‘Los let him pass and the low murmurs resumed as Lucky released his arm.
“You didn’t have to do that,” she murmured, righting the chairs that Flynn had upended.
“I didn’t mean to embarrass you, Luck. I’m sorry,” ‘Los said, joining her to straighten the table back to its original position. “I just couldn’t do it tonight. Couldn’t stand hearing him say one more thing about you.”
Lack of sleep and the emotional roller coaster of the past few days had already left her raw and feeling way too exposed. Carlos’s words, combined with his fierce, solemn tone, was apparently point break, because her throat started to ache and she realized she was on the verge of tears.
Hell if she would give that Napoleon-complex-having little bastard still watching from the corner the satisfaction of seeing her cry.
“I’ll be back in a sec,” she managed. Then, she turned and made a beeline for the bathroom, face on fire, tears blurring her vision.
Screw Flynn. If he hated her guts, that was fine. On a normal day, it would’ve rolled right off her back. Today, though?
Today it fucking hurt.
A sudden rush of bile rose up to burn the back of her throat. She ran the tap water just for the noise as she straddled the sink with her hands and sucked in long, slow breaths.
When she'd first started on the force, she'd been blind to everything but the carrot at the end of that stick. Resources. The resources she needed if she had any shot of solving her brother's murder. She'd known it was a long shot. But that hadn't stopped her. She'd used every trick in the book, every connection her family had, called in every favor she or her father had ever garnered, to get the position she wanted, and felt not an ounce of shame for it.
Until this very moment.
Because her stubbornness had wound up costing her partner, one of the best-loved guys on the force, the respect of some of his colleagues, and he didn't deserve that.
She pushed away from the sink with a groan, replaying the scene in her mind. She'd never seen ‘Los quite like that before. Not that he was a saint. But he'd always been so patient. Slow to anger, quick to forgive. Tonight, he'd popped off like a man full of rage just waiting to bubble over.
A low knock sounded on the door and she called out, "Just a minute."
The knocking continued and she shut off the tap with a sigh. No point in hiding anyway, really. She was going to have to go out and face the stares at some point. Might as well get it over with.
She swung the door open, an apologetic smile at the ready, but then took a step back as she looked up at ‘Los staring down at her.
"Let's get some air, okay?"
She nodded wordlessly as he took her wrist and led her toward the emergency exit. Her feet stuck to the tacky linoleum floor as they walked, the sound of it beating in her head like a snare drum. ‘Los shouldered open the metal door and pulled her into the alley before letting her go and taking a step back.
"I know I already said it, but I’m going to say it again. I'm sorry," he said, pacing restlessly, hands on his hips. His voice was so low after the noisy bar she had to strain to hear him. "I don’t know what happened…I just lost it in there." He stopped in his tracks and stared at her, the regret in his eyes hitting her like a shot to the gut.
"It wasn't your fault. He’s an asshole, but he has a legitimate reason to dislike me. I worked the system to get ahead. To his mind, if it wasn’t for me, he’d be a detective by now."
“Never happen,” ‘Los shot back. “He couldn’t do it before you got here, either.”
“Okay, but that’s not how he sees it. Maybe you were right. Maybe if he knew why I did it…”
"I wasn’t right. It's nobody’s business but yours. You're a great cop, Luck. Maybe one of the best this department has seen. And they're jealous." His lips twisted into a smile. "If you told them the truth when you started, they'd have found something else to hate you for. Especially Flynn."
"When did you decide all this?"
"I always knew it deep down, but that kind of negativity doesn't fit my new image."
"New image? You're the most positive person I know, since the day I met you."
"Yeah, well, I wasn't always."
She was about to argue but the look on his face raised the hair on the back of her neck.
"What do you mean?"
He toed a loose piece of gravel and sent it careening against the brick wall. "I mean, I used to be a real asshole."
"I find that very hard to believe."
"Believe," he said flatly. "I joined the Army at eighteen, and became a paratrooper. Thought I was a real tough guy. Viv wanted me to stay home with her. Make babies young, be a family man. I loved her even then, but I had some demons to exorcise."
She'd heard a lighthearted version of the story from Viv at family parties, although his wife would never present him in a negative light. Lucky had seen pictures of ‘Los and his Army buddies on his mantel, heard stories of the mischief they'd get into. Most of it seemed harmless enough.
"You were a teenager. I hate to break it to you, partner, but most teenagers are assholes. It's like their job or something."
‘Los finally stopped pacing, coming to a stop a few feet in front of her. Something electric arced between them. Something that made her want to take a step forward and run away all at the same time.
"I'm not who you think I am, El."
"Don't say that," she murmured through numb lips, her pulse racing. She couldn't deal with this right now. Not when she was failing on all fronts. The body count on her watch was rising, she was a bad daughter and worse sister, everyone on the job hated her. This was the one good thing in her life, and ‘Los was about to break it. "Just stop talking," she said, not caring that she sounded desperate.
"I kept telling you to be honest with these guys, but I haven't been honest with you. I'm the guy you just saw inside, El. That's the real me. This other guy,” he gestured at himself up and down, “is the one I strive to be every day. And it’s fucking hard."
