I grit my teeth, not wanting to have this conversation, but there’s absolutely no way I can avoid it. Still, I try anyway, playing dumb, because I’m not supposed to know about Desiree. My eyes burn when I think of what might have happened to her.
No, rein it in. This isn’t the time to fall apart.
I prop one hand on my hip, even though Cavender can’t see it. “Didn’t we already have this discussion, Detective? Because I have nothing new to add to what I already told you.”
He tsk-tsks, almost sardonically. “Different homicide, Ms. Maison. This one took place in a property that’s also connected to you. Not your condo.”
“Where?” I snap out, even though I’m aware of precisely where.
He rattles off the address I know by heart.
“What the hell happened? Who?” My questions come in racing clips.
I hear clicking over the line, as if he’s annoyingly playing with an ink pen. “Come down to the station in an hour, and I’ll give you more details.”
Goddamn it, he wants me to come to him. Probably so it’ll be easier to arrest me if he decides there’s even a shred of evidence to connect me. Which thereisn’tbecause I wasn’t there.
I’m so sorry, Desiree. If I’d been there ...I shut the thought down. It won’t do me a damn bit of good.
Coulda. Woulda. Shoulda.
Nothing can help Desiree now.
My eyes sting again with acid tears, but I force myself back to the conversation. What did Cavender say? Oh yeah, he wants me to come downtown.
“That timing doesn’t work for me, Detective.”
He has the audacity to chortle. “Oh, excuse me. This isn’t a friendly request, Ms. Maison. You come to the stationorI’ll find you and bring you in.”
I think about where I am right now, and it almost makes me laugh.
Yeah, right, Detective. You ain’t finding me.
But then my mind returns to Desiree again. If there’s a chance the cops can somehow find this guy—the one who Trey tracked down—then I have no choice but to go and do whatever I can to put them on the right path too.Maybe I can offer them something Trey has, and they can find him?Renewed by the possibility, I decide.
“I’ll be there at noon, Detective.”
“Good, Ms. Maison. I take it you know where you’re going?”
Snide motherfucker.
“Yeah, Cavender. I know where the hell the police station is. I went there when I was raped as a teenager, but no one seemed to be taking sexual assault seriously back then. See you at noon.”
I hang up the call and go in search of Moses with my heart hammering. He’s not going to like this at all, but maybe he’ll see it my way too.
Us and Mount.
The police and the FBI.
Maybe even the cartel, if it’s safe-ish.
The more people looking for this guy only helps my odds of living through the day. Maybe no one else has to die because of this craziness, except for the man himself. I pray he meets his maker—and soon.
I don’t have to go far to find Moses. When I close the bedroom door behind me, he’s in the living room with Trey and Jules. They’re all standing around Trey’s computer on the table. Moses has his arms crossed, and a militant expression lines his face.
“We’re not using Mags as bait. It’s not fucking happening. Mention it again, and you and I are gonna have a problem.” He glares down at Trey, and the others look in my direction as I enter the room.
“I didn’t mean it like that,” Trey says to Moses while meeting my gaze. “I just said we need to draw him out somehow and we know Mags is who he’s most interested in.”