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The Taste of Murder

A Veronica Shade Thriller

Book 5

Patrick Logan

For my fans.

These stories exist for you and because of you. Thank you, always.

The Taste of Murder

A Veronica Shade Thriller

Book 5

Patrick Logan

Prologue

Mason watched the man in the suit for some time before making his move. Part of this was because he was waiting for the perfect opportunity, part because he had to figure out where the man kept his wallet—whether in the breast pocket of his suit jacket or the rear pocket of his pants—and part because he wasn’t sure about this mark.

It had been a good day thus far for Mason. Most of the time when he cruised the mall looking for people to rob, he was lucky if he got away with a hundred bucks from some rich girl who was on a shopping spree using cash they’d either saved up or gifted to them by their parents. Nowadays, cash was almost a thing of the past. And while this—robbing people— was his only means of survival, Mason was always hesitant to take credit cards or bank cards. Not only were they much easier to trace but with cameras everywhere, the likelihood of being caught on film using a stolen card was high. Cash, on the other hand, couldn’t be traced.

And Mason had never been caught, not officially, anyway. Even if he had been, it wouldn’t be the end of the world.

His name wouldn’t pop up on any local PD list or raise any red flags with the FBI.

Because Mason wasn’t his real name.

Still, he thrived on being anonymous and wanted to keep it that way.

Today was different. He’d scored $400 from three different marks already. This was better than a typical weekly haul for him, enough to sustain himself for some time. Mason considered just counting his blessings and leaving the Greenham Mall. Get a hotel room for the night, enjoy sleeping in a bed for once.

Treat himself.

But Mason didn’t know when an opportunity like this one would arise again. And if his troubled life had taught him anything, it was that when opportunity knocked, you opened the damn door.

The man in question had his back to him, and Mason could tell by the way his suit fit—perfectly despite his odd body shape, which was thicker in the middle and narrow shoulders—that it was expensive. He was talking on the phone too, which was always a good sign. People on their phones were distracted, and they wouldn’t think twice about the dirty, barely five-foot boy with his head down who accidentally bumped into them. Hell, with their ear pressed to their phone, they might even think the encounter was their fault.

But something about this man was off. In Mason’s experience, someone who spoke for this long on their phone—going on ten minutes now—was either conversing with a jilted lover or dealing with something work-related. This man, on the other hand, appeared to be doing neither. He said few words, and only rarely nodded to himself. 

Mason had initially considered that the mark was getting chewed out by a boss. But the man’s clean-shaven face betrayed no such thing. It wasn’t red and he didn’t get angry.

He just… listened.

The perfect mark, Mason thought.

This was forced, though, a positive affirmation, something to build up his courage.

But it worked.

Keeping his head down, Mason approached the man, making sure not to take a straight line to him but a more circuitous route so as to not raise suspicion. The back of his pants was flat, suggesting that he kept his wallet in one of his front breast pockets. His phone was in his right hand, which meant that he was right-handed. Right-handed people typically kept their wallets in the left breast pocket for easier access.

More difficult for Mason, but not impossible.

“How long?” the man asked when Mason was within earshot.

The man listened, said nothing else for close to a minute.

When Mason was within a few feet of the man, he stumbled, pretending to trip over a raised tile. When his elbow made contact with the man’s back, not very hard, just enough to get his attention, he naturally turned.

To prevent Mason from falling, the man grabbed him around the waist with his free arm. Mason leaned into him.

“Sorry, I fell,” he said, feeling heat rise in his cheeks.

“Watch where you’re going,” the man said sternly.

Mason apologized and disengaged from the man. He turned and, now facing him, started to walk away.

Snaking his hands behind her back, Mason slipped the man’s wallet—thick and heavy—into the back pocket of his ill-fitting jeans.

This was a good day.

Mason spun again and had taken just two steps before he felt a strong hand wrap around his right wrist.

This wasn’t the first time that someone grabbed him, of course. It was an accepted occupational hazard. Both previous times, Mason had screamed at the top of his lungs. Shocked by the outburst, he’d been released and didn’t hesitate: he ran.

And he’d gotten away.

Not this time, however.

Mason let out an ear-piercing shriek, but this only served to cause the man to tighten his grip.

“Let me go,” he said from between clenched teeth. Mason tried to yank his arm free but when that didn’t work, he resorted to scratching the back of the man’s hand.

“You bitch,” the man hissed.

Mason looked up at him, saw his face dead on for the first time, and froze.

He recognized the mark.

Mason knew those brown eyes, the frown lines flanking them.

What was worse was that Mason saw that the mark recognized him, too.

Oh, fuck.

Mason redoubled his efforts, twisting his arm first one way, then the other. With another sharp pull, he managed to wriggle free.

And then he started to run.

“Hey!”

Mason kept running. Having worked the mall for the better part of four months, he thought he knew every exit, all escape routes.

But the man’s face… it was him.

Last time he’d been made, Mason darted into a department store, hurried down the aisles, and exited through the delivery door.

He’d stayed away from the mall for two weeks after that close encounter.

But that time? That time, Mason had been chased by a stranger, a man with a limp.

Today, it was someone he knew.

And someone who scared the shit out of him.

Mason missed the department store—he ran right past it without slowing. When he realized his mistake, he considered doubling back, but the man was somehow gaining on her.

Leave me the fuck alone!

Mason took a hard right, headed down a corridor that led to the bathrooms. He considered ducking into the woman’s bathroom, waiting it out. He could flush the wallet, scream, tell anyone in there that he was being harassed.

Hopefully, a rich housewife would take pity on him.

But while most men would hesitate before barging into the women’s bathroom, giving him time to flush the bulky wallet, Mason knew that the mark would not.

The two bathroom doors were on the right-hand side of the hall, but there was a third door at the end marked ‘employees only’.

That was his destination.

“Stop!” the man shouted as he reached the hallway.

Mason, breathing hard, didn’t slow as he reached the door. His palms struck the push bar, and his wrists bent back painfully when it didn’t open.

He cried out, turned, and used his shoulder to push the metal bar.

The door still didn’t open.

“C’mon, c’mon, c’mon.”

Mason ignored the pain in his wrists and shoved the bar again and again.

“Please.”

It was locked.

And Mason was trapped.

He swiveled, pressed his back up against the door, and glared at his pursuer.

The man was grinning from ear to ear, standing with his feet shoulder-width apart, hands balled into fists.

“I’ll give it back,” Mason said desperately. He reached behind, clutched the wallet in the back of his jeans.

“I don’t want it back, I want you back.”

Mason felt his blood run cold.

The man did recognize him.

How? He’d cut his hair short, was practically wearing rags.

“Take it.” Mason pulled the wallet from his pocket and was in the process of bringing it around to the front when he heard a beep.

At first, this barely registered.

“Just—”

“You’re coming with me.”

Mason, desperate, turned a final time. Shoved the door.

It… opened.

What the hell?

Beside the handle was an electronic lock, like the kind you might see at a fancy hotel. And the small LED light embedded in the navy-blue box, which had to have been red before, was now green.

The wallet! Something in the wallet must have unlocked it when he brought it out in front of him.

“No!” the man shouted.

Mason understood all of this but didn’t take the time to process it.

He burst the door, expecting to find himself outside, and prepared to run again. Run until his lungs burst and his legs gave way.

Anything to get the fuck away from him.

But he wasn’t outside.

Mason found himself in another hallway.

The fuck am I?

Mason ran anyway.

This hallway was narrower than the one leading to the bathrooms. Longer, too.

Mason’s terrified mind couldn’t make sense of this. He knew the mall. Knew it well. He should be outside by now.

If he’d been thinking clearly, Mason would have thought of closing the door behind him. He had the man’s keycard in his wallet. What were the chances that the mark had a backup?

“Casey, stop!”

He was in. He was behind him.

Mason found another door and didn’t hesitate to swipe the wallet he still clutched in a sweaty palm over the lock.

It beeped and the light went from red to green.

Mason shoved the door open and stepped inside.

This time, he made sure to pull the door closed behind him. Held it that way.

On the other side, he heard the man’s heavy breathing. He struggled with the door, but without the key card, it wouldn’t open.

Cursing, the man resorted to pounding with his fists.

Mason closed his eyes and took a deep breath.

I’m safe. I’m—

“Who the fuck are you?”

Mason screamed and whipped around, ready to fight.

Fight for his life.

Because this wasn’t a regular pickpocketing gone bad. This was far, far worse. So much so that Mason would have preferred to have been nabbed by a cop.

A man dressed in a white outfit, his face covered with a plastic shield, stood before Mason.

“Stay the fuck away from me,” Mason warned.

“Who are you?” the man asked. He must have been breathing hard, too, because his face shield started to fog from the inside.

“Stay the fuck away from me!” Mason repeated, louder this time.

The man, confused, held his gloved hands up.

Mason looked past him, searching for a way out.

He tried not to let her eyes linger on anything other than an exit, but the room was so strange that he couldn’t help it.

And the man in the outfit wasn’t the only one here, either.

There were two more of them, both men, both dressed in the same strange outfits, and both as confused as the first.

There were tables, too. But rather than being covered with various outfits, overflow from the department store, a myriad of lab equipment sat atop them.

Beakers, Bunsen burners. An open flame.

One of the tables held a mountain of white powder.

Mason instantly knew what this was.

But as this realization took hold, he noticed something else.

The banging on the door behind him had stopped.

All three men in the room stared at Mason, shocked by his presence.

Then a voice bellowed from the hall.

“Open the fucking door!”

The man with his hands up cocked his head over Mason’s shoulder.

Using the distraction to his advantage, Mason reached out and shoved the man in the chest.

He staggered.

“Open the fucking door!”

Mason saw an EXIT sign on the wall toward the back right corner of the room.

He bolted.

“Open the door!”

Instead of reaching for Mason, the man he’d shoved went for the door.

Mason stepped around him, made a line for the exit.

One of the other men stopped what he was doing and tried to block his path. But on a normal day, Mason was fast.

Today, he was like a grasshopper.

He juked one way, then the next.

“Stop that kid!” The voice of the man whose wallet he stole was clearer now. He was in the room with them. “Stop the kid!”

Mason got around the first man, who seemed as athletic as a toddler just coming off a carnival teacup ride, but the second blocked his path.

Mason darted to one end of a table, while the man guarded the other side. He feinted as if to go one way, and the man matched her movements.

Same thing happened when he tried the other direction.

“Don’t let that kid go.”

The man was closer now.

Mason only saw one choice.

He dipped one way, and when the man again copied her, Mason shoved the table.

It struck the guy dressed in the plastic tarp in the hip and started to teeter. The eight-inch flame wavered as the Bunsen burner slid a few inches toward the edge.

Fuck it, Mason thought.

He grabbed the table and lifted it with everything ounce of strength he had. The table was cheap, just a thin metal frame.

It rose off the ground, and Mason twisted.

It toppled.

Someone yelled.

Mason ran.

Unlike the first two doors, the exit required no keycard to open it.

Mason blasted through, filling his lungs with fresh air.

Blinking the bright sun from his eyes, he knew that he shouldn’t look back.

But he couldn’t help it.

Before sprinting across the lot and disappearing into the forest that marked the boundary of the Greenham Mall, Mason glanced back into the room.

“Fuck you,” he whispered, her eyes meeting the man in the suit’s. “I’m never going back.”

Never.

PART I – Explosion

Chapter 1

The idea of speaking in front of a crowd still made City of Greenham Detective Veronica Shade uncomfortable.

And it probably always would.

It wasn’t glossophobia, the fear of public speaking, but she did feel a heightened level of anxiety. Her ears burned, sweat dotted her forehead and the bridge of her nose, and the arteries in her throat pulsed.

Sounds like glossophobia, and if she mentioned any of this to her psychiatrist, Dr. Simon Patel, he would likely agree that what she felt on stage certainly qualified for the condition.

But it wasn’t.

It was because of what happened on Marlowe.

God damn TV talk show. It was supposed to be a cush piece, something about being a woman in a male-dominated industry. It was also supposed to boost the public’s opinion of the Greenham PD after one of their own was embroiled in a stalking scandal.

Veronica gave two shits about either.

That was what the interview was supposed to be.

What it ended up being was an exposé on Veronica’s life.

All of her secrets, aired for all the stay-at-home moms to see. Not so bad. But then people started dying, including the eponymous host, and the video of her on Marlowe, which she desperately tried getting taken down, circulated all over the web.

Everyone knew about her synesthesia. The only saving grace was that the story was so unbelievable, so fantastical—smelling gas when someone lied, seeing flames in her vision when violence was inevitable, and seeing blue, hues when someone was nervous and sweating—that most just past this off as some superhero bullshit. The PD trying to intimidate local perps by pretending they had a Marvel Superhero on their staff.

Or one of The Boys.

But those who knew, knew.

And now… four months after her boyfriend Orange County Sheriff Steve Burns stepped down, here she was.

Veronica Shade, live and on tour, vying to become the next sheriff.

How the fuck did this happen?

She honestly didn’t know.

“Hey, you ready?”

The man’s voice was soft, caring. It belonged to the only detective who was younger than Veronica: Court Furnelli. Dark hair, dark eyes. Handsome, if a little on the thin side.

He looked fairly healthy, too, which was surprising given the fact that Veronica was fairly certain Court never slept.

And that wasn’t hyperbole.

Veronica honestly didn’t think that Court slept.

“Yeah,” she said with a sigh.

After shaking out her shoulders, she forced a smile onto her lips and approached the podium.

Behind her, her ‘team’, paltry as it was, took the regular posts.

Unsurprisingly, there were more people than usual. Typically, fifty to seventy-five residents would show up to Veronica’s campaign stops. There appeared to be nearly double that today.

The election was in two weeks.

Swing voters were eager to hear that one nugget that would tip them toward Veronica or toward the interim sheriff.

There was also the fact that they’d set up shop just outside the Greenham Mall. This had been her father’s, ex-Greenham PD captain and her campaign manager, idea. People who had just finished stuffing their bags with two-dollar shirts from Walmart would be drawn to the crowd and come over.

It looked good for the TV cameras.

Veronica, her face still plastered with that wan smile, gripped the sides of the podium and looked down. She didn’t have notes, never did.

Felt they made everything she said too orchestrated. Fake.

If Veronica was going to win this election—which was becoming exceedingly unlikely if the polls were to be believed—then she would do it only one way.

That was her only condition when Steve convinced her to throw her name on the ballet.

Honesty.

And not that faux honesty that big-time politicians made careers on.

As this thought echoed in her head, Veronica dropped the smile.

“Good afternoon citizens of Bear County,” she said. The speakers Peter had erected around the stage squealed and Veronica waited for the feedback whine to stop. “It saddens me to inform you that once again tragedy has befallen the city of Greenham.” The temptation for a pregnant pause was great, but Veronica didn’t give in. “Four people were murdered. Young people.”

Pause or not, this had people murmuring.

Veronica quickly continued.

“They all died from a drug overdose. Now, I know what you’re thinking. You’re thinking, Detective Shade, that wasn’t murder. That was their own doing. It was a choice they made. I disagree. There is an epidemic in Bear County, and it’s called heroin. Heroin laced with fentanyl. Over the past 18 months alone, there has been a 45% increase in accidental overdoses. Forty-five percent.” Now, she allowed time to sink in. In her periphery, Veronica caught sight of both her father and Steve shifting uncomfortably.

Good, let them shift—this should be uncomfortable.

This wasn’t the speech that her father and boyfriend had meticulously prepared for her. Not even close.

“But I don’t care much for percentages. I like real numbers. Between March 2022 and March 2023, there were 27 accidental overdoses in Bear County. During the same time in the following year? Thirty-seven. This year, we’re closing in on fifty. Fifty. And most of these, the vast majority of these, are in people under the age of thirty-five.”

Veronica leaned forward, tightened her grip on the sides of the lectern.

“I’m lucky. I’m lucky that I’ve never fallen victim to addiction. But I know people, people close to me who have. Good people. People like you and I.”

The urge to glance over at Steve was strong. A seasoned politician would have, subtly, to reinforce the point.

Veronica did not.

People could say what they wanted about people who used. They could say, oh, well, that was their choice. They dabbled. They could have said no.

And many in the audience today believed this.

If Veronica could speak to one of these people individually, she knew what she would say.

“Have you ever tried drugs? Just once? Maybe you had too many drinks while at a college party and someone convinced you to do a line? Or, maybe, someone gave you a joint that was laced with PCP or Angel Dust?”

Veronica knew the stats.

Twenty percent of college-aged kids have done drugs stronger than weed. And those numbers were self-reported. The actual number had to be much higher.

“Sure, I tried it. But I didn’t like it. Knew the risks. Never again.”

A likely response.

And a valid one.

But what made this person different from another student who tried something stronger and actually liked it?

“Willpower. They lacked the willpower to stop.”

Smug, but also probably correct.

It bothered Veronica that people in this world exuded such pride over things beyond their control.

Where did the willpower come from? Your genetics? Your upbringing?

The classic nature versus nurture. Neither of which you, as an individual, had any control over.

You were able to stop, they weren’t.

And this said nothing of people like Steve. People who had been in accidents and prescribed opioids. A doctor gave it to me, the FDA approved it for use. It must be safe, right?

Opioids are one of the most addictive substances ever discovered or invented. They highjack your brain’s reward system, exploit it, take it over.

And the withdrawal when you stop is real.

The supply runs out, and you seek other drugs to fill this void.

Primarily heroin.

Sheriff Steve Burns had been attacked by a Black Bear, his skin shredded to ribbons. He’d been given Oxy for the pain. A reasonable intervention.

Six months later he was a full-blown heroin addict.

Tell me where, in this scenario, Steve Burns went wrong?

“I won’t stand up here,” Veronica continued, “and make bold claims about cleaning up all the drugs in Bear County. I won’t claim that as Sheriff, I’ll accomplish what the federal government hasn’t been able to do in decades with their War on Drugs. What I will promise, however, is that—”

At first, Veronica wasn’t sure what happened. It felt as if the air was being physically sucked out of her lungs. And then, just as quickly, the pressure changed, went the opposite way, and her entire core puffed up.

A massive explosion ripped through the air, so loud and so powerful that Veronica was launched violently off the makeshift stage.

Chapter 2

Veronica landed four feet from where she’d once stood, her knees smashing into concrete.

The pain that shot up to her hips was the least of her worries. Her ears were ringing, and her vision kept vignetting like a cheap horror film.

Screaming… she heard screaming. The shrieks sliced through her ringing and plugged ears.

Veronica coughed, sputtered, and groaned.

On all fours, she felt her consciousness fading.

She dropped to one elbow.

“Veronica!”

Her name brought her back from the brink.

A man, a shadow, was coming toward her.

“Benny?”

“Veronica!”

He bent and put a hand beneath her armpit.

“You okay?”

Veronica allowed herself to be pulled to her feet.

“Steve? You’re… you’re hurt.”

Her own voice sounded muddled.

Steve brought a hand up to his forehead and his fingers came back coated in blood.

“So are you.”

Veronica repeated the same movements as Steve. She found a cut near her hairline.

“I’m fine. What the fuck happened?”

Blinking rapidly, Veronica’s senses returned to normal. Normal for her, anyway.

The people who had come to see her speak were scattered, some lying on the ground. The way that the stage had been positioned meant that Veronica and her team had taken the brunt of… whatever happened.

Someone wailed.

Steve pointed.

“Jesus Christ,” Veronica whispered, following his finger.

Half of the Greenham mall was gone.

Just… vaporized.

There was a fire, but at this distance, Veronica wasn’t sure if it was real or imagined. She tore her eyes away from the scene and searched for Court and her father. Before she could find them, that pained shout came again.

A woman was lying on her back, a man trying to help her to her feet.

“We should—”

Veronica pushed by Steve and walked over to the woman.

“She… she’s got a bad back,” the elderly man who hovered over the fallen woman said.

Veronica nodded and took over.

“Mrs. Langmore, just stay down, okay? Try not to move. An ambulance will be here soon.” As if on cue, sirens filled the air. Veronica turned to Mr. Langmore. “Can you keep her here? Just make sure she doesn’t move too much.”

“Yeah,” he said gruffly. His eyes drifted to the cut on Veronica’s forehead. “What the hell happened?”

“I don’t know.”

Veronica spotted her father and Steve off to one side. She hurried over, wincing at the pain in her shins.

“We have to get people out of the mall.” Veronica interrupted. “Now.”

“Already called it in.”

Detective Court Furnelli came out of nowhere, his dark eyebrows knitted in a severe expression.

“I know but there may be—”

Once more, Veronica was cut off.

It wasn’t quite an explosion that stole her words this time, more of a resounding ‘pop’. This was followed by a hiss.

“What the fuck?” she said under her breath. The four of them stared at the mall. A cloud emerged from the opening created by the initial explosion. A darkening, as if the weather had an abrupt change of heart, deciding to go from calm and clear to threatening in a moment of weakness.

A bomb was one thing. A bomb could be innocuous, a faulty boiler, a failed valve of some sort.

Potentially devastating no matter the intent. But this… this was something different.

The first thing that came to mind was a dirty bomb.

A biological weapon.

“We need to get everyone away from the mall,” she said.

When neither of the three men, Court, Steve, or Peter, looked away from the looming cloud that continued to darken and grow, she grabbed the person closest to her.

It happened to be Court.

“We need to get everyone away from the mall,” she repeated.

Court’s eyes widened.

“I—I—”

Veronica let him go.

Others had noticed the dust cloud now and were commenting, pointing. The shock from the initial blast was wearing off and panic was starting to build.

The podium had been knocked to the ground as had one of the speakers. The second large speaker, attached to a portable stand, had fallen against a tree and was still mostly upright.

Veronica grabbed the podium and hauled it upright. She’d been worried that the mic had been damaged but the intense whine that the single remaining functional speaker emitted proved this not to be the case.

“Everyone!” she yelled over the constant feedback. “You need to get away from the mall!”

Veronica gestured wildly, but only a handful of people paid any attention to her. They were all transfixed on the cloud now hovering a good twenty feet above the mall.

“Get away from the mall!”

More sirens drew Veronica’s attention back to the mall. Two Greenham PD squad cars and one Bear County Sheriff's Department vehicle raced into the parking lot.

“What the fuck are they doing?” she whispered. The mic picked up her words. “Get away from the mall!”

The words were directed at the officers, who were, inexplicably, exiting their squad cars.

“God damn it.”

Veronica left the podium and grabbed Court.

“You need to call Greenham PD,” she instructed. “Tell them to stay away from the mall. Call McVeigh, too. No one is to go near that place!”

Court immediately grabbed the mic on his lapel and started barking orders.

She saw Peter and Steve trying to get people moving. They were a good hundred, hundred and fifty yards from the mall, but the cloud was still growing. The air was relatively calm, but even so, Veronica didn’t think that it would take more than fifteen or twenty minutes before the whole area was bathed in whatever it was.

A car squealed to a halt near the crowd of people.

When Veronica saw the big man with the thick lips get out and adjust his belt, Veronica ran to him.

The pain in her shins was but an afterthought now.

Interim Sheriff Marcus McVeigh was as perplexed as the majority of onlookers.

“McVeigh!” Veronica shouted as she neared the man. He didn’t turn. “McVeigh!”

Now the man’s head shot in her direction.

“Detective Shade? What the hell—”

“We’ve got a dirty bomb. We need to clear the area now.”

McVeigh’s eyes widened.

“A dirty—”

“Could be Anthrax, could be—”

“Fentanyl,” the man whispered.

Veronica’s heart skipped a beat.

Fentanyl? If they breathed that shit in, they’d all be dead.

“McVeigh? Now! Get people out of here. And call in the DEA.”

Chapter 3

It wasn’t a forest, per se. The half a square block of Douglas Firs and Western Hemlocks was dense, the canopy at this time of the year thick enough to block out nearly all sunlight.

But it wasn’t difficult for Mason to find his way through the trees. He knew the place like the back of his hand.

And he should.

He lived there.

Mason ducked beneath a low-hanging Douglas Fir branch while lunging over a fallen Hemlock. There was a path that cut through the ‘forest’, leading from the back of the mall to a catwalk and into the subdivision, but Mason needed the cover of the forest to stay hidden.

He used his arm to push branches from his face as he continued deeper into the forest, forced to slow from the thick vegetation. Within a few minutes, he arrived at his camp. It wasn’t much but had everything he needed.

A tent, to keep out the elements, a small induction burner that he’d managed to convert from AC power to battery, as well his few belongings, mostly clothes.

Not many people entered the forest. Some of the kids in the subdivision used the path to cut through to the mall and rarely strayed. Back when Mason had first found the place, there had been a company hired by either the mall or the city—he never figured out which—that would cut the lawn bordering the edge of the forest and on the other side, near the fence.

This stopped after a few months and never started up again. Budget cuts, apparently.

Once, Mason had come back after a less than successful pick-pocket session at the mall to find all of his things pulled out of his tent and strewn across the ground. Nothing had been taken, though; he kept his ‘finds’ buried nearby. Another time, a junkie had been sleeping in Mason’s tent. He’d managed to rouse the man. He was confused, disoriented. Kept talking about someone named Kirsta.

Mason had initially been angry but when this was only met with the same emotion, quickly changed tactics. Instead of pushing him toward the brink of violence, which he sensed the addict was very close, Mason convinced him that ‘Kirsta’ was a couple of blocks away, looking for him.

He never saw the man again.

Mason’s tent was thankfully empty today. With a sigh, he unzipped the front flap and ducked inside.

He closed the flap behind him.

Despite just being a run-of-the-mill tent, the fabric old and worn in places, it gave him a sense of calm.

And Mason needed calm right now.

The man… they recognized each other. After all this time? How was that possible? And with everything that Mason had done to change his appearance?

Impossible.

Yet…

In the safety of the tent, Mason pulled the wallet he’d stolen from the man from his back pocket.

It was new, the leather not broken in. Nearly bursting.

Despite what had happened at the mall, Mason’s eyes bulged when he saw the contents of the wallet.

“Holy shit.”

There were eight crisp one-hundred-dollar bills inside.

“Holy shit.”

Mason eyed the bills for a moment then rubbed them with his thumb and index finger. They felt real. They had to be real. Why the hell would—

The forest was nearly always quiet. Sure, it was home to birds and squirrels, chipmunks, and of course, field mice.

But during the day, they pretty much kept to themselves.

Now, it was deathly quiet.

And still. The air, typically stagnant, was suddenly soupy. Thick. Unmoving at all. Mason looked up through the vents at the top of the tent. The branches weren’t moving.

And then they were.

Sensing that something was wrong, Mason reached for the zipper on the door flap. He managed to get it halfway open before a massive thunderclap reached him.

Mason’s ears popped and the tent billowed as if from a strong wind.

“What the hell was that?” he whispered.

The wind stopped as quickly as it had begun, and Mason finished unzipping the tent and got out.

Money and wallet still in hand, he retraced his steps to the edge of the forest.

As soon as he was close enough to see out through the tree trunks, his jaw fell open.

“Oh. My. God.”

The loading area near where he’d come from less than ten minutes was gone.

Just… gone.

Rubble littered the parking lot and flames licked the corners of the concrete structure.

Mason was transfixed by the flames. The way they danced, the way they kept growing.

There was a hiss, audible even at this distance, and Mason instinctively tensed.

A much smaller explosion followed.

But Mason knew that this one, despite being nowhere near the magnitude of the first, was far more deadly.

A cloud of white powder burst from the opening created by the initial blast and then passed through the fire. Something happened then, some chemical reaction, and it became a cloud on the other side.

A deep, dark, brooding cloud.

This was terrifying. But it wasn’t what sent Mason running again.

That was attributed to the man he saw stumbling out of the wreckage. His suit jacket was on fire, as was his hair. Mason, transfixed with fear, watched in horror as the man struggled to pull his jacket off. He managed and threw it to the ground. Then he slapped at his head.

The flames went out.

At any moment, Mason expected the man to collapse. If not from the fire, then from the noxious cloud he was wading through.

He didn’t.

Instead, the man continued to move.

Continued to walk toward Mason and his forest.

Now, for the second time that day, Mason turned and ran.

Chapter 4

They say that having too many cooks in the kitchen makes for messy meals. The same can be said about having too many different law enforcement agencies at one crime scene.

So far, Veronica counted four: the Greenham Police Department, the Bear County Sheriff’s Department, the DEA, and the State Troopers. There were rumors that the FBI and ATF would soon be joining them but who knew with those guys.

There was one benefit to having so many agencies present: more hands.

They’d set up a quarantine zone in record time. A thick plastic tent, not unlike one that might be erected for a backyard wedding, encompassed the entire area where Veronica’s speech had taken place.

A separate tent, a much smaller one, had also been constructed. Off to the side, this was reserved for law enforcement and others involved in Veronica’s campaign who had been exposed to whatever that shit coming out of the mall had been.

Aside from Mrs. Langmore, who EMS suspected had a cracked vertebra, all other injuries were superficial, Veronica’s and Steve’s included.

The law enforcement officers who had come after the three cars that had recklessly driven directly into the mall parking lot were all sporting respirators.

McVeigh was in charge. At least, it certainly seemed that way to Veronica, who was in the smaller tent.

Despite running for Bear County Sheriff, Veronica was still a Greenham PD Detective. The captain, Pierre Bottel, who had replaced her father, had been very much in favor of her bid to become sheriff and gave her as much time off as she requested. Today had been one such day.

Veronica wasn’t wearing her uniform but, staying close to Court, she kept up to date on what was going on outside the tent.

The Bomb Squad had sent a robot into the mall equipped with a speaker. Any people in the mall were instructed to leave immediately and were sequestered by law enforcement once outside. Once the mall was deemed all clear, the Bomb Squad would enter, and the real damage could be assessed.

The gray cloud, which was now hovering directly over the tents, had thinned somewhat, but the CDC hadn’t been called in yet and they had no idea what it was.

“I need to be out there,” Veronica muttered, mostly to herself.

“Me too,” Steve said.

Her boyfriend’s voice drew her gaze. He was much healthier looking now that he’d kicked his addiction, but even the short time that he’d been injecting heroin had aged him considerably. The stress of Veronica’s campaign wasn’t helping, either.

Veronica turned to Court.

“You have masks in your car?”

“I have one in the trunk,” he said with a nod.

“Where are you parked?”

Court moved closer to the front of their tent, which, unlike the opaque sides, was made of clear plastic.

He peered through the people moving around outside.

“There, by the curb. Just behind the sheriff’s car.”

Veronica thought she could just make out the front bumper.

She nodded, then moved Court aside.

“Hey!” she said, drawing the attention of a deputy she didn’t recognize.

The man noticed her and his nose scrunched. He didn’t approach.

“Hey!” Veronica repeated.

The deputy begrudgingly came to the tent.

“What is it?”

“I need a mask,” Veronica said.

The man shook his head.

“Civilians are to stay inside the tents while—”

“I’m not a civilian,” Shade said angrily. She couldn’t tell if the man didn’t recognize her, the only opposition to McVeigh’s bid for permanency in the sheriff position, or was just being a dick because of this fact.

“I’m sorry but—”

“Get her a mask,” Court said, coming forward. The man eyed his uniform.

“Don’t have any extras,” the deputy said flatly.

“I’ve got one in my cruiser. It’s just—”

“Sorry,” the man said with a shrug. He started to back away.

“Don’t be an asshole. Get us masks. We need to get out of here.”

The deputy pretended as if he didn’t hear her.

“Hey! Deputy!” Veronica raised her voice loud enough now for others to take notice. “Get us masks!”

Greenham PD Captain Pierre Bottel was one of the men who noticed. He excused himself and made his way toward them.

“What’s going on?” Bottel asked the deputy who Veronica had spoken to.

“They want masks, and I don’t—”

Even behind the mask, Veronica could tell that Bottel was displeased by this.

“Get them masks.”

Even though the captain had no authority over the Bear County Deputy, he knew better than to argue.

Less than a minute later, the man returned with two masks. He passed them to Bottel who, in turn, unzipped the tent just wide enough to slip them through. Veronica took the first one, put it over her head, and adjusted the straps. Detective Furnelli took the other and did the same.

“We need two more,” Veronica said as she stepped out of the tent.

“For?” Bottel asked.

Veronica frowned.

“Peter and Steve.”

Furnelli joined her outside and the deputy zipped the tent closed behind them.

“Detective Shade, civilians are to remain quarantined until we figure out what the hell this cloud is.”

“Civilians? Peter—”

“Might I remind you that you are off duty, Detective Shade?” Pierre said.

Motherfucker.

She turned to look at Steve.

“Just go,” he said, shaking his head disapprovingly.

Veronica grimaced and avoided looking at her father.

“What happened, captain?” Furnelli asked in a weak attempt to break the tension.

The three of them started toward the men who were speaking in hushed tones.

“No idea. Bomb Squad hasn’t gone in yet.”

“We should go with them,” Veronica said.

“No,” Bottel replied flatly. “We let the Bomb Squad do their thing.”

Veronica bit her lip. She hated waiting around, doing nothing.

“Detective Shade,” Sheriff McVeigh said with a nod. The man standing beside the interim sheriff was DEA Agent Troy Allison. Like the Bear County Sheriff, the DEA Agent was a large man. The main difference was their outfits—a tan uniform with a gold star for McVeigh, a bulletproof vest with DEA stamped on the front for Allison—and their hair.

McVeigh’s was a reddish brown.

Allison had none.

The DEA agent was even less cordial than the sheriff. He gave her a simple nod.

“Bomb Squad robot has found the location of the explosion. A room near the loading docks.”

“Boiler room? Electrical?” Veronica couldn’t help herself.

McVeigh’s frown was visible even from behind his mask.

“No. Don’t know what it is—storage, they think. One of my deputies is getting blueprints of the mall.”

The man appeared to be waiting for another outburst from Veronica but, sensing this, she actually managed to stay quiet.

McVeigh nodded to himself as if he’d just won a battle.

“According to the bomb squad,” the interim sheriff continued after another pregnant pause, “the integrity of the structure appears stable. They’ve identified three bodies inside the mall, all in the general vicinity of the explosion. There are a handful of others with minor injuries from the blast, but it seemed to have taken place away from the main area. They’re being treated in a tent close to the mall.” McVeigh took a moment to glance around. “Good thing this happened in the middle of the day on a weekday. Would have been much worse if it happened on a weekend.”

Bottel nodded at this.

“We should set up a—”

“Task force,” McVeigh finished for the captain. “Agreed. I’ll head it up. I want representatives from the CDC, State Police, and from Greenham PD. I also want DEA—”

Now, Veronica jumped in.

“DEA? We don’t even know what caused the explosion. Could be faulty wiring or something.”

Veronica didn’t really think that it was ‘faulty wiring’, but she wanted to plant some seeds of doubt in the interim sheriff’s mind. She also wanted nothing to do with DEA Allison. She knew the man’s reputation, knew what he’d done to her partner. Loathed him for it.

“Could also be terrorism or drug-related,” McVeigh quickly countered. He shot a look in Allison’s direction and the two exchanged a nod. Veronica hated had buddy-buddy the two had become. “Until we know for sure, DEA will remain involved.”

Veronica’s gaze shifted to Captain Bottel, expecting him to come to her aid. He was the senior officer here, older and with more experience than likely all of the others combined, and the explosion had taken place on Greenham property.

Bottel let her down.

“This going to be a problem for you, Detective Shade?”

Veronica balked.

Is this going to be a problem? Hell, yeah, it’s going to be a problem. McVeigh and I are battling it out for the Bear County Sheriff position. DEA Allison put my partner behind bars,  and her current boyfriend, and ex-sheriff, Steve Burns had some sort of sordid history with the State Police.

But Veronica knew that if she said any of these thoughts that ran rampant inside her head, Bottel wouldn’t hesitate to replace her in the task force. She knew why McVeigh was insistent on taking the lead on this case. A swift resolution would do wonders for the man in the polls. While Veronica cared more about figuring out what the hell happened than what this would mean to her campaign, she was cognizant of the fact that if she sat this one out, it would pretty much seal the election for McVeigh.

Not the end of the world for her, but both her father and Steve had put in significant hours to support her campaign.

Why did I choose to do this again?

The answer came quickly.

I didn’t. I was voluntold.

“No,” Veronica said flatly, holding her captain’s gaze.

“Good. We should—”

The captain stopped speaking, his eyes drifting over Veronica’s shoulder. She turned, saw a massive blacked-out bus pull up to the edge of the park where she’d held her press conference.

Everyone watched as a handful of people filed out of the bus. They were dressed in full hazmat uniforms, all white plastic, complete with duct-taped wrists and ankles.

They looked ridiculous.

The leader of the pack who, judging by stature alone—it was next to impossible for Veronica could tell with her face hidden by the mask—was a woman, looked skyward, then surveyed the scene.

McVeigh gestured for her to come over, but the woman took her time, looking to the tents of the civilians, to the mall, and then again upward at the cloud above them.

She snapped her fingers, started barking orders to the other CDC members, and then finally made her way to the group.

“Dr. Amy Cross,” the woman said to no one in particular. “Who’s in charge?”

McVeigh puffed up his chest and stepped forward.

“I am. Bear County Sheriff Marcus McVeigh. This is—”

He was in the process of introducing the other members—the ‘task force’—huddled around, but this Dr. Cross was having none of it.

“And you set up these tents?” The woman flicked a gloved hand toward the tents that housed the people who had attended Veronica’s speech.

McVeigh’s confidence wavered.

“Yes. That was—”

“They’re not good enough,” Dr. Cross said sharply. “They need to be hermetically sealed. Airborne pathogens will easily enter their airspace if it isn’t contaminated already.”

“We’re still not sure what we’re dealing with here. We thought—”

“Even more reason to make sure that they don’t inhale whatever it is. My people will put them in proper quarantine zones to prevent contamination. But I’ll be honest with you, Sheriff McVeigh, everyone here is probably already contaminated.”

Despite the ominous words, Veronica couldn’t help the small smile that crept onto her lips. She hoped that her mask hid her amusement at McVeigh being put in his place.

The smile vanished when another car arrived, pulling up next to the bus that was bustling with activity now as the men and women in suits started setting up their equipment.

It was a State Trooper Cruiser.

And Veronica wasn’t surprised when a familiar and detested man got out.

Chapter 5

“Furlow, your lawyer is here to see you.”

Fred Furlow raised his head from his hands. He peered out through the bars of his cell.

He knew the guard who stood on the other side of the cage. Knew him well. After his arrest, Freddie had been sent to holding in Multnomah County Jail—the DEA had decided that putting him in Greenham PD’s custody or in Bear County Jail was a bad idea.

Within 48 hours of his arrest, Freddie was paraded in front of a judge and the charges were read.

Fred still remembered this exact moment, even though it had taken place nearly six months ago now.

“Mr. Frederic Almonte Furlow, you are here to be formally arraigned on the charges brought against you. The charges are as follows.

Count One: Theft of Government Property, in violation of Title 18, United States Code, Section 641.

It is alleged that you knowingly and unlawfully stole property valued at over $1,000, namely, a quantity of heroin, from the evidence locker of the Matheson Police Department.

Count Two: Possession of a Controlled Substance, in violation of Title 21, United States Code, Section 844.

It is alleged that you knowingly and unlawfully possessed a Schedule I controlled substance, specifically heroin, in a quantity exceeding one kilogram

Count Three: Tampering with Evidence, in violation of Title 18, United States Code, Section 1519.

It is alleged that you knowingly and unlawfully concealed evidence with the intent to obstruct an investigation.

The maximum penalties for these charges are as follows:

For Count One, up to ten years in prison and fines.

For Count Two, up to one year in prison for a first offense, or longer if aggravating circumstances apply.

For Count Three, up to twenty years in prison and fines.

Do you understand the charges against you?”

Fred did. Of course, he understood. He’d been on the other side of countless numbers of charges being read during his career as a Greenham PD Detective.

He’d been unsurprised when the ADA had recommended that bail be denied and even less so when the judge had agreed.

Afterwards, Freddie had been remanded to Multnomah County Jail until his trial.

The deputy who had been tasked with babysitting Freddie until that time was Carl Vlasic, who everyone called ‘Pickles’ for obvious reasons. When Pickles had first put him in the cell in which he stayed until this day—as a detective, he’d been given solitary confinement for safety reasons—had told him that they’d met before.

He’d described the scenario, but Freddie had drawn a blank. The deputy was on the slighter side, with a harelip. Not much for speaking, which suited Freddie just fine. Not judgmental either, at least, not outwardly so. Perfunctory, professional.

“What do you mean ‘my lawyer’? I just met with him yesterday.”

As he spoke, Freddie turned and put his hands through the slot in the door and Deputy Vlasic applied the cuffs. He was used to the procedure by now.

“New one. Woman. Says her name is Kristin Newberry.”

Freddie faltered.

After he’d been arrested, the Bear County coroner and real estate lawyer had been his first call. She’d dropped everything, even the work she was doing on the strange case of David Taylor and a series of murders that the media had since dubbed ‘The Angel Killer’, of which Freddie and his partner Veronica had investigated, to come to him.

Only to break the bad news. Not only was Kristin not qualified for a criminal case of this magnitude, but the clear conflict of interest on account of them working together on several cases was a nonstarter.

She had, however, contacted a colleague she’d gone to law school with who had gone on to become one of the top criminal defense attorneys in the State of Oregon: Bradley Cummings.

Freddie had heard of the man although never directly worked against him. He was expensive, prohibitively so.

But Kristin had assured him that it wouldn’t be an issue.

Whether Bradley was representing Freddie as a favor to Kristin or if she was paying for his services out of his own pocket, Freddie didn’t know and had never asked.

If he had to guess, it was the latter, because Bradley put in a lot of hours on this case. Worked hard. Diligently. No easy task considering how much Freddie was unwilling to share with the man.

Just yesterday, they’d met. The ADA had finally broken down and had offered a plea deal. Bradley, as was required, shared the proposal with Freddie.

He’d also recommended that Freddie turn the deal down, use it as a starting point for negotiations.

Freddie hadn’t hesitated.

He’d signed the offer.

So, what the fuck was Kristin doing here now?

Deputy Vlasic said nothing as he led Freddie down the dingy hallway toward the interview room.

“She’s already in there waiting,” Deputy Vlasic informed him.

He unlocked the door, and Freddie kept his head down. Vlasic unhooked his cuffs, then reattached them to the loop on the table.

The deputy left them, locking the door behind him.

“Fred? How are you?” Kristin said.

Freddie finally raised his eyes and looked at the woman across from him. Immaculately dressed, with her gray hair pulled up into her trademarked bun. She looked tired and old, but then again, she always did.

Freddie ignored her question.

“What are you doing here?” he asked. His throat was dry and he debated asking Deputy Vlasic, who he knew was waiting on the other side of the door, for some water.

He decided against it. Better not to prolong this meeting.

“Okay, fine,” Kristin said with an exhale. “What are you doing, Freddie?”

Freddie… there was only one person who used to call him that. And it wasn’t Kristin.

“What do you mean?”

“Look, I don’t know what you did or didn’t do. And to be honest, I don’t care. But this deal?” Kristin placed her hands flat on the metal table and paused for a moment. “You can’t take this deal. You can’t.”

Freddie had heard something similar from his own lawyer, only the word ‘can’t’ had been substituted with ‘shouldn’t’.

“I already signed it.”

“I know! And you shouldn’t have. You—”

“How do you know about it? It’s privileged.”

This, too, Bradley Cummings had made clear.

Kristin scowled.

Then she opened her mouth to say something, changed her mind, then said, “Ten years, Freddie. Ten years. And no possibility of parole for eight. Do you know how long that is?”

Freddie knew. Of course, he knew. He also knew that if his case went to trial, he could be facing as many as thirty-one years behind bars.

But that wasn’t why he’d signed the deal.

“It’s signed,” he reminded Freddie. He was tired. So damn tired.

“I know it’s signed. But Bradley hasn’t passed it on to the ADA yet. He doesn’t have to for forty-eight hours. You still have time.”

“Time for what?”

Kristin was exasperated.

“To tell him to tear it up! Don’t do this, Freddie! This is just a starting point. They offer you ten years today, tomorrow it’ll be nine. Wait until they go down to four—they’ll do four and you’ll only have to serve two.” Kristin was desperate now. “Please.”

Freddie sighed.

He hadn’t expected this, hadn’t foreseen Kristin coming here. In the back of his mind, he’d hoped that someone else would have appeared at the table across from him.

He knew that she was currently on the campaign trail, that she was busy. But not to visit him? Even once?

Freddie had been behind bars for nearly six months. Six months.

And not once had his partner, his friend, Veronica Shade, stepped foot in the Multnomah County Jail.

“I’m sorry, Kristin. It’s done.” Freddie looked over his shoulder. “Deputy?”

Vlasic started to unlock the door.

“I can’t help you, Freddie, unless you tell me what’s going on.”

Freddie ignored her, kept his eyes trained on the door as Deputy Vlasic entered the room.

“Freddie, please. Tell me what’s going on. Tell me what happened, why you’re doing this.”

The deputy unlocked the cuffs, reattached them behind Freddie’s back.

“I can’t help, Freddie, unless you let me in.”

Freddie pressed his chin to his chest.

“Freddie! I can’t help! I can’t help you if you’re not willing to help yourself. Freddie! Freddie!”

Chapter 6

Veronica had thought that McVeigh and his team had been efficient when it came to setting up the tents. Dr. Cross and the CDC were next level.

Within thirty minutes, the tents that Bear County had set up were encapsulated in new tents, these ones complete with negative pressure regulators. The civilians were confused and upset, rightfully thinking that they hadn’t been properly protected before.

Dr. Cross assured them that all necessary precautions were being taken to ensure their safety. Shouts of terrorist attacks, Anthrax, and biological weapons went ignored.

Veronica only caught part of this, as all law enforcement were sequestered on the bus.

There, they had blood drawn and then individually entered a booth, again with negative pressure. Afterward, they were suited up in those plastic monkey suits. They prioritized members of the task force as there was a limit to how many outfits were available and when they ran out the remaining cops and deputies were sequestered with Peter and Steve.

Wrapped in the suit, Veronica met with Dr. Cross outside.

“I’m Detective—”

“I know who you are,” Dr. Cross said sharply. Even though the thick plastic shield muffled her voice, the woman’s disdain was easy to interpret.

“I’m part of the task force.”

“I know.” The woman was busy inserting an air sample into a machine that looked like an old-fashioned fax machine, one of the large, commercial ones. “I should have an idea of what we’re working with in a half hour.”

“Good.”

Veronica left the woman to do her work and walked over to Captain Bottel who was emerging from the CDC mobile unit.

He tugged at the waist of his suit.

“Any update from the Bomb Squad?” she asked.

Pierre grumbled something about his outfit before saying, “They’re almost done. So far, they’ve found no additional explosives.”

“Then we should head over there,” Veronica said, her eyes drifting to the mall. The fire raging on the south side where the explosion had taken place seemed to have burned itself out. Her gaze drifted upward, next. The cloud was thinning. More of a thin mist now than a full, cumulus mass.

“Not our call,” Bottel said flatly.

Her eyes still focused upward, Veronica said, “There are probably people still in there.”

“Sheriff McVeigh is leading the task force. He’ll make the call.”

“I know but—”

“Detective Shade, are you going to be able to work with Sheriff McVeigh? Because if not, I will pull off the task force right now. Replace you with someone else.”

Veronica ground her teeth and now she glared at the captain.

“I’m fine.”

“Detective Shade, I—”

“I said, I’m fine.”

Captain Bottel opened his mouth to say something, but he was interrupted by the next person out of the truck.

The size of the man was enough to clue Veronica into who it was even before seeing his face or hearing his voice.

“If it isn’t Veronica Shade,” State Trooper Phil Crouch said. “Glad you could take time out of your busy promotional schedule to join us.”

Veronica bit her tongue. She knew that Captain Bottel was still watching her.

“I’m surprised you’re not hitting the talk show circuit.”

Just when Veronica thought she could contain herself no longer, the captain stepped in.

“Let’s keep this professional, Crouch.”

The Trooper chuckled and he held up his thick, gloved hands.

“Hey, I’m part of the voting contingent. Just wanna give advice to the candidate.”

“Right now, Detective Shade is part of this task force. Let’s keep that in mind.”

“Oh, sure. Keep the task force on task, am I right?”

Bottel grunted.

“Okay,” McVeigh said, appearing from the rear, “Bomb Squad has cleared the mall. Who’s coming?”

“Me,” Veronica said without hesitation.

McVeigh nodded in her direction then turned to Crouch.

The man grinned. He had no upper lip to speak of, but when he made this face, the man was all teeth.

“Wouldn’t miss it for the world.”

***

Four members of the task force met up with a handful of CDC employees at the side entrance to the mall, the location nearest the explosion: Veronica, Crouch, McVeigh, and Allison.

Way too much body fat and testosterone for Veronica’s liking, but like the captain had said, this wasn’t her show.

In addition to the Bomb Squad and the CDC, there were a handful of fully garbed EMTs on standby.

