34. Maverick
MAVERICK
CHAINS
I don’t move. Don’t blink. I stare at Clara like I didn’t hear what she said—like my brain misfired and needs a second to reboot.
But then it hits me.
And it hits hard.
I jerk to my feet, the motion sudden, like I’ve just been sucker-punched. “No—” I mutter, my voice flat and hollow. “No. That’s not?—”
I rake both hands through my hair, pacing a short, agitated loop across the room before whipping back around to face her. Her eyes are wide, glassy. Red-rimmed. She’s not lying. She can’t be lying.
“You’re sure?” I ask, even though I already know the answer. It’s written all over her face.
“I’m sure.” Her voice scrapes through the air, like it took everything she had to force the words out. “I’d know his voice anywhere. ”
My eyes snap to the blank TV screen. The silence in the room feels suffocating.
“Jesus Christ.”
She nods slowly, hands shaking. Her chest rises and falls too fast, telling me she’s barely holding herself together.
My stomach twists. My pulse hammers in my throat. I can’t breathe past the rage burning beneath my skin.
“He’s not just close to the case,” I say in disbelief, barely recognizing my own voice. “He’s in it. The press conferences. The updates. The concern. All of it—he’s been hiding in plain sight. Watching everything.”
I curse under my breath and ball my fist, the sting of my nails digging into my palm anchoring me.
“This whole time… This whole fucking time.”
Juno lets out a soft whine, pulling my attention back to the couch.
He climbs onto Clara’s lap without hesitation, nuzzling into her chest. That’s when I notice the rivulets of tears streaming down her face.
One hand covers her mouth as though she’s trying to contain the flood while the other absently strokes Juno’s fur.
The sight is enough to snap me out of it, punching the air from my lungs.
Shit.
I exhale sharply and drag a hand down my face.
Crossing the room, I kneel in front of her and tap Juno’s hind legs, guiding him off her lap. Her hands drop to her thighs.
“Hey,” I say softly, placing my hands over hers. “I’m here, baby. I’ve got you, okay? ”
For a moment, she doesn’t move—doesn’t even blink. But then her gaze finds mine, and I see the shift. The fire catching hold beneath the grief.
“I’m angry, Maverick,” she says. She wipes at her face with her palms. “God, I wish I could just be angry without fucking crying.”
“I know, sunshine.” I press a kiss to both cheeks, then swipe the tears away with my thumbs. “We need to call Cruz. Let the team know. You’re not alone in this. Not for a second.”
I reach for my phone on the coffee table. The press conference should be over by now. My fingers tremble as I unlock the screen and scroll to Cruz’s number.
He answers on the second ring.
“We’ve got a fucking problem,” I cut in before he can speak. “Clara just ID’d Samson. He’s the goddamn mayor. She recognized his voice during the press conference. Round up the team and get to Minneapolis. Meet me at my place. We need to move fast.”
There’s a beat of stunned silence, then, “We’re on our way.”
The line goes dead.
I lower the phone slowly and stare at it for a second, like the weight of what I just said hasn’t fully settled yet. The mayor. The motherfucking mayor. He inserted himself into the investigation just enough to seem involved but not enough to raise suspicion. He was monitoring us. Manipulating us.
No fucking wonder he was able to access Heather’s police file. And it wouldn’t have been difficult for him to find the location of my rental.
All this time…
If Clara hadn’t watched the press conference, hadn’t heard his voice…
Fucking hell.
I suck in a breath and let it out through my nose, trying to keep my emotions in check. I push my frustrations aside, focusing on Clara.
Still kneeling on the floor by her feet, I adjust my position, crouching in front of her. “Sunshine,” I murmur, reaching for her hand. “They’ll be here soon. About an hour and a half. Let’s get you something to eat, yeah? Maybe even pretend we’re normal for five minutes?”
Her lips twitch, just barely. “Normal’s overrated.”
“Yeah, but I’ll take boring and safe over this nightmare any day.”
I help her off the couch and guide her into the kitchen, keeping things simple—grilled cheese and tomato soup. Comfort food. She doesn’t eat much, but she lets me sit beside her while she picks at her food. I don’t push. I just stay close.
“Mav?”
“Yeah, sunshine?”
“Do you mind if I go into your office and call Tamara? I haven’t talked to her in a few days. She’s going to kill me.”
Clara leans back in her chair and nudges her plate away, but I don’t miss the slight tremble in her voice. She needs someone to talk to. Someone who isn’t me. Someone who isn’t wrapped up in all this fuckery. I get it. I don’t like it, but I get it.
“You never have to ask. The office is yours.”
I stand and offer her my hand, pulling her gently to her feet and into my space. “You tell me if you need anything, okay?”
“Okay,” she whispers.
She rises on her toes and presses her soft, full lips to mine. I wrap my arms around her waist and pull her in closer, deepening the kiss. My tongue traces the seam of her lips, and she parts them for me with a quiet sigh. I nip her bottom lip and suck gently before easing back.
Her breathing’s shallow when she opens her eyes. “What was that for?”
“Because I wanted to. Because I can. Now go call Tamara before she gets mad. She’s scary.”
