Fool Me Once

by Ash, Nikki

  “No worries.” I shrug. Thanks to Brenton giving me a ride, I’ll be at the school with plenty of time to spare.

  I assumed we were stopping by his brother’s shop, so when we pull up in front of an older one-story home, I’m confused. “Whose house is this?”

  “Um, my mom’s ex-boyfriend. I just need to get something from him. I’ll be out in a few minutes.”

  Brenton leaves the car running, and I use the time to go over the questions I’ve typed up for my interview so it will run smoothly.

  When I glance at the time, I realize I’ve been waiting for a good twenty minutes, and I need to go pee. I should’ve gone before we left. That iced coffee was yummy, but it went right through me.

  I wait another ten minutes, but when Brenton still doesn’t come out, I turn his car off and walk up the sidewalk. If I don’t use the restroom soon, I’m going to pee myself.

  I knock and Brenton opens the door. “I’ll be right out. I’m sorry.”

  “I need to go pee.” I squeeze my thighs together and grimace.

  “All right.” He opens the door and lets me in. It takes a second for my eyes to adjust since there’s almost no light in the place—even the blinds are all closed. The house is rather empty, save for one couch and a coffee table. It’s an open floorplan, and I can see most of the house. His mom’s ex-boyfriend must be in his room because I don’t see him anywhere.

  “Use this bathroom,” Brenton tells me. He opens the door, and it’s a tiny half bathroom. “I’m just going to say bye to him and then we’ll go when you get out.” For some reason Brenton appears to be nervous, which has me feeling nervous. I glance around the house again and notice the walls are completely bare. Not a single photo or wall-hanging in sight.

  “Okay.” I give him a tight smile.

  When I’ve finished using the bathroom—I never would’ve made it to the school—and washing my hands, I step out and find Brenton waiting for me.

  “Let’s go.” He opens the door, and his hand finds my lower back, as if he’s trying to get me out the door even faster. The bright sun momentarily blinds me, and I squint my eyes, trying to adjust to the brightness, but before they do, I hear, “Carterville Police Department. Put your hands where I can see them.”

  I screech in shock as several uniformed officers rush into the house—all of them dressed in bulletproof vests and head gear that read: POLICE.

  “Hands where we can see them,” one officer demands. There are four officers who don’t go inside and they have their guns drawn on Brenton and me. I raise my hands, not wanting to give them a reason to shoot me.

  One officer approaches Brenton and turns him against the sidewall of the house, while another one asks me to do the same. I cooperate, turning with my back to the street and my face to the wall. I follow Brenton’s moves and raise my hands up, placing my shaky palms on the wall. I have no idea what is happening right now.

  The officer next to Brenton searches him and pulls out several bags of… oh God, please no. Please don’t let that be drugs. My eyes meet Brenton’s and he gives me a look that conveys how sorry he is.

  “Ma’am, do you have any weapons or drugs on you?”

  “No.” I shake my head. “I… I didn’t know.” I don’t even know what to say.

  “I’m going to search you now. Okay?” the officer asks.

  I nod my okay.

  His hands pat down the sides of me. Because I’m wearing a skirt, there’s not really anywhere for me to store anything.

  “Thank you,” he says. “You can turn around now.”

  I do as he says, glancing over at Brenton, who is now in handcuffs and is being read his rights.

  I hear a shuffle to the right of me, and when I look over, I see the officers who went into the house are walking out with an older Hispanic man. He must be Brenton’s mom’s ex-boyfriend.

  “He’s confirmed his name is Miguel Sanchez,” the officer says, dragging the guy down the sidewalk.

  “Ma’am, at this time, we’re going to need you to come down to the station. Will you come willingly?”

  I hear what he’s saying, but my eyes are stuck on the man who is opening the door to a police vehicle while another officer pushes the handcuffed guy inside.

  “Ma’am,” the officer pushes, but I’m in shock, frozen in place, as I stare at the man who has worked his way into my heart. The same man I share a child with. He’s dressed in a shirt and jeans, but he’s wearing a bulletproof vest like everyone else. And then, in the sunlight, a piece of metal hanging on his hip gleams. A badge.

