Page 30 of Angel's Share

“So, seriously,” Aidan said, back to English. “Why are we here?”

Bev removed the goggles and lowered her chin, all of her earlier moxie vanishing. “My social worker called. Cara talked to Deidra and thinks ‘we can make it work.’”

“I’m not gonna let that happen,” Angel said.

Bev leaned her head on his shoulder and batted her lashes up at him. “My savior,” she teased, though by the way her arm wound around his, holding tight, there was some truth to her words. But Bev, who, according to her file, had been a foster kid since she was eight, was also wise to reality. “I appreciate that you think you have a say. But you don’t.” She lifted her head and turned her attention back to Aidan. “I’m also tired of being the damsel in this scenario. Not my style.” As if the shredded jeans, rock tee, and battered camo jacket didn’t give it away. “Yeah, this sucked.” She gestured around the house and wrinkled her nose, the freckles across the bridge melding together. “A lot. And I do not want to be back here. Ever. But while I was here, I kept my eyes and ears open. I thought I could help.”

“One,” Aidan said, “we’re getting you out of here. I’ve worked this job long enough and made enough connections to make sure that happens.” He stepped forward and crouched in front of her, making Beverly slightly taller than him, giving her the power that life and the system had taken from her. “In the meantime, you’re welcome to stay with me and Jamie in protective custody. But it’s your call, completely.”

“Can Angel stay too?” Tone neutral, she asked the question casually, as if it were no big deal, but the way she shifted on her feet, the fact she didn’t look away from Aidan, indicated it was in fact a very big deal. He guessed she rarely asked for any favors—and this one was non-negotiable.

“That’s his and Izzy’s call,” he answered. “But as far as I’m concerned, you’re both in protective custody while this case is ongoing. You’re all welcome at the condo.” He pointed at Angel’s Dodgers hoodie as he rose. “Though Jamie’s getting twitchy about the LA sports gear.”

“They’re good people,” Angel said to Bev. “Except that part.” Then to Aidan, “And my answer is yes, assuming Mom says it’s okay.”

Aidan bit back the smile that wanted to stretch across his face, keeping it as measured and professional as his heart could stand. “Okay, now that that’s settled, can we talk outside about whatever you saw and heard? The smell in here is about to do me in.”

“Need to show you a couple things first,” Bev said as she turned on her heel, leading them back to the home’s single bathroom at the end of the hallway. Despite the over tub window being open, the stench of mold and mildew made Aidan want to hurl, but seeing as Bev was climbing up onto the toilet lid, he had no choice but to hold it in. She lifted the picture off the wall above the toilet and handed it to Angel, then pointed at the writing on the wall. “Those are Darien’s dealers and clients. I caught him scratching another name on here the other day.”

Aidan squeezed into the narrow space on her left, between the toilet and sink, and skimmed the list of names, looking for anyone familiar. No one off the top of his—Wait. “Isn’t your social worker’s last name Dixon?”

“Yep,” she said, popping the p like Angel had done the other night. She tapped the fifth name down with her blunt nail. “That’s her brother.”

“You are definitely not coming back here,” Aidan said as he snapped pictures. “This is super helpful, Bev. Good job.”

She preened as she rehung the picture, but once she hopped back down on the floor, some of her confidence diminished. “I should have pointed it out last night or taken a picture, but everything was...” She waved a hand in the air, as if that could summon the words.

“Moving pretty fast all of a sudden,” Aidan completed for her. “And your job is to be a kid, not a detective.”

“Okay, but, one more thing.” She snapped her goggles back on and headed into the room she’d shared with Deidra’s and Darien’s junk, her space limited to the closet she’d kept in tip-top shape, a sharp contrast to the rest of the house. A step ladder was unfolded under a rectangular cutout in the closet ceiling, the heavy piece of wood that constituted a cover over it pushed slightly aside. It was the same sort of attic access as in the guest room closet of the home Aidan used to own before he’d move in with Jamie. “I hid up here once,” Bev said as she climbed the ladder. “Before I realized the dust and insulation would kill my eyes. When Angel told me Darien got busted for smuggling stolen stuff, I thought about it again.”

“That’s what I was trying to open wider when you got here,” Angel said, gesturing to the narrow attic opening Bev had slid through.

Wishing like hell he had his own pair of goggles and saying a prayer for the contents of his stomach, Aidan climbed the ladder. Reaching the opening, he pushed the cover the rest of the way aside and hefted himself up. On his knees, not enough clearance to stand, Aidan took one look around and covered his mouth with his hand. In part to keep out the dust and insulation, in part to cover his gaping surprise. “Hey, Angel,” he called from behind his fingers. “Can you ask Berat?—”

A section of the attic’s back slatted wall swung open—a hidden door beneath the structure’s A-frame. Blinding light streamed in, dust streamed out, then a blink later, Berat’s face and shoulders appeared at the opening. “Ask me what—” Berat started before gaping too. “I noticed this section of the siding didn’t line up. Guess I know why now.”

Aidan glanced again at the boxes of electronics and other electronic goods stacked at one end of the attic from floor to ceiling. “I think it’s safe to say the two thefts are connected.”

TWENTY

Jamie was practiced at maintaining his Southern charm in hostile situations. He’d learned as a player and coach and as a federal agent that his smile and accent tended to get him further faster than bluster and fury. When he and Aidan had been partnered, he was usually the polite cop to Aidan’s surly one. But when Cara Dixon, Beverly’s social worker, suggested that Bev be placed back in Deidra White’s care, Jamie’s genteel manner took a flying leap out the window. “Explain to us why you think it’s a good idea to put Bev back in that house?” he practically growled.

Even Matt’s neutral agent mode broke, anger coloring his cheeks. “She was hiding in a closet when we found her.”

“It was a tense situation,” Cara said, not looking up from the stack of case files in her arms, shuffling through them as if they were more important than the case at hand. “I’m sure it was a one-time thing.”

Matt removed the single folder he had tucked under his arm and set it on the end of the conference table where they stood. Opening it, he began spreading photos out as he spoke. “There were stacks of books, journals, and blankets in that closet. Bev stayed in that closet because the rest of the house was a pigsty.”

“Not to mention,” Jamie mentioned, “Deidra’s brother was using Bev, a fourteen-year-old minor, to blackmail another minor into committing felonies on his behalf.”

“That’s not been proven,” Cara said, looking anywhere but at them or the photos on the table.

“Are you Deidra’s lawyer now?”

“Of course not. I’m just trying to find a place for Beverly to land.”

Matt pointed at the photos, then didn’t speak again until Cara looked. She couldn’t hide her cringe. “That place?” Matt said.

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