Sheriff McVeigh shook hands with the leader of the Bomb Squad, who was a carbon copy of all the other men on the scene.

“As I told you, did a full scan of the mall with R2-D2. It’s clean.”

“Any idea about the nature of the explosive?” McVeigh asked.

The Bomb Squad leader shook his head.

“Nope. Took some samples, and will run them when we get back to the base. But it’s safe for now.”

Veronica waited for the man to offer them vests—despite his claims of it being safe, they could never be absolutely certain there wasn’t another explosive device hidden somewhere—but the man did not.

“What about people in the mall?” Veronica asked.

“Didn’t see anyone.”

McVeigh turned to her.

“Most came out immediately after the explosion. EMTs treated them on-scene—mostly minor injuries—and now the CDC is taking over, keeping them quarantined, as well.”

Veronica scowled. This is why she didn’t like not being the lead. It had nothing to do with her ego, but the fact that she rarely had all of the information unless she was the one in charge.

Still, she considered that they’d gotten incredibly lucky. If the explosion had taken place in a more crowded area, or during a delivery, they could have been dealing with multiple casualties.

“I’ll lead the way,” Bomb Squad leader said. They fell in line behind him and then started into the mall through a side entrance.

It was slow and noisy going. The mall itself was eerily silent, but their plastic suits made an annoying swish sound with every step.

There was a general haziness in the mall from the fire but the smell that Veronica expected to inhale was non-existent on account of the filters built into her suit.

Another thing she failed to notice was blooms of color. A place like this, a place where an explosion had just ripped through the mall, perhaps from a terrorist attack, she expected to see colors everywhere.

The familiar red, oranges, and yellows of past and impeding violence.

Nothing.

Veronica closely observed her surroundings. There was a jewelry shop immediately across from where they’d entered, which was shuttered up. It reminded her of the case that she and Freddie had been working will the Bear County Sheriff’s Department was searching for a serial killer called ‘The Dollmaker’.

“Looks like someone was in no rush to get out,” Trooper Crouch said, noticing her stare.

“Hmm.”

They continued past a small food court, a telecom company, and a bookstore. The latter made her think about Steve. A true book lover, the ex-sheriff had been so busy at work that he’d rarely had the opportunity to open a book. But now that he was jobless—his work on Veronica’s campaign notwithstanding—the man always seemed to have his nose in a book.

“Explosion originated down here,” the Bomb Squad Leader informed them. He pointed down a hallway leading toward the bathrooms. The entrance to the hall was intact, but just beyond the bathrooms, things got dicey.

The door had been blown off its hinges and the frame was warped, the opening out of true.

“Down here.”

Veronica was third in line when they reached the opening. Her eyes were drawn to the keycard reader beside the door, which was mostly intact despite the carnage.

Trooper Crouch whistled.

“This is where shit went down.”

He was one ahead of her and stopped. Veronica nudged him forward.

The man was right.

The entire wall on the left-hand side had been reduced to rubble, almost entirely gone.

“What is this? Storage?” one of the men asked.

They fanned out, and Veronica moved toward the opening. It appeared to be just that, a storage room of sorts, although it was unclear if it was mostly empty before, or if whatever items had been held here had been destroyed in the fire.

Soot marred the walls on the left and right and the ceiling was scorched. The opposite wall was also gone, giving Veronica a clear view of the outside.

The floor in the interior of the room was littered with twisted metal. Veronica expected to see the burnt remains of piles of clothing, maybe, but there wasn’t much.

“We can enter,” the Bomb Squad Leader said with a chuckle. “It’s safe.”

Veronica let him go first.

She slunk forward, stepping over what she suspected had once been a metal table. Then she spotted the bodies. Three of them. Like them, they were wearing some sort of hazmat suits, although Veronica doubted that Dr. Cross from the CDC would have approved of them.

Two were face down, their limbs twisted in odd directions beneath them.

Clearly dead.

The third was against what was left of one of the side walls. Also, dead.

His entire face shield was covered with blood on the inside.

“We need to get CSU in here to take fingerprints.” Veronica stepped toward the third corpse as she spoke. Her foot crunched on broken glass.

“On stand-by,” McVeigh said in a tone that suggested he wasn’t in favor of being told what to do. “As soon as we clear the site, they’ll come in.”

Veronica was tempted to tell the man that the Bomb Squad had already marked the place as safe but said nothing.

She squatted in front of the fallen man. It wasn’t just blood that coated the inside of his visor, but there were porridge-like chunks mixed in as well.

At the bottom, in the curved portion that tucked beneath the man’s chin, was a single eye. It was red and stared out at Veronica almost accusingly.

Fuck.

Veronica shuddered.

“We took some samples of some of the burnt shit on the ground; hopefully, we’ll get some information on what they were keeping in here,” Bomb Squad Leader said matter-of-factly.

None of the men in the room seemed perturbed by the fact that there were three dead bodies that they shared the room with.

“Are they employees?” Veronica asked.

“No clue,” McVeigh said with a shrug. “We’ll know more once they’re printed.”

Veronica backed away from the body and toward the opening leading to the outside. Broken concrete blocks littered the first few feet of the parking lot.

In the distance, she spotted a small forest. She was focusing on this when DEA Allison spoke up.

“I don’t think we gonna have to wait for those results to come back.”

Craning her head around, Veronica saw the burly Agent holding up a charred piece of brown paper. Although most of the symbol had burned away, there was still enough for all of them to know what it was.

A snake eating an eyeball.

Chapter 7

“Hi,” Cole Batherson said. “Welcome to Des Moines’ Flowers. How can I help you today, sir?”

“Need flowers. Roses. Gotta be nice.”

Cole gestured at the multiple buckets of prewrapped roses on the shelf behind him.

“All of our flowers a nice here Des Moines’s. Would you like a single? Six or a dozen? If the lady is very special, then a dozen can really make an impact.”

Cole smiled broadly when he said this, but his expression was not mirrored by the man across from them. Upwards of 300 pounds, in a lot of ways, this man reminded him of Freddie Furlow prior to his transformation. Not in attitude—the man’s lower lip jutted far enough for a bird to perch on the he was so contemptuous—but in sheer size.

And they had equally terrible style.

“How much for six?”

“Welllll,” Cole began drawing out the word. He was enjoying playing proprietor for Mr. Grumpy Pants. “Roses are three dollars apiece, six for 15, a dozen for 27, and—”

“$15 for six?”

“Yes, sir.”

“That’s insane. Do you have seconds?”

Cole raised an eyebrow.

“Seconds?”

“Yeah, you know, ones that ain’t perfect. If you give me a dozen of those on the cheap, I’ll buy ‘em.”

“I’m sorry, sir, we don’t have seconds.” Cole made air-quotes around the final word. “Not at Des Moines’ Flowers. Only the best at Des Moines’. Now, if you’re too cheap to buy roses for your wife, might I suggest daisies?”

The man’s face hardened… as much as a man with this much fat could harden.

“What’d you say?” He leaned forward.

“I said, if you’re too cheap to buy roses for your wife maybe you should get some daisies.”

“They ain’t for my wife,” the man spat.

“Right.” As he said this, Cole reached beneath the counter, removed a folder, and laid it flat before him. Then he opened it and pulled out a full-color 8x10 photograph of this fat man, naked, and wrapped in an embrace with a woman who, as per his admission, was not his wife. “Well, Greg Montembault, I really think that you should reconsider. Get the Daisies for this woman,” he planted a finger on the image, “and not one, but two dozen roses for your wife.”

The man made a face, something akin to a smile, then his cheeks pulled back.

“Who are you?” He tried to retreat, but someone had come up behind him.

“Excuse me,” Dylan’s Hall said. At six foot nine, he towered above Greg. And while the other man was nearly three times his weight, Dylan’s height was still intimidating.

“Who the fuck are you guys?” Greg demanded, realizing that the man behind him, who refused to back up, was in on this.

“We are Redemption Agency,” the two men said in unison.

“Who?” Greg’s eyes darted. He was searching for a way out. Dylan gave him none.

“Redemption Agency—the private investigator firm that your wife hired to see if you were fucking around,” Cole said jovially. He shoved the photo back in the folder and then slapped it against Greg’s belly. “Which, of course, you are.”

The man licked his lips.

“What do you want?”

Cole tapped his chin and looked skyward.

“Let me see here… your wife is paying us a thousand bucks to take some sexy photos of you and your mistress, so if you match that, then well,” he tapped the folder again, “you can keep these. What do you say, Dylan?”

The tall man shrugged.

“Sounds good to me.”

When Greg reached behind him, Dylan tensed. But he was only going for his wallet. He pulled out three twenties and a five.

“I only have 75 bucks.”

Cole now indicated the ATM to his right.

“We have a solution for that.”

Twenty minutes later, Greg handed Dylan a thousand dollars and left Des Moines’ with the photos.

No flowers, though.

When he was gone, Dylan said, “You really gave the photographs to Greg?”

“I did,” Cole said.

He left it at that, gave the actual proprietor, who had been hiding in the back, a hundred bucks, and the two of them left the shop.

They walked in silence to the car and both got in, with Cole behind the wheel.

Before starting it up, he reached across Dylan’s knees, popped the glove box, and pulled out another folder.

He passed it to Dylan.

“Open it,” he said.

Dylan did not, but he did break into a smile.

“I gave Greg a copy of the photos,” Cole said with a smirk, “but these are going directly to his wife. Fucking scumbag.”

“You’re pretty good at this PI stuff, aren’t you?”

Cole blew on his knuckles and used them to polish an invisible star on his chest.

“Much better than I was at Internal Affairs. You wanna grab something to eat? I’m thinking about treating myself tonight. Steak and potatoes… what say you, Dylan? Much better than that shit there were feeding you in lockup, am I right?”

Chapter 8

They spent the next ten minutes scouring the area for evidence and additional explosives.

They found little of the former and none of the latter.

Their efforts were half-hearted as many of their questions had been answered when DEA Allison found that scrap of paper.

They gathered what they could, then left the mall. Outside, McVeigh conversed with garbed-up CSU techs, and Veronica overheard him telling them to process the bodies and take fingerprints. When he inquired about the coroner, the sheriff was informed that Kristin Newberry had been indisposed and would arrive when she could.

Veronica excused herself and made the long walk back to the CDC trailer.

She asked someone if they knew where Dr. Cross was, and they informed her that she was taking a call and would be back in a few minutes.

“Any update?” Captain Bottel asked.

Veronica jumped. She hadn’t noticed the man's approach.

Court Furnelli was by the man’s side.

“Found a piece of paper with that drug symbol on it.” Furnelli inhaled sharply but Bottel did not react. “There was broken glass on the floor. Warped tables. The Bomb Squad is still processing evidence, but I’m thinking that this was probably an accident,” Veronica continued. “Three dead.”

Now, Bottel spoke up.

“Civilians?”

Veronica shook her head.

“No. All in protective equipment.”

“They were packing the stuff in there? In the mall?” Furnelli said, incredulous.

“Seems that way.”

“Jesus Christ.”

Veronica shared the detective’s sentiment. The drug problem in Greenham—all of Bear County, really—was no secret. Hell, she’d been speaking about this very thing in her speech when the explosion had occurred. But they’d all been under the assumption that the drugs had been coming from somewhere else—Portland via California, most likely.

This, the fact that a drug packaging lab was here, in Greenham, meant something else entirely.

It could just be a small outfit, an outpost where the incoming product was opened, cut, and repackaged. That was the best-case scenario.

Otherwise, they were looking at a much bigger problem than anyone expected.

“Has anyone seen sheriff McVeigh?” a woman asked from near the CDC bus. “Sheriff McVeigh?”

Veronica nodded at the captain and the three of them walked over.

“Dr. Cross?” Bottel said.

The woman eyed him up and down.

“I’m looking for Sheriff McVeigh.”

“He’s on his way back, just finishing up at the mall,” Veronica informed the woman.

“What’ve you found?” Bottel asked.

For a moment, it looked as if Dr. Cross was going to ignore the question.

“And you are?”

“Captain Pierre Bottel of the Greenham Police Department. These are detectives Shade and Furnelli. We’re part of the task force.”

Dr. Cross hesitated, glanced toward the mall, then said, “Come with me.”

They followed the woman toward the bus and then boarded it.

“This is a Gas Chromatography-Mass Spectrometer unit,” she said, indicating the device that Veronica had seen earlier. “I inserted an air sample to try and determine what the cloud above the explosion—above us now—is comprised of.”

Dr. Cross indicated the screen embedded in the side of the machine.

“The good news is that it isn’t a biological weapon. The bad? I’ve identified two major peaks, which you can see here. The larger one is Diacetylmorphine and the smaller, fentanyl.”

“Di…acetyl…” Furnelli, who missed the second word, stammered.

“Heroin,” Dr. Cross said. “The cloud is a mixture of heroin and fentanyl.”

None of them were surprised by this.

Veronica knew that she should be happy about this, happy that the cloud wasn’t Anthrax or something worse, but she couldn’t help herself from thinking about the implications.

“Dr. Cross, can you estimate how much heroin had to have been present to create a cloud this big?”

Dr. Cross snapped her fingers, not easy to do with the gloves she was wearing, and a man at the back of the bus raised his head.

“Dr. Eggers? You done with those calculations, yet?”

“Not done, but I can give you an estimate.”

Veronica gave credit where credit was due; the no-nonsense Dr. Cross had already asked the same question.

“And?”

“Lots of variables involved, including how much particulate matter, like pollution and—”

“Dr. Eggers?”

“Right, sorry.” The man’s face reddened slightly behind the shield. “Anywhere between ten and thirty kilos.”

Veronica’s jaw dropped.

Shit.

Even Captain Bottel seemed taken aback by this as he was forced to clear his throat before asking, “And the street value of that much heroin?”

His normally authoritative voice sounded meek.

“Depends on the day,” Dr. Cross said. “But I’d say on the low end, two million dollars.”

It was as if all the air had been sucked out of the bus. Didn’t make sense, not with the respirator units embedded in their suits, but Veronica still had a hard time breathing.

“Two million dollars,” Furnelli repeated.

The detective’s words hung in the air and felt far thicker than the cloud of heroin and fentanyl.

“How long before it disperses?”

“Depends on the wind. Probably two hours. Four to be safe.”

There was a knock on the bus door. McVeigh opened it and the man stepped aboard.

“Tell McVeigh what you just told us,” Bottel instructed.

Veronica excused herself, squeezed by the big man.

She walked over to the tent that housed her father and Steve.

Both men were standing at the front as she approached.

“Veronica? What’s going on? They aren’t telling us anything in here,” Peter Shade said, desperation in her eyes.

Even though the tent was filled with law enforcement, Veronica waited until she was close before answering. Even then, she kept her voice low.

“We’ve got a problem,” she said. “We’ve got a big fucking problem.”

Chapter 9

Despite dating Steve, Bear County’s ex-Sheriff, Veronica had only been in the headquarters a handful of times.

And she’d never been inside this room. While the building itself was dated, the conference room that interim sheriff McVeigh had set them up in before leaving to take a call, was newly renovated. The large table that they sat around now was made of live wood on brass legs. There was some sort of communication device in the center, which was a cross between a conference phone and some sort of… well, Veronica didn’t honestly know. The thing looked like a router and USB hub all in one.

On the wall opposite the door was a large, 60” TV with a webcam mounted on top. If Veronica had to guess, the contraption in the center of the table was used to connect to the TV for conference calls and for talking to the International Space Station.

The chairs were also new, Herman Miller, and expensive.

Veronica wasn’t complaining, though. They were comfortable and she collapsed into one. The ends of her hair and the back of her shirt were still damp with sweat, despite having taken off the suit almost an hour ago.

Muted blue hues filled the room.

She wasn’t the only one sweating.

Veronica was joined by Captain Bottel, DEA Allison, Detective Furnelli, and State Trooper Lieutenant Phil Crouch. The latter had managed to find peanuts somewhere in the building and was now popping them into his mouth and crunching them.

It was incredibly annoying.

Twice, Crouch had attempted to start up a conversation with her, but Veronica was having none of it. She’d seen how Steve and the man had interacted while hunting The Dollmaker and while she was not privy to the details of their relationship back when both had been with the State Police, she knew that they had a history.

Even if they hadn’t, Veronica would have still detested the man.

McVeigh opened the door and stepped inside.

“Sorry about that.”

He walked over to the bulky thing in the center of the table and set his phone down.

“I was hoping to bring a few more men in to join the task force,” DEA Allison said without provocation.

McVeigh pressed a button on the remote, and the TV monitor turned on.

“I think this group is big enough,” Captain Bottel said.

“My men have experience. They know about this supplier. They can help,” Allison shot back.

Like Phil Crouch, Troy Allison also had a reputation. It was a well-known fact that in law enforcement, favors were exchanged. Wife of an officer drank a little too much and drove home. They get pulled over, drop that little tidbit of information and they’re taken home, a warning issued.

Not with Troy Allison. The man extended no favors to no one.

And Veronica hated him, too.

Troy Allison was the one who had put her partner behind bars.

“I think that this group is large enough,” Bottel said.

“You would think that,” Allison shot back, leveling his eyes at the captain. “Seeing as you have three representatives from Greenham and only one of each of us.”

“The bomb went off in Greenham,” Bottel said simply.

“It was a goddamn heroin operation,” Allison countered with a scoff. “That makes this DEA territory.”

“Last time I checked, Greenham is in the State of Oregon,” Crouch said, leaning back and popping another peanut into his mouth.

“All I’m saying is that we should even things up. Three each,” Allison suggested.

“You want twelve people in here?” Bottel said. The man’s mustache twitched.

Veronica wasn’t used to seeing her boss like this. In their house, what the man said, goes.

“Enough,” McVeigh bellowed. “This is the fucking task force, okay? The six of us. If anyone has a problem with that, you can leave now.” He paused. “Good. I don’t want to hear any more about this.”

A win, Veronica thought. Three of us, one of them.

This sort of posturing wasn’t something that she usually bothered with but with this crew? She suspected that this might be important later.

“Okay,” McVeigh said, flopping down into his chair. A photograph of the burnt piece of parchment that appeared on the screen was a blueprint schematic on screen. “Allison, what do you know about this product?”

“Out of Columbia. First showed up years ago in New York City, linked to the Mayor. Got shut down. Then about eight months ago, baggies started showing up in Oregon. I don’t know who’s running this shit, but it ain’t like anything we’ve dealt with before.”

“You mean the overdoses?” McVeigh asked.

“Yeah, but not just that.” Allison leaned forward. “Normally, you catch one of these scumbags, squeeze ‘em, and they squeal like the pigs they are. Will sell their mother’s couchie to stay out of jail. Not these guys. They won’t say nothin’.”

The way McVeigh was nodding suggested that he knew this story and was letting Allison expound for their benefit.

This was confirmed when McVeigh used his phone, now detached from the console but evidently still linked, to switch to the next slide.

Mugshots of two Black men appeared on screen.

“Meet Damien ‘Toots’ Blackwell and Kendrick ‘Trigger’ Holchester. We had a…” McVeigh suddenly stopped speaking, and his eyes darted to Veronica.

Veronica, not sure what was going on, just stared back.

McVeigh cleared his throat.

“Well, you know the rest.”

I do?

Phil Crouch, also out of the loop, popped a handful of peanuts now.

“Hey,” he said with his mouth full, “I’m as much of a fan of inside jokes as the next guy, but care to fill me in?”

Crouch winked at Veronica.

Actually winked at her.

“What the hell?” she said, straightening.

“What’s wrong with you?” Furnelli said.

“What?” Crouch swallowed.

“Why did you—”

“Detective Furnelli, please keep this on task,” Bottel warned.

Crouch’s smile grew.

“But—”

“Furnelli.”

The man glowered at Crouch and Veronica forced herself to remain calm. She couldn’t tell if Crouch’s actions were just because he was an asshole or by design to get her off the case. She didn’t know.

Either way, if she blew up now, the result would be the same.

McVeigh intervened by continuing with the story he’d allowed to trail off.

“Sheriff Steve Burns had been undercover, attempting to infiltrate the drug ring. Unfortunately, during one of these interactions, he was forced to inject some of the product and suffered an overdose.”

Veronica stared intently at McVeigh as the man spoke. She knew the truth. Knew that while Steve had overdosed, but not because he’d been forced to do anything. Although Steve had never explicitly said so, Veronica could read between the lines.

Following the bear attack, Steve had become addicted to painkillers. When his prescription ran out, he turned to other means to get his fix.

That just happened to be heroin.

So, no, he hadn’t been ‘forced’ to inject the product while he’d been undercover. He’d done so willingly.

“Really?” Crouch chuffed. “That’s why he—”

“On topic, Crouch,” McVeigh warned.

The man fell silent.

“Where are these two now?” Bottel asked, indicating the two cons on still on the display.

“No idea,” Allison said. “After what happened with the sheriff, they fell off the face of the earth.”

“So, who’s dealing this shit then?” Crouch asked.

“We don’t know,” Allison replied.

Another scoff out of the lieutenant.

“Like I said, nobody’s talking.”

“Agent Allison, the CDC thinks that there was upwards of ten kilos of heroin in the mall. Have you come across any quantities of this magnitude?”

Allison shifted his bulk.

“Ten kilos? No. The largest has been about a kilo.”

Now, like Crouch and McVeigh moments ago, Allison’s eyes were trained directly on Veronica.

What the hell is going on here?

“Where?” McVeigh asked.

“In Matheson,” Allison said. Now, he glared at Veronica. “And your partner had it.”

Chapter 10

Now, Veronica understood.

“This is fucking bullshit,” she said.

As before with Furnelli, Captain Bottel warned Veronica by saying her name sternly.

It didn’t work.

“You arrested my partner and—”

“Your partner had a kilo of heroin on him,” Allison said, his face turning red. “A fucking kilo. You don’t think he deserved to be arrested?”

“The same kilo you tried to pin on Dylan Hall?”

Allison chuckled.

“Your partner planted it on him! He walked into the evidence room, stole a—”

“I’m done with this shit. Freddie Furlow is not a heroin dealer.”

“Shade!” Captain Bottel bellowed.

“He’s not? He’s not? We’ll see. The ADA just offered him a plea. We’ll see if he takes it.”

The smug expression on DEA Agent Allison’s face was too much. A blur of warm colors filled her vision as she jumped to her feet. It took Veronica a few seconds to realize that they were coming from her.

“Detective Shade!” Bottel shouted again.

“Everyone calm down!” McVeigh demanded.

“No! This is bullshit. I won’t sit here and listen to these two talk shit about Steve or Freddie.”

“Take a walk, Detective Shade.”

Veronica’s eyes darted from Allison to Crouch and finally to her boss.

The man’s face was red.

“Now.”

Veronica had no choice. Not because of her boss’ order, but because she knew if she stayed in this glammed-up conference room a moment longer, she would lash out.

She rushed out of the room, tried to slam the door behind her.

She wasn’t granted the satisfaction—the heavy pneumatic hinge preventing it from closing with anything other than a less-than-satisfying hiss.

Veronica paced up and down the hallway, trying to force her anger to subside. Several deputies hustled by but, thankfully for them, they paid her no heed.

Those motherfuckers, dragging Steve and Freddie’s names through the mud. Isn’t it enough that Steve was forced to step down? That Freddie is in prison?

The hiss of the pneumatic hinge announced someone else exiting the room.

She whipped around, saw Detective Furnelli, his head down.

“You hear them in there?” she hissed. “You fucking hear them?”

“I heard.”

“How dare they?” Veronica’s anger was returning, and she saw more colors now.

“I heard it, Detective Shade. But you need to calm down.”

She was about to lash out at Furnelli but stopped herself at the last moment. It wasn’t his fault. None of this was his fault.

“What are they saying in there?” she asked harshly. The conference room was surrounded by windows, but the blinds were all drawn.

“Crouch and Allison want you off the task force. The captain is doing everything he can to convince McVeigh to let you stay on.”

Veronica snarled, considered heading back in. Furnelli must have realized this, too, because he slid in front of her.

“I don’t want to tell you what to do,” Furnelli said softly. He waited for her to say something to discourage him from continuing. Veronica kept her mouth shut and he eventually continued. “But we need to focus on this case. We can deal with Freddie and Steve later. Now, we need to figure out where these drugs came from.”

Deal with Freddie and Steve? Deal with them?

Veronica took a deep breath.

Furnelli didn’t mean anything by it. He’s just trying to help, Veronica told herself.

And he was right.

The door opened again, and this time Sheriff McVeigh stepped out.

He looked pissed.

“This can’t happen,” he said.

Veronica knew that this could go one of two ways. She could lash out, get her two cents worth, and be taken off the task force. This wouldn’t stop her from investigating, nothing save from being locked up herself would stop her from doing that, but it would severely limit her options.

“I’m sorry,” she said, going with the second option. “It’s just… fuck, my bad.”

McVeigh eyed her and Veronica grew uncomfortable.

What does he want from me?

“I’m trying here, Detective Shade. Really trying.”

And he was. Veronica could see that. It wasn’t just what Furnelli had told her about what had transpired after she’d stormed out of the room. While her primary focus was her own campaign to become sheriff, it would have been negligent to ignore what McVeigh had been doing. Even if she’d tried, it would have been next to impossible: McVeigh’s ads were everywhere. On billboards, on radio, on TV.

The man had deep pockets.

But on none of these ads that Veronica had seen or heard, had McVeigh ever mentioned Steve or Freddie. A less scrupulous opponent would have jumped at the opportunity to slander the men, mention their less than complimentary criminal records, and imply corruption on Veronica’s part for being so close to them.

“I’ll behave,” she said.

“I can’t have this,” McVeigh said, shaking his head. “We can’t have this. There are three dead and as much as thirty kilos of fentanyl-laced heroin to deal with. I can’t have the task force at each other’s throat.”

“I’ll behave,” Veronica promised.

McVeigh appeared to be weighing his options. Veronica knew that the best course of action for the man’s political career was to cut her loose. Take all the glory for finding out who was behind this, and use it to ensure that he was elected Sheriff.

“Sheriff, I can help. I can—”

But the man’s mind was already made up.

Just not in the way that Veronica had thought.

“One more outburst, and you’re going to leave me no choice.”

“Thank you.”

McVeigh sighed and wiped blue sweat from his brow.

“Okay, let’s go back in.”

Chapter 11

Veronica refused to look at any of the men as she sat back down.

“I’ve warned you all,” McVeigh said. “One more outburst and I’m cutting you all loose.”

Nobody said anything.

“Where was I?” McVeigh clicked something on his phone and the image on the monitor changed from the two convicts to a blueprint. “I managed to get a map of the mall. The are you see here, in red, is where the explosion originated.”

Veronica, still angry but having since calmed down somewhat, stared at the screen. The red outline encapsulated the northeastern section of the mall. She saw store names in some of the other blocks, including the stores that she’d seen with her eyes when she first entered.

The area in red had no such description.

“What was that space? Storage?” Veronica asked.

“Don’t know,” McVeigh asked. “Managed to get the plans from the Greenham Town Hall. This is what they had.”

“Who owns the mall?” Allison asked. Veronica continued to resist the urge to even so much as glance in the man’s direction.

“Don’t know that either.”

“C’mon. The Town Hall must have—”

McVeigh cut off the DEA Agent mid-sentence.

“The plans were submitted by an LLC. Tried to look them up, but got the runaround. Shell corporation after shell corporation.”

Something about this comment triggered a memory in Veronica.

“There was a lock on the outer door near the bathrooms,” she said, picturing the device on the wall. “One of those ones that you need a card for. Can we check who was using it?”

“And do we have a list of mall employees?” Furnelli piped up.

“Not presently, no,” McVeigh said.

“What about security cameras? I noticed some in the mall.” Allison now.

“I don’t have any of that. Like I said, I don’t know who owns the mall. Once I figure that out, I can look into everything you guys just mentioned.”

“And how long is that going to take?” Crouch asked.

“I don’t know.” McVeigh was growing increasingly frustrated. “I have a few deputies on it. I’m hoping by end of day.”

Crouch grumbled something under his breath.

“Are the people who were in the mall at the time of the explosion still in quarantine?” Veronica asked.

McVeigh nodded.

“Spoke to Dr. Cross from the CDC earlier. She wants to keep them for another hour or so. The good news is that none of either the people in the mall or those who were attending your press conference, Detective Shade, are experiencing any symptoms related to heroin or fentanyl exposure.”

“So, it stands to reason that the security guard is amongst them?”

Now, McVeigh shrugged.

“I don’t have a list, but yeah.”

Veronica rose to her feet and tapped Furnelli on the shoulder.

“Furnelli and I will see if he’s there. And when the quarantine is over, we’ll get him to show us the security footage.”

“Sounds good.”

“I’ll go with you guys,” DEA Allison said, also standing.

“No. I want you and Lieutenant Crouch to go through all your contacts, everyone you know who might be moving this quantity of dope through Bear County.”

“I’ve already told you that no one is talkin’,” Allison repeated.

“Right now, we’ve got nothing,” McVeigh said. “Literally nothing. Push your contacts, exploit CIs. Somebody has to know where ten fucking kilos of heroin came from and how it’s being distributed.”

***

“Thanks for that, back there,” Veronica said as she passed the first of a series of police barricades cordoning off the area surrounding the Greenham Mall.

“No problem,” Furnelli answered from the passenger seat.

Veronica rolled down the window, flashed her badge to a cop in a respirator.

“You know where Dr. Cross from the CDC is?”

“I think she’s still on the bus they came in on.”

“Thanks.”

Veronica found the woman exactly there—back on the bus.

“Dr. Cross?”

The woman was in the process of loading blood samples into a machine that was similar to the GC-MS device that she’d used to determine what the cloud floating in the air was.

“Just a second,” she said, placing the vial of blood into a holder and closing the lid on it. She clicked a few buttons on the attached laptop and the machine started to whir. “What can I do for you, Detectives?”

“How’s the air quality? Can we take these off?” Veronica tapped her mask.

“Checked the air just fifteen minutes ago. Particulate matter is low, but I recommend—” This was good enough for Veronica, and she removed the stuffy mask from her face. She massaged her cheeks where the straps had been pressed against her skin. “—keeping it on.”

Dr. Cross frowned, but Detective Furnelli, likely inspired by her actions, removed his mask, as well.

“You two are clean, by the way. Finished running your blood. No HEROIN metabolites in your blood.”

Veronica nodded—she’d expected as much. Even though she was here to speak to the mall security guard, her thoughts turned to Peter and Steve.

“How long are you going to keep people in quarantine?”

Dr. Cross’ eyes dropped to the mask in Veronica’s hand.

“Another hour, just to be sure. So far, nobody has shown any adverse reactions. I think the force of the explosion helped… it pushed the powder high up in the atmosphere. Had it been smaller, we could have had dozens of overdoses to deal with.”

Thank God for small favors.

“Think I can take the security guard into the mall? We want to check camera footage.”

“I have no problem with that. So long as everyone wears a mask.”

Another quick, disapproving glance at both Veronica’s and Furnelli’s respirators.

“Thanks.”

They left the bus and Veronica turned to Furnelli.

“See if you can find the security guard, I want to speak to Peter and Steve,” she said. “Wait for me before you go into the mall.”

Furnelli nodded and headed off toward the quarantine tent just outside the mall while Veronica made her way over to the tent close to the bus.

Steve and Peter came to the front and peered out through the plastic front.

“What’s happening?” Peter asked.

Blue waves came off him. The tent must have acted like some sort of greenhouse; all law enforcement officers were sweating.

“Nothing,” Veronica said, keeping her voice low. “McVeigh hit a wall trying to find out who owns the mall, just running into number companies.”

Out of the corner of her eye, Veronica saw Steve frown, which she attributed to the mention of the interim sheriff.

“If we can get an employee list—”

Veronica cut her father off.

“The sheriff’s working on that. You guys should be out in an hour, as soon as the CDC determines that it’s safe.”

“We need to do some damage control,” her father continued, ignoring her comment. “We were live when the explosion went off. People are going to want to know what the hell happened.”

“Can you guys take care of that?”

“It would be best if you said something in front of the camera.”

That was the last thing Veronica wanted to do right now.

“Maybe later. Do what you can, I’ll speak to you both after we’re done here.”

“Veronica—”

“Later,” she repeated, not looking at her boyfriend.

“Be safe.”

Veronica walked away, headed toward the mall.

Before meeting up with Furnelli, whom she saw standing in front of the tent, she approached the Bomb Squad Leader.

“Detective Shade,” he said with a nod. Veronica didn’t return the greeting because she couldn’t remember the man’s name.

“Any idea what caused the explosion?”

“Looks like acetone was used as an accelerant. Still running some tests, but if I had to guess, I think that this was accidental.”

Veronica nodded.

It was looking more and more like this was just an unfortunate event. And Dr. Cross was right; they had gotten lucky.

“And the structure is still safe?”

“Yes, ma’am. My engineers have determined that the explosion did not weaken the overall structure of the building.”

“Good.”

Veronica left the Bomb Squad Leader and went to Furnelli next.

“Found the security guard. Name is Conner Blackwood.”

Veronica looked at the man at the front of the tent. He was young, in his twenties with shaggy dark hair and pale features.

“Connor?”

“Yes.” His eyebrows lifted.

The tent had a double door system and Veronica unzipped the first section and stepped inside, zipping it back up behind her.

She opened the second part next.

“Put this on,” she instructed, passing Connor her mask.

“Wait, he’s leaving?” an elderly man said.

Veronica ignored him, which was the wrong decision. The tent, which housed at least two dozen people who had been in the mall when the explosion went off, all started talking at once.

“Why does he get to leave?”

“How long do we have to stay here?”

“Was it a terrorist attack?”

“You have no right to keep us here.”

Veronica grabbed Connor’s arm as he slipped the mask over his head.

“Come with me.”

The man who had initially spoken came right up to Connor, his intent on leaving with the security guard.

Veronica aimed a finger at the man’s chest.

“Stay here.”

“But you can’t—”

“One more hour, then you’ll be free to leave. Stay here.”

The man stepped back, but Veronica continued to point at him for a moment longer.

Convinced that he wouldn’t try to leave again, Veronica pulled Connor out of the first entrance, zipped it behind them. Furnelli opened the second door.

“Where… where we going?” Conner asked hesitantly as he fell into step beside Veronica and Furnelli.

“Back to the mall,” Veronica said, her eyes locked on the building. “You’re going to show us exactly what happened before the explosion went off.”

Chapter 12

“It’s… so empty,” Conner remarked.

The mall was empty, but the remark still caught Veronica off guard. With the stranglehold that online companies such as Amazon had on shopping, she thought that malls being empty was pretty much par for the course.

Although she personally tended to stay away from places like malls—empty or not, just being around a handful of people messed with her synesthesia—she didn’t think they were nearly as popular as they used to be.

“Is it usually busy this time of day?” Veronica checked her phone. It was almost four in the afternoon now.

“I mean, not busy busy, but there’s usually a bunch of kids and stay-at-home moms hanging around.”

“You notice anything different today?” Veronica asked as they continued to walk deeper into the deserted mall.

“Nope. Same old. Not much going on.”

“What happened when you heard the explosion?”

“I was working at my desk, heard the bang. People started yelling, and I did what I was trained to do.”

“Which is?”

“Evacuate. I saw a few people, confused, told them to get the hell out. Then I left.”

They neared the hallway leading to the bathroom where the explosion had gone off.

“What’s down there?” Veronica asked.

“Bathrooms,” Conner answered simply.

“Beyond the bathrooms?”

Conner hesitated.

“I… don’t know.”

“What do you mean, you don’t know?” The three of them stopped at the mouth of the hallway.

“I dunno. Never been down there. I mean, I’ve been in the bathrooms—sometimes shoplifters go there to put on their stolen clothes or to shove them in their bags or whatever.” His eyes locked on the open door at the end. “Never been in there, though.”

“Ever seen anyone go in there?”

“I… don’t think so. Is it like a loading bay?”

Veronica ignored the question.

“Do you have a keycard?”

“A… keycard?”

“Yeah, to open the mall or whatever.”

“The doors are locked by a regular key.”

Veronica shot him a look.

“Oh, but I do have a card.” Connor patted his pants, then the breast pocket of his uniform shirt. He pulled out a thick, credit card-sized card. “I usually use it for—” Veronica took it from him. “—the storage rooms.”

“Furnelli, take Conner to his desk, get him to show you the security camera footage.” As she said this, Veronica pointed up at the camera mounted at the entrance of the bathroom hallway.

“Got it.”

Veronica walked toward the card reader on the wall beside the broken door. It was still mostly intact, and the red light was now blinking. She tried to remember if it had been doing this earlier when she’d come in with the Bomb Squad. She didn’t think so.

Veronica took the card and waved it near the box. At first, nothing happened. Then the light went solid red, then the box emitted a strange whine.

It went back to blinking.

Veronica tried again but was met with the same result.

She slipped the card into her pocket.

Then she stepped over the rubble.

“Hello?”

No answer. Nor were there any swashes of warm colors, reinforcing what she’d previously thought: this wasn’t a violent act, but an accident.

“Hello?”

When there was still no answer, Veronica assumed that CSU had already removed the bodies. That was good. Hopefully, they’d be able to identify them from their fingerprints.

Veronica left the hallway and headed back to the mall proper.

She found Furnelli and Conner huddled over a computer behind a circular desk near the center of the mall.

“You find anything?”

Furnelli craned his head around.

“Still trying to find the footage. Did the key work?”

Veronica shook her head and Furnelli’s dark eyes narrowed.

“Conner, did anyone ever tell you what was behind that door?” Veronica didn’t feel the need to specify which door.

“No. When I was hired about six months ago, they gave me a tour of the entire place. I remember asking what was back there, but I was told it was just storage. Never tried my card or had any reason to ever go in there.”

“You see anyone go in there?”

“No. I don’t think so.”

“And who gave you the tour?”

“The man who hired me.”

Veronica grunted.

“His name?”

“Uhhh, Harold, I think? Harold Schultz.”

“How’d you get the job?”

Conner rolled his chair back and Furnelli took over at the computer.

“Applied.”

“Where?” This was getting annoying.

“Oh, you mean, like, where did I see the posting?”

Veronica just stared.

“Online. Found it on a popular job site. Just applied and they called the same day. Did a short online interview and they told me I was hired. Told me to come in for a tour and orientation at the end of the week.”

“And that was six months ago?”

Conner shrugged.

“About that.”

“You have any experience in security?”

Now, he shook his head.

“No. This is my first job.”

Veronica soaked all of this in, not sure what it meant. It could be that whoever was doing the hiring wanted someone young, someone who was just happy to have a job and wouldn’t ask questions about a secret back room that even he, as the security guard, didn’t have access to. Or it could be that because malls weren’t as popular as they used to be, it was just a starter job, one that maybe the insurance company required but that didn’t actually do anything of value.

Insurance, hmm…

“Found something,” Furnelli said.

Veronica slid in front of Conner.

“Show me.”

The screen was divided into four sections, all of different areas of the mall. In the upper right quadrant, Veronica saw the hallway with the bathrooms that she’d just walked down.

“When was this?”

“Around 9:21.”

That was roughly fifteen minutes from when the explosion had occurred.

“Play it.”

Conner did. It was difficult to follow, as Veronica’s eyes darted from quadrant to quadrant, but she eventually got the hang of it.

She watched the entire scene, noting that there was something akin to a standoff between what looked to be a young boy—maybe thirteen or fourteen years of age—and a man in a fancy suit in the bathroom hallway. Then the kid opened the door and darted inside. The man ran after him, reaching the door just seconds before it closed. Then… nothing. A good five minutes passed and then the camera shook violently. The door blew inward, and then a burst of flame filled the entire hallway. The image went dark, then came back online a few seconds later, albeit at a slightly askew angle.

And then nothing.

“Play it again.”

This time, Veronica focused on what happened on the other screens, prior to the standoff.

She saw the kid bump into the man in the suit, who was talking on his phone.

Just as the kid started away, the man grabbed his arm.

They fought, the kid broke free and ran.

“Roll that back.”

Furnelli did.

“Stop it… there.”

The timing couldn’t be more perfect. On-screen, the kid’s hand could be seen inside the man on the phone’s suit jacket.

“You see that? The kid stole his wallet.”

Furnelli leaned in close, and he let the scene play for a few seconds.

“Shit, you’re right. He puts it in his back pocket.”

“Now go forward to when they’re in the hallway. See—there? It looks like he wants to hand the wallet back and it unlocks the door. Can you zoom?”

“Can’t zoom on these,” Conner informed them. Furnelli tried anyway, with no success.

“You recognize them?”

“No.”

“What about the man in the suit?”

Conner shrugged.

“Don’t recognize him.”

“And yet his wallet had a card for the storage area.”

Conner said nothing to this.

“Furnelli, I want you to play it out, the entire video. See if either of these two come back out this way.”

“Will do.”

Veronica faced the security guard while her partner started rolling the footage again.

“Conner, how do you get paid?”

The man’s bottom lip jutted.

“Direct Deposit.”

“And who pays you?”

“I dunno. The company, I guess.”

“They give you pay stubs?”

“Sure. Every two weeks.”

“You wouldn’t happen to have one on you, would you?”

“No, I—wait.” Conner brought a hand to his belt and grabbed a set of keys. They were attached to a string. He moved to one of the drawers in the circular desk and used one of the keys to open in. After scrounging around inside for a few moments, he produced an envelope that had been torn open.

“This is my most recent pay slip.”

Veronica took it and pulled out a sheet of paper.

The pay stub reported hours worked, as well as rate of pay. But Veronica wasn’t interested in any of this.

The payer was listed as ‘Green Valley Security’. There was a tax ID number as well as the Employer’s Federal Employer Identification Number.

She tapped the corner of the stub on her palm.

“Mind if I keep this?”

“Sure. Already have the cash.”

“Thanks.”

“Detective Shade?”

Veronica turned her attention to Furnelli now.

“Yeah?”

“They don’t leave. The kid and the man in the suit? They don’t ever leave.”

Veronica thought about the three bodies they’d found in the destroyed room. All men in shitty hazmat suits. All adult-sized.

It was possible that the kid had just run off and the man in the suit had slipped into his costume, but there wasn’t enough time.

“Furnelli, get a got shot of both their faces, best you can and then bring Mr. Blackwood back to quarantine.”

“Sure.” Veronica started to walk away. “Where you going?”

She didn’t look back.

“To figure out where the hell these two went.”

Chapter 13

There were no cameras in the back parking lot, no cars either. The storage area had been described as a potential loading dock, but Veronica didn’t think so. Even though most of the wall had been reduced to rubble, nothing about it screamed loading dock to Veronica.

For one, it was on ground level. Two, the location that the trucks backed into was typically reinforced in case some sleep-deprived, energy drink-fueled trucker pressed the gas instead of the brake.

There were no cars back here, either.

Veronica stepped over the broken concrete blocks and looked up and down the rear parking lot.

No loading bays there, either.

Veronica glanced skyward. It was still warm out, but the sun had started to set.

Next, Veronica’s eyes drifted to the forest she’d seen through the busted wall the first time she’d come into the room.

If she’d been a kid, chased by some guy in a suit whose wallet I just stole? I’d bust into that room, knock over a bunch of shit, and run to that forest.

Veronica cocked her head.

This simple musing sounded like it was what might have actually happened.

Swiping sweat from her brow, Veronica walked across the parking lot. Once she reached the grass, she turned and looked back the way she’d come.

From this side, the damage to the mall wasn’t that bad.

The wall was in ruins, but the other adjacent sections of the wall were intact.

Recalling what Dr. Cross* had said, Veronica was again in agreement.

They had gotten lucky.

Veronica continued towards the forest. It had appeared dense, but in actuality, it wasn’t that thick.

There was a path cut through it, paved with broken asphalt, with grass growing through the cracks. About fifty yards away, she saw a catwalk, flanked on either side by houses. Beyond that, a subdivision. Veronica made it halfway down the path before stopping.

She placed her hands on her hips and looked around. The forest was quiet, but not overly so.

In her mind, she pictured the kid with the baggy clothes who had stolen the wallet. Dirty. Not grimy, but a close second.

The houses in the subdivision looked new.

She doubted the kid came from there.

No, Veronica thought, he came from the forest.

Veronica moved in that direction, using her arm to push through the trees.

The ground was softer, and her shoes sunk in a bit.

She kept moving.

Then she saw it: a navy-blue tent.

And it was open.

Veronica ducked down and peered inside. There was a thin sleeping bag, a blanket. She picked up the latter and tossed it aside, hoping to find something that could help her identify the kid.

No luck.

Veronica left the tent. Outside, she saw a small induction stove that was hooked up to what looked like a small car battery.

Was he living here?

Most likely.

About three feet behind the tent there was a hole in the dirt. Definitely man-made. Veronica crouched, scooped some of the dirt, and let it fall between her fingers.

A story began to emerge.

***

Detective Furnelli met her at the back of the mall.

“You find anything?” he asked, his eyes drifting to the forest as Veronica’s had moments ago.

“I’m not sure.”

Furnelli waited for her to expound, but Veronica abstained.

She wasn’t ready to share her theory just yet.

“You get those photos?”

“On my phone.”

“Let’s had back to Bear County Sheriff’s Department.”

For the first part of the ride, Furnelli was silent. But when they were within eyeshot of the place, Veronica heard him open his mouth only to shut it again.

“What?”

“Nothing.”

Veronica felt her lips turn downward.

“No, say it.”

Furnelli pontificated for a while longer and Veronica pulled into the lot.

“It’s just… that stuff about Detective Furlow. Do you think he really… you think it was his heroin? Like, he stole it?”

Veronica let out her breath.

Freddie was a lot of things, but he wasn’t an addict or a dealer. But DEA Agent Troy Allison had a reputation. Still, either Allison planted the drugs, or Freddie had them in their possession.

Either way, one of them was lying.

“I… I don’t know,” she said at last.

“Have you seen him? Visited him, I mean?”

Veronica felt a pang of guilt and saw blue plumes flash in front of her eyes.

“No. You?”

“No.”

Veronica hadn’t visited her partner. She told herself that it was because she was busy with the campaign, that visiting him in prison would affect her bid to become sheriff.

But it was more than that.

The reason she hadn’t visited her partner was the same reason she’d never opened the file on Freddie that Cole had given her.

She couldn’t handle what she might find in there.

Veronica sighed again, this time long and loud. Then she moved to get out of the car.

Before she could open the door, a black car entered the lot and parked in the closest spot to the front doors.

“Who’s that?” Furnelli asked.

Two men and one woman got out, all dressed in fancy suits.

“That is trouble,” Veronica said, finally getting out of the car. “C’mon let’s follow them in.”

Chapter 14

“Is Sheriff McVeigh around?” The woman in the suit asked.

Veronica and Furnelli stayed well behind Deputy Lancaster and the three people who had gotten out of the fancy car.

“He is.”

Lancaster left it at that, and Veronica had to smile. She liked the deputy with the Southern accent. The man was as dry as a piece of desiccated seaweed.

“We would like to speak to him.”

“Yeah. Yeah.”

Lancaster didn’t move.

The woman straightened.

“Mr…” When Deputy Lancaster didn’t fill in the blank, the woman continued, unflustered. “We are with Green Valley Insurance, and we would like to speak to him about the incident this morning at the Greenham Mall.”

Now, Veronica felt her spine straighten.

Green Valley Insurance…

She fingered the pay stub that Conner, the security guard, had given her.

Green Valley Security had been the listed payee.

“I’m sure, with them fancy suits, you have an equally fancy business card. If you leave it with—”

“Lancaster? What’s going on?” McVeigh said as he stepped out of the conference room and walked toward them.

“These suits are from—”

“Sheriff McVeigh, my name is Dot Ardala. My colleagues and I are from Green Valley Insurance. We represent the Greenham Mall. Might we have a word in private?”

“Insurance? That was fast,” McVeigh said. Veronica got the impression that the man was speaking to himself.

“My employee moves quickly. Can we speak in private?”

“Yeah, sure.” McVeigh raised his eyes and noticed Veronica and Furnelli. “Shade, Furnelli, care to join?”

“Sure,” Veronica said.

Dot turned around, looked at Veronica. She didn’t frown, not quite, but she wasn’t pleased by McVeigh’s offer.

“It’s best if we speak in private,” the woman said, her gaze returning to McVeigh.

The sheriff stayed strong.

“Detectives Shade and Furnelli are part of the newly established task force. Anything you want to say to me can be said in front of them.”

Dot definitely didn’t like this, but she followed McVeigh into the renovated conference room. Veronica and Furnelli joined them. As the suits sat, the men took out folders and laid them on the desk while the sheriff quickly shut off the monitor, which was still showing a blueprint of the mall.

McVeigh took up residence in his usual seat, while Furnelli sat across from the representatives from the insurance company.

Veronica elected to stand, folding her hands behind her back and leaning up against the wall.

“What can do for you, Ms. Ardala?”

