Secrets Never Die

by Leigh, Melinda

  He watched her out the window. She paced the length of a brick patio, her phone pressed to her ear. Her free hand moved as she spoke, the gestures becoming more animated as her conversation continued. The sky beyond was brewing another storm.

  He opened the refrigerator and found the stew in a large glass container. Bowls were easy to find in a glass-fronted cabinet over the dishwasher. He scooped stew and ate it cold.

  Olivia walked back into the kitchen. “You didn’t even heat it up.”

  “It was good. Thank you.” Sharp rinsed his bowl in the sink, then faced her. “Did you learn anything?”

  “I did.”

  “Are you going to tell me?”

  “Give me ten minutes.”

  “For what?”

  “We’re taking a drive.”

  We?

  “I was only looking for information,” he protested. “Not to involve you in the case.”

  She propped both hands on her hips. “If you don’t want to work together, I can go alone. I’d have much better luck without you. You still look like a police officer.”

  “This is dangerous.”

  “You wanted to pique my interest. You were successful.” She turned toward a hallway that presumably led to her bedroom. “I’m taking a drive. You can come with me or not. It’s up to you.”

  She disappeared down the corridor. Sharp heard a door close. This was not how he had envisioned their conversation going. But then, Olivia rarely cooperated with his expectations.

  While he waited, Sharp paced her kitchen, trying to think of a good argument to keep her at home. Then he gave up. Saying it was too dangerous for her was not only condescending but senseless. She was the one who had already interviewed the dealers. Olivia had the contacts.

  When she returned to the kitchen, she still wore the jeans and sleeveless shirt, but she’d let her hair down. It hung in loose, shiny waves down her back.

  His gaze dropped to her leather sandals. “How do you not break an ankle in those skinny heels?”

  “Practice.” She smiled. “Are you ready?”

  “I am.” Sharp followed her to the front door. They went outside, and she locked up.

  “I’ll drive.” She set off for her white Prius without waiting for him to respond.

  Sharp hustled to keep up. “I prefer to drive.”

  What he meant was that he liked to be in control.

  “Too bad.” She pulled a pair of huge sunglasses from a boxy bright-blue purse. “You don’t know where we’re going.” She climbed into her car.

  Resigned to letting her boss him around, Sharp slid into the passenger seat. Olivia started the engine and pulled away from the house.

  “You’re not going to tell me where we’re going?” he asked.

  She considered his question with a twist of her lips. Her eyes narrowed as if she didn’t trust him. “So you can figure out a way to leave me out? I don’t think so. This is my contact and my professional reputation on the line. Also, you would go alone, which would not be a good decision.”

  Sharp almost denied the accusation, except that it was true. He would have tried to do exactly that. He didn’t like taking her into a hazardous situation.

  “I’ll tell you when we’re closer. For now, there’s nothing to do while I drive. Why don’t you close your eyes? I’ll wake you when we get there.” She glanced over at him. “You still look tired. You were right when you said this would be dangerous. I’ll need you to be alert to watch my back.”

  “OK,” Sharp grumbled. Then he must have dozed off because he startled awake, blinking. It took him a moment to remember that he was in the car with Olivia. The traffic was bumper to bumper. “Where are we?”

  “I-87,” Olivia said from the driver’s seat. “There was an accident. Traffic is slow, so I let you sleep.”

  “Thanks.” Sharp rubbed his eyes.

  “We’re almost there.” Olivia smiled.

  “And where is that? I-87 runs into New York City, not Newark.” Sharp looked for landmarks.

  “Joe is not in Newark. He is in Albany.”

  “Albany?” Sharp was surprised. Albany was barely an hour from Scarlet Falls. Joe was very close to Tina. Sharp texted Lance to let him know where he was headed.

  “Yes. I had a call while you were sleeping. My contact gave me some disturbing details about Joe Martin. People are still very much afraid of him, even though he’s in his sixties. He was always known for his brutality, and his time in prison didn’t change that. My contact said it was as if Joe’s power could reach right out of prison and grab you by the throat.”

