Chapter 28
Slate
I spent all morning in front of a bank of computers inside my office digging into Mark Edwards. I had a few hunches to confirm before I brought it to church, so I checked into everything, including two bank accounts listed in aliases I managed to trace to him. The guy hadn’t given up his dirty ways at all, if anything he’d gotten dirtier since his badge was taken away. There were a lot of skeletons in his closet which made him a good candidate for blackmail.
If we chose to go that route.
That had been another option I’d considered. It was a way to get Mark off of Emma’s back. But the problem with blackmail was that it could sometimes backfire. And blackmailing that asshole wouldn’t get the cops to drop her as a suspect.
“Slate, you got a visitor!” Rebel called out from the bar, his voice so filled with joy that I assumed it was Emma.
I hadn’t expected to see her today since she was interviewing for a remote position, and she’d been a bundle of nerves when I left just before noon.
“Slate,” he called out again.
“Hold your dick, I’m coming!” I turned off the screen and pushed away from the desk, stretching my back and neck before I went to see Emma. Vibrations shot up my body at the thought of seeing her again, which should’ve been the first sign I was in trouble. Emma was even better than Vick because Vick was a fantasy and Emma was real. A real woman with scars and trauma, with love and joy to give.
She was real and she was so close to becoming mine that I felt it down to my bones.
Also she wasn’t here. “Cross. What are you doing here?”
The sheriff looked at me with that gleam in his eyes, the one that said he knew something I didn’t. It was doubtful but I reserved my judgment. “Here to talk to you.”
“Talk. What about?”
“You and Emma Roberts.”
I crossed my arms over my chest, a clear sign that I wouldn’t stand for any of his cop bullshit. Sure we were often on the same team when it came to protecting Steel City but not always. He was still the law, and I still didn’t trust him. “What about me and Emma?”
“What is your relationship with her? She’s a suspect and now she’s staying at your house.”
“Is my relationship with her relevant? I didn’t meet Emma until after her husband was gone.” Technically it was true but now I’d said it out loud, I had a feeling he was fishing.
“You sure about that?” It was the way he said it that tipped me off. He knew something but not enough to do anything about it or else he would’ve come in with his dick swinging.
He didn’t know about the DNA test results we’d received just yesterday to confirm that Ashlyn was in fact my daughter. I didn’t need confirmation as it was clear as day to me that she was mine, but it would go a long way in making the guys less suspicious. “I’m positive about that. When I met her six years ago, she went by her middle name.”
Cross sighed and shook his head. “Outside. Now.”
I followed him at a sedate pace because I refused to be bossed around by a cop.
When we reached the parking lot, Cross turned with an angry expression. “Start talking now.”
I shrugged and gave him the long and almost unbelievable story about my first meeting with Vick and then meeting her again as Emma. “She recognized me immediately, but it took me a little longer to realize it and then just recently she informed me that Ash was mine.”
Disbelief was written all over his face. “That is one hell of a coincidence.”
“Not really. If you boys had done your fucking job, she wouldn’t have had to call us to help her.”
“She called you?”
“Not me specifically, no. Justin from the community center gave her our number. She attended a domestic violence support group there.” I stared at him pointedly.
“Okay. Why did she call you?”
“Because Alex was beating the shit out of her regularly, but he’d turned his violence towards Ash that night. He stormed out after that, and she was worried that when he came back, he would kill them both.”
“And that’s what she told you?”
I nodded. “Yeah. He wasn’t there when we got there, and we stayed while she packed a bag for her and Ash, and we took her to a hotel.”
Cross didn’t believe me, and I didn’t really give a shit but even I could hear how his words made Emma look more guilty instead of less. “And somehow she ended up staying with you?”
“Yeah,” I grunted, pissed off at his insinuation. “She went back to her house the next day. Her asshole brother-in-law paid a visit and terrified the kid, my kid. So I requested she stay where I could keep them both safe.” I paused, then added, “You do anything about her brother-in-law following her around? Threatening her?”
His body language was answer enough, but he said, “She hadn’t said anymore about him to me.”
“Yeah, no shit. Probably because you were so helpful before. He’s been following her every day. Every fucking day,” I rolled my eyes.
“Look, we failed her. I know that. But I can’t ignore the fact that she was the last person to see Alex Edwards.”
“Men leave their families all the time, Sheriff. In my experience the shittier the man, the more likely it is that they just up and leave.” I shrugged and willed my hands not to ball into fists. “Maybe he’s with one of his many other women, ever consider that?”
“Do you have proof of that?”
“I’m not the cop. I don’t need concrete proof. Or legal proof.” I held his gaze and let him see the proof for himself. “Have you considered asking the brother, he’s a PI I hear? Or is he your number one witness against Emma?”
“Goddamn it! Just tell me what you know, Slate.”
I smiled. The sheriff was usually as cool as can be, unflappable most of the time. “Let me ask you a question, Sheriff. Have you questioned him at all or just Emma? I mean who’s to say Alex didn’t go to his brother’s house to cool off? Maybe Mark was blackmailing him about beating up on his wife or his many affairs. Anything is possible.”
“Don’t tell me how to do my damn job.”
“Then do your damn job, Sheriff. If Emma is a good suspect so is Mark, maybe more because he actually has the experience—as a former cop—to hide a body.”
Cross stared at me for a long time, a smirk on his face as if he knew something or thought he did. “Thank you for your time, Slate.”
“Yeah sure. Whatever.”