“As I mentioned to your colleague, we represent the insurance company for the Greenham Mall.” One of the men took out a pen and flipped it to a blank sheet of paper. “We would like to get ahead of this. If any employees or patron was injured during the unfortunate incident this morning, we are prepared, and authorized, to issue a one-time cash settlement, in return for signing an NDA, of course. We will also absorb all costs that the County might accrue in rendering the mall safe and usable.”

Unlike Veronica, McVeigh managed to keep a straight face during Dot’s speech. Veronica had little experience with insurance companies during her life, but she’d seen enough TV shows and heard enough horror stories to know that what was happening here was anything but normal.

Insurance companies were the biggest scam going. A bastardized savings plan, at best. You paid into a fund that you hoped to never have to access. And if something does happen, a fire, a break-in, you reach out and the insurance company does everything in its power not to pay out, referencing the one-billion-page policy that nobody has either the time or the patience to read.

If they do pay out, they either up your premiums or yank your coverage completely.

Offering lump sum cash payments to victims within hours of an explosion the origins of which should have only been known to a handful of members of law enforcement?

Unheard of.

“Who do you represent, Ms. Ardala?” McVeigh said.

“We represent Green Valley Insurance.”

“Yeah, I got that. But what I’m asking, is who paid for the insurance policy?”

Dot interlaced her fingers and leaned forward.

“I’m not at liberty to say. But I can assure you, the settlements we’re prepared to offer are very, very respectable.” Dot was trying to steer the conversation away from McVeigh’s inquiries.

“What do you mean, you’re not at liberty to say’? Are you a lawyer or an insurance rep?”

“Both, actually. I’m the chief council for Green Valley Insurance. Apologies if I neglected to mention that.”

Apologies, my ass, Veronica thought.

“Well,” McVeigh said, “that sounds all nice and dandy, but that’s going to be a problem.”

“And why’s that?”

“Because three people died in the explosion, Ms. Ardala.”

Veronica expected a certain reaction to this, as did Sheriff McVeigh evidenced by the fact that he made the comment, but there was no payoff.

Ms. Ardala didn’t so much as flinch.

“If you provide me with their names, I can reach out to their families. Ensure that they are adequately compensated.”

This ruffled Veronica’s feathers, and she pushed off the wall.

It was the age-old question, one that medical practitioners and insurance companies had come to terms with: What is the financial value of a life?

Veronica thought differently.

There was no value. Or, more accurately, there was infinite value.

When she moved, McVeigh’s eyes lifted to her.

He held her gaze for a moment, and Veronica knew what this meant: stay calm.

Veronica forced herself to do just that.

For now.

“That is something that you might be able to help us with. In order for us to tell you who to compensate, we need to know who died. And we don’t know that. None of the men who perished in the explosion had records. We don’t know who they are.”

Ms. Ardala looked to one of the men she’d brought with her, not the suit taking notes, but the other one.

She gave him a nod, and he pulled a thin stack of stapled sheets from his folder. He passed it to Ms. Ardala, who slid it across the table to McVeigh.

The sheriff gave it a quick glance.

“That’s a list of all Greenham Mall employees. That should help.”

“You have fingerprints? Photos?”

Ms. Ardala inhaled and then breathed the air out through her nose.

“It’s a mall, Sheriff McVeigh, not the CIA.”

There was a stalemate, which Ms. Ardala eventually broke.

“Sheriff McVeigh, I’m going to give you my card.” She did and McVeigh placed it on top of the list of Greenham Mall employment names.

“Thanks again.”

With that, McVeigh closed the meeting. Ms. Ardala and her men packed up their things, nodded in Veronica and Furnelli’s direction before leaving the room.

Veronica waited for the door to close behind them before saying, “What in the actual fuck was that all about?”

Chapter 15

“I have no idea,” McVeigh said with a shrug. “No fucking clue. An insurance company?”

This was a first for him.

A first for Veronica, too.

And it indicated one thing.

“Whoever owns this mall wants to keep this thing quiet,” she said, mostly to herself.

“Sure seems that way. Furnelli, can you go over this list? I don’t know how helpful it will be—I doubt that the three dead men spiking heroin with fentanyl and packaging were recorded Greenham Mall employees with 401ks, but you never know.”

“Sure.”

“We think found something,” Veronica said. “We captured some footage from the mall. Furnelli?”

“Yeah.” By some modern magic, Furnelli connected his phone to the device and then switched on the TV. He spoke while he played the footage from the mall. “This kid stole the guy in the suit’s wallet, and he chased her. This is only moments before the explosion.”

When the quad-screen video started McVeigh was still recovering from the odd interaction between himself and Ms. Ardala.

By the time it was over, he was fully invested.

“Shit, the wallet… it had a card in it that opened the door.”

“Yes,” Veronica confirmed.

“Then we need to find out who they are.”

Yes, again, Veronica thought.

“I’ll print out some copies and hand give them to Crouch and Allison,” Furnelli offered.

This was good, saved Veronica from interacting with those assholes.

“Good. Scour social media, compare the photos of mall employees to these two.”

Furnelli confirmed.

“Detective Shade, I’m going to speak to the media.”

“You think that’s a good idea?”

“No choice. Have to get in front of this. Dr. Cross and the CDC deemed the area safe and are processing the civilians. Everyone should be released within the hour. I’d rather speak to the press before the rumors start to churn.”

Veronica wasn’t a fan of the press in general but wasn’t sure why McVeigh was telling her this.

It became evident with the next thing the sheriff said.

“You want to join?”

It was a simple request, but so far from what Veronica had been expecting that she didn’t know how to answer.

They were working together on this task force, but McVeigh was the interim sheriff. They were also going head-to-head for the permanent position.

“I—”

“If you don’t want to, that’s perfectly alright. You can stay with Furnelli or—”

“Thanks for the offer, but I’m going to pass.”

McVeigh nodded.

Veronica had no intention of sticking around with Furnelli and scrolling through social media posts. She’d rather stab herself in the eye with a sharp stick. Nor did she feel like speaking to her father or Steve, either, despite the fact that, as per McVeigh, the two were finally going to be released within the hour.

It was something that DEA Agent Allison had said what felt like hours ago that was stuck in her craw.

That and what Kristin Newberry had said over the phone.

“Ok. If you change your mind, let me know.”

“Will do.”

***

Veronica’s first thought was that Multnomah County Jail was much smaller than she’d expected. The building itself looked more like offices instead of a jail. The inside told a different story.

She still wasn’t sure how she was going to play this one. Detective or friend?

The officer manning the front desk gave her a quick once-over as she approached.

The man looked surly, unkempt. Probably because he was manning the desk at the ripe age of around fifty.

Probably suspended from active duty, Veronica thought.

“Can I help you?” The man’s voice was as dry as his lips.

“I’m here to see Fred Furlow.”

The man raised an eyebrow.

“You on his visitor list?”

“Yes,” Veronica replied with no hesitation.

The good news was that the man didn’t seem to recognize her. Rather surprising, considering that she was running for Sheriff of adjacent Bear County.

A good thing, though, Veronica surmised. Not just because it might complicate things with the visitation but also to reaffirm the fact that not everyone knew her as the woman who had gone on Marlowe and had thus sealed the woman’s fate.

“Name?” The man typed away at the computer in front of him as he spoke.

“Veronica Shade.”

She watched the man closely, wondering if her name would trigger something in the man.

It didn’t appear to.

The man nodded.

“Take a seat.”

Veronica sat in a worn, fabric chair, one of a dozen or so, on the other side of the room and waited.

The guard made a call, cupping his mouth as he did.

The longer Veronica waited, the more the guilt ate at her.

Guilt for not seeing Freddie before. And now, the only reason she was here was because she needed help.

What am I doing?

“Ms. Shade?”

Veronica looked up. She’d been rubbing her hands, something she hadn’t done in a long while.

“Come with me, please.”

Veronica went through a series of metal detectors and pat-downs, as well as being waved with wands. She gave up her personal belongings—she’d left her gun and badge in the car—and then was given instructions as she was being led down the hall.

It was the same old, same old.

Don’t touch the prisoner, don’t pass anything to him, blah, blah, blah.

“Visitor hours end in half an hour,” the deputy informed her. “If you need anything, just holler. I’ll be outside the door.”

They stopped in front of a thick metal door.

“Wait,” Veronica said, reaching out and touching the man’s arm. When she realized what she was doing, she pulled her hand back. “He’s in there?”

The man looked at her crossly.

“You wanted to visit him, didn’t you?”

Of course, she did.

Veronica had pictured this going differently, however. She envisioned her sitting in a room and having a few minutes to collect her thoughts before Freddie was brought in.

“If you want—”

“It’s okay. Open it. Please.”

The deputy unlocked the door and pulled it open.

Veronica sucked in a breath and entered the room and saw her partner for the first time in nearly six months.

Chapter 16

Veronica said nothing as she sat across from Freddie. He was chained to the table, as most inmates were during these visits. He looked… horrible. Not like he used to. Not morbidly obese. If anything, he looked even thinner than six months ago.

But his eyes… downcast as they were, Veronica could see just how sunken they were. It reminded her of Dylan Hall.

Junkie Dylan Hall.

Say something, she silently pleaded. Yell at me. Tell me I’m a horrible partner, a worse friend. Tell me you never want to see my face again. Tell me to rot in hell.

But Freddie was too kind for that.

He just sat and waited.

“I’m sorry.” Veronica’s voice hitched. “I’m so sorry, Freddie.”

His chin slowly rose.

Still, Freddie said nothing.

Veronica felt her emotions take hold. Felt her chest tighten, her heart squeeze.

It took everything she had not to burst into tears.

“You can’t take the deal, Freddie,” she said. The words came out of nowhere. They were genuine but also felt like a con. She wasn’t here because of what Kristin had told her. She was here because of the explosion.

The three dead bodies. The dirty kid and the man in the fancy suit.

“I have to.”

Not, It’s the best I’ll get. Not, If I go to trial, I could get fifteen years. More—twenty. But I have to.

“Why?”

A simple question, but so many possible answers.

Freddie gave none. Just a simple shrug.

“Freddie, I know you’re not a user. I know you’re not hard up for cash. What I don’t know, is why you stole a kilo of heroin. A fucking kilo.”

The words just flowed out of her. Veronica wasn’t in control anymore. All of the bottled-up emotion that had been suppressed was pushed out of her mind, using the crutch of the election to bury these even further.

Freddie went back to being silent again.

“How do you expect me to help you when you won’t even talk to me?”

This finally seemed to strike a nerve with Freddie. But he still didn’t get angry.

“I don’t expect you to help me, Veronica.”

“You might not expect—”

“Let me correct that,” Freddie interrupted. “I don’t want you to help me. I’m taking the deal. It’s the best they’re going to offer.”

Veronica smelled a distinct whiff of gas.

“It’s not. You know it’s not.”

“How do you even know of the deal?” Freddie cocked his head. “Scratch that. I know how: Kristin. And I bet you she said told you to come here, tell me to tell the ADA to fuck off. I’ll say the same thing I said to her: I’m taking the deal. There’s nothing you or anyone else can do about it.”

No gas this time.

“You’re an asshole. A stubborn asshole.”

Another shrug.

“What the fuck happened to you? You were doing so well. Getting healthy, doing so much better. What was the trigger?” Veronica leaned forward. “What was it?”

Freddie tilted his head and Veronica felt that he was going to finally open up.

He let her down.

“Guard?”

A shadow appeared in the doorway and Veronica heard the metal key slip into the lock.

“Freddie,” she said desperately. “A bomb just went off in the Greenham Mall. They were making heroin, cutting with fentanyl. Thirty kilos, maybe. Freddie if you know—”

The door opened and the guard entered.

“I can’t help you, Veronica. I’m sorry.”

“But—”

“I’m done here.”

The guard gave Veronica a stern look and started to unlock Freddie from the table.

“I know you’re lying, Freddie. I know you can help. Please.”

The guard led him away.

“Please.”

No response.

“Freddie! Freddie!”

Veronica made it back to her car before really breaking down.

She slammed her hands on the wheel. Swore.

Cried.

And then, threw blurred vision, she popped the glove box and took out the folder that Cole had given her all those months ago.

The one that she’d promised herself she’d never read.

“Fuck it,” Veronica whispered.

She wiped tears from her face with the back of her sleeve and opened the folder.

Chapter 17

Mason kept on running even after he knew that the man in the suit was long gone. He couldn’t run like him, not with half his face burned off from the fire. Maybe not even if he had come out of the explosion completely unscathed. The problem was that the places for Mason to go were limited.

But he had cash. Cash and a wallet that didn’t belong to him.

After leaving the subdivision that bordered the home that Mason now considered long gone—if the man in the suit hadn’t destroyed it or was waiting for him to return, the cops would be all over it—he kept on going.

Eventually, he found himself in a seedy part of downtown Greenham, an area he knew well.

He ducked into an alley, and walked around the men in sleeping bags.

There were three zombies, three women, rail thin, flesh so puckered with sores that they made up more of their skin than not.

So hopped up on Xylazine that they just stood, hunched at the waist, arms crooked at odd angles.

A surreal scene.

Terrifying.

Even though these were technically Mason’s people, he shied away from them.

Mason emerged from the opposite end of the alley and kept on walking. Briskly.

Too young to enter a bar, but needing something in his belly, Mason found a small diner. He entered, asked for a table for one near the back, noting the emergency exit a short distance from where he sat.

The bay of slightly smudged windows gave Mason a clear view of everyone walking by. If Suit Man came anywhere near the place, he would dart to the exit and be gone in seconds.

The waitress came by, a tired-looking woman with nearly as many marks on her pale skin as those in the alley, and asked what he wanted.

Mason ordered a roast beef sandwich and a coke. When the waitress didn’t leave immediately to put his order in, Mason pulled out a few crumpled bills and placed them on the table.

The waitress grumbled something and left. The diner was fairly empty, which was unsurprising on a weekday before the dinner rush came in.

Mason scanned their faces. Just normal, everyday people out for a bite.

Eventually, his eyes fell on the TV behind the bar. It was playing sports highlights, which was par for the course. Mason was about to look back out the windows when an important announcement cut in.

Mason’s mouth was suddenly dry, and he wondered where the hell the waitress went to get his coke.

There was no sound, but someone had turned on the closed captioning.

Not that Mason needed these. The sight of Sheriff Marcus McVeigh was enough for him to know what this was all about.

Mason’s throat slowly became as dry as his mouth and lips.

Sheriff McVeigh spoke about the bombing. Was obtuse, didn’t mention the drug packaging she’d seen in that back room or the toxic cloud.

He did, however, speak about how several of the people in the mall, both shoppers and employees, had to be quarantined. McVeigh didn’t talk about the three men in the plastic outfits and face shields that had been in the room when it had exploded.

Mason didn’t know for a fact what happened to them.

But he had a pretty good idea.

They were dead.

Dead, dead.

Mason’s heart was racing as he remembered the fear that had coursed through him.

The same feared that had nearly crushed him when he realized that the man in the suit recognized him.

But nothing compared to the fear that he experienced now when two still images appeared on the screen.

One, the man in the suit.

Two, him.

“Fuck,” Mason breathed.

There was on the screen and even though his adrenaline surged so great that he couldn’t read it, or the closed-captioned text, he knew what it would say.

If you recognized or seen either of these two individuals, please give the Bear County Sheriff’s Department a call.

The waitress appeared at Mason’s side, hands full.

Mason screamed.

“What the hell is your problem?” The waitress roughly threw the plate on the table. The drink, too, and coke splashed over the edge.

“Sorry,” Mason grumbled, eyes still locked on the TV. He blindly reached for the drink, picked up the sticky glass, and chugged.

Mason slammed it back down, left a handful of crumpled bills on the table—how much, he did not know, but more than enough to cover the meal he hadn’t touched—then darted through the emergency exit.

Angry shouts followed him outside.

Mason started to run again. Not away from something, or someone, but toward.

Toward the Bear County Sheriff’s office.

They might not know who the man in the suit was now, but they would soon.

Chapter 18

Veronica drove home. She didn’t look at her phone, didn’t even consider calling Furnelli, Steve, her father, or anyone on the task force.

She understood now.

Or, at least, she thought she did.

Why Freddie wanted to take the deal.

And it all boiled down to the same thing.

She pulled up to her home, noticed Steve’s car parked by the curb.

Veronica almost didn’t want to get out. What was the alternative? Go to a bar? A quiet place and drink?

Wouldn’t be the first time for her. After Steve had gotten clean and they’d patched things up, they’d elected to take it slow—unlike their first time around.

But neither of them knew how to do that.

Slow didn’t seem to be in their vocabulary. It didn’t help that Steve had been sleeping in his car and using a hotel bathroom to clean himself up.

His fucking house… it still wouldn’t sell. More than a year after Maggie Cernak had hung herself in the barn, nobody wanted the place. Especially not after the news came out that Maggie’s wasn’t the first death to take place in that barn. Years earlier, her family had been subjected to the same home invasion that Veronica had by Trent and Herb.

Same eenie, meenie, miney, mo game.

Same result.

At Veronica’s request, Steve had tried to sue the real estate agent who had sold him the house, stating that he was never made aware that people had died in the house. But Oregon, unlike California, Alaska, and South Dakota, didn’t have such rules.

There was nothing he could do.

There was one offer to buy the place, but this had come from a corporation that had bought similar homes with dark pasts. They’d turned them all into tourist attractions.

Out of respect for Maggie and the others who had died at Trent and Herb’s hands, Steve had politely declined. For two months, he’d lived in the hotel, instead of in his car in the parking lot.

But as their relationship fell into rhythm with how it had once been, picking up seamlessly where it had left off.

He’d moved back in with her. Made sense from a professional standpoint, too, what with Steve working day and night on her campaign.

But tonight, Veronica wanted to be alone. Needed to be alone to process everything she’d learned about her ex-partner.

With a heavy sigh, Veronica scooped up the folder and headed inside.

Lucy, Maggie Cernak’s cat, was waiting for her. The cat stood, shook itself out, which sent the bell around her neck jingling, and Veronica bent down to scratch the animal beneath the chin.

“Veronica?” Steve’s voice filtered down to her from the bedroom.

“Yeah, it’s me.”

She heard him move toward the stairs as she continued to scratch the now-purring cat.

“What kind of bullshit was that? Keep me and Peter in a goddamn tent for—” he stopped suddenly, only halfway down the stairs. “Veronica? What’s wrong.”

Tears in her eyes, Veronica finally looked up at Steve.

She said nothing as he came to her and wrapped her in a large hug.

Veronica tried to keep her emotions in check.

It was impossible.

She wept and Steve held her.

After a good two minutes, all of her tears dried up. She disengaged.

Steve said nothing. He just went to the counter, opened a bottle of wine, and poured them both a glass.

They both sat at the table, the folder in front of Veronica, and drank their wine without saying anything. Veronica appreciated Steve not asking her what was wrong a second time and knew that he would wait for her to open up.

Eventually, a glass and a half of red wine deep, she did.

“It’s all right here,” Veronica began slowly, opening up the folder and taking out the photos before laying them on the table. “Everything is right here.”

***

“Freddie used to be married, and he has two kids. Kevin and Randall.”

Veronica saw Steve’s face contort a little.

“I know—I had no idea, either. He never spoke of them. Like, not ever. And now I know why.”

She breathed.

“Four years ago, when he was still a Greenham PD Officer, he was called in to assist with a traffic stop. Not terribly unusual until you read deeper, see who was pulled over: Braden Byers. His wife’s brother. And his son Kevin was in the car. During the stop, the officer who had pulled them over found heroin. A lot. Freddie had no choice but to arrest his brother-in-law. The man took a plea deal, and is still serving time in prison.”

“Jesus,” Steve said, speaking up for the first time since Veronica had started speaking.

She shared the man’s sentiment. It wasn’t uncommon for family and friends who got pulled over to get a pass, a stern warning, and an escort home. But that much heroin? No cop could overlook that.

“It gets more complicated,” Veronica continued after a sip of wine. “Freddie was immediately estranged from his wife and kids. But, still, he is the one who visits and keeps the man’s commissary full. Every week. And then, about six months ago, during our hunt for David Taylor, DEA Agent Troy Allison came into the picture.”

Veronica produced the photograph of the big, bald agent. In the photo, he was seen leading a young, thin, man into a nondescript building. Then she pulled out another series of photos of the same building, which had been taken by a traffic camera.

It showed the man leaving the building and hugging Freddie.

Then came Agent Allison.

The last image was of Freddie lying on the ground.

“This is when he had his heart attack.”

More documents, this time relating to Dylan Hall’s arrest.

“I’m not sure I’m following,” Steve said.

“Just wait.”

The final photo that Veronica took out of the folder that Cole had given her was the most damning. It showed Freddie in the Matheson Evidence Room. Veronica knew the date because she’d been there.

When her then psychiatrist’s office had been set ablaze, Dr. JANET’s files had been spared. They’d been shipped to Matheson to avoid the media circus that would have ensued if they shipped to Greenham.

This had been at Freddie’s request.

But there had been another motive for him redirecting the woman’s personal files, which Veronica had gone through, which had eventually led her to Dante’s file, the man behind the slayings of Marlowe and Gina and the attempted murder of Cole Batherson himself.

The demented man had sought out everyone that Veronica had come in contact with that fateful day.

All because he’d been wronged and thought, in his warped mind, that Veronica was responsible for what had happened to him in Renaissance Home.

“Freddie stole a kilo of heroin from lockup and planted it on Dylan, tried to get him arrested. It backfired.”

The words tasted foul coming out of Veronica’s mouth and she chased them with a heavy gulp of wine.

“Jesus,” Steve said again. “I knew that Freddie hated Dylan, but to go this far? Why?”

The man had clearly been out of the game for some time. The pieces were all there, expertly laid out and explained in photos provided by Cole.

“And who is this guy?” Steve leaned forward and pointed at the skinny kid with Agent Allison.

“That’s one of Freddie’s sons. That’s Randall Furlow.”

Veronica watched Steve’s eyes as she said this. Saw his face twist, saw the wheels working behind his eyes.

It clicked.

“Shit. Freddie’s son was the one with the drugs—Agent Allison pulled him in. And knowing that dickhead, he probably told Freddie that he was going to throw the book at him. Freddie had no choice but to steal the drugs and plant them on Dylan to try and save his son.”

Veronica swallowed hard.

“Yeah, for a second time.”

Steve’s brow lowered.

“What do you mean?”

Veronica indicated the earlier arrest record for Braden Byers.

“I think the same thing happened with Kevin. I think they were his drugs in the car and Freddie’s brother-in-law went down for it. And that’s why he’s taking the deal. If he fights, DEA Agent Allison will drag his son back in.”

For a long time, Steve said nothing.

Then he finished his wine, cleared his throat, and said, “What are you going to do about this, Veronica?”

Now, it was her turn to pause. All of this information, a trail of drugs and arrests dating back four years and culminating in Freddie’s signed plea deal to spend X years in prison.

“I don’t… I don’t know. Steve, I have no idea what to do.”

Part II — Mexican Standoff

Chapter 19

Veronica was still awake when her phone rang just before six in the morning. She dozed off several times during the night, only to jolt awake after a nightmare she couldn’t remember.

At least it wasn’t that fucking bear again.

“Hello?”

“Detective Shade, its Furnelli. There’s a task force meeting at seven.”

“Really? Why didn’t anyone tell me?” Veronica quietly got out of bed; Steve was still sleeping beside her.

“McVeigh told me before I left yesterday. It was late and he told me to call you. When you didn’t come back, I figured you needed some time.”

Veronica soured.

She stopped herself. “Never mind. I’ll be in before seven. Thanks, Court.”

“See you soon.”

Veronica hung up and headed into the bathroom.

She showered, trying to force herself to think about the explosion, the man in the suit, the kid who stole his wallet.

Anything to stop her mind from wandering to Freddie.

Wrapping a towel beneath her armpits, she toweled her hair dry. She didn’t want to look at herself in the mirror but couldn’t help it.

She looked… old. Fine lines had formed at the corners of her eyes. Her skin wasn’t pale, not exactly, but it lacked that youthful glow.

Why did I let Steve talk me into campaigning for sheriff again?

She didn’t know.

She wasn’t even sure she wanted to win.

Still tousling her hair, she walked back into her bedroom.

Steve was sitting on the corner of the bed, his hair messy.

“Sorry to wake you,” she said softly.

“It’s alright. Listen, Veronica, we need to hold a press conference. McVeigh was in front of the camera yesterday, taking charge. But everyone who was watching—”

“Steve, I can’t do that right now.”

Steve tried to smooth his hair.

It didn’t work.

Then he scratched his beard.

“It’s important. You guys are going to figure out who owned those drugs and with all your talk about getting help for addicts and shutting down the supply of fentanyl-laced—”

“Steve,” Veronica said. She dropped the towel and slipped into her outfit of the day, which was a clean version of yesterday.

“Sorry. It’s just… never mind. You heading in?”

Veronica nodded, then she retreated to the bathroom to brush her hair.

When she was done and looked halfway presentable, she returned to Steve. He was in the exact same position as before.

Veronica bent down and kissed him on the forehead, gave him a wan smile.

“I don’t know when I’ll be home.”

Steve breathed deeply.

“There’s something I need to tell you.”

Nothing good started with this phrase, and the look on the man’s face, something akin to anguish, confirmed this face.

Veronica couldn’t deal with any more fucked up news.

“Not now.”

“But it’s—”

A look was enough to shut the man down this time.

“Love you,” he said.

“Love you, too.”

***

People liked to whine that life wasn’t fair.

Steve hated this line of thinking. Not because it was wrong, it most certainly was not, but it held no meaning.

It was like arguing against the clouds.

Yet, despite this firm belief, he found his mind drifting to this very idea.

Like Fred Furlow, Steve had also stolen drugs from the evidence locker. Not on the same scale, but the act was the same.

Was it fair that Fred was facing years in prison while all it had cost Steve was his job?

No.

Was it fair that Veronica had been assaulted as a child and forced to choose who amongst her family was to survive?

No.

Was it fair that Peter Shade was released as the Captain of the Greenham PD because of the actions of his daughter?

No.

Was it fair that little Amy Trammel’s husband and wife had used her to lure women into their deadly plan and was now forced into foster care?

No.

Was it fair that David Taylor had a rare and bizarre disease that had made him kill, which all signs pointed to him never committing such heinous acts if it hadn’t been for something out of his control?

Absolutely not.

Steve watched Veronica pull away from the house from the bay window of her bedroom overlooking the street.

Long after he was gone, he continued to stare at the spot where her car had once been parked.

No, none of that was fair.

Steve knew that he was, once again, at a crossroads. He loved Veronica and knew that she was the best thing to happen to Bear County in years. If elected, she would make a fantastic Sheriff. She would put up with shit from no one and treat every constituent the only way she knew how: fairly.

He was well aware that there was an element of self-preservation leaking into his thought processes. Veronica being elected meant that he’d be hired back in the Sheriff’s Department in some capacity.

But this wasn’t the driving force behind his decision to support her, to help spearhead her campaign. A factor, definitely, but far from the only one.

So, he could do one of two things: he could sit down and do nothing, allow interim Sheriff McVeigh to spearhead the investigation into the explosion at the mall and the hidden drug den.

That would almost certainly spell the end of Veronica’s campaign. And this was exactly what she wanted.

For all of her good traits, Veronica wasn’t without faults. And the most glaring one was perhaps her self-defeating nature. A remnant of the guilt Veronica felt for what she’d done as a child.

The other option currently open to Steve was in direct conflict with Veronica’s wishes.

Fight for her.

Fight on her behalf.

Steve finally let the blinds close and walked to the bedside table. He grabbed his phone and dialed a number.

He’d lost Veronica once before when he’d been addicted to heroin.

He hadn’t fought for her then.

But he would now.

Chapter 20

Everyone was already seated in the fancy conference room when Veronica arrived, coffee in hand.

She ignored the hard stares from Crouch and Allison as she sat beside Detective Furnelli.

“Good, we’re all here,” McVeigh said, sipping from a paper cup. “Let’s get started.” He raised his eyes and looked at the two men across the table from Veronica. “Agent Allison?”

The man ran a hand over his bald head before speaking.

“Not much to report. Can’t find anyone who is moving this kind of weight in Bear County. Nobody. We pulled in a couple of street thugs, but they aren’t talking. We put some real pressure on these guys, but like I told you yesterday, nobody’s willing to open up.”

“Agent Allison, what’s the largest bust you’ve had recently other than the one yesterday?”

“I don’t know if what happened at the mall qualifies as ‘a bust’,” Crouch said with a half-hearted scoff.

His comment went ignored.

Agent Allison paused, his eyes drifting in Veronica’s direction.

“One kilo.”

“Right. And before that?”

A shrug from the big man.

“‘Bout half that.”

“Great.” McVeigh turned to Furnelli and Veronica.

“What about you guys? Any idea who the man in the suit and the kid in the video are?”

Furnelli pulled out a stack of papers.

The fact that neither Allison nor Crouch asked for clarification suggested that they’d been briefed on the mall security footage before Veronica had arrived.

“I’ve cross-referenced about two-thirds of the mall employees with their social media profiles. Checked in with a quarter of them. All accounted for, thus far, but nobody fits the description of the two individuals in the video.”

“They might just be mall walkers,” Crouch suggested.

“Except that whatever the man had in his wallet unlocked the door.”

“What’s going on with that? Did you manage to get a list of all employees who had a card for that particular door?” Allison asked.

“The security guard at the mall said he didn’t have clearance,” Furnelli answered.

“And the company representing the mall, Green Valley Insurance, either isn’t willing to give up that information or doesn’t have it,” McVeigh added. “I have the tech department trying to figure out who, exactly, owns the mall, but they haven’t been able to dig anything up yet.”

“Does this sound normal to you?” Veronica spoke up. “All this secrecy about who actually owns the place?”

“Not really, no,” McVeigh said. “I mean, it’s not unheard of. Some of the largest hedge funds have been snapping up whole towns in Texas but they need to disclose this to the SEC. I’m betting that other, smaller firms are doing the same thing only they have less stringent disclosure requirements. Could be one of them.”

“But in Greenham of all places?” Furnelli said.

This was met by a shrug from McVeigh.

“They’re working on it.”

“What about the three barbecued bodies?” Crouch now. “Any idea who they are?”

“Negative. Managed to get prints off of all of them. Not in the system.”

“Jesus Christ,” Crouch said, shaking his head.

Veronica felt her hackles rise. There was no reason to come to McVeigh’s defense, and if it had been any one other than Crouch speaking, Veronica would have probably kept her mouth shut. But it was Crouch.

And everything the man did seemed to rub her the wrong way.

“Lay off. We’re doing everything we can. It’s not like you have contributed anything of value. What happened to Tigger or Toots or whatever the fuck they’re called?”

When a half-smile appeared on the man’s thick lips, Veronica knew she’d made a mistake.

“They’re dead.”

“What?” Thankfully, it was Furnelli who uttered the word before Veronica could embarrass herself further by doing the same.

“Yep.” Crouch popped the ‘p’. “And it’s Trigger, by the way. He was called a week ago and Toots just last night. Found him in an alley.” Crouch made a pistol with his hand. “Pop, pop. Two to the back of the head. Me ‘n’ Allison can crack skulls but when our suspects are dead, it makes it a little bit hard to get anything of value out of them.”

“Okay, enough,” McVeigh interjected. “I warned you guys.”

Crouch, still half-smiling, held up his hands.

“You think this might be related? These deaths… can a new player be moving in? Taking out the competition?”

“I wouldn’t consider Trigger or Toots competition. They never push this kind of weight,” Agent Allison said.

“Then what?”

Now, it was Allison’s turn to shrug.

“Fuck. Okay. We have next nothing.” McVeigh was stressing. It showed on his face. “Any other angles you guys can work?”

“Might have a lead or two left to look into.”

“Okay. Anything at this point would be helpful.”

“I’ve got something, too,” Veronica said. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Furnelli’s eyebrows lift a little.

“Good. I’ll see what I can do about finding out who owns the damn mall. And keep those insurance vultures off our backs.”

He started to pack up his things and Veronica took this as her cue to leave.

Captain Bottel, who had remained completely stoic during the meeting, even when it got heated, looked now as if he wanted to have a word.

Veronica had no interest in speaking to either her boss or Crouch or Allison.

She squeezed Furnelli’s shoulder.

The man got the picture. He scooped up all his papers and together they hurried not just out of the room, but out of the building as well.

Walking briskly toward Veronica’s car, Furnelli said, “Do you really have something you’re working on, or do you just want to get away from those assholes as quickly as possible?”

There was no judgment in the man’s voice.

Veronica paused, looked skyward.

The sun was already bearing down on her.

It was going to be a hot one today.

“Both,” she said.

The door to the Bear County Sheriff’s Department opened and Crouch and Allison came blundering out. Neither was smiling, but their expressions weren’t nearly as dour as what Veronica felt on her own face.

“Let’s get the hell out of here.”

Chapter 21

“Where… where are we going?”

Veronica was leaning over the steering wheel, peering through the windshield, to get a better look at the street signs.

She didn’t answer and Furnelli didn’t press.

Veronica found the street she was looking for and turned down it. Now, it was time to search for the number.

She found that, too, and pulled over.

It was a nice house, with a large bay window in front, the blinds of which were closed.

Veronica reached for the door, then stopped.

Furnelli was in the dark.

“This is Fred Furlow’s home,” she said.

Furnelli’s eyes widened.

“Was his home, anyway. He’s estranged from his wife and two kids.”

When Furnelli’s brow didn’t drop, Veronica sighed and decided to just come out with it. It felt slanderous, revealing what Cole had found out about her partner sitting in jail.

“I didn’t—I had no idea.”

Veronica sighed.

“Neither did I.”

“I still don’t know what I’m doing here, though.” Veronica’s recounting had been heavily redacted, both for expediency and to protect what was left of Freddie’s reputation.

“Allegedly, the kilo of heroin that Freddie took out of lock-up was initially in his son Keith’s possession.”

“Shit. He…” Furnelli let his sentence trail off for which Veronica was grateful. She didn’t need to hear what she already knew spoken out loud.

Veronica got out of the car and walked to the front door. She tried to envision Freddie living here, living a happy life with his family.

Included in Cole’s report had been images of Freddie back when he’d first arrested his brother-in-law. If not for her ex-partner’s most recent transformation, Veronica wouldn’t have recognized him.

He wasn’t thin but had an average build. Same squarish face, though.

The whole ordeal had ended his marriage, his family life. Had put him on a path of self-destruction, like many dealing with great loss.

Only, Freddie’s drug of choice was food and not the injectable kind. And just as he was turning his life around, it came back to bite him in the ass again.

“Here goes nothing,” she said to herself, then knocked.

There was no answer. There was no detectable movement from inside, either.

She knocked again.

“Susan? Susan Byers? It’s Detective Veronica Shade, Greenham PD.”

This time, in response to her voice, Veronica thought she heard something. A shuffling noise.

“It’s important that I speak with you. Please, open the door.”

She knocked a third time, more aggressively. Halfway through, the door opened, and Veronica nearly stumbled inside.

“I can’t talk to you.” A whimper. A sob.

Through the crack in the door, Veronica spied a small, dark-haired woman. Pretty, if it hadn’t been for her red eyes and splotchy cheeks.

“Susan? Susan Byers?”

Like Freddie, she’d seen an older picture of Susan from years ago. This woman was much older, far older than she should have been given the intervening years, and, simply, defeated.

“I can’t talk to you.”

She dabbed at her raw nose with a crumpled tissue.

“It’s about your husband,” Veronica said, thinking that this would get Susan to change her mind.

It had the opposite effect.

For the first time, Veronica noticed the blue hues coming off the woman.

It wasn’t surprising that Susan was perspiring, considering her current state.

“I can’t—”

“It’s also about your son.”

Susan’s eyes bulged and they darted past Veronica, to the street.

“Please, we need—”

“Come in. Come in quick.”

Susan opened the door and grabbed Veronica’s arm. Veronica allowed herself to be pulled inside, making sure that Furnelli joined them.

“Close the door. Close the fucking door.”

***

Susan Byers was beyond basic pleasantries. After leading them through the dark house to the kitchen, there was no offer of tea and crumpets nor was there an offer for them to sit at the round table. But when Susan collapsed into the chair without comment, Veronica took this permission to do the same.

Furnelli sat beside her but pushed himself back from the table a little. A classic, non-confrontational technique.

Whimpering, Susan dabbed at her chapped nose.

This reaction confused Veronica. It was possible that despite being divorced from Freddie, she still cared for the man. A reasonable assumption considering they’d been married for more than a decade before Freddie put the woman’s brother in jail, effectively ending their relationship.

But it hadn’t been the mention of Freddie that had convinced the woman to drag them inside.

“Do you know who I am?” Veronica asked softly.

Susan nodded.

“I’ve seen you on TV.”

That opened a whole new can of worms—Did she mean Marlowe? Or my recent campaign—but Veronica didn’t think this mattered.

This visit wasn’t about her.

“Do you know why I’m here?”

This time, Susan looked up. She stared at Veronica with rheumy eyes.

No nod.

Even though Veronica had already concluded that this wasn’t about Freddie, it was the only place she knew where to start.

“Freddie is going to take a plea deal. X years. He’s going to spend the next X years behind bars. It’s not going to be easy.” An understatement, if there ever was one. Even a civilian like Susan must have known the dangers of a cop being locked up.

“He did this to himself.” Susan’s voice cracked halfway through the sentence. “He did this to us.”

Inwardly, Veronica cringed.

He did this for you, not to you.

Beside, and slightly behind her, Veronica felt Furnelli tense. She shot him a look, silently urging him to keep quiet. If Susan didn’t know the real reason why her brother and her ex-husband were behind bars, then that could only be because Freddie didn’t want her to know.

“I worked with Freddie for months. He’s a good man.”

Susan scoffed.

“I’m serious. He wasn’t perfect, but he’s a good man.”

“What he put us through—”

“It’s not what you think.”

Veronica could have killed Furnelli for speaking out.

“It’s not what I think? Really? What do you know about what I think? What do you know about what he put us through?”

“I’m just—I’m just saying…” Furnelli stumbled through his reply.

Veronica placed her elbows on the table and leaned forward.

“Where are you sons right now? Where are Kevin and Randall?”

Susan’s intense expression faltered, and she went back to being quiet.

“Susan, did you hear what happened at the mall today?”

A slight head shake.

“There was an explosion. Some sort of accident. We found more than thirty kilos of fentanyl-laced heroin in the wreckage.”

Susan found her voice.

“You think—you think that Fred was involved?”

The question surprised Veronica. Was Susan really that much in the dark? Did she have no idea what her sons were up to?

“No,” Veronica stated. “Not Freddie. Kevin.”

Susan exploded into tears. Wailing.

Veronica didn’t know what to do.

Comfort her? Let this play out?

Her indecision forced her into the former.

Before Susan was completely done with this outpouring of emotion, however, she stood up walked to the counter.

“I’m sorry but—”

“They told me not to talk to the cops. They said—oh, Jesus—they said if I spoke to the cops, they’d kill them. Kill them both.”

Veronica was on her feet in an instant, circling the table and moving toward Susan.

“Who?”

“Kevin and Randall.”

“Who took them?” Veronica was right behind Susan now.

The woman turned and thrust a piece of paper at Veronica.

She took it and read.

The note was simple: I have K and R. $300,000 or I kill them. Talk to police and I kill them.

Veronica’s hand was shaking, and she forced it to stop. Her fingers were bleeding blue.

“When—when did you get this?”

“Was in the mailbox two days ago.”

Furnelli had also since gotten to his feet and Veronica passed the note to her partner.

“Who dropped it off?”

“I don’t know.”

“Who have your sons been hanging out with?”

“I don’t—”

Veronica grasped the woman by the shoulders and shook her.

Susan cried out.

“Who have they been hanging out with?”

“I—”

“Susan!” Veronica shouted.

“Randall… he was hanging out with this black guy.”

Veronica tightened her grip.

“What’s his name?”

“I don’t know.”

“You need to—”

“I don’t know his name, okay! Now, let go of me.”

Veronica finally did and stepped back.

She looked at Furnelli, who was still clutching the note.

He caught her eye and nodded. After placing the note down, he got on his phone and started to scroll. A few seconds later, he held the device out.

Veronica took it, observed the picture, and held it out to Susan. At first, the woman refused to look at it but when Veronica made a move to grab her again, she focused on the phone.

“No… I don’t think that’s him.”

Veronica swiped up, saw a photo of one of the quarantine tents at the mall, then scrolled twice in the other direction.

“How about him? Is this the guy?”

The way Susan’s mouth fell open was answer enough.

“Who… who is he?”

“His name is Kendrick ‘Trigger’ Holchester.” Veronica’s voice was flat. “And he’s dead.”

Chapter 22

“… dead?” Susan whispered. “What do you mean, dead?”

“He was killed. Just yesterday.”

“Oh my God was—”

“No, neither of your boys were there.”

“I don’t understand,” Susan whined.

Veronica offered the woman no solace because she didn’t understand either.

She flipped back to the first photo, the one of ‘Toots’.

“You sure you don’t recognize this man?” she asked Susan again, already knowing the answer.

“No, I don’t.” She shook her head, causing tears to fall to the floor. “Did he… is he the person who wrote the note?”

“I don’t know.”

The three of them did nothing for a good thirty seconds. During this interval, Susan’s grief became palpable. Even without the growing blue plumes, the thickness of the air would have rivaled the heroin cloud outside of the Greenham mall.

Veronica eventually looked at Furnelli for guidance… anything.

The man was smart, dedicated, and nobody, not even Veronica herself, worked long hours like he did.

But Court Furnelli was a rookie.

This was way above his pay grade.

Her initial thought was to reach out to Captain Bottel or Sheriff McVeigh. She immediately quashed this idea.

Veronica was vying to become Sheriff. Her.

This decision now would be one of the easier ones that she’d have to make if that ever, unlikely as the prospect was, came to fruition.

She cleared her throat.

“Detective Furnelli I want you to stay with Ms. Byers. Check—”

“If they find out I spoke to you, they’ll kill them. They’ll kill my boys.”

“Nobody’s going to know. Just stay inside with Detective Furnelli.”

“I tried to get the money, but I don’t have that much. I only have—”

Veronica reached out and placed a comforting hand on the woman’s shoulder.

“I’m going to find your boys, Ms. Byers.”

“Please.”

The tears were flowing unabated now. Susan made no effort to wipe them away. Not that the sopping tissue would have helped at this point.

“Check in every hour, no exceptions.”

Furnelli, still a little shell-shocked, nodded.

“What about the task force?” he asked. The man’s typical confident voice had been reduced to an uncertain whine.

“I’ll deal with the task force. Do not leave this house unless I say so.”

Furnelli nodded and Veronica turned to leave.

“Find my babies…” Susan called after her. “Veronica, please find my babies.”

Veronica took the note, hurried to her car, and slid inside. There was nobody watching the house, at least nobody that she noticed.

Once behind the wheel, she felt her emotions surge. She repressed them.

“Jesus Christ,” she whispered to herself, drawing in a full breath, the first in since Susan Byers had dragged her inside.

Furnelli had mentioned the task force, but that was the furthest thing from her mind now.

Her priority was to find Kevin and Randall Byers. Everything else could wait.

The real question was whether or not this was related to what had happened at the mall. Possibly, probably not.

The whole ransom made sense. According to DEA Agent Troy Allison, Toots and Trigger were small-time players. Best she figured it, they’d been given the kilo of heroin out on consignment. For some reason, a reason Veronica could not comprehend, they’d then passed the dope on to Kevin to sell. A kid.

And when he was busted and the dope subsequently IMPOUNDED, they’d gone after Kevin. He had no money, nothing near 300k, they kidnapped both kids and then blackmailed their mother.

And when whoever had commissioned Toots and Trigger to sell the dope didn’t get their product or money, they took things into their own hands.

It could be related, Veronica thought again after running through everything she knew in her head.

A kilo was a large package. Small pittance compared to what was uncovered in the mall, but no dime baggies, either.

But it didn’t matter.

It did not matter.

Veronica took out her phone and scrolled through her contacts. She found the number she was looking for and called it.

“We need to meet.”

“Well, nice to hear from you, too, Ms.—”

“Now. Daphne’s.”

***

Veronica tapped her foot incessantly.

“You sure you don’t want anything stronger, sweetie?”

Veronica looked up from her phone, which had gone silent.

Daphne tucked a wisp of gray hair behind one ear.

“Just the coffee.”

The woman looked at Veronica’s half-empty cup, then stared at her shaking leg.

Veronica forced it to stop.

“You sure?”

“Yes.”

Daphne filled the ceramic mug to the top.

“Let me know if you need anything else.”

Veronica nodded and Daphne left her to her thoughts.

She was still staring at the phone when it startled her by starting to ring.

McVeigh appeared on the display. Veronica was inclined to answer when the tiny bell above Daphne’s jangled.

The two men who entered couldn’t be more different. One was almost comically tall and thin, dressed in a t-shirt and jeans. The other, medium build, wearing a pressed shirt, slacks, and, of course, monogrammed shoes.

Veronica declined the call and stood as the two men approached.

The man in the sharp outfit stopped smiling the moment he saw her face.

“Veronica? What’s wrong?”

Veronica sat and indicated for the others to do the same.

“Cole, I need your help.”

“I gathered that. What can we do?”

“What I say has to stay between us. I trust you, Cole, you, too, Dylan.”

“Of course,” Cole said.

“Freddie has two kids and a wife. Ex-wife,” Veronica corrected. “But they’re estranged.”

Dylan’s eyes predictably narrowed.

“I won’t have anything to do with that fat piece of shit.”

Cole tried to calm his partner, but Dylan shook him off.

“No, he tried to frame me. He tried—”

“I know,” Veronica said sharply. “I get it. What Freddie did was absolutely fucked up. But this is different. This—”

“He’s going away, just like he deserves,” Dylan cut in.

“Christ, would you just listen?” the timber of Veronica’s voice finally shut the man up. “Good. This isn’t about Freddie, at least not directly. Someone took his kids.”

A second passed, then two.

“What do you mean, took his kids?”

“Kidnapped.” Veronica took the note that she’d taken from Susan Byers. She glanced around, confirmed that nobody was paying attention—Daphne always seated them at the back—and then placed the piece of paper on the table.

Cole leaned forward to get a better look. All Dylan had to do was lift his chin.

“Shit. This real?”

“Yeah.”

“What do you know?” Cole asked.

“Not much. One or both—” Veronica was interrupted by her phone. This time it was Captain Bottel. She declined the call. “One or both of them were hanging out with Kendrick ‘Trigger’ Holchester.”

Dylan sucked his teeth, leaned back, and folded his arms.

Veronica’s eyes went from him to back to Cole.

“The thing is, Trigger is dead. He was shot last night.”

“Good,” Dylan said flatly. “Man was a piece of shit. Addicted to ecstasy. Used to—”

Veronica veered them back on course.

“We don’t know where the other guy is—Damien ‘Toots’ Blackwell—but they might have been working together.”

“Who took Trigger out?” Dylan asked.

“Don’t know. All we know was that he was shot, execution style.”

“Where?” Cole this time.

“I’ll get that to you. We need to be quick on this. If Toots has the kids and he finds out Trigger was killed because of some drug debt—their drug debt—and thinks he’s next, he’s going to panic.”

“Motherfucker always panics. Shifty—”

“You think this is a drug debt? Why take the kids then? Because of Freddie?”

If Veronica hadn’t been so amped up, she would have thought twice before answering.

“One of Freddie’s kids was caught with a kilo of heroin—”

The second the words left her mouth, Dylan rocketed to his feet.

“The fuck? The fuck?”

“What’s wrong?” Cole asked, reaching for Dylan’s arm, intending to pull him back down. Dylan roughly pulled free.

“I know what’s going on here.”

“Keep your voice down,” Cole hissed.

“Naw, fuck that. One of your fat partner’s kids got caught with the kilo, huh? Then your partner steals that same fucking package and plants it on me.”

Veronica’s face reddened and she began to think that this was a bad idea.

“I don’t know for sure—”

“Of course you do. You know, you got same big ol’ balls asking me—us,” Dylan indicated himself and Cole, “to help out—”

“Would you just sit the fuck down?” Cole said, raising his voice.

The first flash of warm colors appeared around Dylan’s head like a halo. Just a flicker of yellow from his crown like a dying candle.

“We’re partners right?” Dylan said. “Well, I’m saying no to this shit.”

Cole grimaced.

“Just think about it—”

“Naw, I’m out. I’m fucking out.”

“Dylan…”

“Let him go,” Veronica said, worried that Dylan, despite his complete CHANGE, might still get violent.

“Fuck you for asking me to do this,” Dylan cursed, then stormed off.

Cole sighed and rubbed his temples aggressively, messing up his hair.

“I’m sorry about that.”

“Don’t be. He’s got a right to be pissed off. But that doesn’t change this.” Veronica planted a finger on the note. “Whoever has Freddie’s kids is going to kill them, if they haven’t already. I really need your help, Cole.”

