A frown flickers over her brow. “Twenty. Why?”
“Let me see some ID.”
After a glance my way, she reaches into her purse.
“Slowly!” he barks.
At first she freezes altogether, and then she moves cautiously, sliding her license out of her wallet and handing it to me, to pass along. I hear her teeth crack against each other, and I can’t tell if it’s because she’s pissed or scared. Maybe both.
His beady eyes drift over the console to the envelope, holding the SIU report that sits on her lap, to the backseat. “You don’t mind if I have a look in your car, do you?”
He asks it so smoothly. It’s the oldest trick in the book, according to my mom—getting permission to search a car when you don’t have cause. What is he up to?
His brows lift, waiting for my answer.
“I do mind. I’m not consenting to that.”
“Do you have something to hide?”
“No, sir. I’m just not consenting to you searching my car.”
By the stare he’s leveling me with, I won’t be winning any prizes from him today. “Do you have weapons?”
“I have a handgun locked in a safety box under the seat. I have a permit for it.” Is the switchblade in Gracie’s purse five or six inches? Because six is illegal in Texas. Shit.
He glances around himself, and then backs away. “Step out of the vehicle. Both of you.”
Fuck. “What is this about?”
“Now!”
“Do what he says; don’t give him cause,” I softly warn Gracie, before easing myself out. That may be what he’s looking for. Though, if what we suspect of him is true, he’s perfectly capable of making up shit to haul us in.
“Stand over there.” He points to the curb and I promptly listen, finding my place next to Gracie, my fingertips trailing lightly against her thigh. A reminder that I’m here, and I won’t let anything happen to her.
Mantis eyes Gracie before shifting his attention back to me, studying our licenses for several long moments, allowing me to study him, in his dress pants and a button-down shirt. His gun is strapped to his body by a holster.
“Miss Richards, what are you doing in Texas?”
“Visiting my friend.”
“He’s your friend?”
“Yes.”
His gaze slides down Gracie’s body in a way that makes my fists clench. “How long will you be in Texas?”
“Depends.” Her jaw tenses.
“On?” He watches her intently and I see it as a dare.
Please don’t do it, Gracie.
Another beat passes and then she plasters on the widest—fakest—smile I’ve ever seen touch her face. “On how long it takes for Noah to admit he has feelings for me. I mean, I keep dropping these major hints, but he hasn’t picked up on them yet. Are guys normally this thick-skulled or did I just pick an especially dumb one to chase after?”
I don’t know whether to laugh or groan.
Mantis turns his attention back to my ID in his hand, not answering her question, and, by the way his square jaw tenses, not happy that she’s toying with him. “Any relation to Chief Marshall?”
Will hearing that name—that title—ever not feel like a sucker punch to my gut again? “She was my mother.” And you damn well know that, you son of a bitch.
“Sorry to hear what happened.”
“Thanks.” This is the point where an APD officer would hand me back my ID and tell me I’m free to go.
“Such a shame she couldn’t hack it.”
I grit my teeth against the urge to defend her. He’s trying to provoke me.
“Women aren’t meant to take on big roles. They don’t have what it takes.”
Gracie’s nostrils flare in that way they do when she’s about to lose her temper and spout off all kinds of things that will get us into trouble—I’ve experienced it enough to see it coming.
“Are we free to go?” I ask, before she has a chance.
“You’re free to go when I tell you you’re free to go.” His gaze shifts to Gracie. “You know, you look an awful lot like an old friend of mine. Abe Wilkes. Ever heard of him?”
She doesn’t look anything like Abe.
Gracie lifts her chin in defiance. “He was my father.”
“Really . . .” His brow pops a beat too late to make the surprise believable. “Small world.”
“So . . . you were friends?” She spits that word out like it tastes bad.
“We went way back. He was a decent guy. Good ballplayer.”
“I’ll take your word for it. Someone murdered him and set him up before I got to know him.”
“Jesus Christ,” slips out under my breath, but neither of them is paying attention to me.
Mantis stares her down. “That’s not how I remember the story playing out.”
“And were you there?” Gracie’s returning gaze is just as scrutinizing.
“I wasn’t.”
She mock frowns. “Are you sure?”
“Gracie . . .” I mutter, but it’s too late.
“Are you accusing me of something?”
“Should I be?”
I reach for her hand, gripping it tightly.
“You’re definitely Abe Wilkes’s girl. Ballsy, just like he was.” He sucks on his bottom lip for a moment. “We received a tip that a vehicle matching your description may be transporting illegal substances. Please step aside while I search it.”
“That’s bullshit. You’re not even in uniform!” Gracie snarls.
“Turn around. Now!” he barks, making for his holster.
I instinctively step forward, pushing Gracie behind me with my arm. This has gone on long enough. “You’re the head of Internal Affairs, Mantis. You didn’t get any tip and I don’t know what you’re trying to do, but you won’t get away with it.”
“You wouldn’t believe what I can get away with.” He grins viciously. “Are you saying that you’re resisting?”
A cruiser slows to a stop on the street beside us then, and the window slides down.
“Everything good here?” Boyd calls out. The sound of his familiar voice is both a relief and a stinging reminder. I haven’t seen him since my mom’s funeral.
Mantis’s hand shifts away from his gun. His gaze hasn’t left Gracie, but his expression has turned sour. “Just letting them off with a warning,” he hollers, thrusting our licenses back into our hands. “Enjoy your visit to Texas, Gracie May.” He marches back to his car, a waft of that off-putting cologne trailing behind him.
I release a lung’s worth of air.
“How’re you doing, Noah?” Boyd says, genuine sympathy clouding his face. His partner sits quietly beside him.
“I’ve been better.”
“Sorry I haven’t called. I keep meaning to, but the kids, you know . . .”
“Yeah, of course.” It’s weird to think that Boyd is only one year older than me and he’s already married with two kids, and another one on the way.
Boyd watches as the unmarked cruiser pulls a quick U-turn and speeds off in the opposite direction. “What was that about?”
“Nothing you want to get involved in,” I mutter, glancing over to Gracie, whose face has taken on a pallid color. “Are you okay?”
“No one but my dad called me Gracie May. My middle name isn’t even on this.” She holds up her driver’s license in her shaky hands.
“He was trying to rattle you.”
“Too bad for him it didn’t work.” She lets out a derisive snort and nods toward Boyd. “Maybe you should tell him. He is a witness to Mantis’s bullshit.”
“And what happened the last time a cop witnessed Mantis’s bullshit?” I remind her with a knowing look.
“Hey!” Boyd frowns. “Seriously. What the hell is going on?”
I sigh. “How well do you know Dwayne Mantis?”
“Just from playing ball. He’s a tough son of a bitch.” His eyes narrow. “Why are you asking?” Silas wasn’t wrong when he mocked the blue wall of silence, that night with Canning.
Maybe I should be wary of Boyd, too, given that he was standing on my porch with Mantis.
But I also know that Boyd’s exactly the kind of person you want behind a gun and a badge. He’s what my mother would call a Steady Eddie. He’s not chasing after stars and high-profile promotions. He’s not a commando, itching to kick in doors and bust heads. He’s just a reliable beat cop who likes to keep the peace, who’s always going to be a reliable beat cop who likes to keep the peace.