Wicked Release (15 page)

23

J
ess waited ten minutes before slipping down the hall. She'd started at the precinct less than a week ago and its layout was still foreign to her. As she exited the elevator, she sighed, relieved that Sam and Matt were already gone.

Her phone buzzed and she reached into her pocket to check it.
Elliot.

 

 

Jess typed her response.

 

 

“Walters!”

Jess froze.
So close
. The revolving doors were just fifty feet ahead and yet so far away. She spun to find Captain Straimer walking toward her, his mouth set into a stern line.

“Captain?” she said.

With a flick of his finger he motioned her to follow him as he walked. “My office.”

He looked pissed. And there was any number of things he could be mad about. Her sneaking into the observation room. Not disclosing the information she had about Cass and Dr. Brown's connection. Cass's drug room—
oh, God. He couldn't know about that, could he?

That feeling of dread flopped in her stomach, rolling around like a marble on a slick surface. She followed him into his office.

“Captain? Should I be nervous?”

“You talked to our suspect.” Though his words were quiet, there was a dangerous undertone to them. A warning.

Zooey.
He meant Zooey. Instead of admitting her guilt immediately, Jess played dumb. “Our suspect?”

“Zooey Devonshire. Our main suspect in the Richard Brown case. And don't play it so innocent. You were no good at pretending you didn't run your bike through my rosebushes when you were ten and you're no better at pretending now.”

His hands were clenched tight, white knuckled, matching the same blanched silvery hue of his hair.

Jess sighed. “Fine. Yes. I saw her. She called me, asking me to come as her friend. I was going to be taken off the Brown case regardless, wasn't I?”

“I'm supposed to take you off the case, yes. With Brown's connection to Cassandra, it would be completely immoral for me to allow you to continue. But as our forensic photographer, technically, outside of another crime scene, your work with the case is done anyway. I know you know that. Your record in Kings County is flawless. And yet . . . I get the sense you're taking it on yourself to, let's say, continue your job beyond its scope.”

The hairs at the back of her neck stood on end.
Damn
. He was astute. Of course he was—he had been a detective once himself. “Not really, sir.”

His face softened at that and he gave her a small smile. “Sir,” he repeated. “It's still weird hearing you call me that.”

Jess smiled in return. “You prefer Uncle Fuzzy here in your office?”

His smile spread farther and he dropped his head, laughing. “No, please, no. The last thing I need the guys here knowing about is the nickname my best friend's daughter used to call me because of my chest hair. How ya doing, kid? As your friend—as Uncle Fuzzy—I'm worried about you.”

“I'm hanging in there.”

“Maybe you should take time off.”

She shook her head rapidly. “Absolutely not. If I have free time, I'll spend it obsessing over every detail of Cass's death.”

He studied her a long moment before nodding. “I understand that. Sam tells me you've learned some things about your sister on top of all this.”

“Yeah. She was . . . well, something was going on. I just don't know exactly what or why she got so involved with Biophuterol.”

“If it's any consolation, no drugs were found in her system. It doesn't appear that she was using.”

“Great. So she was only
dealing.
Lovely.”

She ducked her head away from his searing eyes and felt his hand land on her shoulder, giving it a gentle squeeze. “I'm sorry I failed you two,” Straimer said.

“You didn't fail us—”

“Yeah, I did. I should have been firmer with Rose. I should have insisted that we adopt you. It's what your parents would have wanted. Then maybe Cass wouldn't have felt such pressure to take over as your guardian.”

Jess shook her head. “You can't know that. We never found their will.”

“I do know that.” His voice sounded garbled, like he was talking through a fistful of gravel. “Your mom told me once. Asked me if anything happened to them to watch out for you two.”

Jess had always suspected as much. She had never understood why her parents' friends had never stepped up to help them more. Oh, they helped in the usual ways. Sending food, checking in, helping monetarily as they could. But when Cass needed them—when she needed character witnesses to prove she was able to be a guardian, Straimer's phone line went dead. He and Rose had never returned their calls and never filled out the affidavit. And that hurt like hell, though Jess didn't want to guilt-trip the man. “Rose didn't want to help?”

She'd always suspected Straimer's wife wasn't as into the friendship with her parents as he had been. Straimer and her mother and father all went to college together. Rose had entered the picture later.

“No. Not because she didn't love you both. But because you were a constant reminder of the baby we could never have.” Straimer cleared his throat and it was almost like watching a mask being put on. Jess could see him transform from Uncle Fuzzy back into Captain Straimer. “Anyway, I just wanted you to know that you can come to me. You can trust me with any discoveries you find about your sister. There's a mole in the precinct—myself, Sam, and now Matt are working on finding who it is. I don't even want you telling the force psychologist about what you find in case he's the leak—however unlikely that is. But if you need to talk, I'm here. And it won't affect your job. I promise.”

“Thanks. So . . . for now, my job . . .”