“And you have it,” Cole said, without hesitation. “You know I’ll always help you, Veronica.”

Chapter 23

Cole was well aware of the fact that if Veronica had asked him to hide a gun that she’d used in a murder, he would have done it.

There wasn’t a single thing that she could have asked him to do for her that he wouldn’t oblige.

And this bothered him.

It bothered him that the woman had such control over him. This had less to do with ego than it did with not understanding why it was the case.

There was a lot to like about Veronica Shade. Her tenacity, her drive, those odd, gold-flecked eyes, her face, her body, and the animal she was in bed.

But Cole had had lovers of a similar status before and had no problem forgetting about them when their time together was up.

Was it the baggage that Veronica brought with her? Perhaps baggage was too light a word. More like a whole suitcase set of problems.

When her secrets had been aired on live TV, Cole, who, despite not having worked in law enforcement for nearly half a year still kept his ear to the ground, heard what others were saying about her.

Not much was positive.

But Cole had a different reaction. Her unfathomable childhood and subsequently living with her strange condition had only strengthened his affinity for her.

This, like his continued dedication long after Veronica had broken up with him only to return to her ex-boyfriend, was a mystery to him.

Cole placed a call and then left Daphne’s.

He wished that Dylan’s by his side. They’d worked together, side-by-side, for months now. Dylan had proven to be more than just a wealth of information and resources. His checkered past gave him insight into the other side.

And together, as part of Redemption Agency, they’d managed to make a little bit of a name for themselves. Their cases weren’t as… glamorous… as Cole would have liked—case in point, their recent adventure at the flower shop—but they had no problem getting work now.

Cole pulled into the hardware store parking lot, the meeting place that he’d said over the phone.

There, he waited.

And waited.

And waited.

Half an hour later, he recognized a car that slowly pulled into the lot. The gray sedan did a small loop before making a B-line toward him.

It stopped and Cole got out.

He walked over to the passenger door and got in.

“Hey,” he said, running a hand through his hair. “How you been?”

Lily Chen sat behind the wheel. Her pin-straight black hair was pulled into a loose ponytail. Her fingernails were painted a deep purple, or maybe even black.

“Oh, you know. Living the dream.”

Lily seemed tired.

Still pretty, though. They’d colleagues back in Internal Affairs. Lovers, too, although only for a brief time.

Lily was whip-smart, sarcastic, and a lot of fun.

“How ‘bout you?” she asked.

Lily’s hazel eyes bore into him.

“Not gonna lie, Lily. Life’s been pretty good on the other side.”

Lily’s blood-red lips twitched.

“That bad, huh?” he said, recognizing the expression.

“Naw, it’s—” she stopped herself. “Fuck it. I’m not going to lie to you. It’s pretty bad. Seems like every male cop in Greenham is obsessed with women’s underwear. I’m beginning to think that it’s part of the hiring process.” She lowered her voice, interlaced her fingers, and steepled her pointers. “So, you did exceptionally well on your Academy exams, Mr. Batherson. And you have a wealth of experience, coming from private security. I just have one more question for you… do you prefer fart catchers or thongs?”

Cole chuckled.

“So, not much has changed I see.”

Lily sighed, unfolded her hands, and rested them on her thighs.

“I’m tired of this shit. I really am. I can see why you got out.”

Cole suddenly felt bad for the woman.

“Well, Redemption Agency isn’t exactly hiring, but we’re in a position where we are considering expanding in the near future.”

Lily squinted.

“Let me guess, I do this favor for you, and you put in a good word with the boss?”

See? Whip-smart.

“Bosses,” Cole corrected.

“Ah, yes. Where is Dylan, by the way?”

Cole frowned.

“He’s sitting this one out.”

“Which means that it involves your ex-partner.”

Damn, she was intuitive.

Cole held up his hands.

“You got me.”

“Well, I won’t break any laws…”

“I know. I just want you to look at some traffic cameras.”

Now, it was Lily’s turn to frown. Cole thought he understood why; when Veronica had asked him to look into Dylan Hall and his then pending court case for possession with intent to distribute, he’d used Lily’s saved password on his laptop to review traffic camera footage.

Which led him to discover all about Freddie Furlow.

“Cole…”

“What? It’s not illegal. Just tell them that you were tracking an underwear thief’s car.”

Lily still appeared to be on the fence.

“Look, it’s serious this time.” Cole reconsidered. “More serious. You know Detective—well, ex-Detective Furlow?”

“The one awaiting trial for stealing from the Matheson evidence locker using the footage I provided to you?”

Cole was unfazed.

“Yep, that very one. His two sons… they’ve been kidnapped.”

“What? How come I haven’t heard about this?”

“It’s being kept under wraps for now.”

“I thought that this was about the explosion in the Mall.”

Cole had thought the same thing when Veronica had first reached out.

“It’s not. Someone nabbed them yesterday. I need to know who and how.”

Lily let her hair down, ran her fingers through her black locks.

“And if I do this, you’ll think about taking on another PI?”

“Of course.”

Lily nodded.

“Alight.” She reached into the backseat and pulled out her laptop. “Give me the address. This time, I’m going to look it up, not you.”

Chapter 24

Veronica got three more phone calls, two from Sheriff McVeigh, and one from Captain Bottel.

She answered his last one.

“Detective Shade where the hell are you? And where is Detective Furnelli?”

“We’re looking into a lead. We think—”

“Doesn’t matter. Drop whatever you’re doing and come into the Bear County Sheriff’s Department.”

Something in Captain Bottel’s tone had Veronica’s full attention now.

“What is it? Did McVeigh figure out who owns the mall?”

“Just get in here. You and Detective Furnelli. Drop whatever you’re doing.”

Veronica hated surprises.

“Can’t you just—” she stopped talking when she realized that the line had already gone dead. “Asshole.”

Veronica tossed the phone onto the passenger seat and took a hard left.

She made it to the Sheriff’s Department in under ten minutes.

Once again, Veronica was the last to arrive. She was getting the impression that nobody left the conference room, that nobody was actually doing anything to figure out who was behind the drugs found in the Greenham mall.

The only thing different this time around was that Captain Bottel’s face bore the deepest frown.

The man was likely angered by the fact that Court wasn’t accompanying her.

Veronica sat and McVeigh wasted no time getting down to it.

“We’ve identified the man in the mall,” the interim Sheriff said, pulling up a driver’s license on the big screen. “His name is Jasper Bratt. Thirty-six years old, Idaho driver’s license. We don’t know much about him. No priors, not much of a history. Found an employment record from six years ago. Was an insurance adjuster for a small company based out of Boise.”

Veronica squinted at the image on-screen. The man in the driver’s license photo was younger but she had no doubt that it was the same man from the security footage in the mall.

“Never heard of him,” DEA Agent Allison stated.

“Not surprising,” McVeigh said. “No priors. No gang or cartel affiliations, either. We tried to link him to Anguis Holdings—the cartel out of New York via Colombia with the same symbol—but we’ve got nothing. He’s not on any list of known associates who were involved in any of that activity that we could find.”

“So, this Jasper guy goes from being a regular upstanding citizen—as upstanding as an insurance adjuster can be—six years ago to being involved in an eight-figure heroin operation?” Crouch said, sounding dubious.

“Looks that way. We need all resources to find this guy.”

Something was bothering Veronica.

“Where did you get the driver’s license from?” she asked.

McVeigh grunted.

“I wish I could say that it was from hard work, but it wasn’t.” Crouch grunted at this. “Someone found the wallet.”

“What?”

“Someone found the wallet,” McVeigh repeated.

Veronica blinked.

“Where?”

McVeigh sighed.

“A deputy found it in his pocket of all things.”

Veronica wasn’t sure she heard correctly.

Neither did Crouch, apparently.

“What the hell are you talking about?”

“Someone slipped it in his pocket. He doesn’t know when or where.”

“That’s insane.”

“Doesn’t matter. The only other thing in the wallet was this.” The sheriff clicked his phone and the driver’s license was replaced by a generic keycard. “One of my techs is working on it, but there’s a high probability that this is the card that granted access to the room where the drugs were being packaged.”

“Any update on who rented the room or who owned the mall?” Captain Bottel asked. The man was completely stoic.

“Not yet. Still working on it. It’s proving more difficult than I thought.” McVeigh cleared his throat. “I want everyone to head out into the field, find Jasper. Exploit all resources. Understood?”

“Aye, aye, boss,” Crouch said with a smile and a salute.

Veronica had zero intention of looking for Jasper Bratt. When Captain Bottel had called her, she’d expected something more.

A name was something, but Jasper Bratt must have known that this was inevitable. The man knew about the mall, the cameras.

He was probably gone to the wind.

Let Crouch and Allison do the grunt work.

Veronica had something else to do.

She left the room, ignoring Captain Bottel calling her name.

Outside, she called Cole.

“Any update?”

“It’s been, like half an hour.”

Veronica waited.

“No, not yet. Still working on it. I’ll let you know, Veronica.”

“Thanks.”

Veronica considered what to do next. Her priority was to find Kevin and Randall Byers but wasn’t sure where to start.

Cole was better at a task like that, and she knew he was fully dedicated.

Something was niggling at her.

Veronica couldn’t shake the feeling that the kidnapping and the explosion were related. They had to be.

It wasn’t just the volume of drugs in both cases, but it was the symbol, too. That snake eating the eyeball.

Anguis Holdings or whatever the hell it was called.

They had to be linked.

Veronica used this as justification for what to do next.

Search for someone.

Not Kevin, or Randall, or Jasper.

But the boy from the mall. The one who had stolen Jasper’s wallet only to later plant it on a Deputy.

Yeah, Veronica thought that if she found him, she’d find Freddie’s kids.

And she knew just where to start looking.

Chapter 25

“Man, you’ve got it bad,” Lily teased. “Like, real bad.”

“No, it’s not like that,” Cole countered.

But it was like that.

He might not have Veronica’s near supernatural truth-telling ability, but Cole at least new when he was lying.

“Ssssure.”

Cole grimaced and nodded at the laptop.

“Alright, alright. So, this happened yesterday?”

Cole recalled what Veronica had told her. She’d been frantic and desperate, with good reason.

“Or the day before.”

“Way to narrow it down. Have a street in mind or do you want me to search all of Greenham?”

“I have a street. Hold on.” Cole had a copy of everything he’d found out about Freddie Furlow during his deep dive into Dylan Hall on his phone and he pulled this up now. He relayed the address and Lily punched it in.

The digital map on her laptop zoomed into the area.

“Residential,” Lily muttered. “Let’s check the major roads nearby.”

She used the pad to scroll out. Cameras were notated on cross-streets with a simple icon.

“There are four… here… here… and here and here.”

Two of the cameras were East of the Furlow/Byers residence, one was North, the other South-East.

“Where do you want to start?”

“No idea. North, I guess.”

Lily clicked on the camera icon, and they were immediately transferred to a live view. The image was grainy, but that wasn’t the problem. The problem was that the angle of the camera meant that they could only see through the front window of the cars that were stopped. Even then, it was mounted up high enough that all Cole got a good view of was the top of the driver’s head and the occasional glasses and prominent nose.

Cole watched in dismay when a green Camry pulled through the intersection—a yellow light, no less—and drove off.

“Okay, Cole, buddy, what are we lookin’ for?”

“I… don’t know. Fucking… two kids tied up in the back.”

“I hope you’re joking. I’m not getting a view of the backseat.”

Cole was joking… sort of.

“Let me scroll back two days.”

Lily did her thing and started watching the cars pull up to the intersection at four times speed. While she did this, Cole’s thoughts turned inward.

He thought back to six months ago when he’d been looking into Dylan Hall. Veronica had commissioned him—pro bono—to find out how the drugs the addict claimed weren’t his got into his apartment.

The trail had eventually led him to Freddie’s house, where he’d parked outside and watched. A car had pulled up and Kevin Byers, looking as suspicious as a man who had just binged on roadside tacos and was about to pass gas, had gotten in.

That car…

That car… what the hell was it?

Cole closed his eyes, tried to picture that day.

He’d been thinking about how Kevin was looking for cops and wouldn’t recognize him in his fancy outfit.

His eyes snapped open, and Cole sat up straight.

Lily jumped.

“Jesus, you scared me. Were you sleepin’?”

Cole had mastered the art of microsleeps, breaking up the regular six- or seven-hour blocks into more bite-size, twenty-minute chunks.

But this hadn’t been one of them.

“We’re looking for a black Mercedes,” he said confidently. “The windows are tinted, including the front.”

“That helps.”

Lily craned her neck closer to her laptop that was wedged between her flat stomach and the steering wheel.

Cole snapped his fingers.

“Oh, check the camera that leads toward Needle Point.”

“Got it.”

Lily loaded another camera and rolled the footage back.

Less than an hour later, they found the car.

It was exactly as Cole had described and how he remembered it.

All black Mercedes, newish model but not straight off the lot, with illegal window tinting.

“Get the plate! Get the plate!” he nearly shouted.

“I am.”

Lily slowed down the footage, went back and forth. As she did this she said, “Looks like the car passed through the intersection in the early morning hours. Three A.M.”

Cole checked the time on his phone.

It was the middle of the afternoon, which meant that the car had, presumably, picked up Kevin or Randall or both about thirty-six hours ago.

“Got it. Got the tag.”

“Punch it into the database.”

Lily did.

“Comes back registered to a Nancy Hobbs. Also belongs to a Hyundai hatchback.”

“Stolen plates.”

“Duh.”

“Can you follow the car?”

“I can.”

She did.

And as Cole had predicted, the car was headed to Needle Point. Not too many cameras in the drug capital of Bear County.

Cole noted the last camera and intersection then smiled.

“Thank you.”

He leaned over and kissed Lily on the forehead.

A simple, friendly gesture but when he pulled back, he saw a strange look in his friend’s eyes.

A longing, maybe?

Cole visibly shuddered, thinking he was projecting his feelings for Veronica on Lily.

“Gee, thanks to you, too,” Lily said, misinterpreting his reaction.

“No, it’s not…” Cole gave up. “Thank you, Lily. Really.”

“My pleasure. And keep me in mind if a spot at Redemption Agency ever opens up.”

“You’re at the top of the list, babe. Top of the list.”

Chapter 26

How long had it been since Veronica had seen those over-sized wrought iron gates? The large building in the distance?

Six months?

More?

But it didn’t matter how much time had passed—it could have been decades—and the simple sight of Renaissance Home would have curdled Veronica’s stomach.

The horrors that happened here. Not just to her late brother, Benny, or Dante Fiori, who had murdered at least three people, and would have killed many more, including Veronica herself, if she hadn’t put a bullet in his head.

It was all the kids who had come through this place over the years and had suffered untold abuse at the hands of Father Cartier.

The last time she’d stepped foot near the place, Veronica had come across the hanging corpse of Sister Margaret.

Officially, Sister Margaret's death had been marked as a suicide.

But just like Father Cartier’s passing, whose death was marked as a major coronary event, she’d been killed.

Killed by the very young boys under their charge.

Good.

Veronica lowered her eyes from the building and regained her focus.

She pressed the button on the box outside the gate.

There was a buzz, and she waited.

Caught her breath.

“Hi.”

Even though she knew that Sister Margaret was dead, she still expected to hear the woman’s gravelly voice.

But the woman who spoke now did so in a dulcet tone.

“How can I help you?”

How can you help me?

“Yeah, hi, I’m—I—” Veronica took another breath. “My name’s Detective Veronica Shade. I was wondering if there was someone I could speak to about one of your…” she struggled with the right word. Charges? Students? Kids?

The woman on the other end saved her the embarrassment by unlocking the gate.

“Come on in.”

Veronica opened the gate and started up the long, cobblestone walk. The headmaster wasn’t the only thing that had changed. She immediately noticed that the cross that had once hung over the large wooden doors was now gone. This wasn’t just from memory; she could see the place where it once hung: the brick was less faded than those surrounding it. Veronica’s eyes were aimed upward when one of the large double doors started to open.

A woman with sandy blond hair, intense eyes, with a medium build stood on the other side.

“Veronica Shade,” Veronica said immediately, extending her hand.

“Moira Black.” The woman’s grip was firm. “How can I help you?”

She didn’t invite Veronica inside. In fact, she seemed suspicious.

Last time she’d been here, the interior of the building had been awash with fiery colors. Now, it was devoid of anything of the sort. It was also well-lit. A quick glance upward revealed that new lights had been installed, the bright LED kind, in the ceiling.

“I’m trying to identify someone,” she said.

“Do you have ID?”

“Of course.”

Veronica intended to just flash her badge, out of habit, but the woman clearly wanted her to hand it over.

Veronica did and Moira spent a significant amount of time inspecting both the badge and her image before handing it back.

“Do you have a name?” Moira asked.

“No, I have—”

“Mrs. Black! Stan is throwing food again.”

Behind Moira, stood a young boy, maybe eleven years old. His hair was so blond that it was nearly white.

Moira turned and lowered onto her haunches.

“He’s having a hard time adjusting. Let Mrs. Stevens know and just move tables.” Moira brushed at a stain on the front of the kid’s white shirt. “A little food won’t hurt you.”

“Okay.”

The kid bounded off and Moira turned back to Veronica.

“Why don’t we chat in my office?”

Veronica nodded and Moira waved her hand over the entrance.

It wasn’t the lack of a cross and the new lighting that had changed. The walls had been painted a creme color and the general ambiance of the place had been improved.

As they walked down the halls, Veronica’s ears were inundated with the occasional cheer or jeer from young boys.

It was… uplifting, in a way.

“This place has changed.”

Veronica was just voicing her internal thoughts, but Moira decided to comment anyway.

“I was brought in after… well, right before the changes were made.”

“I noticed that the cross is gone,” Veronica remarked.

“Well, after what happened, the government decided to cut all funding from Renaissance Home. They wanted to shut it down.”

After what happened…

Veronica didn’t know if Moira knew who she was, knew her history with this place, or if she was being deliberately obtuse so as to not relive said events.

“A private buyer stepped up, gave this place a much-needed injection of funds. Decided that the church wasn’t needed.”

Moira reached her office door, which listed her name on it.

Veronica felt her heart start to beat a little faster. It was the same office that she’d found Sister Margaret hanging from, piles of shredded documents beneath her.

Moira must have sensed this change in her because before fully opening the door she said.

“The office has changed, too.”

Indeed, it had.

For lack of a better word, what was now Moira Black’s office was modernized. There was a slick glass desk with a large computer monitor sitting on top. The walls were the same creme color as the hallway. Two comfy-looking chairs sat across from the desk, against one wall. Said walls were adorned with several generic oil paintings.

“Here,” Moira said, indicating the upholstered chairs.

Veronica chose the seat that was furthest from the door—old habits died hard—and Moira sat in the other.

“Okay, so you’re looking for someone?”

“Yes. I don’t have a name, but I do have a photo.”

She took out her phone and shuffled through some of the photos that Court had sent her from the mall security footage.

She found the best photo of the wallet-stealing kid and showed it to Moira. Like the woman had done with Veronica’s ID, Moira took a good while inspecting the image.

Then she frowned and shook her head. Handed Veronica her phone back.

“I’m sorry, I don’t recognize him.”

“I have more photos if—”

“Detective Shade, I know every kid who has been here since I arrived. Whoever that person is, they don’t attend Renaissance Home.”

Veronica couldn’t hide her disappointment. It had been foolish coming here. The State of Oregon had more than five thousand orphans, more than half of which were boys. The kid could have come from any number of institutions. Hell, the kid could be from out of state.

“What about before you came around?”

Moira inhaled sharply.

“As you are aware, all previous records were destroyed.”

Ah, so Moira knew who Veronica was.

She wasn’t sure if this was a good or a bad thing.

“Sorry to have wasted your time,” Veronica said, rising to her feet.

“Not a problem. I’ll walk you out.”

Lunch had since ended, and kids roamed the hallways, doing what kids did.

Laughing, horsing around.

It was so different from the vibe Veronica got lost time—though, admittedly, there had been no kids in the hall then—that she was taken aback.

The doors to the rooms were mostly open, too.

A song suddenly entered Veronica’s mind, and she was helpless to push it away.

One, two, I’m coming for you. Three four, lock your door. Five, six, I crossed the River Styx. Seven, eight, I’ve sealed your fate.

She shuddered.

“Thanks again.”

Veronica looked past Moira, saw the boys’ smiling faces. The lack of burning colors.

“And thanks for taking over here. I think you’re doing good things.”

“I’m just doing what I can to clean up the mess left behind. These kids… they deserve a chance.”

“That they do.”

Chapter 27

Cole wished that Dylan was with him, if for nothing more than to show him around Needle Point. He could count how many times he’d been in the borough on one hand and even on those occasions, he’d not stayed long.

Why would he?

Needle Point wasn’t just the unofficial drug capital of Oregon outside of Portland, which had magnitudes greater population, but it was dangerous as hell.

Junkies were by nature desperate people and desperate people held little value for human life.

Cole slowed as he reached the last intersection where the blacked-out Mercedes had been spotted.

Nothing of note. It was a wonder the red-light camera actually worked; the street corner was littered with refuse, not a small contributor of which was drug paraphernalia, from syringes to broken pipes, to a myriad of burnt sections of foil.

Perhaps most disturbing was the headless doll, the fabric chest of which was covered in a disturbing dark brown stain.

On foot now, Cole placed his hands on his hips and looked around.

After leaving Internal Affairs with the Greenham PD, he’d had no problem applying for and receiving his PI license from the Oregon Department of Public Safety Standards and Training. The DPSST has also granted him a concealed carry license, but Cole never took advantage of this.

He never had a reason for it. Cuckolded spouses could get violent, but their actions rarely required anything more than a stern talking to in order to calm down. If things escalated, well, he had a six-foot-nine ex-con to assert dominance.

Not so today.

And Cole suddenly felt naked without the gun locked back in the office.

He exhaled, shook out his hands, and continued to look around. Movement in a dingy alley about a half block away drew his attention and he headed in that direction, careful not to stick himself with a stray needle through his running shoes.

Worried that he might startle the man in the alley, Cole announced his approach.

“Hello?”

The man was wearing an Oregon hoodie, soiled, and had wide-set eyes. He licked his lips as he took Cole in.

“Hey,” Cole said, trying to get a read on the man. The filth that covered his shirt suggested that he was an addict and the way his eyes skittered back and forth was also a telltale sign.

Cole stepped into the mouth of the alley, and the man’s large hands balled into fists.

“Okay, okay?” Cole said, putting his own hands up as he backed up. “I just want to ask you a couple of questions?”

No reply from the man.

“Have you seen a black Mercedes around here? Windows tinted?”

“Tinted… tinted… tinted…” the man repeated. He had a strange way of speaking, not quite a lisp but his consonances were soft, as if his tongue was a little too large for his mouth.

“Yeah, a black car,” Cole said hesitantly.

“Car… car… car…”

Cole couldn’t tell if the man’s brain had been completely fried from prolonged drug use or if there was something more fundamentally wrong with him.

“Have you… seen it?”

The man blinked.

What a waste of time, Cole thought. Then, as a last resort, he reached into his wallet. He’d brought some cash with him, three twenties, and he pulled one of them out.

While the world had mostly moved on from cash over the past few years, there were still some industries that relied on it.

And this was one of them.

“Twenty bucks if you tell me if you’ve seen the car. Twenty more if you can tell me where.”

“Car… car… car…” The man was nodding in sync with each word and even though Cole figured that burning the bill right here would yield more dividends, he parted with the money. The man-made it disappear in a way that only the desperate knew how.

“Okay, so you’ve seen it? Black—”

“Tinted… tinted… tinted…”

Cole frowned. He was getting nothing back other than what he’d already said. Still, he found himself removing another twenty, against his better judgment.

“Where?” The word was barely out of his mouth before this bill, like the first, vanished.

“Where?” he repeated.

The man didn’t move. Didn’t even blink.

“Come, man, I gave you forty bucks. Have you seen the car or not?”

Cole continued this way for a good three minutes, each derivative answer being met with silence, before giving up.

“Gee, thanks.”

He walked away, shaking his head at himself for his own stupidity.

After a few steps, Cole realized that the man was also walking. He looked over his shoulder, saw that the odd character was staring at him.

“Yeah?” Cole snapped.

Nothing.

“Listen, I don’t have—” he stopped speaking when the man suddenly pointed a stubby, grimy finger in the opposite direction.

Then he started to walk, and Cole followed, making sure to keep his distance. He was well aware of the fact that it was quite possible that he was walking into a trap. More almost mute thugs ready to shake him down for his last twenty.

Where the fuck are you, Dylan?

If it was a trap, the man in the Oregon DUCKS sweatshirt was in no rush to separate Cole from his cash. The man moved painfully slowly.

Excruciatingly slowly.

They stayed on the main road, making a left at the first intersection. This area was even shadier than the first, and Cole half-suspect to find his car on cinderblocks sans tires when he returned.

Another right, then the man stopped abruptly.

Ahead of them was a shell of a squat apartment building. Calling it derelict was too gracious praise. The bottom floor was completely gutted and lacked any walls. Thick, brown I-beams that supported the second story, which had walls, but no windows, were the only thing visible.

The man pointed.

“You’ve seen the car in there? The blacked-out Mercedes?”

The man’s reply came in the form of another aggressive jab. The man appeared to be pointing not at the building itself, but down the side.

Despite being completely open on the ground floor, it butted up against an adjacent building. This one was ‘complete’ but was otherwise in a similar state of disrepair.

A single-story, A-frame ‘home’. Graffiti covered the outside.

“There?”

Another point and Cole shook his head.

“Okay, then. Thanks… I guess.”

Cole took a wide berth around the stationary man and headed toward the building, scanning the interior as he went.

Nothing new there.

Sticking to the narrow passage between the apartment complex and the house, keeping his back to the latter to ensure that he couldn’t be jumped from behind, Cole saw that there was a set of rickety-looking temporary stairs made out of wood. They ascended upward to a doorway that was missing an actual door. The angle—up and to the right—made it impossible for him to see inside.

Cole decided to do a walk around before investigating any further.

He didn’t make it that far.

As soon as he cleared the other side of the house, he saw the Mercedes. The rear tag had been removed, but he knew it was the same one: the front windshield, the only glass that hadn’t been completely shattered, was heavily tinted.

With a tinge of irony, he saw that the vehicle was sitting on cinder blocks; the tires, and likely everything inside, were missing.

Well, he thought, changing his tune, that was forty bucks well spent.

The car was parked in front of the house, which was why he hadn’t seen it before coming out of the narrow passage.

He walked over to it, peered inside, confirming what he’d suspected: the interior had been ravaged, every electronic element torn out, leaving a mess of tangled wires behind.

Cole snapped a few photos, then kept his phone out, debating calling Veronica and letting her know that he’d found the car.

He decided to wait.

Despite being parked in front of the house, his eyes were drawn not to it, but to the apartment building. Or maybe the idea of trying to gain access to the house, which was not just boarded up, but the front door was covered in a hefty-looking iron cage.

Keeping his cell phone and flicking on the flashlight, Cole left the Mercedes and ducked into the open-air bottom floor of the apartment complex.

Looking around every few seconds to ensure that no one was coming up on him—and also noting that the man in the Oregon sweatshirt who had led him here was now gone—he navigated through the space, stepping over chunks of drywall rubble.

A strange feeling washed over him as he neared the wooden staircase. Not exactly fear, but it was far from a warm and fuzzy sensation.

More like impending dread.

Cole grabbed the hand railing on instinct and then pulled his hand back. He’d barely touched the thing, but his palm was sticky with some horrifying clear fluid.

He aggressively wiped his hand on the thigh of his pants, regretted that, too, knowing that he’d have to get his slacks dry cleaned. He tried the first step, found it stable, and chanced his entire weight on it.

The wood groaned but held.

Breathing rapidly now, Cole tried the next step. When it didn’t collapse, he gained confidence and mounted the next three without hesitation.

The next step was completely missing, and Cole was forced to take a large step over it. The staircase wobbled a little, and he held his ground. He wasn’t so high up now that a fall would do anything more than be an inconvenience, but he wanted to be prepared for that eventuality.

Cole eventually made it to the top without falling.

Thank God for small favors.

He shined his flashlight into the dark space and the blackness swallowed it hole.

Even though it was bright out, and growing warmer by the second, all windows had been bordered up. This somebody had done with great care, and the tight fighting wood panels allowed not a sliver of light in.

Strange, he thought. This seemed unusual, given the general state of the rest of the structure.

“Hello?” he said into the darkness.

Stupid, but the sound of his own voice calmed him a little.

Holding the flashlight on his phone out in front of him, Cole took one step into the second floor and then immediately stopped.

The smell was rancid, like sour meat.

No, this was not good.

A persistent buzzing sound reached his ears. A low, droning sound.

Cole’s throat suddenly went dry.

He opened his mouth to say hello again, but before he could utter the first syllable, his voice caught.

The light from his phone finally broke through the darkness and illuminated the interior.

No sooner did this happen, did Cole turned and ran, nearly plummeting down the staircase in the process

Chapter 28

Veronica was halfway to the Bear County Sheriff’s Department headquarters when a call came in.

“Veronica… Jesus, Veronica you need to get here. You need to get here right now.”

“Cole? What’s going on?”

“You just—fucking hell. You need to get here as fast as possible.”

Even though ‘here’ could have meant anywhere in Bear County, Veronica pressed her foot down on the gas pedal.

“Where are you?”

“Fucking Needle Point.”

“What the hell are you doing there?”

“I found the car! And I found… I found the bodies.”

Veronica’s blood turned to ice.

“Bodies?”

“Fucking hell. Please, just hurry up.”

“Where are you?”

“Needle Point!”

Veronica wrenched the wheel and pulled an aggressive U-turn. A car honked and swerved to avoid being sideswiped.

“Where in Needle Point.”

Cole was out of breath.

“In the—the fucking abandoned—just get here, I’ll drop you a pin. Hurry.”

The call ended and a notification chimed—Cole’s current location. Taking her eyes off the road, Veronica clicked the pin, and the GPS started to tell her where to go.

Bodies?

Her mind went to Kevin and Randall Byers.

No, can’t be them. No.

Heart racing, she called Detective Furnelli.

“Detective Shade? I was just about to call you to check in. Everything—”

“I need you, Court. I need you to join me in Needle Point.”

“Needle Point?”

“Cole found something. The car… uhh, bodies.”

“Bodies?”

In the background, Veronica heard someone sob.

Susan Byers, no doubt.

“Shit.”

“You—” Court paused, and his voice became muffled. “No, it’s okay. I’m—I’m trying to figure it out. Gimme a second.” His voice became clear. “What the hell is going on?”

“I don’t know. Just—I’m going to send you the location.”

“Okay. What do you want me to do with Ms. Byers?”

Veronica clenched her jaw.

She didn’t like the idea of leaving the woman alone. She liked the idea of meeting up with Cole without backup even less.

“Tell her to stay put. Not to open the door no matter what?”

“She’s—” another sob, this time punctuated by a curse. “She’s worried.”

She should be.

“Just do it, Court. And hurry.”

***

Cole was waving his hands over his head dramatically when Veronica reached his location. His face was deathly pale.

Veronica slammed on the brakes, left the car running, and got out.

“Where? Where are the bodies?”

Cole swallowed painfully and then the man pointed at the building behind him.

The bottom floor was completely empty, just an open space that she thought might’ve been a parking lot, if not for the beams that would have made navigating cars in the space next to impossible.

“In there?”

“Upstairs.”

Cole’s evident fright was off-putting, but before Veronica could judge the man too harshly, she reminded herself of what he was and what he’d been.

A cop, yes, but in IA.

Although it had never come up, Veronica wouldn’t be surprised if this—or these—were the first bodies that Cole had come across.

And now he was a PI.

Again, likely no bodies there either.

“Okay, stay here.”

Veronica reached back into her car and grabbed a set of latex gloves and a flashlight.

She slammed the door and walked straight for the staircase. It looked suspect, but she figured that if it held Cole’s weight, she should be okay, too.

They didn’t collapse.

Even with both their weight.

Cole had followed her up the stairs.

She wanted to tell him to wait behind but felt some comfort in not being alone.

It was dark upstairs, and it stunk.

A stink that Veronica immediately recognized.

She flicked on her flashlight and entered the space.

Second to the smell, were the flies.

They were buzzing, frenzied.

Veronica scanned the space closest to her.

The floor was surprisingly clear of refuse, unlike the street outside and the bottom floor.

She took two measured steps, and her synesthesia instantly kicked into high gear.

The white light from her flashlight was replaced by reds, oranges, and yellows.

Violence.

Violence had taken place here.

Three more steps, and she saw them.

Two bodies.

Cole was breathing heavily on the back of her neck.

She wanted him close, but not this close.

Wanting to get closer to the bodies and away from Cole, Veronica strode again.

“Shit.”

It was the man in the suit. The one from the mall.

Dead.

There was a bullet hole in the center of his forehead. At least, Veronica assumed there was a bullet hole there. Flies clustered around the wound, feeding on dried blood that obscured his face.

Veronica blinked, trying to temper her synesthesia.

It worked a little.

Despite the apparent wound and the pallor of the man’s skin, not to mention the unblinking eyes, Veronica leaned down out of habit and checked for a pulse with her gloved hand.

Feeling none, she moved across the floor to the second body.

As she neared this corpse, which was slumped up against the back wall, Veronica realized that she knew this man, too.

Knew of him, anyway.

It was Trigger—AFRO.

Unlike the man in the suit—his name is Jasper, Jasper Bratt—Trigger hadn’t been shot in the head.

Three bullet holes dotted his chest.

Flies feasted on these wounds, as well.

“What the fuck happened?” Cole breathed, once again close behind her.

Veronica ignored him and surveyed the entire scene.

A handgun lay next to Trigger a second one about three feet from Jasper’s outstretched hand.

In the corner of the room, there was a torn brown package. The interior was coated in a white powder and on the outside, torn in half, was the image of a snake. Although the mouth with the eyeball in it was missing, it was undoubtedly the same symbol that DEA Agent Allison had mentioned.

Veronica closed her eyes, took a shallow breath, and then felt her nose prickle with the sour scent.

The scene played out in her mind.

Trigger by the back of the room, either cutting or sampling the dope. Jasper comes in, gun drawn.

Says something that causes Trigger to get his own weapon out. Or maybe it was at the ready.

They exchange words, things get heated.

They shoot each other.

Odd, improbable, but not impossible.

The real question was why?

Was Jasper the wholesaler? Had he lent the kilo of heroin to Trigger, the same kilo that had put Freddie behind bars?

Was he coming to collect?

It made sense with what she knew from Susan Byers.

Sort of.

“They killed each other,” Cole said, voicing her own thoughts. “Do you think—”

“Quiet,” Veronica hissed.

Cole immediately fell silent.

He even stopped breathing, evidenced by the fact that she no longer felt hot air on the back of her neck.

She’d heard something. Something beneath the drone of the flies. A dull, resonant thud.

“Did you hear that?” she asked.

“I—”

“Shh.”

Veronica heard it again.

Two distinct thumps.

It seemed to be coming from the other side of the room.

Which, Veronica quickly realized, wasn’t exactly a room. The building once had aspirations of being an apartment building, what Veronica guessed might have had twelve or fifteen small domiciles.

Only the first three had ever been completed.

Oddly, all three doors, on the far side opposite the bodies, were firmly closed.

Veronica hurried to that side of the room.

The first door she tried was locked.

She was moving to the second when she heard the thumping again. It was definitely coming from behind door number one.

Veronica returned to the first door and pressed her ear up against the unfinished wood. No thumping this time, but what sounded like muffled shouts.

She backed up, bumped into Cole.

“Sorry.”

“Stay back,” she said.

The door was flimsy, and one kick next to the handle caused it to fly inward so hard that it nearly rebounded and closed again.

Veronica ran into the room, splaying light before her.

She saw them immediately.

Two men, sitting on the floor with filthy rags in their mouths, filthier rags over their eyes.

The muffled shouting intensified as Veronica rushed forward.

“It’s okay! It’s okay, I’m a cop.”

She leaped over a half-constructed counter sitting on the floor, skidded to a stop in front of the first man.

Man was an over statement.

They were just kids.

The bound individual squirmed, but they were unable to stand.

Veronica ripped the blindfold off, and the terrified kid blinked tears from his eyes.

For the third time in the last ten minutes, Veronica was met with a familiar face.

Not one she’d seen before, but a thinner, younger, version of the man she’d worked beside as a Detective.

Veronica hugged the boy then.

“You’re going to be okay, Kevin. You’re going to be okay.”

Chapter 29

Kevin and Randall Byers were unhurt. Hungry and dehydrated, but other than that perfectly fine.

Veronica appeased the latter by providing them with bottles of water she kept in her trunk.

Neither said much and despite her best efforts to hide them from the carnage in the adjacent room, both had seen the bodies.

Kevin looked on the verge of tears whereas his older brother’s jaw was perpetually set. Randall knew who she was. Veronica saw it in the man’s dark eyes.

She decided to address Kevin as he leaned against her car and took tiny sips of water. Cole, sensing that she wanted a modicum of privacy, called Randall aside.

“Kevin, do you know who I am?”

The man looked at her—really looked at her—squinting as he did.

“I… think you’re going for Sheriff?” he said hesitantly.

“Right. My name is Veronica Shade and I’m a detective with Greenham PD.” She paused, met his stare. Kevin looked away. “I was also your father’s partner.”

The bottle was halfway to his mouth when it stopped. His eyes darted back to hers.

“Fred?”

He was still in shock.

“Yeah. We were partners. I tell you this because I want you to know that you can trust me.”

Veronica immediately recognized her mistake.

“Because you worked with Fred, you think that it means I can trust you?” Kevin’s transition from shell-shocked to angry was startlingly fast.

“I just meant—”

“He’s in prison for stealing heroin. You think he can be trusted?”

He’s in prison for stealing heroin to keep you out of jail, Veronica mentally corrected.

There was blue coming off both Byers boys, but a dusting of soft yellow was only apparent above Randall’s crown.

Veronica didn’t know when Court was going to arrive but figured it must be soon.

She decided to push a little harder but from a slightly different angle.

“Be that as it may, I’m here because of him, because of your father. Now, I’m trying to figure this thing out. You can help me, talk to me, or you can wait for someone else from the Greenham PD. Someone who has a different opinion of Fred Furlow. Someone who might be inclined, given his and your collective pasts, to consider you more of a collaborator than a victim here.”

Kevin snarled but didn’t snap back.

“Are we on the same page?”

A subtle nod.

“Okay, so why don’t you tell me how you wound up here, bound and gagged, in a room next to two dead bodies?”

A sobering comment. Deliberate, and effective.

Now, Kevin took a baby sip of his water.

“I didn’t know that Randall was already in the car,” he began, peeling the label from his water.

“The Mercedes? Trigger’s car?”

Again, Kevin nodded.

“He was in the back, already tied up. I tried to get out, but he grabbed me.”

This didn’t make sense, but Veronica smelled no gas.

“How? Trigger wasn’t driving?”

“He was. Toots was in the back.”

“He grabbed me, tied me up like Randall. Drove us here. It was dark and I was… scared. Trigger and Toots brought us upstairs, through us in the room.”

“Did they say anything?”

“No. But…” Kevin sighed. “But I knew why.”

“Okay, you don’t need to say it.” Veronica didn’t want the kid to say anything that might incriminate him later. She thought she already knew why the two thugs would be interested in Kevin and Randall. “What happened once you were in the room?”

Kevin shrugged.

“Nothing. They left us in that room.”

“Did you hear anyone come or go?”

“Yeah. I think I heard someone leave, the same night that we were brought in. Then I think… well, we tried to break free, you know? Randy and me? But the ties were too tight. Couldn’t even see. Could barely breathe. The fucking… towel or whatever tasted so bad. But I thought if I puked I might choke. The next day, someone else came… there was yelling, but I couldn’t hear what they were saying. Then the shots. I thought they were coming for us next. Thought that they were going to kill us.”

Not much insight here.

“The man on the ground back there, did you get a good look at him?”

Despite me doing my best to make sure you didn’t see?

The way Kevin sucked on his water, hungrily now, he’d seen something.

The flies.

The dried blood.

“Here,” Veronica said, pulling out her phone and showing Kevin a photo of Jasper’s driver’s license. “You ever see him before?”

“That… that’s him?”

“Yeah.”

“No. I’ve never seen him. What the hell happened?”

Before Veronica could answer, a car pulled up.

“Veronica?” Cole said, inching back toward her.

Veronica put a hand on her gun, then relaxed when she saw Detective Furnelli step out. She tensed again when the passenger door opened.

“Kevin! Randy!” Susan Byers screamed. She ran toward her children and Veronica moved out of their way.

Court hurried over to her, nodding at Cole as he passed.

“What the hell?” Veronica hissed out of the corner of her mouth. “You brought her along with you?”

“I had no choice. She was… she was going to follow me if I didn’t take her,” Furnelli protested.

Veronica gripped her temples with one hand, massaged a little.

Perhaps it was for the best. Better not to leave Susan alone.

As Susan hugged her boys and cried, Court said, “You mentioned bodies?”

“Yeah. Jasper and Trigger. Both dead. Looks like they fucking shot each other.”

“What?”

“I don’t know what to tell you, but if Cole hadn’t found Trigger’s car, there’s a high probability that they would starved to death up there.”

Or worse.

Furnelli closed his eyes so tightly that his dark eyebrows nearly met in the center.

“I’m still trying to wrap my head around this. Jasper and Trigger shot each other? At the… uhh… same time?”

“It sure—”

Another car raced towards them and Veronica’s hand slipped back to her gun. Furnelli did the same.

“Oh, shit, you called him?”

“I—I was nervous. I thought…” Furnelli trailed off.

“Let me deal with this,” she said. Not waiting for a response, she strode toward the car.

Greenham PD Captain Pierre Bottel got out.

Then more cars came.

Within moments, the abandoned street and apartment building were overrun with the entire fucked up task force.

Chapter 30

Rather predictably, it was a shit show. Everyone asking questions all at once. It got worse when the Bear County Crime Scene Unit arrived, setting up spotlights.

It was all Veronica could do to protect Freddie’s family from the more aggressive agents. And the agents from Kevin, who made his disdain for DEA Agent Troy Allison painfully clear. The orange hues pouring out of his pores matched his brother’s now.

Kevin wasn’t fucking around.

McVeigh immediately took charge, sending Crouch and Allison into the building to assist with the crime scene.

He clearly sensed the tension, too.

After explaining what Cole was doing here, about the car and about the kidnapping to McVeigh and Bottel, the captain took Kevin and Randall aside for official statements.

“What a fucking way to end this. A shootout and they both die?”

Veronica cocked her head.

“You think this is the end?”

“You don’t?”

Veronica wanted this to be the end.

“You think this Jasper Bratt guy, an ex-security consultant* or whatever just found thirty million dollars and went all in on heroin?”

“I mean, he could be connected but all loose ends are tied up.”

“What do you mean loose ends are tied up? We have three dead guys back at the mall with no priors, two dead dealers, and Jasper Bratt, whoever the fuck he is.”

“That’s not what I meant. What I meant was—” Either this was exactly what McVeigh meant and was just trying to save face by coming up with something else, or he’d finally realized that he was in charge and didn’t actually have to answer her questions. “Good work finding the car.”

“I didn’t find it. Cole did.”

“He’s a PI?”

“Yeah. Used to be in Internal Affairs.”

“And you hired him?”

Not exactly.

“I asked him to lend a hand. Worked with him in Greenham.”

“And the two kids… how the hell did you know they were involved in this?”

“I didn’t… and I don’t. I went to see Freddie’s wife and she told me that someone had taken their kids. Asked Cole to help. Had no idea that Jasper had anything to do with this. Trigger neither.”

You smell that, McVeigh? That’s a fucking lie.

“Weird ass coincidence,” the sheriff muttered.

“Yeah.”

They went silent, watched the crime techs come and go. Heard Crouch’s booming voice from the second floor.

“What’s going to happen to the boys?” This question was probably more appropriate for Captain Bottel, but he was still grilling them.

“I’ll leave that up to the captain. Likely, they’ll just give a statement, get a check-up, and be free to go. I see no need to keep them.”

That was an olive branch from McVeigh. Out of his league or not, Veronica again thought that Steve was wrong about him.

McVeigh wasn’t such a bad guy.

Cole, standing off to one side, started getting antsy.

“Think I can take off?”

“Yeah. We’ll probably be here for another hour or two. Meet up there?”

“Sure.”

Before speaking with Cole, Veronica moved to Susan who was watching Captain Bottel and her boys like a hawk.

“Susan?”

“Oh, sorry. Veronica, thank you. Thank you so much.”

Susan surprised her with a hug. Before Veronica could reciprocate, the woman released her hold.

“If it wasn’t for you…” Tears welled in her eyes.

“They’re going to be okay. Might have to go to the station to give an official statement and the paramedics are going to want to check them out, but that’s about it.”

“Thank God.”

“Listen, Susan, I’m glad they’re okay. I…” Veronica fought for the right words. “I was hoping that there was something that you could do for me.”

Susan leaned forward and Veronica made her ask.

She could tell that Susan was getting more and more uncomfortable with every word that left her mouth.

When she was done, the woman actually looked to be in physical pain.

“You think you can do that?”

Despite saving her two sons, Veronica thought the possibility of Susan accepting her proposition, simple as it was, hovered at around fifty percent.

Before she could give a definitive answer, Captain Bottel released Kevin and Randall.

The boys came over to their mother.

“We have to go to the station,” Kevin said. “Just to give a statement.”

Veronica nodded at Susan, glad that Bottel was on the same page as both McVeigh and herself.

“I’m going to go with you.”

They started to leave and Bottel signaled to a Deputy to follow them.

“Susan?”

The woman, who was walking away, one arm wrapped around the waist of their two sons, turned her head.

“I’ll do it. Okay?”

“Thank you.”

“Do what, ma?” Kevin asked.

“Nothing. Let’s get to the station. Let’s get this over with.”

Veronica let them go, thankful that the woman had agreed.

She wasn’t sure it would work but was hopeful.

Cole finally came over.

“Hey, I think I’m going to get out of here, get some fresh air.”

Veronica looked around. They were standing outside in the sun.

“Fresher air,” Cole said.

“I’m free to go. Mind if I join you?”

Veronica could use some physical separation from the case to clear her head and give it some real thought.

There was too much shit going on here.

She could also do with a drink.

“That’d be great.”

Veronica didn’t like the smile that followed.

Chapter 31

“That was… that was the first time I’ve ever seen a dead body,” Cole said, staring at the beer cupped in one hand. “I mean, I saw one before, a long time ago. But that was a guy who died of a heart attack. Nothing like… that.”

They were back at Daphne’s in the same booth they’d sat across from each other just a few hours ago.

Years ago, Veronica might have also been startled by the sight of two men who had apparently shot each other in a shootout.

No longer.

Not after seeing people with their lungs ripped out of their backs. Not after hearing about the horrors that young boys had suffered in Renaissance Home.

Not after coming across women strangled to death and dressed to look like dolls.

Her thoughts turned to her father then, to Peter Shade.

Not her real father, but the man who had raised her.

There was a time when Peter had been a kind, caring man. He had to have been, given that he’d uprooted his entire life, including sending his career on a more moderate trajectory, to adopt a young, damaged, and terrified young girl.

Not anymore.

Now, Peter was a hard man. After he’d retired, the man had changed, found a relationship who just happened to be Veronica’s long-time psychiatrist, took up cooking classes.

But no matter how much distance you put between yourself and your past, your brain was irreparably changed once exposed to the true depravity of man.

What did Peter like to say?

The past is boring; it’s already happened. The future is far more interesting.

This might hold some truth, but boring or not, every human on earth was shaped by their experiences.

“I’m sorry. I sound like such a pussy.”

Cole’s face reddened and he brought the beer to his lips.

“No, I get it,” Veronica said. “I get that you thought you got out and I pulled you back in. I’m sorry for that.” Cole drank. “Why did you help me, anyway? Why didn’t you side with Dylan and just tell me to fuck off? You don’t owe me anything.”

Cole set his glass down and gently spun it.

Veronica thought about the smile that had graced Cole’s lips back in Needle Point when she’d asked to come with him for a drink.

When they’d dated, Cole had come off as cocky, sure of himself, a little frat boy-esque. Now, he was anything but.

Veronica never regretted breaking up with Cole. It had been the right decision then and was still the right decision now. He’d fallen for her, hard, fast, and completely. Cole loved her—he’d made that clear.

Veronica didn’t love him.

For reasons unknown to her, to the universe, Veronica loved Steve.

Things would have been so much easier if she could have swapped her love for Steve for love for Cole. They were closer in age. They were closer in their career paths.

And Cole lacked the extreme baggage that hampered Steve Burns.

But while she could pick her clothes, her hairstyle, her diet—including the beer that she was currently drinking and was going down far too easily—but she could not choose who she loved.