  “Keegan,” I say breathlessly. “Keegan!” My voice rises.

  “Oh, fuck,” I faintly hear Brenton say.

  Keegan’s eyes lock with mine, and he walks over to me, not looking at all surprised to see me. “What are you doing here?” I ask. “What’s going on?” My eyes flicker to the gold badge. “Are you… a cop?”

  “Motherfucker!” Brenton roars.

  Keegan’s eyes leave mine, and his lips curl into a vicious smirk. “Get him in the car,” he says to the officer who is holding on to Brenton. When he steps forward, I find myself stepping back, and his eyes narrow, not in anger, but in confusion.

  “Answer me,” I demand. “Are you a cop?”

  “Yes,” he admits. “I’m a cop, and your friend here is under arrest for drug possession with the intent to sell.”

  Keegan

  One Hour Ago

  “I can’t keep this shit up.” I slam the door to my dad’s office closed behind me and fall into the seat on the other side of his desk. “The guilt is fucking with me, and with us getting close to wrapping this all up, I’m having to find more ways to get around the truth.”

  Dad sets his cell phone down on his desk and leans back in his chair, his arms crossing over his chest. “You need to have patience, son. When it’s all over, you’ll be able to tell her everything and she’ll forgive you.”

  “Or not,” I argue. “She needed a ride today and I had to tell her I couldn’t give her one.”

  “Which you would have had to do even if she knew the truth. You’re working.”

  “No, because if she knew the truth, she and my son would be living in my house with me, and I would’ve already bought her a fucking car. But I can’t do that because she thinks I’m a goddamn broke college student.”

  I sit forward, with my elbows on my knees, and bury my face in my hands. “Fuck!” I yell. It’s muffled, but still helps to alleviate some of the pent-up anger I’m feeling.

  When I glance up, Dad is frowning. He hates this almost as much as I do. “We’re getting closer. Just stick to the plan, and we’re going to snag him, along with whoever he’s working for. I take it you saw the last photos caught on surveillance?”

  “Yeah, it’s why I’m here.” I pull my phone out of my pocket and swipe through the photos that were just sent to me by Scott Cronin, my partner. “It’s enough to warrant a search of that shop.”

  “There’s no way he’s distributing from there,” Dad argues. “We need to watch. If we get a warrant now, sure, we’ll find some drugs, but then we have to bank on him giving up his connection.” My dad gives me a knowing look and continues. “We can pull Brenton over for suspicion, but if he doesn’t have anything on him at the time, it’s going to raise alarm. And even if he is carrying, again, it’s not guaranteed he’ll give up the connection. Since you’ve been following him, we’ve found out he’s making deliveries to some of the wealthiest, most influential men in the city. There’s no way Brenton and his brother are running this operation on their own. We have to be patient. What do we know?”

  Damn it, I know he’s right. I need to calm my ass down, but it’s hard when I feel like every time I talk around the truth to Blakely, I’m slowly losing her.

  “We’ve gone over everything.” I sigh in frustration. “Maxwell Travers a.k.a. ‘Brenton’s brother’ who isn’t really his brother owns the shop. We know they can’t be brothers because they’re both only chi
ldren and neither of their moms remarried. Maxwell has no dad on his birth certificate, and Brenton’s is an alcoholic living in New York.”

  Throwing myself back in the seat, I scrub my face with my hands, trying to piece together the last of this fucking puzzle. We’re so close. All we need is that final piece for it to all click together and show us the entire picture.

  My phone rings, and I grab it. It’s Cronin. “Reynolds.”

  “Maxwell stopped at a new location.”

  I sit up straight and pull my dad’s laptop over to me, ready to type the address into the database. “Go ahead.” Cronin relays the address, and the information on the house comes up. “I’ll call you back in a minute.”

