CHAPTER 41
The room is uncomfortably cold. Every part of me aches. And now that my adrenaline has worn off, I’m having trouble keeping my eyes open. I slide off the uncomfortable metal chair and onto Jake’s lap, ignoring the raised eyebrows given to me by the two detectives across from us.
I don’t care what they think as I nestle against his chest, absorbing his warmth. Relishing the feeling of being cradled in his embrace. Let them stare. We came way too close to never being able to do this again. Besides, in another ten minutes, his arms might be the only thing keeping me upright.
The woman shifts her weight. “We spoke with your director. She’s confirmed all the background information you’ve given us. Everything up until you came to the Keys.” She shoots her partner a look, then says, “That’s when things get a bit… murky.”
I remain silent as I return her gaze.
Clearing her throat, she continues. “For starters, we’d like to know what brought you here to the Keys in the first place.”
“Did Director Jacobson tell you about the sniper who took a shot at me?”
“She did.”
“He was paid from an account traced to one of your local banks. The inmate who killed Tony Bianchi was as well.”
The detectives exchange a long look. “May I ask which law enforcement agency is conducting that investigation?”
Shrugging, I say, “As far as I’m aware, none of them.”
She frowns, eyes narrowing. Crosses her arms over her chest as she leans back in her seat while her partner takes over the questioning.
“So none of this information was obtained through official channels?”
“It was not.”
His tone is disapproving as he says, “That seems to be a common thread with you, Agent Knox.”
“How so?”
“Why didn’t you call the local authorities and inform them of what was going on?”
“I was busy.” When his expression makes it clear he isn’t satisfied with that answer, I sigh heavily and add, “And also, no offense, but I don’t trust any of you.”
The woman chokes on the sip of coffee she just took, turning her head as she coughs the liquid back up. “Excuse me?”
“Garrett implied that he had cops on his payroll. Feds, too.”
“And you believed him?”
“Considering that I went over ninety miles an hour across two separate Keys and passed at least one squad car that didn’t bother to pursue—while I was driving Mr. Glover’s extremely recognizable vintage Mercedes—I figured that he was probably telling the truth.
But if you’d like to offer another explanation, I’m all ears. ”
This time, when the two detectives exchange a look, they hold a silent conversation. The man stands, walking across the room. Once his head is blocking the camera mounted in the corner, the woman turns off the recorder on the table.
“We are aware that there are certain… issues within the department. But rest assured, those issues don’t extend to either of us.”
She rewinds the tape. Plays it forward until my voice says, “I was busy.” Giving me a tight smile, she presses record again, effectively wiping my accusation from the record. Her partner bows his back like he just got up to stretch, then returns to his seat.
It’s not the smartest move on their part. Both the time of the audio recording and the video will be noted in the case file. Anyone paying attention will notice the discrepancy. But I’m not going to point that out. I’ve reached my quota of risks for the day.
“Now, then. How did you come to be aware that Garrett Glover was somehow involved in the attempt on your life?”
“Don Farris—that’s the hitman—his wife’s Facebook page. I scrolled through the pictures in her feed. When I saw one of Don with Garrett, I took a screenshot and ran a reverse image search using Google Lens to find out who he was.”
“But how did you know to do that? Did you recognize him?”
This time, I’m the one to shift uncomfortably. “Yes and no.” Lifting my head from Jake’s chest, I look him in the eyes. “He bore enough of a resemblance to Jake that I suspected they must be related somehow.”
Jake’s arms tighten around me.
The female detective says, “That’s right. It’s your mother who was responsible for ordering the hit.”
“Yes,” he admits.
“Man. My mother-in-law hates me, but I suppose I should consider myself lucky that she’s never taken things that far.” She laughs at her own joke, but she’s the only one. Realizing that it’s fallen flat, she quickly continues, “How did you find the warehouse?”
“I searched his name on the Monroe County Property Tax website. It was one of the addresses listed in his name.”
“And you decided to pay it a visit?”
If the tattooed teller from the bank didn’t report the actions I took to contact Garrett and get him to meet me there, I’m not going to admit to it now, so I just nod.
“Our crime scene analysts recovered a couple of substances they’ve yet to identify at that scene. I don’t suppose you could help us out with that?”
I grimace. “Glycerin and potassium permanganate. When you combine them, they create fire.”
“A bomb?” the man says, his voice rising a couple octaves.
“No, just a chemical reaction between two substances. It was my insurance policy to make sure I’d get out of there okay, though I may have embellished what would happen when they mix. Made him think the reaction would be a bit more sudden and disastrous.”
“So what happened? What went wrong?”
“I showed up,” Jake says.
“How’d you know where to go? Did Agent Knox tell you?”
“I did not. He put a tracking device on our car,” I say, cutting my eyes at him.