“I’m going to pay you back for this,” Veronica said. “McVeigh may be thinking of closing this case, but there’ll be more. And if this… election goes my way? I’ll be able to send you more work than you can handle.”

Veronica expected a certain type of response to this, but she didn’t get it.

Cole seemed disappointed.

“Thanks.” He smiled ruefully. “Hopefully none that involve your ex-partner so that I don’t alienate my own partner.”

“Yeah, I’m hoping that this is all over.”

It wasn’t, though. Freddie’s plight wouldn’t end until the stubborn bastard rejected the ADA’s deal and Veronica found a way, however improbable, to get him the fuck out of prison.

Her phone started to buzz, and Veronica quickly answered.

“Detective Shade.”

“Detective Shade, it’s Dr. Cross from the CDC.”

Veronica leaned away from Cole, focused her attention on the phone. She was on the fence about whether she should excuse herself, but she didn’t want to further disappoint her onetime lover by explicitly demonstrating that she didn’t trust him.

“What can I do for you?”

“Well, I finally wrapped up testing all the blood samples from the crime scene.”

Veronica wasn’t immediately sure what Dr. Cross was talking about.

“Blood samples?”

“We took blood from all first responders when we were trying to identify the nature of the particulate matter in the air following the explosion.”

She remembered now. Her thoughts turned sinister, thinking that something else had been in the air.

The explosion… man, that felt like weeks ago.

“And?”

“And I wasn’t sure who to call.

“Sheriff McVeigh,” Veronica said instinctively.

There was a prolonged pause, which inspired more concern.

“Dr. Cross?”

“The thing is it has to do with Sheriff McVeigh’s blood.”

Once again, Veronica wasn’t sure she was following.

“Was there something else in the air?” Veronica was intently aware of the fact that Cole while trying his best not to appear interested, was hanging on her every word.

She didn’t blame him. Cole wouldn’t be half the PI he was if he didn’t pay attention.

“No. Just heroin and fentanyl. We found fentanyl metabolites in the sheriff’s blood.”

“Shit. He must have breathed some in. But he’s going to be okay, right? If something was going to happen, it would have already. Right?”

Veronica’s understanding that the effects of fentanyl and heroin were immediate, the potentially devastating side effects, as well—she had witnessed Steve nearly dying after a hot dose. It had been more than a day since they’d been exposed.

“Y-yes. But I don’t think he breathed it in at the crime scene.”

Veronica felt her spine stiffen.

“I—I don’t know what you’re telling me. Dr. Cross, I’m sorry but you’re going to have to—”

“Detective Shade, when fentanyl is ingested, it’s rapidly absorbed and broken down into several metabolites, including nor-fentanyl. Depending on when the drug is injected, or in this case, inhaled, the ratio of nor-fentanyl to fentanyl changes at a fairly predictable rate. Based on my understanding, Sheriff McVeigh arrived at the Greenham Mall about a half hour to an hour before the CDC was called in. Based on this time frame, the ratio of fentanyl to nor-fentanyl should be between three to five to one, had Sheriff McVeigh inhaled it at that time. But that’s not what the blood test showed. Sheriff McVeigh had three times the amount of nor-fentanyl to fentanyl in his system.”

There was a long, protracted pause.

Veronica waited as everything that Dr. Cross had told her rolled around in her brain.

“Based on this ratio, I can confidently say that Sheriff Marcus McVeigh ingested fentanyl prior to arriving on the scene. Between two to three hours earlier.”

Veronica was stunned.

Had he been there? Had Marcus been at the mall before they’d been called in?

The interim Sheriff hadn’t appeared on any of the security footage Furnelli had reviewed but, then again, neither had the three dead men in the hazmat suits. They must have entered through the rear doors, where there were no cameras.

Knowing what she did about McVeigh, this possibility was the first that came to Veronica. But given the end result—Trigger and Jasper shooting each other dead—another idea popped up.

That Marcus hadn’t been at the mall and had somehow accidentally consumed the drug but that he’d taken the drug himself.

Deliberately and with intent.

That McVeigh, like Steve, was an addict.

When Steve had been getting high, he’d been short-tempered, agitated, sweating, pupils dilated, all the telltale signs of someone who was in an altered state of mind.

McVeigh was clearly stressed, which was to be expected with a case of this magnitude combined with the upcoming election.

But he hadn’t been nearly as altered as Steve had been.

Still, there were countless examples of functioning alcoholics and addicts out there.

“I wasn’t sure who to call,” Dr. Cross said, reverting to her original statement.

“You did right by calling me. Dr. Cross, given our investigation and the sensitive nature of this information, I think it’s best if we keep this between us.”

“I’m not sure I can do that. There are protocols and—”

“We have someone out there who tainted kilos of heroin with fentanyl. If McVeigh is somehow involved and he finds out? He might run. Go north, to Washington and into Vancouver, or south to Texas. Then they’re lost and start up again. People will die, Dr. Cross. Lots of people.”

It was a weak argument, but it was the best one that Veronica could come up with on the spot.

“I know.”

Dr. Cross was a tough woman—Veronica had recognized this the moment they’d met.

But how tough?

The answer came quickly.

“I’m going to send you the blood test results,” Dr. Cross said. “When you get them, you need to reply, confirm that you received them.”

Made sense. The woman was trying to cover her ass.

Veronica didn’t blame her.

“I can do that.”

“Okay. If I don’t get a response, I’m taking this to my superiors.”

“Understood. Thanks, Dr. Cross.”

Veronica hung up and then just stared at her phone for several seconds.

“Veronica?”

“Hmm?”

She looked up, having completely forgotten about Cole.

“You okay?”

No, she wasn’t okay.

Veronica sighed.

After finishing what remained of her beer, she said, “Cole, I think I need your help again.”

There it was; that smile again.

“Of course. What do you need?”

Chapter 32

“Fred, you have a visitor.”

Fred peered through the bars of his cell.

“Again? Tell Kristin or Veronica that I’m not going to see them.”

“It’s neither of them,” the guard said.

Freddie stood up, his brow lowering.

“Who is it?”

Carl Vlasic ran his tongue over his harelip, something that Freddie had only seen him do a handful of times before.

Once, before Freddie’s arraignment. Another when a different prisoner had attempted to shank Freddie during processing.

The man was nervous.

“Pickles? Who is it?” Freddie deliberately used the guard’s nickname.

“It’s… it’s your ex-wife.”

Freddie was floored.

“Susan? Susan’s here?”

If Freddie had had a harelip, he too would have been giving it a tongue massage.

The last time he’d seen Susan had been through the window of the place he once called home. The plan had been to have dinner with his ex-wife and kids.

So many scenarios had run through Freddie’s brain as he clutched the flowers and bottle of wine while mustering the courage to get out of his car.

It was one dinner, but it was also the first step.

The first step to getting his life back after making the impossible decision to let his brother-in-law take the fall for Randall’s poor life decisions.

A first step to rekindling a love that, for him, never truly died—simply misdirected toward terrible food.

He had no delusions about what had prompted the telephone call from Susan.

It was Kevin.

When DEA Agent Troy Allison had given him the twenty-four-hour ultimatum, he’d sacrificed himself to save his other son. Thought he’d gotten away with it.

Freddie felt bad for framing Dylan Hall, but it was a necessary evil. And despite how Veronica felt about the junkie turned PI, Dylan was no model citizen.

But if Freddie was being completely honest, his heart attack was more of a driver behind Kevin convincing Susan to invite him to dinner.

But that was all dead now.

Except… she was here.

“You want me to tell her that you aren’t taking visitors?”

“No, I’ll speak with her,” Freddie said without hesitation. “I’ll talk to her.”

***

Despite being taken aback by Freddie’s appearance in shackles, Susan was beautiful. Not someone that would turn heads, but to Freddie there was no one prettier.

*Dark hair, lightly tanned skin. Vibrant **GREEN eyes.

The skin around said eyes was red and raw and while this didn’t detract from her beauty to Freddie, it was incredibly alarming.

Ideas of rekindling their marriage were suddenly forced to the far recesses of his mind. Not gone completely—nothing would abolish it completely—but for now, forgotten.

“What is it? What’s wrong? Is it Kevin? Randy?”

Freddie sat.

“They’re okay… now,” Susan spoke softly, which was unusual for the usually loud, and confident woman.

“What do you mean, now?”

He was sweating.

“Something happened, Fred. Something bad.”

Freddie barely breathed while his ex-wife told her story. When she was finished, Susan was as out of breath as he was.

He couldn’t believe it. Everything he’d done, the reason he was currently shackled, had by to keep his sons out of this business.

And he’d failed.

Once again, Freddie Furlow had completely and utterly failed.

“Fuck.”

Susan took a deep, shuddering breath.

“They’re okay, Fred. They’re going to be okay.”

No, they weren’t and wouldn’t be.

“Susan, I tried. I—”

“I don’t want to hear it,” Susan said sharply.

She didn’t know what he’d done. Freddie had never told her that the reason why he’d decided to put her brother in prison, with the man’s reluctant acceptance, was to keep Randall out of prison.

If the cop who had made the initial stop hadn’t called him in, then their lives would have been very different.

Likely just as broken, perhaps even more so, but different, nonetheless.

Freddie didn’t know what to say. Didn’t know what she wanted him to say. Over the years, he’d apologized so many times that his tongue had essentially gone numb.

Susan spared him the embarrassment.

“The reason I’m here is because I heard about your deal.”

Jesus Christ. Did everyone know about the plea deal? That was supposed to be confidential.

“Susan, I don’t want you to worry about that.”

“How can I not?” Susan snapped. “What do you think you going away for ten years will do to the boys? They need you.”

The comment surprised Freddie. He hadn’t been in the boys’ life for years. And their indiscretions, particularly Randy’s, had predated their divorce. He wanted to say all of this but knew that it would only end up in a fight.

“If I don’t accept the deal, it’ll go to trial. If I lose that, I could be looking at *20 years. As you probably know, cops don’t tend to do well when serving long sentences.”

“But it’s your first offer, Fred. You reject it, it will be another six months before your case goes to trial. They’ll come back with a better deal. Or they might even throw the case out.”

Freddie’s eyes narrowed.

“So, you’re a lawyer now?”

So much for not wanting to get into a fight.

Susan didn’t take the bait and Freddie suddenly realized why the woman had come here.

And it had nothing to do with Randall or Kevin or him spending years behind bars.

“Veronica sent you, didn’t she? She told you to come here? To tell me to reject the deal?”

Susan nibbled on her bottom lip, a clear tell that she was trying her best not to lash out.

It also confirmed to Freddie that what he was saying was true.

Shaking his head, Freddie got to his feet. He would have gone to the door, but the chains that Pickles had looped through the ring held him in place.

Noticing this change, Freddie heard the door behind him unlock.

“I’m glad that the boys are okay. I’m glad you’re okay,” he said, softening his tone and approach. “And I want the best for all of you. But this isn’t your decision. And it isn’t Veronica’s or Kristin’s or anyone else’s. Okay?”

Susan’s eyes began to tear, but Freddie didn’t back down.

“Okay?”

Susan swiped at her raw face and nodded.

“Take care of yourself.”

“We done here?” Carl asked, entering the room.

“We’re done.”

The man nodded and Freddie assumed the position so that the guard could unlatch him from the table and then attach the chain to the links around his waist.

Then Vlasic led him out of the room.

With his six-point chains attached—wrist to wrist, wrists to waist, ankle to ankle, ankles to waist—walking was slow going.

Freddie milked this for all it was worth.

“You gonna be okay?” the guard asked.

Freddie didn’t understand Carl Vlasic, didn’t know if the man was kind to him because he cared or if he was just concerned that Freddie might do something to himself, and he hated paperwork.

“I don’t know.”

Suddenly overwhelmed, Freddie stopped completely.

Pickles didn’t force him to continue moving.

Freddie closed his eyes, forced back tears of his own.

Veronica might have set Susan up, somehow convinced her to come here, to speak to him, but Susan had come.

And that meant something.

“Pickles?”

“Yeah?”

“I think I need to speak to my lawyer.”

Chapter 33

Veronica was usually pretty good at keeping a poker face. Usually being the operative word.

Not today.

Sitting in the conference room with all the other members of the task force was one thing, actually looking at Sheriff Marcus McVeigh after what Dr. Cross had told her over the phone was a different animal.

“Kristin Newberry has already removed the bodies from the scene,” McVeigh said. His words were laden with confidence, a complete 180 from how he’d been at their last meeting. “She found shells at the scene, and her preliminary findings suggest that the two men, TRIGGER and Jasper Bratt, shot each other to death. Thanks to Detective Shade’s work, the two civilians, Randall and Kevin Byers, were recovered. They’re unharmed and were released earlier this afternoon.”

“Released?” Allison said. “And civilians? You’re considering them civilians?”

Veronica couldn’t look at McVeigh, but she could glare at Allison.

“What else would you call them?”

Allison grinned.

“Oh, I dunno… how about co-conspirators? Known associates?” Veronica saw red, wasn’t sure if it was coming off her or Allison. It became more intense when Lieutenant Crouch chimed in.

“C’mon, I know you got a hard-on for Furlow and his kids, but let’s call a spade a spade.”

“Guys!” McVeigh tried to intercede, but it was too late.

“Fuck you!” Veronica shouted. “Fuck you both. They were kidnapped. How about some compassion? Empathy?”

Furnelli, who was seated to her left, rose to his feet beside her. Veronica expected her partner to try and calm her down and was prepared to physically move him off, but he didn’t.

He was supporting her.

“Touched a nerve?” Crouch said with something close to a smile.

“What makes you two so fucking smug? You did nothing for this investigation. Nothing. I found the car, I found the bodies. I found the ‘known associates’.” Veronica put air-quotes around the word. “You two did absolutely nothing.”

Now, Captain Bottel stood. With McVeigh already next to the projector, which was still showing pictures of the two corpses, the only two people not standing were Crouch and Allison.

Veronica was pretty sure that that was exactly the way they wanted it.

“That’s enough. I’m done with this. As far as I’m concerned, the case is closed. Done. The task force is dissolved. Detective Shade, I want to—”

Veronica didn’t hear the rest.

She’d already left the room.

Immediately, her anger started to fizzle out. Furnelli joined her, knew better than to try to cajole or console.

He said nothing.

Captain Bottel appeared next. He looked Veronica up and down.

Also stayed quiet.

McVeigh squeezed into the busy hallway.

“Detective Shade, I’m going to hold a press conference, get ahead of this before it gets leaked to the press. I want you to be by my side.”

Veronica blinked.

“Detective Shade?” Captain Bottel prompted.

She couldn’t help but think that McVeigh had an ulterior motive for ‘wrapping this up’.

“You really think that a no-name like Jasper Bratt came out of nowhere and just happened to have enough cash to bring in thirty million dollars of dope? That make sense to you?”

If Veronica hadn’t been flanked by the captain and her partner, she suspected that McVeigh’s reaction would have been very different.

“I’m just going by the evidence.”

“The evidence? What about the strange shell company that owns the mall that you can’t track down? What about those weird fucking AI insurance agents that came to visit you?” She was on a roll now and couldn’t stop. “What about two men shooting each other, one in the chest, the other in the head? I have never seen anything like that before. Ever. Now, I know I haven’t been in this business for that long, but have you seen anything like it before?” The question was directed at McVeigh, but when he didn’t answer, she repeated the question to Furnelli then, knowing that he was even greener than her, Bottel. “Have you? Or you?”

Furnelli shrugged while Bottel frowned.

“Detective Shade, I would like you to join Sheriff McVeigh for the press conference.”

Veronica nearly laughed.

“Why? Because it will be good for Greenham PD’s reputation? Do you need me to remind you of the last time I did something like that?”

“Detective Shade!” Bottel roared.

Furnelli grabbed her arm, pulled her down the hall.

Veronica allowed herself to be led before she said something that would have real consequences.

For her career, maybe even for her life.

Once outside the building, she finally shook free of her partner.

“It’s all fucking bullshit, you know that, right? This isn’t over. There’s something fucking rotten in Bear County.”

She half-expected Furnelli to argue with her but he didn’t.

“What can we do about it?”

“I—” don’t know, was on the tip of Veronica’s tongue. But she didn’t want to waste her breath. “I need time, Court.”

Furnelli nodded.

“Give me a call when you’re ready.”

A nod, and the men disappeared back inside the building.

Still fuming, but not boiling over, Veronica turned to her car.

When she saw the man leaning against it, hands jammed deep into the pocket of her jeans, she knew that she wouldn’t get her wish.

Veronica wasn’t going to get the time alone she desperately wanted and needed.

Chapter 34

“Steve, I just told McVeigh that I’m not doing a press conference. Now, you want me to do the same thing? I… can’t.”

They were sitting in her car, parked about half a block away from the Bear County Sheriff’s Department. Neither of them was in the mood to be seen or approached by anyone even tangentially related to their past or present.

“McVeigh’s holding another press conference?”

It was a leading question and Veronica sighed.

She repeated, verbatim, what she’d told Cole about their discovery in Needle Point. About Freddie’s kids.

“Holy shit. They’re okay?”

“They’re fine. I’m hoping that this is a wakeup call to them. If there is one good thing that has come out of this, it’s that I think they’re in the clear. I suspect that them being kidnapped in the first place had to do with an outstanding debt, but with Trigger and Jasper both dead…”

Despite her assertion that this wasn’t over, that they were missing the bigger picture, she thought that Randall and Kevin were going to come out of this on top. Even if Jasper was just a cog in the wheel, after McVeigh’s conference, they would no longer be under the microscope. And considering that the Byers/Furlow kids’ debt was a single kilo of heroin—no small amount, but just a few grains compared to what they’d found at the Greenham Mall—they’d have to be complete morons to go after them again and reopen the case.

“You don’t sound so sure of this shootout theory.”

Veronica sighed again.

It was like groundhog day and she was tempted to pose the identical question that she had to McVeigh, Furnelli, and Bottel.

She pressed her lips together.

This fucking day.

“What does the coroner have to say about it?”

“Good question. Kristin was supposed to do a reenactment, but I haven’t heard anything.”

“You haven’t heard, or it isn’t done yet?”

“Steve, I don’t know. The task force is done, shut down, disbanded, whatever. If Kristin said something to McVeigh, he didn’t mention it.”

“There’s only one way to find out.”

“Steve, the task force is done. The case is closed.”

“Let’s go have a chat with Kristin. See what she thinks about what happened.”

“Steve, stop. It’s over.”

“It’s not over. You still have a campaign to run. If McVeigh says he solved this thing all by himself, the press will eat it up. Then it will be over. But—”

“Steve.”

“But if you cast doubt on his conclusions and it’s not over, then you might get a leg up.”

Veronica pressed her forehead to the steering wheel.

“So what? I don’t care anymore.”

“You don’t care about what?”

Head still on the wheel, Veronica rotated her head to look at him.

“The fucking campaign. Being Sheriff. That was your goal, not mine. I don’t even know why I agreed to do this.”

Steve was hurt by her words.

“Being Sheriff was never my goal, Veronica. I was forced into it.”

“Why’d you leave the State Troopers?”

Steve averted his eyes.

“It’s a long story.”

“Everything’s a long story. Life is a long fucking story.”

Steve cleared his throat.

“Another time. We need to focus on this now.”

When did you become such a politician? Veronica thought.

Probably unfair, given that his previous position as the sheriff had been an elected position.

“Fine. But we’re going to talk soon.”

***

“Sheriff, Detective Shade,” the Bear County Coroner, Kristin Newberry said, inviting them into the small, claustrophobic morgue.

She worked quickly, efficiently.

Jasper Bratt and Trigger were each on their separate gurneys, clothes removed, crisp white sheets folded just above their chests.

Unlike Cole, Steve was accustomed to being around the dead and the corpses didn’t faze him.

Veronica neither.

She wondered what that said about all of them and which was best off.

“Like I told Sheriff McVeigh, I’m not even close to done with this yet. The whole ‘reenactment’ that he requested is going to require some extra help and is going to take a week, at least.”

“I get it. What can you tell us?”

Kristin walked over to Jasper.

“Other than the obvious? Like he was shot in the head and the other in the chest?”

“Other than the obvious,” Veronica said.

“Okay, well. I’ve removed the bullet from Mr. Bratt’s skull.” Kristin indicated a silver bowl on a small table. There was a smear of blood on the inside and a small puddle at the bottom.

No bullet, however.

Kristin adjusted her gray hair in the bun at the back of her head.

Veronica noticed she wasn’t wearing gloves.

“I have to be honest—as you guys know, I’m not an expert. I’m not a doctor. But I have been around this game for a long time. Anything I tell you has to be taken with a grain of salt and must be confirmed by an expert.”

A lawyer, she was.

Veronica remembered what Dr. Cross, an actual doctor, and what she had sent her with respect to McVeigh’s blood test and how she’d also been sure to cover her ass.

At some point, probably during her blow-up back in the conference room, Dr. Cross had texted her with the results.

Veronica quickly sent back a simple text—received—as per her promise.

“We’re just talking amongst friends here,” Steve said, offering Veronica a curious glance as she pocketed her phone.

“Right. Okay, well, I compared the bullet striations to those in the barrel of the gun located next to Mr. Bratt. They appear to be a match.”

“What about the bullets from Trigger?” Steve asked.

“Trigger?”

“Sorry, that’s his street name. Kendrick Holchester.”

“Right.”

Kristin led them over to the other body. She pulled a latex glove out of her pocket and used it to pull the sheet down enough to reveal the triad of bullet wounds.

“I’ve only removed one so far and compared it to the gun found next to Mr. Bratt. It, too is a match.”

This was starting to look like the highly circumspect and unlikely scenario of two men blasting each other to death in the small confines of an unfinished apartment complex.

Veronica was indifferent.

Unlike Steve, who had made his contempt toward McVeigh and his desire that this not be over, and thus the man hang himself during his upcoming press conference, Veronica wasn’t sure how she wanted this to end.

Wasn’t sure if she even wanted the sheriff job, if that was even a remote possibility at this point.

“That bullet wound looks different,” Steve remarked. The three bullets formed a triangle, with the lower of the two points in the man’s dark sternum, the other near his left nipple, and the third slightly higher. Steve was indicating the one near the man’s nipple.

It did look different. The other two holes were caked with blood, trails of which dripped merged as they flowed and dried near his belly button.

There was blood around the third wound, but not nearly enough to drip down.

“I noticed that as well, took photos. I think this was the last bullet and Mr. Bratt was dead before he was shot. Explains why there’s much less blood—his heart had already stopped.”

Steve and Veronica both had identical confused expressions on their faces.

“When the heart stops—”

“No, I get that,” Steve said. “I’m just trying to understand how this scenario played out.” He looked at Veronica. “You said that Trigger was slumped up against the wall while Jasper Bratt was lying on his back, correct?”

“That’s right.”

“And the prevailing theory is that they shot each other?” As he said this, Steve moved a hand from Jasper to Trigger and back again.

“We’ve been over this.” Veronica was getting tired now.

“I know, I know. But how the hell did this happen?”

“Steve—”

“What I mean is, if they shot each other—let’s say Jasper got the jump on Trigger, shot him in the chest, and, falling, Trigger shot him back. Either he’s an expert marksman, or he just got lucky and hit Jasper right in the head. Now, I don’t know all that much about bullets and guns, or brains for that matter, but judging by the hole in Jasper’s head, I’m assuming it was an instant kill.”

“I’d say so,” Kristin agreed.

Veronica found herself nodding as well.

“So, how does Jasper make this last shot, the one that you said occurred post-mortem after he was dead?”

Veronica still wasn’t catching on, but if Kristin’s eyebrows rising up her forehead were any indication, she understood.

“Talk me through this,” Veronica said.

Steve nodded, asked her to take two steps back. Veronica did and Steve moved further away.

“Okay, I’m Jasper, your Trigger.” Steve made a gun with his fingers. “I’m pissed you lost my drugs, and I decide that I need to make an example of you. I sneak up and maybe you’re turned the other way, rooting through some small-time dope.” Veronica did just that. “I call your name—I want you to see my face—and you turn.” Veronica did that, too. “Now, I fire two shots—bam, bam—and you keel over, start to slump. But you managed to get your gun out and, on the way, down, you shoot me in the head.” Steve made a dramatic pose. “I’m dead now, okay?”

Veronica didn’t care for this charade.

“Okay.”

“Now, I shoot you again, making the third bullet hole, which, incidentally, you are also dead when it strikes you. See the problem here?”

Veronica finally got it.

“Yeah. How do you shoot Trigger after you’re dead?”

Steve snapped his fingers.

“Exactly.” Then to Kristin, he said, “Are all three bullets in Trigger from the same gun?”

Kristin repeated her previous statement.

“I’ve only checked one of them.”

“What about the bullet holes?”

“They’re consistent. I’d be surprised if a different caliber bullet was used.”

Steve tapped his chin and Veronica noticed, surprisingly for the first time, that his beard had grown longer still.

“Did you check their hands for GSR?”

“I did. Both positive.”

Now that Steve had pointed out this discrepancy, a myriad of new scenarios entered Veronica’s head.

None of them were good.

“I think I’m over my head here,” Kristin admitted. “I’ll call in the ME.”

“Good idea,” Veronica said. “And call whoever else you have to in order to put together a reenactment.”

Kristin nodded.

“You want to me to reach out to Sheriff McVeigh and let him know?”

“No,” Steve said immediately.

“Steve, it’s best if—”

“I’m saying keep anything from him,” Steve countered. “I just want you to wait until your investigation is done before rumors start flying.”

To this point, the morgue smelled mildly of disinfectant. Now, all Veronica smelled was gas.

Steve wasn’t worried about rumors. Steve wanted McVeigh to hang himself.

“Works for me,” Kristin said. “But if he calls, I won’t hold anything back.”

“Fair. Thank you.”

“Thanks, Kristin,” Veronica added.

They started to leave but Kristin called her back.

“Veronica, can I speak with you for a second?” Alone, was implied.

Veronica nodded at Steve, and he continued out of the room.

“What is it?” she asked when they were alone.

“Did you speak to Freddie?”

“I did.”

“Thank you.”

Veronica was again confused.

“…for?”

“A little birdie told me that he changed his mind, that he isn’t taking the deal.”

Veronica felt some of the perpetual tightness in her chest loosen.

“Really?”

“Yeah.”

“What happens now?”

“He waits. Best case scenario, the ADA comes back with a better offer, less jail time.”

“And worst case?”

“It goes to trial.” The tightness returned. “I don’t know much about crime scenes, bullets, or bullet holes. I know about the law. They should come back with a better deal.”

Veronica didn’t like the uncertainty in the woman’s voice, even though, as Kristin had already admitted, the woman was a lawyer and prone to such ‘interpretations’.

“Yeah, but what’s the worst case?”

“A trial. Veronica, if there’s anything you can do…” The Bear County coroner let her sentence trail off.

“I’ll do what I can. And thanks for everything.”

Veronica stepped into the hallway and met up with Steve, who was waiting. She expected him to immediately ask her what that was about, but his face was glued to his phone, instead.

“McVeigh’s starting his press conference.” Steve slowly raised his eyes. There was a gleam to them, a brightness.

Veronica didn’t share in the man’s excitement.

Chapter 35

Mason waited in the shrubs until almost all of the girls had moved away from the wire fence delineated the property line.

“Ella!” she hissed.

Mason could see the girl standing but five or six feet away, her back to the fence.

“Ella!”

The girl’s long blond ponytail flicked as she cocked her head. A whistle blew, right on schedule as always, and the girls that Ella was speaking to made as if to leave.

“Ella,” Mason hissed again.

This time Ella turned and looked directly at the shrub in which Mason hid. She peeked her head out and Ella craned her neck forward.

“Ella? You coming?” one of the other girls asked.

“I’ll catch up.”

“Don’t be late.”

“I won’t. Go on.”

Mason waited until the other girls bound toward the building before finally coming out of the bushes. As much as she could, anyway. The bushes were pretty much lined up against the fence.

Ella waved and backed toward her. When she looked a second time in Mason’s direction, she squinted.

“What did—what did you do to your hair?”

“Doesn’t matter. Ella, you gotta get out.”

“What are—you can be here. If they see—”

“Ella,” Mason said sharply. “You have to leave. Tonight.”

“No—I can’t.”

“You can. You have to.”

Ella sighed. She looked so much older than Mason remembered.

“I—this is my chance, okay? My only chance. I just have one more to do then I’m out. And with all the money—”

“What money, Ella?” Mason was getting more frustrated the longer this took. She’d hoped that Ella would just climb the fence like she had and run. Mason had been alone when she’d made her break for it, but Ella wouldn’t have that problem. Mason knew where to hide.

“What do you mean, what money? Every delivery I make they put money in an account for me. I’ve seen it.”

Mason shook his head.

“No, you haven’t. You’ve—”

“I have,” Ella protested. “I’ve seen the printouts. They even showed me the bank card.”

Mason was dumbfounded. How could one of the smartest people she knows be so stupid?

It was hope.

It had to be.

Once more, Mason shook his head.

“You’ve seen a printout and a bank card. Even if they’re real, and I highly doubt they are, they aren’t yours and won’t ever be yours. It’s all a scam.”

“Oh, yeah?” Ella said, making a face that only teenagers were capable of. “Then what happened to Ally? To Syl and Steph?”

Mason winced.

“I… I don’t know.”

Ella crossed her arms over her chest.

“Well, I do. They got their money, and they got out. Ally always wanted to go to LA. I bet she’s there now, lounging on a beach somewhere.”

There it was again.

Hope.

“She’s not. Listen, I saw him. Jasper. He was at the mall—”

“You were at the mall?”

“Yes,” Mason said, desperation creeping into her voice. “I was there.”

“It… blew up.”

“I mean, there was an explosion, and I saw him. His face was all burned. His hair, too. Things are fucked up. There was a lab or something. They were—”

“They told us that nothing is going to happen for a while.”

“Ella, are you hearing me? This is serious. Jasper was nearly—”

“You haven’t heard?”

Mason bit her bottom lip. They didn’t have much time and Ella couldn’t help herself. She had to interrupt. Always.

“Heard what?”

“Jasper’s dead.”

The second she uttered that word—dead—Mason pictured the man stumbling through the rubble. He wasn’t completely on fire, not like the stuntmen in the movies, completely engulfed in flames. He was burned pretty badly, but dead?

“I don’t think so. He w—”

“No, he’s dead. The sheriff was on the news. Said that Jasper was killed in a shootout or some shit.”

“What are you talking about?”

The second whistle went, and Mason anxiously looked past Ella. The yard was nearly completely empty. Just a few stragglers were left in the yard, and they were all making their way to the doors.

“The sheriff said that Jasper was in a shootout, that he was dead. Talked about drugs… I dunno. They told us that there’s going to be a bit of a break, let things cool down. But in a week or two, we’ll get back to work. And then I just need to do one more and I’ll get my money—”

“There is no fucking money! It’s a scam! Ella, please. You have to believe me.”

Ella’s considerable lips, arguably her best feature, thinned.

“You’re just mad because—”

A third whistle. This one longer and shriller than the previous two.

“I have to go,” Ella said.

“Please, meet me here tonight. Slip out, just like I did. I don’t want anything to happen to you.”

Now, Ella smiled.

“The only thing that is going to happen to me is that I’m going to be rich and when I am, you and I—”

“Ella? Who are you talking to?”

Mason slunk bank into the bushes as Ella dropped down.

“Ella?”

“I was just singing.” Ella stood and turned. “I found a wood lily.”

Mason couldn’t help but poke one eye out of the shrubs. Sure enough, Ella held a small white flower in her hand.

Where the hell did she get that from?

Mason glanced at her feet. There were no wood lilies that she could see.

When she looked back up, Ella’s ponytail bobbed in the distance.

Mason returned that night and the next.

Ella did not.

Chapter 36

This time when they set up a podium—a new podium, as the previous one had been damaged from the explosion—they did it in an open field, far from any buildings.

From the Greenham Mall.

They’d deliberately refrained from a large press release, limiting their calls to just some local stations.

Steve had wanted to go bigger, which her father, Peter, had agreed with.

Veronica had put her foot down. Despite knowing now what she did about the nature of the explosion and its accidental nature, she didn’t want to take unnecessary risks.

Before agreeing to this press conference, Veronica had made a point to check up on everyone who had been injured in the explosion. Mrs. Langmore had gotten the worst of it. The elderly woman had suffered from two cracked vertebrae, but she was expected to make a full recovery. Other nicks and bruises, but nothing of note.

Nobody had suffered from any acute poisoning from the toxic cloud, which was a relief to everyone.

Veronica looked down at the pages that had been prepared for her. They were in Steve’s hand—that crooked handwriting that she’d originally mistaken for the same as her brother’s—but were a combination of his and Peter’s words.

Made sense.

Peter had years of experience in the police department and speaking to the press. Steve knew how to be a sheriff, short-lived as his opportunity was.

But Veronica also sensed someone else’s input. It was evident in particular phrases, a deliberate wording.

And she knew exactly who had provided their insight.

Her longtime psychiatrist and her father’s current lover, Dr. Jane Bernard.

Veronica sighed, read the words over for the fifth or sixth time. It wasn’t exactly a smear job on Sheriff McVeigh but wasn’t exactly a glowing report either. What they’d learned from Kristin Newberry—what they’d suggested to her, and she hadn’t immediately shot down—was in there, too. A little, anyway.

Just enough to cast doubt on McVeigh’s competence as a sheriff.

Veronica hated it.

It wasn’t just that McVeigh had been more than congenial to her and had gone as far as to try to include her in his own press conference, the blood test results obtained from Dr. Cross notwithstanding, but it was something else.

Her entire platform to this point had been staged with one thing in mind: cleaning up the drug problem that all of Bear County suffered from.

The entire country, really.

Veronica had seen McVeigh’s press conference. Hadn’t been surprised that the man had had both State Trooper Lieutenant Phillip Crouch and DEA Agent Troy Allison flanking him.

His speech had been simple and not far from a proposed victory of the big bad drug dealers. But McVeigh had missed the point, as many of the proponents and czars often did.

They vilified the drug dealers, turned the war into a conventional us vs the bad guy narrative.

But that wasn’t the real war.

So long as there was a need, there would be a provider. The practical aspect of economics. People want bacon? Farmers will breed pigs.

People want to idolize influencers? People will make content.

People want something to disassociate themselves from the real world? Someone will provide them with the means.

That’s the real war.

“I’m not going to read this,” Veronica said. It was meant as a rhetorical statement, an internal musing spoken out loud.

“What do you mean?” Steve said. He looked nervously out at the smattering of media outlets. Pretty much everyone they’d called had shown up.

Veronica cleared her throat.

“I can’t, Steve.”

The man squirmed.

“They’re all waiting.” He flapped a hand at the document that Veronica was holding. “This is what you need to do. You want to get back in the race is, this is the way, Veronica.”

Peter picked up the tenor of their discussion and approached.

“What’s going on?”

“She doesn’t want to give the speech.”

Veronica felt her hackles rise. This was another reason why she’d dreaded the idea of vying to be sheriff. It wasn’t just because the last time her dirty laundry had been aired people had died, it was also because the very idea of becoming a figure head, a Marlowe, for someone else’s plans and ideas.

That was something she hadn’t, and refused to, buy into.

“V, this is important. I’ve gone over—”

Veronica interrupted her father.

“I appreciate your help—both of you guys. I do. I appreciate everything that you’ve done for me in this campaign, in my career, and in my life.” Veronica hadn’t expected to get emotional but found herself unexpectedly tearing up.

She bit her lip to keep them at bay.

“But I have to do this my way. If you can’t—”

Surprisingly, it was her father who spoke up.

“Hey,” he said, reaching out and giving her shoulder a tight squeeze. “We’re with you, okay? Whatever you decide to do, whatever you decide to say, we’ll support you.”

Veronica couldn’t remember the last time he’d spoken to her this way. Peter Shade wasn’t one for offering kind words; his approach was typically more old-school.

She let her eyes drift over her father’s shoulder and saw Dr. Jane Bernard standing off to one side. When she’d first discovered that Peter and Jane were involved in a relationship, she’d been taken aback. The circumstances were less than ideal—walking in on her father half naked, Jane in his bed, wearing even less—but she also felt betrayed. Both of them knew a different side of her, a different set of her many secrets, and the idea of them being together, talking about her, analyzing her the way that a psychiatrist and a father would had frustrated and annoyed her.

But if the relationship had inspired this sort of change in her father, then maybe it was for the best.

Maybe it wasn’t about her.

“Thanks, dad.”

She hugged him and he hugged her back, also a rarity.

Then Veronica took the podium, the prepared speech tucked away in a pocket.

“Good afternoon, Bear County,” she began after clearing her throat. “First, before I say anything, I want to thank Interim Sheriff Marcus McVeigh. He worked diligently, with pride and authority, in investigating the Greenham Mall explosion. It was a pleasure and an honor to work by his side during this complicated time.”

This was pretty much on script. Despite what Dr. Cross had shared with her, which Veronica was still trying to comprehend the importance of, this inside information did not change her overall opinion of the man.

Nor did Steve’s strife with him.

“Now, I could stand up here and slander the man, point out his flaws—flaws that every human has—and tell you how I’d be a much better representative of the people of Bear County. But that’s not me. That’s not who I am. And that’s not the person who you need leading Bear County. I will say this, however: I don’t believe that there is no war on drugs. You can’t go to war with a thing. You can go to war with people, with an ideology, maybe, with a group. But a war against an inanimate object is a fruitless endeavor. The deadly product that had infiltrated all levels of society does not care about a war. Nor do the people who provide the product. But I care about the people. We need more treatment centers, we need doctors to be more selective when and to whom they prescribe potentially habit-forming drugs, we need more options for young people. The focus of my campaign, from this point forward, will be on rehabilitation, education, and prevention.”

Veronica paused to catch her breath. The people watching, mostly from behind cameras, appeared a little stunned.

She didn’t give herself the opportunity to second guess what she was saying.

“We’ve heard stories of people, young and old, being arrested and thrown behind bars for some of their actions. Non-violent people who have found themselves in the horrible position of being addicted to a substance that alters their perception of reality. I won’t preach to you, won’t stand up here and pretend that I know what these individuals are going through. That being said, as many of you probably are aware, I do have some experience in experiencing this world differently than others. And I can speak firsthand about how confusing and isolating this can be.”

Veronica hesitated, on the verge of uttering what would be considered in business speak ‘a call-to-action’, a clichéd ‘a vote for me is a vote for…’.

Now, she stopped herself.

“I just want everyone out there who is struggling to know that you are not alone. That there is help available. And there is more to come.”

Veronica nodded now, indicating that she was done.

She’d nearly made it away from the platform before the questions started.

She ignored them, made her way to Steve and Peter.

It was impossible for her to tell if they’d approved of her speech, stone-faced as they were.

“Good job, V,” her father said. Despite his words, Veronica still wasn’t sure what he really thought.

“Thanks.”

“Detective Shade?” an unfamiliar voice said.

Veronica turned to face the man who was approaching.

He was bald on top with chestnut hair wrapping around the sides.

She didn’t recognize him, but she could tell that both Peter and Steve both did. It was in the way that they stood up a little straighter and that neither of them, protective of her as they were, neither moved to intercept this man.

“Yes?”

“My name is Dick Kleinman.”

He held out his hand.

Veronica shook it.

His grip was strong but not overcompensating.

“I was impressed by your speech.”

“Thank you.” Veronica knew who Dick Kleinman was and she remained guarded.

“I think your plan is unique and ambitious. I would love to be involved in helping you put the systems in place that you spoke about.”

Being involved, in Kleinman speak, meant putting up some money.

“Well, I have to be elected first.”

Mr. Kleinman smiled.

“Well, to that end, my wife and I would like to make a sizable donation to your campaign.”

Thus far, Veronica’s campaign had been nearly entirely supported by her father’s ex-police cronies. To be fair, they hadn’t needed much. Unlike McVeigh, they didn’t need billboards all over town. They didn’t need full-page color ads in every newspaper from Matheson to Greenham.

And Veronica didn’t want them, either. But if Dick Kleinman was promising to help with the programs she wanted to implement, who was she to turn down the money?”

“Thank you. You can discuss the details with my campaign manager.”

Veronica shook the man’s hand and started away.

Nothing happened for two weeks.

And then people started dying.

Again.

Part III — Reckoning

Chapter 37

To say that Dr. Simon Patel was an odd character would be a gross understatement. After discovering that her long-time therapist, Dr. Jane Bernard, was sleeping with her father, Veronica had gone through dozens of different options.

Had pretty much given up finding anyone that she believed had a hope in hell of understanding her, let alone helping her.

Until she’d stumbled across Dr. Patel.

A diminutive man with dark, deep-set eyes, the man was unflappable. Oh, Veronica had tried to trip him up, but she’d failed miserably.

And then Dr. Patel had dropped a bomb: he claimed to have been clinically diagnosed as a non-violent psychopath.

Incomprehensible to her, but the man was a straight shooter. Understood Veronica as well as anyone could.

“It’s been a while,” Dr. Patel said. He sat on a chair beside Veronica’s.

“Yeah.”

“Been busy?”

“Not really.”

Dr. Patel stared at her, noticed her growing frown, and then looked down at his hands folded in his lap. During their first few meetings, the man would use an iPad to record notes on their sessions. Now, he just listened. If Veronica had to guess, the man recorded important facts after she left.

“How are the polling numbers?”

Veronica knew that Dr. Patel was just trying to get her to open up, to initiate a dialogue—the opening few minutes were always a little awkward—but she didn’t care.

She’d booked this meeting because she needed someone to talk to.

“Fine, I guess. Had a donation from Dick Kleinman and we’ve managed to make some headroads. McVeigh is still well out in front, though. Figuring out what happened at the Greenham Mall and wrapping that up was probably the push he needed. Doesn’t help that I went live right afterward, doubled down on this whole addiction thing.”

“I saw it,” Dr. Patel said with a courteous nod. “Was impressed. You made some pretty bold claims though, treatment centers, awareness. Let me guess, the Kleinmans offered to fund those, too?”

“They did. I mean, it could just be lip service, but they gave me a huge chunk of cash for the campaign.”

“Any reason why that didn’t resonate with the voting contingent like you thought it would?”

“Oh, I know exactly why it didn’t move the needle.”

Dr. Patel’s right eyebrow, which, unlike his hair, was wild and unruly, rose up.

“Which is?”

“The fact that for the past two weeks, there doesn’t seem to be a drug problem in Bear County.” Veronica was fighting exasperation. “We went from having more overdoses in the past six months than in the previous two years combined to… nothing. Not a single death. Hospitals have been practically overrun with addicts who are going through withdrawals. It’s like, poof, Bear County doesn’t have a drug problem anymore.” Veronica snapped her fingers. “Just like that, gone.”

“McVeigh spoke about a massive stash of heroin being discovered at the Mall.”

“More like blown up, but… yeah.”

“Maybe the importer simply doesn’t have any more product. Maybe whoever they report to decide that their time was up.”

“Maybe,” Veronica said softly.

“But you don’t believe it.”

“No way. Someone was taken out, Jasper Bratt, but nobody knows who he is, or where he came from. I’m hard-pressed to believe that this man just appeared out of nowhere and suddenly had millions of dollars’ worth of heroin. Even the way he died? A shootout where both people end up killing each other? Like, what the fuck? Is this the Wild West all of a sudden?”

Dr. Patel chuckled at this, although Veronica didn’t see the humor in it.

“It could be that you don’t want this to be over, that—”

“I don’t want people to die from overdoses,” Veronica said sharply.

Another chuckle from the man.

“Of course not. But, like I said, I saw your speech. You are banking on the drug problem continuing.”

Dr. Patel had a way about him. Maybe it was his psychopathy or maybe it was just a skill. He was blunt to a fault.

And Veronica couldn’t argue with what he was saying.

She didn’t want the drug epidemic in Bear County to continue but if she wanted to become the Sheriff, she needed it.

The real question was, as it had been from the beginning, whether or not she wanted to become Sheriff.

“How are things outside of work?”

Veronica frowned.

“Fine.”

Dr. Patel waited.

“Things with Steve are fine. He’s trying my best to get me to go on the offensive, to challenge McVeigh but I’m holding my ground. I don’t want this to turn into a slander fest.”

“The hallmark of new age politics,” Dr. Patel mused. “You worried that he might reveal some of your secrets?”

Veronica scoffed.

“My secrets are already out there.”

At long last, the psychiatrist’s eyebrow dropped.

“Everybody has secrets, Veronica. Even those who have their dirty laundry all over the internet still have some things they keep to themselves. Some things they don’t want anyone to know.”

A curious comment that sent Veronica’s mind into a tailspin. For the first time in a long time, she found herself thinking of Dante Fiori, a friend of her late brother, and his claims made on Donovan’s Bridge. How her memories of her childhood were false. That she’d done things as a kid, terrible things.

“Where are you right now?”

Veronica shook her head.

“I’m here.”

“Now. But you were gone a second ago, right after I commented on everyone having dark secrets. Care to share?”

Share what? That a madman, a psychopath like you, Dr. Patel, said that I chopped off my father’s finger? That I poisoned my mom by putting bleach in her ice cream?

“Not really. I—”

Veronica was saved by her phone. Much to Dr. Patel’s dismay, she immediately answered it.

“Hello?”

“Detective Shade, it’s Sheriff McVeigh. We have a problem.”

Veronica, who had been slumping lower and lower in the comfortable chair with every passing minute, now sat straight upright.

“What kind of problem?”

“An overdose at the Greenham Library. We need you here. We need you to get here as soon as you can.”

Chapter 38

Marcus McVeigh was clean.

Squeaky clean.

Born in Matheson to a father who worked as a manager in a tree processing plant. Mother a middle-grade school teacher. No major debts—their modest home had long since been paid off and credit card bills were in the mid-three figures—no gambling or drug problems.

Marcus was an only child. Got decent grades, faltered a bit in high school, and had to repeat some grade 11 classes. Took a partial football scholarship at Western Oregon University and suited up as a tight end. Didn’t get much playing time. But unlike many of the students who have aspirations for going to the NFL, and only playing pro, Marcus studied for a degree in Criminal Justice. And the problems he’d experienced in high school, Marcus had done quite well in his university program. Immediately after graduating, he started an internship at the Bear County Sheriff’s department. Spent nearly a full year essentially volunteering before being hired as a deputy. From there, the man’s rise to Chief Deputy was almost meteoric. So much so that Cole found it suspicious.

But he couldn’t find anything that suggested that the man had done more than be at the right place at the right time. An elderly deputy retires, another gets shot in the line of duty and has to take an indefinite leave.

Another leaves for Multnomah County.

At twenty-seven years old, Marcus McVeigh became the youngest Deputy-in-Chief in Bear County Sheriff’s Department history. Two months later, the Sheriff gets caught up in some sort of money laundering scheme and avoids jail time, and retires.

Marcus had been one of the lead investigators on that case.

Enter Steve Burns.

This was when things got interesting. Even though Veronica had commissioned Cole to look into Marcus, he felt like doing his due diligence unless he at least followed up on the man’s previous boss.

He didn’t do as deep a dive, just focused mostly on Steve’s professional career.

The man, like Marcus, was a quick riser. And everything seemed to be going well for Steve. He’d been partnered with Phillip Crouch, became a lieutenant after just a handful of years of service.

Then… nothing.

Cole scratched his head, took a sip of his coffee.

It was ice cold.

Out of seemingly nowhere, Steve up and left the State Troopers and decided to run for Bear County Sheriff.

Seemed like an odd decision, especially considering that the incumbent had been a shoo-in.

It seemed highly unlikely that Steve would come out on top, but he had some heavy hitters in his corner.

Primarily, the Kleinmans, who were an institution in Bear County. They mostly made their money in real estate and continue to do so to this day.

Something happened between Steve and his partner, that much was obvious, despite having no direct evidence in any of the notes or reports he was able to scrounge up. But something happened.

He’d seen the way the two interacted.

Lieutenant Crouch was a prototypical cop. Big, brash, alpha male.

As a member of Internal Affairs, Cole had encountered men like Phil Crouch more times than he could count.

And none of these interactions had been pleasant.

Still, there seemed to be a deeper rift between the two men than just two men peacocking around town.

For the next half hour, Cole reviewed the documents that he’d acquired over the past fourteen or so days through various means of varying degrees of legality.

Nothing stood out to him.

He debated reaching out to Lily Chen, asking her for her help again, but that was a nonstarter. The woman would probably want a ring for that.

Again, Cole sipped his coffee only to immediately spit it back into the mug.

Disgusting.

“What are you working on?”

Cole instinctively closed the laptop.

Wrong thing to do.

“You’re doing something for Veronica again, aren’t you?” Dylan asked.

Cole decided against lying, electing to say nothing.

The man frowned.

“Give it up, man. It’s been at least a week since we’ve had a job. Maybe return some of the calls on our machine.”

Cole opened his mouth, then snapped his jaw closed so quickly that his teeth clacked together.

