by Karis Walsh
“I’m sure the horses will love staying at your farm.” Billie didn’t mention herself, and Merissa sensed that Billie didn’t believe she’d enjoy the months as much as the animals would. Would she enjoy having Billie there? She wasn’t sure, and she fought to take her mind off the question and focus it instead on walking Ranger across a crinkling sheet of plastic.
Chapter Nine
Billie pulled the clip out of her hair and let the short waves cover the sides of her face. She wore a tight black sweater and jeans that were faded and worn from hours rubbing against a saddle. She studied herself in the mirror, rounding her upper back and slumping her shoulders as she tried to look less like a cop and more like someone who belonged on the dark street at night. She used to be able to blend more easily, fitting in by silhouette alone while on a mission, but she’d gotten out of practice. Even her poor posture looked stiff and rehearsed. She sighed and stood straight again. She’d always thought of herself as a chameleon. When had she gotten complacent and rigid? She wiggled her shoulders and tried once more, this time better approximating the shape of an urchin who didn’t have Cal hounding her about a tall riding position or Lieutenant Hargrove calling her to attention whenever she was angry.
She turned away from the mirror and sat at the kitchen counter while she waited for Don to arrive. She tapped her fingers on the faux granite laminate and thought about the day’s riding lesson. Merissa’s effect on her was confusing. She was such an open book, probably because her defenses were still weakened by the murder. Somehow, she’d managed to transmit her turmoil to Billie, who had gone on to make a fool of herself at the training session. They had finally begun to work as a team and help the younger mare through some tough obstacles, but not before they’d caught the attention of the entire team. And now—because of Merissa, again—Billie was about to do something crazy and go against department policies. She usually followed rules and kept to herself, not wanting the negative attention of standing out. Something about Merissa brought out Billie’s extremes, both high and low, that she rarely showed. Merissa was anything but average, and Billie couldn’t be, either, when they were around each other.
She frowned and clicked her short nails in a repetitive rhythm on the counter. She didn’t even know what had made her mad when Merissa offered the apartment over the barn. Far from thinking she was being offered servant’s quarters, Billie had been quite sure the apartment would be better appointed and nicer than her own. She would ignore the hastily added offer to stay in the cold mansion. She needed more distance from Merissa than one house, no matter how large, would provide, and the atmosphere inside the marble living room was more mausoleum than home.
Still, Billie had been tempted to accept for a brief moment. Given the way Merissa had been nervously rambling, she might have offered a place in her own bed if Billie hadn’t spoken up and declined. She would take the safe option and commute back and forth, sleeping in her own place and working the horses at Merissa’s.
So why had she been rubbed the wrong way? Merissa had her inherited money, but she seemed to treat it as a fact of life and not a status symbol. She dressed nicely—looking freaking gorgeous in the skintight tan riding pants she’d worn today—but not ostentatiously. Billie really didn’t see the same chasm between haves and have-nots that other people believed was there. She’d grown up with a father who left her and her sisters behind to fish the rough seas off the Alaskan coast. Yes, he’d made a lot more than he would have elsewhere, but the sacrifice, in her opinion, had been high. She wasn’t naive enough to believe that having buckets of money necessarily made a person happier than others. On the contrary, she figured the more money one made, the greater the sacrifices as well. She wasn’t going to be anyone’s sacrifice ever again.
Billie sighed. She heard Don’s footsteps approaching through the thin walls of her shoddy apartment and she got to her feet. Merissa just made her feel too much. She was used to keeping most of her emotions under wraps, but Merissa wore hers in plain sight. She was innocent and worldly at the same time. She seemed to desire community and neighborhoods, but she was willing to tear down existing areas with those qualities just to build her personal vision on the rubble of broken homes and evicted tenants. The conflicts she raised were too much for Billie, who had wanted nothing more than a steady and predictable life when she was a child. She’d grown up with conflicting messages—I love you, but I have to leave you—and she’d had enough of them for a lifetime. She had become a nomad like her father, but she still appreciated what home meant to other people. Not everyone in this building had the option to move on or find a new place like she would if evicted.
