“Jake? About Tarrant. Being complicit.” Jane thought about that video again. And what Isabel had told her. “I know when Trey Welliver must have drugged Isabel. At a party in May, by Avery’s pool. And Tarrant was there! Isabel saw him. Hey. She even showed us a—” She skidded to a halt. Could she tell Jake about the video?
“A video. Yeah.” Jake toasted her with his beer. “You’re not the only one with sources, hon. But your Isabel corroborates Tarrant was there? Nice. Very, very nice.” He took a sip. “Very helpful. The DA can use that juicy tidbit for leverage while Tarrant and Vogelby and their lawyers battle to see who can rat out the other first.”
“So much for true love,” Jane said. “And their reputations.”
“Yeah. Whatever happens in court, or not, Tarrant and Vogelby are about to get hit with a firestorm of public scorn, not to mention job-ending wrath from their bosses.”
“Speaking of job-ending. And wrath.” Jane could not believe what had happened. Jake was a good guy, an unassailably good guy. But he was the one being punished? “I’m so—excuse me—pissed! How could Superintendent Kearney do that to you?”
“I know.” Jake’s voice was weary as he leaned forward, peeled off his leather jacket and tossed it on the wing chair. Coda, spooked, shot him a disapproving look. “But insubordination, you know? Disobeying direct orders?”
He sat, chin in hands, looking as close to depressed as Jane had ever seen him.
“But I get it.” Jake looked at the floor as he talked. “Kearney had no choice. I’m guilty. I screwed up. He ordered me not to go into Grady’s room, but I did it anyway. Now T’shombe Pereira’s gonna get promoted. Good for him. Shitty for me. But the world is not always fair.”
“You of all people.” Jane, infuriated, wondered if there was anything she could do. But there wasn’t. “And it all worked perfectly! Can you—”
Jane’s phone buzzed, vibrating against the glass coffee table. Caller ID said “Isabel.” She pushed the “accept” button. “Isabel?”
“I’m in the hospital,” Isabel said.
“What?” Jane stood, her heart twisting. “Why? What happened?”
“Oh, no.” Isabel’s laugh came as a surprise. “I’m at the hospital. At BCH. With, you know. Grady. Visiting.”
“You’re at the hospital visiting Grady?” Jane said the whole thing out loud for Jake’s benefit.
“What?” Jake said.
Jane put up a forefinger. Hang on.
“We talked about … everything,” she said. “And he says Detective Brogan should find out who paid for the pizza and beer.”
“Who paid for the pizza and beer?” Jane was confused.
“What?” Jake said. He came closer to Jane, leaned in. She tilted the phone so he could hear, too.
“Yeah,” Isabel went on. “What he delivered that night at Avery’s. He says it’s on a credit card. Tarrant’s.”
Jake raised a fist. “Got you,” he whispered.
“I’ll tell him,” Jane said. Grady and Isabel had clearly put two and two together. Her and Jake. “Are you okay? And Grady?”
“He told me he’s leaving town,” Isabel said. “I’m glad I got to say goodbye.” She paused, cleared her throat. “He’s almost well. And he’s starting over, he says. I guess that’s what I’ll do, too.”
“Do not do anything without telling me, Isabel,” Jane said. “You’re a rock star. A performer. Do not run away. I’m serious. You’re graduating, right?”
“I won’t. I will. Graduate, I mean. And if there’s a trial, I’ll testify against Trey. I gave the district attorney my calendar and file, though, and the SAFEs are giving him the creep list, so she says maybe that’ll convince him to plead guilty. And then, well, I’ll be fine,” Isabel said. “And, Jane?”
“Yes?”
“Thank you. You’re a rock star, too.”
Jake gestured her back to the couch as she hung up. “I heard that, and you’re both right. Both rock stars. Now, thanks to Grady’s final performance as CI, we’ll nail Tarrant for buying alcohol for underage kids. By the way, Grady’s going into witness protection. Though I didn’t tell you that.”
“Think Isabel’s going with him?” Jane leaned against her end of the couch. “I kind of hope not. She’s got a great career ahead of her.”
“If she does?” Jake said. “We’ll never know.”
