CHAPTER FOURTEEN

Ella swung the SUV onto Maple Drive, the street that Vernon Creed called home. The homes here sat somewhere between lavish and pretentious. Manicured lawns, neutral siding. Not a plastic flamingo or garden gnome out of place.

She pulled up to the curb outside Creed"s Tudor-style four-bedder and killed the engine. Beside her, Luca jerked forward in his seat, barely avoiding a close encounter of the dashboard kind.

‘Jesus, Ell. When did you pass your driving test?'

Ella surveyed her destination. Multiple cars on the driveway. Movement in the windows. Someone was home. ‘Next week,' she said.

Luca shut up real quick, but she could feel his gaze boring into the side of her head. Profiling her, no doubt. Trying to suss out what had crawled up her ass and died.

‘Let"s just get this over with,' she bit out. Before I completely lose my shit, she didn"t add.

‘On it.'

‘Get your trigger finger ready. Something tells me Creed's the kind of sleaze who'll try and run.'

They climbed out of the car and started up the flagstone walk. Creed"s place was a study in conspicuous consumption – easily the most extravagant house in the street. The kind of joint that screamed ‘I have more money than everyone else here and I"m not afraid to prove it.'

And proving it he was. As they approached, Ella could hear the tinkle of ice in highball glasses, the raucous laughter of the well-lubricated. She exchanged a glance with Luca, eyebrows climbing into her hairline.

‘Sounds like one hell of a wake,' she muttered.

‘Maybe it"s that kind of party,' Luca said.

This felt wrong, off-key. What kind of scumbag threw a backyard get-together mere hours after his political rival turned up in a cornfield with a gullet full of stagnant water?

They rounded the corner of the house, following the sound of forced frivolity. And there, in all his gin-blossomed glory, was Vernon Creed in his backyard. Holding court in a circle of glad-handing toadies, a smarmy grin plastered across his punchable face.

He was a tall drink of water, Creed; gangly limbs, bulging Adam"s apple, like a praying mantis in a three-piece suit. Steel-gray hair coiffed within an inch of its life, a set of pearly veneers that belonged in a toothpaste ad.

And that smile, Christ. It stretched his face all wrong, twisting his features into something just to the left of human. Like a cheap Halloween mask, a poor simulacrum of a real boy aping the motions without a lick of genuine emotion.

She hated him on sight.

Ella didn"t bother with niceties. The lack of a fence around the perimeter provided her alarmingly-easy access to this public figure. She sauntered toward Creed like a sawtooth cat on the prowl, Luca scrambling to keep up. The assorted lackeys scattered at her approach, clearly sensing the oncoming storm.

But Creed just stood there, grinning into the teeth of her fury. Like some kind of demented jack-o-lantern that didn"t know it was about to get smashed.

‘Vernon Creed?' She barked, slapping the flat of her badge against her palm. ‘Agents Dark and Hawkins, FBI, working with Liberty Grove PD. We need to have a word.'

Creed"s smile slipped microscopically, but he hitched it back into place with the ease of long practice. "FBI? To what do I owe the pleasure?"

‘Cut the crap, Creed. You know exactly why we"re here.' She reached into her pocket and pulled out of the evidence bags. ‘Look familiar?'

Creed didn"t so much as flinch. He cocked his head, eyes wide with studied innocence, then he turned to his hangers-on and made a shooing motion. ‘Alright, boys. This is grown-up talk. Why don"t you all head inside, help yourselves to the good stuff in the study? I"ll be along shortly.'

The group dispersed with reluctant grumbles, shooting curious glances over their shoulders as they filed into the house. Creed watched them go, then turned back to Ella and Luca. His eyes glinted with a sort of cruel amusement, like they were bugs he was considering pulling the wings off of.

‘So,' Luca said, ‘the letter. Or letters.'

‘Ah. Those.' He plucked the bag from her fingers, turning it over with casual disdain. ‘What can I say? Campaigns get heated, tensions run high. I may have gotten a bit...carried away in the moment.'

Ella was suddenly lost for words. He was actually trying to justify it. Brush it off like a parking ticket.

