Page 7 of Desperate Creed

So the man still had feelings for Russo, despite what caused her to move out.

“She won’t be if I talk to her soon. How about giving me her new address.”

“I don’t have it.” When he saw that Braxton didn’t believe him, he volunteered, “We broke up, okay. I’m not allowed to have her new address. They probably have it at her work. If you’re for real, you already know where she works.”

Then he shut the door.

Braxton could have shoved his foot in to stop it. He could have easily grabbed the guy by the throat and lifted him a foot off the ground until he promised to give them the new address. That seemed to be exactly what Rex wanted to do, but Braxton put his hand up to stop him.

Brute force wouldn’t get them what they wanted here. They’d already made one mistake. It would take just a bit more patience.

5

Frankie Russo let out a frustrated sigh. Tyler could be bleeding on a sidewalk somewhere, and this police officer was treating her more like a criminal than a witness.

“What is your relationship to the alleged victim?”

She’d already told him when she first came in. The 911 dispatcher had recommended she file a report when Frankie realized she had no idea where Tyler was.

“You want to report an assault, but you can’t say where it happened?” The dispatcher’s voice had been so calm it only made Frankie more hysterical.

In those few minutes, Frankie discovered how little she knew about Tyler. She sort of knew where he lived but she couldn’t tell the dispatcher his address. Nor could she tell the woman where Tyler’s friend Deacon lived. She didn’t even know if K was a middle initial, the beginning of his last name or part of a nickname.

The dispatcher had finally given Frankie directions where to go to file a report.

“We work together at McGavin Holt,” she now told the police officer for the second time.

“Nothing more than co-workers?” The detective raised a suspicious eyebrow betraying his monotone voice.

“Nothing more.”

“You don’t go out after work for drinks?”

“Tyler doesn’t drink.”

“Meet for coffee?”

“He doesn’t drink coffee either.”

“But you talked on the phone?”

“Yes.”

“Even video-chat? Outside of work.”

“It’s always about work.”

“At five o’clock in the morning?”

Frankie released another sigh and sat back in the metal folding chair. So that part he’d heard.

“Yes.”

She wasn’t going to explain that when they were working on a campaign sometimes they talked at all kinds of odd hours of the day. They loved their job. She quickly added, “Can you just please check to see if he’s okay?”

“But you don’t know where the assault took place?”

“No.”