“I don’t have any enemies. And if I knew who was doing this, I’d have told the cops.”
“If I’ve learned anything, Boswell, it’s that you can’t trust criminals or cops. You can never be sure whose side they’re on.” Lonny kicked the headstone with the heel of his boot, drawing my attention down. Ryan Whelan. Beloved Son. July 13, 1995–March 25, 2013. The stone was crowned with a sagging thistle and said nothing about a beloved brother, though it was large enough for the sentiment. Reece’s brother’s grave. He’d been telling the truth when he said he didn’t have any family . . . not anymore.
“Thistle.” Lonny massaged his knuckles, watching my face. “Interesting choice.”
I looked again between Lonny and the stone. Lonny knew something about Reece. Something I didn’t know. His eyes lit with a crooked smile at the curiosity he must have seen on my face.
“Old legend . . .” Lonny studied his fingernails and looked past me, over the flat expanse of a thousand graves. “Norse soldiers planned a night raid on Scotland. They infiltrated barefoot, which might have worked except one stepped on a thistle and screamed. That one thistle”—Lonny lifted a single finger—“one insignificant thorn in the heel—alerted the Scotts. The Norse were slaughtered.”
I touched the thistle’s hanging head. “Ryan Whelan was a thistle?”
“Ryan Whelan was a narc. His little brother, Reece, was trying to break himself in as a dealer. Reece was young and full of himself. He never thought his brother would turn him in. A little over a year ago, Ryan blew the whistle on a deal his little brother was involved in, and the police set up a team of undercover cops to make the buy. Reece figured it out and got spooked and blew big brother’s cover. The bust became an ambush. Shots were fired, and Ryan took a bullet for some undercover lady cop.”
An undercover lady cop? I think he’d take a bullet for me. It all made sense. Gena was more than a narc, she was a cop. She said she’d met Reece a year ago, and they both worked for Nicholson. That was why she was so protective of him. Why she treated him like a little brother. Reece’s brother had taken a bullet for her.
“Reece’s brother saved her life?”
“He died doing it. And Reece got nine months in juvie. He was only supposed to serve six for the drug charges, but rumor has it that the lady cop’s boyfriend came after him during the trial, and Reece got an extra three months for assaulting an officer.” Lonny’s eyes were adrift in a memory. “The thistle doesn’t get to win, Boswell. Doesn’t matter who steps on him first, he gets crushed.” Lonny scratched his chin and shook his head. “A lot like us, you know. Stuck by the roots. Up until a few nights ago, I wasn’t sure what side your boy was on. An enemy can make himself look like a friend. A wolf in sheep’s clothing.”
I kept quiet, determined to hold Reece’s secrets close to the vest. He’d been responsible for his own brother’s death, lost his family, and now he’d thrown away his future trying to make it right. Trying to balance the equation by protecting me. I didn’t care whose side Reece was on. I only knew he was on mine.
“I know who he is, Boswell.” Lonny stood up slowly, rolling his shoulders. “It’s not hard to figure out. Reece sold his soul to Nicholson to get even with anyone who had anything to do with his brother’s death. He wanted revenge. He’s setting us up and rubbing his hands together as Nicholson hauls us off to jail. Reece Whelan is my wolf. My thistle. Who’s yours?”
Lonny watched me, his brows arching up.
“Don’t you get it?” he said. “These murders are a set-up. It’s about revenge. Someone’s sold his soul to get even with you. Whoever it is, he’s close. He’s close enough to know you, to watch you. Maybe even someone you trust. He’s setting you up for a reason. It’s personal.” Lonny shook his head while I struggled with his theory.
Lonny handed me a card, empty except for a number. “Call me when you figure it out.”
42
The bell jangled and Bao looked up from the coffee station. “D-Day, huh?” he said over his shoulder as he dumped out
the cold grounds, consolidated the half-empty pots, and set them back on the warmers with a mindless rhythm. My Twinkies sat beside the register, on top of today’s paper.