When I tell him that, he smiles. “You asked a question; I answered it.” He slaps his hand on my shoulder to stop me from fleeing before saying, “My investigation into Henry isn’t why I brought you here. He is.” He nudges his head to a photo of Isaac.
“Your cross examination found something I can take him down with?”
Hope flies out the window when Grayson shakes his head. “But I have something just as good. I found a way you can get your man without compromising your relationship with your girl.”
Huh?Is he talking in riddles?I’ve searched high and low the past four months to find a way of taking Isaac down without the ripple effect being passed on to Regan. I’ve yet to discover a viable path.
“More times than not, it isn’t the evidence you find that unlocks a case. . .”
“It’s the person at the helm responsible for the crew’s success,” I fill in, remembering a quote our dad has often said.
“That’s right.” Grayson moves to a bulky computer in the middle of the room. “You’ve said since day one that Theresa wasn’t right for this case, that she hinders it more than she helps it.”
I halfheartedly shrug. Sometimes my gripes were more out of frustration than Theresa’s lack of skills, but I’ve always believed people are more honest when they’re placed in a hostile situation, so perhaps my accusations were honest.
“Theresa isn’t the right woman for this case because she can’t be objective.”
I want to cut in, but my interest in the documents Grayson is bringing up on the monitor is too high to force an interruption. There are court transcripts, requests for paternity tests, and affidavits marked as private. I scan these types of documents day in and day out, but the names across these capture my imagination. They all contain the same two names: Isaac Holt and Theresa Veneto.
“They have a child together?”
Grayson shakes his head before he nods then shakes it again. “No one knows. Isaac refuses to take a paternity test.”
His reply doesn’t shock me. Isaac would never give DNA willingly.
“Is this him?” I ask, holding up a photo of a boy I’d guess to be approximately three years old. “He has the same cleft chin as Isaac.”
“Yeah, he does. Back in the day, that would have been all the proof needed.”
I’d laugh if he wasn’t being honest.
I lay the photo of the little boy down before shifting on my feet to face Grayson. “How could the Bureau put Theresa in charge of this case knowing the circumstances? This is a clear case of conflict of interest. If Theresa wants to pin Isaac by the nuts for a personal matter, she can’t be objective.”
Grayson gives me a look. Thankfully he saves his lecture on double standards for another day. I want to pin Isaac’s nuts to the wall for a personal reason as well, but my desires are different than Theresa’s. Isaac committed a crime, so I’m simply holding him responsible for his actions. Theresa slept with him; now she has to pick off each flea he infested her with. That makes them utterly incomparable.
I stop seeking other reasons my goals are different from Theresa’s when Grayson discloses, “The Bureau let her work his case because they’re unaware of their connection. These files were so deeply buried, they only surfaced today.”
I’d call him out as a liar if I couldn’t hear the honesty in his tone.
“This morning?” When he nods, I add on, “Who found them?”
Grayson laughs. It isn’t his standard chuckle. “That’s the stupid thing. They weren’t really found; they kinda popped up.”
“Out of nowhere?”
Apfftnoise escapes my lips when he nods. “No fucking way. Why would they just suddenly appear?”
Grayson pops his hip onto the desk. “Maybe someone has your back?”
“Maybe someone’s trying to stab a knife into my back.” I scrub my hand across my hairy chin. “Something isn’t sitting right with this, Grayson. Info like this doesn’t just magically appear. If it was buried as deep as you say it was, someone had to go digging for it.”
He glares at me like I’m a fucking idiot. “So you’re not going to use it to get Theresa pulled off the case?”
“I didn’t say that. I’m not a dumbass. With the right leader steering the helm, this case could be closed by the end of the month.”
Grayson’syou’re a fucking idiotglare ramps up.
“But that doesn’t mean I’m suddenly a believer in magic lamps with wish-granting genies inside.”
