But Isaac says nothing, heaving himself out of his chair to mosey over to the corner of the room. Digging out a screwdriver from his tool belt, he eases himself down onto one knee and unfastens the air exchange panel from the wall. He reaches in and pulls out a jump drive.
“I did one better. I recorded someone doing it.”
CHAPTER 53
Officer Abraham Wilkes
May 3, 2003
“You the cop who’s been lookin’ for that girl?” The woman’s abrasive tone fills my ear.
“Yes, ma’am. Do you have information?”
“Saw her goin’ into Room 116 at The Lucky Nine tonight. About an hour ago. Better hurry if you want to catch her.” The line goes dead.
And my heart starts racing.
“Babe? It’s late. Who was that?” Dina calls from the living room.
It’s so tempting to finally tell her. But what if this caller is wrong? Or what if Betsy’s already gone? What if I’ve missed her again? Dina’s such an emotional woman, and she’s had an especially hard time of this whole thing. It would crush her, if I came home empty-handed.
“Work. I’ve gotta run out for a bit. I’ll be back soon.” It’s a twenty-minute drive out to The Lucky Nine from here. If Betsy’s just there for a client, and she’s already been there an hour . . . I’ve got to hurry.
I’m pulling my Colt .45 out of the safe when Dina comes into the office, hugging herself, a frown of disappointment marring her beautiful face. “Shouldn’t you be taking your police gun instead?”
“Not when I have this amazing holster that my lovely wife had made for me.” I force a smile as I fasten it. “I’m just going out to check on something. I won’t be long.”
Her frown hasn’t faded yet, though. “Why don’t you ever wear your uniform for these extra hours?”
“It’s better if I don’t.”
“Is it undercover work?”
“Something like that.” The lies are tasting worse each day. Fortunately, Dina hasn’t figured out yet that I’m feeding her bullshit.
I’ll come clean the second I’ve brought Betsy home to us.
I give her a kiss. “See you in a bit.”
* * *
The motel parking lot is especially quiet tonight, I note as I make my way along the sidewalk, eyeing the door numbers until I get to the last one in the block.
The lights are on inside.
My adrenaline races through my veins. A small voice in the back of my head keeps asking me if maybe I want to phone for police backup, but I push it aside. I just want to get Betsy away from this once and for all.
Pulling my badge and gun out, I rap my knuckles against the door.
Someone opens it.
I ignore protocol and push right in. “I’m looking for Betsy. Where is she?”
The guy inside, a lanky punk with sagging pants and gang tattoos decorating his skin, takes several steps backward. “Don’t know who you’re talking about.”
My gaze drifts over the bed, to where a small navy gym bag sits open, just wide enough to show me glimpses of the cocaine and weed parcels inside. Several bundles of cash sit piled over the tacky bedspread.
Shit. What the hell have I walked into?
The toilet flushes from inside the bathroom.
“Hands up, where I can see them!” I warn the guy standing in front of me. He complies without a word, as I wait for the person in the bathroom to emerge.
Mantis strolls out and comes to a dead stop. “Wilkes! What the hell are you doing here?”
“I got a tip that my sister-in-law was here. You?” I stare pointedly at the bed.
Mantis sighs. “Wilkes, this is Hernandez. An informant.” He gestures to the guy. “I’m working on a setup, and he’s the guy who’s gonna help me pull it off.” He juts his chin out. “Wanna stop pointing that fucking thing at me?”
I holster my gun. “So there was no blonde girl here in the past hour?”
“Blonde girl? There hasn’t been no one but this ugly asshole here all night,” Hernandez confirms, chuckling as he wanders over to the window to peek out. “Yo, how much longer? It’s not good for my cover, with you and him showin’ up at the door. Never know who’s watching.”
I turn to leave, my feet weighed down with disappointment.
“So, how are you gonna spend that money?” Mantis asks, humor in his rough voice. “Some jewelry for that pretty wife?”
“What money?” I spit out. “You talkin’ about the bag you left in my car last night? The bag you’re trying to buy me off with?” A bitter laugh escapes me. “I dropped that shit off with Marshall today. You want your money back, you’ll have to go and get it from her.”
He bares his stubby teeth in a sneer. “Yeah . . . I told him it’d be a waste of time. That you wouldn’t be shut up so easily.”
“Told who?”
“Who do you think? The guy that’s gonna make sure your whining goes nowhere.”
Realization sinks in. I should have known. The chief is the one who commissioned this brat pack. He’s the one who told Mantis to try and buy me off.
“And you know why he’s gonna cover for me?” Mantis lifts a bag of cocaine. “Because I get this shit off Austin’s streets, and that’s all Canning cares about. That’s all you should care about. Not some scumbag’s rights. As soon as they start dealing drugs to kids, they don’t get rights!”
I glance over to Hernandez, who’s watching with a mixture of curiosity and wariness. If he has any street smarts, he’s probably already figured out that there’s more going on here than whatever Mantis has roped him into.
“How old’s your little Gracie now? Six?” Mantis asks.
“Don’t you say my daughter’s name again. Ever,” I growl, charging at him.
He holds his hands up in the air in surrender, taking several steps back and around me, toward the door. “Relax. Just tryin’ to make a point. I’m getting this stuff off the streets for your daughter.”
“And I’m glad for that. But that doesn’t mean this stuff”—I sidestep around him to reach for a wad of cash, and hold it up—“should be lining your pockets.”
He gives a lazy shrug. “It was one time.”
“Bullshit.” The way he took that money—with smooth movements and such ease—he’s done it plenty. “Your mattress is probably lined with cash.”
“Funny, someone might say the same about you.”
“No, sir. I don’t think so.”
“You sure about that?” A wicked gleam shines in his beady eyes.
Wariness sinks in. “What have you done?”
“Where’s this proof that you’ve got?” he asks quietly, ignoring my question.
“Nowhere you’ll ever find it. What did you do, Mantis?” I repeat through gritted teeth.
“What I needed to, to make sure no one ever believes a word you’ve said.”
The call . . . the drugs . . . the cash . . . Jesus Christ. This is a setup. Mantis is setting me up. I need to get out of here. I need to— Unbearable pain rips through my chest, sending my body backward, into the wall. In the next second I’m on my knees. I manage to look up, to see Mantis aiming his gun at a shocked Hernandez. I didn’t even see him pull it out. When did he pull it out?
Hernandez is shouting something, but I can’t make out the words over the agony.
Another blast sounds, just as my face collides with the dirty, thin carpet. I can see Hernandez’s boots from beneath the bed.
And then I can see more of him, as his body hits the floor on the other side.
Everything begins to dim, as my lungs pull for air that won’t come, as the burning fire in my chest begins to dull.
My eyelids shutter.
Behind them, I see Gracie May’s big, beautiful green eyes.
I feel her tiny arms wrapping around my neck.
I hear her sweet laughter.
CHAPTER 54
Noah
Gracie and I huddle around Isaac’s laptop and watch as, twenty seconds after four gunshots go off, a single figure ducks out of Room 116. The person locks the door and smoothly strolls down the narrow path between the buildings, toward the parking lot.
Glancing ever so briefly at the room perpendicular to 116.
Not noticing the camcorder perched inside the motel room window.
The camera that captured his face beneath a baseball cap for that split second.
Long enough to identify him.
“Holy shit,” I whisper.