‘A bit carried away,' Luca repeated. ‘That"s what you call threatening a man"s life?'

Creed shrugged and handed the bag back. ‘What can I say? Politics is a blood sport. But it"s all just words, boys and girls. Part of the game. Toledo gave as good as he got.'

Ella saw red. She took a step forward, getting right up in his smug face. ‘The game. Right. Is that what you call it? Just a bit of friendly attempted murder between pals?'

Creed held up his hands, placating. But she didn"t miss the way his eyes darted nervously to his sycophants, now hovering at the edges of the scene like well-dressed buzzards.

‘Okay, okay. I admit, I may have crossed a line with those letters. Got a bit too deep in the roleplay. But c"mon. You don"t actually think I had anything to do with Ricky"s death...do you?'

Ella stared at him long and hard, taking his measure. He fidgeted under her gaze, beads of sweat springing up along his hairline despite the mild afternoon. Fear or guilt?

There was a vicious sort of satisfaction in his voice. This was a man who held a grudge, who nursed his resentments like a fine wine.

But was he a killer? That was the million-dollar question.

It was plausible, she had to admit. Creed was the quintessential hollow man, all smarm and no spine. He probably got his kicks kicking puppies and shorting the wait staff. Sending nasty-grams to his rivals was likely the extent of his testicular fortitude.

She struggled to picture him getting his hands dirty, not directly. Couldn"t picture him lashing Toledo"s limp body to a concrete block and chucking it down a well.

But then again, never underestimate the wrath of a mediocre man outshone. Or what he might pay to see a threat removed.

‘I don"t know, Creed. You tell me. Maybe penning a few poison valentines wasn"t enough for you. Maybe you needed to take it to the next level, really seal the deal.'

It was a twist of the knife to see which way he jerked. And jerk he did, like a puppet with its strings yanked.

‘That...that"s absurd,' he spluttered. ‘I"m not a murderer. Are you out of your mind?'

Ella let the silence stretch. Luca took up position at her flank. Together, they waited for Creed to break.

Finally, he cracked. ‘Look, think what you want about me. I"m no saint. But I didn"t kill Ricky, and I can prove it.'

Ella raised one skeptical brow. ‘Oh? This ought to be good. Whip it out, Creed. Bedazzle me.'

If he noted the double entendre he didn"t show it, too busy fumbling for his phone. He swiped and tapped with increasing agitation before finally thrusting the device under her nose.

It was an e-ticket.

‘There! See? I was at a conference in Miami until this morning. I got back at one AM. You can check with the airline, the hotel. I must"ve been seen by dozens of people. Hundreds!'

Well, crap. Of all the things she"d expected, an actual honest-to-God alibi wasn"t one of them.

Ella grimaced, but dutifully noted down the flight number and hotel anyway. She"d have Amelia run it down, confirm he wasn"t just blowing smoke up her ass. But in her gut, she knew he was telling the truth. Maybe for the first time in his life.

Creed wasn"t their guy. He was just another pissant politician, all bark and no bite. Plenty slimy enough to talk big, to make threats and pound his chest. But at the end of the day, he didn"t have the sack to get his hands dirty – or to get too close to the action at all.

Dammit to hell.

‘Fine,' she bit out, shoving his phone back into his sweaty palm. ‘You"re off the hook, for now. But I"d keep that ticket handy if I were you. Some cops might be round later to double-check everything.'

Creed blanched, stammering some half-assed protestation.

‘What's with the party, anyway?' Luca jumped in.

‘Nothing to do with Toledo,' Creed said. ‘But I won't lie. It's a bonus.'

Ella couldn't listen anymore, not unless she wanted to get written up for punching a person of interest. She turned away, mentally cataloging the next avenue to explore, the next lead to chase down. Staying here any longer would just be a waste of their time.

And her rapidly fraying nerves.

‘You guys wanna take some water?' Creed called out. ‘I heard it's dry as a bone down there in Liberty.'

Ella spun around and got in his face, suddenly not caring about this hypothetical write-up. ‘You think that's funny? People are struggling down there.'

