Chapter Forty-Three #2
“Stealing property from the evidence room.” He leaned forward. “You think I don’t know you’ve been feeding evidence to your lover boy? You think I don’t talk to the sheriff? That I don’t know what’s going on in my own department?”
“I didn’t—”
“You’re on thin ice, Everhart. If I were you, I’d be thinking about finding a way to keep from getting fired.”
She leaned back. “So, are you planning to scapegoat him?”
His face flushed. “Evidently, you’re not listening. So let me spell it out. I spent the last sixteen years protecting your father from his own mistakes. I’ve done all I can do, and this thing is bigger than me now.”
She nodded. “So, that’s it. You’re going to scapegoat him. Say it was all him, that he acted alone.”
“There’s nothing more I can do now.”
She watched the chief’s cold gray eyes as a swarm of butterflies gathered in her stomach. She felt queasy. Sick over what she was about to do. Her throat went dry.
“I have the tape.”
His eyebrows arched. “What tape?”
“It didn’t burn up in the fire, if that was your intention.”
He leaned closer, close enough for her to see the pink gin blossoms on his nose. “Just what do you think you’re playing at?”
“I’m not playing,” she said, and her voice sounded wobbly. “If you try to pin this thing on my father, I plan to go to the FBI.”
His eyes drilled a hole in her, and she tried not to move or even blink. He eased back.
“You’re not going to do that,” he said.
“No?”
“No.”
“Why not?”
The side of his mouth curled up, and he shook his head.
“You forget that I watched you grow up. I watched you worship your daddy. I watched you spend your whole damn life trying to win his approval. You’re not going to ruin his name now.
It’s your name. Your reputation, too. And going to the feds would be career suicide.
” He paused, watching her eyes closely, like he was trying to read her soul. “You know I’m right.”
She swallowed.
“Come on, Everhart. Use your head. You’ve worked your whole life for a seat at the poker table. Now you’ve got a chip in the big-boy game, and you’re going to play it.”
She stayed stock-still, forcing herself to maintain eye contact. She didn’t want to look away first. But she blinked. And in that instant, he knew that he had her.
He took a sip of beer and set the glass down. “Where’s the tape?”
“Somewhere safe.” She cleared her throat. “Not at my mom’s.”
He looked away for a long moment. Then he shook his head.
“You know how old I am?”
The question surprised her. “Fifty-eight.”
“Fifty-nine next month.” He rubbed the white stubble on his chin. “I’m retiring next year. I’ll be recommending Josh Cooper as my backfill. The town council listens to me, so it’s going to go through.” He paused. “I can recommend you for deputy chief.”
She stared at him. “We don’t have a deputy chief.”
“We could. And it could be you.” He nodded. “Think about that.”
She watched his eyes, trying to gauge whether he was serious.
He drained his beer and plunked the glass on the table. Then he swung his legs over the bench and stood.
She looked up at him as he loomed over her like the giant he’d once been in her mind.
“I want that tape on my desk in the morning,” he said. “And then we won’t talk about this again.”
“No.”
His eyebrows arched.
“I don’t want to wait a whole year,” she said. “I want a promotion now.”
Annoyance flashed in his eyes.
“Agree, and you can have the tape now.” She pulled it from her jacket pocket and placed it on the table. It was an old-school cassette from a mini tape recorder. The word Moriarty was scrawled across the yellowed label.
She looked at McBride, and she could tell he itched to grab it.
“Fine.”
He picked up the tape and tucked it into his pocket. He gave her a long, cold look and then walked off.
She watched him go inside.
Then she followed, keeping her eyes straight ahead as she made her way down the narrow hallway and through the pub, watching from the corner of her eye as McBride reclaimed his place at the bar. She stepped outside again and strode to her truck.
She got behind the wheel, and a cold numbness overtook her as she pulled out of the parking lot and got on the highway.
Holy holy holy shit. What had she just done?
Up ahead, the dq sign glowed. She pulled in and drove around back. She whipped into a space near the outdoor tables.
The same tables where Hannah Rawls had hung out with her friends on that long-ago summer night. She’d spent some of the last moments of her too-short life here.
The passenger door opened, and Sam slid inside. She wore jeans and hiking boots and a brown leather bomber jacket that Leanne remembered from their Dallas days.
Leanne backed out of the space.
“You okay?” Sam asked.
“No.”
Leanne exited the parking lot. A Jeep loaded with teenagers swerved in front of her, and she jabbed the brakes and laid on the horn.
“Jesus!”
The Jeep peeled off with a squeal of tires.
She glanced at Sam as she tucked a tall cup into the console.
“I got you a Coke,” Sam said. “Figured you’d need the caffeine.”
Leanne got back on the highway and trained her gaze on the yellow lines. She glanced at her clock and did a double take.
Fifteen minutes.
That was how long it had taken to tear down the career she’d spent more than a decade building. The career she loved.
“Did you get all that?” She looked at Sam.
“Miguel said the audio was crystal clear.”
Leanne pinched the bridge of her nose. She tried to focus on next steps, not on the thing she had just done.
Next stop was the Madrone Motor Lodge, where the FBI had rented two adjoining rooms to use as a staging area.
More than a dozen members of the Bureau’s public integrity section were in on tonight’s operation.
Sam’s phone buzzed, and she picked it up. “Hi.”
Leanne heard a male voice on the other end, presumably Miguel, Sam’s husband.
“Yeah, we’re on our way,” she said.
Leanne grabbed the drink from the cupholder and took a long sip to cool her parched throat. Her leather jacket felt heavy, and the T-shirt underneath was plastered to her skin with sweat. She took a deep breath and tried to calm down.
She had broken the unspoken oath to protect her fellow officers, betraying her department. Even though she’d done the right thing, the result was going to be painful and permanent.
“Okay, got it.” Sam hung up and looked at her. “We’re all good. Our agents are leaving the bar now.”
Leanne nodded.
“You all right? You look a little pale.”
“I’m just…kind of in disbelief.”
“I get it.”
Anger flared inside her. Sam didn’t get it. She couldn’t because she had a job to wake up to tomorrow.
Leanne glanced at her. “I’ll never work again. Not as a cop, anyway. And definitely not here. They’ll circle the wagons, like they did with Uvalde. I’ve seen it before.”
Sam sighed and looked ahead. “I know. But look at it this way. You can—”
The phone buzzed again, and Sam grabbed it. “Yeah?”
The voice sounded urgent now, and Leanne glanced at her.
“What do you mean?” Sam paused. Then she looked at Leanne. “Who was he with?”
“McBride? You mean back at the bar?”
“Yeah.”
“He was with Glenn Meachum, the fire chief,” Leanne said. “And Glenn’s brother-in-law. Why?”
Sam relayed the info and then looked at Leanne.
“All of them left, but McBride’s vehicle is still in the lot.” Sam got back on the phone. “Did they check inside? What about the bathrooms?”
A black pickup passed them on the highway, and Leanne glanced at the rearview mirror.
“That’s him. Sam, that’s him.”
“What?”
“We just passed McBride. He’s in Meachum’s black F-150, right back there.”