Which is why I don’t want to get him involved in this, because that was definitely a warning from Mantis.
A warning that he knows why Gracie’s here, and he doesn’t like it.
Boyd’s radio begins chirping a series of codes. He pauses to listen. “We’ve gotta get to this. I’ll catch up with you later.” He throws on his lights and siren and they speed away.
“So much for our witness.” Gracie’s voice has a wobble to it.
“He’ll loop back later.”
“Sure he will.” She doesn’t believe that for a second. “How did Mantis find out why I’m here, anyway?”
“How should I know?”
“Only one person knows, besides the feds.”
Yeah. My uncle. “What are you getting at?”
She shakes her head. “Stop being na?ve.” She climbs back into the passenger seat, slamming the door behind her.
* * *
I’m panting by the time I reach my quiet cul-de-sac. This is fucking pathetic. Take a couple weeks off of running and I’m ready to collapse after a mile. The only thing that kept me going was the vision of Gracie at the finish line.
Well, more accurately, barricaded with Cyclops in her bedroom, ignoring me, absorbed by the police report that Klein gave her.
Klein’s her hero.
Me? I’m the asshole who didn’t tell her about him in the first place. She hasn’t said two words to me since we got home, and I deserve it. Still, I’d take the screaming and knife-wielding over the silent treatment.
I’d sure as hell take it over this heavy feeling that I’ve screwed up with Gracie one too many times.
She hasn’t come right out and said it—because she isn’t talking to me—but it’s obvious she thinks Silas is in cahoots with Mantis. Maybe she should start by blaming the FBI. I mean, it’s just as ridiculous an idea as pointing the finger at my uncle.
My feet feel like lead blocks as I climb the front steps of my porch and step into the house.
A thump comes from above me.
“Gracie?” I call out.
Another thump sounds, followed by a slam.
“Gracie!”
No response.
I didn’t set the alarm when I left.
Icy dread begins coursing through my veins as I take the stairs up, two at a time.
Gracie’s not in her room.
I find her in my mother’s office, furiously scribbling on a blank sheet of computer paper. “How is there not one single working pen in this entire place!” She whips a dud toward the trash can, missing it completely. It joins the array already scattered over the carpeted floor.
“Jesus Christ!” My breathing is ragged with relief as I lean back against the door.
She frowns. “What’s wrong with you?”
“Nothing. I thought . . . nothing.” I silently vow to keep the alarm set at all times. Better yet, I won’t leave Gracie alone again.
She finds another pen under a pile of magazines. “Ha!” she exclaims, as it leaves a streak of blue ink on a cover. She storms past me with it and a highlighter, Cyclops trotting behind her all the way to her room, his tail wagging excitedly.
“Did you find something?”
She yanks the cap off the yellow highlighter using her teeth and sets to drawing a box around half a page before thrusting the page at me.
I scan the paragraph in the section. “It’s a statement from one of the motel guests.” I frown. “Who saw nothing.”
“Look harder!” Gracie urges, scribbling the highlighter over a name.
Holy shit. “Mantis was canvassing witnesses.”
“Not just canvassing witnesses.” She yanks another page off the bed and holds it up. It’s a list of the team of investigators. Mantis’s name is near the top. Gracie’s lips twist with a smug smile of satisfaction. “Why would a special Narcotics squad cop be part of a homicide investigation?”
“Good question. I guess he could have volunteered. Or maybe they were short-staffed, or—”
“He got himself onto that team because he wanted to cover his tracks.”
“Right,” I agree. It would give Mantis access to potential witnesses and evidence. It would also give him the chance to ensure there were no witnesses or evidence pointing to him. I scan the rest of the list. “I don’t recognize these names. We can look them up, though.”
As if remembering that she’s angry with me, Gracie smoothly lifts the page from my fingertips and settles herself onto her bed, cross-legged. Ignoring me once again.
“That’s a long report.”
“It is.”
“It’s going to take you all night to go through it alone.”
She waves a dismissive hand toward the nightstand. “I made coffee.”
“The two of us could get through it faster. We both want the truth, Gracie.”
She considers that, her sharp green eyes finally lifting to meet mine. “Yeah, fine,” she mutters, reluctantly.
I should stop now and just be thankful she’s not itching to skin me alive anymore, but I can’t bite my tongue hard enough. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you about Klein. If I could do it over again, I would have gone and woken you up and brought you downstairs to talk to him that same night.”
She presses her lips together. And then sighs. “I get why you didn’t tell me. I don’t like it, but I get it.”
“Please say you don’t hate me.” I offer her my best contrite face.
She rolls her eyes. “Stop that.”
“Stop what?”
“Stop looking at me like that.”
I smile. “I can’t help it.”
She averts her gaze, but I spot the corners of her mouth curve slightly. “Did you tell your uncle that we talked to the FBI?” There’s a challenge in her voice.
“No.” Silas called me while I was on my run. I didn’t pick up. “He’ll hear about it soon enough.” I sound indifferent, but in reality I’m dreading that conversation. “All that matters is clearing Abe’s name and finding the person responsible. Or people,” I quietly add, knowing that could include my mother. “No more withholding information. No more worrying about anything except doing the right thing. We count on each other. We tell each other everything, right away. Deal?”
She exhales heavily. “Deal.”
“Okay then.” Gracie’s forgiven me. All feels right, even though it’s far from it.
“So . . . were you going to shower first?” Her nose twitches with exaggeration, but then she laughs, breaking the last of the tension.
“Yeah. Do you think you can control yourself for the next ten minutes? Or should I lock the bathroom door?” I tease. Knowing that I’m really pushing my luck here.
“Leave it wide open for all I care.” She feigns indifference, but I catch the way her gaze flitters over my body, the way her throat bobs with a hard swallow, the way her cheeks flush.
“Okay, I needed to make sure. Remember, you did pick an especially dumb one to chase aft—” I duck just in time to avoid the pillow that she launches at my head.
CHAPTER 39
Commander Jackie Marshall
April 26, 2003
I watch the cigarette smoke curl out my driver’s-side window and sail into the night sky. It’s been an hour of sitting and waiting.
Finally, I spot Abe’s familiar stride. He weaves through the cars, heading toward his white sedan. It’s parked where he always parks—under the third light post on the south side. I swear, I could set my watch by that man’s predictability.
“Abe!” I step out of my car.
He sees me and his face hardens. He doesn’t stop.
“Come on, wait up a minute!” I cut him off at his door before he has a chance to open it, his hand gripping the handle.
“What do you want, Jackie?”
“Where you goin’?”
“Where am I going?” His brows climb halfway up his forehead and I brace myself for an earful. “Where do you think I’m going? To drive around the slums and sit in motel parking lots and bribe hookers for information, thanks to you! Now get outta my way.”
The Abe I know would never have talked to me like this, but I can’t say much. I deserve it.