“Sorry.” Samantha shook her head. “I just thought that maybe Ozzie—”
“He’s not here,” Becky interrupted. “He’s taken Violet out for a test ride. She’s finally road worthy again.” The look Becky gave her could not be mistaken. It was the facial equivalent of No thanks to you.
“I really am so sorry about—”
“Never mind that.” Becky waved her off. “Come in.”
Samantha hoisted her purse higher on her shoulder and followed Becky into the warehouse and down a hall decorated with hundreds of rusting antique motorcycle license plates. Upon entering the shop, she blinked when Becky motioned her toward the metal staircase leading to the second floor. “I thought you said you have something to give me.” She glanced around nervously.
The place looked just as she remembered. Bike lifts, rolling tool chests, a row of gleaming motorcycles in fantastical colors. It smelled the same too. Like motor oil, hot metal, and strong coffee. All of it reminded Samantha of Ozzie. Of him over by that far bike lift, telling her it was no big deal that he’d obliterated his motorcycle in the name of saving her hide. Of him at his computer, hacking away to help her solve the mystery of the connection between the weapons and the Basilisks and the Black Apostles. Of him in the kitchen, kissing her with such passion that she knew no man would ever match it and—
“Hello?” Becky snapped fingers in front of Samantha’s face. “Earth to Samantha.”
“Sorry.” She shook her head. “I sort of zoned out for a second. What did you say?”
“I said”—Becky frowned at her, sounding exasperated—“that what I have to give you is upstairs. Follow me.”
Reluctantly, Samantha did. But something felt off. Portentous might be a better word. And when she topped the stairs and saw Delilah, Emily, and Christian all seated around the conference table, her alarm grew. “Gang’s all here, I see.”
“Not even close,” Becky assured her, taking a seat near the head of the table. “We’re missing more than—”
“I was making a joke,” Samantha interjected.
“Yeesh. Fell kind of flat.” This from Delilah. As always, trusty Fido sat by her side. She stroked the Lab’s big yellow head.
Samantha’s eyelid twitched like crazy. What the hell is going on here? Then, in a flash, she thought she knew. She’d been dodging Ozzie. No doubt they all realized that. And they probably thought—
“Look,” she said. “If you guys are worried I’ll go back on my word not to write a story about your past lives, then let me assure you, I’m a woman who keeps her promises.”
“Good to know.” Delilah motioned toward the chair at the head of the table. “Now, have a seat.”
Samantha hesitated, but after a deep breath, she made her way over to the indicated chair. Setting her purse on the floor, she smiled and scratched Peanut’s notched ears when he came up to investigate. Then, figuring she’d stalled as long as she could, she straightened and folded her hands on the table. She made eye contact with every person in the room. When none of them spoke, she was forced to do the honors. “Okay, guys. Here I am. Whatever it is, let me have it. The wait is killing me.”
“Can I get you some coffee?” Emily offered.
“Am I going to need it?” Samantha countered. When Emily shrugged, she shook her head. “No. I’m jittery enough without it, thanks. Let’s get this over with.”
“By all means.” Becky grabbed the file folder in front of her and tossed it to Samantha.
“What’s this?”
“Open it and see for yourself,” Christian said.
After a long hesitation, Samantha did just that. Inside were a bunch of documents she couldn’t make hide nor hair of, but one thing stood out. It was a mug shot of a man with a bald head, beady eyes, and a neck tattoo that made him look positively barbarous. He seemed vaguely familiar, but she couldn’t place how or where she knew him. She shook her head. “Sorry. You’ve lost me. Who am I looking at?”
“That’s Victor Fisk,” Becky said. “The man who killed your father.”
Samantha’s heart stopped pumping. Her lungs stopped working. The whole room did a slow tilt. “Excuse me?”
“Ozzie and I have been doing some investigative work,” Delilah said. “Well, it was really just Ozzie.”
“He’s been laboring day and night for over a week,” Emily added.
“He hacked into…uh…well, freakin’ everything pertaining to that alderman you told him about,” Delilah continued. “But he didn’t hit pay dirt until he combed through the man’s accounts. Like I always say, you have to follow the money. Together, he and I were able to pinpoint a series of withdrawals from the alderman’s account that coincided with deposits in Fisk’s account. The one that was particularly interesting happened the day after your father was murdered. Payoff for a job done.”
Now the room wasn’t just tilting. It was spinning. White stars burst in Samantha’s field of vision.
“Fisk was a gun for hire for more than just the alderman,” Christian said. “He was apprehended while doing a job for another city official about a year after your father’s murder.”
“The public works director,” Samantha whispered, putting the face and the name with the memory of the news stories she’d read in college. That was why Fisk looked familiar. Donny had done a couple of pieces on the scandal and the ensuing trial for the Trib. They had always included Fisk’s mug shot.
“Right-oh.” Christian nodded.
“But…” Samantha’s mind was reeling. “H-how can you be sure?”
“Ozzie paid him a visit in the pen,” Becky said. “For five hundred dollars deposited in his commissary account, Fisk admitted to killing your father.”
“But…maybe he would have admitted anything to get that money.” Samantha tried with all her might to ignore the burning itch at the back of her nose.
“No.” Christian shook his head. “Ozzie never mentioned the alderman. Fisk was the one to bring him up. He’s the bloke what snuffed your father, Samantha. Ozzie sorted it out for you. It’s done.”
Could it be true? Could it really, finally be over? Thanks to Ozzie?
Something massive grew inside Samantha. A tsunami of emotion, of love, of regret, of—
“So we have a question for you,” Becky said.
“What’s that?” Holy shit? Is that my voice?
“Don’t you like Ozzie anymore?”
“L-like him?” she sputtered, glancing around the table. “I…” She stopped herself. Licking her lips, she tried again. “I…” Nope. Didn’t work that time either. “I don’t like him. I love him,” she finally blurted.
Saying it out loud felt like a benediction. The truth will set you free. Trouble was, it could also break your heart.