Chapter Fifteen
Sara
Some soft. Some hard. Half-browned ones that looked like they’d seen things.
I hated all of them. Always had. It was a texture thing, the way they turned baby-diaper brown the second you peeled them.
But here I was.
O’Dooley and I had gone to lunch enough over the past few years that she knew of my distaste for the single-seeded fruit. Which was why I’d texted her:
Hey! Hope you’re having a great week. This whole unplug-and-relax thing is making me a little stir-crazy. I might actually go grocery shopping at the market near my house just for the human contact. Probably spend way too long in Aisle 11 picking out the perfect avocado. You know me.
If anyone intercepted it, they’d see a bored woman oversharing on vacation.
But if O’Dooley was half the agent I believed she was, she’d be walking into this store any minute now, knowing I was requesting unofficial but urgent backup. She’d understand where to find me, that our conversation must be confidential, and that it had to appear casual.
I nudged a particularly sad avocado with one finger.
Mushy. Typical.
I brought my burner phone with me because if my gut told me it was safe to do, I’d be sending it with her so whoever was dinging it could be traced.
I had no reason to doubt O’Dooley, but Enimton’s survival might depend on her being who she’s always appeared to be: trustworthy, invested in finding out the truth, and not afraid to bend the rules for something important.
Or someone.
There’s a difference, though, between asking someone to overlook when you arrive five minutes late to the office and asking them to risk their retirement package or worse on a situation you’ve already lost control of.
Before we got to that point, O’Dooley had to show me she could be trusted.
If she didn’t?
I didn’t have a second option.
Enimton wasn’t answering his phone, and I couldn’t risk getting anyone else involved.
A cart squeaked at the end of the aisle. My pulse spiked.
I didn’t turn.
Not yet. If someone were watching or recording, this needed to look like a spontaneous meetup. Or her idea.
“Wow,” O’Dooley said from behind me. “I didn’t think you’d still be here. You really are bored.”
I turned, forcing a wry smile. “Me? Who left work to come annoy me?”
“What can I say? I miss seeing your face around. Plus, I had some errands to run so I took the rest of the day off. After you’re done shopping, what do you say we grab lunch together next door?
I hate eating on my own.” Her words were friendly, but her eyes darted not only over me but around the area before glancing down at where her gun was concealed and holstered.
“My schedule is clear, but I have to be careful about what I eat because I need to watch my weight.”
“The lunch place next door has plenty of safe choices.”
“Good.” I glanced down at the avocados and said, “I’m hungry now. I can shop later. Let’s have lunch first.”
“That works too, although I’m in no rush.”
The café beside the supermarket wasn’t busy. There were only a few retirees nursing refillable coffees and couples pretending not to check their phones. It was the kind of place where a person could spend hours as long as they ordered something.
We picked the table far away from everyone but with a clear view of the door and ordered coffee and something easy and quick off the menu. Habit.
O’Dooley stirred a sugar packet into her coffee, watching and waiting. I took a slow bite of my breakfast sandwich and planned out my strategy.
Don’t overplay your hand.
O’Dooley and I had worked together on several cases. We had history, sure. Shared takeout, covered each other’s screwups, even swapped dry sarcasm like seasoned sparring partners. But I didn’t know where her loyalty would fall if push came to shove.
And if I was wrong, if I misread her allegiance—Enimton would pay the price.
I took another bite. Swallowed. Then leaned back like this was just another lazy morning. “I’m glad I took the vacation,” I said casually, eyes on the door. “Didn’t think I needed it, but I guess I’ve been more worn out than I realized.”
O’Dooley didn’t speak. She listened like only someone who knew how dangerous talking too much could be.
I pressed forward. Just enough. “I’ve been thinking about Max a lot lately,” I added, not looking at her. “Missing him. More than usual.”
Her spoon clinked against the mug. “Yeah,” she said in a low tone. “He left a dent.”
“I know it hit people hard,” I said carefully. “But I guess I keep wondering why no one . . . dug deeper.”
