Page 64 of The Liar

If the shooter had been hired by Ortez, I understoodtaking out a cop who was investigating him. But if West was right and Neal had been on his payroll, there would have been no reason to kill him.

Unless he was no longer useful.

Perhaps Neal had had a crisis of conscience. Or, more likely, had run his mouth to the wrong person.

“I need to know what the connection between the cases is.” Hanson sounded tired, and I felt a pang of regret at causing him any distress. He might not be the partner I’d have chosen for myself, but he’d always had my back. “You can’t keep it to yourself when it’s vital to cracking the case.”

I sighed. I was going to have to give him something, or this could cause an irreparable rift between us. “I don’t know the shooter’s identity, but it’s likely they’re involved in organized crime.”

Hanson wheeled his chair around the desks until only a few yards separated us and then stretched his legs out. “Do you think it could be connected to the Sloane murder too?”

I nodded slowly. “It’s possible.”

“Sasha Sloane was supposedly Carlos Ortez’s mistress.” Hanson folded his hands on his lap. “Neal should have been the detective assigned to the case. If not for him being sick the day the body was discovered, he would have been. Perhaps this is an attempt to shut down the investigation.”

“Worth looking into,” I agreed.

It wasn’t the worst hypothesis. It’s possible the cases were connected, although not necessarily for the reason Hanson suggested. I’d go with it because allowing Hanson to operate under this assumption might allow us to get on with the investigation without too many further questions.

“I’ll see if there are any black market mercenaries known to be affiliated with Ortez’s operation,” Hanson said, looking pleased to have a course of action.

“I need to make a phone call,” I told him. “I’ll be back in a moment.”

“Wait.” He reached for me, but then dropped his arm.

I frowned. “What?”

“Before you do, I need to speak to you about something else. Privately.”

A cold finger trailed down my spine.

Oh, God. Did he have some kind of confession to make? Because if so, I wasn’t sure I wanted to hear it.

But no. Surely if he did, this entire conversation would have gone differently.

Hanson stood, dragged his chair back around behind his desk, and collected another couple of sheets of paper with printed text on them from beneath his screen. “Come with me.”

“We’re alone in here,” I pointed out.

He shook his head. “Trust me. This needs to happen in a private room.”

A thread of dread unspooled in my gut as I got to my feet and followed him to an interview room. He didn’t sit, so I remained standing too. After a brief hesitation, he handed me the papers. On the top was a printout of West’s undercover driver’s license and passport. I flipped to the next page. His name was at the top of the document.

“What’s this?” I asked, afraid to know the answer.

Hanson drew in a deep breath and then slumped. “Your husband isn’t who you think he is.”

Oh, shit.

The bottom dropped out of my stomach.

I struggled to keep a neutral expression. “What do you mean?”

He couldn’t know, could he? There’s no way he could have figured it out. Not with another agency using all their tools to hide West’s trail.

His eyebrows pinched together. “Something about him is off. First, we saw him with that other woman, and then at the fundraiser, he pulled a gun. Don’t bother denying it. I saw itmyself on the security footage.”

“Plenty of people carry concealed.” It was weak, but the best I could do.

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