I turn her toward the office with a gentle nudge, swatting her ass as she walks away. She tosses me a look over her shoulder, half a smile playing on her lips. I watch her until she disappears into the room, closing the door behind her.
I let out a deep, heavy sigh and lean back against the counter before burying my face in my hands. I don’t move. I can’t.
Goddamn it. What a clusterfuck. I need to think. Need to process what just happened.
We need to be careful. Can’t have any missteps.
We don’t know who he’s got in his pocket, and we can’t let anything get back to him; a leak could compromise everything.
Getting a warrant is going to be a fucking nightmare.
The evidence has to be ironclad—indisputable.
One wrong move, and he’ll vanish… Or worse, take someone else and then vanish.
An hour and a half later, headlights sweep across the living room wall, alerting me to the team’s arrival.
Clara’s still in the office. She’s been talking to Tamara this whole time.
Her voice has been a constant soundtrack—soft, sometimes laughing, sometimes quiet.
Once or twice, I heard her crying, and each time, it made my chest tighten.
I didn’t listen to her words, just the sound of her voice.
The rhythm. Like a heartbeat. Like home.
I knock once on the door.
“They’re here, sunshine,” I say. “Take your time. Just wanted to let you know.”
We’re all gathered in the kitchen.
Arlo and Spencer are set up at the counter, fingers flying across their keyboards.
Cruz, Evie, Jesse, and Riley occupy the table, surrounded by notepads, open files, evidence photos, and half-drunk mugs of coffee.
I sit close to Clara, having pulled her chair just a little nearer to mine. If anyone notices, no one says a word.
“Wait,” Evie says suddenly, sitting up straighter. “Arlo. Didn’t you say the art gallery was on the same block as the mayor’s office?”
“Yeah,” he replies, eyes still locked his screen. He glances over his shoulder. “Why?”
I already know what she’s thinking. “I want exterior camera footage from the mayor’s office the day Marie was taken,” I say. “Don’t focus on Marie. Look for him.”
“Smart,” Evie murmurs.
“We need to come up with a plan,” Cruz says, arms folded, eyes flicking between all of us.
“A meeting,” Spencer offers. “Ask him for a sit-down with the task force. He’s manipulative, but he’s also a narcissist. He won’t be able to resist an opportunity to be the center of attention.”
“Smug son of a bitch.” Jesse scrubs a hand down his face, glaring at the table as if it’s personally offended him. “He’ll sit there, thinking he’s got one over on us, knowing he’s the fucker we’re looking for.”
“We could pitch it as a third press conference,” I suggest, “but this time, he takes the lead. A direct appeal to the city of Rochester.”
“To stir the public. Say we’re desperate for a break because the hotline’s been dead,” Riley adds. “That’s brilliant.”
Clara speaks up then, tentative but steady. “How difficult would it be to get a warrant?” There’s curiosity in her voice, and maybe a touch of guilt for asking.
“We’d need hard, physical evidence,” Evie says. “Something tangible. If we can get him to touch a glass or bottle—anything—we might be able to pull DNA.”
“But we have to do it without him knowing,” I add, acknowledging the hardest part. “And when we get the warrant, we don’t announce it. We move the second it hits. He can’t know. ”
“I found something,” Arlo exclaims, his voice sharp and urgent.
We all freeze.
He unplugs his laptop and brings it over to the table, setting it in front of me. “Here. Look.” He rewinds the video and hits play.
The mayor steps out of his office and casually turns down the street at the same moment Marie appears in the frame. He keeps pace behind her, looking like any other businessman walking down the street. A few beats later, they both disappear inside Revolution Coffee.
Spencer leans over the screen. “I’ll pull the surveillance feed from the coffee shop.”
“If we can catch them walking out together,” Cruz says, “and the DNA comes back as a match to our crime scene? That’s concrete evidence. That’s game over.”
I can feel Clara’s eyes on me. I turn to her.
She leans in, voice low. “You want to go to Rochester, don’t you?”
“I’m not leaving you, sunshine.”
“That’s not what I asked.” She arches a brow, silently challenging me. “Do you want to go?”
I hesitate, then concede. “…Yes. But?—”
“No buts.” Her voice is soft, but fierce. “You should go. I’ll be fine here. You need to do this. We all need you to do this. Would it be okay if Tamara stayed with me?”
“You’re positive?”
She rolls her eyes, crossing her arms below her chest. “I just told you to go, didn’t I? ”
“Pretty sure she did, boss,” Jesse mutters, casually looking through files.
“No one was talking to you,” I chide, shooting him a glare. Turning my attention back to Clara, I offer her a small smile. “I’ll be back tonight. I won’t stay in Rochester. I can commute until this shitshow is over.”
There’s no way I’m leaving her to sleep alone. She’s made so much progress, and who knows how today’s revelation will affect her?
She nods once. “And Tamara? She can come by while you’re gone?”
“Of course,” I say gently. “You don’t even have to ask. It’ll make me feel better if you aren’t alone.”
Clara smiles at me—a full smile this time—and stands. “I’m going to call her.”
I track her as she heads off to make the call, then look to Cruz. “Set up the meeting with the mayor.”