29. Maggie

Maggie

I 'm getting sick of prisons. Maybe it's ironic, given my job as a detective, but the whole process—getting checked in, walking down those narrow cement walkways, hearing the yells and loud noises—it's all a sensory overload. The clanging of metal doors echoes in my ears, and the cold, sterile air sends a shiver down my spine. As I enter the waiting room, I spot Tilly. Her posture is stiff, her eyes fixed on some point across the room. She doesn't offer much of a greeting, and I can't blame her. This place, this situation—it represents everything she's tried to escape.

"Matilda," I say with a small nod as I sit next to her, unsure if I should even use her nickname.

"Tilly," she corrects, her voice steady but strained. I knew that's what everyone calls her, but I wasn't sure if I had the right.

"You, uh, ready for this?" I ask, my own nerves making my voice sound too soft, too unsure. She closes her eyes slowly, letting out a shaky breath. For a moment, I see the vulnerability she tries so hard to hide, but then her chin rises with that familiar determination. The fragile woman is gone, replaced by the badass who built a life from the ashes of her family's past.

I might have a bit of a girl crush.

She flicks some hair over her shoulder and stands as the guard calls us. I follow her lead, squaring my shoulders. Being around her has that effect on me—making me want to be stronger, tougher, more resolute.

How could I have ever thought this woman was anything but a caring cousin? Or that Grayson was anything less than a loving father?

The guilt is eating me alive. I've been avoiding Grayson since meeting with his wife. But how the hell do I tell him? Every possible outcome feels like a disaster waiting to happen. So, like the coward I am, I'm waiting. Maybe after this little chat with Antonio, I'll have more to admit to Grayson anyway.

Not that I expect Antonio to fess up everything the minute he sees Tilly, but on the off chance he does… On the very, very, very rare off chance, that is.

We're led into an all-too-familiar interrogation room. The harsh fluorescent lights buzz overhead, casting a cold glare on the metal surface. The room smells of antiseptic, the sterile scent clinging to everything. Antonio Cardenas, the leader of the Cardenas family cartel, is already there, waiting. His hair is slicked back and tied low on the back of his head, his eyes sharp and calculating as they take us in.

When we approach, he rises from his chair like a king surveying his subjects.

"Matilda, I didn't realize you were bringing company," he says, his voice charming with a lingering disappointment.

"Yes, Papa, you remember Detective Parker," she replies, her tone firm, almost defiant. Even though she used his family title, there's no affection in it.

He gestures to our chairs, and both of us sit. I don't like that he thinks he's in command of the room, but I let it go. Being nice is more effective than being confrontational. I'm not here to play bad cop.

"Indeed. How can I help you, then? This obviously isn't a social call," he says, leaning back in his chair, eyes narrowing slightly.

"It's about Grayson, Papa," Tilly says, her voice as steady as ever, but I can feel the tension radiating off her. It's like she's holding back a storm.

His beady eyes narrow further. "What about your cousin? What has he gone and done now?"

"He's in trouble," she says, her voice tight with restrained emotion.

"How?" Antonio's gaze shifts to me, curiosity flickering in his dark eyes. He's assessing me, trying to gauge how much I know, how much I'll reveal.

Tilly glances at me, her face unreadable except for the stress etched in every line. I see it, even if Antonio doesn't. She's struggling, more than she wants to admit. I decide to take over.

"Mr. Cardenas," I begin, keeping my tone professional, "we've found evidence of some disturbing things. Can you think of anyone who would want to hurt Grayson?"

"Dozens of people," he replies, a dismissive wave of his hand. "But if you're asking if the cartel knows about his… deal, they do not. I made certain of that." He taps his finger on the table, his lips pursing together. I would wager that if Antonio could change that, he would. There's no love lost between Grayson and him—that much is clear.

"Can you write a list of people who are upset?" I ask, trying to keep the conversation moving, though I already know what his answer will be.

He leans back, crossing his arms. The chair creaks under his weight. "Possibly."

Crap. I fucking knew that's how he would play this.

"Just tell us, Papa," Tilly says, her voice harder now. She rubs her forehead as if trying to ease a building headache. "I don't have the time or energy for games. We both know you're safer in here than out there. You'd probably have twice the price on your head that Gray does."

His eyes widen, his jaw ticking. If he's ever been spoken to like that before, it doesn't show. Through gritted teeth, he says, "Keaton for one. Don, Suzannah, Aunt Jennifer—I mean, the list goes on. Should I continue?"

My heart skips a beat at the name in the middle of his list. "You know about Suzannah?" I ask, my voice steady despite the storm raging inside me.

"Ah, you caught that. Interesting," he says, his smile widening. There's something sickeningly gleeful about the way he's watching me, like a cat playing with a cornered mouse. Beside me, Tilly's hands shake slightly as she crosses her arms, her nails digging into her skin. I can see the storm brewing behind her eyes, and I know it's only a matter of seconds before it breaks

"What do you know about Suzannah?" I ask, leaning forward, my hands clenching under the table.

"I didn't have her killed," he says, his expression serious, but there's no remorse in his eyes. He didn't order it, but that doesn't mean he didn't want it.

"But you knew that she's involved with the gangs?" I leave the sentence hanging, hoping he'll fill in the gaps. There's no telling how much Tilly really knows.

Antonio touches his nose but remains silent.

Tilly suddenly jumps up from the table, and storms to the door. She bangs on it and steps outside without a single other word. Antonio doesn't seem surprised. "She's too soft for the family business. Always has been," he mutters.

