by K. A. Tucker
Klein’s threats die on his lips as they curl into that arrogant smile. But behind it, I see satisfaction. And relief.
“Well, what are you waiting for? Let’s see it.”
* * *
Silas hits the power button on the television to shut off the latest news, throwing the kitchen into silence. “That’s enough about that.” He pushes his half-eaten breakfast of eggs and bacon away and rubs his weary face. These past couple of weeks have aged him five years. He looks like he hasn’t slept in days, and he probably hasn’t, not with the media frenzy that’s taken over after the FBI arrested Mantis and Stapley, with charges for everything from murder, to conspiracy to commit murder, to a dozen other crimes.
Abe’s story has grabbed statewide attention. We’ve had to sequester ourselves inside the house to avoid persistent reporters camped outside, hoping to talk to Chief Jackie Marshall’s son.
Wait until they discover that Abraham Wilkes’s daughter is with me.
“Well, if there’s one good thing that’s come from all of this, it’s that your mother isn’t anywhere on that video,” Silas mutters.
“But we still don’t know why she had that bag of money and Abe’s holster.” I thought I’d feel more relief once Mantis and Stapley were caught. But this disquiet persists.
“Have the FBI told you anything?”
“Nothing.” Klein’s shut us out completely and, from the sounds of it, the FBI is no longer collaborating with the APD. If they ever really were to begin with.
“Well, maybe Mantis or Stapley can fill in some gaps.”
Gracie tosses a treat to Cyclops. “I wouldn’t trust any explanation those two give.”
Silas drums the table with his fingers. “What about the search for Gracie’s aunt?”
“They had a lead the other day, but it turned out to be false.” It was painful, watching the hope bloom on Gracie’s face, only to have it crumble.
Silas pats my hand and then, with a heavy sigh, stands. “I best be getting into the office. You need to stay away from there for the time being. It’s a zoo. We’re getting grilled from every direction. We’ll talk about your return to work once this all settles.”
“Yes, sir.” I couldn’t imagine going back to work right now; my head is still swimming with unanswered questions.
With a nod toward Gracie, Silas limps down the hall and out the front door.
“What if they get off?” She turns green eyes toward me and I see the fear in them. “What if they find some loophole, or mistake, or some way to make that video inadmissible?”
I settle a hand on the back of Gracie’s neck. It’s taut with tension, just like mine.
“You can’t think like that.”
“That’s all I’ve been able to think,” she admits.
I believe it. Her thoughts have been fourteen years away these past two days. I’ve woken up to catch her curled up in a ball with her phone in her hand, playing and replaying those few brief moments over and over again, of Abe strolling up to the door of Room 116 and pounding on it.
She took the video in Isaac’s room, when we were replaying the original with Klein. That clip was all she was able to get before Klein caught her and demanded she stop. But he didn’t make her erase it. He knew why she wanted those few seconds. Why she needed it.
Both of us have been struggling with our private worries and, while Gracie has much to be relieved about, nothing is for certain.
“So?” I try to rub those worries away with my fingers. “What do you want to do today? The pool’s finally clean. We could—”
“—track down my dad’s old partner. That Dunn guy.”
I wasn’t expecting that, but I see thoughts forming in Gracie’s gaze.
“If my dad saw Betsy, I’m thinking it was while he was on shift. I mean, she was a prostitute. How else would he run into her?”
“You’re probably right.” And finding Betsy might shed light on why my mom and Abe were fighting before he died.
She pauses and then, with a slight smirk, says, “Of course I’m right.”
I grin. There’s the girl I know. “But what about the reporters outside?”
“Run them over.”
I roll my eyes.
“Come on . . .” She leans forward to slide her hand along my thigh. “It’ll be fun. Didn’t you say you had to go to the police station anyway?”
“Yeah. For my mom’s things. I wouldn’t call that fun.”
“No . . . but coming back here after will be.” Her fingers crawl along the edge of my belt.
I haven’t seen this playful, flirty side of Gracie in two days. Blood flows straight to my groin. “You’re trying to manipulate me.”