  “Wonderful,” Sharp said. “Let’s hope he isn’t in a bad mood tonight.”

  “There are rumors about Joe ordering hits from prison. He’d have a body left in the middle of the street with the face peeled off or the arms and legs hacked off with an ax. Sometimes they were the competition or someone who had crossed Joe in some way.”

  “He relies on sheer brutality and terror to keep people in line.”

  “Yes. A few months after Joe’s conviction, two of the detectives on the narcotics task force that led the investigation against him were found in the county dump. Both had been beaten and beheaded.”

  “Executed.”

  “Yes,” she agreed. “Money went missing when Joe was arrested and his house searched. There were rumors that the two cops were corrupt and had helped themselves. It seems Joe holds a grudge against those who go against him.”

  “Great.” Sharp rolled his head from shoulder to shoulder, and his neck cracked. The sleep had helped. His head was clearer. “Where are we going?”

  Olivia plugged an address into her phone. “I don’t know yet. The arrangements were made through an associate through another associate. We’re spinning this as a follow-up to my story on his conviction—that I want his reaction to being released, how prison changed him, his plans, et cetera. Admittedly, I don’t know exactly how this will work.”

  “Can you tell me your contact’s name?”

  “No.” She drove for about ten minutes, the traffic restricting her speed. “The suburbs have become a hotbed of drug activity. Serious drug dealers are leaving the cities. They don’t want to deal with territorial gang wars. These are real businessmen. They deal in shopping center parking lots and offer heroin delivery services. Most of the legwork is done on cell phones now.”

  “Drug dealers have become regular entrepreneurs.” Sharp watched the landscape roll by. Trees, strip malls, and medical centers lined the road. They drove past another residential development.

  “The area is low crime, with a large customer base. Mexican heroin is the current trend. It’s cheaper than prescription pain pills.” She spoke with an unusual venom.

  “You sound like your hatred is personal.”

  The veins in her forearms corded as she gripped the wheel. “One of my cousins overdosed in high school, and two years ago, my nephew died of a heroin overdose. My sister will never be the same.”

  “I’m sorry.” Sharp suspected Olivia had changed as well.

  With a curt nod, she said, “My cousin’s death prompted me to do the New York Times piece after college.”

  Olivia turned into an office complex. The businesses looked closed, with dark windows and empty parking slots. She parked in the back of the lot under a streetlamp. Leaning over, she jammed her cell phone in the glove compartment. “You’ll want to lock your phone and gun in the car.”

  Sharp touched his Glock. Going into a gang-infested bar unarmed seemed wrong. “Why?”

  “We’ll be searched before we’ll be allowed to see Joe. Wires, phones, cameras, and weapons will be taken at the door. Your things are safer in my car.”

  Sharp removed his holster from his belt and placed his weapon in the glove box. He sent Lance another quick text letting him know what was happening before setting his phone on top of his gun. Olivia locked the compartment with her key.

  A black sedan pulled up next to her Prius. Sharp could
n’t see inside. The rear windows were tinted Florida-dark.

  Sharp’s cop-senses tingled. He was fairly sure this was a very bad idea.

  “You’re sure this is safe?” He reached for the Prius’s door handle. They were both unarmed. He had no idea if she could defend herself.

  Olivia’s shrug did not ease his fears.

  “We don’t have to do this,” he said. “I’ll find another way to determine if Joe Martin is involved in Paul’s death.”

  “Such as?” Olivia asked, returning her sunglasses to their holder.

  “Shit. I don’t know right off the top of my head.”

  Two young men got out of the sedan. In jeans, T-shirts, and expensive sneakers, they could have worked at the university or a local tech company.

  She hid her purse under a towel in the back seat. “Joe requested the meeting. There’s no reason for him to harm us, and why would he risk going right back into prison? If he didn’t want to talk to me, he wouldn’t have agreed to the interview.”

  All good points, but unease crawled over Sharp’s skin like spiders as he climbed out of the car. Maybe Joe wanted the interview so he could eliminate two people who were asking questions about him.

