. I’m not expecting to see anything as I pull the apartment up, the clear images of the statues coming into view on my phone.
But there’s an addition that makes me bolt upright, staring at the screen.
Because Ethan Moore is back in town.
And he’s fucking furious.