Page 61 of Torched Spades
Holstering my gun, I pick up the phone and make my way into the bedroom. “Nobody likes a kiss ass, Owen. Now, continue….”
“The plate’s registered to a Sandra Rosenthal. Dentist’s wife and stay-at-home mom to three kids, and according to her bank records, getting fucked in the ass by her dermatologist. Shit, do you know how much Botox injections are a pop? I’m in the wrong damn—”
I freeze. “Has it been reported stolen?”
“Not as of two hours ago.” He sighs heavily. “Look, man, let this go. Admit your paranoia is kicking in, and—”
“How the hell does some rich bitch not notice her fucking car isn’t sitting in her…?”Oh shit.The sudden grim realization of what’s happened cuts through any lingering fury over Becca and Ledger and rips down one of the last remaining pieces of my veil. “Where is Sandra Rosenthal right now?”
“Not my job to tail law-abiding citizens.”
I grit my teeth. “How about missing ones?”
“What the hell are you insinuating?” he asks, a wistful lilt to this voice.
“That the only thing ‘kicking in’ is a body count.”
* * *
Some people are a welcome distraction. Others are a tolerable interruption. Owen is neither. Seeing him sitting in the parking lot of the Port of Providence is like getting an eight a.m. wake-up call by last night’s bad decision.
I’d like to flip him off and go about my workday, but that’s not the way I handle my shit. Besides, he didn’t drive out to the docks at seven-forty-five in the morning to have coffee. He’s here to tell me some shit I already know and don’t want to hear. But no man ever rerouted destiny by turning his back on it, so climbing out of my car, I make my way over to his SUV.
Bracing my hands on either side of the open window, I lower my chin and stare at him across the console. I don’t bother asking the question we both know he’s here to answer. Besides, I’m too fucking tired for small talk.
Owen doesn’t turn to look back at me. Instead, he keeps his head lowered, his gaze locked on the white-knuckled grip he has on the base of the steering wheel. “Sandra Rosenthal was supposed to be visiting her ailing father in Tennessee, only she never got on the flight,” he says wearily. “That’s why no one reported her car missing. It was supposed to be parked at the airport.”
It’s exactly the words I expected, but they still suck to hear out loud. “They’ll never find her body,” I murmur. “And if they do, they’ll wish they hadn’t.”
Slowly lifting his head, Owen tilts his chin toward me, and for the first time, I see more than determination and frustration in his green gaze.I see fear.“We’re getting you the hell out of Providence.”
The fuck we are.“No.”
“What do you mean, ‘no?’”
“Just what I said. I’m not leaving.”
Releasing his grip on the steering wheel, Owen shoves both hands into his disheveled blond hair and tugs at the roots. “Johnny, open your eyes! This pot isn’t just simmering; it’s about to boil the hell over.”
“Simmering pot? What the hell is that supposed to…?” Jesus Christ, weighted anchors, simmering pots… I’m so fucking done with goddamn metaphors, and I’m about to unload two weeks of insomnia on this asshole when I catch the dark circles under his eyes. The ones that match mine. The ones that match Becca’s. A whisper of warning slithers down my spine, and I push off the side of the car, standing at my full height. “Say what you came here to say, Owen. What aren’t you telling me?”
“There’s been a setback.”
“What kind of setback?”
“Your plea bargain is in jeopardy,” he says solemnly.
“The tapes are missing.”
Four words that hit like a sledgehammer to the chest. “What the fuck do you mean, ‘the tapes are missing?’” I roar, slamming my palm against the side panel. “How can they be missing? Where are they?”
“I don’t know. I just got the call this morning.” The corners of his mouth curve down as he turns toward me. “You know what this means, Johnny. Without them…”
He doesn’t have to say the rest. Without the tapes, there’s no evidence. Without evidence, the only thing they have is my testimony.
I think of Becca and how I assumed they followed her to the diner. How they watched her walk through the front while I slipped in through the back.
But they weren’t there for her. They were there for me. I thought I was protecting Becca by sticking close to her. Instead, I’ve led the wolves right to her door.
