Reckoning and Ruin (7 page)

Chapter Fourteen

I started with Hope showing up at my shop, described the whole backstory she'd dumped in my lap—missing husband, creepy white stalker truck—then concluded with the Blue Line holding her, the Cobb County PD dragging her off to the station, and her leaving late the previous night with an unidentified woman.

“Anyway, if Hope is right, Jasper is working a scheme bigger than money, and whoever disappeared John—”

“
Allegedly
disappeared John,” Marisa said.

I took a calming breath. “Hope thinks whoever
allegedly
did it was really after her, to keep her from testifying. But now she's disappeared too. And we need to find her.”

Marisa swiveled in her chair, back and forth. “Has she disappeared? Or has she simply decided to seek protection from somebody other than you?”

“That could be the case. And that person could be Jasper.”

Marisa stopped swiveling. She'd connected the same dots I had—that finding Hope was less about protecting her than it was about protecting her testimony. That the only thing Hope had to trade at this point was that testimony, and that if indeed Jasper or his lawyer or his blasted investigator had gotten their hooks into her, we'd lose her in the upcoming criminal trial. And we needed her to verify that Trey's actions had indeed been self-defense. There was, as people kept reminding me, a four-year statute of limitations on aggravated assault. If Trey ended up taking a felony charge for those three bullets, Jasper's multi-million dollar lawsuit would look a lot less frivolous.

She looked at Trey. “You have the 302s?”

He unsnapped his briefcase and pulled out several manila folders, which he handed to Marisa. I recognized my own handiwork peeking from between the covers.

“This is preliminary,” he said. “I haven't had a chance to go through LINX yet.”

“But you'll do that first thing in the morning.”

“Of course. I'll have a report for you before the meeting.” His eyes flickered my way. “Tai did the majority of this work.”

Marisa read without comment, starting with the file on Ainsworth Lovett. I could see the
New York Times
piece on him, complete with one of the few photographs I'd found. A mousy specimen, nondescript, turning his face from the photographer. For someone who loved notorious cases, the man himself was camera shy.

“This explains the civil suit's astronomical damages,” she said. “Lovett does not come cheap.”

“He does not.”

She tapped her finger against the folder. “Could Jasper be getting some money from other sources? How about his brother, what was his name again?”

“Jefferson.”

“Yes. Jefferson is still on the KKK Selectmen Council, isn't he?”

“He is. But this is the new improved family-friendly Klan, the kind that adopts highways, and part of their rebranding is behaving lawfully. Jefferson has completely disavowed Jasper, as has the Klan.”

“What about their father?”

“He's disavowed the whole thing. Except for Jefferson. And me.” I waved a hand at the materials on her desk. “I don't know how all this connects yet. I haven't talked to Boone or Jefferson since the incident. And Garrity hasn't heard anything from the prosecutor or the detective on the case. But I'm making progress. And when I find something out, I'll let you know.”

“Good. Do that.” She swiveled some more in her chair, suspicious, assessing. “So what is it you're asking
me
to do?”

“Find Hope. Or John. Or both.”

She scoffed. “Phoenix does not offer bounty hunter services.”

“Then I'll find them, and when I do, you can offer them executive protection—which Phoenix does offer—until the trial.”

Marisa fixed me with a withering stare. “Seriously?”

“Look, I'm not asking for them, or myself.” I pointed at Trey. “I'm asking for him. Because despite certain recurring hiccups and regardless of that one—one!—insignificant indiscretion on top of his desk, he's been loyal to you and Phoenix. And you know that if Hope recants, if the trial starts to go sideways, he could get hit with an assault charge, maybe some grievous bodily injury tacked on. And Phoenix legal could probably drag the company out of it, save itself and abandon him to the industrial prison complex. But you're a better woman than that.”

Marisa stared. Trey too, with much more discombobulation. I didn't care. He needed all the help that Phoenix could offer, even if he was being an ass, even if I had to convince his own boss, a woman who despised me, to protect the woman I despised most in the world.

