Chapter Forty-Three
Forty-Three
Leanne was late.
She yanked open the door of her truck and sloshed coffee all over her jeans.
“Crap!”
Dropping her duffel bag onto the driveway, she grabbed a napkin from the console to blot the spill.
Leanne glanced up as her brother’s blue Kia clattered up the driveway, blocking her in. She checked the time as Ben slid from his car. She was due in El Paso at eleven, and this was the worst possible morning for her to sleep through her alarm.
“Hey,” he said.
“Hey.”
He walked over, cigarette in hand, and she shielded her face from the bright morning sun. It was one of those crisp blue days, perfect for speeding down the open highway and making good time. But now she was going to be too late even for that.
Ben stopped in front of her and leaned his hand on the truck. “That’s a sick bruise.”
“Thanks.”
Her three-day-old shiner had turned a putrid shade of purple. Ben didn’t ask where it came from, but she figured he’d heard about it from their mom.
She tossed her duffel into the passenger seat.
“You headed out of town?” he asked.
“Yeah.”
“Where?”
“El Paso.”
He took a drag. “Why?”
“Work stuff.”
He looked only mildly curious as she leaned in and tucked her insulated mug into the cup holder.
“What’s up, Ben? I’m running really late, so—”
“Here.” He pulled an envelope from his back pocket and handed it over.
“What’s this?”
“Your money.”
“I don’t want it.”
“Yeah, you do.” He gave her a crooked smile that reminded her of ten-year-old Ben, and she felt a nostalgic pinch in her chest.
Leanne opened the envelope and thumbed through a stack of bills. Twelve hundreds.
“Jesus. What is this?”
“I told you. I found a good buyer.” He tossed his cigarette away and folded his arms over his skinny body. He was in a T-shirt today, even though it was barely forty degrees.
Leanne looked at the cash, and a hot wave of resentment washed over her.
Her dad’s LPs were gone. She didn’t even like jazz, but she wanted the records more than she wanted any money. She probably would have tried to buy them herself if Ben had bothered to ask.
She looked at her brother. He was watching her reaction closely, as though he suddenly cared about what she thought.
“I’m leaving,” he said.
“What do you mean?”
“I’m going to Austin with Izzy.”
“Izzy who?”
“Huerta.”
She blinked at him. “My Izzy?”
“She’s not your anything.”
Leanne stared at him. She had to have misunderstood, but his steady gaze told her that she hadn’t.
Leanne’s mind reeled. Ben and Izzy, a couple? She couldn’t picture it. And, good God, he was going to screw up her life.
“What’s in Austin?” she blurted.
“A job. It’s full time with the PD there.”
“You mean like—”
“She interviewed last fall, and they just now called her back.” He tucked his hands into his front pockets. “She’s excited about it. It’s got full benefits, too, which is good because she’s pregnant.”
Leanne’s mouth dropped open.
“Izzy and you…”
He crossed his arms and stuck his chin out defiantly. This was teenage Ben. Rebel Ben. The Ben who ditched school all the time and lied to their dad’s face about it.
“I’m going to start looking for something there, too,” he said. “We’re getting a place together. That’s what I needed the money for.”
A choked laugh burst out.
“You’re going to need a lot more than twelve hundred dollars! Are you out of your mind? You can’t be a parent. You’re barely out of rehab.”
He muttered something and walked away.
Panic spurted through her.
“Wait!”
Ben was leaving. Izzy was leaving. Next, the ground would open up and suck her right under.
“Ben, wait.”
He turned around and glared at her with those clear blue eyes.
Her father’s eyes. They were exactly the same, and she felt another jolt of panic.
She stepped toward him. “You’re really moving?”
“We need to get a fresh start.” His bony shoulder lifted in a shrug. “She really wants this. And I want her to be happy, so…”
He trailed off, and Leanne stared at him.
Her throat felt tight. For the last two years she’d battled this festering resentment over being dragged home after her father’s death and all the sacrifices she’d made to work on the Madrone police force.
She’d left her life behind to move back here for her family and help handle everyone’s problems. It hadn’t occurred to her that they might leave her.
“What is it?” Ben asked.
“I feel…” She coughed out a laugh. “God, some detective I am. She’s really pregnant?”
He sighed. “She didn’t want everyone to know, so…” He looked away uncomfortably. “Listen, I need to get going.”
“Here.” She shoved the envelope at him.
“That’s yours.”
“No. Take it. Are you kidding? Y’all are going to need it.”
He took the envelope and tucked it into his pocket. Then he walked to his car, and she trailed behind him, watching numbly as her little brother slid behind the wheel. A pang of love pierced her heart.
