Chapter 33
Ridge
I get into the SUV and pull the door shut behind me. All I can think about is the evidence in my laptop bag.
I scrub a hand over my face.
I pick up my phone and note that I have two missed calls from Reed.
She wants an update.
I’m trying to decide whether to call her back and what to say when I do, when my phone rings.
It’s Flint.
I tap to answer. “Speak to me.”
“We need to meet.” His voice is short. “Vasanti’s Hardware on Eighth and Vine. The lot on the east side. Now.”
“Vasanti’s? Why there?”
“You’ll see when you get here.”
The call cuts, and I put my phone down.
I head out and am there in under ten minutes.
I spot Flint right away. He’s parked at the far end, near the trolley bay, leaning against his bike. His helmet hangs off one handlebar.
I pull in next to him and get out.
“What’s going on?” I ask as I shut the door.
“I got in to see Magma.”
I exhale. “I’m all ears.”
“He’s angry, confused, and disappointed,” Flint says. “That and seriously fucking upset. He wants to know why no one is listening to him. He mostly wants to know how a burner with his prints ended up taped under his bed.”
“That’s what I want to know, too.”
“Yeah.” Flint scrubs a hand over his jaw.
“I had to walk him through it. I asked him about cell phones. Had he picked one up, handled one that wasn’t his, anything in the last two weeks.
He said no, but I kept pushing. He still said no.
Then I asked him to think about it harder.
To walk back through every day of the last fortnight and tell me where he had been. ”
“And?”
“At first, nothing. Then he told me that last Wednesday, he came in here, to Vasanti’s, on his lunch break. He needed a part for that fence he’s been fixing at his place. He was at the counter when a human female dropped a cell phone right at his feet. He picked it up and handed it back to her.”
“That has to be it.”
“Magma found it strange that she was wearing gloves on such a hot day,” Flint adds. “He forgot all about it until our conversation sparked his memory.”
“This female wore gloves so that she didn’t get her prints on the phone,” I say.
“Exactly.”
I look up at the front of the store. There’s a security camera under the awning over the main door. A second one tucked above the trolley return. I scan the lot. There are two more on the light poles. One at the bay where Flint parked. One at the side exit. All angles are covered.
“I take it we’re here to try to get the CCTV footage.” I lift my brow.
Flint nods. “They should have decent coverage inside, too. If Magma’s right about the timing, we should be able to pull her up on multiple angles.”
“Let’s go.”
We cross the lot together. The automatic doors hiss open. The store is wide and bright and smells like sawdust and rubber matting. A teenager at the till looks up at us with a flat expression.
“We need to speak to your manager,” Flint says.
“Is there a problem?”
“No problem.” Flint keeps it light. “We just need a few minutes of his time.”
She picks up the phone next to the register and says something into it. A minute later, a man comes out from a doorway near the back. He is middle-aged, balding, with reading glasses pushed up on his forehead, and a name tag that reads PETER.
“How can I help you, gentlemen?”
We both pull our credentials.
“I’m Commander Ridge, and this is Flint. We’re both from Draig Security and working a case. We need to look at your store’s CCTV footage from last Wednesday. We won’t be able to give you details, but it’s important and time-sensitive.”
Peter looks at the IDs. Looks back up at us. “Is one of my staff in trouble?”
“No, sir,” Flint says. “Nothing like that. We’re following up on an incident involving a member of the public. Your footage may have something we can use.”
“All right.” He nods slowly. “We have nothing to hide. Come through to the back.”
He takes us through a door beside the customer service desk and down a short corridor to a small office. There’s a desk, a monitor, a second monitor showing live camera feeds, and a chair that has seen better days. He logs in and pulls up the recording software.
“All right. What day and what time?”
“Last Wednesday,” Flint says. “Just before twelve, give or take.”
“Which camera?”
“All of them, please. Inside, at the front counter first. Then we’ll work outward.”
“Are you familiar with this setup?”
“Yes,” Flint says.
Peter sets it up and steps back. “I’ll leave you to it, then. Take as long as you need. Close the door on your way out if I’m not back.”
“Thank you.”
He leaves and pulls the door shut.
Flint takes the chair, and I lean over his shoulder.
He scrubs through the counter footage. The timestamp ticks forward. People come and go.
Then Magma walks in.
“This is it,” I say.
I feel something loosen in my chest just seeing him on the screen. He’s wearing the dark green jacket I know, hair pulled back, a small package already under his arm from one of the aisles. He goes up to the counter and waits behind another customer.
She steps into the frame a second later.
It’s a human female in her mid-thirties.
She has light brown hair tied back at her neck and is of average height and slim build.
She’s wearing a long-sleeved gray sweater, dark jeans, and yes, thin black gloves.
The kind you might use for gardening or driving, but absolutely not for a regular shopping trip on a warm day.
“There she is,” Flint says under his breath.
She queues behind Magma. She is on her phone.
Flint freezes the frame.
