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“She took that guy to look at a property in Mandeville Canyon yesterday.”
A flash of frustration passes through me. Like the horizon line, every time I think I know where Meg is going, she moves farther away from me, an ever-shifting illusion. “So? He’s buying a house. She sells them.”
“You know that’s not true,” he says. “I can help you.”
“By stealing my notes? Stealing money you know I don’t have?”
“Getting your notes back is the only reason you’re still standing here talking to me,” he says. “Like I said, I’ve been following her. There’s stuff I know that you can use.”
“I could use $30,000.”
Scott ignores my dig. “Remember how we used to bounce ideas off each other? Brainstorm new leads to follow?” His expression is pleading, and I have to look away. “Tell me you don’t miss it.”
“I don’t miss it.”
“If you drop the charges against me, we can work together. I’ll do the detective work, and you can write the story you’ve been chasing for ten years. I can feed you exclusive information from inside the investigation. It could be life-changing for both of us.”
I stare at him, the planes of his face so familiar, and wonder if he remembers making that same promise a few weeks ago. “And conveniently make a problem of yours go away,” I finally say.
“Maybe,” he admits. “But if you don’t drop the charges, I’ll lose my job and then I’ll never be able to pay you back.”
I know he believes what he’s saying, but I also know he’ll never follow through. The money he owes me will be an obligation that will bother him for a little while, until he becomes so accustomed to the weight of it, he won’t think about it anymore.
A battered Volvo pulls up next to me, a surfboard strapped to its roof, and I watch an older man get out, a wetsuit unzipped and dangling around his waist. He releases his board from its bindings and locks his car, half jogging toward the water. My mind travels back to Cory Dempsey, the man who started it all, and I wonder what he would say if he could see his former girlfriend now, on the verge of taking down a future state senator.
Scott continues. “You’d have the advantage of department resources—surveillance, computer forensics. If Meg is doing anything online, we’ll be able to see it. She’s targeting a political figure. We can stop her before she does any more harm.”
I want to laugh. The harm has already been done, by Ron. By Scott. “How is it they haven’t placed you on leave yet?” I ask. “I filed a report against you over a week ago.”
“Right now, I have friends looking out for me,” he says. “Paperwork moves slow. But if you don’t drop the charges, neither of us will get what we want.”
Scott doesn’t know what I want anymore.
“Here’s my offer,” I finally say. “I’ll drop the charges, but you need to leave the department. Quit and get some real help.”
“You can’t be serious.”
“Your call.” I slide into the driver’s seat and back out. Scott stays where he is, watching as I turn right onto PCH. As I blend into the traffic heading south, I hope I’ve made the right decision.