“Is it working?”
“Grab your purse. And your sunglasses.” I take in that wild mane of hair. “And something to tame that.”
She fires off an obscene gesture, but it’s coupled with a grin.
CHAPTER 55
Grace
“That’s your mother’s secretary?” I murmur as we approach the desk and the raven-haired beauty behind it.
“Her name’s Ashley Sheridan. And fair warning, she likes to flirt with me, but she’s harmless.”
“Everyone seems to like flirting with you, don’t they?”
He flashes his boyish grin, awareness in those blue eyes. Like he knows that watching other women fawn over him slides under my skin in a teeth-gritting way. “Be nice,” he scolds teasingly before we’re within earshot.
“Give me a sec, darlin’,” Ashley Sheridan croons in a heavy Mississippi lilt, lifting a finger to signal for us to wait while she finishes up a phone call.
“Sure thing, ma’am.” He shows her that thousand-watt smile, and I have to turn away to hide my eye roll.
The moment she hangs up the phone, Miss Ashley Sheridan is on her feet, stretching her arms—toned from hours of lifting weights—around his neck. “Noah! So glad to see you!” she exclaims, the corners of her eyes crinkling with her smile. Though, behind that exterior façade, I see the same sympathy for him that I’ve seen in every familiar face Noah passed on the way here. “I was just fixin’ to grab a bite down the street.” Her purse dangles from her shoulder, emphasizing the fact that she was literally about to leave.
“I’m sorry for taking so long, ma’am—”
“Now what did I tell you about callin’ me ‘ma’am’! I know it’s the Southern way, but gosh, I never did like it. Makes me feel so old.” She slides her hands up and down Noah’s arms in what some might call innocent affection. But the way they slow over his muscular biceps, her clawed fingertips clinging just a touch, harmless isn’t a word I’d use to describe this woman.
I bite my tongue before I remind her that she’s old enough to be Noah’s mother.
“No, ma’am. I mean, Miss Sheridan. I’m sorry; we’ve been busy.”
“Yes, we’ve all heard.” She tsks. “This business with Dwayne Mantis! Can you believe it? It’s been a mad house here with reporters and the like.”
Noah gestures to me. “This is Gracie Richards, by the way.”
“Wilkes.” I hold my hand out.
She takes it, her hazel eyes flashing with a fresh wave of sympathy. “Well now, you poor thing. My condolences. I hope you and your mama can finally find some peace.”
“So do I.” Not only does everyone know about my father’s case; thanks to the media, they also know about the aftereffects. I called Desert Oaks and warned them that reporters might come fishing for information. So far, though, the super-sleuths haven’t tracked her down there.
Ashley turns back to Noah. “I’ve got Jackie’s things ready to go, right here.” She hauls out a document box from beneath her desk with a huff, her arms straining under the weight as she drops it onto the desk. “It’s mainly the contents of her drawers, along with a few things she kept in her office safe that we deemed personal.”
“I appreciate it.”
“Uh-huh. You know I’ll help you whenever I can
, Noah. I respected your mother so much. It’s such a shame.”
“Have they announced your new boss yet?”
“Not yet, but I’m hearing it’ll be Jim Towle, which would be fantastic. He should have been the automatic pick to begin with if you ask me, but then Canning had to start meddlin’. To think, we almost had a murderer for a chief!”
Noah frowns. “What do you mean?”
“Canning was pushin’ for Mantis to be chief! And when you got George Canning’s backing, you’re basically a shoo-in, right?” She starts hunting through her purse.
“You’re kidding.”
“I’m not. Praise God that didn’t come to pass.” She leans forward, as if to share a secret. “Your mama’d be rolling in her grave if that man replaced her.”
Noah pauses, and in his eyes I see that curious glimmer I’ve come to recognize. “How do you know? Did she say something to you about Mantis?”