They sat as they always did, facing each other with legs parallel, her toes kneading his thigh. She took a sip of her Cabernet, gauging the infinite sorrow in her dear Jake’s face. Suspended from the force. With pay, but suspended. Because he’d made a decision to save Grady. He’d succeeded. And then gotten punished for it.
“Wouldn’t that be a relief?” Jane asked. “To hide away, like Grady? Go someplace no one can find you? Now that Fiola and I have the Tarrant stuff, and Isabel, and the SAFE women, we’ll be finished with the documentary in two weeks or so.…” She saw him smile, thank goodness. “I know, it’s impossible.”
But what was possible? Jane twisted her hair away from her face, tried to decide what to say. “Thing is…”
“What?” Jake said.
“I’m not sure the deal with Channel 2 is gonna work.” Jane took a last sip. No more secrets. “Marsh was … critical. Of how I ‘handled’ telling you about baby-face Rourke Devane, and how I knew who he was. He thought I’d crossed the line. I hadn’t, not at all! But even though I was telling the truth, the total truth, he never fully believed me.”
Jane set her empty wineglass on the coffee table, then shifted position, putting her head on Jake’s shoulder, both of them stretched out on the couch, toes sandwiched together. Coda, suddenly made of rubber, adjusted position, putting half of her body on each of them. Jane felt Coda’s purr, and Jake’s rising and falling chest beneath her.
What if he weren’t a cop and she weren’t a reporter? What would they do, where would they go? So many things tied them to their worlds. Family. Work—including Fiola, who, barriers lowering, finally shared her own college trauma, a vodka-fueled frat-party assault she’d never reported. Friends—DeLuca, who she prayed would recover. Mortgages. Insurance. Pets.
Coda looked up, blinked at her, as if she knew Jane was contemplating change.
“You think we could pull it off?” Jake murmured into her hair. “I know how the police department works, know every place they’d check. And you’re the queen of disguise, as you so often tell me.”
A new life. Someplace completely different. Was that a fantasy, colored by wine and stress and the reality of the sometimes-unfair world they battled over every day? Or could they actually go?
“I have something for you,” Jake said. He shifted on the couch, pulled something from his pocket. Held it up.
A scrap of paper. A heart, and the letter J. The note she’d left on his cruiser.
“I’ve kept this in my pocket, almost gave it to you in that hospital closet,” he said. “What if we’d lost each other?”
Jane’s fingers intertwined with Jake’s. Gramma Brogan’s diamond twinkled in the dimming light.
“Shhh,” she said. In one move, she twisted over, their faces now barely inches apart. “Let’s talk about it later.”
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
Unending gratitude to:
Kristin Sevick, my brilliant, hilarious, and gracious editor. Thank you—you championed this from day one. The remarkable team at Forge Books: the incomparable Linda Quinton, indefatigable Alexis Saarela, and copy editor Tom Cherwin who (hilariously) noticed everything, thank you. Another wow of a cover—my story fully realized—from Seth Lerner. Desirae Friesen and Bess Cozby, I am so grateful. Brian Heller, my champion. Bob Werner, I am so grateful! The inspirational Tom Doherty, leader of us all. What a terrifically smart and unfailingly supportive team. I am so thrilled to be part of it. Thank you.
Lisa Gallagher, a wow of an agent, a true goddess and visionary, who changed my life and continues to do so.
Francesca Coltrera, the astonishingly s
killed independent editor, who lets me believe all the good ideas are mine. Editor Chris Roerden, whose care and skill and commitment made such a difference. Editor Ramona DeFelice Long—your insights are incomparable. You all are incredibly talented. I am lucky to know you—and even luckier to work with you.
The artistry and savvy of Maddee James, Jen Forbus, Charlie Anctil, Erin Mitchell, Mary Zanor, Kaitlyn Buscone, and Mary-Liz Murray.
The inspiration of John Lescroart, Lisa Unger, Tess Gerritsen, Mary Higgins Clark, and Reed Farrel Coleman. Big special thanks to Jeffery Deaver, who guided me so graciously.
Sue Grafton. And Lisa Scottoline. And Lee Child. Words fail me. (I know, a first.)
My darling posse at Sisters in Crime, and the dear Guppies. Thank you. Mystery Writers of America, you rock. Facebook pals, thanks for the grammar guidance, character names, and enthusiasm.