  “It says the home is owned by Patricia Sterling.” I pull up her information. “She has one daughter, who died five years ago. Paula Sterling.” I click on the police file and read what it says out loud. “She was found in the woods just off I-95. Cause of death: internal injuries caused from being beaten. She had drugs in her system, but not enough to kill her. Her boyfriend…” My eyes flit back and forth between the screen and my dad. This can’t be right. Fuck! This is too much of a coincidence.

  “Her boyfriend, what?” Dad asks.

  “Her boyfriend was brought in for questioning but never considered a suspect.”

  “Okay…” Dad gives me a confused look, but that’s only because he doesn’t know what her boyfriend’s name is.

  “His name is Miguel Sanchez.”

  Dad stands, his chair knocking over backward in the process. “Are you fucking sure?”

  “It has his license right here.” I turn the laptop so he can see it for himself. “It’s him, Dad. It’s the asshole who killed my brother.”

  It takes my dad a minute to compose himself, but once he does, he flips right into police mode. There’s a reason he’s been Carterville’s Police Chief for the last twenty years. He knows how to compartmentalize. “We need to find out if Patricia is living there. My guess is she’s renting out her home to her deceased daughter’s grieving boyfriend.”

  I run a search on Patricia, and sure enough, it shows her homestead property is in Daytona. “Why wasn’t she questioned when you were looking for Miguel?”

  “Because he was never arrested,” Dad says with a shake of his head. “It didn’t come up. It’s only coming up now because you did a direct search of the address. He was only brought in for questioning in hope of finding out some information to help move the case along. We were at a dead end.”

  Dad scrubs his hands down his face in frustration. “We questioned Miguel’s family and not a damn person mentioned the name Paula. I would’ve followed up.”

  A text comes through from Scott. “Maxwell left the residence.”

  “Damn it! They have to be connected. My guess is Miguel is hiding out in that damn house! He’s probably been there for years.”

  “Did Miguel’s family mention Maxwell or Brenton?”

  “No, whatever connection he has with them was kept under lock.” Dad picks up his office phone.

  “Who’re you calling?”

  “Judge Pruett, to give us a warrant. Between Maxwell going there, and Patricia owning the home and being connected to Miguel, it just might be enough to get a warrant.”

  The phone rings, and I inhale a deep breath. We’re so close. This might be over soon. And then, not only will the man who killed my brother be finally brought to justice, but I’ll be able to tell Blakely everything.

  “Kevin,” Dad says, addressing the judge by his first name. “How are you?”

  “I’m good, Paul,” he says over the speakerphone. “Was just thinking about you, actually. The wife wants to have you guys over for dinner soon.”

  “Sounds good. I’ll let Larissa know.”

  “So, to what do I owe this pleasure? Business, I’m assuming.”

  “I think we’ve found him, Kevin,” Dad says, not having to explain any further. The two of them go way back. They’ve been friends since high school. Kevin and his wife are our godparents. He knows how much it’s killed my dad to not be able to lock up Miguel behind bars.

  Dad gives Kevin the details of our findings and how we think Miguel might be hiding away in the house we’ve come across and how he’s possibly linked to Brenton and Maxwell. When he’s done, he says, “What do you think?”

  “I think if you’re right, we’re going to nail this bastard. I’ll sign for both warrants. Keep me updated.”

  “You got it.”

  Dad hangs up and then radios a couple officers to head to the cell phone shop. He’s hoping if Maxwell goes to the shop, we can nab him at the same time. That way we don’t run the risk of him being tipped off.

  Twenty minutes later, just as the warrants are coming through, Scott calls. “You are never going to believe who just pulled up and went inside the same house.”

  I bet I only need one guess, though. But that’s only because I have all the motherfucking pieces now; whereas, Scott hasn’t been brought up to speed.

  “Brenton fucking Davis,” I seethe, as I jump from my seat, my dad following right behind me.

  “Ding ding ding.”

  “Stay there. We’re on our way.” I click end on our call and jump into my dad’s truck, since it’s an official police vehicle. If everything goes right, we’ll be arresting all three of these motherfuckers.

