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CHAPTER 6
I dropped Bartlett off at HQ, after making sure George’s parking space was empty. He drove the big Suburban that went with the job, and I figured he was going to make Bartlett come to the house to claim it. I didn’t even know if George had a personal vehicle. He lived for this town. He used to drive around at night making sure everything was okay since there was nothing and no one to keep him at home. He hadn’t been doing that as much lately. Anemone liked him with her at night, and he evidently liked to be there, which was perfectly understandable. Getting fired was a big blow, but George had Anemone fighting for him, and that was a lot.
Bartlett had asked me as he’d gotten out of the Jeep, trying out his boss voice, where I was going, and I told him “Detective-ing.” Which probably isn’t a word, but it didn’t matter with Bartlett. He could bite me.
Fucking Bartlett. Fucking O’Toole. Fucking Wilcox. Fucking Pete OneTree. Fucking Mickey Pitts not dying. And fucking Cash, who was probably behind all of it.
I tried calling Liz, but it went to voicemail and the events of this morning weren’t something you left in a message.
Needing to think, I headed for Factory Road since I liked sitting up at the hairpin turn where Navy Blue had crashed through the rail and Liz’s Camry had been pushed over. Will Porter and I had finally put in a sturdy barrier since the county had never gotten around to it. I guess some might consider going there morbid, but it was above Burney and quiet.
As I drove past the old factory, I noted all the construction trucks parked around it and then Liz’s car, which was impossible to miss, given the paint job. I slowed down and then noted Cash’s silver Beemer next to Liz’s Camry.
What the hell?
I knew better than to stop. This was, whatever it was, her deal.
But then I looked up and saw the two of them in one of the surviving cupolas on the roof of the building. Cash was pointing at something over her shoulder, and Liz, wearing a pink hard hat, looked like she was engaged in whatever it was he was describing. And he was standing way too close to her, inside what I would consider her personal space.
Screw me.
She had not given me a heads up on any meeting at the old factory. Especially not a meeting with her douchebag ex, Cash Porter. Ex as in high school, which was a decade and a half in the past, but time is relative.
I barely stopped myself from squealing tires in a hard U-turn and going into the factory. Because that would be immature and stupid. Although satisfying. Instead, I continued up the road until I got to the turn. I stopped short of it, where there was a shoulder but no railing. I walked to the turn and climbed over the double rail guards we had put in. There were barely six inches of pavement before the ground dropped precipitously into the ravine, but there was still a remnant of the old guardrail, bent out above the rocks below. I sat there and looked down at the factory and saw Liz’s car pulling away. Cash’s Beemer stayed.
Fucking Cash.
I pulled out my cell and hit Favorites 3.
Rain answered on the third ring. “What’s happening, Ranger?”
I gave her a sitrep, situation report. “Mickey Pitts became conscious long enough to mention the hundred K. George was fired. Bartlett is the new chief.”Liz was in the cupola of the factory with Cash.
I knew she’d have no patience with the last part.
“Fuck,” Rain said, concurring with my assessment. “But all that was inevitable.”
I continued with my report. “I pulled Senator Wilcox over this morning. She said there was a detective’s billet for me in your outfit.”
“Interesting,” Rain said. “I haven’t heard of any opening.”
“I got the feeling she’d just thought of it.”
“Then she’d make one.” What Rain said next surprised me. “We’d love to have you. Come where your skills, such as they are, would be appreciated.”
“You need work on your recruiting pitch. I’m toughing it out here.”
“Like the good Ranger you are,” she said in a much more refined tone than Pete’s, so I wasn’t sure if she was being sarcastic or encouraging. You should be able to tell, shouldn’t you? I’d known Rain for over a decade. We’d served in combat together. I’d put a tourniquet on her leg when the lower part had been mangled. We’d lost one of our mutual best friends from the Rangers just a few months ago after seeing him through the hospital and hospice to being buried in the VA cemetery. That had been hell, in many ways worse than losing someone in the heat of combat.
“I want to talk to Pitts when he wakes up again,” I said. “I doubt I can get Bartlett to clear it for me. Can you get me in? You’ve got a friend at the prison, right?”
Several seconds of silence. “Vince.” That tone I could read. She was picking her words carefully. “George lost his job because of what you did. You know that, right?”
Maybe she really did think I was stupid. “I know that,” I snapped. Because I knew where she was heading.
“This has blown up in your face,” Rain continued, ignoring my tone. “I’m surprised they didn’t take your shield.”
“I offered,” I said.
