“Shelley wasn’t turning tricks for him anymore,” Braddock reminded his partner.
“True, but since Nash keeps tabs on every-damned-body living in the village, he probably knows exactly what happened whether he killed her or not.”
“Probably?” Braddock shot her an are-you-kidding look. Frustration tightened in his gut. “You know damned well he ordered her death. There is no way in hell it happened without his approval.”
“I have a theory on the E. Noon thing,” his partner offered.
“Oh yeah?” Braddock hadn’t spent much time on that. He’d been too focused on CJ. Just another indication he was way over the line here.
Cooper nodded. “It’sno onespelled backward.”
No one messes with me.
The words, written in blood—in his niece’s blood—loomed ominously in Braddock’s head. Nash had sent him that note. Nash had killed her. Just like he killed Shelley. Braddock didn’t need any evidence. He knew it in his gut.
All of this, every damned step, was a waste of time. A game that bastard had set in motion. He wasn’t afraid of being caught. He was too careful. They would search for evidence and interview dozens of folks, and it would all boil down to one thing: no way to legally prove Nash was the one.
But he was. This time Braddock was going to get him.
Cooper closed the file. “Look,” she said quietly, “we both know how badly you want Nash.”
Braddock blinked. He’d been lost in his own misery. “It’s him. It doesn’t take a rocket scientist to recognize where theno onecomes from. Nash is making sure I understand it’s him.”
“I totally agree,” Cooper went on. “He’s a piece of shit. Nobody”—she pressed Braddock with her gaze—“wants that bastard to go down more than I do. But we have to do this right, partner. No mistakes. No jumping the gun. Every step has to be by the book.”
“By the book,” he agreed, mainly to keep her happy. He would make this stick. One way or another he would find what he needed to nail that blood-sucking lowlife.
Whatever it cost him.
“You’re a good partner.”
Braddock looked up, surprised at her statement. “I’d say thanks, but I’m not sure you meant it as a compliment.”
She shook her head at him. “I just wanted you to know that I like what we have.” She searched his eyes a couple of seconds too long. “I don’t want to see that change.”
Too late.
Everything had changed.
Shelley Patterson was dead.
And he was the reason.
Chapter Eleven
3021 Appleton Street
The Mill Village, 9:58 p.m.
CJ sat on the front steps of her childhood home and absorbed the sounds of the village. Two houses down a couple were having it out, their angry voices carrying in the darkness. Across the street stray cats yowled and hissed in a territorial battle that likely involved the resident’s freshly discarded trash. Beyond that, the constant ebb and flow of traffic and sirens on the parkway, underscored by the distant, lonesome wail of the ten o’clock train, provided a familiar urban melody that had lulled her to sleep every night for most of her life.
As on so many of those nights, Edward sat next to her, his presence comforting, familiar. She never would have escaped this world without his help and boundless encouragement.
His quiet strength proved more heartening than he could possibly know. Yet inside, where no one else could see, she trembled. CJ didn’t want to feel alone, but tonight she felt entirely alone even with Edward’s patient vigil.
Shelley had been CJ’s only family. Her responsibility.
Now she was gone. CJ had failed her.
