“I just don’t want the state to rush this.” Now I was worrying about Parker’s career. If this did go to trial, he would be risking everything for his friend. “I’m hoping to thwart their case long before it comes to that, so let’s hope for the best.”
He scoffed. “You people are all the same. Relying on hope. Believing that just because someone is innocent doesn’t mean they won’t spend their life in prison.”
Okay. No more talk of hope. He wanted straightforward, he’d get it. “The state is going to offer you a deal. You plea no contest, and they’ll probably take the death penalty off the table. Or some such. Then they’ll give you a certain amount of time to respond. Yada yada. Standard operating procedure. If we have to, we can get them to hold off on even offering the first deal until I can get this sorted out.”
“You’re going to sort this out?” he asked, as skeptical as I was the time a group of boys from the playground told me they’d caught a turtle in the trees. It was a trick to get me to follow them in, and I knew it. He thought he was being duped as well, and I wasn’t sure how to convince him otherwise. I’d just have to get the charges dropped. Maybe he’d trust me then.
“I’m just saying, don’t sign anything until you hear from me.”
“If you believe I didn’t kill Emery, why would you think I’d take their deal in the first place?”
“Once they make that offer, they probably won’t offer again, and this will all go to trial. You could be facing the death penalty. Taking that off the table is a good incentive to take the money and run. Just don’t be tempted.”
“I’ll try to keep my enthusiasm at bay.”
“Okay, first question: How did you find Emery’s car?”
“I told them already, I have an app on my phone. That’s how I found her.”
“So, her phone was at the crime scene?”
“Yes. Plugged in to the charger. And hers is the kind that continues to charge even when the car is off. I found it the same night she disappeared.”
I shuffled through the papers. “Right. So you have the Find a Friend app. The one that lets you know where she is at all times.” When I glanced up from underneath my lashes, his anger soared.
“It was her idea. She wanted me to put it on my phone. Thought it would be fun or something, I don’t know. I didn’t fucking ask.”
Geesh, he was touchy. “Did she have one for you on her phone as well?”
“Yeah, I guess. I don’t know.”
“But you can see how that looks.”
His gaze snapped back to me. “I don’t give a fuck how it looks. I was not stalking her. It was her fucking idea.”
“Lyle,” I said, trying to calm him down. “I swear to you, I’m on your side. I’m just trying to stay one step ahead of the detective on this case, because he’s good. Make no mistake about that.”
He sat back in his chair, his eyes watering before he squeezed them shut and rubbed them with his thumb and index finger. I could feel the frustration rolling out of him in waves.
“Lyle.” I used my mommy voice. When he looked at me, I said, “I am your best bet of beating these charges. It’s what I do. The people who hired me know that, so cut the bullshit and let me help you.”
His mouth thinned into a straight line, but he scrubbed his face with his fingers, the chains clinking with his every move, then nodded. “I wasn’t even supposed to be in town.”
“That’s right. You were supposed to be at your father’s wedding in Florida, but you decided to stay?”
He took a moment more to calm down, then explained. “I couldn’t go. I went to the airport, parked my truck, caught the shuttle. I had every intention of going, but when I went inside, I just couldn’t. Something didn’t feel right.”
Now we were talking. “What?”
“Emery. She’d been upset maybe? Distant? I don’t know how to describe it, but for about two weeks before she disappeared, she hadn’t been herself. She swore nothing was wrong, but I could feel her pulling away.”
I knew the feeling.
“Besides, that was my dad’s fifth marriage. There comes a time when a son has to put his foot down.”
I grinned. “I agree. Parents,” I said, rolling my eyes.
Now that we were getting somewhere, he let me question him for the next hour with no further outbursts, though he did mention that he was going to strangle me when I cleared him of all charges, just for the principle of it. I did have a tendency to push people to mayhem and violence.
But he explained everything. Everything I could see Detective Joplin throwing at Parker, Fiske could explain. I couldn’t help but feel like Joplin jumped the gun on this one. Open and shut isn’t always wide or tight. There are subtleties in every case. Discrepancies that can sway a jury to one side or the other. I was certain that even with all the circumstantial evidence against Fiske, his lawyer could get him acquitted. But he would definitely need more than a public defender. If Parker was serious about helping his friend, he should have started there.
“They’re going to move you to the detention center soon. I’ll come out when I know more.”
He nodded.
“One last thing,” I said just before the guard showed me out. “How long ago did she ask you to download the Find a Friend app for your phone?”
“A little over two weeks ago. When she started pulling away almost to the day.”
Interesting.
“I was going to propose,” he said, stopping me again. “When I left the airport, I was going to propose, but I couldn’t get ahold of her.”
“How many times did you try to call her?”
“At least a dozen. I left message after message and texted her more than that. They said that was my motive. That I couldn’t find her so I thought she was cheating, hunted her down, and killed her.” His voice broke on the last word.
As did my heart.
* * *
I stopped in at Uncle Bob’s office to give a shout, but he was in a meeting. So I left a message on his desk asking him to call me. I wanted to ask him what he knew about the Emery Adams case. Reports were one thing, but a seasoned detective’s gut instinct was another.
