“Oh,” I said, feeling like shit. Sure, Josh had his moments of insecurity, but his unwavering knowledge that I was completely in love with him strengthened his confidence.
“I’m just kidding, man,” John said then burst into laughter. “Deanna could care less about everyone else’s opinion, and she’s very confident about her place in my life. She’s my queen and knows it.”
“Well played, Dorchester. Well played.”
“Come on, partner,” Adrian whined when we got back to the police station. “You have to talk to Captain about letting me help you. I mean, it sounds like Buxton needs answers quick and three people can cover more ground than two.”
“Four is even better,” Captain Reardon said walking up behind us. The man had serious ninja skills. “I just got off the phone with Prosecutor Buxton. The BPD and CCSD will be working together to get her the information she needs as quickly as we can. I’ve just placed a call to Sheriff Tucker; he’s sending Detective Whitworth over to work with you. You can set up in the conference room, and I’ll have lunch delivered for you guys.”
Adrian might’ve let out a tiny whimper at hearing he’d have to work with Whitworth again, but he swallowed down most of it when the captain narrowed his eyes at him. “We’ll make you proud, sir,” Adrian said.
“See that you do,” Captain Reardon said then returned to his office.
We got to work setting up the conference room while we waited for Whitworth to arrive. He showed up with a tense smile, looking uncertain about the kind of reception he was going to receive. The bag of pastries he dangled in his hands appeared to be a peace offering.
“As long as you left your stick outside we’ll be fine,” I told Whitworth.
“Stick? As in I flew over on a broomstick?” he asked.
“Hey, that’s funny, but I was referring to the one you’ve had lodged in your ass every time I’ve been around you. Just relax, and everything will be just fine,” I assured him.
“Yeah, okay,” he agreed. “I can do that.”
“Good man,” I said before I snatched the pastry bag from his hand as a test. He laughed instead of bitched, so I thought we made a big leap in progress right off the bat. “First, we need to comprise a list of people who knew, or suspected, what Broadman was up to, but I’m willing to bet that it’s a short list and they might all be dead already.”
“That’s a cheerful thought,” Adrian said. “Let’s put the events in chronological order and see if the motive stands out.”
I went to the whiteboard and started writing down the events as they occurred—starting with the threatening emails Nate received.
“The only common denominator is Robertson’s land,” Whitworth said in between sucking the glaze off the tips of his fingers. “He’s a proud fifth generation farmer and Robertson’s land getting turned over to the consortium might’ve put him over the edge.”
“Why would he agree to represent Robertson the first time around then?” I asked Whitworth.
Whitworth knocked the crumbs off his tie before he responded. “He probably knew there was no way in hell the elected commissioners at that time would approve the construction of the casino. He lucked out that the statewide vote was against the measure and wasn’t willing to take the risk a second time. My guess is that Spizer mentioned it to Nate after what’s his nuts from McCarren decided not to pursue it.”
“Michael Larkin,” Dorchester said, supplying the name of the guy at McCarren who’d resumed the casino talk. “He did say that he talked it over with Rick Spizer. Let’s say Rick brought it up to Nate after Robertson ignored the letter from McCarren we found in the safe deposit box, then what?”
“Spizer contacted his old buddy Rylan Broadman who just happened to represent Robertson. I bet they hadn’t seen each other in years before they negotiated that land deal together,” Adrian suggested.
“I agree,” I told the group. “Spizer phoned Broadman and asked him to intervene on Nate’s behalf with Robertson about selling the land. I bet Spizer even offered to sweeten the deal somehow so that Broadman could get a kickback for helping close the deal. Broadman probably went along with it so that he could keep an eye on the situation. Maybe he told Spizer that Robertson wasn’t interested and thought that would be the end of it.”
“Nate probably didn’t want to let the idea go once it took root. He saw the potential for income and wanted to take a crack at talking to Robertson, possibly through Broadman at first,” Dorchester supplied.