He was going to say, why don’t you return the calls?

But that wasn’t their arrangement. Redemption Agency worked much like a successful marriage. Both parties brought their own unique skills and talents to the table and things worked best when they stayed in their lanes.

Cole could talk someone with hypothermia into taking an ice bath. Dylan was… well, really tall. And scary looking.

“I will,” he said. “Just need to finish up here.”

Dylan stayed where he was, standing near the coffee maker. Stared at Cole.

Cole stared back.

“Whatever,” the man finally grumbled, poured himself an envy-inducing cup of fresh coffee.

Cole waited for the man to take a seat at his desk before opening his laptop again.

He spent another ten uneventful minutes looking into McVeigh before his mind started to wander again.

To Steve.

Was it because of the strange career change? The unexpected career change?

Maybe.

Or maybe it was because Veronica was with Steve and not him.

Cole wasn’t typically a jealous person. With past girlfriends, he’d played it easy, not caring one way or another if they came back to him or up or downgraded.

But Veronica…

What the fuck is it about her?

Before he even realized what he was doing, Cole was using a back door to access State Trooper documents.

This was unequivocally illegal. Borrowing Lily’s password was one thing.

‘Hacking’, which wasn’t his forte, but he had picked up a few tips and tricks from a previous case involving a thirteen-year-old kid who had managed to access his mother’s bank accounts and had spent every scent of his eventual college fund claiming that it was his money anyway and that only Boomers went to college. To the kid’s credit, he had documented everything online and had garnered quite the following.

Probably made more money in ad revenue than the thirty-four grand he’d stolen.

And, besides, getting into the State Troopers database wasn’t all that difficult.

Then he found what he was looking for.

Forgetting that Dylan was still in the room with him, Cole gasped.

Actually gasped.

“What in the actual fuck?”

Chapter 39

Veronica’s workload had been light after finding Jasper Bratt and Trigger dead in the abandoned apartment complex. Captain Bottel knew that her duties were split between her detective work and the campaign, and seeing as he had a vested interest in her becoming Sheriff, he’d deliberately kept their plate relatively clean.

Sucked for Court Furnelli, as he was desperate for more experience. But he didn’t complain.

Veronica swung by the station to pick her partner up prior to meeting with McVeigh at the library.

The library, a large, modern building, instantly reminded her of Steve. It was the man’s love of reading, and his embarrassment thereof, that had made Veronica suspicious of the man at their first meeting.

Now, both librarians were dead—one from a suicide, the other murdered—and with all the cops milling around, she was taken back to her previous visits to the place.

She’d spoken with Gina Braden, the cross-fitter, and how sweet the woman had been, dichotomous with her muscular appearance. Lied to her to get Maggie Cernak’s keys, which she’d used to gain access to the woman’s home.

And had discovered Lucy, the woman’s cat.

How long ago had that been? Veronica wasn’t sure; less than a year.

Her career, and her life, had taken such dramatic turns since then that it was almost disorienting.

Veronica and Furnelli found McVeigh outside the building, speaking to a deputy. The man disengaged when he noticed their approach.

“Detectives,” he said, with a nod.

“Sheriff,” Veronica said, returning the greeting. “What’ve we got?”

Sheriff McVeigh led them into the building. So much in Veronica’s life had changed since first coming here, but the library itself was nearly identical. Despite the modern appearance outside, the interior was stereotypical of a library. An old, musty smell, not entirely unpleasant, with rows of traditional gray bookshelves filling most of the space.

“OD in the men’s bathroom,” McVeigh said, directing them to the area left of the checkout counter.

A checkout counter that was currently unmanned. During her conversations with Gina, the woman had mentioned that the library was moving in the direction of a self-service model, what with its lack of popularity no longer necessitating two part-time librarians let alone one.

Veronica wondered if after Gina’s and Maggie’s untimely deaths they’d gone fully automated.

“A man found the guy in the bathroom. He was seizing and immediately called 9-1-1. He was DOA.”

McVeigh signaled for the deputy blocking the door to step aside.

Veronica steeled herself, taking a deep breath.

Prepared for an onslaught of her senses that never materialized.

No burning hues, no song, no gas.

Just death.

Both bathroom stall doors hung open and a set of booted feet hung halfway out of the second.

The man was lying on his back, one arm twisted beneath his body, the other laced over his chest.

His eyes were open, a thick paste coating his lips. The front of his shirt was wet, and Veronica suspected that the man had vomited bile on himself prior to expiring.

He was wearing jeans and a T-shirt. There was a section of rubber, what looked to Veronica like an exercise band, beside him. Next to that, a syringe.

McVeigh produced an evidence bag from somewhere and held it out to Veronica. He clearly meant for her to take it, but Veronica had no need. She could make out the baggie inside and the snake/eyeball emblem on it.

“Who is he?” she asked, hooking a chin toward the corpse.

“We don’t know yet. No ID.”

“Did anyone see him come in?” Veronica asked, eyes still locked on the body on the floor.

He looked young. Dirty, but when she imagined him with his hair cut shorter, wearing cleaner clothes, she thought he was probably in his mid-twenties.

“Not really. No librarian in today.”

This surprised Veronica. Not the lack of a librarian, but that nobody saw the man enter the building. Quiet as the place usually was, someone should have noticed a man in boots, looking homeless, wandering the aisles.

“It was busy.”

Another surprise.

“Really?”

“Yeah. A bus of kids from girls from the Bright Horizons Orphanage earlier this morning. Apparently, they do a monthly trip here.”

Veronica’s eyes widened.

“Orphanage?”

McVeigh knew of her past, of her brother, and of the problems they’d uncovered at Renaissance Home.

“Yeah. It’s an all-girls orphanage in Matheson. Caters to about a hundred girls or so.”

Veronica had never heard of the place, which she figured was a good thing.

The only reason she’d heard of Renaissance Home was because of her brother and the abuse that had been inflicted on the boys by Father Cartier.

“They still here?” Veronica had been distracted when she and Court had pulled up, but she thought she recalled seeing a yellow school bus parked nearby.

“They are. Sequestered them in one of the study rooms.”

Veronica took one last look at the body.

“I want to speak to them.”

“Of course, I waited for you to arrive.”

McVeigh started out of the bathroom then stopped.

“I think you should know that I reached out to Agent Allison. He should be here soon.”

All the more reason to speak to the kids before he arrives.

“Are you thinking of putting the task force back together again?” Furnelli asked. He’d been silent up until this point.

McVeigh’s expression soured.

“For one overdose? I don’t think so. Just wanted to keep you and the DEA in the loop.”

It wasn’t just ‘one overdose’ and they all knew it.

Maybe if the symbol wasn’t on the bag, they could pass it off as such. A drifter from out of town, passing through, takes a hot dose in the bathroom.

The location was odd.

But that symbol.

Veronica feared that whoever had been behind the drugs at the mall—definitely not Jasper Bratt—was back.

The cooling-off period was over.

And that meant that there would be more bodies.

“Let’s go talk to the girls,” she said. “Maybe they say something.”

Chapter 40

Veronica instantly disliked the stern-faced woman who was in charge of the girls from Bright Horizons Orphanage.

She had a face like old shoe-leather, gray hair that hadn’t seen conditioner in years. She had a smoker’s voice, although Veronica didn’t detect the smell of cigarettes on her.

Nor did she smell gasoline when the woman introduced herself as Madame Genvieve.

Madame.

Out of principle, Veronica refused to use the woman’s title in addressing her.

“What time did you guys arrive at the library?”

“Nine o’clock. We usually stay for two hours, then eat lunch. Take the bus back afterward. It’s a way to get the kids out, mostly.”

“Did you see the man go into the bathroom?”

Vertical creases appeared on Genvieve’s thin upper lip.

“Deputy—”

“Detective,” Veronica corrected.

In what was most likely a petty countenance to Veronica not using the word ‘Madame’, the woman abstained from using Veronica’s title, as well.

“I have sixteen girls that I’m in charge of. Sixteen teenagers. I have my hands full. I don’t have the time nor the bandwidth to be watching every single homeless man that comes in here.”

Oh, Veronica disliked Genevieve. Disliked her a great deal.

“I’ll take that as a no. But maybe one of the girls did.”

“I’d prefer if you don’t speak to them.”

Veronica cast a glance at McVeigh, who opened his mouth.

Veronica spoke first.

“And I’d prefer if someone didn’t just OD in the library bathroom. But we don’t always get what we want.”

She reached for the handle to the study room then, but McVeigh stopped her.

“Madame Genevieve,” he began, not experiencing the same resistance toward the archaic title, “we just want to ask them if they saw the man enter the bathroom, if he spoke to any of them before hand, that sort of thing.”

“Sheriff, they have no idea what’s going on.” Genevieve waved a liver-spotted hand toward the window. Inside, the girls were either sitting by themselves or chatting and giggling with one another. Kids being kids. Veronica saw shapes and sizes, all colors. “And I would like to keep it that way. They’ve been through enough.”

“I understand—”

“Do we need to call in DHS?” Veronica interrupted McVeigh. “This is an active investigation and those girls are,” she quickly counted the number of kids in the room, “sixteen potential witnesses.”

“You want to waste calling DHS? Be my guest. I’m their legal guardian and I’ll just tell them the same thing I told you: no.”

Bitch.

Veronica wasn’t the most knowledgeable on orphanage law, but she knew enough about how interviewing a minor worked to understand that what Genevieve was saying was probably correct.

To interview a minor, the parent had to consent, unless they were either a suspect or a victim.

These girls were neither. And even though they were orphans, the headmaster of the orphanage was their surrogate parent in this situation.

Furnelli came forward, which was probably for the best. He was the least intimidating of the three.

“I understand that you wanted to protect the kids. I was an orphan.” The smell of gas was strong. “But this isn’t about just one man who overdosed in the bathroom. This problem is bigger than that. We’re trying to stop the influx of drugs into Bear County.”

“What does that have to do with the girls?”

The fact that Genvieve hadn’t immediately shut Court down was a good sign.

“I’ll be honest with you, probably nothing. Hopefully nothing. But you know how it is. More young people are using drugs now more than ever. And I’m not talking about just smoking a joint.”

Genevieve’s eyes darted to the window into the study room. But not before Veronica saw a slight dilation of her pupils.

Furnelli had stumbled upon something. Something he’d said had struck a chord with the crusty headmaster.

“We do our best at Bright Horizons,” Genevieve began, her tone softening. “Look after the girls. But many of them come from troubled pasts.”

She didn’t need to say more.

Veronica knew exactly what she was talking about.

“They stay with you until they’re eighteen, right?” Furnelli’s tone matched Genvieve’s.

“Most,” she replied with a shrug. “Some get legal emancipation at sixteen. Some, unfortunately, run away.”

“Run away?” Veronica couldn’t help herself and Genvieve’s eyes came back to her, significantly harder than before.

“Yeah. Run away.”

“I don’t envy your position,” Furnelli said, trying to calm the situation. “Would it be alright if we asked the girls if they saw the man going into the bathroom? If they did, they might have seen him speaking to someone, a dealer, maybe. We don’t have to tell them why we’re asking, don’t have to mention anything about what happened to the guy. But if someone saw the man speaking to a dealer, and can give a description, we might be able to find him. You probably know how this goes: we find the street dealer, get him to flip on his supplier. The higher up we get on the food chain, the more impact we can have on reducing the supply of drugs entering Bear County.”

“Why don’t you ask the other people who were in the library?”

“We did,” McVeigh said. “There were seven other people in the library, five women and two men. We interviewed them all. They were distracted, didn’t see anything.”

Veronica frowned. No more than twenty minutes had elapsed between when she’d received McVeigh’s call and her picking up Furnelli and arriving here. Not nearly enough time to interview seven people.

But unlike when Court had lied about growing up in an orphanage, McVeigh wasn’t lying.

Which meant only one thing: he’d waited before calling her.

Veronica thought back to what Dr. Cross had told her.

Everything that McVeigh had done so far, aside from closing the Jasper Bratt case prematurely, was by the book. The man had also gone out of his way to keep Veronica involved when he had no obligation to do so.

Veronica had thought this was because McVeigh was a good man, which was supported by his lack of personal attacks during his own Sheriff Campaign.

There could be a more nefarious reason, though.

McVeigh kept her in the loop because he could control the narrative. Appease her well-established curiosity by feeding her nuggets of information, just enough to ensure that she didn’t dig too deeply on her own.

Why?

Veronica could think of only one reason: to keep his own secrets hidden.

“You can ask them if they saw the man, but you can’t tell them why. And I’m going to be there the entire time. I promise you, if you stray from this question, there be hell to pay.”

Chapter 41

The room was hot and stuffy. There were only four chairs, which was probably a good indication of how many people the room was designed to hold.

There were nineteen of them now; fifteen orphans, plus Veronica, Furnelli, McVeigh, and Madame.

Barely enough room to stand.

They elected to allow Furnelli to pose the question, which suited Veronica just fine.

She could spend her time observing their faces as they answered, trying to sniff out a lie.

Genvieve also seemed to be in accord with this decision.

“Hey everyone,” Furnelli said, raising his voice. “My name is Detective Furnelli with Greenham PD. This is Detective Shade and Bear County Sheriff McVeigh.”

Unlike when Genvieve had announced her title, Furnelli’s use in this case served a purpose: to immediately establish a hierarchy.

Furnelli might be green, but he knew what he was doing.

And it seemed to work. Most of the girls had surprised looks on their young faces.

“I know you’re probably tired and confused and I get it. I just want to know if any of you saw a man walking into the men’s bathroom earlier?”

A couple of head shakes, a collective grumble of the word ‘no’.

“He was wearing a dirty gray t-shirt, had longish hair? He might have been talking to someone beforehand?”

Genvieve tensed.

A more resounding no.

“What happened to him?” A girl with dark hair and a pencil-thin eyebrow asked.

Furnelli ignored the question.

“He probably didn’t spend too much time looking for books. Might have even gone straight to the bathroom. If any of you saw—”

“What the hell are we doing here?” the same girl demanded.

Someone else parroted the question.

“It’s okay, girls,” Genvieve said. She turned, her gaze falling on Veronica. “They told you what you wanted to know.”

“Where’s Ella?”

Veronica wasn’t the only one of the four who heard the question. She failed to identify the speaker.

“Are you sure you didn’t see anyone?” Furnelli pressed. “You’re not in trouble, by the way. We’re—”

“Where’s Ella?” A little louder this time, and yet again, only Veronica took notice.

“That’s enough, we’re done.”

“Wait a second. Who’s Ella?” Veronica asked.

Genvieve frowned.

“It’s time you leave.”

The woman actually went to put a hand on Veronica—her shoulder, most likely—but she swatted it away.

“Who asked where Ella is?” she said loudly.

“Detective Shade,” McVeigh said. He was smart enough to know not to put a hand on her.

“No, who asked about Ella?”

A girl stepped forward. She had brown hair that fell down her back. Soft hazel eyes.

“I haven’t seen her.”

This got Genvieve’s attention.

“Ella?” she said, her eyes scanning the room’s occupants. “Anyone seen Ella?”

The kids all looked around now.

“Ella?” Genvieve said loudly. “Ella?”

Veronica had no idea who Ella was or what she looked like, but judging by the way everyone just looked around and shrugged, she guessed that the girl wasn’t here.

“Was Ella on this trip?” Genvieve asked.

Veronica was astounded.

“You don’t know who the fuck came here?”

She saw the artery in Genvieve’s thin throat pulse.

“She was here,” the girl with the long hair replied. “I was talking to her when we came in?”

Fuck.

“What does she look like?” Veronica asked as Genvieve reached into her pocket and pulled out a sheet of paper. A manifest, most likely.

“Long blond hair she always keeps in a ponytail.”

There were two girls who fit this very general description, but they clearly weren’t Ella.

“Goddamn it,” Genvieve muttered under her breath. She folded the paper and tucked it away. “Ella was here.”

Veronica pointed at Furnelli who immediately left the study room. She heard him calling Ella’s name in the library proper.

“We put all the kids in this room,” McVeigh said. “If she’s not here, she wasn’t in the library.”

Now it was Veronica’s turn to reach for Genvieve. As when the situation was reversed, Genvieve tried to prevent her hand from touching her.

But Veronica was determined.

She grabbed the woman by the collar and shoved her roughly out of the room. This brought some concerned cries from some of the kids.

“You lost a fucking kid?” Veronica demanded.

“You can’t touch me.”

Veronica did not release her hold on Genvieve’s shoulder.

“How the fuck did you lose a kid?”

Back in the room, she heard McVeigh instruct the girls to stay put. Somewhere in the distance, Furnelli continued to shout Ella’s name.

“I was looking after them! Chasing them around the library. Ella’s sixteen, not six.”

“If I find out you did something, you will regret it.”

Genvieve looked at McVeigh.

“You hear that? She’s threatening me. She can’t threaten me.”

“Tell that to Sister Margaret,” Veronica hissed, and finally let her go.

Furnelli returned, red-faced.

“She’s not here. There’s no one else here.”

Chapter 42

Ella Cassidy wasn’t in the library. She wasn’t around the library, either. McVeigh had his deputies search the building from top to bottom, then fan out around the building.

They came up empty.

Now that the case involved a child, Genvieve had no say in whether or not they could speak to the Bright Horizon girls.

The girl who had first noticed Ella’s absence was named Bonnie. She claimed that they entered the library together but then separated when Bonnie went to look for a book.

No one saw her after that.

Despite having dozens of questions for the girls, Veronica shifted priorities to finding Ella. Briefly questioning the others revealed no new information. And they were all telling the truth.

Ella just vanished.

Veronica found McVeigh outside the building.

“Genvieve had someone back at the orphanage send her a recent photo of Ella Cassidy. I’m preparing an APB, already have my deputies on the lookout.”

“Send the picture to me and I’ll circulate it with the Greenham PD as well,” Veronica said.

McVeigh was back to looking tired and worn out.

“What the hell is going on here, Veronica? Another orphanage disaster?”

Veronica sure as hell hoped not. But all she wanted to do now was find Ella. She would deal with Genvieve and Bright Horizons later.

“Do you think this might be related?” Furnelli had joined them now on the lawn outside the library.

“To what happened at Renaissance?” McVeigh asked, clearly not understanding.

“No, I mean the OD in the bathroom and Ella.”

Now Veronica was confused.

“How so?” she asked.

“I don’t know. Just… we get an OD after we haven’t had a single one in… what? A week? Two? And then Ella disappears from the same building?”

“You think that maybe the dead guy’s dealer grabbed her?” Veronica winced at her own callous words but they had no time to stand on ceremony. Better to get right to the point.

“I don’t know,” Furnelli admitted.

“I guess it’s a possibility. But these guys who sell that shit from the mall? The eyeball snake or whatever? They have to be big players with that amount of weight. I doubt they’d fuck around taking a kid. I mean, she’s not really a kid, though. Genvieve said she was almost sixteen,” McVeigh told them.

Veronica was also doubtful but thought it was worth noting.

“She did mention something about the orphanage having some runaways. You know anything about that?” McVeigh admitted that he didn’t, which wasn’t surprising considering he’d only been the interim Sheriff for a short period of time. Even if he’d been aware, mid-teen orphanage runaways wouldn’t score high on the priority list, not with the heroin epidemic that had been, until recently, plaguing Bear County.

“I’ll run a check, see if the cases show any commonalities.”

“And I’ll speak to Genvieve.”

McVeigh appeared about to argue, but Veronica shot him a look that said: you invited me in, now let me do my job.

“I’ll take Furnelli with me,” she said, to appease his concerns.

That seemed to do it. At least, McVeigh didn’t prevent them from heading back toward the library.

In the end, they didn’t even have to enter; Madame Genvieve stepped out of the building, cell phone in hand.

“You’re supposed to stay inside,” Veronica said, startling the woman who was scrolling through her contacts.

“I’m trying to find Ella,” Genvieve snapped.

“Why don’t you put your phone away.”

Genvieve seemed to mull over her options. Surrounded by deputies, and with the Sheriff nearby on his radio coordinating the search, she decided it was in her best interests to obey.

The phone disappeared.

“I want the names of the girls who ran away.”

Genvieve’s response was alarming.

“How far back do you want to go?”

“Are there that many?”

“Define that many.”

Veronica didn’t like this game.

“Why don’t you cut the shit. You lost a kid today—stop acting like an asshole. You say you want to find her? Tell me what I want to know.”

“I didn’t lose a kid. And Ella wasn’t exactly a kid. I have more than a hundred orphans that I look after. Sixteen came to the library with me. You know what it’s like to try to keep your eyes on sixteen teenagers? Next to impossible.”

“You can tell that cool story to the judge when—”

“Two years,” Furnelli said.

Both Veronica and Genevieve looked at the dark-haired detective.

“What?” Genvieve said.

“Give us the names of all the kids from Bright Horizons who were either emancipated or went missing for the last two years.”

Genvieve reached for her phone.

“Put it away,” Veronica ordered.

Genevieve scowled, which only served to deepen the many creases that lined her elderly face.

“You want the names or not?”

Veronica relented. As Genvieve made the call, she took a deep breath and looked around.

Everyone was on high alert.

Barking orders, pointing. Raising their voices.

Veronica wondered if this had been the case when the other kids had gone missing.

She highly doubted it.

Her own phone started to ring, and she looked at the screen, frowning when she saw the caller ID.

Not now, Cole.

Veronica declined the call. When she lifted her eyes again, she found herself looking across the street.

There was a line of shrubs by the side of the road, two blocks from where they were currently standing.

Something about them made her squint.

A section of Blue Elderberry shrubs seemed off. It was leaning a little to one side, whereas those surrounding it were perfectly straight and manicured.

Veronica took two steps in the direction of the road.

The trees moved.

“Furnelli?”

“Yeah?”

She didn’t take her eyes off the shrubs.

“Look at those Elderberry’s by the—” road.

Two eyes poked out. Eyes and a head of short dark hair.

It was the boy from the mall.

“Furnelli!” She pointed and took another step only to narrowly avoid being struck by a car.

It must have whipped around the corner, weaved to avoid the deputies.

Veronica cursed as it screeched to a stop directly in front of her.

“Fuck!”

On her tiptoes, she searched over the top of the black sedan.

The kid was gone.

“Furnelli, I think I saw—”

The doors to the car opened and two imposing men got out.

“Well, would you look at that,” Lieutenant Phil Crouch said. “Trouble just seems to follow your ass around, don’t it, Detective Shade?”

Chapter 43

The kid was gone. Veronica and Furnelli had searched the bushes and the strip mall behind it. When this yielded no results, they wrapped around the back of the mall.

There was another one of those small forests, like near the Greenham Mall. No evidence of anyone sleeping there.

No evidence of the kid, either.

He was gone to the wind.

“You know, it’s impolite not to say hello,” Crouch said with a lecherous grin.

“Fuck you.”

“Woah, woah! Easy there, tiger.”

Veronica ignored him and found Genvieve.

Neither Troy Allison nor Phil Crouch followed.

“Where’d you go?” the woman said.

“You have the names?” Veronica asked.

Genvieve produced a list. It was shorter than she’d expected. Six names in total.

“This is it? I thought you couldn’t remember them all?”

Genvieve was unpleased with the comment, but she knew better than to say anything to her in this state. She had experience with unruly teenagers and knew when to back off.

“I couldn’t remember their names.”

Veronica snatched the list and was about to walk away when she thought of something Furnelli had said earlier.

“Do your Bright Horizons girls ever meet up with the kids from Renaissance?”

Genvieve made a face.

“What do you mean?”

“I don’t know. Like dances and shit. Sneak out, that sort of thing.”

“My girls don’t sneak out,” Genvieve replied instinctively.

Veronica clenched the sheet of paper in her hand and the woman changed her tune.

“Not supposed to, anyway. But we don’t have sanctioned events.” Genvieve waved a hand behind her. “Coming to the library is the most exciting thing we usually do.”

“A little too exciting for my tastes.”

Veronica finally left the woman, found McVeigh.

“Any luck finding her?”

“No. Not yet. The library doesn’t have cameras. No red-light cameras around here, either. I’ve pulled as many of my men as I can off their regular duties.”

It didn’t make sense. Ella had arrived via bus, a bus that was still parked by the side of the road. She couldn’t have gotten far.

Veronica was on the fence about mentioning that she thought she saw the kid from the mall.

Eventually, she decided against it. Furnelli had seen him, and she’d just gotten a glimpse.

If it hadn’t been for the slight blue aura that she’d observed, Veronica would have been tempted to chalk it up to just her imagination.

“Where’s Furnelli?”

“Over there.”

He was speaking with Agent Allison.

“Furnelli,” Veronica called with a wave. He excused himself and came over. She thought that he might mention what Veronica had told him about seeing the kid, but he didn’t. “I want you to help McVeigh search for Ella. Send him the photo of her instead of me, and you forward it on to Captain Bottel.”

Veronica didn’t want to stick around. She didn’t want to be anywhere near Allison or Crouch. Besides, they already had so many people out looking for Ella that she would just be wasting her time.

Furnelli had mentioned a possible connection between the OD and the missing girl and Veronica had just passed this off. But if the kid from the mall was really here, hiding, watching, then that was the link that couldn’t be overlooked.

“Will do,” Furnelli said.

“Keep me in the loop, okay?”

“Sure.”

***

“Cole, we need to talk.”

After leaving the library, Veronica drove around a little, continually widening her search from the shrubs and outward. She had little expectation of finding the kid.

Either kid, for that matter.

She found herself back at Daphne’s with a steaming cup of coffee in front of her. For once, the owner wasn’t there, and Veronica was grateful. She didn’t feel like speaking to the woman, much as she cared for her.

“You’re telling me. I’ve been trying to reach you. Looked into—”

“We have a missing girl. Ella Cassidy. Fifteen or sixteen years old. Went to the library with a bunch of kids from the orphanage, just vanished. I’ve got the names of six other girls who have gone missing over the past two years. I need to know everything about them.”

Veronica could hear Cole breathing on the other end, but he didn’t say anything.

“Cole? You hear me?”

He cleared his throat.

“Yeah, I hear you.”

“Well, can you do that? If I give you the names, can you look them up? See if—”

“I’ve got something to show you, Veronica.”

“If this is about McVeigh, it can wait. The girl went missing an hour ago.”

“It’s not about McVeigh.”

Veronica was too tired for this.

“What is it about, then?”

“It’s about… it’s about Steve.”

Veronica squeezed the phone even tighter.

“Okay,” she said breathlessly. “I’m at Daphne’s. How quickly can you get here?”

“I’m in the neighborhood, be there in less than ten minutes.”

True to his word, Cole Batherson stepped through the door seven and a half minutes after Veronica ended.

And the nervous-looking man was holding a folder in his hand.

A folder just like the one he’d given Veronica about Freddie, which had blown her world apart. 

Chapter 44

“McVeigh is clean,” Cole said. “Went as deep as I can go but I found nothing dirty on him.”

This did not jive with Dr. Cross’ findings, but that seemed to matter little now.

Veronica leaned forward and lowered her voice.

“But Steve?”

Cole looked from side to side, then he too leaned forward.

“… he’s not.”

“He’s not what?”

“He’s not clean.”

Veronica felt her heart beat a little faster in her chest. She reached for the folder, but Cole held it just out of range.

“Cole, I don’t have time to fuck around. Give me the folder, I’ll look at it later.”

Dirty could mean a lot of things. On the mild side, dirty could mean doing favors for other cops or roughing up a suspect to get them to talk. On the flip side, it could mean something else entirely. Something darker.

Whatever it was, however, it could wait. Wait until they found Ella Cassidy.

Cole reluctantly passed it over and Veronica reached into her pocket for the list of names that Genvieve had provided.

“I think you should look at it now,” Cole suggested. “It could be related to your missing person.”

This was unexpected but Veronica didn’t put too much stock into it. She wasn’t an idiot; she knew that part of the reason why Cole was so eager to help her out with pretty much everything she asked was because he still had feelings for her. Veronica felt a little bad about exploiting this, and there was no chance that they’d ever get back together, but she did what she had to.

This could just be nothing, just Cole throwing shade in order to sully their relationship. Unlikely; she trusted Cole, didn’t think he was that petty.

But love could make you do nonsensical things.

Veronica decided to humor him.

“What? How?”

Now, Cole’s voice was barely audible.

“Are you sure you want to know?”

It was Freddie all over again.

Veronica just stared and Cole nodded to himself.

“Steve used to work as a State Trooper, was partnered up with Phil Crouch.”

Starting off hot; Veronica knew that Steve had been a trooper, had not known that they’d been partners. Or had he told her?

Maybe.

Her life was such a whirlwind that Veronica couldn’t remember.

“Really?”

“Yeah. This was right before he came to Bear County and became the sheriff.”

Veronica was frustrated now.

“I know that.”

“Right, but did you know that right before he left the Staties, he was investigating a series of missing kids in Portland?”

“Girls?”

“Girls,” Cole confirmed. “Teenagers, mostly.”

Now, Veronica understood why the man had been so desperate to meet up.

“Has to be a coincidence.”

“Most of the girls were homeless. Lived on the streets or came from broken homes. Eleven in total over the span of a year. As far as I can tell, none were ever found.”

It could still be a coincidence. Probably was.

“Portland?” Veronica asked.

“Yeah.”

“You have a list of their names?”

Cole took the folder back, flipped through the pages, and pulled one out.

“I’m going to read off my list, you tell me if there are any matches.”

It was a wild goose chase, but Veronica needed to find a link between Ella and the other girls from Bright Horizons and Steve’s investigation.

“Shoot.”

Veronica started with the obvious.

“Ella Cassidy?”

“No.”

In addition to the names of the six other girls, Genvieve had written a date beside each. Veronica’s first thought was that these were their dates of birth, but the year didn’t work. It had to be the date they went missing. She started with the most recent.

“Chloe Whitman?”

“No.”

“Sylvia Black?”

“No.”

“Stephanie Rutger, Mary Keegan, Ally Sorenson, Natalie Ellington?”

Cole used his finger to move down his own list.

“No, no, no, and no.”

“Fuck. There’s no connection. I appreciate you getting this to me, but—”

“There’s more.”

There was always fucking more.

Veronica sighed, brought the cup of coffee to her lips. Steam warmed her face.

“What?”

“Steve Burns was married.”

Veronica almost dropped the mug.

“What?” The same word repeated, a completely different intonation.

“I mean, technically, he’s still married.”

Veronica set the cup back down before she dropped it.

This was impossible.

“If you’re fucking with me, I swear to God—”

“I’m not, Veronica. Steve’s married to Julia Burns**. Got married in September six years ago.” He started to reach into the folder again. “I found the marriage certificate. At first, I thought maybe it was a different Steve, or that it had been annulled…”

Veronica was so floored that she didn’t even hear the rest of what Cole had to say.

Steve was married?

For what must have been the hundredth time today alone, a single thought ran through Veronica’s head: What the fuck is going on?

Her vision was suddenly obscured with blue hues.

It seemed like every inch of her skin had broken out in a cold sweat.

“I’m… I’m sorry, Veronica.”

Veronica blinked.

The blue remained.

“It’s… I dunno. This is fucked up.”

“Yeah, but there’s one more missing person I need to tell you about.” This time, Cole didn’t give his patented pause, he just came out with it. “Julia Burns.”

Veronica’s head was spinning.

“She’s missing?”

“Yeah. Found the police report. Steve came home from work, and he found blood in the kitchen. Called it in. There was a fight of some sort between him and his partner. They searched for Julia but there was zero sign of her.”

Veronica found her tongue.

“Blood? How much blood?”

“Report says around a quart. Not enough to make any conclusions.”

Meaning, it wasn’t enough to confirm that she was dead.

She was still having a hard time believing that Steve was married.

“There was no sign of her… until a few months ago.”

“She was found?”

“Not exactly. Her fingerprint was identified on a piece of a plastic explosive at a crime scene in Mosier.”

“A plastic explosive?”

None of this made any sense.

“I found the police report. Someone reported a fire in a warehouse in Mosier. Before the police could arrive, the place blew up. At first, the local authorities thought that too was electrical, but then they called in the Staties. They found evidence of plastic explosives on the scene and one undetonated explosive. Julia Burns’ fingerprint was on the unexploded one.”

Cole could tell that she was struggling with this deluge of information.

He gave her a moment to collect her thoughts.

Veronica needed more than a moment.

She needed a year to wrap her head around all of this.

“What… what was in the warehouse?”

“Nothing.”

“Nothing?”

“Place was completely cleaned out.”

Investigative Veronica took over.

An electrical fire in an empty warehouse—maybe an accident. The plastic explosives not so much. Why blow up a warehouse with nothing in it?

There was only one reason that Veronica could think of.

“They were tried to hide something. They must have got most of it out but the fire… they wanted to make sure that there was no evidence left behind. You sure that they didn’t find anything in the warehouse?”

“They found a lot of shit—rebar, plaster, tiles—but nothing of note.”

The image of fire licking up the backside of the Greenham Mall came to mind.

“Any drugs?”

“I would have started with that.”

“Right.”

It was possible that they managed to get most of the drugs out and the rest was blown up. It was also possible that she was reaching and trying to mesh both of her—Steve’s—cases together for completion and simplicity’s sake.

“Can you look into those names? Please?”

“Of course, let me take a photo.”

Veronica’s fingers were numb when she unfolded the paper. Cole snapped a picture.

“You going to be okay?”

“I don’t know,” Veronica replied honestly.

“Well, if you want to talk…”

“Thanks.”

Cole left.

Veronica wished he’d stayed.

Under normal circumstances, being alone with her thoughts wasn’t a pleasant place to be.

This wasn’t normal.

She couldn’t trust anyone.

Freddie had stolen from the evidence locker.

McVeigh had heroin metabolites in his blood.

Her father had been sleeping with her psychiatrist and keeping secrets about her life from her.

Troy Allison was a fucking asshole.

Phil Crouch did everything in his power to piss her off.

Captain Bottel? He was obsessed with boosting Greenham PD’s reputation.

And Steve… Veronica couldn’t even think of Steve.

That hurt the most.

She loved Steve. Fuck, she’d helped him—eventually—overcome his addiction.

He was fucking married.

Veronica had never felt so betrayed or alone.

But when the bell above the diner chimed and someone else walked in, Veronica knew that however horrible her day was, it was about to get a whole lot worse.

Chapter 45

Court Furnelli did not like Agent Allison or Lieutenant Crouch. But, then again, he supposed he was in the majority.

They were both assholes.

He wasn’t sure what to make of McVeigh. At least the man refused to be pushed around by the other two men.

“Where’d the one with the tight ass run off to?” Crouch asked with a chuckle.

Court bristled. He wanted to say something, felt like he needed to protect Veronica.

He also knew that this was exactly what Crouch wanted.

“Knock it off, Crouch,” McVeigh snapped.

Crouch went right up to the sheriff.

“What’d you say?”

As predicted.

“I said it knock the fuck off.”

“You better watch—”

“What are you doing here, anyway? I called Agent Allison. We have an OD and a missing person.”

“He was with me,” Allison said.

“Well, if he wants to stay, he’s gotta show some respect.”

Crouch’s face started to redden.

The man had an even shorter fuse than Court expected.

Allison grabbed Crouch’s shoulder, pulled him back.

“Relax, everyone.”

He waited a beat.

“Good. Now, Sheriff, you said on the phone that someone OD’d? What’s this about a kid going missing?”

“You ever heard of Bright Horizons Orphanage?” McVeigh asked.

“No.”

“All girls’ orphanage. They were doing an outing to the library. Sixteen of them. We sequestered all the kids in a room, only later found out that one was missing. APB already issued, searched all surrounding areas.”

“Probably a runaway,” Allison said offhand.

“Why would you say that?” Crouch’s face had gone back to its usual color, but his thick brow was pinched.

Allison shrugged.

“I dunno. Teenage girls in an orphanage on an outing? Sounds like a good chance to slip away.”

“Well, that’s what the headmaster suggested. There’s a bunch of kids who have run away over the past few years,” McVeigh said.

“Alright, let’s focus on the junkie who OD. You print him, yet?”

“No. We didn’t want to spook the girls. As soon as they clear out, we’ll get the coroner in.”

“I want to take a look at the body, see if I recognize him.”

“Yeah, sure. We should stay away from the study room where the girls are being held. They don’t know about the body, only that their friend is missing. I don’t want to spook them.” McVeigh looked directly at Crouch as he said this.

“Don’t worry, I’m a charmer.”

The fuck you are.

***

“Don’t know him,” Allison said, nudging the corpse with his heavy boot. “He had a baggie on him? One with that symbol?”

“Yeah.”

“Well, we knew that eventually, the product would find its way back to Bear County. Let me guess no cameras in here?”

“No cameras.”

“So, this junkie could have bought his smack anywhere. I don’t know what you want me to do here,” Allison said. “Other than hit the street again.”

“Eh, was hoping maybe you recognized him. A dealer who tasted his own supply.”

“Naw.”

“I want to talk to the kids,” Crouch said. His tone lacked the bravado of earlier. Before hearing about the missing kid, the man had been grinning, making his stupid ass comments. Now, he seemed concerned.

Furnelli didn’t think she’d ever seen the man concerned before. Not even when they’d been hunting Jasper Bratt.

“That’s not happening,” McVeigh said immediately.

“I’m being serious. A year back, there were these missing kids in—”

“I don’t care. You’re not speaking to them,” McVeigh said.

“I’m being serious.”

McVeigh puffed up his chest.

“So am I. You ain’t speaking to them.”

Allison once again tried to intervene.

“Let’s go, Crouch.”

“No. I want to—”

“Fuck the girls. We need to find whoever replaced Bratt as the supplier.”

Furnelli cringed.

Clearly, the man hadn’t meant it that way but still sounded wrong.

“I don’t understand what the big deal is. I helped you with the—”

“Lieutenant Crouch, take a walk,” McVeigh said.

“Take a walk? Who the fuck you think you’re talking to?”

Allison tried to separate them, but Crouch was incensed.

And McVeigh wasn’t backing down.

Furnelli was remiss to get involved, but he had no choice.

“Crouch—”

The punch came out of nowhere. As soon as Furnelli touched Crouch’s shoulder, the man turned and swung.

If it hadn’t been for Allison standing partially between them, Furnelli had no doubt that the man’s massive fist would have smashed his jaw. Shattered it, most likely.

As it was, the blow was deflected instead of colliding with Colt’s chest.

It was still a solid shot and Furnelli crumpled from the impact. It felt as if his entire ribcage had been crushed.

Struggling to catch his breath, Furnelli backed up.

“I should arrest your ass,” he heard McVeigh say through the blood pumping through his ears. “I should throw you in jail.”

“It was just a love tap.”

If that was a love tap, Furnelli was a Speckled Hen.

A Speckled Hen that in no way, shape, or form wanted to feel a full force punch.

“We’re leaving,” Allison said.

Crouch allowed himself to be pulled away from both McVeigh and Furnelli.

McVeigh stood his ground until they were clear out of the building, then put a hand on Furnelli’s shoulder.

“You okay?”

Furnelli managed to stand upright, holding his hand against his injured side.

“I’ll make it.”

“Fucking asshole. You want me to have one of my deputy’s pull him in?”

Crouch was a loose cannon, Allison too, for that matter. And he should be charged for hitting him. But Furnelli wouldn’t be that guy. It was hard enough getting others to respect him with Veronica as a partner. If he was labeled as a rat, he might as well pack his bags and relocate to Nevada.

“Naw, don’t worry about.”

“You sure?”

“Yeah. But I do have a favor to ask.”

“What is it?”

“I want to speak to one of the girls.”

McVeigh winced.

“Just the one that said she came in with Ella. I’ll be quick.”

The Sheriff acquiesced.

“Be quick.”

The girls were all anxious now. Anxious, scared, and loud.

With McVeigh hanging back, Furnelli pulled open the door.

He was instantly bombarded with a series of incomprehensible questions.

“Can you come talk to me for a second?” Furnelli said, indicating the girl dark hair. When he saw the girl’s eyes widen beneath ever shrinking eyebrows, he added, “I just want to ask you about Emma.”

“And we wanna go back to Bright,” someone said.

“Yeah. We want to get the fuck out of here.”

“And you will. After I talk to… you, the Sheriff said you can get on your bus.”

“Go on, Isla. Talk to him so we can get out of here.”

The girl slumped her shoulders and stepped out.

Furnelli closed the door behind her.

With everyone outside, and Madame Genevieve nowhere to be seen, the library was quiet. Furnelli guided her just far enough so that the kids in the room, now practically pressed up against the glass, couldn’t see.

“Your name’s Isla?”

She nodded.

“And your Emma’s friend?”

Another nod.

“When you spoke to her earlier, how was she?”

“What do you mean?”

Furnelli shrugged.

“Was she scared? Nervous?”

“I dunno.”

Furnelli needed another plan.

“Did Emma have a lot of friends?”

“Not really. I mean, she was close with Chloe, but Chloe’s gone.”

“Where’d she go?”

Isla shrugged.

“Isla, this is important. If your friend is in any kind of trouble—”

“Chloe ran off. She was a loose cannon. Never got along with anyone, really… except for Emma. She was into conspiracies, stuff like that.”

“How long ago did Chloe leave?”

“About six months, I think.”

A narrative started to form in Furnelli’s mind. Emma’s best friend runs away, she gets lonely. Decides to do the same, maybe with the intention of finding Chloe.

An idea occurred to him.

“Did Emma have anything with her today? Like on the bus?”

“We all brought our lunches.” Isla suddenly cocked her head. “Actually, her backpack looked pretty full.”

“Yeah?”

“Where are your bags?”

“Madame brought them into the room with us.”

“Was Emma’s bag there?”

“Don’t think so. Someone would have noticed.”

Furnelli gave her shoulder a gentle squeeze.

“Alright, thank you.”

“Can we… can we go now?”

“You can. Just let me have a word with the Sheriff. I’ll come get you guys in a minute, okay?”

“Okay.”

Isla bowed her head and went back to the study room. The moment she did, McVeigh emerged from the shadows.

“You hear that?” Furnelli asked.

“I did.” McVeigh looked somewhat relieved. Furnelli should have felt the same, but something didn’t sit right with him. “It sounds like she ran away.”

Furnelli was inclined to disagree, despite all the evidence to the contrary, but bit his tongue.

It wasn’t his place.

And, besides, he wasn’t sure if he could manage the words. His chest still hurt like hell.

Chapter 46

Veronica almost jumped to her feet. The only thing keeping her rooted in place was the knowledge that if she did, the dirty kid who came through Daphne’s door would bolt.

And Veronica lacked the energy to chase.

It was clear that the boy was looking for her. Had probably followed her and waited for Cole to leave.

Veronica resisted the urge to raise her hand and wave. The way that he kept his head down, looking this way and that, using only his lowered eyes reaffirmed her suspicion that he didn’t want to be seen.

Eventually, his eyes landed on Veronica, tucked away in what was slowly becoming her own personal booth near the back, out of sight and out of earshot of the few patrons.

The boy scuttled over. He sat without saying anything.

Veronica followed his lead and remained silent.

“I’m scared,” he said eventually. His voice was high and tight.

Veronica performed a brief survey of Daphne’s. Two men sat at the bar, their backs to them. They wee engrossed in their pints, not speaking, not even acknowledging each other. Considering the empty stools on either side, and being right next to one another, it was likely that they were friends or colleagues. You couldn’t tell by their lack of interaction, though. A gray-haired couple sat in a booth near the front window. Unlike the day drinkers, they were talking… well, the woman was. Prattling on about some upcoming appointment. The man, her husband most likely, was preoccupied with the runny egg on his plate.

It wasn’t the ideal location for a private conversation, but Veronica had held many a confidential talk here. It was as if people knew the old Vegas adage: what happens in Daphne’s stays at Daphne’s.

Even when the proprietor was absent.

“What’s your name?”

The kid didn’t look up.

“Mason.”

“Okay, Mason, I’m Veronica.”

“I know. Seen you on the news.”

And I’ve seen your tent. Know you were at the mall. Also know that you were outside the library.

“What are you scared of Mason?”

He opens his mouth, seemed to change his mind about what he wanted to say.

“My friend is missing.”

“Ella, right? Ella Cassidy?”

The boy nodded. He had dark hair that was cut strangely, all choppy around the sides and back. Must have cut it himself, which makes sense for someone who lives—lived—in a tent.

“Did she run away?”

Now, his eyes shot up. They were pretty eyes, buried in a delicate, yet dirty face.

“No. She—” Again, Mason changed his mind partway through the sentence. This time, he didn’t continue at all.

“Mason, you came to me, remember? Which means you want help. You want to help your friend. I can’t do that, if you don’t talk to me.”

He scrutinized Veronica for an uncomfortably long time.

“How do I know I can trust you?”

Veronica’s mind flashed to everything that she’d learned today. On the tip of her tongue is a canned reply—You can trust me—but she fought the urge.

Mason was surrounded by a blue aura. It had been there when he’d entered Daphne’s—again, living in a tent in a tiny forest wasn’t conducive to a strict hygiene regimen—but now it grew.

Expanded.

“You don’t,” Veronica said. “Honestly? You can’t truly trust anyone in this life. Even yourself, sometimes.”

This sounded corny, but Veronica believed the words that came out of her mouth.

But then Mason started to rise, and Veronica thought that this had been the wrong approach.

He didn’t leave. Just adjusted his posture so that he could move even closer to Veronica. Now, she could smell as well as see the boy’s sweat.

“Ella didn’t run away.” Despite the off-putting body odor, Veronica was forced to lean closer to hear. “She thought that they were going to give her money. They told her that. After every job, they said they put money away in an account—at least, that’s what they said. Showed a bank statement. But it was all bullshit. I know it was bullshit. But Ella… she was too trusting. Always, too trusting. The others believed, too.”

“By others, you mean Sylvia, Stephanie, and Mary, right?”

This shocked Mason. His perpetually squinted eyes widened.

“How did you—”

“Doesn’t matter. What was Ella doing? What job?”

Mason shrugged and his eyelids went back to half-mast.

“I don’t know, exactly. All I know is that only some of the orphans get asked to do it. They make all these promises—deliver the packages a bunch of times and we’ll put money in an account for you; a fresh start. Fucking bullshit. You do the jobs, and they make you disappear. That’s what really happens.”

“Who? Who gives these jobs, Mason?”

Mason was poised to answer but a car pulled up right outside the cafe, parked in a handicap spot.

Veronica recognized it immediately. So did Mason, evidently.

He got up and then surprised Veronica by coming to her side of the table. He cast a glance over his shoulder as Allison and Crouch got out of the car.

“Shit. It’s him.”

“It’s—” who, Veronica was going to say, then Mason hugged her.

Veronica nearly fell back into the booth. She was so surprised that, at first, she didn’t notice the extra padding on Mason’s chest.

If the boy’s arms had been thicker, Veronica might have thought this to be well-developed pecs. Only he was rail thin.

Mason tried to pull away, but Veronica recovered from the shock and held him close for another second.

“Take care of yourself, Chloe.”

The stiffening Veronica felt confirmed her suspicions.

Then she was alone, the kid darting out the back door.

Crouch and Allison entered the diner.

“I should have popped that motherfucker right in the face,” Crouch said as Veronica pulled a ten out of her pocket for her coffee and put it on the table.

She eased into the shadows.

“McVeigh would have thrown your ass in jail,” Allison was saying.

The two men were speaking loudly enough for everyone to hear.

“Would have popped that soft ass prick, too.”

Veronica slipped out the back way, just as the kid had done earlier.

It wasn’t until she was halfway around the front, with her car in sight, that she realized her keys weren’t in her pocket where she’d put them.

Chapter 47

No, you really couldn’t trust anyone.

The kid had stolen her keys.

The only thing saving Veronica from a full-blown panic attack was that Chloe Whitman had been telling the truth. Despite his immense body odor, Veronica would have smelled a lie.

…deliver the packages a bunch of times and we’ll put money in an account for you… you do the jobs, and they make you disappear… it’s him.

Veronica abandoned going to her car now that she wouldn’t be able to get into it.

Probably for the best. Neither Crouch nor Allison seemed to have noticed it on the way in but if she walked in front of Daphne’s large windows, she’d undoubtedly be seen.

But what the fuck was she supposed to do?

No car. Nobody she could trust.

Veronica recalled what she’d said to Chloe.

You can’t truly trust anyone in this life. Even yourself, sometimes.

She sighed.

Well, I have to trust somebody unless she was up for walking for the next two or three hours.

Veronica sighed again, heavier this time, tried to exhale the weight of the day.

It didn’t work.

She called Cole.

“Veronica?”

“Think you can swing back around and pick me up?”

“I just—you okay?”

Nope.

“I need a ride, Cole. Can you help me out?”

“Sure. Give me five.”

“Don’t swing around the front, though. Pick me up one street over.”

“Uhh, okay.”

Cole picked her up ten minutes later and Veronica quickly got in.

“Something wrong with your car?”

“Don’t have my keys.”

“Don’t have your—”

“I’ll explain, just drive.”