That landed. I didn’t need to look at her to feel the pause.
“I mean,” I added, glancing her way with a small, self-deprecating smile, “you knew him longer than I did. You were once close. And you always said your gut was your best tool.”
She gave a slow, almost imperceptible nod. “It was. Still is.”
“So then,” I said softly, “did your gut ever say something was off about the timing of when he died?”
O’Dooley didn’t answer right away. She sipped her coffee like we were two regulars with nothing but time. “His death shook everyone.”
“But not enough to open an investigation?”
Her expression hardened. “This right here is why you’re the only person at the Hartford office I don’t consider a waste of time. You’re working me, and even though I know you too well to not see it for what it is, you’re doing it skillfully.”
I could have backed down then, but this was too important. “Answer the question.”
“I didn’t open an investigation regarding Max’s death because he was out.
His choice. Once you walk away, you lose protection and leverage.
He was poking into cold cases without authority, without backup.
Even if it wasn’t a heart attack—which the coroner ruled it was—the list of people who might’ve had a reason to shut him up was endless. No evidence. No Bureau tie.”
“But it bothered you.”
“Yes.”
“Me too.”
“I know.”
I sighed. “His death wasn’t from natural causes. I know it in my bones.” I leaned forward. “Max wouldn’t have had access to cold cases unless he had a friend on the inside sliding them to him.”
Her face gave none of her thoughts away.
I pushed just a bit more. “Were you that person?”
“Maybe.”
I decided to push from another direction. “Looking into what happened to Max has become an obsession to me.”
“Understandable. He was family.”
“Yes.” Here goes. “And the more I dug, the more the name Simmons kept coming up.”
“The crimes of a dead man aren’t top priority.”
“Not even when he might still have victims who are suffering because of his actions?”
Her eyes narrowed.
I continued, “I was onto something. It was clear that Simmons was doing something illegal and he wasn’t acting alone. So, why was I warned to steer clear of anything regarding him? Don’t you think that’s odd?”
She shrugged. “You might have been stepping on the toes of an active investigation by another of the alphabet agencies. We often work on a need-to-know basis.”
“You don’t believe that.”
“What are you hoping I’ll say? That I think someone in our office is dirty?”
“I’m hoping you’ll give me something or even a hint that you care that Max might have been murdered looking into something related to Simmons.”
Her hand clenched around her mug. When she spoke, her voice was deeper and pained. “Two things can be true at the same time. I can be gutted that Max died and not believe someone from our office was involved.”
“Max knew something about Simmons, didn’t he?”
“I don’t know what Max knew.”
“But you know what cold cases he was working.”
“Yes.”
“And those were?”
She sighed. “Jane Does from all over the country, who died of drug overdoses, over a span of decades.”
A chill curled up my back. “What did they have in common?”
“They’d all recently given birth, but there was no sign of a child, and no family ever came forward for them.”
Bile rose in my throat. The twins. Enimton. Not mine. Simmons. The Gravestones. It was all related. But how? Had Simmons gotten those women pregnant? Taken their babies? Murdered them? Was this what Enimton found out? How were the Gravestones involved?
Not a single corner of me believed Enimton would have helped with any of that.
But I reminded myself that he’d pretty much admitted to hurting people by accident.
What did my gut say?
Nothing.
I’d lost all ability to be subjective.
This is bad.
And too much for me to protect Enimton from alone.
O’Dooley set her mug down firmly. “How deep are you in?”
“Deep,” I said in a tight voice.
“I can’t help you if I don’t have the details.”
Could I trust her? Not just with my life, but with Enimton’s? She hadn’t saved Max. Hadn’t even sought his killer. “And I’m not comfortable telling you more than you absolutely need to know.”
“God, you sound like Max,” she said in exasperation. “He left the Bureau because he thought he couldn’t protect you and your mother if he stayed. He wouldn’t lie about how he met you or what went down that day.”
“I don’t understand.”
She looked away as she answered. “Your mother had chosen the wrong man to con. When Max tried to get her out of there, things escalated, and Max did what he had to do to free her.”
