And there’s one other thing that I’m not going to do—I’m not leaving Laguna Cortez.
Did he really think I would? Why? Because Devlin Saint— the Devlin Saint—asked me to? Not hardly. I’m a reporter, and that means it’s my job to get to the truth. Besides, I’ve never been one to bow to authority. I’ve been around cops long enough to know just how wobbly those with authority often are.
Or maybe he thought I’d leave for the Alex I used to know. In that case, he sorely misjudged. Alex ripped my heart out and fed it to the wolves. He might have been my first, but that didn’t give him a magical power over me. Then again, perhaps it did. He broke me, after all. But that didn’t exactly put him in my good graces.
So that was that. No reason to leave, and lots of reasons to stay. Brandy. Lamar. The profile. And, most of all, Uncle Peter.
All I have to do is let go of the past and treat Alex—no, Devlin—like any other source.
I can do that.
Absolutely, I can.
I’m breathing hard but I’m feeling more settled when I reach the crest of the hill. I turn the corner and walk the half-block to Brandy’s house. It’s a dark neighborhood. Quiet, with only a few streetlights and houses that sit back from the road.
As I reach her driveway, a light flickers on across the street, catching my attention. It’s the glow from someone looking at their phone inside a parked black Tesla.
Instantly, my resolve shatters. Alex isn’t just a source or a story, and no matter how much I try to spin that, he never will be. Hell, my heart is skittering, and I don’t even know if it’s him in that car. And though I try to make out the occupant, it’s no use, the light’s gone, and the street’s too dark.
Still, I’m certain it’s him, and a tiny spark of something suspiciously like hope sputters in my belly. I tamp it down. For one thing, I’m not sure what I’m hoping for. That he cares enough to see I get home safe? That he doesn’t really want me to go back to New York? Something else entirely?
All I know is that I spent ten years walking a tightrope of anger and hurt mixed with fear that he was dead—because who in my life wasn’t?—topped by fantasies that he’d return to me with a perfect explanation. Alien abduction or amnesia both ranked high on my fantasy list.
Mostly, I tried not to hate myself. Tried not to spend every single day remembering that I was the only living member of the Holmes family. That I’d survived and they hadn’t.
Tried not to believe that the cosmos was punishing me, and that’s why Alex had gone.
I know that’s not true. I know it’s survivor’s guilt doing the talking. But knowing’s nothing special. I know that E=mc2, but I still don’t have a clue what that means. And, honestly, I don’t know what it means that I’m the only one left, either.
So, no. That’s probably not Alex. God knows this town is dirty with black Teslas. But I’m not going to walk over there to look.
Because so long as I don’t know, the lonely, teenage girl inside of me can still believe.
Chapter Ten
Chief Timothy Randall releases me from an exuberant bear hug, then holds me at arms’ length, his ruddy face alight with pleasure. He’s a big man, but as gentle as they come. Unless he’s dealing with bad guys or defense counsel. Then he’s a bulldozer. “It’s so good to see you, Ellie. Amy and I both read your magazine. Charlie would be proud.”
“Would he?” My voice sounds needy to my ears. “I always thought Daddy would be disappointed that I left the force.”
“Disappointed in you? Never.” Chief Randall punctuates his gentle smile with a firm shake of his head. “He may have been your dad, but he was my best friend. Trust me on this.”
“Yes, sir,” I say, and he chuckles.
“I want you over for dinner before you go back to New York. Amy will have a fit if she doesn’t see you.”
“I’d love it,” I say honestly. Amy Randall had been the lifeline that pulled me back when grief threatened to drag me under. She didn’t know the whole of it, of course. Alex was my secret. But she knew that I’d been broken, and she tried to fix me as best she could. “I miss her,” I add to the chief. And though he says nothing, he nods, and I know he understands.
I square my shoulders, then meet his eyes. “I want to know all of it,” I say as I take a seat in one of the guest chairs in front of his desk. “Everything you’ve learned since you called me. And everything you didn’t tell me on the phone.”
He looks over my shoulder at Lamar, who’s leaning against the closed door of Randall’s office, tall and broad-shouldered, like he owns the place.
Randall gestures to the chair beside me. As Lamar sits, the chief does the same, facing the two of us across the desk.
“Start with Mercado,” I say, reaching across the void for Lamar’s hand. We went through the Academy and joined the Irvine PD together. Since I was the only female and he was the only black recruit, we’d stuck together in the early days out of solidarity. After that, we stayed together out of friendship.
“What have you learned?” I continue. “Do you know why he confessed to a crime he couldn’t have committed?”
“We think we do,” he tells me, and the vise around my chest loosens a little simply from the knowledge that, maybe, I’m about to get some answers. “Are you familiar with The Wolf?”
I frown, then nod slowly. “Some. I remember my dad mentioning him. And you, too. Plus, we did some reading on him in my criminology classes. A major crime lord who was finally taken out not long after Uncle Peter died. A year later? Maybe two?”
“Right. Daniel Lopez,” he says with a nod. “Crime was the family business, but he took it to a whole new level. And he had his fingers everywhere.”
“He was never convicted though,” I point out. “Never even proven to be the criminal mastermind known as The Wolf.”
“Never proven,” Lamar agrees. “But everyone knows.”
“Fair enough.” I look between the two of them. “What does this have to do with Ricky Mercado?”
“The Wolf had put out a hit on him. Mercado wasn’t one of The Wolf’s men, but he owed him a debt.”
I squeeze Lamar’s hand, feeling the reassuring pressure in response. “Rather than die, Mercado confessed to something he hadn’t done. Namely, killing my uncle.”
“Exactly.”
I sit back, not liking where this trail of breadcrumbs is leading. “The only reason that would make The Wolf happy is if Mercado’s confession took the spotlight off of the real killer. And that means that The Wolf had his fingers in Laguna Cortez. In Uncle Peter’s business.”
“It gets worse,” Randall says.
“My uncle was involved.” My voice is flat. Emotionless. I’m certain that I’m right. Cop instincts, Brandy had called them? Yeah. I’ve got them in spades. “He wasn’t an innocent bystander, was he? He was dealing, too.”
“I’m sorry, Ellie. We’ve talked to Mercado’s cellmate. That’s what it looks like.”
I shake my head. “He and my dad were so close. Uncle Peter knew what Daddy stood for. He wouldn’t get in bed with The Wolf.”