She opened the door just as Don was about to knock. “Ready?” he asked.
She patted her lower back, where her gun was tucked out of sight. “Yep. Let’s do this.”
She locked her apartment, although a determined poodle could break down her door if she had doggy treats on the other side, and followed Don down the narrow hallway. “We’re just asking some questions,” she reminded him.
He looked over his shoulder at her and laughed. “What do you think I’m going to do? Water board the guy?”
“I’m just saying, all I want to do is corroborate Carlyle’s story. Get Percy to make a statement if we can. If he really did borrow the car for someone else, he’ll have nothing to lose by telling the truth.”
Don slowed before going down the wider staircase and they walked side by side. “It must be nice living in the rose-colored world in your head. I wish I could visit sometime.”
“It’s worth a shot,” Billie said. She didn’t believe she was the optimist he seemed to think she was, but even her years in the military and on the force hadn’t been able to squash the persistent hope she felt at times like these. She’d believe Percy was at heart a good guy who wouldn’t want Carlyle to suffer for someone else’s mistake. If he proved her wrong? Then she’d still be likely to get what she wanted. She’d had confrontations like this a million times, and the routine was always the same. He would deny everything, and then rat out someone else to take the fall. He’d protect himself, and she would get the information she needed to protect her friend. Whatever his motives, he’d talk.
“I owe it to Carlyle to try.”
“Yeah, Carlyle,” Don said with a snort as he got in his car.
Billie slid in beside him. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
Don pulled away from the curb and cut across town toward Commencement Bay. “It means you’re really doing this for the long-legged blonde you were staring at all afternoon.”
“I was not staring at Cal,” Billie said, pretending to misunderstand him and making an attempt at humor. “Don’t you dare insinuate I was to Rachel. She’d kill me and drop me in the Sound wearing cement-filled riding boots.”
Don laughed. “Yes, she would. And good job deflecting by the way. Your joke completely threw me off the fact that you’re really doing this tonight because you want to make sure Merissa is safe.”
Billie rolled her eyes. “I’m sure she’s sleeping safe and sound in her grand mansion. She doesn’t need me for anything.” Merissa might have needs—someone to keep her warm in that cold house, and someone to help her understand Dennis’s death—but Billie wasn’t the one to supply either one. If her investigation proved Carlyle innocent and also gave Merissa a sense of peace, then she would be happy, but she was doing this for her friend Carlyle first, because Merissa had the power to destroy him. Or did he want to destroy Merissa? Billie wouldn’t be able to relax until she knew for sure.
She kept quiet while they slowly drove up Ruston Way. The road wound along the waterfront, and the seafood restaurants and bars alongside had drawn crowds of people to the area. Once they moved beyond the bright lights and muffled music, they saw fewer people on the sidewalks and piers. During the day, especially in the warmer months, the paved path would be full of joggers, strollers, and families. The mounted unit had made their debut ride with Rachel as t
heir leader down here, weaving among the people and pets while fireworks exploded over the bay on the Fourth of July. It had been one of the most exhilarating nights of Billie’s life, and she’d been proud of both herself and Ranger as they had overcome the internal demand—innate for the horse and learned for her—to flee from the booming rockets and had instead calmly and coolly patrolled the citywide party.
Billie watched the shadows, noticing the people lurking among them and deciphering their actions based on the few clues she could see. A hooker over there, leaning against a tree trunk as she watched cars go by. A couple sneaking out to a rundown wooden dock, its pylons rising in dark relief against the moonlit and city lit sky. A drug deal—but not their target dealer—going down in what was supposed to be a closed construction site, where fancy new condos would soon be built. The darker side of Tacoma had emerged. Two nights ago, Merissa had been caught in the midst of this world that was so unfamiliar to her. Billie fought down a wave of nausea at the thought.
