Eleusis (Stacked Deck Book 9)

by Emilia Finn

  “What’s your point?” Brenten asks. “You’re not seriously going to question that woman’s case, are you? Digby pleaded guilty.”

  “Yes,” she answers. “He did, on his lawyer’s advice, and only after the accusations were piling up. And the nail in the coffin, Digby had no credible alibis to dig his way out of the hole that he was finding himself in.”

  “It’s common for a guy like that to be physically abusive! How can you possibly question this? You weren’t in her home, and I’ll… I’ll…” he stutters and trips over his words. “I’ll tell you what! Shark lawyers like you are the reason victims are too afraid to—”

  “You wanted the collar, so you helped bury his alibis, you encouraged Ashley to exaggerate her story, and when she was starting to panic as we came closer to her court appearance date, you paid her to shut her mouth and run with it.”

  “I was on her side,” Daddy growls, “I was her touchstone and friend during what I thought was a traumatic experience for her. She was terrified to come to court, she was trembling, knowing that she would soon face him in court. And so I helped her, I held her hand, and told her everything would be okay.”

  “You did your job!” Brenten roars. “That is your damn job, Franks.”

  “She was not a victim,” Jules declares. “She was a gamer looking to ruin the guy’s reputation. She wanted him to have a rap sheet and lose his job. Both of which she would have achieved on her own. But then she met you, and suddenly we’re talking jail time. And shit, that makes everything so much more serious. It’s a crime for her to make false reports, which means she can never rescind her allegations or admit that she got a little carried away. So she was sweating when court arrived, but it wasn’t for the reasons Deputy Franks thought. Now a man is serving time, locked away, and it was all so you could have another notch on your career belt.”

  “It disgusts me that you would make such an accusation!” Brenten snaps. “Miss Barlow is a pillar in this society, she has not a single ding on her record, and she holds a respectable position in a local nursery school. On what grounds can you possibly make these statements?”

  “You mean apart from this affidavit that swears it was all a lie?” Jules presents Brenten with a signed and witnessed document that Ashley Barlow autographed only this morning. “She’s sorry for what she did, and in exchange for her honesty, the courts will go easy on her.”

  “Well obviously she’s lying!”

  Aunt Jules tilts her head and makes a mockery of her spitting adversary. “But, Pierce, I thought she was a pillar of society and blah blah blah? Someone like that would never lie.” She nods toward the papers in his arms and grins. “You’ve been served, Brenten Pierce. Your boss has also been apprised, and though I really should let him tell you, I’m just too damn excited not to do it myself… You’re being placed on unpaid suspension until your case goes to court. The cases you will be investigated on include, but are not limited to, Coombs, Barlow, Dayton, Davenport, Easton, Fulton, Greshem, Hackney, and Lyons. The complete list is amongst those papers I just handed you, of which, we have reason to suspect you mishandled and/or influenced the outcome of each case. You will also be investigated for tampering with evidence in the cases as follows: Garrick and Garrick, Hale and Hale, Perry and Oakes, and Norton and Norton. You attempted to alter evidence, and in doing so, made allegations against our very hard-working and loyal local police department.”

  Aunt Jules looks to me and grins. “Your girlfriend became your girlfriend only after you tried to have her father fired for mishandling a case. She was certain you must be mistaken, and during the course of her four-month relationship with you, she collected evidence and signed her own affidavits which have also been included in…” she taps the pile and does a mini jig as I take a long step to the right.

  Uncle Alex is pleased and a little bit arrogant at his wife’s slam dunk. But Daddy seems to be going into shock.

  His hands shake, and his face pales as he watches me step to the side. “You knew?” he chokes out. “You—”

  “Knew that they tried to take your badge?” I ask quietly. I nod and take his hand. “That they told Uncle Alex to have you stand down until things were investigated? That you were making yourself sick over something you couldn’t control, though you tried to? You tried really hard to make everything perfect, and all the while, you were pretending for the family that everything was roses and cute puppies.” I step under his arm and squeeze as tight as I can. “Yes, and your poker face sucks, by the way. When you started to worry, we all knew.”