I saw Marisa adding up the cost of such a thing, balancing it against the six million Jasper had set his sights on. She'd clawed her way to the top in a field unfriendly to females, and she'd kept the books in the black and the lights burning with a cutthroat pragmatism. But I knew another part of her code was at play. Marisa never left a man behind; she was as unyielding as a Marine about that.

“Find either of them and we'll talk,” she said. She turned to Trey. “As for you, you'll be staying as far away from this as possible until the situation cools off, hopefully because John Wilde stumbles back into town.”

Trey's eyes were wary. “But—”

“No buts. Go round up your firearms proficiency reports, the most recent ones, and bring them to me.”

He hesitated, but then nodded. “Yes, ma'am.”

Marisa listened to his footsteps down the hall, then the ding of the elevator. She shook her head. “He's calling me ‘ma'am' again. I thought I'd broken him of that.”

I shrugged. “Things with Trey are a little…retro right now.”

“No kidding. I see he's got his old sidearm again, which does not fill me with optimism.” She drummed her fingers on the desk. “What's going on with him?”

“I honestly don't know.”

“Is it good or bad?”

“I don't know that either.”

She watched the doorway. “This is a piece of nastiness on a Sunday morning. Rumors and revenging, all that Southern Gothic shit.” She fixed me with a look. “When do you leave for Savannah?”

I blinked in surprise, but I should have been expecting the question. “Tomorrow morning.”

“Without Trey, of course.”

I nodded.

“Have you told him yet?”

“No. It's just now becoming clear that this is what I need to do. And that I need to do it without him.”

“Good. We agree then.” Marisa closed her briefcase. “I suppose you're wanting me to keep him busy at this end?”

“I think it would be in everyone's best interest. He does better when he has a routine.”

“That's one way to put it.”

She was examining me with all the subtlety of an X-ray. Sometimes I forgot that Marisa was dangerous. I'd only seen her in CEO mode, the smooth hustle of someone who knew how to grease the proper wheels. But she also knew how to break bones with the flick of a wrist and carried a Glock in her fancy handbag.

She stood and reached for her cardigan. “I can deliver at my end. I hope you can deliver at yours.”

Chapter Fifteen

Trey didn't speak on the way home. It was a short ride from Phoenix to his complex, and I let him have his silence, hoping it would settle him. It didn't. He was still agitated when we got back in his apartment, even with the door triple-locked behind him. I knew this because he went straight to his computer, holster still on his hips, tie still around his neck.

I sat on the edge of his desk. “Do you want to talk about it?”

“About what?”

“What happened at Phoenix.”

“Nothing happened at Phoenix.”

“You drew down on your boss. You call that nothing?”

He pulled up a spreadsheet. I recognized it—a statistical summary of the white supremacist organizations currently operating in Georgia, with separate lines for their money trails, including the one that linked the Savannah KKK to the larger relic community.

“My preliminary evaluation of the scene was incorrect,” he said. “I adjusted my response accordingly when I had more information. There's nothing to discuss.”

His expression was indifferent, words clipped. I knew there was no breaching the wall. My only hope was that a couple of hours mainlining charts like they were tranquilizers would calm him down. Maybe then we could talk. There was only one small problem.

I squared my shoulders. “You're not going to like this, but I'm going to Savannah tomorrow. And I'm going alone.”

He didn't look up from the screen. “I know.”

“This is not a situation that will respond to top-down management. Savannah is crooked, and weird, and I need to be able to maneuver there, which means…” I froze. “Wait a second, what did you say?”

“I said, I know.”

“You're not going to argue about it?”

He started typing. “No. I'm resigned to it at this point.”

“But you don't approve.”

He kept his eyes on the computer. “Whether I approve or disapprove is immaterial. I have a meeting in the morning with Phoenix legal to discuss the lawsuit, then another meeting with HR, and then another meeting with the new account. Before that, and probably after as well, I'll be in the FBI office putting together a LINX report. Which means that even if I wanted to go to Savannah—which I don't—I can't. So do whatever you need to do, because that's what you do. And I'll stay here and do what needs to be done, because that's what I do.”

