Keep Her Safe(79)

“Oh, okay.” He looks so crestfallen, it makes my chest ache. “He hasn’t been around much.”

“I promise you, he’s just been busy with work.”

“What’s got him so busy all of a sudden?”

“A special project,” I lie quickly. If “project” means lurking around every slum in Austin, looking for his prostitute sister-in-law. “You go on. You have a friend waitin’.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

I leave a peck on his cheek. “And just because it’s Friday night don’t mean y’all can be playin’ that Nintendo ’til the sun rises.”

With a sheepish grin—because that’s exactly what those two boys will do, and then they’ll sleep half the day away—he trudges down the hall.

I suck back the last mouthful of whiskey from my glass and welcome the familiar burn. It’s too tempting to go for a refill, especially after how hard these last few weeks have been. I decide there’s no harm in one more.

I’m turning to go inside when headlights catch my attention. A car pulls into our driveway. I know it’s not Blair; he’s in Denver at a sales conference. For a split second, I hold out hope that it’s Abe, coming to tell me that he gets my side of things, that he sees what a difficult position I was put in.

That hope is dashed quickly enough, though, as Mantis steps out of the driver’s seat.

“Wonderful,” I mutter, wishing I had that refill already so I could suck it back. I need a drink to deal with this asshole. And after that latest big bust—coincidentally, at the same motel I followed Betsy to—he’s strutting around like Canning’s prize peacock. “What do you want?”

“That’s how you greet visitors?” The porch steps creak under his weight.

“When they arrive uninvited on my doorstep and their name is Dwayne . . .”

“We need to talk.”

“About that God-awful cologne you’re wearing? Seriously, it should be banned from production.”

He flashes me a cold smile. “Wilkes has been shooting his mouth off, making accusations he shouldn’t be making.”

Dread slides through my limbs, even as I steel my expression, not wanting to give my panic away. “Shooting his mouth off about what?”

Mantis drops his voice. “What he thinks he saw at the Lucky Nine bust last week.”

I let out the softest exhale of relief. This isn’t about Abe and me. “And what does he think he saw?”

“Nothing that he should be nosing around the evidence logs and then questioning me about.”

There’s only one reason I can think of for Abe to be doing either of those things—Mantis and his guys didn’t turn something over. I don’t have to ask what. This bust is the topic of the week around the department. I doubt I’m the only one who wondered why there was no money mentioned in the haul, along with the drugs and guns. With a bust like that, there’s always money.

But everyone knows that dirt-bag dealer is guilty and deserves to be behind bars, so even though people might be wondering, no one’s saying it out loud.

No one except Abe, it seems. Because he always does the right thing.

If Abe is nosing around and has said something to Mantis, then he’s likely going to bring it forward, and if he goes to Internal Affairs with this, it’ll be hard to ignore his accusations. And if it gets out in the press that Canning’s star drug hounds are pocketing drug money?

The department’s reputation will be smeared, Canning’s valiant war on drugs in this city will be tarnished, and his drug task force will be dismantled. All of their busts may come into question.

In the end, who would win besides a bunch of criminals?

Mantis knows all this as well as I do, which is why he’s on my doorstep, rattled.

“What the hell was he doing at that dive anyway? I thought him and his wife were solid.”

Realization hits and I close my eyes, a fresh wave of guilt washing over me. “He was lookin’ for someone.” You and your shitty luck, Abe, for being in the wrong place at the wrong time. “Dammit, Dwayne, why the hell would you think I can get you out of your mess?”

“My mess? What, you think your best friend can stir up shit and some of that shit won’t land on you? Come on, Marshall . . .” He lets out a derisive snort. “If you can’t keep one cop quiet for the good of this department, Canning won’t be so quick to tap your shoulder for that assistant chief spot. Yeah, I know Canning wants a female. He needs to check off that box and get those diversity crybabies off his ass.”

I grit my teeth. Of course Mantis would assume that’s why Canning wants me there. That it’s not because I’m good enough to be assistant chief—and maybe chief, one day. “Abe and I aren’t exactly on good terms.”

“Why?” Mantis’s already beady eyes narrow even further. “What’d you do?”

“Who says I did anything?”

“Because Boy Scout never does anything wrong.”

My ears catch Noah’s voice, calling to me from inside the house. “Get outta here. We shouldn’t even be having this conversation.”

“You need to shut him the hell up.”

“Or what?”

Mantis gets right into my face, looking ready to pick a fistfight with me. For just a second, I wonder if he’ll follow through. I wouldn’t put it past him. “Or someone else will.”