21. Braken

Warrants are so easy to fake.

All it took was a call to a contact in the Seattle Police Department and I had a document in my hands that would fool the best of detectives. Based on the conversation I had with him, the Seattle Police aren't doing shit. You would think the murder of a Godwin's son would spur them into action, but if anything, it's been the opposite. There've been no follow-ups, no interviews, and no questioning. Hell, even the tabloids and news have stopped talking about it. Mason Godwin's death was a blip on the radar.

That means figuring this shit out is up to me.

I walk back into T-Mobile Park with a woman named Louisa at my side. She's been working for us for a few years now, ever since she needed money to pay off her nursing school loans. Having a nurse on call has been a godsend to mend little nicks and cuts that are a part of the job. It gets tough to explain how you got stabbed in the side during a scuffle without someone prodding for the truth. Louisa shuts up and does what she's told, no questions asked.

That's why I've chosen her to help me get that damn footage.

Matt's in the security office, and by a stroke of luck, he's alone when Louisa and I stroll in. Good. The fewer people who know we're here, the better.

It's a gamble coming here in person, but a risk I'm willing to take. I could have asked Louisa to pull tapes and bring them to me, but that would lead to a digital footprint I don't want to mess with. It's much easier to have Louisa flash her fake badge, give a false name, and walk out of here as just another part of a boring day.

For a nurse, Louisa is also a good actress. She has the fake Seattle PD badge on her belt and digs into her wallet to pull out the fake ID I handed her this morning.

"Sarah Collins," she says gruffly and pulls out the warrant but doesn't unfold it. "Got that warrant you asked for."

I expect Matt to ask questions, but he doesn't. He's too busy ogling Louisa and the way her shirt clings to her curves beneath her beige blazer. Louisa is an attractive woman who looks like she stepped right out of a telenovela. Even though she looks basic with her policewoman facade, anyone would be lucky to be at her side. I'm sure her girlfriend thinks the same thing.

"All right, yeah. Um, for the fifteenth, right? You need a copy?" Matt swivels in his computer chair and begins clicking on the computer to find the right date. "I heard Janet gave you a signed baseball, Braken. Man, I'm so jealous. Those things go for a pretty penny to scalpers and Ebay sellers. Me? I'd give it to my dad. He's got a Mariners shrine in his office. My mom hates it, though?—"

"The video?" I cut him off. If he keeps talking, we're never going to get out of here. "Sorry, we're a bit busy."

"Oh, right, right. Let me see… the afternoon of the fifteenth… yep, here it is."

Matt clicks a file, and it pulls up the surveillance footage from the afternoon of the murder.

It's strange to be watching the tape knowing that it ends in tragedy. So many people go about their lives without a clue about what happens in a few minutes. There are a ton of cars in the parking lot, but the one I care about is the Rolls-Royce Phantom parked just at the bottom of the video.

Mason doesn't take long to appear. He saunters into frame a few seconds later, on the phone with someone before he ends the call. Maybe whoever was on the other end has answers. Too bad getting phone records is much harder than faking a warrant and that his phone burnt to a crisp with his body. Maybe Fiora will have an idea.

He steps into the driver's seat and pulls out of the lot, making it to the exit. Just as he's about to turn left out of the lot, his car explodes. It's so bright it makes my head jerk back in surprise. Usually, car explosions have a telltale sign before it happens, some kind of leak or smoke as a precursor. This was so sudden and so quick it's shocking.

Even more shocking is another vehicle that appears next to Mason's burning car and squeals out of the parking lot, veering off to the right before disappearing out of frame.

What the fuck?

"Go back," I demand.

Matt goes back a few seconds, and I watch Mason's car burst into flames one more time. This time, I'm not focused on the explosion but on the car that appears right after. Everyone else visible on the screen is screaming and panicking, with some people already on the phone calling for help. The car that appears is extremely out of place and immediately raises my suspicions.

It could be a coincidence, but I highly doubt it. Either the perp is extremely stupid and detonated the bomb manually, or they stuck around to see their work in action.

I tell Matt to pause the video just as the strange car starts to turn right. The video is decently grainy and a bit far away, but with a few clicks back and forth for better freeze frames. I'm able to make out a license plate number. I just need to hope that the number is in the system and my contact to find the owner.

