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When you stop to think just how much you don’t know about the people you say you trust, it puts a bad taste in your mouth for everyone else.
No one is above reproach.
Everyone is suspect.
And the fact that I have inside knowledge that someone altered data to frame Dorian McGregor… Well, that’s not paranoia. That’s proof. I saw the evidence with my own eyes, right after I committed the very same crime.
I broke the law to implicate Ryland Maddox in the murder of a victim. I altered evidence to protect Avery. I inserted Maddox’s fingerprint into the search in place of Wells—because one strategically placed fingerprint on the Alpha’s part could reveal Avery’s deception. Was it a warning? Or did the Alpha want Avery to go down for Price Wells’ death? It might not have gone that far, her COD report on Wells only scrutinized, her competence brought into question…
But I can’t risk that Wells’ “accidental death” would be questioned and a new investigation into his death opened. That would take us right back to the beginning. Uncovering Sadie’s murder of Wells, and Avery’s part in covering it up. Not only that, but Sadie’s dark past; she killed Lyle Connelly, Wells’ mentor and killing partner. Where this epic shit storm all started.
An aching pressure builds at my temples. I sidestep my way around officers, heading toward the conference room, and slip into the bathroom. Splash water over my face. Watch water run down my ashen skin.
/> Who tipped the first domino?
If I go back far enough, follow the toppled pieces, I might even see my actions as the catalyst. Had I listened to Sadie when she tried to convince me of Connelly’s guilt two years ago, maybe none of this would’ve happened.
My phone vibrates with a message: Meeting in 5 – where are you?
I thumb away Sadie’s message and snap my phone to my belt clip, then brace my hands on the sink. I’ve been ignoring Sadie more and more since our fallout. A heated exchange that stripped away all façades. We worked together during the auction sting for Avery, but now that the dust has settled, it’s become increasingly difficult to go back to where we once were.
One hard look in the mirror, then I shove my disgust into the festering pit of my stomach. I dry my face before I head to the conference room.
Two weeks ago today, Special Agent Bell called a mandatory task force meeting for proper debriefing, requiring everyone present at the warehouse bust to attend. She really likes calling meetings. Hearing herself talk. Centering the troops. Field reports.
The head of the FBI’s Organized Crime Division even provides completed reports for us—testimonies that validate a story which never took place.
Like how my team—the one operating off the grid—went on record as being a covert tactic of the FBI, used to take down a major player in the east coast sex trafficking circuit.
We got off easy, considering we were working behind the FBI’s back. We could’ve lost our badges, Avery could’ve been stripped of her license. Instead, to avoid a media scandal for both our departments, the ACPD and the FBI appeared to the press as if we joined forces on the operation. Cooperation always goes over better in the media. A scandal, however, well—that’s just more interesting.
The truth is, Agent Bell used my department. She used me, and my feelings for Avery to lure one of her own leads out so she could make the arrest.
The news of the auction bust has been playing over broadcasts for the past couple of weeks, coverage isolating a single crime lord, Dorian McGregor, as the main conspirator. I’ve been congratulated not only by my captain, but just about everyone on the force.
I’m a hero.
The shame of that resonates painfully. There’s an ulcer the size of Mercury in my stomach, the weight of the truth bearing down hard every time I enter the precinct.
Had Agent Bell not busted into the warehouse when she did, I would’ve pulled the trigger. I would’ve killed a man—if not an innocent man—an innocent man of the crimes falsely cited against him.
McGregor is not the Alpha in charge of the Alpha Omega criminal network. He’s barely even a career criminal. Yet the press and my superiors are satisfied with the charges levied against him, and the safe rescue of the victims that were being auctioned off to perverts. And since the media is having a field day tearing down the high profile buyers, like judges and CEOs, no one is questioning McGregor.
I rub the back of my neck, feeling the constant ache that’s adhered to my muscles from the stress as I pass the conference room. I plan to meet with Sadie beforehand to get an update on the two perps we’re still tailing, but Bell corners me on my way to Sadie’s office.
She slaps a folder against my chest. “Your and your team’s new assignment.”
I grasp the folder and hold it aside. “Not that we’re not appreciative of the FBI’s cooperation, but isn’t there an unsolved case somewhere that’s vying for your attention?”
Her smile is tight. “This case is not solved, Detective Quinn. There’s still a perpetrator out there that needs to be brought in.”
Maddox. Right. Another wave of shame floods me. I did what I had to do to protect Avery, and if faced with that dilemma again, I wouldn’t hesitate to do the same—but I may have also issued Maddox’s death warrant.
“My team has been sidelined enough with the media craze,” I say, moving around Bell. “Let’s get this meeting over with so we can get back in the field.”
I take a seat in the back of the room, giving Sadie a slight head nod as she enters. The meeting is called together quickly, and Agent Bell jumps in, foregoing a recap.
“I need a team to sweep Lark and Gannet,” she announces. “Commonwealth’s Attorney, Jackie Emmons, has obtained a warrant for the search. We’re going in, and we’re not coming out until we’ve nailed sufficient evidence of Maddox’s involvement in the sex trafficking ring.”
