Page 111 of Brazen Criminals

Officer Tom Reed stands in the yard in jeans and a light jacket. “Hey,” he says, “mind if I join you?”

Trips and I lock eyes and I realize it’s my call. The guys are waiting for me.

I swallow, putting on my best customer service smile. “Sure. What’s up?” I ask, watching Reed as he approaches the house, choosing to lean against the porch rails rather than coming up the stairs. A permeable barrier between the cop and the crooks.

He runs his hand through his hair. “I don’t know if you’ve been told, but your ex-boyfriend was arrested. He, well, he was a pretty bad guy. I read through your statement and I’m sorry if I seemed a little tough on you.”

“Thank you for telling me,” I say.

He clears his throat again. “It also looks like he might be wanted for some older open crimes we have on the books. I know it’s a long shot, but two years ago, he might have gotten into a bit of a scuffle. Do you remember if he was ever a bit bruised, maybe had bloody knuckles or something like that?”

Shit. Do I lie? To a cop who just apologized to me?

I shrug, figuring that my slight panic could be interpreted as deep thought. At least, that’s what I hope. “Honestly, I hardly knew Bryce two years ago. We’d only just started dating, so I didn’t see him every day.”

Reed bobs his chin, but he’s watching Trips. “He says he had nothing to do with this other crime, but circumstantial evidence makes him look good for it.”

When Trips gives nothing away, Officer Reed turns back to me. “Let me know if you remember anything. Do you still have my card?”

I nod.

He pushes off from the porch with one last glance at Trips. “Well, I’ll be around,” he says, striding back down to the sidewalk.

I track him until he gets in his car and drives away.

Safe, I collapse back into Walker’s lap, Jansen’s hand warm on my calves.

“Are we good?” RJ asks.

“We’re good,” I say. “But I think I could go for some cookies.”

Everyone laughs as we trudge back to the kitchen, the temptation of melty chocolate stronger than the last of the faded sun.

Gathered in the small space, the smell of warming sugar and flour washes over me. Jansen pulls me up on the counter next to him, Emma claiming the stool closest to me, while Walker threatens anyone who gets too close to his bowl with a wooden spoon—Jansen gets walloped twice. RJ grabs himself a Mountain Dew while Trips watches us all, trying not to grin.

This is good.

We’re good.

Epilogue

Walker

Myphoneflashesinthe middle of the night, waking me. I’m sleeping alone tonight, which sucks, but I don’t want to rush Clara. She’s no longer tensing up when I touch her, so I hope that’s a sign she’s feeling safer, stronger.

I grab my phone from my nightstand.

The anonymized chat program RJ put on my phone is flashing. I pop it open.

NightAntiques: Update. IRC.

I run my hand through my hair, blinking sleep out of my eyes. It’s 2:48 in the morning—this can’t be good.

DaVinciDeux: K. Give me 5.

I roll out of bed and power up my laptop, opening the anonymizer that the fence prefers we use for discussing business. RJ said something about it rerouting our IP address through pretty much the whole world, so it must be safe.

DaVinciDeux: Here. What’s up?

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