The air was still thick and hot, but she shivered as he continued.
"Eight years ago, a platoon mate and I were captured in Afghanistan. His name was Miguel Castille. He used to drive me nuts. One of those guys that sings in the shower, and whistles all the fucking time."
‘Los stuffed a hand in his pocket and kept his gaze locked somewhere over her shoulder.
"Whenever we'd go out to patrol, he'd yell ‘What time is it?’ and he'd keep yelling it until we all called back ‘Show time!’ I made no bones about telling him to shut the hell up whenever he got on my nerves, which was often. It was three of us, me, him, and a guy named Pat Thompson, out patrolling the area one day when we rolled up on some serious shit going down. Little village, looked like nothing at all, and suddenly, we were surrounded by guys with big guns. There was a firefight, but there were a lot of them. We couldn't deploy grenades because there were kids everywhere. In the end, they got us. I took a bullet in the shoulder, Pat took three in the neck and shoulder and bled out. Miggy was uninjured. They kept the two of us tied up for six days in a shitty hut, and eventually decided they were going to kill one of us and let the other return to our post with a warning to pull out of the area or expect more carnage. They were standing in the corner talking about which one of us to release." ‘Los swayed on his feet and looked her full in the face. "Miggy jumped up and ran at one of them headfirst like a madman. They slit his throat right in front of me. He made their choice for them. He gave up his life for mine."
Her stomach roiled and she wrapped her arms around her waist. "You couldn't have known he was going to do that. It wasn't your fault."
"And rationally, I know that. But you know what I wasn't going to do? I wasn't going to squander the life he gifted me by being an ungrateful little shit-bag anymore, either. I decided that day to try and see the world through Miggy's eyes. Been doing it ever since." He shrugged and rested a hand on his holster. "I try to whistle more, and sing when I g
ot one inside me. I laugh whenever I get the chance. Most days, it works. It's earned me a great life. I've got a wife who I might actually deserve every once in a while, and two great kids. I have a job I'm good at that helps people. I got you, Luck." He reached out and chucked her shoulder, a sad little smile on his lips. "And you got me. It's a great deal. Sometimes, I slip, though. I lose sight of the lessons I learned from Miggy and I get madder than I should. And sometimes I forget about all the things I have to be grateful for and I start to want things I have no business wanting."
The harshness of his voice made it hard to breathe.
A crash sounded in the distance and they both turned to see a man topple into a bag of trash at the entrance of the alleyway.
“Jesus is Lord!” he hollered before weaving and then stumbling away.
The interruption was just enough to break the heavy tension in the air and ‘Los took a step back.
He shot her a thin smile. “Anyway, my point is, I’m sorry for what happened inside. It won’t happen again. Next time, if he’s here, we’ll just leave, all right?”
She nodded stiffly. “Yeah, okay.”
“Do you want to drink our beers or would you rather head out?”
The thought of having to look at Flynn’s judging sneer was bad, but the thought of letting him run her out of the place was worse.
She straightened her shoulders and reached for the door. “Far be it for me to let a now lukewarm beer go to waste.”
As they made their way back toward the bar, though, she couldn’t get ‘Los’s words out of her head…
I start to want things I have no business wanting…
If ‘Lita Gisella were here right now, she would cut Lucky’s heart out.
20
“Fuck fuck fuck fuck,” Andy howled, slamming his fists into the steering wheel of his rented car. The sensation of his knuckles splitting felt…nice. Like a physical representation of his internal suffering.
That big, dumb ape had been hulking over Ella in that alley like she belonged to him. But worse than that? The look on her face. Raw and needy…
“Fuck!” he snarled one last time before smashing his forehead against the steering wheel hard enough that he saw stars. He’d also bit his tongue in the process, and the sharp pain followed by the tinny taste of blood had him blinking back tears of rage.
Bloody, smelling like alley-trash, and shaking with fury.
Not good.
He was out of control. If he’d stuck with the plan, he’d have stopped following Ella weeks ago. Instead, he found himself compelled to continue. And instead of being more careful, he grew bolder, the need to get close to her overriding both common sense and self-preservation.
He shot a glance to the knife on the seat beside him and pinched his eyes closed. Someone had seen him near her car. Sure, he was disguised as a bum, so they probably hadn’t even looked twice, but that wasn’t the point. It had been a completely unnecessary risk. A risk he’d taken without thought or preparation.
Total madness.
There had been a time when it had just been part of the end game. Writing down her comings and goings, her habits and her behaviors. Doing his research. But somehow, in the midst of all that, he’d found himself lingering on her Facebook page and the single photo posted there.
He closed his eyes now and called it to the forefront of his mind.
Ella, her glossy, dark head thrown back in an open-mouthed laugh, big enough that he could see the single, tiny silver filling on her right, back molar. She was flanked by her siblings. Abby in her late teens, trying and failing to appear nonchalant. Brad, mischief in his eyes and a dimple creasing his cheek. There was no caption, but once he’d continued his research, he’d realized it hadn’t needed one. She’d made it her profile picture a week after Brad’s death.