It was the most words I'd ever heard come out of his mouth at one time, and it left me momentarily thunderstruck. Lots of words, yes, but every single one flat and monotone. Ice Trey surfacing.

I sat on the edge of his desk. “You're mad.”

“I'm simply stating the facts.”

“Okay then. Here's a fact for you. I was handling this situation just fine until you barged in—unasked—with your motorcycle buddies and scared off the one lead we had. And now Hope's gone, and John's vanished, and the people who trust us have told us everything they know, and the people who don't trust us have clamped shut like snapping turtles!”

“That's what criminals do. You should know this.”

“And what does that mean?”

He didn't answer, but the staccato keystrokes hit with the rhythm of gunfire.

I stood up. “Hope came to me, which meant she came to
us
. And she was cooperating until you had us surrounded—”

“She was lying and concealing evidence and manipulating—”

“—and then you started throwing your weight around, which is why she ran, and that, Former Senior Patrol Officer Seaver, is on you.”

He kept typing. “If you'd listened to me and followed my instructions, she wouldn't have had a chance to run.”

“And if you'd listened to me, you wouldn't have pulled your weapon on your boss when the only threats in the room were an empty shoe and a puddle of coffee!”

Trey stared at me, hard, then shoved his chair back and went into the bedroom, slamming the door behind him. I waited for him to come back. I tapped my foot. Give him time, everyone always said. So I waited. Five whole minutes I waited. Then I went after him.

I found him standing at the bathroom mirror, hands braced on the sink, shirt unbuttoned. He'd peeled off most of the therapy tape and was examining his shoulder, flexing the tendon, testing the recovery. There was an open bottle of oxy on the counter.

“And so now you shut down,” I said.

“I'm refusing to argue. There's a difference.”

“You're refusing to engage.”

He rolled his head to the right, wincing, not looking at me. “What do you want me to do? Tell you I don't want you to go? I don't. Tell you to stay? I would if I thought you'd do it. But you won't. Because once you decide on a course of action, you don't listen to anything that anyone else has to say.”

“I took up for you this morning.”

“No, that was something else. It had nothing to do with me and everything to do with…whatever it was you were trying to accomplish.”

“Is that what this is about? You're mad because I said you deserved to be protected?”

He snatched up the pills and shook two into his palm. “I can take care of myself and will do so until you return. So unless you're going to listen to reason, further discussion is pointless.”

I searched his expression. Yep. Ice Trey all the way. Which meant he was right—further discussion was absolutely and utterly pointless, as useless as arguing with an iceberg.

I kicked the door jamb. “Damn it, Trey, why can't you be—”

I bit down on the word that almost flew out of my mouth. Trey didn't take his eyes off the mirror. I stomped out of his apartment, fighting tears. But it wasn't just anger that had the world going swimmy in front of me. It was also the piercing guilt of what I'd almost said.

Normal.

Why can't you be normal?

Chapter Sixteen

I cursed to myself all the way down the elevator, all the way through the doors and into the parking garage. I refused to look at my phone, refused to see if Trey had called. Not that I wanted to talk to him, I only wanted him to call so that I could righteously ignore him. But I wanted…I wanted…

I snatched my keys from my bag. I didn't know what I wanted.

I walked faster, feeling even more solitary as my footsteps echoed against the concrete. My Camaro gleamed like a red beacon across the deck, and I itched to get behind the wheel and put Buckhead behind me. I had to pack, find a place to stay in Savannah. Adjust Kenny's schedule to full-time, redo the research I'd left with Marisa…

And then I stopped.

Parked next to my car was a silver Mercedes convertible, and propped against that was Gabriella. She was dressed as if it were still winter, in black stiletto boots and a light gray tunic, her red curls spilling over the fabric like blood trails.