  A humid wind gusted, sending an empty water bottle tumbling across the hot asphalt. Sharp smelled rain competing with the scent of garbage that had been lying around too long in the summer heat.

  The driver wore aviator-style sunglasses. Tattoos covered one arm in a full sleeve.

  Sweat gathered under Sharp’s arms. It would take all of two seconds for these men to kill him and Olivia. Her car would be driven to the local chop shop. Their bodies would be dumped somewhere. Just another business day for this bunch.

  He’d gone into dangerous situations in the past but never without backup handy. Lance was an hour away. What was Olivia thinking? What had he been thinking?

  “Is your contact nearby?” he whispered to Olivia.

  “Maybe,” she said.

  Not reassuring.

  “You were informed of the rules?” the driver asked. “No cameras, no phones, no wires.”

  “Yes,” Olivia said.

  The driver raised a hand and made a circle in the air. “Turn around. Hands in the air.”

  Olivia obeyed. Sharp did too.

  The second man went to Olivia. She lifted her arms and let him run his hands along her sides. The way he took his time made Sharp want to shoot him. But at the same time, he didn’t want to die. Also, his gun was locked in the car. So he bit his tongue as the guard felt around Olivia’s bra line, clearly looking for a wire, but the hostile smirk on his face said he was enjoying the process.

  Olivia didn’t cower or cringe. Instead, she bore an expression he’d never seen before, but then, he had never witnessed her being manhandled by a thug. She was pissed but also cool and collected.

  When it was Sharp’s turn, he lifted the hem of his T-shirt. The guard ran his hands down the outside of Sharp’s legs and felt around his ankles. The whole pat down took five seconds. Sharp was glad he wasn’t wearing a clinch piece.

  “All good?” Sharp asked without turning around.

  “Get in.” The driver opened the rear door.

  Sharp slid onto the leather seat. Olivia entered the vehicle on the other side. The two men got in.

  The passenger handed two pieces of fabric over the seat. “Put these on.”

  Olivia took them and gave one to Sharp. He held it up. A black hood. With an apprehensive blink, she tugged hers over her head.

  “Is this really necessary?” Sharp asked.

  The driver met his eyes in the rearview mirror.

  Sharp put on the hood. The engine started. A minute later, the sedan lurched into motion.

  Sweat rolled down Sharp’s back. What had they gotten themselves into?

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  The vehicle came to a stop, but Sharp had lost track of how long the vehicle had been in motion. It felt as if they’d been driving in circles.

  The hood was snatched from Sharp’s face. Overhead lights blinded him.

  Next to him, Olivia squirmed. Her hood had also been removed, and her hair was tousled around her face.

  The driver and passenger climbed out of the vehicle and opened the rear door. “Let’s go. Out of the car.”

  Olivia stepped out. She wobbled, then caught her balance.

  Sharp climbed out and stood next to her, blinking as his eyes adjusted to the bright light. The car had been driven into a small, empty warehouse. The overhead doors were down. There were no windows or signs to indicate where they were. A second black sedan was angled next to theirs. The sound of the car door shutting echoed in the two-story space.

  The building was narrow, with a pallet of boxes in the center stacked six high. Sharp wondered what was inside them. Four men sat in chairs or leaned against the wall. Most were dressed in well-fitted jeans and T-shirts, like young professionals at work on casual Friday. Despite their lounging postures, they were focused much too intensely on Olivia and Sharp. He saw no guns but didn’t doubt that they had weapons handy.

  The look in their eyes sent a chill through Sharp’s belly. They were dark and cold and filled with a vicious malice that Sharp had seen only a few times in his long police career. Every one of these men was extremely dangerous. Each would kill without blinking.

  Hell, these men would kill if there wasn’t anything good to watch on Netflix.

  Sharp automatically put his body between the men and Olivia, not that it would matter. If these men wanted to hurt her, there would be nothing Sharp could do to protect her. He was outnumbered six to one. One of the men sneered at Sharp’s chivalrous gesture.

