Keep Her Safe(68)

It doesn’t help that I can feel her intense gaze drag over my body. Had I known she was going to show up, I would have thrown on pants over my boxer briefs.

I smoothly slide Klein’s business cards into the top drawer. I’ll tell her about him after I talk to Silas. “I thought I’d do a few quick online searches for your aunt. Get those out of the way.” The same rudimentary steps I take when I’m searching for people in my job. I hit up Google, all the major social media sites, a few people-search databases. Two Betsy Richardses and two dozen Elizabeth Richardses turned up, but nothing promising yet.

She nods toward the file folder in my hand marked Visa, a knowing smile touching her lips. “You’re still holding out hope about that money, aren’t you?”

“I was just looking for . . . I don’t know what I was looking for.” I sigh, flipping it open. Every month reads mostly the same—weekly grocery shopping, gas, maintenance on her BMW, stops at local restaurants to grab lunches. Mom paid for everything on her card. She liked to collect points for that big trip she talked about taking one day. Where to, she couldn’t decide.

A line item catches my notice.

A charge at a gas station in El Paso.

I keep scrolling through the statement—from two months ago—to find a hotel charge in Tucson.

“What is it?” Gracie asks, stepping farther into the room.

“Did your mother mention my mom coming to see her?”

Gracie frowns in thought. “No.”

“You sure? Maybe when she was high and you assumed she was making up things?”

“I wasn’t the one who was high.” Understanding passes over Gracie’s face. “Your mom came to Tucson, didn’t she?”

“For one night, back in February.” The same weekend that Jenson and I flew to Colorado Springs to go snowboarding.

“Why didn’t she give us the money then?”

“I tried to make it right. But I couldn’t even face her. I couldn’t face what I’d done to her; what I’d made her become.”

“Because she was a coward,” I whisper, sliding the bill back where it was and shutting the filing cabinet. So far, everything she said that last night, though seemingly incoherent, ties to the truth.

Based on her call to Klein, my mother knew Mantis killed Abe and she did nothing about it. The question is, why? If I figure that out, then maybe I can distract the feds from wondering why I lied to the police in the first place. Maybe I can keep my mother’s name—and her own admissions of guilt—out of this. But in order to do that, I need information.

Tomorrow . . . I’ve had enough truth for today. “Let’s go to bed.”

Gracie’s eyebrow lifts with surprise, making me replay my choice of words and then cringe, as I brace myself for the sharp-tongued rejection I’ve come to expect from her.

“Good night, Noah.” She disappears down the hall, into her room.

I shake my head, the smile slipping out despite the somber mood. “?’Night, Gracie.”





CHAPTER 28


Officer Abraham Wilkes

April 24, 2003

“Mike!” I clasp hands with the officer sitting behind the desk. “Where have you been all summer, besides not on the court?”

“In hell.” He gestures to the brace around his knee, frustration filling his round face.

“Still?” Mike Rhoades tore his MCL chasing down punks who’d robbed a convenience store months ago and, it appears, is still on light administrative duty.

“It was this place or answering phones. Either way . . . great for the waistline.” He pats his growing stomach to emphasize his sarcasm.

“So? How is it down here?” I rattle the fence partition that surrounds the desk. It’s part of the evidence room’s security measures.

He shrugs, then offers a wan smile. “They let me out to see daylight every once in a while.”

“Damn, man. Hope you’re back on the road soon.”

“You and me both. Definitely before they upgrade this computer system. I don’t want anything to do with that mess.” He sees that I’ve come empty-handed. “So what are you doing down here?”

I glance over my shoulder to make sure no one’s behind me. “You know that big bust over at The Lucky Nine the other night?”

“Who doesn’t? Canning wants to give Mantis a commendation for that one.”

“Yeah, I heard.” I hesitate. “Can you tell me what was logged in for evidence?”

His bushy eyebrow pops up, making me think that I’m overstepping our long-standing friendship.

“Or, at least, how much cash came in with the drugs?”

“Who’s asking?”

“I am.”

After a long pause, Mike shifts his attention to his computer and begins tapping the keys. I wait quietly, watching his gaze as it scrolls down the screen.

His head shakes slightly. “No cash. A shit-ton of drugs, four guns . . . no cash.” His green eyes flicker to me. “Why?”

“Just a hunch.”

More like a glaring understanding about how Canning’s prize-winning hounds are operating.





CHAPTER 29


Grace

Cyclops growls at the strange bird caw.