Page 165 of Don't Say a Word
“I didn’t say yes to a date.”
“You didn’t say no.”
He found my plates, pulled out two, and put two slices on each one.
He was making himself at home. Searched two drawers before finding my bottle openers, cracked two beers, then brought everything to my small dining table. I couldn’t help but follow him.
He sat down and took a bite. “What a couple of days,” he said. “You okay?”
I shrugged, took a bite myself. It was still hot. “Angie is good. Talking to Alina Martinez was tough.”
“The FBI is extraditing John Brighton from Mexico. He’s already in custody.”
“They knew we were getting close,” I said. “Ramos was trying to save his enterprise and ended up destroying it.”
“Pretty much.” Cal took a sip of beer.
“What about the shooters?”
“We know who they are. The dead guy is a known thug, runs with a gang of known thugs. They were smart, but not as smart as they thought, and we caught their vehicle on camera on Dunlap. Now they’re wanted and we’ll find them. Plus, evidence at the scene—they destroyed the cameras, but didn’t police their brass. Fingerprints on all of it.”
“Did you get Bradford to talk?”
“I’m going to work on him tomorrow. Fifty-fifty he will. The FBI is going to have a sit-down with Kayla Bradford. She’s in college in Tennessee, but may be able to fill in some gaps. Even if she doesn’t help, we have a solid case against Brighton and Ramos. But if Ramos gets out, watch yourself. He blames you.”
“Great,” I said sarcastically and drank some beer.
“I’m serious.”
And he was.
“I’m okay,” I said, and meant it.
He looked at me for a beat too long. Cal wasn’t like most of the guys I’d dated. He was cute, sure, with his short-cropped hair a little too long on top and bright blue eyes. He looked like theboy next door. He was talkative—I usually dated the strong silent types—and he was supremely confident. I liked confident men, but Cal had this arrogance that could be off-putting, but wasn’t because he was so damn cute.
He listened. He wasn’t so cocky that he didn’t listen to everyone’s opinion, then make an informed decision.
And he said I was brilliant. That was a big plus in his favor.
We ate, chatted about the case. They’d shut down the house where the dealers picked up their drugs—down the street from Mrs. Mackey. Cal’s team was processing it, but he was focusing on Ramos himself. “We’re pushing for no bail,” he said, “and your mom is pretty amazing. Did you know there are cameras in your office? When she pushed the panic button, they turned on. The entire thing is on video—with sound.”
“I didn’t know that.”Good to know, I thought.
“So we might get him in lock-up until trial. But still, be careful if he manages to get out on bail.”
“Peter?”
“Don’t know. He’s not my concern, but that kid has no emotions. I think he’s a budding sociopath.”
“Terrific, we need more sociopaths,” I said with thick sarcasm.
“Hitch is working him, so maybe we’ll get something more. He’ll be in juvie for a while at a minimum. Oh, I think we found Scott Jimenez’s body.”
“That was fast.”
“Not really. He’s a John Doe found in the middle of nowhere out past Buckeye. Near skeleton. But the timing works for when he disappeared, so they’ll run some comparisons and see if they can confirm ID. Age, gender, and height all match.” He looked at his watch. “Damn, I gotta go.”
“Okay.”