“Now we need to figure out how Owen Smithson got pulled into this. We know that his dad used to play baseball with Spizer and Broadman when they were kids,” Adrian said.
“I bet the kid had some legal trouble,” Whitworth suggested. “The parents called one of these attorneys, who in turn put Owen’s computer skills to work for them. Broadman eliminated him when he became a liability.”
“Damn, that’s cold,” I said. “Then again, what do we expect from someone who kills in cold blood?”
“So, he threatened Nate, but not with anything specific that we could trace back to him. Broadman thought that Nate would put two and two together and back away from the casino deal. The threats escalated when Nate went to the police, but we don’t know how because Nate didn’t specify in the email to me. How did he know that Nate went to the police?” I asked the team.
“They could’ve bugged his phones or maybe they attached a tracking virus to the first email Owen sent Nate, allowing them to monitor his electronic activity,” Dorchester said. Or someone inside the CPD alerted Broadman. I hated that the thought even popped in my brain, but I couldn’t help myself.
“Maybe that virus was the reason why Nate’s email to you got flagged by the BPD servers and not keywords in the content,” Whitworth added.
“Good point,” Adrian told him, earning surprised stares from all of us. “What? He brought us pastries.”
“Continuing with that theory,” Dorchester said, pulling us back on track, “Broadman arranged to meet with Nate then ambushed him? That was awfully late at night for a meeting.”
“Maybe the meeting took place at a decent time but the popup snowstorm that came through delayed him heading back to Cincinnati until later,” Adrian suggested. “We always assumed Nate was coming to town because of where his car went into the ditch and struck a tree. From that vantage point, it looked like he was coming into the county, not exiting. The snow storm could’ve covered the tracks on the road that showed he lost control and ended in the ditch on the opposite side of the road.”
“Then he killed Owen to make sure the kid didn’t talk to the police once Nate’s death was made public,” I said. “Why kill Robertson though?”
“Robertson must’ve found out about it somehow, and Broadman silenced him too. Or he was on a damn killing spree and decided why not? That was one way to make sure the land didn’t get sold,” Whitworth said.
“Spizer either knew it was going on and kept quiet because he was scared or he started to figure things out and Broadman killed him,” Dorchester added.
I stood back from the board where I’d been writing notes and thought that the theory was pretty damn plausible. “Now we just have to prove it,” I said. I looked up as Sergeant O’Malley walked in with several carryout bags from the diner. “But not until after lunch,” I told the team. After all, a man needed to have his priorities set.
The captain treated us to the diner’s best dishes for our first day as a newly formed task force. After our trip to Carb City, we comprised a list of witnesses that we wanted to interview then divided them up. It was hard for me to choose which man should ride shotgun with me when it came time to track down our witnesses. Adrian was my original partner and my best friend, but Dorchester was my partner on that particular case, and it felt wrong not having him with me. So, I made the decision that made the most sense to me.
“Adrian, you’re going to team up with Dorchester and Whitworth is riding with me,” I announced.
“
I am?” Whitworth asked.
“He is?” Dorchester and Adrian questioned at the same time. They both sounded perturbed, which was what I had hoped to avoid in the first place.
“Yes, he is,” I told them. “Dorchester and I have the most knowledge about this case, so it only makes sense for us to split up to work with the newest members of the team. Switching partners keeps things interesting.”
“I wouldn’t know,” Dorchester said with a sarcastic sneer. “Some of us don’t get propositioned with such things.”
“Huh?” Whitworth asked.
“Long story,” I told my newest temporary partner, slapping him on the shoulder on our way out of the conference room. “Say, did you know that Dorchester used to date Prosecutor Buxton?” I made sure to say it loud enough for Dorchester to hear.
“Gabe,” he said in a warning tone, but I didn’t stop to acknowledge him.
“Really?” Whitworth asked.
“Yep. You should’ve seen Dorchester blushing at our meeting this morning,” I added.