And she’d never posted again.
He let his eyes flicker open and swallowed hard, a mixture of saliva and blood burning his dry throat.
He gripped the wheel and sucked in a breath, trying not to think of what he’d seen tonight. It didn’t matter. This wasn’t some fairy story where he and Ella ended up married in the end like some Disney film. He had to suck it up and deal.
“Fuuuck!”
He reached into the back seat and dragged his knapsack up with shaking hands, taking note of the time on the dashboard. Ninety minutes before his meeting. He’d take a couple pills to calm his nerves and everything would be fine. He just had to hold it together for a few more days, and then it would all be over…he’d be thousands of miles away.
And Ella?
Well, she’d be paying the price for all those who had wronged him.
21
"It would've been too easy," 'Los said, staring blankly at the various piles of paper spread out on the massive conference room desk.
Lucky sighed and rubbed at the crick in her neck as she straightened. "Yep." And, for the past few days, easy just hadn't been on the menu.
"We should've known," 'Los continued. "If I was taking bets yesterday, I'd have said we were looking at days of platitudes and foot dragging on their end, at which point, Cap would have grudgingly agreed to force the issue."
She hadn't said it out loud, but she'd thought the same thing when the box from the Catholic Church had been delivered to their desks just before lunchtime. After spending the last few hours scouring his files—which covered Moncrief's nearly fifty years of service—they'd found not even a whiff of sexual misconduct. No reprimands, no complaints, no redacted transcripts.
If they had truly received all of his files, as the note that had accompanied the box had indicated, the only thing the Bishop was guilty of was being a bit of an asshole. Lots of complaints lodged by him, over everything from perceived favoritism to what amounted to nothing more than snitching on colleagues over trivial issues. Half as many from colleagues expressing their disgust over him being such a whiner.
But something bad enough to earn him a toe-tag and an expedited trip to the afterlife?
Not from where Lucky was standing.
The report they’d gotten from Bisby that morning had been disappointing. Aside from what he’d deemed to be a post-mortem violation with the chess piece, there hadn’t been much in the way of new information. He’d eaten salmon and veggies a couple hours before his death, and was showing some early signs of congestive heart failure. Hopefully, the lab would be able to shed some light on the substance found on Moncrief’s clothing and in the car, or get a hit on some of the prints they’d lifted.
"Well, we do know from past actions that the church isn't above a cover-up." She dropped into the empty chair behind her. "We can see if—"
'Los broke in before she could finish. "We could," he confirmed, reading her mind. "But pressuring the boss to pressure his boss to pressure his boss and so on is going to create some serious bad blood. We'd essentially be asking brass to tell the Church that, while we appreciate their cooperation, we believe they're obstructing justice. Don't get me wrong, it still might come to that. I just think we should turn over a few more rocks before we make that move."
She knew he was right. "So you want to, what? Call some family, friends, and co-workers, first, and see if someone slips up or has heard some rumors?"
"At least that way we would have cause to press them."
"Okay, I'll contact his assistant again and see if I can get a list of people to talk to." She jotted that note on her list of things to do and then turned back toward 'Los.
She’d done her best to avoid him the first half of the day, and it had gone pretty well, because it seemed like he was doing the same. Now, though, there was no not noticing it. The dark smudges under her partner’s eyes told her he'd slept about as well as she had, which was barely at all. The depressing visit with her father and the drama at the bar had been bad enough. Finding her front tire flat when she and ‘Los had returned to their cars afterward had been the icing on the cake. When her exhausted brain had finally stopped regurgita
ting the almost surreal events of the night on a loop, it had turned to Brad and the countless ways she'd failed him and the rest of her family.
Maybe it was time to contact a professional and see if they could prescribe something to at least help her sleep when the stress and anxiety got to be too much. Something was going to have to give, and soon, or she was going to be no good to anybody.
She pulled her gaze from her partner, but not before she caught sight of his scabbed knuckles.
"How's your hand feel?"
"Probably better than Flynn's jaw," he said with a wry grin, flexing his fingers.
Despite the fact that affable Carlos seemed to be back at the wheel, there was a sparkle missing in his eyes, and she hated it.
Lucky pushed her chair back and stood. "I'll get started on the Moncrief calls. You want to follow up with Sal and see if he has managed to squeeze us into his busy schedule for a chat with the Walsh family?"
"Sounds good."
They began methodically packing up the Bishop's files in silence. Not weird, in itself. They spent countless hours each week side by side and neither had ever felt the need to fill those hours with chatter. This was a different kind of quiet, though. One that had Lucky's nerves on edge. When 'Los set the top back on the box, she couldn't help but let out a sigh of relief.
A little space. That was what she needed right now.
They filed out of the conference room and headed down the hall. They'd only made it halfway when Flynn rounded the corner. The second he caught sight of them, his scowl deepened. His jaw was bruised and swollen and his red cheeks and rounded features made him look like an angry leprechaun who'd lost a fight to an even angrier leprechaun.
Lucky Break (Lucky Strickland) Page 14