Page 72 of The Consequences of Love and Vengeance

I even went as far as talking Ms. Lincoln into getting the building manager to let me see surveillance tapes. Problem was there wasn’t any footage for the period of time my neighbor said he came by. That alone is suspicious.

Without getting a technical team involved, I have no way of knowing if anyone hacked into the building’s security footage, deleting anything, or if someone might have knocked the recording offline. Either way, there is no video from any camera on the property during that time frame.

Either it’s a coincidence or someone doesn’t want me to know their identity. That doesn’t stop me from believing, without a doubt, Drago is innocent. The photos present a pretty clear picture. That thick envelope—most likely containing cash—originated from Brandon and Drago never took it from him.

There isn’t a judge in the state that would bring charges against Drago with these surfacing, I think, gripping the photos in my hand.

“Andrews.” Tom’s voice booms as he enters his office, kicking the door closed behind him. “You’re here early.”

“Had an errand to run this morning and finished up sooner than I thought I would, so figured I’d c’mon by.”

“Houston isn’t due to arrive until nine.” He sits behind his desk.

Fucking figures, which is why I’m purposely here now rather than later. I don’t trust Lance. Never have and never will.

That errand I said I had might’ve been a little white lie.

“That’s okay.” I shrug like it isn’t a big deal. “He knows I’ve got this.”

I have to bite my cheek to stop myself from laughing at that.

“Well, then”—his eyebrows pull together—“give me the update on Acerbi.”

He leans back in his chair.

“Sir, I don’t believe Drago”—Tom’s eyebrow lifts, making me aware of my fuck-up by using his first name, so I scramble, trying to make it fit naturally—“Acerbi is participating in illegal activities like the girl suggested he was.”

“Detective,” he says, in that authoritative tone he’s known for when someone hasn’t given him what he’s expecting, “I don’t give a damn what you believe. I directed you to get the evidence that would back up that photo you obtained.”

“About that”—I start as I pull the opened envelope out of my purse—“I have evidence that backs up the opposite.”

I stand, step to Tom’s desk and pull out the photos, laying them in front of him.

“What’s this?” he says so slowly that I’m expecting a growl to follow.

“Look at them.” His eyes flick up to mine, showing me his dislike for ordering him. “Sir, you’ll understand why I know Mr. Acerbi wasn’t accepting drugs or money or well, anything once you look through those.”

I nod my head, looking down at the stack of photos in his hand. He leans forward, placing his elbows on top of his desk, and then starts riffling through the shots.

Tom’s eyes stay neutral, but there is a tick in his jaw. I guess that’s understandable. He’s wanted to bring Drago’s family down for a long time. From my understanding, Tom, back when he was a senior detective in the field, worked eighteen months on a case that was supposed to take down Vincent Acerbi for the murder of an undercover cop.

Not only did evidence disappear from the crime lab but so did a witness.

Putting myself in Tom’s shoes, wouldn’t I want any crumb to bring down a family I believed was guilty?

“Where did you get these?”

I don’t want to tell him they arrived at my condo, but I can’t tell him they were left at the station either. He could easily track that in the logs.

“They were left for me anonymously. I don’t know where they came from or who left them for me.”

“How convenient.”

“Maybe,” I say for lack of knowing what else to say to that. “But it still proves Acerbi didn’t make any deal with Marino.”

“Who knows you and Houston are on this assignment?”

“Other than Mike and Connie, I don’t think anyone else other than you, sir.”

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