“Blush? Dorchester doesn’t blush,” Whitworth remarked.
“Oh, but he does.”
By that time, I was far enough away from Dorchester that I couldn’t quite make out what he was saying, but Adrian’s laughter over the situation rang loudly down the hall. The four of us working together sounded like a bad idea at first, but I realized it might actually be an enjoyable experience.
“Can I play the bad cop today?” Whitworth asked.
“Sure, what the hell,” I responded. New day, new team, so why not try to be the good cop for once.
Mere, Chaz, and I spent hours chatting and gossiping like we hadn’t done in ages and it felt amazing. The hard truth was that our lives were changing and evolving; finding time for just the three amigos had become difficult, which meant we had to enjoy it while we could. I told them all about my vacation because there hadn’t been much of an opportunity during the Sunday barbecue. Our primary focus had been on eating then later it was all about winning cornhole. Meredith gave us an update on how things were going with Harley. I could tell my best girl was as in love with her man as I was with mine and it made my heart soar. Chaz talked about his writing a lot, such as what his process was like and where he found inspiration. I was fascinated that he could just sit down and create a fictional world from his imagination. I was happy for him and excited that he’d found his passion.
I was trying to figure out what to make for dinner when Gabe called me. “Come to the hospital! Right now!”
“What? Why? Are you hurt?” It seemed like a rational question to ask at the time, but once my heart stopped racing, I realized that he couldn’t be injured too seriously if he was the one dialing me.
“Sally Ann’s water broke! Adrian’s a hot-fucking-mess right now. We’re having a baby!” Gabe said excitedly like we were the ones bringing baby Adrianna home. It hit me right in the feels, and I realized what an amazing dad he was going to make someday. First, we were going to be the best damn uncles to a precious little girl.
“I’m on my way!”
I checked to make sure the pets were good on food and water before I hopped in Princess and zoomed towards the hospital. I might’ve done some rolling stops at intersections and drove a little over the speed limit in my haste to get there, which resulted in me getting pulled over. The incident occurred outside of town on a county road about the midpoint between my home and the hospital.
I knew the sheriff’s deputy busted me when I zoomed by the church parking lot where he sat running a radar gun. Sure enough, he pulled onto the road behind me and flipped on his lights. “Fuck!” I pulled over and sat with my hands on the steering wheel as my mother had taught me.
“Never reach for anything because they don’t know if you’re going for your insurance card or a gun. Flip on your interior lights if it’s dark out, roll down your window, and wait until the officer approaches your car and can see what you’re doing before you move again.” My mom never missed an episode of 20/20, 60 Minutes, or Dateline. My favorite was her advice on what to do if someone tried to pull me into a car. “If they point a gun at you, run in a zig-zag pattern to make it harder for them to shoot you. Even if they do shoot you, it would be better than getting in the car and having them do God knows what to you.” I hoped like hell that advice never came in handy.
“License and registration, please,” the deputy said when he approached my car. “Where are you headed to so fast, Mr. Roman?” he asked once I handed the items to him.
“I’m sorry I was driving so fast, Deputy. My friend is in the hospital having a baby, and I want to be with her,” I told him.
“How happy would your friend be if you ended up in the morgue because of your carelessness, or worse, what if you hurt someone else with your selfishness?” he demanded hotly.
Stay calm, Josh. Stay calm. “Deputy, I accept full responsibility for driving twelve miles over the speed limit, but I’d hardly classify it as careless or selfish. I wasn’t driving under the influence of alcohol or drugs. Now, can you please write my ticket so I can get back on my way to the hospital?”
“I don’t think I like your attitude,” he said snidely before he walked away.
“Yeah, you’re not the first, and I promise that you won’t be the last,” I said to myself. “I know I don’t like yours.”
He was back with my driver’s license and insurance card faster than I expected. I noticed he didn’t include a ticket or a written warning when he handed them back to me. “I’m sorry about that, Mr. Roman. You’re free to go now. Slow it down; okay?”
