Page 39 of Dirty Liars

“He’ll be a really good cop one day,” I said.

“I know. It’s not a profession I would want any of my kids to go into. Doug is like Ben. There are no gray areas. There’s good and evil, and their goal is to eradicate evil by using whatever means necessary. But there’s a price to pay for any cop. There are things that can never be unseen and experiences that live in the depths of your soul until you take your last breath. And those experiences bleed onto spouses and kids. You think Ben’s kids don’t know something is going on right now? That their lives or their dad’s life is in danger?”

“You’re worried about our kids,” I said, touching his shoulder gently.

“I’m worried that I won’t be able to protect them from the kinds of things we see on a daily basis. I just want them to have a normal childhood.”

“They will,” I said.

“How do you know?”

“Because you’re worried about it.”

Jack grunted and squeezed my hand and we left The Mad King for what I hoped was the last time.

* * *

The drive to Newcastle was made in silence except for the occasional rumble in my stomach. We’d had a busy morning, and hadn’t had a chance to stop for lunch.

I loved Newcastle. It was fun and trendy and artistic. The mayor had done a great job of revitalizing a place that I hadn’t thought would be able to be revitalized. There was a lot of history in Newcastle. It was the birthplace of a couple of presidents, there were several buildings that predated the Revolutionary War, and it looked like a storybook town. Not to mention tourism was booming because they’d hired a twenty-year-old to run their TikTok page and make it look like the best vacation destination ever.

The streets were cobbled and red bricked, and the businesses leaned toward art galleries and boutiques. There was a popular theater for live productions, and the bar across the street mimicked that of a 1920s speakeasy. Newcastle drew a mix of young professionals, well-off retirees, and creatives.

It was set up like a combination of both the Garden District and the French Quarter in New Orleans, and there was a public park in the center square and a wedding cake of a cathedral right in the middle of it.

We passed the park and drove down tree-lined streets of brownstones that had been built in the last decade, but looked like they’d been there for a century. Once you got past the brownstones the lots and the houses got a little larger, though not by much.

Theo Vasilios’s house was a split-level white stucco with an orange tile roof that was much more suited to Greece than Newcastle, Virginia. It was on a corner lot and there was a wrought-iron fence with brick columns that surrounded the property. I could see the carriage house at the back corner of the property.

“Nice neighborhood,” I said. “What do you think these houses cost?”

“The cheapest is probably a million at minimum,” he said. “Property values in Newcastle have skyrocketed over the last five years or so.”

Jack parked street side since the driveway was narrow, and we walked along the path that led to the carriage house. There were three bays for vehicles on the bottom level, and circular black stairs led to the upstairs living quarters.

Max Ortega was waiting for us on his balcony, dressed in gray sweats and a white T-shirt. His feet were bare, and I could see the weapon tucked in the side of his sweatpants. He’d known we were coming. Probably had security cameras all over the property.

“Max Ortega?” Jack asked, showing his badge.

“That’s me,” Max said.

“We need to ask you a few questions about Theo and Chloe Vasilios.”

There was a long pause before Max finally said, “Come on up.”

I followed Jack up the circular staircase, but I kept my eyes on Max Ortega. He didn’t look like anyone you’d want to tangle with. I was guessing he was somewhere in his early fifties. His dark hair was cut close, but there were hints of gray, and his beard was short. It was obvious he kept himself in excellent shape. His eyes were dark and studied us intently as we made our way up.

“I’m surprised you’re still on the case,” Max said. “I figured they would have brought in the State Department to shut you down by now.”

“They’re trying,” Jack said, shrugging. “This isn’t my first rodeo.”

Max might have smiled, but I couldn’t be sure. He didn’t look like the kind of man who smiled all that often.

“I’ve seen your file,” Max said. At Jack’s long stare Max shrugged. “I was curious if you’d be able to handle it. I’ve got connections of my own.”

“And?” Jack asked.

“You can handle it,” Max said. “They’re not going to like that. Come on inside. You want water?”

---