Page 116 of Cruel Debts
"You found the cold cases I reopened?"
I thought I'd eliminated all traces of myself. That I'd covered my tracks. But I hadn't, because otherwise, Hawke wouldn't have been able to trace my movements. And if I had done a good job of covering my tracks, whoever tried to kill me wouldn't have even known who I was. That I existed.
"It was hard work, but you know me. If I wanna know something, I'll find a way." He shrugged, rubbing the back of his neck. "Trinity showed up on our doorstep in some trouble. She came here to Port Wylde looking for you. And when she realized we'd given up, she put us through the wringer, until we reopened your case, so to speak, and started looking again."
I turned to Trinity with tears in my eyes. "You shouldn't have come here. You should be at home, preparing to marry into a good family and have babies and live a quiet life?—"
"Uh, I don't think the Trinity you left behind is the same Trinity you've got in front of you now, bud." Asher put a hand on my shoulder, grounding me. Reassuring me. "She's done a lot of growing up while you've been missing. And if not for her, we would have never even taken another look. We would have just written you off for dead and gone on with our lives."
He looks ashamed. I don't blame him. "So if she came here looking for me, then how?—"
"Your parents called Liam and asked him to take on her contract. Find her and bring her back."
Liam grinned. "She's like a cockroach, though. You can't get rid of her that easily."
"Hey!" Trinity reached across the table and swatted at him, and he shot her a wink before brushing off her tiny, soft smacks. "You're an asshole, Liam."
"And you're a brat."
"We've established this," she snorted, turning her back on him. "Hawke?—"
Just then, the door to the interrogation room opened, and in walked a man I knew I must've seen at least once or twice in my time in Port Wylde, though I couldn't place where.
"What's the big idea?" the new guy in the room asked. "How come, knowing the arrangement we have, you three and your side piece would wander intomyprecinct and demand to speak with me with some vagrant in tow?"
Asher stepped around me, his hand still on my shoulder, his grip tight. "Mistwood, we'd like you to meet the real Keehn McCoy."
FORTY-EIGHT
LIAM
I'd never seenMistwood's weasel-looking ass so shocked or scared in his life. But when he worked out that Keehn wasn't there to press charges, things mellowed out a little. By a little, I meant a fraction of a percent. Because past the worry that Keehn would want to have him prosecuted, which I hadn't even thought about, was the worry that Keehn would want his life back.
And there couldn't exactly be two Keehn McCoys out there running around with the same social security number, date of birth, and badge number.
We needed to talk to someone skilled in fixing problems like this.
We needed to talk to St. Clair. Only she'd be able to sort this out.
The ride to the Guild was a long, awkward, silent one. Well, except for Keehn and Trinity, who sat together rehashing things he could and couldn't remember, her worry only overshadowed by his guilt.
"I'm so sorry I left like that, Tee," he muttered, his hands gripped around hers like a lifeline. Like if he let her go, she'd disappear.
Asher glanced at the rear view mirror at least ten times in the last six blocks, watching them.
"Do you want me to drive?"
He shook his head and scowled at the road in front of him. "No. I'm fine."
"That's the furthest thing from the truth that I've ever heard." I flick imaginary lint off my shirt. "But whatever."
I returned my attention to the two in the backseat and frowned.
Hawke rolled out with Mistwood in the police cruiser he'd only get to drive one last time, determined to make sure he made it to the Guild without chickening out.
If he bailed now, we'd have more than just a little issue on our hands. We'd have a literal shitstorm. And I wasn't about to take the fall for his ass.
He had some shit to answer for, and it was his responsibility to straighten this out. He knew the risks, taking an identity that didn't belong to him?—