  “So you started dating a guy just to catch him in his lies?” Instead of praising my investigative genius, he reverts back to disciplinarian and father. “Dammit, Olivia! That was really fucking dangerous.”

  “Calm yourself,” I snicker and press a kiss to his cheek. “That’s what princesses are for, no? To make sure the king retains his throne? It would be weird if you were no longer a cop.”

  I turn at a quiet scuffing of shoes, just in time to catch sight of Brenten’s back as he swings around and attempts to run.

  Except he runs face-first into two really big guys: seven-feet-tall military muscle. Checkmate men.

  “Spence.” Uncle Alex grins and offers a hand when the second guy becomes redundant. “Romeo. Soph sent her biggest. Slow business day?”

  “Nah, but I really wanted to come,” Spencer Serrano snickers in the same moment a snapping twig sounds in the hall.

  Except it’s not a twig, but Brenten’s wrist when he tries to twist it out of Spencer’s hold.

  “Oh shit, Brandon. That was my bad. You okay?”

  “No!” Brenten screeches and cries out for his newly broken wrist. “Oh my god.”

  “There’s a rule around here about not running from the cops,” Spence taunts, only for Romeo to laugh and add, “Unless you’re really skilled at it, and fast as hell, in which case, giddyup.”

  “Don’t give him tips,” Alex growls. “Can you take him straight to the desk at the front? Everything is already prepared and stamped, so he can apply for his court date while he’s here. What did Florence say about bail?”

  Spence only shrugs and turns a crying Brenten away. “Fucked if I know. My job is to look intimidating and move him where he’s gotta go.” He nods toward Jules. “She’s the one in charge of discussing bail. Also, Soph said she would send the bill tonight.”

  “Bet she will,” Alex laughs. “You can tell her we ain’t paying shit. Consider it her civic contribution.”

  “Yeah, sure thing,” Romeo laughs. “We’ll let her know. Afternoon, Chief. Have a good one.” Then the Portuguese mountain looks to me and winks. “Good day, cop’s daughter.”

  William

  And They All Came Tumbling Down

  “Let’s go!” For the second time today, Rush’s heavy fist thumps against my door and brings me up with a start. “Quinn! Get the fuck up.”

  “Go away!” I call back from my place on the couch. Remote in one hand, a can of soda in the other, I lay with my leg outstretched along the couch, and my head tilted at a painful angle so it can rest on the arm of the chair. “Rush! I said fuck o—”

  But my voice cuts off when he steps into my living room.

  He doesn’t have a key to my apartment, he sure as hell didn’t have permission to enter, but here we are anyway, and there he stands, completely unharmed from last night’s run through the woods.

  “What do you want?”

  “Cops are coming down on you.” He tears the remote from my hand and tosses it to the couch. “I was doing a little intel for Rip just before, and I overheard the cops talking about pulling your hair and fibers and shit from the cop’s bumper. They’re sending them through their system, and when they do that, you’re gonna p—”

  “Don’t worry about it.” I lay back down when I realize Rush’s emergency isn’t an emergency at all. “Those tests take weeks to come back. This is a small town in the back of no one’s asshole. They have to send that shi
t away for testing, and unless the fibers belong to a president-killer, they’re gonna be dropped in the queue behind a thousand others. We have a while before this becomes an issue.”

  “Even if the cops were threatening your girl earlier today?”

  I swing my gaze back around and glare. “Come again?”

  “The Latinx cop was talking too fuckin’ loud for mixed company, so even I heard from my vantage point way across the room. But he was saying he’s got proof and was heading in to take you down. The chick was on the verge of crying, which means she knows he ain’t bluffing.”

  “The cop is Olivia’s father! No way is he threatening her.”

  Rush only lifts his arms then lets them drop with a huff. “I’m telling you what I heard. He wasn’t threatening to shoot her, but he sure as shit was telling her about the blood and denim and shit on his bumper. He said he was sending it in for testing, and he knows what’s gonna come back when those tests are done. She looked like she was gonna cry, but then Brayden started throwing his dick around and demanding to be heard.”