Cole pulled away from Daphne’s.

“Where to?”

“Mosier.”

“Mosier?”

“Yeah, I want to go to the warehouse that blew up.”

It took Veronica some time to come to the decision to tell Cole what she’d learned from the kid who had called himself Mason but who was, in actuality, Chloe Whitman. Didn’t have much of a choice, really. She couldn’t do this on her own.

It was bigger than a missing kid, or kids, bigger than an explosion at the mall, kilos of heroin, and an unbelievable shoot-out.

When she was done, Cole licked his lips, kept his eyes trained on the road.

“So,” he began, after a long pause, “someone out of Bright Horizons is using these girls to move drugs around. Smart. No one expects cute little orphans to be hustling kilos of heroin. Then what… they’re… what did you say? Making them disappear?”

“Yeah, that’s what Chloe said.”

“And Chloe is the kid from the mall? The one who looks like a boy?”

“Uh-huh. She used to be an orphan at Bright Horizons but ran away. Cut her hair and changed her name to look like a boy.”

“Ah, right, she was on that list. You remember the footage from the mall? She recognized Jasper Bratt, and he recognized her. He was probably the one who was giving them the packages. She probably saw him with her friend.”

“Yeah. But…”

Veronica paused.

It’s him.

“But what?”

“I was outside the library, and I saw Chloe across the street. I think she wanted to talk to me, but then a car pulled up and ran. I thought she just got spooked. But back at the dinner, when Crouch and Allison came in, she said, ‘It’s him’ and took off. Well, stole my keys, first.”

“She stole your keys?”

“Yeah.”

“Shit. You don’t think she knows where you live, do you?”

“Doesn’t matter. What matters is that Chloe was scared of… one of them. Allison or Crouch.”

“Which one?”

“I don’t know. Both? What if after Jasper died and things went quiet, whoever is spearheading this cartel or whatever hired one of them to take over?”

Cole mused.

“You really think that the DEA or State Troopers are involved in this?”

Veronica didn’t know for sure. It wouldn’t be the first time that government agencies had been corrupted by the allure of fast cash. The fact was, they all had tough jobs, jobs that paid like shit. And for every drug dealer they found dead in the street, there were ten more just swimming in cash.

Veronica declined to answer the question.

She kept looking for a half-destroyed warehouse, maybe even one still on fire, despite the fact that Cole’s file had listed the fire happening months ago.

What she didn’t expect was a pristine new building and was thus surprised when Cole said, “This is it.”

“This?”

The building looked brand new. It was Costco-sized, minus the massive parking lot. The entire circumference was surrounded by a twelve-foot-high fence with razor wire looping across the top. The single, narrow opening was blocked by a gate. The associated guard booth was equipped with tinted glass, but it wasn’t so dark that Veronica couldn’t see the figure seated inside.

“I hope they fixed that electrical issue when they rebuilt the place,” Cole said under his breath. “What do you want to do?”

“Try to get in,” Veronica said simply.

“You sure?”

“Why not?”

Cole had no answer for this. He turned in and stopped in front of the gate.

The man in the booth came out. Wearing a forest green uniform, the man had a thick build. A shaved head as well, and a look in his eyes that Veronica recognized when she’d visited Bear County Correctional shortly after Ken Cameron had been bludgeoned to death in the shower.

An ex-con if she’d ever seen one.

“Hi, think you can lift the gate?” Cole said.

“You have an appointment?” The guard’s voice matched his appearance.

“Sure.”

Unconvinced, the guard dipped back into the booth and returned with a clipboard.

“Name?”

“Mike Hunt.”

Veronica winced. This man didn’t strike her as someone you wanted to fuck around with.

“Not on the list.” The man read the sheet so quickly that while it was hidden from view, Veronica suspected there couldn’t be a handful of names on there.

“You sure Mike Hunt’s not on the list?”

“It’s not.”

“Is yours?”

The joke went right over the man’s head.

“This is private property. I suggest you turn around and get the fuck out of here.”

Cole looked at Veronica, expecting her to pull out her Greenham PD badge. Instead, she shook her head.

“Alrighty, well if you see Mike Hunt, give him a kiss for me, would you?”

As he spoke, Cole hammered the car into reverse.

“Well, that was a waste of time,” he said.

“Not really.” One of Cole’s eyebrows lifted. “You see his uniform?”

“No—I was looking at his ugly ass face.”

“I did. It said, ‘Green Valley Security’.”

Chapter 48

“So, McVeigh’s people already looked into this Green Valley Security company and the company that owned the mall but came up blank?”

“Yeah, something about a shit ton of shell companies.”

“Huh.” Cole scratched his chin. “Same thing with the warehouse. Anyway, if McVeigh couldn’t figure it out, I’m not sure what you think I can do. I’m just okay with computers.”

“What if McVeigh didn’t look too hard?” The words just came out of her mouth.

Another eyebrow raise.

“You think that he’s dirty, too?”

I think he’s got a secret; Dr. Cross told me so.

“I dunno.”

“How deep do you think this thing goes?”

Veronica didn’t know that either.

“You sure you don’t have any way to hack in, maybe?”

“I’m not a hacker, Veronica. I’m an Internal Affairs Officer turned PI. I can’t hack for shit. I—”

“What?”

“I can’t hack but I know someone who might be able to.”

“Perfect. I have a feeling we figure out who owns these places, and we find the source of the heroin.”

She noticed that Cole had grown uncomfortable.

“You trust this person?”

“I do. But… it’s gonna cost me.”

“I’ll pay,” Veronica offered.

“It’s not that kinda cost, Veronica. It’s not that kind of cost.”

He placed a call anyway.

***

“This is where you work?”

“Well, to be fair, a lot of most recent jobs have been pro bono,” Cole said, misinterpreting her comment.

Redemption Agency—Veronica still hated the name—was located at one end of a strip mall in a middle-class neighborhood. No liquor stores or check cashing outlets for as far as the eye could see.

Only the sign looked budget, like Cole or Dylan had made it themselves. The building itself looked well-kept.

Cole started to unlock the door, only to find it open.

“Dylan must be here,” he said, stepping inside.

The interior was understated. A couple of comfortable-looking chairs off to one side, two computer desks further back. A coffee maker and small fridge near the rear wall.

And there was a giant, thin man with a thatch of dark hair sitting in front of one of the computers. He looked up when they entered and then he smiled and stood.

“Veronica? How you doin’?”

“In a bind.”

The man smiled. Dylan Hall rarely smiled.

“You wouldn’t be here if you weren’t. How’s the boyfriend?”

Cole grunted and Veronica suspected that Dylan said this more to annoy him than to please her.

The man was probably still pissed that Cole had decided to spend company time trying to help Freddie out.

Steve had actually called while they’d drive to Redemption Agency. Furnelli, too.

She’d declined both calls.

“Honestly? I’m too busy to know.”

Dylan’s face darkened but before he could ask the inevitable—This still about your fat fuck of a partner?—the door opened right behind them.

Veronica jumped.

A pretty Asian woman with long black hair entered Redemption Agency. She had large breasts and knew it, too; her top was tight. A little thicker in the lower half.

“Dyan, Veronica, this is Lily Chen. I worked with her in IA.”

Lily’s green eyes lasered in on Veronica.

“It’s nice to meet you. I’ve seen you on the news.” There was an enamored quality to the woman’s tone but when she held out her hand, Veronica shook it.

“Nice to meet you, too,” Dylan said quietly.

“As I was telling you earlier, Veronica, Lily has helped out a little on a couple of past cases. We’re thinking of maybe bringing her on full-time.”

Lily beamed and Veronica saw it in her eyes; she had a thing for Cole. You didn’t need to be an expert at body language—the toes of her shoes pointed in his direction, a slight lean toward him, the soft look on her face when their eyes met—to see that.

And why wouldn’t she? Cole was a smart, inappropriately funny, and undeniably attractive man.

She’d fallen for him.

Once.

“We are?” Dylan said.

Cole dismissed his partner with a wave.

“You said something about shell companies?” Lily said, removing a laptop bag from her shoulder.

“We need to figure out who owns the Greenham mall. The same people own Green Valley Security and a warehouse that recently blew up and was quickly rebuilt.”

Lily walked over to the nearest desk, Dylan’s, and casually pushed some papers aside.

“Make yourself at home,” Dylan said.

Once more, he was ignored.

“And your people in Greenham PD or at the Bear County Sheriff’s Department couldn’t figure it out?”

The answer was either no or I don’t trust them enough to point them where to look.

Veronica went with the former.

“Well, I’ll do what I can, but bank records are almost impossible to get into. I’m not promising anything.”

“Just do what you can, Lily,” Cole said.

“I’ll do my best.”

And she did.

For the better part of two hours, Lily Chen’s fingers danced across her laptop keyboard at blinding speed. At one point, she’d asked for a bulletin board, which, surprisingly, Cole had stashed in a back room. During her search, she fired off different series’ of numbers, which Cole wrote on a cue card and tacked to the board. As per her instructions, he looped string over the tracks and linked them together.

Veronica watched on with great interest, although her understanding of what Lily was doing was limited.

Dylan remained in his chair, leaning back, and tossed a tennis ball in the air.

In addition to the numbers, Lily also called out an industry—real estate, shipping, security, insurance—which Cole added below the numbers.

And then, abruptly, Lily shut her laptop, rubbed her eyes, and yawned.

“That’s it,” she said.

“What… what do you mean that’s it?” They’d already gone through two pots of coffee, but Veronica felt the need for more.

“That’s it.” Lily indicated the board. It was an incomprehensible mess. Twenty-two cards, nearly two hundred numbers, most followed by something generic like ‘Holdings Inc’ or a derivation of ‘Green Inc’,  and nine industries. A whole rat's nests of strings connecting them together. “That’s where the trail ends.”

“But… where are the names?”

“There aren’t any.”

“How can that be?” Veronica was incredulous. “All these companies, but you couldn’t find a single employee?”

She hadn’t meant to come off accusatory, but she was tired and beyond frustrated.

“I had a hard enough time finding out all the links. Some of that shit was buried buried.”

Lily looked at Cole as she said this.

“I mean, it’s more than we had.”

“I’m sorry. I appreciate your help. I’m just trying to understand all of this. When you register a company, you have to apply using your name, don’t you?”

“We did,” Cole said. He waved a hand at Dylan who had finally stopped tossing that damn ball. “We both did.”

“Well, they didn’t. Instead of a name, they just put in another numbers company. Created this circular pattern,” Lily said.

“Is that legal?” Veronica asked.

“Not exactly.”

“Then how did they do it?”

Lily said, “My guess, is that no one bothered to look. Or, more likely, they were told not to look. That’s the only way I can figure out how this nest has been around for so long. Look, the IRS blows, we all know this. But even they couldn’t miss this for more than twenty years.”

Veronica was aghast.

“Twenty years?”

“At least that long,” Lily confirmed.

“Is there anything else you can tell us?”

“Names? No. I’ve got nothing. But their financials? They’re a fucking mess. Absolutely bleeding money. Huge losses across all industries. Especially recently, they lost—”

“Forty mill?” Veronica interrupted.

Lily cocked her head.

“Thirty-three. How’d you know that?”

The mall explosion.

“Just a guess.”

“Well, they just made another payment of ten million. Debt load is closing in on twenty-to-one. They still have real estate assets, but much of these are in East Argham and aren’t worth shit. If they can hold for another decade or two… maybe. But I don’t see that happening at the rate they’re losing money.”

First, thirty-three million. Now ten. The first coincided with the drug loss at the mall. Could the second be related to the drugs they’d found on the dead guy in the library? Was this a last-ditch effort to recoup some funds by getting back into the drug game?

Veronica massaged her forehead.

“You said that whoever is behind these companies has their fingers in almost every pie, right?”

“Most, yeah. All through Bear County and further North—Mosier. Little pockets in Portland.”

“Okay, hypothetically, how would you be able to connect any of these businesses to any one person?”

“I mean, someone could tell you.”

Veronica didn’t think that Lily was serious, but her expression suggested she was.

It didn’t seem to make sense to Cole, either.

“They wouldn’t be dumb enough to go through all this trouble and then just say, oh, yeah, by the way, I’m the owner of Green Valley Security or whatever.”

“No, they wouldn’t,” Lily said with a chuckle. “But if someone were to hand you a check with the company name on it, you could—naw, you’re right, it’s dumb.”

“Wait, a check?”

“Yeah. But, like I said, it probably won’t happen.”

“A big check?”

“What are you thinking?” Cole asked.

It was a long shot, and Veronica didn’t feel like sharing it just yet.

“Gimme a sec.”

She opened her phone and logged into her banking app. Veronica had access to her personal accounts but also her campaign account. Opening the latter, she began scrolling through the deposits. Steve had helped her set up an online donation platform. Most of the deposits were small, ten, twenty bucks, they’d also trickled after McVeigh had solved the Greenham Mall explosion which had subsequently caused a heroin drought in the County. But there was one recent one that stood out.

It was for twenty-five thousand dollars.

There was no signature on the check, nothing legible, anyway, and the signee was listed simply as ‘Trustee’. But there was a company number.

“Hey, is there a 188622 Holdings Inc on the board?”

“188…?” Cole repeated.

Veronica read the number more slowly and then looked up at the board as he searched.

“188622… 188622… yep, right here. 188622 Holdings Inc. No industry on that one.”

Veronica gasped.

“What? You okay?”

She swallowed. Her throat remained bone dry.

“I… fuck, I know who’s behind all these companies.”

Chapter 49

As promised, Sheriff McVeigh let Madame Genvieve load the kids on the bus after Furnelli spoke with Isla.

They’d discussed what the anemic girl had said, and both concluded that the most likely scenario was that Ella Cassidy had indeed run away.

This wouldn’t stop them from looking for her, but it was no longer their top priority. McVeigh had pulled about a quarter of his deputies off the search and returned them to their regular duties.

Furnelli had previously sent Pierre Bottel Ella’s image, but now he called the Captain to update him.

The man seemed displeased, but then again, he always seemed displeased. When the Captain asked about Veronica, Furnelli covered for her.

Then he called his partner.

Again.

“Trying to get a hold of Detective Shade?”

“Yeah.”

Furnelli tapped the phone against his palm. He was worried about her.

“She’s a different type of woman, isn’t she?” Furnelli tried to read the meaning in the sheriff’s face. “I mean, I know about her condition but… never mind.”

McVeigh’s phone started to ring. Thinking that it might be Veronica, that strange way of speaking about someone and then either seeing them or them calling you, Furnelli looked at the screen.

It wasn’t.

McVeigh frowned.

“I gotta take this.”

He turned his back and answered.

Furnelli walked onto the library lawn, kicked at the overgrown grass.

He was feeling lost. Tired, too.

With all of the activity, Furnelli had missed several of his planned microsleeps throughout the day.

That was the only problem with the way he slept is that unlike normal schedules, where if you go to bed late you could just sleep in, if he missed a few sessions, Furnelli felt like ass.

It was more than that, though; this case was fucking with his head. His mother had been an addict.

Seeing that man in the bathroom had back terrible memories.

In addition to being overwhelmed, Furnelli was also lost. He had no idea what to do. A detective for only a few months, with no partner for guidance, had left him confused.

“Hey, Detective Furnelli?”

“Hmm?”

“I gotta bounce. Have to meet up with one of my donors. The ME still hasn’t arrived. Should be here in an hour or so. You can stick around and wait if you want. If not, my deputies will take care of it.”

“Sounds good. Thanks for sticking up for Veronica, by the way.”

A strange thing to say, but it was a strange day. Something still niggled at the back of Furnelli’s mind. Something someone said earlier.

He was too tired to recall exactly what.

“Like I said, Veronica’s strange. But she’s a good person. You too, Furnelli.”

“Thanks.”

When the sheriff retreated to his car, Furnelli wandered over to the nearest tree. He sat and within seconds, Detective Court Furnelli was dead asleep.

Chapter 50

Veronica was pissed at herself for not seeing it sooner. The tip-off should have been when Lily had mentioned that whoever was involved in the shell companies had their fingers in everything in Bear County.

Shit, she should have clued in before that when they’d first run the numbers and discovered that the amount of heroin in the air amounted to tens of millions of dollars’ worth of product. There were some affluent people in Bear County, especially in MATHESON, but she could think of very few people who had that type of cash.

“You sure that Dick Kleinman gave you that check?” Cole asked.

“Well, he didn’t give it to me. But after my last big presser, he came up saying that he liked my speech, said he would support some of my initiatives. Also, said he was looking to make a donation to my campaign. The timeline fits as does the amount—nobody has given that much.”

Cole scratched his head.

“Makes sense. I mean, I don’t see your billboards all around town like McVeigh’s. No commercials, either.”

“Isn’t really my—” Veronica froze.

“What?” Dylan asked.

“The Kleinmans donate to McVeigh’s campaign. They’re his big backer. Why the hell would they give money to me?”

“Maybe it’s like the tech companies,” Lily suggested with a shrug.

“What do you mean?” Dylan and Veronica asked in unison.

“Well, there are some large corporations, and individual donors, too, that hedge their bets by donating to both parties. They don’t really care who wins, so long as the winner knows that they donated.”

“Legit strat,” Dylan remarked.

It was.

Except there was a big difference between Veronica and McVeigh.

He was dirty, she wasn’t.

Veronica looked about the office.

The four of them all brought something different to the table. But they were dealing with three large, potentially corrupt men in positions of power.

In situations like this, her first instinct was to reach out to Steve. That was before.

Before Cole had dropped a bomb on her.

And McVeigh, Allison, and Crouch all had a reason to be suspicious of them. Veronica, it went without saying. Dylan… well, he was an ex-con. Cole had a rep from being in IA. Veronica wasn’t sure just how deep she wanted to drag Lily into this mess but just her presence, being an outsider, was probably enough to raise eyebrows.

But a young detective? Potentially untainted despite working with Veronica?

That might work.

She didn’t see another choice.

“Give me a second. And whatever you hear, stays between us, okay?”

A series of nods—it was the best Veronica was going to get. She hoped it was enough.

Veronica found the number she was looking for and clicked send.

The phone rang twice, then a third time.

“C’mon, pick up. Pick—”

“Hello?” a groggy voice answered.

“Furnelli? You sleeping?”

“I… yeah. What’s up? I tried to reach you.”

“What happened at the library after I left?”

“Crouch and Allison came. Crouch fucking punched me.”

“What?”

“He hit me. That asshole was talking shit about you and he hit me.”

“You okay?”

“I’ll be fine. Crouch wanted to talk to the kids, but McVeigh wouldn’t let him. Got pissed and took it out on me.”

Recalling what Chloe had said at the diner, Veronica thought that Crouch probably wanted to make sure they weren’t talking, to warn them to keep their mouths shut.

“Where are they now?”

“No idea,” Furnelli replied. “They left. McVeigh let me talk to them, though. One of the girls, Ella’s friend, said that Ella’s backpack was fuller than usual.”

“Did McVeigh have a chance to speak to the kids alone?”

Maybe McVeigh wanted to warn them, too. He could have pressured the girl to make those comments to make sure no one looked too hard for Ella.

“McVeigh? Alone? I don’t know. Maybe. Why do you ask?”

“Where is McVeigh now?” Veronica asked, ignoring her partner’s question.

“He took off. I’m here at the library, not sure—”

“Where did he go?”

“He got a call from a donor, I think. Said they wanted to meet up. Veronica, where are you right now? What’s going on?”

Veronica felt ice form in her veins.

“Was it the Kleinmans?” she whispered.

“Yeah, I saw the call display. Dick Kleinman.”

Fuck.

“How long ago did he leave?”

“Five minutes, if that. Veronica, I’m in the dark—”

“I’ll tell you everything. But right now, I need you to get in your car and follow him.”

“Follow him?”

“Follow him!” Veronica shouted. “Get the fuck in your car and follow him!”

She heard Furnelli start to run.

Heard a door open, close. An engine started.

“Put it on speaker and drive. You need to find him. If—when—you do, don’t get too close.”

The sound over the phone changed, became more airy.

The engine revved. Furnelli honked the horn.

“I’m looking. I think he went North.”

“Okay, keep looking and listen. McVeigh’s dirty.”

“What?”

“Don’t say anything, just listen. You know those blood tests we did after the explosion at Greenham Mall? Well, Dr. Cross called me. They all came back clean except for McVeigh’s. He had heroin metabolites in his blood. But the kicker? They were old. Not from the gas cloud.”

Furnelli’s breathing became more intense, but Veronica had no idea if this was from the search or from what he’d said.

“Crouch is probably dirty, too. He was investigating missing kids back when he and Steve were partners. I can’t be sure, but that case and this recent one are probably related.”

Veronica paused to catch her breath and Furnelli finally couldn’t hold it any longer.

“This is insane.”

“Oh, it gets worse. Ella didn’t run away. She was taken. They’re using the girls from Bright Horizons to move their drugs around town with the promise of paying them off and giving them a fresh start. Only, they’re… taking them.”

“How the hell do you know this?”

“You know the kid from the mall? The pickpocket?”

“Yeah.”

“Well, he came to me. Only he’s a she. She went to the orphanage.”

“You’re kidding.”

“I’m not. We managed to trace the owners of the mall back to the Kleinmans. They’re the ones backing this.”

Silence.

“Furnelli?”

“I found him. I found Sheriff McVeigh. He’s heading North.”

“Let me guess, toward Mosier?”

“How did you—fuck it, never mind. You’re right; toward Mosier.”

“Okay, Furnelli, this is what I want you to do.”

Chapter 51

“That shit real about McVeigh? The drugs in his system?” It was Dylan who asked the question, but it was clear that it was on all their minds.

“Yes.”

“And now he’s going back to Mosier to meet up with Dick Kleinman?” Cole asked.

“Yes.”

“What the fuck is in Mosier?”

“A warehouse,” Cole and Veronica said.

Veronica let Cole elaborate.

“There was an explosion there a few months back. Plastic explosives were used. Steve Burns’ wife’s fingerprints were on one of them.”

Dylan had resumed tossing his tennis ball but when Cole said this last part, he missed it, and it struck him on the forehead.

“Fuck! What are you talking about, Steve Burn’s wife? Sheriff Steve Burns?”

Ex-sheriff, Veronica thought, but didn’t say.

“Don’t worry about that. If McVeigh and Kleinman are getting together at the warehouse, then I bet that either the drugs are there, or Ella Cassidy is there. Maybe both. We have to move.”

Lily put her hands up. Blinked twice.

“I’m going be honest, I understood less than one percent of anything any of you said. But going up against the Sheriff, the Kleinmans, this Allison and Crouch—”

“The DEA and State Troopers,” Dylan said, a little too cheerily for Veronica’s taste.

“Oh, fuck, even better.”

“I don’t want you getting involved.” Veronica’s eyes naturally went to the board. “More than you already are.”

“It’s not that, it’s just—”

“We’re still going to need her help,” Cole said.

Lily gave him a wistful look.

“Cole—”

“There was a camera in the booth outside the warehouse. And if they have one, they have many.”

Veronica hadn’t seen the camera—she’d been too distracted by Cole’s stupid jokes.

“You sure?”

“Oh, I’m sure. And if something is going down tonight, like you think it is, then they’ll be watching.”

Veronica chewed her bottom lip. As much as she didn’t want Lily more embroiled in this than she already was, Cole was right; they needed her.

“Can you hack into the cameras?”

A gleam appeared in Lily’s green eyes.

“It’ll be a hell of a lot easier than getting into bank information.”

Veronica took this as a yes and a yes to being willing to help.

That left the three of them.

A sharply dressed PI, his ex-con sidekick, and her. Also, a green detective who was so far out of his league that he wasn’t even playing the same sport.

She didn’t like those odds. But she’d overcome worse.

Being found outside a burning house, her family dead or dying inside, by a typically hard-ass cop who adopts her and gives her the best possible life one could have hoped for?

Yeah, the chances of that were less than winning the Powerball.

Twice.

While being struck by lightning.

Cole was already in. He was a puppy dog in love. Dylan? Well, Dylan owed her.

“Fuck it, then. Let’s do this.”

***

They until nightfall with Furnelli keeping them up to date with the goings on at the warehouse. He’d seen McVeigh stop at the guardhouse and was granted entrance.

This was superfluous as they’d seen it all on camera; Lily, true to her word, had no problem getting into the system.

Lily’s eyes were permanently locked on the screen. She’d reported seeing eight different people in the warehouse, none of whom matched the photos of McVeigh, Kleinman, Crouch, or Allison, Ella neither, for that matter. She’d reported that one truck was backed into the loading dock and was closed up.

Everyone appeared to be waiting around for something.

They were all armed, too. Pistols were strapped to their hips.

While Lily continued to watch the screens, Cole retreated to the back room. He returned with a bunch of extra clothes, which he shared with Veronica. A black T-shirt for both of them. Dylan had a couple of dark ski masks—from where Veronica didn’t ask and didn’t want to know. He’d offered them, but Cole and Veronica had declined.

Dylan had shrugged, taken one for himself.

As a licensed PI, Cole had a pistol. She remembered back when they’d been together he’d mentioned he hated guns.

Cole had no issue picking it up now and making sure it was loaded before tucking it away in a hidden holster. Veronica had her gun but Dylan, as an ex-con, wasn’t licensed to carry. This mattered little in the grand scheme of things, but they had no extra weapon for him.

He didn’t seem to care.

“Cole, we’ll take your car. You can take me to Daphne’s, and I’ll switch into my car. Then—”

“I thought the girl stole your keys?”

“Oh, shit. Forgot about that. You know what, I have an extra set of car keys at my office. Take me there first.”

Cole scratched his chin.

“You sure you want to head back there?”

Veronica didn’t.

She didn’t want to risk seeing anyone she knew, least of all Captain Bottel.

“No choice.”

“Okay. Buuuuut then what?”

“I can distract the guy at the booth, and you guys sneak in.”

Cole looked uncomfortable.

“Buuuut then what?”

She hated how he was poking holes in her ‘plan’ but supposed it was better to iron out the details now rather than when they were standing in the warehouse with their dicks in their hands.

“We can’t just arrest them,” Cole continued. Now, Veronica really did wish he would just shut up. “They’re cops.”

“I know. Our priority is finding Ella. That’s it. We do a little recon, confirm that she’s there, and then we figure out a way to extract her.”

It was still thin. Paper thin. Razor thin. Hair thin.

“You sure you don’t want to call the Captain? Get him involved?”

Veronica was on the fence, leaning toward no.

“If he’s on the take, they’ll move Ella before we even get there.”

“If she’s there.”

If she’s not dead, Cole meant.

Veronica continued.

“I don’t think Bottel is dirty, but you never know. He was on the task force, and everyone was all too happy to wrap it up with that ridiculous shootout story. But let’s say he isn’t, how do I convince him that McVeigh, Crouch, and Allison are probably involved? Others, maybe. Captain Bottel is a stickler for rules. He’ll want to reach out to the DEA or someone. Cover his ass in case something goes wrong.”

“And the end result will be the same we’re fucked.”

Cole exhaled.

“Okay, so no back up then.”

“Cole and I will take care of the guard,” Dylan said, out of the blue.

“What?” Veronica asked.

“I said, Con and I will take out the guard, you slip in around back. Find out what they’ve got in that truck. We’ll follow. Spread out.”

Veronica didn’t like it, but it didn’t seem like Dylan was open to negotiation.

“Fuck it. Let’s get going.

Chapter 52

For what felt like the first time in a long time, Veronica got lucky. Her floor was deserted. Worried that a night detective was just taking a shit, she moved quickly. Her extra car keys were in her desk drawer, and she snatched them up.

Veronica took two steps and stopped.

Freddie’s desk, the one that Furnelli should have reasonably taken but, either because he didn’t want the bad juju or out of respect, he’d left alone.

Freddie’s desk.

She could still picture his big ass sitting there, scarfing down egg burritos.

Fuck she missed him.

Move, Veronica.

She did. Not all the way to the stairs, though. First, she had to pass Captain Bottel’s office. The door was closed and the name on the placard beside it belonged to her current captain.

It wasn’t always that way.

It used to be her father’s office.

Okay, enough with the fucking nostalgia.

Veronica blinked the tears away, wiped her face clean before she made it back to Cole’s awaiting car.

“Got them.”

Veronica held up the keys and offered a half smile.

“Okay.”

For someone who loved to talk, Cole was suddenly at a loss for words.

As she got in the passenger seat—Dylan had insisted on sitting in the back—she tried one last time to dissuade him, both of them, of coming along for what was feeling more and more to Veronica like a suicide mission.

Why else would she get all sorts of feelings upstairs if not because, deep down, she thought that she would never see the floor, or the people she most associated with the floor again?

“Listen, if you—”

“Shut up, Veronica,” Cole said as he started to drive.

“Excuse me?”

“Once you make a sale, don’t continue to try and sell. Seems shady.”

“I was going to tell you not to come.”

“Just shut up.”

Veronica closed her mouth.

Daphne’s was just closing up when they arrived and Veronica, who had half thought—hoped—that her car had been towed, was still where she’d parked it.

She got out, walked around to Cole’s open window.

“Be safe. Please. I want to find Ella; I want to stop the flow of drugs into Bear County. I want to end the corruption. But I don’t want you guys to get hurt.”

Cole just blinked and Veronica turned her eyes to the backseat.

Dylan was in his own world.

They weren’t listening and Veronica felt that now familiar pang of guilt.

“Be safe,” she repeated, then walked away.

Veronica sat in her car and waited for Cole and Dylan to drive off and then waited another two minutes.

Inside the diner, she saw Daphne moping the floors, her lips pursed as if the woman was whistling to herself.

Such a simple life.

How old was Daphne? Sixty? Seventy?

And here she was, mopping the floors. Not a busboy or the other wait staff, but her.

Daphne’s ears must have been burning because she suddenly stopped what she was doing and looked directly at Veronica.

The woman stared at her, confused, for a beat, then raised an arthritic hand.

Veronica did not wave back.

She couldn’t.

Didn’t want it to seem like it was goodbye.

How did the old saying go?

This is not goodbye but see you later? Something like that.

Fuck old sayings, anyway.

Except for dad’s.

Veronica left Daphne’s parking lot, deliberately not looking back.

If she had, she might have seen the car parked beside the diner, turn on its lights, and start to follow her.

Chapter 53

“You know we’re probably going to die, right?” Dylan said.

Cole was so focused on the dark road ahead that he didn’t hear Dylan.

“What’s that?”

“I said, we’re probably… ah, never mind.”

After Veronica had gotten out, Dylan had taken his place in the front seat. He was so tall that he had to move it back and recline it all the way.

“I’m helping Veronica because she saved my life multiple times. Without her, I’d be dead. But you? Why are you doing this?”

Cole heard this loud and clear.

He just didn’t know how to answer. He knew the answer but didn’t want to say it out loud. Why was he risking everything to help?

That was obvious.

“I dunno,” Cole lied.

He switched on the radio. By some ridiculous coincidence, the literal first word he heard of some generic pop tune was ‘love’. He quickly shut it off.

Not quite enough, evidently, because Dylan chuckled.

“Ah, that’s why. Hey, I get it. She’s hot. Weird, too. Good combo. But if things get nasty tonight, you don’t her your life.”

Despite his joking tone, Cole thought he understood what Dylan was really saying.

If things get nasty, let me take care of it. Let me take the fall. You fucking run.

“Thanks.”

“What about that Lily? She’s pretty hot. Got some big ol’—”

“I got it,” Cole said sharply.

Dylan chuckled then fell silent.

They didn’t say another word until they were less than ten minutes from the warehouse, on the southern edge of Mosier.

Cole pulled his gun out, placed it on his thigh.

He might not be a fan of guns, but he was a fantastic shot.

He just hoped he didn’t have to use it.

The first call he made was to Furnelli—Veronica had shared all of their numbers before leaving Redemption.

“It’s Cole. You still parked?”

In addition to hacking into the warehouse CCTV feed, Lily had also pulled up the warehouse plans from the city registry. There was only one way out of the compound: the entrance by the guard house.

“Yeah. I’m parked in a lot with a clear view of the entrance. There’s a berm separating use, but it’s a small curb. If I need to go, I can go.”

“Any movement?”

“None. Nobody in or out. One guard.”

“Good. We’re pulling up in about five minutes.”

“I can—”

“No,” Cole said, remembering Veronica’s plan. Okay; plan was a stretch. “You stay with the truck.”

“Got it.”

It felt strange ordering the man around, seeing as he was a PI and Furnelli was a detective. Even when he’d been with Greenham PD, Cole had been in IA, which was just a step up from shoe shiner. But this was Veronica’s show.

She’d made that clear to everyone, including Furnelli.

“Okay, sit tight.”

Cole called Veronica next.

“We’re almost there. Five minutes out.”

“I’m about five behind you.”

Veronica’s part of the plan was perhaps the most complicated. In addition to the dark outfits and masks, the former curtesy of Cole the other Dylan, they’d managed to scrounge up some strong-looking wire cutters. Three of the four sides were inaccessible by car. A series of gulleys and deep trenches bordered the rear and the Eastern side. The only really accessible angle was to veer off the road and approach directly from the West. The plan was for her to park and walk across the field, traverse the gulleys, and head around back. Cut the fence, enter close to the truck and the rear loading bay.

But while Cole knew Veronica Shade to be many things, patient she was not. If he had to bet, she’d park as close to the fence as possible, near the rear corner, and cut the fence there.

“Turn off your lights when you get close.”

“Will do. Cole, please be safe.”

“I’ll do my best.”

The final call Cole made was to Lily.

“Okay, we’re pulling up now. I need you to cut the power to the lights on the Western side of the warehouse.”

“And the cameras.”

Lily sounded excited.

“And the cameras.”

“Okay, on it.” Cole heard Lily typing. “Annnnnnd done.”

Cole was close enough now, that he saw the lights click out.

“Thanks.”

He hung up before Lily could say the same bullshit as Veronica.

Be safe.

Unlike his instructions to Veronica, Cole kept his headlights on as he came within a hundred yards of the building. He cut his speed by half, the distance by three-quarters. Then he pulled over.

“Remember, if things—”

“Just get the fuck out,” Cole said, giving Dylan a shove.

Dylan slipped his mask over his face and then broke into a jog.

Cole started to drive again.

His phone lit up with a text from Furnelli.

I’ve got eyes on you.

Cole looked around, didn’t see Furnelli. That, he surmised, is a good thing.

After moving his gun down the side of his leg, and out of sight from his window, Cole took a deep breath and exhaled all the air from his lungs.

This motherfucker was on.

Chapter 54

No fucking way was Veronica going to drive all the way to the corner of the fence, get out, walk around the back and snip the fence.

They didn’t have time for that.

Instead, she veered off the road long before she could even see the building. Her car jolted as it bumped the curb.

Veronica landed back on her seat with a little grunt.

Despite being so far out, she turned off her headlights, praying—praying—that there were no ditches, trenches, goddamn land mines, in the way.

If there were, she was cooked.

Couldn’t see a goddamn thing.

It got even worse when the main floodlights aimed in her direction shut off. Lily’s doing, no doubt.

Veronica didn’t want to slow down, but she had to. If she continued this way, she was apt to just drive through the fence without ever seeing it.

Not a bad idea, Veronica thought.

The only thing that stopped her was Cole. If she blasted through the fence before Cole and Dylan took out the guard, he’d raise the alarm.

She wouldn’t risk his life because of her impatience.

She slowed even further.

Eventually, she saw Cole’s car pull up to the front entrance.

Her heart was pounding in her chest.

Veronica unclipped the clasp on her gun and rolled down her window.

The only sound she heard was alone cicada buzzing somewhere in the darkness—shrill, relentless, grating against her nerves like a TASER pressed directly to her temples.

***

“Hey, did you ever find Mike Hunt?” Cole was pleasantly surprised by the lack of so much as a hint of a tremor in his voice.

At first, the man in the booth doesn’t recognize Cole or his car. Barely notices him there; the man is busy cursing and slapping a computer monitor with the flat of his hand.

Cole raises his voice.

“Hey!”

The man’s eyes dart up, instantly narrow.

Then he’s up, walking over.

His hand is on a gun on his hip.

Did he have it earlier? Or is he only wearing it because they’re loading the truck today?

“What the fuck do you want?”

“To get in. I should be on the list now for Christ’s sake.” No clipboard this time. The man still didn’t recognize Cole. “Mike Hunt?”

“No visitors. Get the fuck outta here.”

The guard’s posture changed, became more stable. Legs slightly spread. Cole recognized it immediately.

No, he wasn’t fucking around tonight.

“Dick Kleinman wants to see Mike Hunt.”

“Dick Kleinman don’t want to see nobody.”

Well, if this went south at least they’d confirmed that the man was here.

“Mike Hunt, your cunt, whatever. He’ll want to see it.”

The guard finally got the joke.

He didn’t laugh.

“I’ma ask you one more time: get the fuck outta here before I put a bullet in you and drag your—”

Neither of them saw the figure slink through the opening behind Cole’s car, move along the fence, and come up right behind the guard.

Seemed impossible not to see, given his long, angular form.

But Dylan Hall was a man who had lived in shadows for years. Slipping in and out of existence, mastering exploiting people’s blind spots.

The guard was reaching for his gun when the arm snaked across his throat. He was a big man, with stacks of well-earned prison muscle.

But Dylan knew what he was doing. The man applied the rear naked choke and leaned back, using leverage to hoist the guard off his feet.

He should have gone for his gun, but he was conditioned by his time in prison where weapons were hard to come by. Instead, the guard reached up with both hands, tried to pry Dylan’s arm free.

He scratched at Dylan’s forearm, but the choke hold was sunk in deep.

Cole popped the trunk and quickly got out of the car just as the guard’s eyes rolled back and his eyelids fluttered.

He was out cold in under a minute.

Breathing heavily, Dylan said, “Help me get him in the trunk.”

Dylan didn’t let go, so Cole bent down and tucked the guard’s ankles beneath his armpits.

Now he grunted as he lifted.

Fuck the man was heavy.

With shuffled steps, they carried the guard around the back of Cole’s car. Using his elbow, Cole lifted the trunk lid with his elbow. He eased the guard’s feet inside, but Dylan didn’t stand on ceremony. He threw the man in.

His head bounced loudly off the trunk bottom.

Breathing heavily, Dylan said, “Back the car up and drive it up the road a couple of feet and out of sight.”

“Wait for me.”

Cole eased the lid down and did just that. Then he hurried back to the guard booth just in time to see Dylan sprinting toward the warehouse.

“Fuck,” he cursed.

Cole fumbled to get his phone out of his pocket with the opposite hand—his other was now clutching the butt of his pistol so tightly that his knuckles ached.

“Veronica, we’re in. The guard is—”

Chapter 55

Veronica hated waiting. Hated not knowing what Cole was doing. From inside her car, she could see the guard house, could see Cole’s car parked behind the red Automatic Flagman that blocked the entrance.

Even though the lights at the guard house were still on—Lily had suggested killing these lights, too, but Veronica thought that that was too much, that it would raise alarm—but from this distance all she saw were shadows.

The damn cicada continued to buzz.

When the car started to reverse, Veronica felt her anxiety ease. It ratcheted back up again when she saw a sole figure sprinting toward the warehouse.

It should have been Cole and Dylan, but it was only Dylan—his outline was unmistakable.

Seconds later, her phone rang.

“Veronica, we’re in. The guard is—”

Cole was cut off mid-sentence by the sound of a revving engine. The sound was so unexpected that, at first, Veronica thought that she’d actually pressed the gas while turning to try to get a better view of Dylan.

Then something smashed into the back of her car.

Hard.

Veronica was thrown forward and the airbag deployed, saving her from hitting the steering wheel. She didn’t even get a chance to cry out.

A white, chemical dust filled the cabin, and her neck awkwardly bent before being cushioned by the airbag.

No, not cushioned—the thing was like a fabric-colored rock.

Stars filled her vision, and her breathing slowed.

Dazed, Veronica was only barely aware that her car, despite being in park, was now traveling forward. There was a metallic screech as her front bumper struck the fence. The front end lifted a little, but the weight of the vehicle was too much, and the fence had no chance of holding it back. A large section collapsed, and the car continued forward a few more feet before lowering back to the ground.

There was something wrong with Veronica’s left eye. Her vision was blurry.

She was still out of it, but Veronica had the presence of mind to open her door. She tried to get out, but a strong arm grabbed her waist and yanked her back down.

There’s someone in the backseat! Her mind screamed. There’s someone—

It wasn’t an arm, but her seatbelt. Veronica fumbled to unlock it, somehow managed to click the button.

With a groan, she opened the door next and fell into the night.

On all fours, Veronica took a moment to catch her breath.

She still had no idea what had happened. Something must have rammed her from behind. Her lights had been off, but she wasn’t even on the fucking road.

How the fuck did someone hit her on the field?

A drunk driver, maybe?

But she hadn’t even seen headlights in her rear-view mirror.

The sound of metal twisting spurred her into action.

Veronica had been on all fours but now she scrambled to her feet.

It was a car that had struck her, she saw. And now someone was getting out.

Her left eye was still fucked, and she closed it to get a better look.

With the lights out on this side of the warehouse, it was difficult to see even if her vision had been perfect.

But the instant she saw the thick outline of the man who had been in the car that had hit her she knew that this was no drunk driver.

Nor was it an accident.

It was impossible to tell if it was McVeigh, Allison, or Crouch.

But it was one of them, that was for sure. The man limped forward, raising a gun as he did.

Shit!

Veronica didn’t know if her gun had been dislodged from her holster in the accident or if it was still strapped to her side. She didn’t waste any time checking either, knowing that with only one eye—she’d since closed the other—it would be nearly impossible to hit the target in the dark.

Instead, she stayed low and ran toward the warehouse.

In the back of her mind, a strange thought echoed: Hey, I guess I didn’t need those wire cutters after all.

Chapter 56

Cole was trying to catch up to Dylan, but the man was fast. His strides were like three of Cole’s.

The ridiculously tall man was running down the side of the entrance, nearly reaching a red door—Lily had told them that there were three entrances, the front main one, the loading bay, and the side—when he heard the crash.

Cole stopped cold, his head immediately turning West.

“What the fuck?” he whispered.

Squinting, he saw a car on this side of the fence. Smoke rose from behind it, but Cole couldn’t make out what was causing it. He knew that most electric vehicles had their ‘engines’ in the back, which might be the culprit, but Veronica didn’t drive an electric car.

What the fuck was going on? Was Veronica so impatient that she just drove right through the fence? If so, where is the smoke coming from?

It didn’t make sense; none of this made sense.

McVeigh, Kleinman, Crouch, Allison, Ella…

None of it made any sense at all.

Especially not the woman who was now running toward the back of the warehouse.

Veronica?

It had to be Veronica.

Why the fuck was she running.

Cole instinctively opened his mouth to shout her name but held his tongue when he saw another person.

Someone was chasing Veronica.

And they were gaining on her.

***

Dylan heard the collision, too, but unlike Cole, he didn’t stop. Dylan was used to strange noises, even loud ones. When he’d been living in the alleys, there’d been all sorts of sounds. A fellow junkie, high off their asses, falling over a garbage can. Shouts from open windows of the government-assisted housing. Someone tossing something out of a window.

Dylan reached deep into the pocket of his cargo pants and pulled out a cylindrical object roughly the size of a chopstick, only thicker.

He snapped his wrist, and the telescoping baton extended to three times its length. As an ex-con, he wasn’t allowed to carry a gun. But a baton? Well, he probably wasn’t allowed that, either.

Fuck ‘em.

He was nearly at the door—just eight feet from it—when it started to open. Dylan pressed himself against the side of the building just as a man stepped out, gun drawn.

The man never even saw him when the baton struck him in the side of his head, crumpling him like a sack of potatoes.

Dylan poised himself to strike again if the man started to get up, but he didn’t.

In the fall, the man’s gun had fallen to the ground and Dylan walked over to it.

He wasn’t allowed a gun but he was pretty sure that he wasn’t allowed to choke out a warehouse guard and smash another in the temple.

Dylan picked up the gun and walked into the warehouse.

***

Veronica’s gun was still in the holster, and she drew it without thinking. With her left eye still closed, Veronica continued to shamble forward.

She still had no idea who was chasing her, but this didn’t matter so much. Whoever it was had plowed into the back of her car. Be it McVeigh, Crouch, or Allison.

At any moment, she expected to feel a searing pain followed by the delayed crack of a gunshot.

But it didn’t come.

Veronica was close to the back corner of the warehouse, and knew that if she could just make it there, she could use it as a shield. Maybe even duck behind the truck she knew was parked there.

She pushed herself harder, ignoring the tightness in her back and neck, the stiffness in her legs, which must have banged against the underside of the dashboard when she’d been rammed.

Just a little further.

“I don’t know what the fuck that was. Just get the truck out of here!”

A door closed. An engine started.

Veronica turned the corner and then skidded to a halt.

DEA Agent Troy Allison was standing in front of the truck, a lit cigarette dangling from between his lips.

He saw her, too. But while Veronica’s gun was drawn, Allison’s was still holstered.

“Go!” Allison shouted.

The truck shot forward and Veronica raised her gun, forgetting all about her pursuer.

“Allison!” Veronica yelled.

The cigarette fell from his mouth, sending tiny red sparks scattering across the front of his shirt. Veronica saw his right hand twitch and she pointed the gun at his center mass.

“Don’t—”

A sudden, incredible display of colors obscured Veronica’s vision. Intense, reds, yellows, oranges.

The world was on fire.

And Veronica was burning.

No! Not now!

So distracted was she, that Veronica didn’t pull the trigger when Allison drew his gun and took aim.

***

Cole raised his gun and pointed it at the man following Veronica. He had a moment to take the shot. Knew he could hit the moving target even at this distance.

But he hesitated. He’d never shot a man before. In IA, he’d never even drawn his gun.

And this hesitation cost him.

A truck veered around the corner, its wheels spinning madly as it swerved to make the tight turn.

It cut between him and State Trooper Phil Crouch and then righted itself as it came directly at him.

“Shit!” Cole jumped toward the warehouse to his right and then barrel rolled.

In the movies, they made this look so easy.

Easy and painless.

It was not.

The asphalt was hard, unforgiving. Cole jammed his shoulder against the surface, then the crown of his head as he tumbled over.

He had the presence of mind to think—fuck, that was close—as the truck sped past him. Then he was pulling himself to his feet again as Phil Crouch turned the corner only moments after Veronica Shade.

***

Detective Court Furnelli saw Dylan running and Cole following.

This wasn’t part of the plan. The two men were supposed to stick together.

Then he heard a loud bang but didn’t see what caused it.

All he knew was that it had come from the general direction that Veronica was supposed to be approaching.

Moments later, he saw her.

Veronica was running at about half the speed of Cole and a quarter of Dylan. She was also kilting to one side a little.

His heart racing, Furnelli opened the door.

Stay with the truck, Veronica told him in his. Whatever you do, stay with the truck.

He was torn.

Furnelli made up his mind when he saw a second shadow, this one chasing after Veronica.

He started out of his car.

Started into a jog, only to stop when he saw the truck.

It pulled around the corner, nearly ran over first the man chasing Veronica then Cole.

The gate was still down but it was clear that whoever was driving had no intention of stopping.

Furnelli could have continued to run, but the entrance was narrow, and it looked to him like they were going to arrive there at the same time.

If he aimed his gun at the driver, would they stop?

What if they didn’t?

Stay with the truck!

Gritting his teeth so hard that his entire face hurt, Furnelli swiveled and ran back to his car.

He got in just as the barricade exploded.

Hell, no, it wouldn’t have stopped.

In addition to telling him to stay with the truck, Veronica had also said that she didn’t want anyone else involved.

Well, one out of two ain’t bad.

As Furnelli raced after the truck, he picked up his radio and called Captain Pierre Bottel.

Chapter 57

“Drop the fucking gun,” DEA Agent Troy Allison ordered.

“Fuck you,” Veronica said between gritted teeth. She aimed in Allison’s general direction but was having a hard time lining her sights up with the man’s body.

Her synesthesia was going haywire. Colors, smells, and sounds.

La, la, la, la, laaaaa, laaa.

It had been months since she’d heard her brother’s voice, singing that song.

Not now!

“Veronica, drop the—”

“—gun!” Allison’s sentence was finished by Phil Crouch behind her. Veronica couldn’t risk turning around but she knew that there was a gun pointed at her chest and back now. Even if she could see straight, if both eyes worked and her synesthesia hadn’t kicked in, she was pinned down.

“What the fuck are you doing here?” Crouch asked.

Veronica started to answer with a string of choice, four-letter words when Allison shot back, “What the fuck are you doing here?”

“I stayed at the diner, stayed with her car. She came here, and was running point. Found her parked by the fence.”

Running point?

“She was here earlier, too,” Allison said. “I came back, worked my way in.”

“You—” told the truck to go!

“Shut the fuck up, Veronica. You open your mouth again, and I swear to God I’ll put a bullet in your head.”

