Chapter 37

37

Special Agent Fallon Baxter

B oth Nikki and Lydia were taken to the local hospital for observation overnight and treated for dehydration.

Owen Marcus sent a case of his High Spirts drinks to the field office in Denver. I heard it was a hit. The entire crew ended the day on a high note. I didn't want any.

Damien lawyered up, and Jewel swore she'd take a polygraph to prove that he was in on it from the get-go. And even though a polygraph is about as admissible in a court of law as tarot cards, she did show us a hand she's kept close to the vest. She recorded the events from the night of the shootings on her phone.

And yet, that phone we kept waiting for forensics to release yielded nothing. It belonged to Cynthia and all we found were a few messages to her adult children that preceded the night of the murder. And that's exactly who we returned the phone to.

It turns out, the Becks were collateral damage.

Jewel didn't know about the room switch, and she was spooked. Shots were fired, and that was that. Damien was caught verbally barking out orders to her after Lydia was hit with the stun gun. After he helped load her into the car, he could be heard saying give me the gun and running back into the house and shooting himself in the hand. There was a scuffle, and some light expletives before Jewel took off. Damien was never hit with a taser.

Jack and I drove back to Pine Ridge Falls, back to Whispering Woods that night in virtual silence. We were stunned by how it all ended like watching a set of dominos knock into one another.

I don't know about him, but that kiss keeps playing out in my mind on a loop. I'm still not sure what to make of it.

It's been three days. He's tried calling, but I let it go to voicemail. We talked in the group chat with Nikki, but other than that I think he's giving me my space. And I appreciate it.

After feeding Buddy a decent dinner, lots of his new kibble, which he apparently can't get enough of, and a can of his favorite wet food, I get dressed and the two of us jump into my 4Runner and head out to Denver.

I've got a deadline to meet with a certain mob henchman. And if anything, I'm punctual.

The Velvet Lounge is dimly lit as hot pink spotlights swirl over the scantily clad beauties up on the main stage. It smells of booze, grocery store patchouli, and fries.

A few of the waitresses coo at Buddy and bend over to give him a quick scratch and I look away as their boobs swing like pendulums.

I'm not here to see them; I'm here to see a genuine boob, Marco Rossi.

And to my surprise and delight, I spot the big guy behind the bar laughing it up with a couple of greasy-looking men.

His hair is slicked back, and that dark suit he's squeezed himself into looks as if it's ready to rip at the seams. Marco doesn't miss many meals, but apparently, he's latent in getting to the tailor.

I make a beeline his way and he squints right at me before excusing himself from his present company and leading me to the edge of the bar where it's vacant.

"We've got a strict no dogs allowed policy," he says, holding up a seltzer water and I nod as he serves it up over ice.

"Tell it to the dogs bellying up to the stage," I say, toasting him with the drink before taking a sip. "I've thought about your offer."

"You got me there." He chuckles. "So what's going on? You don't like the deal I cut with your sister?"

The hair on the back of my neck prickles at the thought of being one degree of separation from Erin. I can hardly contain the need to shake this elephant of a man, let alone shove my Glock down his pants and threaten to shoot.

He knows where Erin is. He holds the secret. I could be reunited with her within twenty minutes if I could only get this buffoon to speak.

"What deal?" A dull laugh pumps from me at the thought of him doing any fair trade with my poor sister. I don't doubt for a minute that she's in over her head. And there is nothing that could convince me otherwise. Sort of the way I'm in over my head right about now.

Never in a thousand years could anyone have told me that I'd be lining up to work with the mob. That I'd be defying the trajectory of my career, defying my core principles by playing dirty and risking my entire existence.

I could kill Erin for putting me in this position, and I have not taken that option off the table just yet either.

"Look, it's nothing that concerns you at this point," he says before placing a small dish on the floor filled with fresh water for Buddy, and Buddy laps it right up. For all I know, the man could have roofied my dog and me. I'm not taking another sip. "She came by yesterday and we worked out a deal. She does her little cleanup business wherever we send her. Don't worry, we're not talking blood and gore. We've got other things that need to disappear. This way we keep our hands clean, and she gets to keep the junk she wants. Even though she's not getting paid in cash, she's getting paid in other ways. Info."

My mouth opens as I try to digest this.

He's not talking about Erin. He's talking about Riley.

Riley is the sister who came by yesterday. Sounds as if she struck a deal. She offers them her services via Pick-It-Clean and they give her?—

"I wanted to hear the terms from you," I say with an air of confidence I shouldn't have access to. The bottom line is, I should be terrified for both of my sisters at this point. Neither of them is thinking clearly.

Marco frowns as he shoots a quick glance around.

"All right"—he leans in once more—"instead of the three-and-you're-out deal I wanted you in at, she's offered her services in exchange for intel on Erin. Unlimited cleanups," he states flatly. "Cleaning up whatever we need. No questions asked."

My stomach churns at the implications.

Riley tangled up with the mob? Offering to clean up their messes? Covering up evidence? Taking evidence home with her unwittingly?

The audacity of her actions makes my head spin.

"You need to reconsider this deal," I say, trying my best to disguise my fury.

Marco laughs and it's a dry and humorless sound. "It's too late for that, hon. She's in, and there's no stepping back now."

A breath hitches in my throat, and all I'm able to do is glare at the man for taking advantage of Riley that way. The realization hits me like a punch to the gut. My sister is caught in a web of her own making, and it's possibly beyond my reach to save her.

Unlimited work for the mob? When does it end? Most likely when they land a bullet between her eyes.

"Don't look at me like that," he growls, his own eyes unblinking. "She saved your badge and your honor. You're not a dirty cop. She and her boyfriend were adamant about keeping you out of it."

Her boyfriend?

I lift a brow because I have a feeling I know exactly which boyfriend that would be. It's not Ryan because clearly, that ship has sailed.

"Okay," I say, closing my eyes a moment too long. "We can work out all the kinks later. Right now, I just need to know where Erin is."

"There are no kinks to work out." His voice is sharp. "My deal is with her, not you. So if you'd like, you're welcome to enjoy the show. Otherwise, you don't have any business with me." He starts to take off and I hold a hand his way.

"Whoa," I say, patting the bar in an attempt to make him stay. "At least tell me if you told her where to find Erin."

He nods as he examines my face for a moment. "Riley knows everything to land her at Erin's feet. But it's like I told her—move slowly, deliberately. That woman is like a squirrel with its tail on fire. She gets wind of this, she's taking off. I'm not making any guarantees."

He walks away and disappears into a back room.

Squirrel with its tail on fire.

It turns out, he really does know my sister.

Buddy and I get up and head for the exit, but before we get halfway there, we bump into an all too familiar face.

"Well, well," I say. "Look who the pussy cats dragged in."