I stood right in front of her. “I am one hundred percent not in the mood for this right now.”

“We need to talk.”

“So you lie in wait for me in Trey's parking garage?”

“The cards said you would be here.”

I rolled my eyes. “And now begins the woo-woo portion of our evening.”

She ignored the insult. “After our little
brouille
the other night, I asked the tarot what I needed to know about the situation with you and Trey. And there it was, in the center. The Tower. And crossing it, Death.”

I almost laughed. Even a tarot skeptic like me knew the cards she was referring to—the lightning-struck Tower, crumbling into the sea as its hapless inhabitants tumbled down with it, and Death in all his skeletal glory, complete with pale horse and scythe. I'd seen them when Trey practiced memory work with his own seventy-eight-card deck, one of the brain training exercises she had him do, but there was nothing mystical in those pretty pictures. Gabriella, however, believed otherwise.

“That's why you drove over here?” I said. “To accost me in the parking garage with a tarot reading? Couldn't you at least have waited until there was a thunderstorm brewing? Some rain and wind to spooky things up?”

She glared. “You act as if this is nothing, that death surrounds you. Real death, not the death of metaphor or transformation. Flesh and blood death. This is what you are bringing to Trey's life, and it has to stop.”

“For your information, he's up there right now, all alone, totally not dead. So your cards are wrong, and you're wrong. But go on up there and show him all the mortal danger he's avoiding by staying here while I'm in Savannah.”

Confusion flitted across her face. “You're going to Savannah? Why?”

“Doesn't matter. The point is, Trey is staying behind in his airless, absurdly secure apartment. So spare me the reckless endangerment lecture.”

For a moment she seemed nonplussed, not quite sure of her next move. “Does he know you're leaving?”

“He told me to go. Told me he could take care of himself, his exact words.”

“
Non,
I do not believe that. He would never send you away.”

I pressed my fingers to my temple, which was starting to throb. On the other side of the lot, I heard footsteps and conversation. A family, headed for the park perhaps, or to get a nice ice cream. Not trapped with a deluded French chick babbling about death and towers as she plotted how to get back in my boyfriend's bed.

“Well, he did,” I said. “Maybe you don't know him as well as you think you do.”

Her expression hardened. “Trey has built himself a fine tower. And it will come down some day, but it must be dismantled brick by brick, with great care. Not pulled down because it suits your purposes. And if he falls, if he breaks on those rocks…” Her voice cracked, but her eyes stayed fierce. “I will hold you accountable.”

My voice was soft, low. “Oh, now that
is
a threat.”

“It is, yes. You may count on it. You do not know what I went through those months after the accident, what Trey went through.”

“I know enough.”

“You know nothing!” Her voice echoed against the concrete. “You weren't there three years ago when he wouldn't even speak, when he did nothing but stare at the wall. He was dying right in front of me, five days dying, but then he crawled back to life, he crawled back to
me
!”

My memory flashed hard and fast to a different night, one five short months previous, in Savannah. Trey, bloody and beaten, lifting his head at the sound of my voice. He'd crawled back then too, on hands and knees. To
me
.

“I know things you haven't got a clue about,” I said. “So back off. He's with me now, not you!”

“That is not the point!”

“Damn sure is. Because I'm thinking you realize what a good thing you lost—”

“You don't know my losses!”

“—and maybe you don't feel obliged to limit yourself to one man, but I am giving you fair warning. Hands off Trey!”

She stared at me, her nostrils flaring, eyes crackling with rage. I thought for a second she was going to slap me, and I was ready for it, eager even. Instead, she snatched open her car door.

“Very well. Go to Savannah. I'll be here. And if Trey needs me, he knows where to find me.”

She slid behind the wheel, checked her make-up in the mirror. After a hasty reverse that almost ran me over, she peeled out for the exit. I stood there until I couldn't hear her engine anymore, then checked my phone one more time. No calls. No texts. I almost went back up. Almost. But eventually I made myself get into my own car and drive myself back to Kennesaw.