the cops don’t care about
why
things happen, they only care about the goddamned law. Your daddy talked about moving money—we don’t even know whose money. What are the chances they’re gonna believe Davis did it for the greater good unless we have proof?”
Nausea swirled in her stomach. She knew what it was like when the authorities suspected you of involvement in a crime. That was another reason why her mother could never forgive her dad, because she’d been humiliated by the cops and the press.
Being treated that way by people who were supposed to protect you shattered your belief in the justice system. “I don’t want to go through another scandal.”
“Whoever he took the money from is going to want it back. From the look of that guy in the subway, they’re not going to ask nicely.” The wind tossed his hair in his eyes again and he shoved it impatiently away from his face. “All we need to do is find the letter he sent you and deliver it to the cops. Going to them before we have that evidence is only going to make your daddy look guilty and possibly put you in danger.”
She stared at him, feeling like she was about to come apart at the seams. But she wasn’t the only one suffering. Fine lines of fatigue etched Brent’s eyes; a touch of crimson stained the whites. He hadn’t slept much last night.
“Any idea where he might have mailed this thing?” he asked, quieter now.
Her brain turned slowly. “My house, my school?”
“We need to check them out, but we have to assume the bad guys will be doing the same.”
“How would they know what he said to me on my voice mail?” she asked, confused.
Brent picked up another shell and tossed it into the sea. “Bribery, hacking. There are ways of getting into your voice mail messages.”
And criminals always seemed to know about them. Her teeth started to rattle. “This can’t be happening.” She was a teacher. The daughter of an ex-con.
“It’s OK.” He took a step forward but didn’t touch her. His expression was flat, but there was a fervency in his eyes that made them glow. “As long as no one knows you’re here, you’re safe.”
For some reason his reassurance helped. Her brain slowly engaged the problem. “There was a lady in his building—Viola—who picked up his mail when he wasn’t there. Maybe he mailed it to himself?”
“Already on it.” He nodded. “But he said
you’d
know where he sent it.”
The pressure felt like it was going to explode her skull. She pressed her hands to the side of her head. “Maybe my mom’s house? Or my grandmother’s old house, but I rent that out to students.” Her grandmother had died six months ago and left her the property at her father’s insistence. Anna had flown back for the funeral. It was the last time she’d seen her father alive.
She’d been a lousy daughter.
She clenched her jaw and narrowed her gaze. “I didn’t see anything at Mom’s when I was there yesterday, but it wouldn’t have arrived yet. They’re the only places I can think of, right now.”
“Make a list. We’ll figure out a way of checking them, safely, from a distance.”
“I could call the school.”
“No phone calls.” Brent shook his head. “I don’t want anyone tracing you to Bamfield. And the only way to know for sure is to ask them, face-to-face. I have a PI I’ve used before. I called him last night and asked him to see if anything turns up at Davis’s apartment, and see if he can dig up anything on the company your daddy worked for.”
The energy drained out of her and she shook her head. “I can’t just sit around for the rest of my life, just waiting…”
He grunted. “You still a teacher?”
“Why?” It was disconcerting he knew that much about her. She knew very little about him, except he was an artist and he’d been in prison. Although, maybe that was enough.
“Kids broken up for the summer?”
She nodded.
“So you’ve got time to figure this out.” His eyes
why
things happen, they only care about the goddamned law. Your daddy talked about moving money—we don’t even know whose money. What are the chances they’re gonna believe Davis did it for the greater good unless we have proof?”
Nausea swirled in her stomach. She knew what it was like when the authorities suspected you of involvement in a crime. That was another reason why her mother could never forgive her dad, because she’d been humiliated by the cops and the press.
Being treated that way by people who were supposed to protect you shattered your belief in the justice system. “I don’t want to go through another scandal.”
“Whoever he took the money from is going to want it back. From the look of that guy in the subway, they’re not going to ask nicely.” The wind tossed his hair in his eyes again and he shoved it impatiently away from his face. “All we need to do is find the letter he sent you and deliver it to the cops. Going to them before we have that evidence is only going to make your daddy look guilty and possibly put you in danger.”
She stared at him, feeling like she was about to come apart at the seams. But she wasn’t the only one suffering. Fine lines of fatigue etched Brent’s eyes; a touch of crimson stained the whites. He hadn’t slept much last night.
“Any idea where he might have mailed this thing?” he asked, quieter now.
Her brain turned slowly. “My house, my school?”
“We need to check them out, but we have to assume the bad guys will be doing the same.”
“How would they know what he said to me on my voice mail?” she asked, confused.
Brent picked up another shell and tossed it into the sea. “Bribery, hacking. There are ways of getting into your voice mail messages.”
And criminals always seemed to know about them. Her teeth started to rattle. “This can’t be happening.” She was a teacher. The daughter of an ex-con.
“It’s OK.” He took a step forward but didn’t touch her. His expression was flat, but there was a fervency in his eyes that made them glow. “As long as no one knows you’re here, you’re safe.”
For some reason his reassurance helped. Her brain slowly engaged the problem. “There was a lady in his building—Viola—who picked up his mail when he wasn’t there. Maybe he mailed it to himself?”
“Already on it.” He nodded. “But he said
you’d
know where he sent it.”
The pressure felt like it was going to explode her skull. She pressed her hands to the side of her head. “Maybe my mom’s house? Or my grandmother’s old house, but I rent that out to students.” Her grandmother had died six months ago and left her the property at her father’s insistence. Anna had flown back for the funeral. It was the last time she’d seen her father alive.
She’d been a lousy daughter.
She clenched her jaw and narrowed her gaze. “I didn’t see anything at Mom’s when I was there yesterday, but it wouldn’t have arrived yet. They’re the only places I can think of, right now.”
“Make a list. We’ll figure out a way of checking them, safely, from a distance.”
“I could call the school.”
“No phone calls.” Brent shook his head. “I don’t want anyone tracing you to Bamfield. And the only way to know for sure is to ask them, face-to-face. I have a PI I’ve used before. I called him last night and asked him to see if anything turns up at Davis’s apartment, and see if he can dig up anything on the company your daddy worked for.”
The energy drained out of her and she shook her head. “I can’t just sit around for the rest of my life, just waiting…”
He grunted. “You still a teacher?”
“Why?” It was disconcerting he knew that much about her. She knew very little about him, except he was an artist and he’d been in prison. Although, maybe that was enough.
“Kids broken up for the summer?”
She nodded.
“So you’ve got time to figure this out.” His eyes
Similar Books