“Are you in the habit of tracking your girlfriend like that, Mr. Walker?” the woman asks, voice dripping with disapproval.
“No.”
“You realize that’s illegal, don’t you? Using an electronic device to determine someone’s location without their consent?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“And yet you did it anyway?”
“Jake has my consent to do what he needs to in order to make himself feel better about my profession,” I say, interrupting before he can respond.
“But this wasn’t part of your job.”
“Or about my occasionally reckless behavior,” I amend. “And it’s a good thing he did, because that’s how I found him and Garrett when I escaped the warehouse.”
“How did you get out, anyway?” Jake asks.
“Through one of the fans in the ceiling.”
Shaking his head, he leans forward and presses a kiss against my temple. Gives the detective a look that clearly asks if she now understands why he might have put a tracking device on our car, but she doesn’t seem to notice. She’s staring at me with her eyes bugged wide, mouth slightly open.
“You’re not kidding, are you?” her partner asks.
“No.”
“How did you get down?”
“Gutter downspout.”
Now he’s giving me a strange look, too. His gaze flicks to Jake with an expression that makes it clear that he, at least, gets the reason behind Jake’s action.
“So explain to us what happened when you got down?”
“I saw that Garrett had taken my car, so I hotwired his and took it.”
“And you knew where they were going because of the tracking device?”
“Yes. Jake had dropped his phone so I could find it. Left the tracker app open so I’d know what to do.”
“You had a phone?” the woman asks in a thready voice.
“Yes.”
“Agent Knox, I feel obligated to tell you that next time, instead of going rogue, I highly suggest that you go through official channels.”
“Thank you, Detective. I will,” I assure her, with a smile and a lie.
She nods. “That brings us to what happened at the marina.” Her mouth twists in a knot like she doesn’t like the taste of what she has to say next. “Our techs found four bullet casings at the scene.”
“Yes.”
“We’ve been asked to check—why so many?”
“I was trained not to pause fire to reassess the situation if the suspect still appears to present a threat.”
“As were we. And that was quite a distance you made the shots from. I’m assuming you gave a verbal warning?”
“Of course she did,” Jake says before I can answer.
“You see, we have to ask because the medical examiner’s preliminary examination indicates that all four shots struck the suspect in the side of the head.
Typically, if you’ve made your presence known and given a warning, the suspect won’t be in full profile.
There will be some sign, whether they were in the act of turning or whatnot, to signify that they heard someone yelling at them to stop. ”
I shrug. “I don’t know what to tell you.”
She gives me a hard look, her eyes boring into mine as she studies me. Finally, she sighs and taps the notepad in front of her. “These are the best numbers to reach the two of you?”
“Yes.”
“Then you’re free to go.”
The tape recorder clicks off. Jake and I stand. As we move to the door, her voice rings out behind us, “Agent Knox?”
I turn back to face her, eyebrows raised. “You did good work here. Made our town a little bit safer and I want to thank you for that. But you should know that chances are you’ve upset some very dangerous people. The trouble might not be over.”
“It never is,” I say, and head out the door.
Wrapping an arm around me, Jake guides me through the station and out to the parking lot. Once we’re outside, he says, “I can’t believe you climbed out through the roof.”
“I can’t believe you put a tracking device on the car.”
He gives me that grin of his, his hand lowering from my waist to my hip. “I’ll gladly accept whatever punishment you feel fits the crime.”
“Since it all worked out in the end, I won’t go too hard on you.”
I laugh at his expression of mock disappointment.
Turning serious, he says, “There’s just one thing I don’t understand.”
“What’s that?”
He glances over his shoulder, checking that no one is within hearing distance.
“Why didn’t you save yourself all that trouble and just kill him in the first place?”
“I don’t kill for sport, Jake. It’s not something that I enjoy doing.”
“I know, but still…”
Exhaling loudly, I confess, “From the pictures I found online, it was clear that the two of you were related, but I wasn’t sure how. Until I got to the warehouse and saw him in person and was able to gauge his age, I thought maybe he could have been your brother.”
“He was my uncle,” Jake says. “Though I hadn’t seen him in decades, since before my mom left. But even if he’d been some sibling I never knew about, I’d still choose you, Cassie. Always will.”
“But you don’t have to choose,” I say. “That’s what I’ve been trying to get you to understand. I don’t want you to. Even normal families are complicated. If you want to see—or support—either of your parents, then please do. I know it doesn’t mean you love me any less.”
He stops and pulls me to him. As he gives me a kiss that makes my knees weak and my toes curl, I tell myself that I meant what I just said. Which I do. There just needs to be some ground rules first. But not with him.
Janine’s in store for a little visit. And honestly? I can’t help kind of looking forward to it.