Keep Her Safe(103)

“Well, I have something that might help uncomplicate it.” Isaac reaches into his pocket.





CHAPTER 43


Noah

“Who knew you’d be a good drug hound,” I murmur, scratching Cyclops between his tattered ears before sinking into the living room couch. An FBI evidence tech strolls past, peeling gloves from his hands on his way out the door.

“I knew.” Gracie’s eyes twinkle. “Last year, Sims was on his stomach one night, searching under his trailer, cursing and threatening to kill the bastard when he finds out who was stealing from him. I was coming home from work a week later and I saw Cyclops tear out from under the Simses’ trailer with a bag of weed in his mouth. It had this long piece of duct tape attached to it, all torn up by Cyclops’s teeth. I guess Sims was taping weed to the underside.” She chuckles. “I followed him across the road, and watched him dig a hole and bury it.”

“I take it you didn’t enlighten Sims?”

“Hell no!” She grins. “It was way more fun knowing that idiot was getting robbed by a one-eyed dog.”

Klein charges down the stairs then and into the living room, cutting off our laughter. “We haven’t found anything else so far, but we’ll keep looking.”

“You checked the office? And my room?” A few drawers were sitting open a crack, enough to flag that someone might have been in there.

“Yup. Nothing.” He flips open his notepad, his eyes on Gracie. “Why don’t you give me a rundown again . . . You got home around two fifteen p.m. You were in the pantry . . .”

“Putting away groceries,” I answer, noting Gracie’s cheeks flushing. “Gracie noticed a spot of blood on the floor.” I run through the next few moments again, Gracie finding her composure quickly enough to fill in a word here and there.

“And there were no signs that anyone was still in the house when you came home?”

I shudder at the thought. “No, sir.”

A loud knock sounds on the front door.

“You expecting someone?” Klein nods toward Tareen, who’s been floating around, to answer it.

“Actually, I am, but he doesn’t usually knock,” I mutter, checking my phone. Silas has been calling me all day, leaving messages. I can’t talk to him right now, not when I’m too busy wondering how he could swear up and down that Abe was guilty despite knowing about the video and Abe’s plans to out Mantis; despite the evidence we saw today that clearly shows a third person was in that room.

A moment later, Tareen returns with Boyd and his partner in tow, a worried look on Boyd’s face.

“Hey, Marshall. Is everything okay?”

I shrug. “Somebody broke in.”

“Dang. That sucks.” He looks between me and Gracie, and then to Klein, and Bill the evidence guy, who trots down the steps carrying a plastic bag with the cocaine in it, and I can see the questions churning. Why would the feds be here? Why didn’t Noah call the APD?

What trouble has Noah gotten himself into?

God only knows what the neighbors will think, with FBI agents outside only two weeks after the last circus at this address. Reporters will be here soon enough, fishing for information.

“Can we help you with something, Officer?” Klein asks in that calm, even voice that sounds so goddamn arrogant.

Boyd stands a little taller as he faces Klein, his demeanor shifting instantly from longtime friend to cop-on-duty. “We were on patrol and saw the activity outside. I know there’s protocol, but if the APD can be of assistance—”

“Thanks. I’ll let you know.” Klein cuts him off abruptly, disappearing into the kitchen to make a call.

“Does this have anything to do with that run-in with Mantis?” Boyd asks.

“Why would you think that?” Gracie fires back, that hard, naturally suspicious side of her making its appearance.

“Because I’m no idiot, and nothing about what I saw yesterday looked normal,” he answers evenly.

I sigh. “Gracie, this is Boyd; Boyd, . . .” I gesture between the two of them, making fast introductions.

“So?” Boyd folds his arms across his chest.

“It might. It’s . . . a long story.”

“Do you need help, Noah?” His thick brows rise in question.

“We need you to tell the truth about what you saw yesterday,” Gracie answers for me, her tone challenging.

Boyd studies her for a long moment. “We can do one better. Our dash cam was running when we approached you. We caught that exchange on video. At least, from our viewpoint. Would that help?”

I don’t think Gracie was expecting that answer. “Yeah.” She clears her throat. “It would. Thanks.”

“What would help Noah?” a loud voice calls from the entryway.

My body tenses. It’s about time he gave up on the phone.

“You can’t be in here,” Tareen begins, moving toward Silas, his arm out as if to usher him outside.

As if that would stop Silas. “I can and will be in here. I’m the district attorney of Travis County and that is my nephew.” He limps farther into the living room. “And I demand to know what’s going on.”



* * *



Silas tosses his phone onto the kitchen table, rubbing the bridge of his nose. He looks like he hasn’t slept in days. And his face is visibly thinner. “He’s refusing to give his DNA without a court order, and the judge won’t issue one until we give sufficient reason to believe it was Stapley in this house.”