“For now, you still have it as long as you want it. I put in a call for another photographer to be on call, in case another crime related to Cass's death pops up, but in the meantime you're all we've got.”

“Such high praise,” Jess said, and rolled her eyes.

“Hopefully, we won't need you for any more deaths related to this case. Hopefully all that's over.”

“I hope so, too.” But she didn't think so. It felt far from over. “You know Zooey's innocent, right?”

“I don't
know.
But I do think she's being framed.”

“And you want me to stay away from her?”

“I can't tell you what to do. I can tell you that I think you're making yourself a target, the more you talk with her. But I can't tell you who to be friends with. Just use your head. And if you talk with her, you cannot reveal any details of the case.”

“It's not like I have any, anyway.”

Straimer walked to his door and paused, his hand on the doorknob. “I think you do. I think you know more than you let on, Walters.”

Jess held strong, maintaining eye contact as he attempted to read her thoughts and body language. “Thanks for the talk,” she said as she moved past him and out the door. Stopping just past him, she added, “Uncle Fuzzy.”

24

S
am took another sip of coffee before putting it carefully back in the cup holder of his car. “So, that's about it. The night Cass was shot, I had seen her earlier at the party. I know it has something to do with the drug ring, but I still don't have a lock on who is in charge.”

Sam shifted in his seat once more, studying Matt's pale face beside him. He couldn't risk telling Matt all the details at a restaurant or some other public place where they could be overheard. So as cramped as it was, they were eating their lunch in his car while he filled Matt in on everything.

“Cassandra Walters, a drug mule? That makes no sense,” said Matt.

“Tell me about it. She was terrified of something. More accurately,
someone.
And it seemed like the closer she was getting to me, the stronger the threat against her was.”

“Shit, man. You can't blame yourself, though. You didn't push her into that life.”

“No, I didn't. But something did. And it makes you think—if Cass could get swept up by all this, just about anyone could.”

“She didn't tell you why she started?”

“No idea. She had a good job, no debt that I can find, so it couldn't have been the money.”

Matt's eyes widened. “Does Jess know any of this?”

A winding coil tightened in Sam's gut. He didn't want anyone to know Jess had knowledge of this stuff. He trusted Matt; he truly did. And after he and Jess had talked outside the interrogation room, he'd gone straight to Straimer, telling him everything, about how Jess was aware of her sister's situation and that neither of them believed Zooey could be the killer. And yet, he couldn't ignore that whisper of uncertainty. “She knows her sister wasn't squeaky clean before she died. But I think fear is winning out over her curiosity.”

Okay, so it wasn't the entire truth. Jessie Walters never let fear win out over any aspect of her life. And based on the suspicious look Matt awarded him with, it didn't seem like he bought that entirely, either. It was easy to forget that Matt had known Jess for almost as long as he had. Had grown up alongside both of them. Lying to Matt was like trying to convince a parent that you were sick on the day of your final exam.

“So . . . she's just letting it go? Her sister's unsolved murder?”

Sam gave his best shrug. “For now, at least.”

“Why doesn't she just leave Portland until we catch this guy?”

Damn good question.
“You'll have to ask her that. I'm the last person she wants to talk with lately. Especially about this stuff.”

“So, then how can you be sure she'll stop snooping around?”

“I suppose I can't be sure. I just have to trust her.”

Matt crumpled up the paper bag holding the trash from their lunch and tossed it down by his feet. “This is a lot to take in.”

“Unfortunately, we don't have a lot of time to dwell on it. We need to plan this undercover thing with the free clinic. And we need to do it soon.”

Matt sighed and Sam watched as the doubt faded from his face. In its place was a steadfast determination. “You're right. It can't be one of us. We're too well known in this area. We'd be recognized right away.”

Relief spread through Sam, mimicking the grin that spread on his face. “Glad you're on board, partner. So, what about that big guy going in instead of us—the kinda oafish one? Donnelly, I think.”

“That guy? To go vice for us?” Matt snorted. “He's dumb as a pile of bricks. No way. He'd blow cover almost immediately.”

“Jesus, Matt. Have an opinion, already. What about Laura? She already knows a little with us releasing Dylan on a misdemeanor.”

“Rodriguez? I dunno. She's kind of green.”

“That's good, though. The fact that she's new to the force. No one in town will make her as a cop.”

“That's true.”

“What did your gut say while you were working with her? That she's trustworthy?”

“Yeah.” After a long pause, Matt nodded. “You know, I think she'd be good. She's a little too perfect sometimes—and that unwillingness to break the rules may be her biggest flaw. But for the sake of this case? Someone like that may be just what we need.”

Sam chuckled. “I give her a year before she breaks protocol.” He put his key back in the ignition and started the car. “Let's go see what Straimer thinks. If he agrees she's a good match, we'll get started. Maybe we can even have her prepped and ready to go in by this afternoon.”

Matt slid his partner a doubtful look. “It would be the first time in Portland PD history that we got an undercover operation going in under twenty-four hours.”