“Wait a minute,” I said when he started to walk away. “You were all gloom and doom five minutes ago with your morgue talk. Where’s your fire and brimstone now?” I asked although I suspected I knew the answer. Did Gabe have some alert placed on my license so I wouldn’t get a ticket?
“I didn’t realize that you were…”
“Oh no,” I said, stopping him before he could continue. “I did the crime; now I’ll pay the fine. I want the ticket, Deputy.”
“Excuse me?” he asked, clearly not expecting my response to his kind gesture. “Are you saying you want me to write a ticket even though I was prepared to let you go with a verbal warning?”
“That’s precisely what I’m saying. I do not want special treatment because of my relationship with Detective Wyatt.” The deputy started laughing then.
“You think I’m not giving you a ticket because of your boyfriend?” he asked.
“Fiancé,” I corrected.
“It had nothing to do with your fiancé, but I would’ve offered him the same courtesy had I known,” the deputy said with a smile. “My wife just drove by and saw that I had you pulled over and threatened to cut me off if I gave you a ticket. Her opinion—or threat in this case—far outweighs that of Detective Wyatt’s. Seriously, just slow it down so that you don’t become a sad statistic.”
“Thank you, Deputy,” I looked at the embroidered name across his chest for the first time, “Jasper. I’ll be sure to let Linda know how nice you were.” I leaned a little closer and asked, “Do you want me to stretch it a bit, so you get extra play time?”
He laughed hard at my question. “My wife knows I’m an asshole so she would know you were lying and we concocted this scheme together.” He rapped his knuckles on my car door, but not hard enough to draw my ire. “Drive safe, Mr. Roman.”
“You be safe too, Deputy,” I told him before he walked away.
It wasn’t often that someone called me Mr. Roman; most people called me Josh or Jazz. The deputy had me thinking about what my last name would be once I married Gabe. My Gemini twins went to war in my brain over what they wanted. One twin wanted me to be traditional and take Gabe’s name, and the other wanted me to keep my name as it was. I decided a compromise was the best bet and I planned to hyphenate my names, but I wondered what Gabe’s thoughts were on the subject?
Once I got to the hospital, all my attention shifte
d to Sally Ann, Adrian, and baby Adrianna. I entered Sally Ann’s room and found her lounging peacefully on her bed doing her Lamaze breathing while Adrian huffed and puffed like a dragon in the chair beside her. Gabe walked over to the side of the bed where Adrian sat holding Sally Ann’s hand. He patted Adrian’s shoulder comfortingly and grinned like a goober at the same time.
“How’s it going?” I asked softly when I approached the hospital bed.
“It’s great!” Adrian said with false cheer. “Everything is going to be great.”
“Yes, it is so please try to calm down, darling,” Sally Ann said soothingly. “My body was made to do this, and I’m going to be just fine. A little pain isn’t going to… Holy Fuck!” I jumped back because I’d never heard Sally Ann use foul language. “Son of a bitch, that fucking hurts!” I tried my hardest not to smile because there was nothing funny about seeing my friend in pain. “How much fucking longer is this going to take?” Sally Ann asked. Okay, maybe it was funny when she changed from a sweet Disney Princess to a cursing sailor.
“I’m so sorry, baby,” Adrian said, looking heartbroken that he played a role in her pain. “Dorchester said it will all be worth it when we hold our baby girl for the first time.”
“Dorchester, huh? How many kids did he squeeze out of his body? Last time I checked, a vagina was required to deliver a baby into this world. A uterus, at least. Not like you’re going to pack an eight-pound baby in your prostate gland for forty weeks then squeeze it out your ass.”
The dam on my laughter broke, and it rolled out of me loud and long. I wasn’t the only one either. It seemed to be what Adrian needed to get over his freak-out, and Gabe finally gave into the temptation to have a laugh at his best friend’s expense. None of us laughed harder than Sally Ann.
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