  They all knew it was an empty act.

  Offices lined one wall. A man came out of one of the doors. In jeans and a polo shirt, he was whipcord-lean. Sharp pictured the photos on the whiteboard. This man looked exactly like Joe Martin had twenty-five years before.

  “Aaron, bring them in,” a voice commanded from the room.

  Clearly Aaron, Tina’s half brother, was still involved in his father’s business.

  Aaron waved them forward. The door was guarded by a man the size of a refrigerator. The guard’s head was shaved, and the biceps that bulged out below his shirtsleeves were as big around as Sharp’s head.

  Aaron stepped aside and gestured toward the open door. “After you.”

  Sharp went in first. A rectangular table and eight chairs were set up like a conference room. Smoke filled the room. An older man sat at the head of the table. A cane was hooked on the table at his side. Sharp didn’t need an introduction to know this was Joe Martin, although he’d aged significantly since the photo on the whiteboard back at the office was taken. He looked much older than sixty. Prison had ruined him. He was twenty pounds underweight, and his skin was an unhealthy white. He wore gray slacks and a black long-sleeve button-down shirt with a dark-gray sport coat. Yet, despite his physical weakness, he radiated power.

  When Joe walked into a room, everyone knew it. He had that same vicious look in his eyes as the men in the warehouse but amplified to the one hundredth power. Joe’s eyes also gleamed with acute intelligence.

  The end of his cigarette flared as he dragged on it. “Have they been searched?” he asked Aaron.

  Aaron nodded. “Yes.”

  “Were they carrying weapons?” Joe flicked the end of his cigarette into an ashtray.

  “No,” Aaron said.

  Joe turned to Sharp and Olivia and gestured toward two chairs to the left of him. “Please, sit.”

  Olivia eased into the seat next to Joe. Sharp sat next to her. Aaron backed to the wall and leaned on it. Sharp did not like having Aaron outside his direct view. He shifted his position until he could see them both.

  “I apologize for the drama,” Joe said. “My son takes no chances with my safety. I’ve been betrayed many times. In the end, only family can be trusted.”

  Sharp’s gaze darted between Joe and his son. Aaron
stiffened, his posture angry. Was he mad because others had betrayed his father? Or for some other reason? Maybe pissed-off was just Aaron’s normal state of being.

  Joe continued. “I survived my sentence. Plenty of people want to kill me. I couldn’t have you see where we are. Nor could I have anyone see you come in here. The parole board turned down every one of my petitions. I served my whole sentence. I am not required to report to anyone. No one knows where I am, and I intend to keep it that way.”

  Sharp nodded. “We understand.”

  “Then you’ll also understand if I ask you not to make any sudden movements.” Joe set his cigarette in the ashtray and produced a long, thin knife from somewhere.

  Sharp had not seen him pull the weapon, which disturbed him.

  Joe twirled the knife in his hand—not in a showy manner but alternating between a forward and reverse grip. “I am no longer a young healthy man.”

  Yet Sharp did not want to fuck with him. Joe kept his eyes on Sharp while the knife smoothly snapped forward and back, his grip secure, strong, and experienced enough that he could handle the knife deftly without looking at it. Sharp had no interest in learning how fast Joe could put that knife to use.

  “You wanted information about me,” Joe said, his voice low and chilling.

  “How does it feel to be released from prison after all these years?” Olivia began.

  Joe’s chin lifted, and he met her gaze with a long, hard stare, the knife still in a reverse grip. “Why don’t you ask me what you really want to know? Why you really came here?”

  The hairs on the back of Sharp’s neck lifted. He did not like the direction the conversation had taken. It felt as if Joe were interviewing them instead of the other way around.

  Showing the first crack in her confidence, Olivia swallowed. Her lovely throat shifted, looking as delicate and breakable as a swan’s. Smoke rose in a skinny plume from the lit cigarette to the ceiling.

  “Why do you think I’m here?” She tossed the question back at him.