She rested her hand on the door and gazed down at him. “You and Izzy. Wow.”
He smiled shyly. “She’s amazing,” he said, and the look on his face put a lump in her throat. He was in love.
“What can I do for you?” she asked.
“We’re good.”
“I want to help. Please?”
He shook his head. “I’m not sure yet.” He glanced up at her, looking wary and young and completely in over his head. “I’ll let you know.”
· · ·
The adobe building sat between a laundromat and a resale shop on the west side of town. From the road it didn’t look like much, and that was how people liked it. Most of the tourists drove right past it on their way to Shooters or the Javelina.
Leanne parked in the gravel lot out front and took a moment to take everything in.
Paco’s Pub. Her dad had frequented this place, which was why she didn’t.
She had only set foot inside once, to attend a going-away party for a Madrone EMT who had moved to Midland.
It was a cop hangout, and she recognized more than a few of the pickups parked in the front row.
Leanne got out and crossed the gravel lot, mentally rehearsing what she wanted to say. She rubbed her palms on her jeans before opening the carved wood door.
Inside was warm and dim, and a couple of guys at the bar glanced over their shoulders as she stepped inside. She spotted several border agents she recognized, along with Glenn Meachum and Jim McBride. They occupied a corner of the bar, along with a third man in a camo puffer vest.
Leanne walked over, acutely aware of the curious looks she was getting from the regulars who had never seen her in here.
Meachum noticed her first and stopped talking.
She nodded at him, then looked at McBride, who clearly was surprised to see her at her dad’s old watering hole.
“Sorry to interrupt, Chief. Could I talk to you a moment?”
McBride traded looks with the others. Then he grabbed his beer glass and glanced past her at some empty tables. “Sure.”
“Thanks.”
He slid from his stool.
“Mind if we sit outside?” she asked, nodding toward the back.
He arched his brows. “Fine by me.” He grabbed the wooden bowl of peanuts on the bar. “This way,” he said, leading her down a narrow hallway that smelled of stale beer.
The courtyard in back was nothing more than a patch of concrete underneath a few swags of lights, but most of the picnic tables were filled with people smoking and vaping. McBride led her to a table tucked against the cedar-slat fence.
“Sorry to bother you after hours,” she said, taking a seat opposite McBride as he swung a leg over the bench.
“No problem.” He dumped the peanuts on the ground and set the bowl on the table, then dug into his camo jacket for a pack of Marlboro Reds. He lit his cigarette and took a deep drag.
“What’s up?” he asked contentedly through a stream of smoke.
“We’ve got a situation.”
He lifted an eyebrow and ashed his cigarette into the bowl.
“I had a meeting with Frank Perrine,” she said.
“The lawyer out of Houston.” His brow furrowed as he took another drag. “Why were you talking to him?”
“I was hoping to get ahead of some things, sir. Specifically, what all he plans to put in his filing. I heard from a reporter that Perrine is filing his lawsuit tomorrow, and turns out that’s true.”
“So what? We expected that.”
“Well, after talking to this attorney I’m pretty concerned about what’s in the lawsuit.”
He didn’t say anything, just watched her through the haze of smoke.
“It sounds like Sean Moriarty plans to say my dad and you coerced a confession from him during his questioning about Hannah Rawls. That you did it at gunpoint.”
McBride reached over and ashed his cigarette again. “And?”
“And…doesn’t that…alarm you, sir?”
“Not really. We knew this was coming.”
“Well, what’s the plan, if you don’t mind my asking? See, I’m concerned that as soon as the press gets wind of this, it’s going to destroy my father’s reputation. Not to mention damage our credibility as a department.”
McBride didn’t look at her.
“Aren’t you worried about the same?”
“I talked to our lawyer,” he said, leveling a look at her across the table. “He thinks we can beat this thing. The guy’s a known piece of shit, and it’s his word against mine.”
“You mean Sean Moriarty,” she said.
He nodded.
“Well, I think the media scrutiny is going to be intense,” she said. “They’re going to put our whole department under a microscope.”
He rolled his eyes. “That’s already happened. What’s your point?”
“I just wanted to get your assurance, sir, that you won’t throw my dad to the wolves.” She watched the chief’s face. “I don’t want to see his legacy ruined.”
He took a long drag, then blew out a stream of smoke. “You know, if I were you, I wouldn’t be worried about my dad’s legacy right now. I’d be worried about my job.”
She drew back. “How’s that?”
He shook his head as he stubbed out his cigarette. “Insubordination. Ignoring orders from your superiors—”
“When did I—”