  “This is Chief Reynolds,” Dad says into his radio, “requesting backup.” He spits off the address then gets the men up to speed. “We have reason to believe a man by the name of Miguel Sanchez is hiding out in the residence. He is a known drug dealer and there’s a warrant out for his arrest for shooting and killing a police officer. He is to be considered highly armed and dangerous.”

  Just as Dad turns onto the street, Scott calls me again. “We’re almost there,” I tell him.

  “A brown-haired female just went into the house,” he says, and my heart sinks into my chest. Fuck! “I didn’t see her in the car,” he adds. I want to rip him a new one, but I can hear it in his voice he already knows he’s fucked up. “She didn’t go in with him initially. She just knocked and he let her in less than a minute ago.”

  I pull up my GPS tracker for Blakely and sure enough, she’s right where we’re pulling up. “She said she was going to some school for an interview,” I tell my dad. “When I told her I couldn’t take her, she must’ve called him.” I slam my fist into the dashboard. “Fuck. I told her to call Mom. Not him.”

  “Calm down, son.”

  “I need to get her out of there.”

  “No, we need to wait out here,” he says.

  I whip my head around to glare at him. “Like fucking hell.”

  “It’s a conflict of interest if either of us goes in there, and we need everything to be done by the books.”

  Damn it! I know he’s right. And then it hits me…

  “Is she being arrested?”

  “No. As long as she doesn’t have any drugs on her. But if we find who and what we’re hoping to find in there, she’ll have to be brought in for questioning.” He picks up his radio. “The female inside is Blakely Jacobs—Keegan’s girlfriend and the mother of his son. We’re going to remain outside. You’re going to surround the house and knock. If you think she’s in danger, you go in. Her protection comes first. Treat her with respect, boys. She needs to be brought in for questioning, but as long as she doesn’t have any drugs or weapons on her, she is not to be arrested.”

  The guys come over the radio to let him know they understand. We pull up and park along the side of the road and watch as the team surrounds the house.

  And then the door opens.

  Blakely and Brenton walk outside. Brenton’s shocked as shit and Blakely’s scared and confused. I want to run to her and hug her. Tell her it’s okay. But I can’t. I watch as Duncan, one of the officers, tells her to cooperate and then searches her.

  My eyes flit over to Brenton, who is being handcuffed while another officer handles the dr
ugs they’ve found on him. And then over to the door where several of our other officers, who went into the house, are now walking out with none other than Miguel fucking Sanchez. Got you, asshole…

  “It’s him,” Dad says as Officer Nunez announces, “He’s confirmed his name is Miguel Sanchez,” while dragging the piece of shit down the sidewalk and over to his vehicle.

  Dad’s radio goes off. “Maxwell Travers has been taken into custody. Positive for drug possession.”

  “Fuck yes,” I murmur.

  Dad nods in agreement. We got all three.

  I open the car door so they can put Miguel inside. As I’m closing it, I feel someone watching me—Blakely.

  My eyes find her staring right at me. The officer is explaining to her that he needs to bring her in for questioning, only she isn’t responding because her eyes are locked on me. He continues to try to get her attention, calling out, “Ma’am,” but she doesn’t move an inch.

  Her eyes drag down my body, and I hold my breath, knowing what she’s about to see: my badge.

  Her eyes widen, and she screams out my name, getting Brenton’s attention.

  He curses, realizing who—or I should say what—I am. Only he’s not shocked like Blakely is. He’s pissed.

  “What are you doing here?” Blakely asks. “What’s going on? Are you… a cop?”

  “Motherfucker!” Brenton yells, fuming that he’s been had, which makes me deliriously happy.

  I shoot him a you’re fucked look and tell the officer to get him in the car. Then I take a step toward Blakely, who takes a step back. Officer Duncan, who’s walking with her, grips her shoulder, mistaking her stepping back for running.

  She ignores him, though, completely focused on me.

  “Answer me,” she says, her voice full of hate and hurt. “Are you a cop?”

  “Yes,” I tell her, “I’m a cop, and your friend here is under arrest for drug possession with the intent to sell.” I take another step forward, needing to touch her, to hold her, to tell her everything. But she glares and takes another step back.