“True.” Sam pulled out of his spot and eased onto the road. “But since this will be so small and concentrated to only four of us, I think we could manage it. Plus we've got Straimer on our side. He can call in and get equipment almost immediately.”

“Yeah, I don't know how that guy pulls it off, but he can move mountains with a snap of his fingers.”

 

Jess pulled into her driveway. Before she could even get out of her car, her phone buzzed in her purse. She scrambled to find it, putting it to her ear. “Hello?”

“Ms. Walters, it's Ernie Kemp, your sister's estate lawyer. I received some bad news today—the prospective buyer pulled the offer on your house.”

“Gilles pulled his offer?” she repeated.

“One point two million was very overpriced—even for a home in the historic district.”

“No, I know.”

“Even still,” Ernie continued, “it's a great home. I don't think you'll have a problem selling once you put it on the market.”

She looked up at the giant pink house towering over her like some sort of castle. That would be true if it wasn't for the damn Easter egg color. “Thanks for letting me know, Ernie.” She hung up, climbing the steps to her front door and stopped, midstride, her eyes landing on the frogs facing backward on the middle step.
Dane.
She looked around over the banister and sure enough, a few hundred feet down the street was his truck, parallel parked between a Toyota and a Ford.

With a quick glance at the time on her phone, she unlocked the front door, peeking her head inside. She only had an hour until Lyle would arrive to pick her up for the next Elliot submissive lesson. She entered, dropping her purse on the table beside the door. Dane sat on her couch and quickly flipped his arm up, covering his eyes. “Don't shoot,” he said, grinning from behind his tanned forearm. “My eyes can't take another blast of pepper spray.”

“Don't worry,” she said, holding both palms out. “I'm unarmed.”

Dane pushed off the couch, but Jess waved him to sit back down and plopped down beside him, being sure to keep a couple of feet between them. “So, to what do I owe the pleasure of your little visit?”

“You went to dinner with Elliot the other night.” It wasn't a question. He wasn't even attempting to disguise it as one.

Jess's muscles bunched beneath her blouse. “Yes . . .”

“At his house.” Again, not a question.

A furious heat sprouted from deep in Jess's stomach and, like a fireball, rose up into her chest with a ferocity she couldn't control. “Have you been following me, too?”

“Too?”

Jess shook off his question. “No. Don't change the subject. Answer me, Dane.” She paused, crossing her arms. “Or should I start calling you
Daniel,
” she said, remembering the way Elliot had used his full name to get under his skin.

Dane's face softened. He reached out and took a stray curl that had slipped from her bun and twirled it slowly between his fingers. Though their faces were far enough apart that it shouldn't have been intimidating, there was an intensity in him that caused a shiver to run through her. “Don't play the game if you haven't read the rule book . . .
Jess.
”

“And you still haven't answered my question.”

“I didn't follow you,” he answered. “I don't play that way.”

Jess arched her eyebrow, not quite responding, but also not knowing what to say just yet. “So how did you know that I went to his home?”

“Lyle is a friend.”

Jess dropped her arms, simultaneously letting her armor down. For now. “Why would he tell you that?”

“He's loyal to Elliot. The man signs his paychecks . . . he has to be. But he—well, we all know there's something that Warner is hiding. Something huge. And he was bad for Cass. Despite what he will tell you. She changed when they met. She became something else entirely under his tutelage. I'll never forgive myself for introducing them.”

“You think he's why she got into drugs?”

“Believe it or not, this is about more than the drugs. This is about who she was. She used to have such joy. She laughed. She smiled.” Dane's voice cracked and he grunted a curse. After taking a moment to compose himself, he continued. “She would literally skip down the sidewalk when we would go to dinner. But after Elliot . . . it was like a darkness took hold of her.”

Jess found herself looking at a framed picture of Cass and Dane that sat on the mantel. They were hugging and seemed to be laughing, each holding a hammer. Jess couldn't imagine her sister skipping anywhere. “Maybe the joy was all a farce. A guise to get through life and hide the darkness.”

“Maybe,” Dane said. “But I doubt it. You didn't know her like I did.”

Though that statement was true, it still hurt like a kick to the chest. “No, I didn't,” Jess admitted. “Are you afraid Elliot will suck the joy out of me, too?”

“No. I'm afraid he'll stop you from finding joy and light. You're already consumed by darkness.”

His knuckle brushed across the back of her hand and couldn't help the jolt she felt as his gaze seared into her. He stood, pulling his keys from his pocket and reaching for the door.

“Dane,” Jess said, stopping him. “Tell me where you were the night Cass died? The truth this time.”

His grip on the doorknob tightened. “I was at a gas station outside of Boston.”

It was a lie. He knew it. She knew it. And he knew she knew it.

“Why won't you tell me the truth?”

“Let this go, Jess. I can't tell you anything more—”

“Can't? Or won't?”

He looked at her, darkness clouding his expression. “Won't. Because it would get you killed for sure.”