  “Brayden?”

  “The boyfriend,” he brushes me off. “Daddy-cop is trying to shake his daughter down, Braxton wants in on these emails so he can fuck up your case and have you sent away, and—”

  “Wait, what?”

  “Oh, he’s crooked.” He snorts. “You didn’t hear that yet?”

  I swing my legs around and set my feet on the floor. “What the fuck are you talking about?”

  “Prosecutor Golden Boy is dirty and stupid. His ass was arrested today, and he’s in boatloads of trouble.”

  “Brenten Pierce was arrested?” I explode. “Are you kidding me? And Olivia was there?” I hate that the thought passes through my mind, I fucking loathe it, but… “Is she okay? That’s probably why she’s sad and almost crying.”

  “Pfft.” He literally waves me off; hand in the air, spit falling to the floor between us. “She set that stupid motherfucker up. Anyone as ugly and moronic as him, landing a girl like that, has to know he’s being catfished. She played him like a fiddle, brought him down, and now he’s being locked away. She wasn’t crying about him, I assure you.”

  “Then I—” I shoot to my feet to… what? Nothing. She left me. “I don’t know what to do,” I murmur for Rush. “How much longer until we tie Ripley up?”

  “Tie him up?” Rush questions much too quickly, far too intuitive and smart. “What the fuck do you mean tie him up?”

  Fuck! “I mean… um…” I avoid Rush’s eyes and hobble around my living room to head toward my kitchen. “Where is he? I haven’t heard from him since yesterday, and he didn’t show for our meet.”

  “I’m here.”

  Ripley’s deep baritone voice stops me in my tracks so I look up and find him standing at my open apartment door. He stands beside his much younger, much uglier, much stupider cousin, and though he doesn’t mean me harm – we’re on the same side, after all – he still makes my heart pound dangerously fast.

  “And I have a job for you both. Right now.” He looks down at my knee, and grins. “You good for mobility?”

  Olivia

  Truths

  Dear Olivia,

  My sister started her own dance studio today. It’s not super legit or anything, and there’s a small chance her studio is, uh, stolen. But the heart is there. The purest of intentions. She started classes, had eleven students turn up on the first day, and maybe those students were five-year-olds, and not twenty-year-old professionals, but they were still there to learn. I swear, I haven’t seen Bubbles smile that much in… well. A really long time.

  Seeing my sister achieve her goal has made me reflect on my own life. So I was hoping I could ask you a question. And since this is a handwritten letter, and therefore, you cannot answer right this moment, I’ll go ahead and ask anyway. You get to choose whether you answer or not.

  Here goes.

  When you look at your life ten years from now, when you look at your career, your wedding ring, your exceptionally pale children, your golden retriever, and your sprawling home with a big kitchen and a fancy dishwasher… what does your husband look like in all that?

  Is he a corporate drone who wears suits and never sweats? Is he a paid fighter, like your brother? Or a cop, like your daddy? I doubt he’s a laborer at a go-nowhere job.

  And by some crazy, slim, world-altering chance, could he be me?

  I know that, at this point in time, I don’t have a whole lot to offer you; what with the being poor, and running from the cops thing. But this won’t be my reality forever. I swear it won’t. I work too fucking hard for this to be “it”.

  I just… I guess I’ve been thinking about you a whole lot lately. I miss you, and although I’m inclined to make a joke of it and say that sounds dumb, today, I don’t wanna. I’m not going to minimize what I feel.

  So… I miss you. I wanna see you again. And someday, when I’m free and able to come back, I hope you give me a moment of your time. We both know I don’t deserve you, but I’m sure as fuck gonna keep you if I get the chance.

  Write me back.

  Always,

  William.

  I walk through Mom and Daddy’s home with an air of disconnect to the rest of my family. Mom is smiling, and Daddy is floating around in his bubble of shock. Ben is equal parts teasing our stepfather and hugging him, and Lachlan is still running head-first into things and causing chaos. Uncle Alex is sipping a beer, and Aunt Jules is sitting on his lap, satisfied after a successful day at work. There are others here, dozens of them; Scotch and Sammy and their kids. Marc and Meg and theirs. Jack is here, and though he’s married to Britt, I’ve yet to see her. But their offspring are racing around, so I know she won’t be far away.

