Keep Her Safe(85)

I don’t know whether to laugh or groan.

Mantis turns his attention back to my ID in his hand, not answering her question, and, by the way his square jaw tenses, not happy that she’s toying with him. “Any relation to Chief Marshall?”

Will hearing that name—that title—ever not feel like a sucker punch to my gut again? “She was my mother.” And you damn well know that, you son of a bitch.

“Sorry to hear what happened.”

“Thanks.” This is the point where an APD officer would hand me back my ID and tell me I’m free to go.

“Such a shame she couldn’t hack it.”

I grit my teeth against the urge to defend her. He’s trying to provoke me.

“Women aren’t meant to take on big roles. They don’t have what it takes.”

Gracie’s nostrils flare in that way they do when she’s about to lose her temper and spout off all kinds of things that will get us into trouble—I’ve experienced it enough to see it coming.

“Are we free to go?” I ask, before she has a chance.

“You’re free to go when I tell you you’re free to go.” His gaze shifts to Gracie. “You know, you look an awful lot like an old friend of mine. Abe Wilkes. Ever heard of him?”

She doesn’t look anything like Abe.

Gracie lifts her chin in defiance. “He was my father.”

“Really . . .” His brow pops a beat too late to make the surprise believable. “Small world.”

“So . . . you were friends?” She spits that word out like it tastes bad.

“We went way back. He was a decent guy. Good ballplayer.”

“I’ll take your word for it. Someone murdered him and set him up before I got to know him.”

“Jesus Christ,” slips out under my breath, but neither of them is paying attention to me.

Mantis stares her down. “That’s not how I remember the story playing out.”

“And were you there?” Gracie’s returning gaze is just as scrutinizing.

“I wasn’t.”

She mock frowns. “Are you sure?”

“Gracie . . .” I mutter, but it’s too late.

“Are you accusing me of something?”

“Should I be?”

I reach for her hand, gripping it tightly.

“You’re definitely Abe Wilkes’s girl. Ballsy, just like he was.” He sucks on his bottom lip for a moment. “We received a tip that a vehicle matching your description may be transporting illegal substances. Please step aside while I search it.”

“That’s bullshit. You’re not even in uniform!” Gracie snarls.

“Turn around. Now!” he barks, making for his holster.

I instinctively step forward, pushing Gracie behind me with my arm. This has gone on long enough. “You’re the head of Internal Affairs, Mantis. You didn’t get any tip and I don’t know what you’re trying to do, but you won’t get away with it.”

“You wouldn’t believe what I can get away with.” He grins viciously. “Are you saying that you’re resisting?”

A cruiser slows to a stop on the street beside us then, and the window slides down.

“Everything good here?” Boyd calls out. The sound of his familiar voice is both a relief and a stinging reminder. I haven’t seen him since my mom’s funeral.

Mantis’s hand shifts away from his gun. His gaze hasn’t left Gracie, but his expression has turned sour. “Just letting them off with a warning,” he hollers, thrusting our licenses back into our hands. “Enjoy your visit to Texas, Gracie May.” He marches back to his car, a waft of that off-putting cologne trailing behind him.

I release a lung’s worth of air.

“How’re you doing, Noah?” Boyd says, genuine sympathy clouding his face. His partner sits quietly beside him.

“I’ve been better.”

“Sorry I haven’t called. I keep meaning to, but the kids, you know . . .”

“Yeah, of course.” It’s weird to think that Boyd is only one year older than me and he’s already married with two kids, and another one on the way.

Boyd watches as the unmarked cruiser pulls a quick U-turn and speeds off in the opposite direction. “What was that about?”

“Nothing you want to get involved in,” I mutter, glancing over to Gracie, whose face has taken on a pallid color. “Are you okay?”

“No one but my dad called me Gracie May. My middle name isn’t even on this.” She holds up her driver’s license in her shaky hands.

“He was trying to rattle you.”

“Too bad for him it didn’t work.” She lets out a derisive snort and nods toward Boyd. “Maybe you should tell him. He is a witness to Mantis’s bullshit.”

“And what happened the last time a cop witnessed Mantis’s bullshit?” I remind her with a knowing look.

“Hey!” Boyd frowns. “Seriously. What the hell is going on?”

I sigh. “How well do you know Dwayne Mantis?”

“Just from playing ball. He’s a tough son of a bitch.” His eyes narrow. “Why are you asking?” Silas wasn’t wrong when he mocked the blue wall of silence, that night with Canning.