Creed threw his hands up and said, ‘Hey, I'm being serious. I got family down there. You wanna blame someone? Blame Toledo. He's the one who championed the dam up here.'

The dam. That freaking dam. Looming over everything like a bad omen. Choking the life out of Liberty Grove even as it lined the pockets of Bristol"s elite.

"So let me get this straight," she said. "You and your cronies, what fought the good fight? Tried to put the kibosh on Toledo"s little hydro-dictatorship?"

Creed spread his hands in a parody of sincerity. ‘Hey, we did our best. Lodged objections, lobbied for oversight, the whole nine. But Ricky, he was relentless. Steamrolled right over us, greasing palms and glad-handing until he got his way.'

He leaned in, conspiratorial. ‘See, Ricky"s district included the dam. All those juicy kickbacks and construction contracts? Lined his war chest real nice. Never mind the little people downstream.'

Ella's fingers began to twitch, and not just because she wanted to slap Creed for getting too close. It actually fit. Slotting neatly into the bigger picture like a blood-tacky puzzle piece. Toledo using his constituency as a goddamn ATM, funneling misery into his re-election fund.

And now those chickens had come home to roost, drowned and dumped and left to bloat.

‘Right,' she bit out. ‘Well, thanks for the history lesson. We"ll be in touch.'

Creed sketched a mocking little salute. ‘Happy to help, Agent Dark. Anything for our boys in blue.'

It was all Ella could do not to roll her eyes clean out of her skull. She spun on her heel and stalked away. Luca kept up with her, wisely keeping his mouth shut until they were back at the car.

‘So. That was…'

‘A load of crap,' Ella supplied as she yanked open the car door. ‘Creed's practically creaming himself that Toledo's dead.'

‘I hate to say it,' Luca said, ‘but Creed"s not our guy. I mean, don"t get me wrong, he"s a weasel and a half. But a killer? If he'd offed Toledo, he wouldn't be celebrating like that. He'd be laying low.'

Ella climbed into the car and thumped her skull against the headrest.

‘Agreed. Killing Toledo would take actual backbone, something resembling principles. Ol" Creed's a bottom feeder, cares about nothing but his own scaly hide.'

She jammed the key into the ignition a bit harder than warranted. She was just about to jam the car into gear and peel out in a totally unprofessional spray of gravel when something caught her eye.

A flicker of shadow, there and gone in her peripheral vision.

She whipped around. But the street was deserted, just a bucolic stretch of Stepford-esque suburbia. Manicured lawns, picket fences, not a soul in sight.

Except – there. The barest flutter of darkness, an afterimage seared on her retinas.

Someone had been watching. She felt it in her bones. A prickling certainty that had the hairs on her nape standing to attention. Beside her, Luca stiffened, clocking her sudden spike in tension.

‘Ella? What-‘

‘Didn"t you see that?' She scanned the tree line, the empty sidewalk, senses straining. ‘There was someone there, I swear it.'

"Of course, there was someone there. This is a residential area."

‘No. I mean, someone was watching us.'

‘Yeah. Probably one of those snakes in suits from Creed's circle jerk.'

Ella conceded. She opted for rationale this time. Exhaustion played tricks. Stressed minds spun phantoms out of shadows. She knew this.

There was no figure lurking in the rhododendrons, no faceless specter dogging her heels. Just the sick, spiraling confluence of grief and fear and worry. The toxic sludge of her own demons, clotting her reason like mud in a fuel line.

She had to get a grip. Had to grit her teeth and power through, claw back the ground she"d lost. Leads didn"t chase themselves, killers didn"t spontaneously develop consciences. The sooner she got this case out of the way, the sooner she could get to what really mattered.

Finding Mia.

‘Lunch?' asked Luca. ‘I could eat a horse.'

Ella couldn't remember eating anything in days, but she couldn't deny her partner sustenance. ‘Alright.'

So she stomped the gas and pointed them towards the dusty, emaciated limbo of Liberty Grove. Back to the withered crops and desiccated lives and the hollow-eyed desperation of a town circling the drain.