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He turns on his stool and follows me with his eyes as I step into the massive pantry and take out a box of mini chocolate chip cookies. I need an emotional support snack, and I need these men to stop staring at me. “We know that the medical examiner who supposedly ran Vallejo’s body five years ago was often on the take.”
“On the take?” I already know, but I play my part of mildly interested and exit the pantry with my stash. Closing the door and using it to lean against, I place most of my weight on my better leg and dig my hand into the package. “Like, money?”
“Yeah.” He sets his elbows on the counter and nods. “Dude’s name was Paine, and he had a rep for being dirty. It’s not surprising to us that Vallejo had some kind of connection there and covered up his own death.”
“Was?”
I keep my eyes on Archer only, despite the burning stare I feel on the side of my face from Drake. But I guess my question was too vague, because Archer responds with, “Was?”
“You said his namewasPaine. That implies death, name change, or he’s living in the Cayman Islands and enjoying his money.”
“Oh, yeah.” He inclines his chin and tries with all his might not to stare at my face. My splotchy skin. My swollen eyes. I look terrible, I’m sure. But I’ve officially run out of fucks to give.
“He’s dead,” he clarifies. “About two years back, he was caught up in a B&E gone bad.” He casts a quick glance to Drake. But I don’t follow his lead. I can’t. Because once I start, I’m not sure I’ll be able to stop. “He was home alone,” he continues, bringing his focus back to me. “Recently divorced… for the third time. His kids are in their thirties and forties now. Grown up and uninterested in visiting their dad. He was enjoying a snifter of whiskey, according tohisM.E., and had steak and potatoes for dinner before that. Home intruder came in through a bedroom window to lift some shiny things. Paine heard a noise, went upstairs to investigate, and earned himself a dozen knife wounds to the chest. Died within minutes. Intruder booked it out of there and was never found again. The case remains unsolved.”
I take a tiny cookie from the box and nibble a bit off the edge. “How do you know it was an intended burglary?”
“Because his daughter and ex-wife were able to identify missing pieces of jewelry. A Rolex, and some gold chains he’d collected over the years. Cash was gone, and a few other bits and bobs were, too.”
“Is no one considering the possibility that this was Vallejo and his men taking care of a loose end?” Finally, I give in and look at Drake. “I can’t be the most suspicious person in this room. And yet, no one is wondering if Paine was dealt with so Vallejo’s big secret was safe?”
“It’s where we’re leaning now that we know Vallejo isn’t in the ground,” Drake murmurs seriously. “But at this point, it doesn’t much matter. Solving Paine’s case doesn’t help us with our current case.”
“And the current case,” I clarify, “is me? Trying not to get killed.”
“Pretty much,” Archer cuts in. “Until this week, we believed Vallejo was dead. Then you happen across an execution, and you’re hearing that name. It’s opening shit up for us. We know who we’re looking for Ms. Swanson, but—”
“Rory,” I remind him. My mother was Ms. Swanson, and now that she’s gone… “Please call me Rory.”
He flattens his lips and inclines his chin. “Rory. We know who we’re looking for. And we know a lot of his former haunts and soldiers. But he’s had five years to live invisible. We’re playing catch up now. He’ll have new names, new IDs, new houses, new accounts. It’s like trying to find a needle in a haystack, but we’re blind, and the haystack is on fire.”
Drake’s lips curl into a gentle smile that arrows straight for my stomach and leaves me almost winded. But I continue to nibble on my cookie and pretend his stare doesn’t setmeon fire. “We don’t know how to find him, Rory. The only certainty we have right now is that he has an uncanny ability to find you. And motive,” he adds as an afterthought. Frowning. “I can’t figure out his motive yet.”
“I was a witness…” I crunch on the cookie and wish for a glass of milk to swallow it down with. “Witnesses get—” I raise a hand and make a slashing motion across my neck. “It’s the mob.”
He shakes his head, more serious than I want to be right now. “We already knew his name, remember? We already have witnesses, and we already have CCTV footage of his stooges in the street. It’s something aboutyou,” he presses, peering deep into my eyes. “You specifically. What about Aurora Swanson has him so fuckin’ obsessed?”
I reach up and scratch the shell of my ear, and though on the inside, my mind and heart and grief all battle a war of sadness and heartache, on the outside, I present the detectives with a smile. “We come back to the fact that he thinks I’m cute.”
“Ha-ha.” Archer actually chuckles. I swear he does. But he lets his head droop and his brain work hard. “Maybe you saw someone there you shouldn’t have,” he ponders. “Maybe you passed someone in the street who, in your conscious mind, isn’t connected. But perhaps they’re the key to blow this all open.”
“The key is in my… subconscious mind?”
“Maybe!” He lifts his head again and looks me up and down. “No one else from that night has a target on their head, Rory. No one else is being hunted down. We’ve made a public plea for information, and we’ve named our witnesses on the news, purely to see if it gets Vallejo hunting them, too.”
I grab another cookie and frown. “That wasn’t very nice of you, Detective. Being shot at sucks.”
He chokes out a soft laugh and reaches up to massage an invisible ache in his shoulder. “I know what being shot at feels like, Ms—” he stops and swallows. “Rory. We were careful with what we shared, and we protected those we named. You and Detective Banks are not our only hidden duo right now.”
“We’re not?” I look at Drake and raise a single brow. “I wonder if they’re having as much fun as we are?”
Archer thankfully takes my words for sarcasm, because he drops his gaze and grins. “We’re doing what we can to draw Vallejo out, but so far, he has not been seen once since this all began.”
“So…” Nerves slam into my stomach as Drake pushes up to stand and wanders to the fridge. He takes out the carton of milk, then a tall drinking glass, his aftershave lingering long after his body passes me by. “Y-you need something to draw him out? You need a target for him to shoot at.”
Drake presses the now-full glass to my hand and shakes his head before the words finish leaving my mouth. “We’re not putting you on a platter and hoping he’ll show his face.”
“Why not?” I sip my drink and scowl. I want to say, ‘My mom is dead, which means I no longer have to worry about stressing her out.’ But I don’t think the detectives will accept that gracefully, so instead, I say, “Protect me. Put me somewhere that’ll achieve what we need, while keeping me safe.”