“Oh, you sweet boy,” she chuckles. “I managed her calendar, her emails. Heck, I made her doctor’s appointments for womanly things. I know a lot. Except of course what she was thinkin’ of doin’ to herself.” A flash of pain skitters across her eyes. “She couldn’t stand that man. Used to call him a Neanderthal behind his back. Not long before she passed, she came right out and called him a lyin’ criminal bastard to his face, then kicked him straight outta her office.”
“Do you have any idea why?”
Ashley shakes her head. “Probably something to do with Canning wanting her to appoint Mantis assistant chief, and her telling Canning it’d be a cold day in hell before she did that.”
“How did Canning take that?”
“As well as to be expected, which is not well at all. But your mama wasn’t one to bite her tongue too hard. And she also couldn’t stand Canning, so it only made things worse.”
Noah looks like Ashley slapped him across the face. “She and Canning weren’t friends?”
“They were friendly at the very start, sure. But not after Canning started trying to intervene in everything, tellin’ her what she could and couldn’t do. He acted like he had puppet strings attached to her. I swear that man will be tryin’ to run this department from six feet underground!” She pulls out a lipstick from her purse. “Those two were like oil and water. Jackie stopped takin’ his calls and that made him so dang mad. You know, he was in here, arguin’ with her on the very day she died?”
Noah’s face has gone from baffled to wary. “Do you know what about?”
“I don’t know. Something about a girl. Jackie said she had big regrets and she was going to do right by that girl for once.”
Noah’s face pales. “Did she say the name Betsy?”
“I didn’t catch names, I’m sorry. Anyway, I don’t want to rush you out, but I’ve got plans and I need to go powder my nose.”
“Wait! Could you find someone for us?” I blurt out, nudging Noah in the thigh.
“Yeah, actually, there’s one other really quick favor I have to ask of you, if you would be so kind.” Noah winces an apology and, dammit, he looks even more attractive. “I’m looking to track down an Officer Heath Dunn.”
“What division?”
“He would have been working in street patrol fourteen years ago. He was Abraham’s partner.”
“Fourteen years ago, huh?” She gives Noah a look—one that says she’s doing him a huge favor and he’d better remember it—before picking up the receiver, her perfect, long nails clacking against the buttons as she calls someone. Two minutes later, Ashley “don’t call me ma’am because it makes me feel old in front of your strapping young self” Sheridan has our answer.
“Heath Dunn retired ten years ago. Best place to find him is Dunn’s, down on—”
“Red River, yeah. I know it. Great barbecue.”
“Isn’t it, though? I’ve been down there a few times. Go figure—I didn’t realize one of ours owns it. Anyway, that’s the best place for y’all to find him.”
“You’re a lifesaver, Miss Sheridan.”
With a gentle pat against her desk, Noah steers me toward the exit, his free hand settling against the small of my back while his other arm hugs the hefty box.
“What are you thinking?” I murmur, noting the way Noah’s lips press into a firm line.
“Well, for one thing, George Canning was on a plane to Italy the night my mother died. Seems weird that he’d come to her office and have a fight with her the day he’s flying across the world, but to each their own.” He glances over his shoulder. “But, when I had dinner at my uncle’s that night, Canning made it sound like my mom and him were good friends right up until the end.”
“We already know he’s a lying bastard.”
“Right. Well, I think they might have been fighting about Betsy.” Noah speeds up two steps to grab the door handle, holding it open for me. “Which means Canning knew about her.”
“Your mom said she was going to do right by her. What does that mean?”
The worry on Noah’s face tells me he’s wondering the same thing.
CHAPTER 56
Noah
Gracie pokes the sausage with her fork, her brow furrowed deeply.
“What’s the matter?”
“Aside from the heart attack I’m gonna have later?”
“Coming from the girl who would live off bacon.”
“There are three different types of meat on my plate and it’s not even noon.”
I gesture at the tiny white ramekins. “And green beans. And potato salad.”
“Honestly, how much meat do you Texans eat in one sitting?”
I grin. “Careful. You’re a Texan, too.”
She rolls her eyes, but I can see the smile in them. She’s poking fun for the sake of poking fun. “And what is this thing they brought my food on?” She gestures at the silver tray.