  Angelo and Laine, Chuck and Nora, Mac and Bean, Luc and Kari.

  It’s a day of celebration, because Daddy’s job is saved, and everyone is rejoicing and… yeah. Blah blah blah. For them, it’s a good day. I love my stepfather like I love so few. DNA be damned, I would choose him every single day of my life. I pretended to date a douchebag for four whole months, all to help Aunt Jules in her quest to exonerate Daddy and prove Brenten’s guilt.

  But today, right now, I can’t focus on that.

  Because William has been breaking the law… the wrong laws.

  I’m not so clear-cut and strait-laced as to say no one I love can ever break the law. Even being the daughter of a cop, I know that sometimes shit happens, and there are times we’re forced to blur a few lines. But the laws William has been flouting, the people that are hurt because of it, whether directly or indirectly, cross a line that I can’t, in good conscience, step over just to be with him.

  Maybe he wanted to talk golden retrievers and dishwashers, but I can’t ignore Ripley and drugs. Or Larkin Pryor and the handshake I saw inside Rhino’s. I can’t ignore felons running in the forest in the middle of the night, or ER visits because of injuries sustained while running from the police.

  I can’t ignore the fact that William’s own sister was the product of junkies who tried to – in its most basic form – murder their own daughter and dispose of her body.

  And the fact that William can ignore those things, all in the pursuit of money, means that he and I are not compatible. And not only that, but I have a duty, a civic responsibility, to take what I know to the police, and make a report to have guys like Ripley, Pryor, and William Quinn removed from our streets.

  It’s the right thing to do, but while I walk the rooms of my childhood home, I can’t help the nauseating slosh that swirls in my stomach.

  “Liv?” Ben stops me as I try to pass, wraps a hand around my arm, and because I’m not paying attention, catches me when I stumble.

  “Whoa,” he laughs – he’s high on today’s win – and helps me balance back on my own two feet. “Geez, Liv. Where’s your head?”

  “Um…” I swallow and try to focus on the room around me, the people, the smiles, the reason for being here. “I was just goin
g for a wa—”

  “Liv?” Evie stops beside us, and offers a piece of wrinkled paper. “You dropped this. Are you—” But then she stops and meets my eyes. “Why are you crying?”

  “I’m not crying,” I… cry. “Um… I just have allergies, and—” I try to reach for the letter, only to gasp when Evie snatches it back and unfolds the thin and abused sheet.

  I’ve read these letters a million times over the years, a million more since William raced out of town and stopped writing altogether. And since I know exactly what every single sheet of paper says, I could recite it word for word. Which means, as Evie’s eyes quickly scan the handwritten scrawl, I have a pretty good idea of what words she reads when her eyes widen, when her knuckles whiten, and finally, when her eyes come to mine.

  “Oh my god. Livi…”

  “What is it?” Ben demands and tries to grab the paper.

  But I’m faster, more determined. I grab the letter so fast that it begins to tear, then I slam it to my heaving chest and barrel through the small gathering.

  “Livi!” Ben snaps. “Come back here.”

  I race through our living room, past the guys who make up a band who has played at most of our major family gatherings. I jog past Daddy as he sits on the end of the modular couch, and then Uncle Alex when his attention whips to me. Suspicious. Always the cop. Aunt Jules’ sharp eyes come to mine, but I burst through the front door before she can call out, and slide to the left when I’m met with my Aunt Britt, Laine, and a plastic statue who I guess is moving premises for the year.

  He’s stolen, he’s supposed to be hidden from the cops, but I guess Aunt Britt isn’t even trying to be discreet anymore.

  I tear my arm away when she reaches out to grab me, and spin out of reach when she tries to grab me again. I’m sure I look a mess; tears streaming over my cheeks, red eyes, choking sobs. Today is supposed to be about celebration, and yet I make a scene and skid along the wooden front porch in my escape.