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“He broke my nose,” Abe said, pointing to a slight bump near the bridge.
“Gives you character,” I replied. “And you’re welcome.”
Russ laughed and slapped the table. “Then what?”
“Both benches cleared,” Alex replied.
“And the two idiots were ejected from the game and the tournament,” Alyssa added.
“And I was on track to have my best season,” I said. “I was only two base hits from breaking the club record.”
Abe played an invisible violin. If Alex weren’t there, he’d mime jacking off instead. God, I loved him. “You weren’t the only one having a banner year that season. I had college scouts checking me out at fourteen years old.”
“Seriously?” Russ asked.
Abe shrugged. “They weren’t prepared to make any offers yet, but my name was bandied about as the best pitcher in Georgia.”
“Country,” I corrected.
“Wait, didn’t Abe play on the same high school team as Coach Steve?” Alex asked.
Alex’s head coach, Steve Parker, was a former professional baseball player who’d collected the Cy Young and MVP awards as well as a World Series title. He was a phenomenal person, and Alex was lucky to play for him.
“Yep,” I said. “Abe was a better pitcher than Coach Steve.”
Alex’s mouth fell open and a “Whoa,” tumbled from his lips.
“You didn’t end up playing college ball?” Russ asked.
“Nope. I decided to join the military instead,” Abe replied. I felt his gaze on me, but I didn’t turn my head. “And guess which asshole I went to basic training with?”
I smiled at Russ and held up my right hand. “I’m the asshole.”
“Isn’t that something?” Russ quipped.
The server delivered three pizzas because we liked a variety. I placed slices of four cheese, sausage and green pepper, and traditional pepperoni on my plate then sprinkled parmesan cheese on my pizza and handed the shaker to Abe, who passed me the red pepper flakes. I slid him extra napkins because he was a slob, and Abe gave me one of the forks the server had dropped off because I was fastidious in everything except sex. It couldn’t be more evident we’d eaten meals together at least a hundred times. Eventually, the conversation picked back up again, but it centered on how things were going for Alex in school.
Midway through my slices, a tingle of awareness crept over me like a spider crawling up the back of my neck. I immediately scanned the room to search for danger and locked eyes with Dylan Eads, the last person I wanted to see while out with my family. The buff man with auburn hair and hazel eyes stopped at our table and plastered a fake smile on his face.
“Well, this sure is cozy,” Eads said. “The chief of police is having a nice meal with the deputy chief of the internal affairs division. I figured you two were sworn enemies.”
Alyssa and I exchanged glances, but before either of us could respond, Alex spoke up. “You know my mom and dad?”
“Seriously?” Eads said, looking between Alyssa and me. “You guys are married? Guess that’s why you’ve teamed up to ruin my career.”
Recently, District Attorney Gillian Babineaux and Commissioner Ellen Rigby approached me with troubling information regarding malicious prosecution allegations involving a former attorney in Babineaux’s office. She’d discovered one conviction that needed to be overturned and was concerned everyone Adam Savant had put away would end up back on the streets. She had formed a task force consisting of investigators and litigators to review all cases Savant prosecuted on Chatham County’s behalf. I assigned Topher Carnegie, a talented young cold case detective, to assist from our office. The task force had flagged ten cases out of more than a hundred that showed signs of prosecutorial misconduct.
As part of the investigation, Topher and a retired deputy sheriff also reviewed the police investigations prior to the cases landing on Savant’s desk. In seven out of ten instances, Dylan Eads had been the lead detective. Was it a mere coincidence, or had Savant conspired with Eads? When Topher had handed me the summary of the findings, I’d had no choice but to turn it over to Alyssa. I’d asked about her initial conversation with Eads, but she refused to divulge anything. It left me feeling vulnerable and in the dark—two things I hated more than anything.
“They’re divorced,” Russ cut in. “I’m Alyssa’s husband. And you are?”
Eads introduced himself to Russ, who also worked in law enforcement as a parole officer. Then he turned to Abe and said, “I recognize you. Sheriff Beecham from Bryan County, right?”
“Yep.” Abe’s casual reply contradicted his tense posture.
Eads didn’t offer to shake hands with either man, and neither moved to extend the gesture to him. They both knew the score. The only person in the dark was Alex, and he looked between the adults, searching for answers as a tense silence washed over the table.
“So will I see you both on Monday morning?” Eads asked, volleying his gaze between Alyssa and me.
