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“Hmm. How long have you been taking it?”
“Since I was nineteen.” She found a loose thread and pulled. “By now, I should be euthyroid without needing levothyroxine.” She bit her lip and shook her head. “But I’m not even close.” Zel sighed. “I don’t want to go through another storm, but I sure as hell don’t want to risk my voice.”
Drew leaned forward and captured her hand. “Brick, better your voice than your life.”
“That’s easy for you to say.”
“No, it’s not. But if I had to decide for you, that’s what I would choose.”
28
RUN OVER BY A BUS
It wassix o’clock and Aithan had just started his SUV to head to Blue Water when a text from Lieutenant Kevlin buzzed his phone. He swigged water while he read the message; the damned antidepressants gave him the worst cotton mouth. But at least he could still get his dick up.
Good morning, Mr. Mazur. Can you come to the North Precinct today? I’d like to discuss some developments in your case.
That made Aithan sit up.
Of course. I’m free between 10am and 2pm.
Excellent. Let’s meet at 10:30.
Done. The precinct’s on College Way, right?
Correct.
Okay. See you at 10:30.
Aithan dropped his phone on the passenger seat and took another gulp of water. His dry mouth was no longer one hundred percent from the meds.
Clients and back-to-back classes filled the morning, so Aithan hadn’t had time to consider the possibilities until he’d headed over to SPD’s North Precinct.
Now he sat in Lieutenant Kevlin’s austere office, his heel bouncing quietly under the desk. Had they narrowed their suspects? Or made an arrest?
“Thanks for coming in today. I know you’re a busy man, so I’ll try to be quick.” Kevlin turned his computer monitor to show Aithan a photograph. “Do you know Buster ‘The Bus’ Sarto?”
Aithan frowned and studied the mugshot. “Definitely not.”
The Bus was a huge white guy with a bull neck, prison tattoos covering his face, and scraggly, yellowing mutton chops.
“I didn’t expect you would. Mr. Sarto was hired to kill you.”
Someone wanted him dead? That was insane. Aithan felt like he’d swallowed a rock, and he blew out a slow breath. “Hired by whom?”
“Someone you know well.”
Aithan almost said, “Tristan Blaylock,” but Kevlin’s answer came first. “Maeve Houston.”
“Mmm-Maeve?” Aithan’s ears were ringing so loudly, he wasn’t sure he’d heard right. “Maeve Houston hired some guy called The Bus tokillme?”
The officer nodded. “Yes, sir. We have corroborating testimony from Mr. Sarto, as well as bank records showing withdrawals from Ms. Houston’s accounts in the exact amounts agreed upon and on days that correspond with contract payment dates.”
“Kurwa,” Aithan muttered, staring at the unfamiliar man. This was crazy.
“Pardon?”
“Sorry. It’s a Polish epithet.” As Kevlin nodded, a question occurred to Aithan. “So why didn’t he kill me, if that’s why she hired him?”