When she spoke, she continued her train of thought. “Merissa and Dennis didn’t belong in that part of the city, so they weren’t the targets. They were bystanders who got in the way of a drug deal or gang fight. I don’t need to talk to Percy to know Merissa is safe from whoever shot Dennis. I’m doing this to help out a neighbor. I don’t even like her all that much.”
Don laughed, and Billie couldn’t blame him this time. She’d sounded almost petulant, as if she’d been caught with Merissa’s pigtail in one hand and an inkwell in the other. She changed tactics.
“Did you know that she and her boss were planning to demolish my apartment building? Build some sort of community square, with shops and cafés and a little park. In the middle of the Hilltop.”
“Oh, no,” Don exclaimed, clutching at his chest with his left hand. “I’m getting choked up thinking about all those homeless cockroaches and rats! Wherever will they go?”
Billie punched him in the arm. “There’ll be homeless people, too. Including yours truly.”
“I’ve been trying to get you to move for a year now,” Don said. “I’ve worked in the bowels of this city long enough to be thrilled when I see any sign of improvement that benefits the taxpaying, law-abiding citizens. Like the Sixth Avenue and Stadium districts.”
Billie frowned as Don drove around a traffic circle and back the way they’d come. “I want to see the city grow and become a safer place, but Merissa needs to care about the people she’d be displacing. They matter, too. She needs to see past the appearance of these buildings to the heart inside.”
“Please. You care just as much about appearances. The only reason you stay in that fleabag apartment of yours is because you like the impression it gives.”
Billie stared at him in disbelief. Did he know her so little, after all the time they’d spent together? “What impression? That I’m poor and possibly covered with bedbug bites? You really think I want people to see me that way?”
“No. You want them to see you as someone compassionate and connected to the community you serve. You’re making as much of a statement by choosing to live in squalor as someone who wears designer jeans and polo shirts with fancy logos. Hey. Over there.”
Billie had been looking out the window blankly, struggling to decide if there was any truth to Don’s statement, and she’d almost missed their quarry.
“Go to the next street and park up the hill,” she said. “We don’t want to spook him.”
Don did as she said, and they quickly moved along the sidewalk, staying in the cover of some tall shrubs. They stopped and looked across the street, toward the bay, where Don had spotted Percy in a small green space next to a kiosk that sold ice cream bars and soda during the summer months. They’d have to cross the open road to get to him.
“I’ll go,” Billie and Don said at the same time. Billie shook her head and dropped into her druggie posture. “Me first. I’ll distract him, and you come up from behind.” She pointed to an information board with a map of the city and a ship’s wheel on it. “We can take him back there and talk, so we won’t be disturbed.”
Don nodded and she noticed his gun was in his hand. She left hers tucked in her jeans—Percy would understandably bolt if she ran toward him with a drawn weapon—and jaywalked across the street. She made no attempt to move furtively and stayed within Percy’s line of sight, wanting to seem like a customer hoping to score.
“Hey,” she called softly as soon as she was nearing the other side of the road. “You selling?”
“Do I know you?” Percy asked. He stood his ground as she got closer, and she angled her approach to make it seem like she was aiming for the glowing circle under a weak streetlight. In reality, she wanted to buy Don some time and get Percy’s attention off the road, but she couldn’t see Don anywhere.
“Whoa,” Percy said putting his hands up as soon as her face was lit enough for him to see her. He either recognized her from some past dealing or her movement and bearing had given her away. “Ain’t no law against walking in the park.”
Billie was about to answer, but suddenly Don was behind Percy. For an old, overweight guy, he moved like a cat. Percy’s hands stretched higher and his expression shifted from belligerence to fear. Billie assumed the barrel of Don’s gun was pressing into his back.
“Over here,” she said, nodding toward the sign. She drew her own pistol and her eyes scanned the area for any indication that they had unwanted company.
“I didn’t do nothing,” Percy said, as expected. Billie heard the same phrase every day she worked, even in response to a simple excuse me . It was most often uttered by someone who had actually just done something bad.