The gas smell went away, oddly, but the fiery hues extending for feet all around Allison intensified.

Veronica’s jaw snapped closed.

“I knew the bitch was dirty. Nobody who is fucking that killer Steve Burns could be clean.”

Veronica’s mind started to swim.

Killer Steve Burns?

“Steve Burns?” Allison said, also taken aback by Crouch’s assertion.

“He killed his wife. She was my fucking friend. And that asshole killed her.”

If Crouch had said this just one day ago, Veronica would have thought him certifiable.

That was before she’d learned that Steve was married. And she knew about the blood, about his missing wife.

But Steve a killer?

“Put the fucking gun down, Veronica,” Crouch demanded. “Or we’ll both shoot you.”

“You put the gun down,” another voice, a fourth, demanded.

***

Dylan shot the first man he saw in the leg.

The second in the chest.

Both fell.

Two more saw him coming and decided that whatever Kleinman was paying them wasn’t worth the effort and turned and ran.

Dylan didn’t give chase.

That was four. He’d heard the truck, which meant that there were at most three more people in the warehouse.

So far as he could tell, there were no drugs in the warehouse. But there had been.

He recognized the long benches. The scales, the hot plates, burners, the wrappers.

Solvents.

Lots of solvents. An entire wall was lined with white plastic containers, 55-gallon jugs, filled with liquid. Whatever drugs had been packaged here tonight and had been in that truck, wasn’t the end of it. This was the main warehouse.

A bullet struck Dylan in the ear.

He screamed and dropped to his knees.

Another bullet whizzed by, this time high. It smashed into one of the plastic containers. Liquid started to pull from the hole.

Dylan put a hand to his head. His head was sticky with blood and most of the top of his ear was gone.

His head was otherwise intact.

Scuttling on his knees toward a swivel chair—more to obscure the shooter’s view of him than to offer any sort of real cover—Dylan scanned the floor.

The warehouse was mostly just a giant open space, except for near the back. In the rear right-hand corner, there was a square office built out.

The door in front was thick and heavy. Reinforced.

It opened and someone ducked inside.

Was that the shooter? Is it the last?

What was left of Dylan’s ear felt as if it was on fire.

It was difficult to think straight. He’d taken down… four? One outside, one inside, two more.

Yeah, four.

Someone had to be driving the truck. No, not one person.

If the truck was loaded with heroin as he suspected it was, then there would have to be two people. The temptation to just drive off was too great.

Okay, that’s six.

Two more.

Where the fuck are they?

Dylan’s question was answered in the form of another bullet. This one hit the chair he was hiding behind, and tore right through the cheap fabric and padding within. It missed by inches.

Less, maybe.

Like the previous shot, the bullet smacked into one of the containers, which immediately started leaking.

The smell of caustic fumes filled the warehouse.

Distracted as he was, Dylan managed to see where the shot had come from. Lying on his side now, he shot three times.

The first two missed, but the third was followed by a scream.

Dylan didn’t hesitate. He pulled his long body off the flower and ran in the direction of the scream, firing as he did.

Some of the bullets hit the man was bent over, grabbing his bleeding shin. He fell back, and knocked over an entire workbench. He crashed on top of it, writhing in agony.

Dylan stood over him, just kept pulling the trigger.

He couldn’t stop.

Images flashed through his mind, images of his childhood. Of Renaissance Home. Of his foster families, the nice ones, the abusive ones who had sold him for sex.

Of Father Cartier slipping into his room at night.

Raping him.

There was a soundtrack to his shots now.

The song the orphans used to sing.

One, two, I’m coming for you. Three, four, lock the door. Five, six, I crossed the River Styx. Seven, eight, I’ve sealed your fate.

Dylan Hall kept on squeezing the trigger even after seven or eight empty clicks.

Even after the man’s face had been reduced to a bloody pulp that mixed and ran with spilled chemicals.

“Drop the gun,” someone said, and Dylan finally stopped pulling the trigger.

Chapter 58

Cole’s heart was jackhammering so hard that the gun he had trained on Phil Crouch kept bobbing up and down.

“Drop the gun,” he said again. His voice was meek.

Crouch didn’t. But Cole, terrified that if he shot, Allison would also shoot and Veronica would die, didn’t do anything.

Didn’t react when Crouch turned his gun from Veronica to him.

They were stuck now.

Crouch and Cole’s guns pointed at each, Veronica and Allison the same.

“You dirty, too?” Crouch hissed. “That it? This bitch corrupted you, too?”

Cole didn’t understand what he was talking about, didn’t much care.

Shots suddenly rang out and for one devastating instant, Cole thought he’d done it.

That, despite Crouch’s claim that he wasn’t a killer, Cole had just become one.

But when he didn’t feel the kick of his weapon, he feared something even worse.

That Allison had shot Veronica.

But more shots came, and he realized that the gunshots, more of them now, a half dozen at least, were coming from inside the warehouse.

“Whoever’s shooting in there is going to come out,” Allison said. “And when they come out and we’re standing here like this, we’re all going to die. Either that or they going to slip away.”

For the first time since turning the corner and seeing the three of them there, Crouch’s furious demeanor changed.

The mask slipped.

“What’d you say?” Crouch asked Allison over his shoulder.

“I said, we better fucking decide what we’re going to do because whoever’s shooting in there comes out, we’re—”

“After that?” Crouch said.

“I said, we’re going to fucking die.”

“No, you said they’re going to slip away.”

“Yeah, so fucking what?” Allison growled. “I don’t want these pricks to get away.”

Veronica, whose head had been turned away from Cole and pointed at Allison, rotated just a little. Just enough for Cole to see her right eye.

“You said slip away,” Crouch repeated.

“What the fuck are you—”

“You said the same thing at the library. Troy, you been to Bright Horizons?”

“Never fucking heard of it.”

“That’s what I thought,” Crouch said. “But at the library, you said, Teenage girls in an orphanage on an outing? Sounds like a good chance to slip away.”

“I don’t know what the fuck I said. Crouch, you—”

“Naw, you said it. How’d you know that they were teenagers?”

“I just guessed.” Allison had changed a little now, too. He sounded nervous.

“The library had all sorts of books. You knew that they were teenagers in that room. You knew.”

Allison held his tongue.

Cole was barely paying attention now. Veronica was staring at him, into him.

Trying to tell him something.

She blinked, cocked her head in Allison’s direction.

Once, twice.

“Allison, why the fuck were you really here tonight?” Crouch demanded.

Cole started to lower his gun.

Slowly, like Veronica’s head turn, careful not to make a sudden movement that would draw attention.

“I told you, I—”

Three guns fired at nearly the same time.

***

Dylan was caught. He’d wasted all his rounds shooting that fat fucking priest Father Cartier in the face.

He dropped the gun. It was useless anyway.

“Take off your mask and turn around. Slowly.”

Dylan still had his baton on him. Somehow, he’d collapsed it and put it back in his pocket, although he didn’t remember doing any of it.

Muscle memory.

It was in his right pocket and the man who was barking orders to his left. He reached up to take off his balaclava with his left hand while slipping his other hand into his pocket.

One of the biggest mistakes people usually made with guns was thinking of them as short-range weapons. The closer you were, the more likely the person you intended to shoot could engage.

He hoped that this man made the same mistake.

Unlikely, but if Dylan was going down, he’d go down swinging.

Balling the mask up in his fist, thinking that he might be able to throw it as a distraction, Dylan Hall faced his accuser.

The man was older than him by a handful of years. Shaved head. Beard.

Dylan took this in but the thing that registered most was that he was standing fifteen feet from him.

Too far to lunge.

The man was also standing directly facing Dylan instead of perpendicular to him as they sometimes did in the movies. Sure, that looked cooler, but it was more difficult to aim that way.

“Good. Now, I want you to get on your knees and…” the man trailed off.

“And what you fucking—”

“Dylan?”

The man’s dark eyes widened.

Dylan’s first thought was that he’d bought drugs from this man before, back when he’d been an addict. Either that or maybe he’d robbed him for drugs.

“Dylan Rosemear?”

Now, Dylan froze.

He went by Dylan Hall, his last name an homage to the only real family he’d had. Parents who had taken him even though he was older, had a past and had already been adopted twice previously.

He loved them. Loved them dearly.

How different things might have been if they hadn’t died in the car accident, and he’d walked away unscathed.

His birth name wasn’t Rosemear.

But it had been his name once.

His second adoption had been by the Rosemear family. Nice enough folk who had three biological kids of their own and one other adopted child. A big family. One that required significant income to support. They worked long hours.

Four boys alone with little to do was a recipe for disaster.

They’d gone out one night, while their parents were working. Had walked the streets, smoked cigarettes, kicked rocks.

There was a jewelry store on their right, a well-lit display in the window.

The scene played out in Dylan’s mind as if it had happened this morning and not a decade ago.

“They’re going to lose the house,” Bobby said. “I seen the bills. They ain’t paid their mortgage.”

“What’s… what’s going to happen to us?” Carl was eight, the youngest of the boys.

“I dunno,” Bobby said. “You guys are probably good, you, Rick, and Ian. Y’all are real Rosemears.”

“What about you? What about you and Dylan?”

“We’re prolly gonna go back. Back to Renaissance.”

Dylan bit his lip so hard it started to bleed.

Go back…

He couldn’t go back. Not to Father Cartier.

Dylan picked up the rock. Squeezed it in his hand.

“No,” Carl whimpered. “I don’t want you to go back.”

“I ‘ont wanna go back neither. But we ain’t real Rosemears.”

“Can’t we get jobs?” Funny, coming from Rick, who was only eleven.

“Too young for jobs,” Bobby said.

“We can sell lemonade,” Carl said.

Bobby laughed.

“We goin’ hafta sell a million lemonades kid.”

With the rock in hand, Dylan turned to the jewelry store. There was a diamond necklace on display as well as a series of gleaming watches.

“Please, don’t go,” Carl and Rick whined.

I won’t. I won’t go back.

Dylan drew his fist back and drove the rock through the window.

“Bobby?” Dylan whispered.

“What the fuck are you doing here?” Bobby said.

“I went back, Bobby. They sent me back to Renaissance.”

Bobby’s gun was still pointed at Dylan, but it wavered.

“Fuck. Fuck!”

“Yeah.”

“Goddamn it, man. I’m sorry.”

“Father Cartier’s dead now. Dante killed him.”

Now, the gun lowered.

“What? I heard he died from a heart attack.”

“He didn’t. Dante killed him.”

Bobby grimaced and hissed.

“Good. I’m glad that fucker’s dead.”

“Me, too.”

“I… I sold those watches you stole. Gave the money to Mom and Dad. It… it kept us afloat, you know?”

Dylan felt tears forming in his eyes.

“I know.”

They said nothing for a good three seconds then, “What you gonna do, Bobby? You gonna shoot me?”

“I ain’t gonna shoot you. Go on, run. Get the fuck out of here.”

Dylan took a step, then stopped.

“No.”

“The fuck you mean, no. Get the fuck out of here.”

“I’m not running anymore, Bobby. I’ve run my whole fucking life—I just ain’t doing it anymore.”

“What the fuck? What the hell you gonna do? I didn’t tell you to smash that window. You can’t blame me—”

“I don’t blame you. But I’m not running. I’m here for Kleinman. He’s here, right?”

Bobby didn’t need to answer. His eyes flicking to the room in the corner of the warehouse was answer enough.

“Bobby, I helped you all those years ago, now I’m going to need you to help me.”

Chapter 59

Detective Court Furnelli sped after the truck. It moved at a rapid clip, burning stop signs and red lights.

He kept relaying messages over the radio, shouting out directions at every turn.

“I think they’re heading to Portland,” he yelled. “We need to set up roadblocks.”

On the other end of the call, he heard Captain Bottel give instructions.

“Two men inside, likely armed. I need another team to head to Mosier,” Furnelli continued. “SWAT.”

“What the fuck is going on, Furnelli?”

The Kleinmans are running drugs through Bear County, using their real estate properties to chop and package. They’re recruiting girls from Bright Horizons to deal the product and then when they’re no longer useful, or they know too much, they kill them.

Allison and Crouch are dirty.

Veronica and Cole and Dylan are in the warehouse.

They need help.

Furnelli said none of this.

“Captain, just get men out to the fucking warehouse, the same one that blew up a few months back. And get them there, now!”

After a pause, he heard Bottel bark these instructions, too.

He came back on the line.

“When this is over—”

“They’re turning North, going to get on I-84.”

“We’re nearly there. You need to stall. We need two minutes, maybe five.”

Stall? How the fuck am I going to stall?

Furnelli hung up the phone and threw it into the back.

Then he hammered on the gas.

His car raced forward, gained on the truck.

Fifteen yards. Ten. Five.

Furnelli knew that the PIT maneuver was a bad idea. The truck was too heavy. Even if he succeeded, there wasn’t just a possibility that the truck would flip but a near certainty.

And if Ella was in the back?

What do I do? What the fuck do I do?

Furnelli was so tired. So fucking tired. 

His mind raced faster than his car. He pulled up beside the vehicle, looked over.

A burly man was hunched over the wheel, his eyes trained on the road.

Furnelli leaned on the horn.

This got his attention.

The man scowled at him.

Furnelli hit the horn again and again.

The man gave him the finger. Hit the gas harder.

Fuck it.

Furnelli pulled in front of the truck and immediately brake-checked him.

He was thrust forward as the truck struck his bumper.

Tires squealed as Furnelli pressed the brake to the floor.

They were going too fast.

He could feel the rear end sway. The only thing that stopped him from spinning out and flipping his own car was the fact that the much heavier truck was pressed against it.

Gritting his teeth, Furnelli felt the two vehicles slowing.

Then—bam—his rear windshield exploded in a hail of glass.

He felt tiny cubes in his hair, others finding their way between his neck and the collar of his shirt.

“Oh, fuck!”

Furnelli kept his foot on the brake.

Another shot and this time his mirror was knocked free and the front windshield spider-webbed, obscuring his vision.

Not so much that he didn’t recognize the familiar red and blue lights way up ahead.

Furnelli lifted his foot from the brake and moved it to the gas.

His car shot forward.

The third shot hit the back left-hand side of his car.

The vehicle dropped when the tire popped.

Furnelli desperately tried to hold the wheel steady, but it was impossible. The best he could hope for was not to completely turn around and face the shooter in the truck.

He was at a forty-five-degree angle to the road when the truck hit him again.

Now, nothing he did with the wheel would stop him from turning. Furnelli’s car did a complete three-sixty and despite his world spinning, he saw the truck continue past, picking up speed again.

Another full turn.

Half again.

And then it stopped.

Unbelievably, Furnelli was still on the road. Still right side up.

“Ha!” A strange time to laugh but he couldn’t help it. “Ha!”

He laughed even harder when he saw the truck’s taillights glow bright red.

They were stopping.

He’d done it.

Rather than revel in his victory, Furnelli pressed the gas.

His car lurched forward.

He was grinding on his rim so hard that he could see sparks even from the front seat.

It was making an awful thumping sound, too—bum, bum, bum.

The night was alive with red and blue lights.

Filled with shouts.

“Get the fuck out of the truck!” He heard this loud and clear, even over the sound of his tire.

He got close enough to see that the road ahead was completely blocked by squad cars.

And then he saw the men.

Two of them, one on either side of the car. On their knees, fingers interlaced behind their heads.

He braked, and the car let out an almost desperate squeal.

And then he was running the last few yards to the truck.

“Hey! Get the fuck on your knees!” Someone bellowed.

At first, Furnelli didn’t even realize that the order was directed at him. He was fixated on the back of the truck.

“Stop or we’ll shoot!”

That one got his attention.

“Detective Court Furnelli, Greenham PD,” he yelled back. “I’m a detective! A detective! Don’t shoot! Don’t fucking shoot!”

He didn’t know if they’d heard or understood, but no one shot him.

Furnelli jumped onto the step on the back of the truck and grabbed the handle, tried to wrench it open.

It was locked.

“I need snips! It’s locked! I need snips!”

Two cops joined him, their alternating red and blue faces awash with confusion.

He leaped down and grabbed the one closest to him.

“I need to open the truck!”

The man, young, maybe even greener than him, turned and ran.

His chest heaving, Furnelli couldn’t look away from the back of the truck.

Didn’t even move when the kid returned with a set of giant bolt cutters.

The other cop took them and easily snipped the padlock. When he reached for the lever, Furnelli shoved him out of the way. He flipped it and then threw the articulating door open.

When he saw what was inside, he fell back, right off the truck.

Furnelli’s ass hit the pavement, but he didn’t notice.

“Oh my God.”

Chapter 60

“Hey, Kleinman, it’s Bobby. You gotta come out. The cops are coming.”

Dylan heard sirens in the air. Distant, but getting louder by the second.

“They all dead?” A male voice replied.

“They’re all dead, but you have to hurry. We’ve got a truck, we can get you out.”

When there was no reply this time, Dylan figured that Dick Kleinman hadn’t bought their ruse.

What was he going to do? Take Bobby’s gun and shoot the lock? Would that even—

There was a click, and the door slowly started to open.

Two wide eyes peered out.

“You sure—”

Dylan swung the baton in a huge, sweeping arc. His aim was perfect, and the sleek weapon sliced down the narrow opening and thwacked against the side of Dick Kleinman’s head.

***

Veronica had no idea who had fired. One of them, three times? Two from one gun, one from another? All three?

It didn’t matter. For once, Tory Allison wasn’t wearing his DEA vest, the one with the arm holes that he liked to slip his thumbs into

Too bad for him.

There was a trio of bullet holes in the front of his shirt, all of which were surrounded by dark red blooms.

Veronica, being the closest, got to him first.

The man was on his back, air wheezing from his mouth and the bullet holes.

Blood covered his lips.

Veronica wanted to say something pithy, something scathing, anything.

But she could only stare.

Troy Allison coughed weekly, sending blood into the air.

By the time it landed on his face, he was dead.

“Fuck you,” was all Veronica could think of to say.

“Veronica!”

The sound came from inside the warehouse.

She turned and was about to run when she heard her name again, this time from much closer.

Lieutenant Phil Crouch was within six feet of her, gun still in his hand.

Beside him, Cole was trembling, his gun on the ground at his feet.

Crouch’s eyes bore into her.

Veronica stared back.

What are you going to do, shoot me?

Crouch broke first.

He lowered his gun.

“Go,” he said. “Go.”

Veronica went.

She hoisted her exhausted body up the loading dock and entered the warehouse.

The first thing that hit her was the smell. Something was in the air—something thick and heavy.

The next, was the bodies.

Dead men lay on the floor. Blood pooled around them. A long table lay on its side, broken glass glittering beneath the harsh incandescent lighting.

“Veronica!”

It was Dylan. He was standing near a room of some sort, tucked in the corner. A reinforced metal door hung open, but from her angle, she couldn’t see inside.

A blur to their right caught her eye and she instinctively raised her gun.

“No!” Dylan shouted. “Let him go!”

Veronica wasn’t sure why, but she did.

“Did you find him? Did you find Kleinman?”

“In here.”

Veronica rushed to Dylan, and he stepped aside, pulling the door all the way open as he did.

She was floored by what she saw.

Dick Kleinman was lying on the ground, blood leaking from the side of his head. Beyond him were two individuals seated on the floor.

Both were gagged and their hands and feet wrapped in duct tape.

A teenage girl and a grown man.

Ella Cassidy and Marcus McVeigh.

“Ella!” Veronica yanked the rag down over her chin.

“They took me,” Ella sobbed. “Chloe was right, they took me, they—”

She broke down and Veronica removed McVeigh’s rag next.

“It was Allison! Allison and Kleinman,” he said.

“I know.” Veronica looked over her shoulder. “Dylan, get something to cut this tape. Hurry.”

“That fucker Allison. Kleinman called me here and Allison jumped me,” McVeigh said. “He’s here somewhere. We have to—”

“He’s dead. Troy Allison is dead.”

McVeigh fell silent.

Moments later, while Veronica tried ineffectively to comfort Ella, Dylan returned holding a large chunk of glass.

He’d wrapped one end in some sort of fabric and immediately dropped to his knees and began sawing at the tape at Ella’s ankles.

Veronica leaned back.

“Cole! Crouch! We need you!”

“Crouch?” McVeigh said.

“He’s good.”

The tape broke and Ella gasped as she stretched her legs. Veronica helped her to her feet while Dylan got to work on McVeigh.

“My hands,” Ella whined.

“No time.”

She guided Ella around Kleinman’s body and out of the room.

Cole and Crouch had entered the warehouse.

“She’s fine. McVeigh, too. Cole, you have your car?”

Cole, who was shaking, said nothing.

“Cole!”

The man snapped out of it.

“Your car! Is it still out by the road?”

“Y-yes.”

“Good. Take Ella and McVeigh. Wait for us there.”

Dylan finished with McVeigh and both men exited the room.

Crouch took Ella, who looked unstable, while Cole, perhaps even more unstable than the girl, stood beside McVeigh, who was far angrier than hurt.

None of them looked at the bodies littered about the room.

“Hurry! This place is going to blow.”

“You coming?” Cole asked. He sounded like a little boy.
“I’m coming. Just fucking hurry.”

Veronica waited for them to leave before turning to Dylan.

“Is Kleinman…?”

“He’s alive.”

“Good.”

“We should drag him out of here. I don’t know if this place is going to blow or not—”

“It will,” Veronica said with certainty.

“Then grab a leg and—”

“No.”
Dylan frowned.

“But—”

“No,” Veronica repeated.

Dylan gave up.

“Okay, let’s get the fuck out of here.”

Veronica nodded and the two of them followed after the others.

They jumped down to the asphalt. Dylan glanced at Allison’s body but stepped over it without stopping.

Veronica did the same except she did stop.

“Veronica?”

“Go on, I’ll catch up.”

Dylan looked at her, squinted, then nodded.

“Don’t take long.”

Dylan cleared the corner and Veronica bent down. She padded Allison’s pockets, and found what she was looking for in his right pant pocket.

With this in hand, she went back into the warehouse. Among the rubble, she found a wet rag that must have fallen from one of the tables.

Armed with this in one hand and the item she’d taken from Allison in the other she went back to Kleinman.

He was exactly as they’d left him and, true to Dylan’s word, he was still breathing.

Veronica scowled and flicked Allison’s lighter. Then she touched the flame to the rag.

“I guess you didn’t get that electrical problem fixed, after all, Dick.”

Ah, there was the pithy comment she was looking for.

Veronica waited for the rag to catch, then tossed it onto one of the work benches.

A single thought—more of a memory—came to her as she ran.

Once a killer, always a killer.

Chapter 61

“What the fuck is going on up there?” McVeigh said as they neared the line of police cars.

“What the fuck is that sound from the trunk?” Crouch asked.

No answer to either, but they figured out the first soon enough.

They drove around a car with no rear or front windshields and a blown tire still running and Veronica had a second to think, hey, that’s Furnelli’s car, before they saw the truck.

The back was open like a giant mouth.

“Fuck me,” Dylan whispered.

“Stop the car.” Cole seemed inclined to keep driving. The man was a shell. “Cole, stop the damn car.”

He did and Veronica was out first, mostly because she’d practically had to sit on Crouch’s lap so that they could all fit.

The truck was filled with hundreds of brown packages all marked with the snake eating the eyeball insignia.

It was impossible for Veronica to guess how much heroin there was, but it struck as significantly more than ten million dollars worth that Lily had discovered had recently gone missing from one of the Kleinman’s many shell companies.

In addition to the police cars, Veronica spotted an ambulance.

Thinking about Furnelli, she tore her eyes away from the truck cargo and hurried over. Someone called her name—someone was always calling her damn name—but she ignored them.

“Furnelli? Anyone seen Detective Furnelli?”

“He’s over there,” a uniformed cop told her, his finger aimed in the general vicinity of the ambulance.

“Is he…?”

“Oh, he’s fine. Better than fine. Motherfucker should be in NASCAR driving like that.”

Despite the cop’s assurances, Veronica needed to see for herself.

She continued toward the ambulance, calling her partner’s name as she went.

“Furnelli?”

A man turned, and Veronica recognized the black hair.

“Furnelli!”

She ran now and hugged him so hard that she nearly knocked him over.

“I’m so glad you’re okay,” she said into his neck. “Ella’s fine. We found her. Jesus.”

Veronica finally exhaled.

Realizing that Furnelli wasn’t hugging her back with nearly the same fervor, she pulled back.

“Heard you drove like a champ,” she said jokingly.

Furnelli didn’t smile.

“What’s wrong?”

“We found something in the truck. We found—”

“I know, a fuck ton of heroin. That’s—”

Furnelli shook his head.

“No, we found someone.”

“What? Who?”

Veronica performed a mental inventory. Dylan, Cole, Furnelli, herself, McVeigh, and Crouch were all accounted for.

The others were either dead or soon to be, judging by the growing flames that had chased them away from the warehouse.

“I… don’t know. She’s in the ambulance.”

She.

Was it another one of the missing kids? Stephanie Rutger, Mary Keegan, Ally Sorenson, Natalie Ellington?

Veronica surprised herself by remembering all of their full names.

But the woman in the back of the ambulance was none of them.

She was thin, with greasy, blond hair. Her face was riddled with sores and her eyes, beady, black, darted this way and that.

She seemed to twitch in time with the beeps of whatever myriad of machines she was hooked up to.

Veronica had never seen the woman before in her life. But she knew, even before Phil Crouch ran up from beyond, nearly bowling her over, and shouting her name who she was.

She backed away, her vision narrowing.

Numb fingers removed her phone, and she managed after several failed attempts to find the right contact.

“Veronica? Where the fuck have you been? Peter said there was a—”

“Steve, I need you to come here.”

“Come where? Veronica, I’ve been worried sick. You—”

“Shut the fuck up for a second, would you?”

Steve listened.

“I’m near the I-84 on-ramp in Mosier.”

“What the fuck are you—”

“Steve! You need to come now. We… we found your wife, Steve.”

Chapter 62

Captain Pierre Bottel didn’t keep Veronica at the scene long. McVeigh saw to that—he had a story to tell, one that would keep IA and the FBI and whoever else dared get involved for months.

Nothing could keep Crouch on the scene—he’d gone ahead to the hospital with Julia Burns. Not before one of the paramedics had convinced her to let her take a look at her left eye.

It was nothing serious, just a scratched cornea. A common injury when airbags go off. The bag inflates via a chemical reaction that occurs so quickly that you don’t even have time to blink.

He gave her drops and told her to keep her eye moist.

Veronica managed to convince someone in the PD to loan her a car and she drove to the hospital as well.

She’d debated just going home. She didn’t know how to act, what to say.

Her boyfriend was married.

And his wife was back.

“Fuck it.”

After showing her badge, the lady at the front desk informed her that Julia was on the third floor.

Veronica took her time taking the elevator and then walking down the hallway, partly deliberate and partly because she was so sore.

She found the room and looked through the window.

Her heart broke.

Julia Burns was lying on her back, her eyes closed. The way she was nearly completely still, so different than her manic appearance in the back of the ambulance, hinted at her being sedated.

Steve was holding her hand, his cheeks wet with tears. Crouch was seated in the corner of the room, elbows on his knees, chin on his fists.

He’d also been crying.

Veronica was about to leave then, when Steve, as if sensing her presence, turned.

Their eyes met.

He nodded at her, kissed the back of his wife’s hand, and then said something to Crouch. The lieutenant took his position and Steve exited the room.

Without saying a word, he hugged her.

Veronica hugged him back.

“I’m so sorry,” he sobbed into her hair. “I’m so, so, sorry.”

Veronica fought tears of her own.

“I wanted to tell you but—”

“Not now.”

Veronica let go.

“Is she going to be okay?”

Steve roughly wiped his face.

“I don’t know. She… she keeps talking about her girls. Doesn’t even know who I am. What girls? We don’t have kids. We talked about it—one day, but our relationship was on the rocks, you know. I thought she was sleeping with Crouch,” he rambled. “Veronica, they doped her up. Doctors said she had so much shit in her blood that it would have killed any normal person. They must… oh, fuck… they must have been keeping her high for years.” Steve balled his fists. “What girls? They did an exam, she… she hasn’t had kids, so I don’t—”

Veronica knew what girls and she thought she knew why she’d been kept drugged up for years.

Stephanie Rutger, Mary Keegan, Ally Sorenson, Natalie Ellington.

Ella Cassidy.

According to Chloe, the girls had been promised a fresh start in return for delivering packages.

But not in the way they thought.

Dick Kleinman kept Ella alive for one reason: to sell her. And Julia? She was there to comfort them, the surrogate mother who kept them calm, reassured.

And to keep Julia in line, they fed her drugs.

Veronica told Steve none of this.

“Shh.”

Steve broke down and they hugged again.

After he was done, Steve managed, “What happened to you? Crouch isn’t saying—”

“Another time, Steve. I need to go home. I need to shower.”

She left this open as an invitation for him to join her.

“I’m… I’m going to stay.”

Veronica nodded.

“Okay.”

“I love you.”

Veronica turned and walked away before Steve saw her crying.

Chapter 63

Veronica opened the front door of her house and immediately kicked off her shoes.

Her feet ached.

She’d pushed everything out of her mind, and willed herself not to think of any of tonight’s events, until after she rinsed the grime off.

She was unhooking her belt that held her holster when she heard a sound and stopped.

It was just Lucy. She could see the cat clearly even though her left eye was still bugging her.

The cat purred and came forward, the bell around the cat’s neck tinkling softly.

“You scared—”

A much larger figure stepped from the shadow and Veronica reached for her gun.

“I’m sorry,” a female voice said.

She was pretty. Her hair was still fucked up, but she was clean and had soft features.

She was also wearing one of Veronica’s dresses, which she recognized but couldn’t ever remember wearing.

“I’m sorry I stole your keys,” Chloe Whitman said.

So very different was this person from the kid they’d seen in the mall footage stealing Jasper Bratt’s wallet.

Veronica should have been mad, in the very least feel a grand sense of violation, but she didn’t.

“It’s okay. You can keep the dress.”

Chloe nodded.

“We found your friend, Chloe. We found Ella.”

Chloe gasped.

“She’s fine. She’s going to be okay.”

“Thank you. Thank you.”

Veronica nodded.

“We caught the man who was behind this.”

“The big bald bastard?”

“His name was Troy Allison. He’s dead.”

“Good. Fuck him.”

Veronica recognized the sentiment, felt the same.

“But the real man who was behind this was Dick Kleinman. He’s dead, too.”

Chloe looked confused.

“Who?”

“Dick Kleinman.”

Chloe shrugged.

Veronica got out her phone and found a promotional photo from a BBQ a few years back. She couldn’t bring herself to look at Dick’s smiling face.

“You ever seen him before?”

She held the phone out and Chloe went pale.

“It’s okay, Chloe, he’s gone. He can’t—”

“I’ve never seen him before.”

This was odd.

“Then—”

“But I’ve seen her.”

Veronica flipped the phone around.

She forced herself to look at the photo. Dick Kleinman was standing next to a woman, also smiling, and he had his arm around her waist.

“You sure?”

“Yes. She… she owns Bright Horizons. I saw her speaking with the other guy, the bald guy who smokes too much.”

Veronica put her phone back into her pocket and tightened her belt.

“I want you to stay here, okay, Chloe? Help yourself to whatever you want. Just don’t leave.”

The night was long and dark.

But it wasn’t over yet.

Chapter 64

The second the door opened, Veronica shoved the woman’s face with her hand.

Surprised, and weighed down by travel suitcases in either hand, the woman stumbled back into the grand foyer.

Veronica, keeping her gun out in front of her, followed her inside and closed the door behind her.

She locked it.

“I thought you might show up,” the woman said.

If she was frightened by either Veronica’s presence or her gun, it didn’t show in her face.

“I can tell you who’s not showing up: your husband.”

Ruth Kleinman shrugged.

“No great loss. He was an idiot.”

“Can’t argue there,” Veronica said. “You’re going down for this, Ruth.”

Ruth’s attitude was unsettling.

She didn’t seem to care.

“The best thing you can do—the only thing—to help yourself now is to tell me where the other girls are.”

Ruth didn’t bother denying it.

“I tell you that, and I’m as good as dead.”

“You’re as good as dead now.” Veronica stiffened her arm holding the gun.

Ruth laughed.

“You don’t think I’ll do it?”

“Oh, I know you’re capable of it. I know a lot about you, Veronica. Maybe even than even do. But I don’t think you’re going to shoot me. I don’t think you’re going to arrest me either. I’m pretty sure you’re going to step aside and let me walk out of here.”

“I’m not one of your minions, Ruth. I don’t answer to you.”

“Did you hear me?” Ruth was unfazed. “I know a lot about you. And if you don’t let me go, I’ll make sure everyone knows what I know. The thing about being involved in everything is that I have connections everywhere. People still loyal to me. People in the media.”

Veronica felt her brow crease.

“What the fuck are you talking about?”

“I’ll give it to that cop father of yours, he covered it up pretty well. But nothing that goes online can truly be gone forever.”

Ruth went quiet for a moment, waited for the light bulb to click on.

When it didn’t, she continued.

“I have the police reports from before the fire. You poisoned your mother with bleach, cut off your dad’s finger.”

Now, Veronica understood. She’d heard this before.

“I don’t give a shit about that. It’s not even true.”

“Oh, it’s true. Like I said, I have the original police reports. The ones Peter Shade tried to erase.”

Veronica felt a twinge.

Ever since Dante Fiori had said the same thing on Donovan’s Bridge she’d wondered. That wasn’t what she remembered.

But Veronica knew that her memory was faulty. On the bridge that day, Dante had doused everything with gasoline to fuck with her synesthesia, to take away her edge.

But here, in the Kleinman’s home, Veronica smelled no gas.

“Ah, there it is,” Ruth derided.

Veronica refused to be side-tracked.

“I don’t care about that.”

“No? Well, what about Charlotte Cook?”

“I don’t know who that is.”

“You should.”

“Ruth, I’ve had a long fucking night. You tell me where those girls are before my finger slips and—”

“You should know Charlotte Cook because you killed her.”

Veronica gawked.

“You’ve been sampling too much of your own product, Ruth. I’ve never heard that name before.”

Ruth’s smile was truly sinister.

“Let me remind you… imagine a sunny, spring day at Edinburgh Elementary, let’s say right before the final recess? Does that ring a bell?”

It was more than a twinge now. Veronica had been through much today—or yesterday, given that it was nearing early morning now—and had expended so much adrenaline that she didn’t think her body was capable of producing any more.

She was wrong.

Her heart started to race.

“I see it in your eyes. You know what I’m talking about. But let me guess, my understanding of what happened that day is very different than what you remember. Again, you have your father to thank for that. He changed those reports, too. Managed to use his influence to keep you out of… well, wherever they send child murderers. Even moved you around to keep your name out of the papers. But I’m good, Veronica. I’m fucking good. I found the original reports. Handwritten by the first cop on the scene. Even included interviews with Mr. Gregory, one of your teachers.”

“No,” Veronica gasped.

She squeezed her eyes closed.

“Yes. It was right before recess and the girl, Charlotte Cook, who had slapped you once, was alone in the bathroom.”

Veronica heard someone scream.

This wasn’t uncommon at Edinburgh—kids were always shouting and hollering, especially before recess. But this was different.

This wasn’t a screech of surprise, shock, or even anger. This was a shriek of sheer terror. Veronica’s eyes were drawn to the bathroom, perhaps because that was where she thought the sound had come from, or maybe it was her subconscious reminding her of the long-forgotten incident.

“You followed her in.”

As Veronica watched, a panicked student rushed out of the girl’s bathroom. For a second, Veronica thought that the girl was coming for her, and she forgot all about her shoes and stood. But the girl stopped three lockers down, placed both hands against them, and vomited on the floor.

“Earlier in the day, one of the kids had kicked a soccer ball in the hall and had smashed one of the light covers. You took a large piece of this jagged plastic and shoved Charlotte into a stall.”

The scene had drawn the attention of a hall monitor and Mr. Gregory, the science teacher, who just happened to be walking by, and they both quickly came to the girl’s aid.

The shriek had faded and was replaced by uncomfortable murmurs.

“Then you slit slapped her and her head hit the back wall. She slumped onto the toilet and that’s when you dragged the plastic across her wrists.”

When she pushed the door open and peered into the bathroom, seconds before somebody, most likely Mr. Gregory, grabbed her beneath her armpits and lifted her away, Veronica expected to smell the gasoline.

Only she didn’t.

But she did see something.

There was the girl, of course, the one with the bloody nose. Only now, her face was clean—the blood was coming from her wrists instead and had pooled below her slumped body. But there was also the fire. There was no other way to describe what Veronica saw—yellow, orange, and red hues—but it wasn’t a real fire. There was no smoke, no heat, no destruction. Only the colors seemed to swim and dance, spreading outward from the girl’s body.

And then Mr. Gregory pulled her back, and someone else blocked the bathroom door.

“Then you dropped the plastic and ran out, said that Charlotte had done something to herself. You even made yourself cry. Just like now.”

Veronica was furious that she was crying.

“You’re lying.”

“Am I? Maybe I am. You’re the expert, after all.”

Don’t smell, don’t smell. Don’t—

Veronica breathed in deep through her nose.

She couldn’t help it.

Ruth’s smile was like a fault line in granite now.

“No, Lucy Davis; you know I’m not lying. You killed Charlotte Cook.”

Veronica felt her world collapsing.

Everything she’d known about herself, everything she’d learned, was all a lie.

“Let me go, Lucy. Or everyone will know who you really are. What you really did.”

Steve lied, Peter lied.

Everyone fucking lied.

Her entire life was a lie.

“Let me go.”

Veronica dropped her head and closed her eyes again.

She heard Ruth pick up her bags and step forward.

“That’s good. You did the right thing. For once, Lucy, you did—”

Veronica’s popped open and Ruth froze.

Her lips were still locked in that smile, only it was no longer threatening.

Veronica offered a smile of her own.

“You know, a wise man once told me, the past is boring—it’s already happened. The future is far more interesting.”

“What the fuck is that supposed to mean?”

“I guess it means that we can’t change the past, that we can only control what happens next. But if that’s too difficult for someone like you to understand, Ruthy, perhaps this one will make more sense.” Veronica leaned and pressed the gun to Ruth’s forehead. “Once a killer, always a killer.”

Epilogue

When the prison guard opened the door and Freddie Furlow stepped out into the sun, he desperately hoped to see his wife and kids on the other side.

Susan would be pissed, rightfully so, but she’d give him a chance to explain. And this time he would tell her everything, just like he should have done all along.

He’d tell her about what happened with Randy, about how her brother had taken the fall for him because they’d had no other choice. He’d tell her about Kevin, about the trouble he’d gotten in with the DEA. 

Explain why he’d stolen the heroin, that he’d have no choice.

Susan would take her time processing this, but eventually, she’d forgive him.

She had to.

But there was no one there.

Not a single person came to see Freddie Furlow step out of prison for the first time in months.

He bowed his head.

“Hey,” he said to Pickles who had started to close the door.

“Yeah?”

“Think you can call me a cab?”

“I can do that.”

A car he didn’t recognize suddenly raced into the parking lot, rousing a cloud of dust. It came so close that Freddie leaped backward, thinking that it was going to hit him.

It had tinted windows, and he couldn’t see inside.

The passenger door opened.

“Get in. I brought you some food. Just don’t eat it yet.”

“Freddie?” Pickles said, opening the door all the way.

“Thanks, but I don’t think I’ll need that cab after all.”

***

They drove to Hilltona Forest and then, Freddie with the stuffed bag of fast food in hand, walked to Donovan’s Bridge.

Neither of them said a word until they arrived.

Freddie set the bag down on the bridge.

“I want to thank you. Thank you for everything you’ve done for me. If it wasn’t for you, if it wasn’t for you bringing down Allison, I’d be stuck in—”

“I’m the one who needs to thank you, Freddie,” Veronica said. She placed her elbows on the bridge and peered into the flowing water below.

“For what?”

“For being there. For being you.” She picked at a splinter in the wood. “I don’t know.”

The only sound that could be heard for the next minute or so was the raging water beneath them.

“Freddie, you ever get confused about who you really are?”

Freddie’s reply surprised her.

“All the time.”

Veronica turned to look at him.

“Really?”

“Yeah. I thought I was a fat guy who ate my feelings.” He poked his stomach and giggled. Then he grew serious. “Once, I thought I was clean cop. Thought that there was nothing that could ever get me to go against what I believed in. Boy was I wrong.”

“What are you going to do now that you’re free?”

Freddie shrugged.

“Do what I should have done earlier. Fight for family. Do whatever I can to get them back.”

“What about work? With your case thrown out, I might be able to—”

Freddie shook his head.

“I’m done with being a cop job, Veronica. Even if they would take me back, I can’t do it anymore. It cost me everything.”

No, Veronica thought, not everything. You’re still alive.

“I just… I tried to do what was right. What I thought I had to do. But no matter what, there’s no way out.” Freddie paused, looked skyward. He seemed to be fighting back tears. “This job takes everything from you and gives nothing back.”

Veronica understood, but she didn’t feel the same.

Her job was all she had left.

Well, almost all.

“We going to see each other again?”

“Of course. I made a promise to your dad to look after you. Just because I’m not your partner anymore doesn’t mean I won’t have your back.”

Veronica suddenly shivered.

“It’s cold. Let’s get out of here.”

“You go. I’m going to walk.”

“You sure?”

“Yeah, didn’t get much exercise in solitary.”

They hugged and Freddie started to walk away.

“Wait! You forgot your food.”

Freddie smiled at her over his shoulder.

“You eat it. I’m done with that shit.”

***

Veronica didn’t eat Freddie’s fast food. Instead, she had dinner at her father’s house like old times.

When they were done, and the dishes were cleaned, she found Peter outside on the back porch. She was surprised that he wasn’t smoking a cigarette.

“You not smoking, dad?”

“Naw.”

Veronica sat in the chair beside her father.

“You can’t take this decision lightly, V,” he said.

“Oh, trust me, I’m not.”

“But adopting a kid? A fifteen—”

“—sixteen now. Chloe had her birthday a few days ago.”

“Fine, sixteen—a sixteen-year-old kid is a lot of work. I should know.”

“I can handle it.”

“Oh, I’m sure you can. But alone?”

Veronica’s mind turned to Steve. He hadn’t left the hospital bed since Julia had been found. Her status hadn’t changed.

The doctors were doubtful it ever would.

Julia Burns’ mind was shot.

“You were alone.”

Peter had no answer to that.

“Hey, did you ever talk to McVeigh?” Peter said after a while.

“About what?”

“I saw him the other day. He said he needed to talk to you about something. Something to do with a Dr. Cross? I don’t know what he was talking about, but he said that the morning of the explosion at the mall he’d met with Ruth and Dick Kleinman. Said they must have slipped something into his drink.”

Veronica heard what her father said about McVeigh, and it made sense, but the moment she heard the Kleinman name she could only think of one thing.

“What’s going to happen to her? To Ruth?”

Even though Peter Shade was long removed from the police force, he still had ears to the ground. He wouldn’t be Peter if he didn’t.

“All of her assets have been seized. She’s being represented by Legal Aid. She’s claiming ignorance, that her husband was behind everything. It’s not going to fly. V, about that stuff that was released—”

“I don’t care.”

Her father touched her arm.

“Seriously. Hell, maybe it’s for the best. Maybe now I can finally come to grips with what happened and move on.”

Peter grimaced and rubbed his forehead.

“I couldn’t tell you, V. I wanted to—”

A refrain that Veronica had heard far too often lately.

“I understand.”

“I’m serious.”

“So am I. I don’t blame you dad. I don’t blame Steve; I don’t blame anyone.”

“Good. The past is—ah, fuck it.”

Veronica laughed.

“Hey, any movement on those treatment centers you wanted to set up?”

“Unfortunately, no. No money. Dick Kleinman promised—why are you still smiling?”

“No reason.”

“Don’t do that. You know something.”

“I always know something.”

Veronica curled her upper lip.

“Remember how I said I don’t blame you? Well, that can change.”

“All right, all right. Look, the Kleinmans had an insane debt load. But they owned a bunch of real estate. It’s going to be sold off and the guy in charge of the estate is someone I knew from way back when. He said that after its all said and done, there should be a couple of hundred thousand left over.”

“Looks like it’s going to be a decent payday for your friend.”

“I never said he was my friend, but he does owe me a favor.”

Veronica cringed.

“After everything that happened, I can honestly say I’m not a fan of favors.”

“Me neither, but this is a good one. He’s gonna donate the money to your cause.”

“Really?”

“Really.”

“Well, that is good news.”

“A little good news goes a long way.”

Peter Shade used the arms of his chair to push himself to his feet.

He was getting old.

Peter wrapped an arm around her and kissed her forehead.

“Come on, let’s go back in before Chloe steals something.”

“Dad.”

“Joking.”

Peter walked toward the porch door and Veronica moved to follow.

“Oh, McVeigh said one more thing.”

He rummaged around in his pockets. Pulled something out.

“What?”

“He said this yours.”

Peter tossed something at her and Veronica, taken completely by surprise, failed to catch it.

She bent down and picked it up, held the star-shaped object in her hand.

“I’m proud of you, V. I’m fucking proud of you. Fuck what the papers said. Fuck what Ruth Kleinman said. Fuck them all. You are a good person. A fucking strange, emotional, irrational person. But you are fucking good. And I love you.”

Veronica sniffed.

A single tear fell from her face and landed on the Sheriff star.

She smudged it with her thumb.

“You coming?”

“In a minute.”

“Okay.” He lowered his voice to a whisper. “Okay.”

Veronica raised her eyes from the star and looked at the sky above. Stared at those stars.

She didn’t want to be the Bear County Sheriff. Never did, really.

But there were five reasons why Veronica Shade would accept the post.

Stephanie Rutger.

Mary Keegan.

Ally Sorenson.

Natalie Ellington.

They were still out there somewhere.

And when she found who had taken them, she would do to them what she should have done to Ruth Kleinman.

Veronica squeezed the Sheriff star so tightly that it dug painfully into her palm.

She’d make all of them pay.

Once a killer, always a killer.

END

Author’s Note

It’s a sad day.

It’s always a sad day when a series comes to an end, which is probably why I’m so averse to wrapping them up.

It’s also a sad day because of, well, Veronica.

She tried hard, tried hard to discover where she came from and how her past helped shaped her, despite her father’s insistence that it doesn’t really matter.

It does, though. We are the victim of both nature and nurture, likely in equal parts.

But rather than being hampered by this knowledge, I find it empowering. Veronica did, too.

She used her synesthesia when and where she could but suppressed her other urges, reserving them for only when they were absolutely necessary.

Above all else, I wanted a happy ending for Veronica. After everything she’s been through, I thought she deserved at least that.

And I gave it to her… kind of.

In Patrick Logan fashion, I suppose. But if you’ve read this far, you probably expected as much. No Disney endings here. Yeah, I stretch the limits of what is possible, but I pride myself on always staying within the realm of being plausible. Take Veronica’s synesthesia, for instance. It’s a real condition. People actually see sounds, taste shapes, and so on. Can they use it to literally sniff out a lie? Probably not. But… maybe?

Thus, I had no choice but to make my happy ending also realistic.

I hope you enjoyed Veronica’s story, and by extension, Steve’s, Cole’s, Dylan’s, Peter’s, and all the others.

As always, there are more tales on the horizons. None in this series, but will Veronica make a cameo in one of my other series’?

Maybe, probably.

Nature, nature.

Love you all.

You keep reading, I’ll keep writing.

Best,

Pat

Montreal, 2025

Other Books by Patrick Logan

Detective Veronica Shade

The Color of Murder

The Scent of Murder

The Sound of Murder

The Touch of Murder

The Taste of Murder

Detective Damien Drake

Butterfly Kisses

Cause of Death

Download Murder

Skeleton King

Human Traffic

Drug Lord: Part I

Drug Lord: Part II

Prized Fight

Almost Infamous

Straw Man

Dangerous Company

Happy Face

Chase Adams FBI Thrillers

Frozen Stiff

Shadow Suspect

Drawing Dead

Amber Alert

Georgina’s Story

Dirty Money

Devil’s Den

Painted Ladies

Adverse Effects

Already Dead

Direct Evidence

Tainted Blood

Dr. Beckett Campbell, Medical Examiner

Bitter End

Organ Donor

Injecting Faith

Surgical Precision

Do Not Resuscitate

Extracting Evil

Residence Evil

Tommy Wilde Thrillers

One Wilde Night

Two Wilde Weeks

Three Wilde Months

Four Wilde Families

Don’t forget to drop by my Facebook group and say hi! https://www.facebook.com/groups/LogansInsatiableReaders/

This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents in this book are either entirely imaginary or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual people, living or dead, or of places, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

Copyright © Patrick Logan 2025

Interior design: © Patrick Logan 2025

All rights reserved.

This book, or parts thereof, cannot be reproduced, scanned, or disseminated in any print or electronic form.

First Edition: February 2025