“What’s wrong with that? It gives you more eating room.”
“So do troughs.” She glances around us, at the rows of worn wood tables laid out with easy-wipe red-and-white-checkered tablecloths. “It’s quiet in here.”
“It’s early for lunch.” And empty, save for one other couple in the far corner. But it’ll fill up fast. Dunn’s BBQ is casual and comfortable, and like most other barbecue places I’ve been to—wooden walls, and plenty of napkin dispensers and condiment trays.
“So is this what people do in Texas? Sidle up to a tray and eat enough animal flesh to give them the meat sweats?”
I burst out laughing. “Shut up and eat.” Stabbing my fork into a hunk of brisket from her plate, I hold it up to her mouth, half expecting her to swat my hand away. With teasing eyes locked on mine, she opens just enough to scrape her teeth along the metal tines as she bites it off.
She chews slowly.
“Well?”
I get an indifferent shrug in response—because she’ll never admit that she was wrong—and then she wastes no time stabbing her own fork into another hunk, readying it. “So, is this like one of those big dreams for a Texan? Owning a barbecue joint? Are you going to tell me that you want to own one someday?”
“It is for Heath Dunn.” It probably beats patrolling the streets of Austin.
“Do you think we’ll see him today?”
“I hope so. At least we’ll know who to look for.” There’s a bulletin board on the wall by the door, first thing customers see as they step in. It’s a place to advertise events at Dunn’s—bands, charity fundraisers, sports teams that Dunn’s sponsors. Heath Dunn—a tall graying man—is prominently photographed in several of the notices.
I watch the busy street and the restaurant for signs of him while Gracie works her way through the range of sausage, brisket, and ribs on her platter, not saying a word in between mouthfuls. Barely taking a breath.
I can’t help it anymore. “You gonna at least try a vegetable?”
“Shut up.”
I grin. “Not so bad after all, huh?”
The corner of her mouth quirks as she reaches for her pho
ne. “I just remembered, I promised my mom I’d call today.”
“Go on, then,” I say, watching her quietly. Despite the hell Dina put Gracie through, I think they’ll be able to mend those fences just fine. I’m glad for that, because there’s no way I’m letting either of them disappear from my life ever again. They’re family, even if Gracie kicks me to the curb one day.
Gracie’s scrolling through her contact list when I spot a tall man strolling down the sidewalk toward the front door, a newspaper tucked under his arm and a broad cowboy hat covering his balding head.
“Hold up a second on that call.”
She follows my line of sight, and we watch as Heath Dunn greets the hostess with a smile and a tip of his hat.
“That’s definitely him.” For all the hipsters and trendy side of Austin, Dunn could blend in at any Texas rodeo, right down to his starched Wrangler jeans, the silver buckle on his belt, and his round-tipped cowboy boots.
Dunn and the hostess make small talk for a few moments before a guy—the manager, I’m guessing—interrupts them, holding up a clipboard.
“I need five minutes. Just give me five minutes, ’kay?” Dunn waves him off and begins marching through the restaurant, toward us, his focus intent on a hallway at the other end.
I wipe my hands on my napkin and stand. “Mr. Dunn?”
He slows, his gray eyes instantly sizing me up, the same way my mom would size up approaching strangers.
“Hi, sir. I’m Noah Marshall, Chief Jackie Marshall’s son.” I hold out a hand.
Recognition washes over his face as he accepts it. “Yes, sir. My condolences—such a shame. How are y’all doin’ today?”
“Pretty good.”
“You and your girlfriend here enjoy whatever you want, on the house. Now, if you’ll excuse me—”
“Actually, I was hoping we could get a few minutes of your time?”
He’s already pulling away, stepping toward the door. “Sorry, son. I’m up to my eyeballs with paperwork and the like. Maybe you can come in another day and—”
“It’s about my father, Abraham Wilkes.” Somehow, even with Dunn towering over her small seated frame, Gracie manages to level him with a gaze that stops him in his tracks.