“We just want to ask you a few questions,” Billie said. She looked around again, suddenly nervous. She wasn’t the type of cop to go outside of department regulations this way, unless the fate of someone she cared about was on the line. She’d do the same for any one of her team members, and she was putting herself at risk now for Carlyle. An image of Merissa, her face moving from the happiness Billie had seen during today’s training ride to terror as she stared at Dennis’s unmoving form, flicked through Billie’s mind. She pushed it away quickly. She needed to concentrate on what was happening right in front of her. In and out.
“Two nights ago you borrowed Carlyle’s car,” she started, but Percy interrupted her.
“No, I swear I—”
“That wasn’t one of the questions,” Billie said with a snarl in her voice. She stepped closer to him. He was taller than she was, but seemed intimidated and tried to back up. Don’s gun held him in place.
“He said you needed it for a buddy. Just give me his name, and you can go.”
Percy’s face had a look of terror on it that Billie didn’t understand. This was a game, and they all knew the rules. How many times had he ratted out other people to save his own skin? Dozens. Billie would bet money on it. Why would he hesitate to shift a murder investigation onto someone else?
“Give her the name,” Don said, pushing from behind. His face had the same look of confusion Billie was sure was on her own.
“No. You can shoot me if you want. Take me to the station and book me. But I’m done talkin’.”
Billie and Don exchanged a look, and he backed away. He came to her side with his gun still drawn.
“You’ll want to change your mind,” he said in a low voice. “Whoever you’re so afraid of will find out we were here. Maybe he’ll think you talked to us more than you should’ve. Give it some thought and make a smart decision for once. Come and turn yourself in, and we’ll protect you. Come on,” Don continued, pulling on Billie’s sleeve. She backed around the sign, and then they turned and jogged toward the street.
“That was odd,” Don said. He sounded as spooked as Billie felt. They’d both questioned suspects countless times, and Percy’d been on the other end of those questions often enough. There was a routine to the interrogations, a cat-and-mouse posturing. Percy was the kind of guy who scared most p
eople he came into contact with. A long-time dealer who wouldn’t be afraid of two cops asking a few questions. Who had terrified him ?
They were halfway across the street when an unmuffled gunshot cracked the silence of the night. They ran back to the sign and saw Percy lying face down in a pool of blood. A .22 was several yards away, in plain sight. Don knelt by the still form and felt for a pulse. He tossed Billie the car keys. “He’s dead. Get my phone and call for backup.”
Billie nodded and ran as fast as she could. She wasn’t worried about leaving Don alone because this had been a message. If someone just wanted Percy dead, they’d have shot him after Billie and Don were long gone. If they had wanted to kill either of them, they’d be in the middle of a gunfight right now. Billie felt her heart grow cold, and the ice spread to her fingertips, making it hard for her to use the phone. Someone wanted to keep Percy from talking permanently, and specifically to her. This was a message, clear as could be. She couldn’t hide from the final assumptions along this trail of clues. Dennis’s death hadn’t been an accident. Whoever had him shot was covering tracks and blocking even her off-the-record investigation. Merissa—who had recognized the car and witnessed the murder—wasn’t as safe as Billie had originally thought.
Chapter Ten
One day—and three very long sessions with the detectives on the Morgan case—later, Billie stood in the apartment over Merissa’s barn and dropped her suitcase next to the couch. The furniture was upholstered in a heavy brocade embroidered with scarlet-coated riders and hound dogs giving chase to wily foxes. The coffee table and end tables were carved out of gleaming mahogany, and the walls were painted a deep burgundy. The room opened into the small kitchen with its matching cabinets and green-tinged quartz countertop. Bookshelves filled with paperbacks and horse books lined one wall, and a window curtained in heavy tan fabric had a view of a huge horse pasture and a pond. Damn. Billie hadn’t been wrong when she’d guessed that this apartment would be better than hers.