I gasped. “He killed him?”
“In self-defense. Probably. I wasn’t there.”
“Max wasn’t a murderer.”
“I didn’t give him that label. You did. Someone was stupid enough to stand between Max and someone he was determined to save.” She shrugged again. “I don’t mourn the removal of obstacles especially not when a child is involved.”
I swallowed hard. “Me.”
“Yes.”
Max had killed someone to save me? I didn’t know how to process that.
O’Dooley continued, “Max could have covered it up and stayed at the Bureau, but he had too much fucking integrity. I would have lied for him. Several of us would have. He was a good man.”
Breathlessly, I said, “Yes, he was.”
Neither of us spoke for several minutes. I needed time to digest what I’d just heard and decide how to move forward. O’Dooley ate her omelet with a calm I admired.
Eventually, I said, “I need your help.”
She placed her fork beside her plate and held my gaze.
In a choked voice, I said, “How do I know if I can trust you?”
“Just so we’re clear, I chose the Bureau over everything and everyone else. I wouldn’t risk what has become my life for your obsession.”
“This isn’t about me. And it’s bigger than Max now. In fact, I’m at the point where I don’t care if I ever find out the truth about what happened to him. This is more important.”
O’Dooley leaned forward. “Now you’ve piqued my interest.”
“I need some kind of guarantee that what I tell you won’t go beyond us.”
“Like a blood oath? Not into those.”
“No, like something you wouldn’t want anyone to know.”
A slow smile twisted her lips. “You want dirt on me so you have something you can hold over my head?”
“Yes.”
“Why would I ever give you that leverage?”
I took a deep breath and leaned in. “Because I’m offering you an opportunity to not only save an innocent, but also to help expose some powerful people who will fall like dominoes when the truth comes out.”
“I’m listening.”
“I’ll give you full credit. You’ll do the press conferences. Get the promotion that will come from cracking this case.” When she didn’t bite, I offered, “I’ll trade parking spots with you. Mine is always in the shade.”
She chuckled at that, then stilled. “I don’t need the press or the credit, but my car does overheat in the summer.
” Her voice lowered. “Trust goes both ways. I’ll share something, but if I get the slightest whiff of it surfacing anywhere”—her smile was cold and unsettling—“let’s just say I make a better friend than enemy. ”
I didn’t doubt that. “Understood.”
She opened the front of her jacket and dug through a pocket that seemed to be inside another pocket. Like a scene in a spy movie, she held out a white envelope, tapped it twice on the tabletop, then slid it across to me.
I opened it.
A Polaroid.
Of O’Dooley.
And the Director.
Our very happily married director.
Not clothed.
Not sober.
Not deniable.
I looked up.
She sipped her coffee again, as if this wasn’t career-ending blackmail. “I have a thing for authority, what can I say? And I always keep it with me for insurance. Someday, I know he’ll say no to me, and this is my yes.”
I nodded and slipped the photo back into the envelope then slid it across to her.
After it had disappeared back into that mysteriously deep jacket pocket of hers, she said, “So quiet. Surprised?”
“Yes,” I said in a rush. “But in a good way. I’m not as worried that you’ll judge me for what I’m about to tell you . . .”
Her smile returned. “I’m all ears.”
“His name is Enimton Gravestone. My intention was to milk him for any intel he might have on his family’s connection to Simmons. Unfortunately, I have a feeling someone knows what I’ve been doing.” I took out my burner phone. “I need the calls that have been coming into this phone traced.”
She pocketed the phone with a nod.
After a pause, I added, “He doesn’t know who I am. I may have let my guard down with him and . . .”
“Fucked him?”
“Yes.” I winced. “And worse.”
“Oh, honey. You fell for your mark?”
I hung my head in shame. “So hard.”
“And this is all related to what Max was looking into?”
Raising my eyes to hers, I nodded. “But Enimton is innocent, and I might have put him in danger. We need to help him.”
“I’ll be the judge of that.” She pursed her lips. “Tell me everything and start at the beginning.”