"Thank you. We'll be in touch," Louisa says, stuffing the warrant back into the pocket of her blazer now that it's not needed anymore.

"Yeah, any time. And, uh, I mean any time. If you're free, I can get really sweet tickets for cheap. We get a discount."

"We're not," I answer for Louisa with a forced smile, "but I do want to thank you for your help."

Matt holds up his hands and grins. "Not necessary. Just following the law, you know?"

"Of course, but if you give me your address, I can send you that ball. As a gift."

"The signed ball?" He lifts his eyebrows in surprise. "No way. You're serious?"

I nod. "Since you were a big help today."

Matt eyes me from his computer chair. Unlike the previous meeting, this threat doesn't go over his head. I keep the smile on my face, arms at my sides so he doesn't see me as menacing. I can't bring my guns into the stadium, but I don't need a gun to take on this scrawny kid. There are plenty of ways to keep him quiet. This one is just the easiest.

He considers my bribe for a second before he nods, turning back to his desk to scribble his address down on a Post-it note. I tuck the note into the inner pocket of my jacket, give him a knowing nod, and leave the truth behind.

I send Louisa off with my thanks and a large stack of bills, then head back to where Jasper parked the car. He stands in front of my car talking on the phone. As soon as he sees me, he ends the call and bows his head.

"She left Heathens Hollow three hours ago, sir."

I exhale through my nose. Fiora. Ever since she showed up at my club, I've had eyes on her every move. I don't trust a few things about this situation. One, that she's meeting with another man beneath my nose, especially a damn cop. Two, that she isn't the next target. We don't know whether this perp will stop at Mason. It's been a week, but they could be plotting their next move.

And three, that she isn't getting finger fucked by someone who isn't me.

It's only been two days, but I can't stop thinking about how her cunt felt around my fingers. How she tried to mask her moans and gasps but couldn't. How she shook beneath my touch, walls practically sucking in my fingers.

And how absolutely turned on and pissed off she was when I denied her orgasms. The fire in her gaze replays in my mind every time I close my eyes and brings a smirk to my face.

"Where is she going?" I ask.

"It seems she's meeting a friend for lunch at Seattle Brewing Company."

I hum. That's a small brewery close to my office building. What's she doing in Seattle? She won't willing leave Heathens Hollow unless there is a reason, so it begs the question: who the hell is she meeting?

"Take me there." My tone is much rougher than intended.

Jasper bows his head and opens the rear door for me so I can slip in. As soon as we're on the way to the restaurant, I pull out my phone and flick to my files. The background check on Marco Pollozo arrived last night but I was too busy going over permits for my new hotel that I didn't get to check. Now that I have the time, I pull up the file on Fiora's so-called "trustworthy" cop.

Beady dark eyes stare back at me as soon as I open it. He's wearing a Seattle PD outfit and badge, but there's no light in his eyes or smile on his face. He's a completely normal man. Millions of guys who look like him are on the street. By the time I flick away from his picture, I've already forgotten him. He's lived a completely innocent life. Two parents, one sister. Went to University of Washington for a semester a few years ago before he dropped out and became a police officer. A late bloomer, because he turns thirty next year. That's three years older than Fiora.

He has no criminal history and no marks on his record. He's just a normal cop without a blemish to his name. But the cop part is the problem. Sure, all-powerful families have police under their thumbs and in their pockets. Cops are the ones who turn a blind eye to the more wicked side of business, and in Mason's case, ignore straight murder altogether. They are mostly points of contact and not close friends with a Godwin daughter. Marco's dark eyes flash through my mind. Something is fishy. Everyone has their own motivations. Their own secrets. Until I get to the bottom of it, Fiora won't be seeing him.

I go through Marco's background check one more time for anything I missed before Jasper clears his throat.

"We're here, sir. But…"

At his hesitation, I look out the tinted window. Fiora sits at a table on the outside patio, the unusually warm autumn sun shining down on her face. She's in a long burgundy sweater dress, her black hair pulled over her left shoulder, diamonds dangling from her ears. The man sitting across from her looks more like a frat boy than a friend, and there is even a golden retriever sitting at his feet. But then the man leans over and pats Fiora's hand, and heat rises to my neck.

When is she going to learn?

I open the back door and step out onto the street, eyes directly on the back of Fiora's head.

It looks like she needs another lesson.