"Did the gangs order the hit? Does Grayson owe them money or something?" I ask, trying to pull the conversation back to the present.

"I doubt it. Grayson wouldn't have taken money he couldn't pay back, and never from anyone untoward," he says, waving a hand dismissively. Then his grin returns, sharper, more dangerous. "But I think… she and Gray's brother had a thing before she left. I always wondered if the boy was actually Gray's."

Whatever I was expecting, it wasn't that. "Don?" I stammer, my mind racing. "Wh-when? How?" I hate that my voice is unsure. In my mind, there is no doubt that George is Grayson's son. They're too similar in their expressions, and their looks. Antonio is trying to get a rise out of me. Stupidly, it's working.

"You're quite interested in this case, Miss Parker," he says, leaning forward, clearly enjoying my shock.

I ignore his taunt and scoot my chair closer, the metal legs screeching against the floor. "Would Don have ordered the hit? Yes or no?"

He leans back, folding his hands together, that smug expression making me wish I had a phone book to hurl at his head. "I knew for years about Suzannah, even tried to get her home a few times. I paid for rehab three times, Miss Parker. And for what? To be accused of the worst?"

"You were going to kill Tommy two years ago," I say, my voice cold.

"Was I? Or was I taking him out to scare him? This is a dangerous business, but I'm no murderer. Believe it or not, my family means the world to me. Especially Matilda. I let the Chernobog kill my own daughter over her. I blamed everything on Tia to keep everyone else safe. And people are still accusing me of being some sort of tyrant."

I stand up abruptly, not willing to sit and listen to him spin his twisted version of reality any longer. But as I'm knocking on the door to be let out, Antonio chuckles behind me. "Be careful whom you trust, Miss Parker. Loyalty is a fickle thing in this family. Everyone has their own agendas."

I pay not attention to his words or the creepy feeling that's slithering up my spine. He wants it there. I won't give him the satisfaction of knowing he was successful.

The prison doors clang shut behind me, but the weight of what Antonio revealed stays with me, pressing down on my chest like a stone. I need to talk to Don and fast. I storm out, making quick work of shooting Harry a text. Tracking down Grayson's brother is now the top priority. He had an affair with Suze, and not a short one from the way Antonio painted it. The guard is ahead of me in the hall, silent, but casting glances over his shoulder as we walk. Like I would wonder off. I nearly roll my eyes. When he finally opens the door to the waiting room, Tilly is there, impatiently tapping her foot.

As soon as I'm within reach, she grabs my arm and drags me outside. After being in such a sterile environment, even the hot desert breeze on my face is a relief. But that feeling quickly leaves when she spins around. "You knew?! You knew his wife was alive and still did all this?" She waves a hand around her head. I don't think I've ever seen a person with such fury in their eyes. Protective doesn't begin to describe Tilly Jacobs.

But I'm seeing red too. Probably for the same reason. The entire day has been a nightmare, and it's only getting worse. "I found out yesterday. How long have you known? You didn't seem surprised."

Tilly looks over her shoulder, her hair blowing into her face. "I've known a week. Greg has a PI that used to be an agent, and they stumbled on it."

"Were you planning to tell him? Or just let me break his heart?"

Tilly slaps her arms at her side, the sound echoing in the quiet corridor. "Break his heart? You've known him ten seconds! Of course, I was going to tell him. We've been trying to find her, get her help."

"How? How exactly were you going to help her? You know she's pregnant with some gang member's kid?"

Tilly's face pales, and she takes a step back, shaking her head. "Fuck." She mumbles it before looking back at me. "Why would you tell me that?"

"Because, Tilly, we have to tell him. Maybe he's the only one who can help her."

Tilly takes another step back and raises a hand to keep me at bay. "She doesn't deserve help. She abandoned him and her son. I have no sympathy. And sleeping with Don? That's sick." Her face almost looks green at the thought.

"She is sick. It's a disease, Tilly."

But Tilly is already walking away. "Tilly, wait!"

"No! I… I need to think." She flounces away toward her car. I want to follow her, to beg her not to say anything to Grayson until I can explain things to him. But before I can, my phone rings, and I see Harry's name.

"Yeah?" I answer, my voice tight. Tilly is already climbing into her car. If I thought we could continue our conversation, I was obviously wrong.

"Hey, sweetheart. Got a minute?"

No. I really don't. I have a million things to look into now and no time to do it. Forget that I'm two hundred miles away from my house, and even further from Gray. I squeeze my eyes shut as Tilly's car speeds out of the lot, kicking up gravel and dust as she does. "What is it, Harry?"

"I got in touch with the prison. Guess who got work release?" Work release? For a mob member? Are the courts fucking kidding me? My grip tightens around the phone, knuckles turning white. Fuck. Fuckity hell. My eyes open again, widening as far as they can go. "Where is he?"

"In the wind. Skipped out on his first day and has a warrant for his arrest. But I'm guessing if we cut a certain pregnant lady loose, she might lead us straight to him." We've been holding Suze since we brought her in. Since 72 hours is the limit, we would have released her soon anyway. Watching her is a good idea. Especially if my hunch that Don was the one that organized all this is correct.

"I'll be there in two hours," I say.

"No way, you're way too involved. I'll call in Jones for this. He owes me a favor."

"Fine. Keep me updated." I click off the call and rub my temple. This is unraveling faster than I ever could have anticipated. Now I have a found wife, a lost brother, and a pissed-off cousin. This family is proving to be far more troubling than I ever imagined.

But one thing is for certain—it's long past time I spoke with Grayson.