I finished up my message by drawing little hearts all over a piece of paper that, about halfway through the fifth heart, I realized was an arrest warrant. An arrest warrant I calmly folded and pushed aside before writing the same message on an actual memo pad. Who knew he’d have something like that on his desk?
Afterwards, I went in search of the first officer to respond to Lyle Fiske’s call after he found Emery’s car, only to find out his shift didn’t begin until later. Still, I had plenty to get me started. I left the station more determined than ever to find who killed Emery Adams. It could be the only way to get the charges against Lyle dropped. And I was headed to do that very thing when I saw Garrett’s truck in the parking lot. With him in it.
Garrett was a former soldier turned bond enforcement officer turned certified member of Team Beep. He’d been with us through hell and high water, and I owed him so much. Mostly, a thank-you.
I walked over to him and had to knock on the window even though he clearly saw me. It was spitting snow, and I got the feeling he was enjoying what it did to my hair.
He finally grinned and rolled down the window.
“What are you doing here?” I asked, suspicious. “Are you following me?” We’d been down this road before.
“Not this time, sweet cheeks.” He graced me with a lopsided grin. Asshole. He knew what that grin did to people. Mostly people of the female persuasion.
“But you are on a stakeout, yes?”
“Sort of.”
He no longer worked for the bonds company unless it was a special request or Javier, his old boss, was just shorthanded, so I asked, “For whom?”
“Your mama,” he said, flashing me the same grin.
“You can talk to dead people, too?”
A soft chuckle rolled out of his chest. “Not hardly.”
Uncle Bob walked out then with two uniforms and a perp in cuffs. Garrett zeroed in on them, and I wondered who the perp was. He’d clearly already been arrested, so what was there to watch?
That fact nudged something inside me as not being quite right, but I decided to drop it. If he had wanted me to know, he would’ve told me. If I had wanted to know, I would’ve bombarded him with questions until he caved. I did that.
“I’m glad I saw you,” I said instead.
He gave me a suspicious glance. “Yeah?”
“Yeah. I just—I thought—I wanted to thank you.”
That time he laid the full power of his silver gaze on me. “For what?”
“For, you know, New York.”
“Well, you’re welcome, but I haven’t given it to you yet.”
That time I laughed. “You were there for me, and I’m really grateful.”
He stared a long moment, one wrist resting loosely on the steering wheel.
I broke the silence first. “I just wanted to thank you.”
“You’re welcome, beautiful.”
My heart swelled at the appreciation I saw in his eyes. He’d put up with so much, been through so much since meeting me, and though he could be a pain in the ass, he was such a good guy.
I rose to my toes and still didn’t stand a snowball’s chance of hitting my target, so he leaned toward me so I could place a soft kiss on his stubbly cheek. But at the last second, he turned his head and my lips landed on his.
I kissed him, anyway, the scoundrel, short and sweet.
When I lowered myself to the ground again, he looked at me in surprise before ducking his head. “You just tell that demon of yours to keep a close eye on you.”
“I will.” I wouldn’t, of course. Reyes didn’t relish the fact that he was part demon. I preferred to think of him as part fallen angel. It sounded so much more exotic. Exoticer?
A part of me couldn’t help but notice that Garrett and Reyes had been working together a lot lately. Much like Osh and Reyes. And, hell, even Angel and Reyes. I could only hope he was paying Garrett what he was worth—his weight in gold.
I offered him one last wave and then jogged to Misery. I had a few more people to thank, not the least of whom was my FBI friend, Kit. And my sister, Gemma. And Uncle Bob. I saw him every day now that he lived right across the hall, but I had yet to really thank him for everything he did. Just like Garrett and Osh, Ubie and Cookie had put their lives on hold to be with me in New York. I owed them all so much.
I decided to call Kit on my way back to the office. I let the Bluetooth blast the sounds of her voice all through Misery’s innards.
“Special Agent Carson,” she said when she picked up. She was such a professional. I could be professional. Hadn’t Cookie and I just been professional that morning? Wasn’t that proof?
“Hey, SAC,” I said, ditching the professionalism.
“Hey, Davidson, how you doing? I haven’t heard from you since you got back.”
“You mean since you stopped that guy from blowing my brains out in New York?” That guy really liked his shotgun.
“Yeah, well, you saved that family, so let’s call it even.”
“Deal.”
While we were talking, I heard a woman screaming in Dolby 5.1 Surround Sound, and I couldn’t figure out if it was coming from Kit’s office or from Misery. Misery didn’t usually scream in a feminine voice. She usually just rumbled, and at a much lower octave, unless I was jamming to Halestorm.
“Where are you?” I asked.
“You called me, remember? I’m in my office. And next time you call, you might not want to tell the operator you’re a Top Ten wanting to turn herself in.”
“Got your attention, didn’t it?”
“Yeah, they take that kind of thing pretty seriously around here. Lucky for you, we don’t have a woman on the Top Ten Most Wanted right now.”
“Shouldn’t be a big deal, then, huh?” I glanced around Misery, checking all the nooks and crannies just to be certain. The screams were definitely coming from the general vicinity of Kit’s office. “Hey, who’s screaming?”