My amazing blog partners. Long may we write. Love you, Jungle Reds sisters, and you too, dear Femmes Fatales.
To the brave and powerful women who shared their stories, and who, as promised, will remain nameless. You are changing the world. I hope I got it right.
My dear friends Laura DiSilverio, Mary Schwager, Paula Munier, and Katherine Hall Page; and my darling sister, Nancy Landman.
Dad—who loves every moment of this. And Mom. Missing you.
And Jonathan, of course, who never complained about all the carry-out salmon.
Do you see your name in this book? Some very generous souls—hi, Ashley Masse!—allowed their names to be used in return for an auction donation to charity. To retain the magic, I will let the rest of you find yourselves.
Keep in touch okay?
www.HankPhillippiRyan.com
www.jungleredwriters.com
www.femmesfatales.typepad.com
FORGE BOOKS BY HANK PHILLIPPI RYAN
The Other Woman
The Wrong Girl
Truth Be Told
What You See
Say No More
Prime Time
Face Time
Air Time
Drive Time
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
HANK PHILLIPPI RYAN is the investigative reporter for NBC’s Boston affiliate and has won thirty-three Emmys and fourteen Edward R. Murrow Awards for her groundbreaking journalism. She has also won multiple awards for her bestselling crime fiction, including five Agatha Awards, and the Anthony, Daphne, Macavity, and Mary Higgins Clark Awards. Ryan is a founding teacher at Mystery Writers of America University and past president of national Sisters in Crime. Visit her on the Web at www.hankphillippiryan.com. Or sign up for email updates here.
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CONTENTS
Title Page
Copyright Notice
Dedication
Epigraph
Monday
1. Jane Ryland
2. Jake Brogan
3. Jane Ryland
4. Jake Brogan
5. Willow Galt
6. Isabel Russo
7. Jane Ryland
8. Edward Tarrant
9. Isabel Russo
10. Jake Brogan
11. Jane Ryland
12. Edward Tarrant
13. Jane Ryland
14. Jake Brogan
15. Willow Galt
16. Jane Ryland
Tuesday
17. Jane Ryland
18. Willow Galt
19. Jane Ryland
20. Isabel Russo
21. Willow Galt
22. Jane Ryland
23. Edward Tarrant
24. Jane Ryland
25. Jake Brogan
26. Jane Ryland
27. Jake Brogan
28. Jane Ryland
29. Jake Brogan
30. Jane Ryland
31. Jane Ryland
32. Jake Brogan
33. Jake Brogan
34. Isabel Russo
35. Jake Brogan
36. Jane Ryland
37. Edward Tarrant
Wednesday
38. Jake Brogan
39. Jake Brogan
40. Edward Tarrant
41. Jake Brogan
42. Jane Ryland
43. Jane Ryland
44. Jane Ryland
45. Isabel Russo
46. Jane Ryland
47. Jake Brogan
Thursday
48. Jane Ryland
49. Jake Brogan
50. Jane Ryland
51. Jake Brogan
52. Willow Galt
53. Edward Tarrant
54. Jane Ryland
55. Jake Brogan
56. Jake Brogan
57. Jake Brogan
58. Willow Galt
59. Jane Ryland
60. Jane Ryland
61. Jake Brogan
62. Jake Brogan
63. Jane Ryland
64. Jane Ryland
Acknowledgments
Forge Books by Hank Phillippi Ryan
About the Author
Copyright
This is a work of fiction. All of the characters, organizations, and events portrayed in this novel are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.
SAY NO MORE
Copyright © 2016 by Hank Phillippi Ryan
All rights reserved.
Cover art by Cultura Creative / Alamy Stock Photo
A Forge Book
Published by Tom Doherty Associates
175 Fifth Avenue
New York, NY 10010
www.tor-forge.com
Forge® is a registered trademark of Macmillan Publishing Group, LLC.
The Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data is available upon request.
ISBN 978-0-7653-8535-2 (hardcover)
ISBN 978-0-7653-8536-9 (e-book)
e-ISBN 9780765385369
Our e-books may be purchased in bulk for promotional, educational, or business use. Please contact the Macmillan Corporate and Premium Sales Department at 1-800-221-7945, extension 5442, or by e-mail at [email protected].
First Edition: November 2016
Say No More Page 35