Page 50 of A Life Betrayed

Truman’s face flushed red. “That was half a mil worth of product!”

“So run and tell that bitch from the OCB you were chatting up. Like you have about everything else.”

“I didn’t sell you out,” Truman growled. “She came to me with this gunrunning charge, trying to twist my arm, all right? She wanted dirt on you, and I told her to fuck off.”

“And she just happened to know about the holding company, the agreement with port authority?”

“Shit, she’s got the whole RCMP at her disposal. If the shipments are getting seized, the Feds are going to start sniffing around to see what else they can find.” Truman gingerly brought his fingers to his split lip. “But in spite of all that, I came here, to your turf, to meet with you—someone I would consider a reasonable man—”

“Reasonable?” Mathias repeated, looking down at him with contempt. “You’re more deluded than I thought.”

“I’m helping you out here, trying to smooth things over,” Truman said, holding up his hands. “From what I’ve heard, this broad won’t let you out of her sights. I figure I can help with your little problem and solve one of my own in the process.Who knows? If we play our cards right, all of this might just disappear.”

Mathias felt a flicker of warning. “The fuck are you talking about, Truman?”

“Allen. She’s the one pushing hard for this,” Truman said, lowering his voice. “She’s also the one whipping Border Services into a frenzy and siccing them on my ass. She goes quiet, and what do they have? With no one to lead the investigation, they’re back to square one. The government’s fighting a war on multiple fronts. You think they wanna bleed resources on a little provincial spat?”

The implication slid like ice down the back of Mathias’s neck.

“All I’m saying is, I ain’t no stranger to spilling a bit of blue blood to get the job done. As far as I’m concerned, if someone’s in my way, I take them down, badge or no badge. She’s been at me to meet again, so I figured it’s about time I took another trip to Montreal.” Truman chuckled. “You know how I like the women in Quebec.”

This was an unexpected development. Mathias brushed the blood from his knuckles on the leg of his pants. He reached for his still-smoking cigarette, brought it to his mouth, and took a slow drag.

Mathias knew that he shouldn’t, but upon returning to Montreal, he’d forgone his own apartment in favor of the safe house. With his world closing in around him, it was the only place he felt calm enough to think, and after his meeting with Truman that afternoon, there was a good deal to think about.

By the time he arrived, it was late in the evening. Mathias sat at the dining table while Rayan made coffee in the kitchen. Spread out before him was the series of photos trackingInspector Allen’s movements. He wasn’t sure what he was looking for—justification? Mathias had mulled over Truman’s proposal the entire drive back to the city, unsure why it had hit a nerve, like a splinter lodged beneath the skin.

Rayan appeared at his side, placing a steaming mug down on the table. His hand reached out to pluck a photo partially obscured by another in the pile. It was Allen at the playground, pushing a little girl with pigtails on the swing. “She has a kid?”

“Her sister’s.”

Rayan put the photo down and pushed several of the images around on the table with his fingertips. “What are you going to do about her?” he asked cautiously.

Mathias hesitated, recalling how flippantly Truman had thrown down his gambit—a simple solution. “There are things that can be done,” he said, and Rayan’s gaze flicked to his, a look of warning in his eyes. Mathias sat back, thrumming his fingers against the table. “Truman’s under the impression it would be a relatively easy problem to solve.”

“She’s not some dealer who’s stepped out of line,” Rayan said sharply. “She’s a police officer. This is her job.”

“And this is mine.”

Mathias didn’t say that he, too, had found himself unsettled by Truman’s proposition. Rayan was right about one thing—Frances Allen hadn’t ventured into their world for a share of the promised bounty. She was there because of a sense of duty, as cheap and misguided as that was.

“You’re better than that,” Rayan muttered.

First philosophy, now charity—as though the man had emerged from a state of stasis and was only now determining where he stood. Mathias felt the fury rise like a wave. It was new, this power Rayan had over him and the way his words pierced Mathias to his very core.

“Am I?” Mathias sneered. “You think a couple of college papers make you an expert on right and wrong? You don’t have a fucking clue.” He stood and reached for his jacket where it hung on the back of the chair. “And I don’t recall this righteous sense of justice before.”

Rayan couldn’t hide the shadow of a grimace. “You know that was different.”

“Was it? Or maybe you don’t remember how fallible you are.”

“I remember,” Rayan said, looking away.

Of course he remembers, Mathias admonished himself, thinking of all the times he’d awoken in the night to find Rayan gone from bed, sleep eluding him.

“I told you I couldn’t give you what you wanted,” Mathias said in a low voice. “You know what I am. Your newly adopted moral code doesn’t apply where I’m concerned.” He pulled on his jacket and strode toward the door.

“People change,” Rayan said to his retreating back.

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