“Screaming?”
“In your office. Who’s with you?”
“What do you mean?”
“Someone is screaming. Loudly. You can’t miss it. Unless…” Clearly there was a departed woman in Kit’s office. One who was utterly pissed at someone named Louie. “Who’s Louie?”
The next time she spoke, her voice was soft and a bit muffled as though she were covering the receiver with her hand. “The only other person in my office is Special Agent Louie Guzman. He’s here on a case from D.C. Why?”
I could hear the curiosity in her voice. This was getting fun. I narrowly missed a white Honda that had decided it had the right of way. The driver flipped me off. What the hell? I was going straight at the intersection, and she was turning left. And she had the right of way just because the light turned red just as we entered the intersection?
“I still had the right of way!” I yelled, flipping her off back, but she’d hightailed it across six lanes of traffic before those who actually had the right of way T-boned her.
“Sometimes I can’t believe you still have your license,” Kit said to me.
“Right? It’s a mystery.”
“So, the screams?” she said again, all hushed like. “Agent Guzman is on the phone.”
“Then whoever he’s talking to can really project. It’s like she’s right there in your office.” I was teasing, of course. If no one but me could hear the woman, she was departed and yelling at the other agent.
“Yeah?” Kit asked. “What’s she saying?”
“She’s threatening, mostly. Telling Louie to get his head out of his ass and find her body. And she’s doing it all in a Southern accent, so it’s kind of funny. Mucho grande mocha latte. Extra whipped cream. Extra hot,” I said to the barista on the other side of the counter. I’d stopped for sustenance.
Kit seemed to perk up. “Where are you?”
“Satellite.”
“Can you swing by?”
“Sure.”
“And bring me one of those, too.”
“You got it.”
7
It is inhumane, in my opinion, to force people
who have a genuine medical need for coffee to wait in line
behind people who apparently view it as some kind of recreational activity.
—DAVE BARRY
I had to go through the usual red tape to get to Kit’s office. Metal detector. Pat down. Strip search, but only because I’d asked for one. Guy was hot.
By the time I got past security, Kit’s extra-hot venti mocha latte was no longer extra hot. It was more Skywalker warm. Luke Skywalker warm.
A nice woman in a crisp suit showed me to a conference room instead of Kit’s office. I stepped inside and almost ran face-first into a woman with a chef’s knife. She was pissed. Screaming. Waving the knife. Threatening to call someone’s mother, but only as a last resort because she detested the woman.
Kit was keeping Special Agent Guzman busy while I got a feel for what was going on. I thought the woman might notice me standing there, but she was way too into her rant to pay attention to little ol’ me, so I walked over and handed Kit her coffee.
“Davidson,” Kit said, pretending to just notice me. She took the cup and pulled me into a big hug.
The other agent stood back with a congenial smile on his face as Kit showed an unprecedented amount of emotion. I felt it quake within her.
When she pulled back, her eyes shimmered with it as well. “I’m glad you’re doing so well.”
She meant it. It took me a moment to recover from the shock. Also, I was kind of lip-reading, so I was only guessing at what she said. That departed woman had a set of lungs that went on for days. Kit could have said, “I’m mad you’re going to hell,” but I didn’t know why she would say something like that to me. As far as I knew, she didn’t have that kind of in
sight.
She cleared her throat and straightened her shoulders. “This is Special Agent Guzman,” she said before physically turning me to face him like one would a child. I tried not to crack up.
It was hard to actually see Special Agent Guzman. The woman was in his face. Like in his face. Yelling. Screaming at him. But a hand popped out of her lower back, so I took it, praying it was the agent offering a greeting. It was hard to tell at that point.
“Nguyen,” Kit said as her partner in crime walked in. Agent Nguyen and I had never bonded.
The two male agents shook hands, then it was my turn. Agent Nguyen’s gaze landed on me. I waved a tight hello and got the feeling Nguyen was warming up to me. His smile held less acid than the ones he used to offer me, but that was all the warmth I’d get from him.
I chose a chair and started to sit down.
He pulled the chair out from under me and took it for himself.
Oh yeah. I was totally winning him over. The Discovery Channel had a special that said punking their friends was how the FBI genus showed affection. Their mating rituals were stranger still.
Kit and Guzman took a chair, too, so I walked around Agent Nguyen, who was only slightly glowering at me, and sat opposite, well, everyone. This wasn’t intimidating at all.
All three of them looked at me. Kit expectantly from behind her cup. Nguyen impatiently. And Agent Guzman curiously.
“So,” I said, clasping my hands together and probably speaking a tad louder than necessary, “I bet you’re all wondering why I called this meeting.”
Kit fought a grin while the new guy glanced at her in question.
“Davidson is a private investigator,” Kit told him. “She does some work for us from time to time.”
“You hire private investigators?” he asked, surprised.
“Hire would imply payment,” I corrected. “This is more of a volunteer thing.”
“Ah.” He nodded, pretending to understand why we were all sitting there.
“Mrs. Davidson recently came into some interesting information about your wife’s disappearance,” Kit said, and I had to force my smile to stay put.
The Curse of Tenth Grave Page 7