“I’m sure that’s the same make and model as the burner found. I’ll get my team to magnify this and find out.”
He pushes play again, and the female drops the phone right at Magma’s feet. He bends and picks it up, handing it to her. She takes it with one gloved hand and smiles, saying something. He nods, and they step back into line.
The whole thing takes less than ten seconds.
“That’s it.” Flint pauses the playback. “That’s our girl.”
“Get a clean shot of her face.”
He scrubs back, finds the moment she looks up at Magma, and pauses. The angle is good. She’s looking up and almost straight into the camera. I pull out my phone and snap a picture of the screen. Flint does the same with his.
“We need her registration. Let’s hope she parked out front,” I tell him.
“Here’s to hoping she did.” Flint scrubs back further.
He scrubs forward to find her walking out.
“It doesn’t look like she bought anything,” I remark.
“Interesting,” Flint says.
He pulls up footage from an outside camera, and she walks out of the front of the store. She doesn’t dawdle.
Flint picks up a different angle that shows her getting into a dark blue sedan.
“Aaaaand here are the…plates.” Flint zooms in.
The image goes blocky for a second and then resolves. The reg is clear enough.
“Got it.” He notes it down on a small pad he pulls from his jacket. I take a picture of the screen on my phone, as well, just to be safe.
“We got her!” he says with a flourish.
“We did, indeed,” I tell him.
Flint stops the playback. He stands up and stretches his back. We leave, closing the door behind us, as requested.
Peter is at the till talking to the young woman. He looks up when we come back.
“Get what you needed?”
“We did,” Flint says. “Could I ask one more favor? Could you send me some footage? I’ll give you the timestamps and cameras.”
“No problem.”
Flint writes everything down, tears the page off, and hands it over with his business card clipped to it.
“You can email them as files or share a link, whichever is easier.”
Peter looks at the card. “I’ll get this to you at closing tonight.”
“Perfect.”
“Thanks for your cooperation,” I add.
“Happy to help.”
We walk out.
It’s almost dark. We cross the lot back to the bike and the SUV without talking. Flint pulls his phone out of his jacket as we go.
At his bike, he stops and looks at me. “I’ll run the plates as soon as I’m back at the office. I should have an address by the time the system catches up. I’ll pay her a visit in the morning.”
“I want to be there.”
He nods. “I figured. Probably better that way. We don’t know who we are dealing with.”
“Call me. Doesn’t matter how early. We’ll go together.”
“I’ll call you.”
He puts his phone away. Then he tilts his head a fraction. “You found anything yet on your doctor?”
“No,” I say. “Nothing.”
“Hmm.” He looks at me for a beat.
“I’ll be in touch.”
He throws a leg over the bike, pulls his helmet on, and snaps the visor down. The engine kicks. He rolls past me toward the exit with a small lift of two fingers, and then he’s gone.
I get back in the SUV and tap out a message to Reed.
Status update. Nothing of note today. Have an area I haven’t searched yet. Will get back to you tomorrow.
I read it back. Then I hit send.
I’ve just lied to a Councilor. I’ve withheld evidence.
I’m running a parallel investigation off the books with Magma’s second-in-command at Security Central.
If any of this comes out before I have something to show for it, I’m done.
Treason charges, jail, the whole works. Magma’s cell will have a neighbor.
I keep driving.
I’m doing the right thing. The only thing I can do right now.
I’m protecting an innocent female from being shoved through the same meat grinder as my best friend. If I hand the pouch over now, no one will think twice; they’ll just put her name on the list and start building the case against her.
There are two new males posted outside her apartment. They will have relieved Brutus and Smoke. I don’t recognize either of them, but they recognize me. They straighten up the second I walk in.
“Commander.”
“Evening,” I say. “I will look in on the client and double-check that she is secure for the night. The two of you can go.”
“Thank you, sir,” the one says, and they walk to the parked vehicle.
I go to the entrance and wave at the security guard, who lets me in.
I head for the elevator.
I get off on her floor. The hallway is empty. I knock on her door.
It opens almost immediately.
Robyn is wearing a plain white T-shirt and no bra. It hits her about mid-thigh. Her hair is down, and her feet are bare. She has clearly just stepped out of the shower because her cheeks are still pink and the ends of her hair are damp.
She’s a sight for sore eyes.
“Commander.”
“Doctor.”
She steps forward, slides her arms around my neck, and pulls me into the apartment.
The door clicks shut behind us.
I get my hands on her waist through the thin cotton and back her up against the wall in the entryway. Her body is warm under the shirt. Her thighs are bare against the fronts of mine. I dip my head, and she lifts her chin to meet me. Her mouth opens under mine. She tastes like toothpaste.
I grab the hem of the T-shirt in both hands and drag it up. She lifts her arms for me without breaking the kiss, only for as long as it takes me to pull it over her head, and then her mouth is back on mine.
I shouldn’t do this, but I can’t help myself.
One last night before everything goes to hell.