Wicked Release (2 page)

“Are you going to help me or not?”

“Of course. But only if we do this my way,
Jessica
.”

Jess gave an inward curse. He knew exactly which buttons to push and relished her agitation.

She opened her mouth to answer, when her cell phone rang from within her pocket. The sudden noise made her jump. It was a small action, but damn if Elliot didn't notice it. Jess gnashed her teeth together, grabbing her phone from her pocket and checking the number.
Sam
.

Emotion burned through her chest at the sight of his name.

Jamming her finger onto the silence button, she slipped the phone into her back pocket, unanswered. Sam was no longer a player in this game. But this man in front of her? Her sister's ex-lover and the man who ran the masquerade parties? He was her only hope. He was Cass's
only
hope.

“Deal.”

2

“S
on of a bitch,” Sam grumbled, tossing his phone on the bed beside him. Placing a damp palm against his forehead, he closed his eyes, willing away his pounding headache.

“Still not answering, huh?” Matt, his longtime friend and partner on the force, nudged open Sam's bedroom door, resting a bowl of soup and a glass of water on the nightstand.

“That better be vodka,” Sam said, eyeing the glass.

“I don't expect to earn my ‘naughty nurse' title for nothin',” Matt laughed. “C'mon, man. You gotta eat something. The doc told me I'd have to drag your ass back in if you're not drinking enough fluids.”

“Jesus Christ,” Sam grumbled. “You've gone soft since you became a dad.”

“Shut up and eat your soup, asshole.”

Sam leaned over the steaming bowl and took a sip of the salty broth. It felt good going down. But damn if he'd admit it to Matt that he was right.

“It's good, isn't it?” Matt grinned knowingly.

“Fuck . . . this isn't any sort of canned shit.”

Matt shook his head. “No way. Nothing but the best for my partner. Kelly made it. It's some family recipe or something. But it's damn good.”

Holy hell.
Sam lifted the bowl, resting it in his lap. After two days of hospital food, this was like a Thanksgiving feast.

“She left a full container of it in your fridge, as well as two casseroles. With your stomach? You should be good until breakfast, fatty.” Matt gave him a gentle slap on the back and Sam grunted in response.

After another moment of silent eating, Sam dared another glance at his buddy. “How is she?”

Matt tucked his hands into his pockets, a disingenuous smile crossing his face. “Kelly's good. Busy with the baby and we're both fucking exhausted—”

“That's not who I'm asking about and you know it,” Sam interrupted.

Matt's smile faded. “Yeah, I know. We have uniforms driving by and checking in on Jess a few times a day. She seems fine.”

“No one shady hanging around?”

“Dude, we caught the guy—or girl, in this case. Zooey's unconscious but handcuffed to her hospital bed. Jessie's safe. You're safe.”

And yet, that uneasy feeling in the pit of Sam's stomach wouldn't go away. Zooey wasn't their perp. There was no way she was the brains behind the newest drug being distributed in Portland. Not that Sam expected Matt to have any knowledge of that. To his friend, this probably did look like a clear cut-and-dried case. What they initially thought to be a robbery gone bad with Cass—and what Sam and Captain Straimer were relying on everyone to believe to better solve her case and find the mole in the department—now looked like a crime of passion. A love triangle between a scorned woman; her boyfriend, Dr. Richard Brown; and Cass, the woman he was flirting with on the side.

“You really think a girl attacked me in that basement?” asked Sam.

“I've seen stranger things,” Matt said.

“When she wakes up, she'll be able to—”

“
If
she wakes up,” Matt interrupted. “She's in rough shape.”

Fuck. Then all will have gone to Cass's murderer's plan. Zooey will be the fall person for Cass's and Dr. Brown's deaths and they can carry right on distributing drugs.
“You've got a uniform watching Zooey's door, too, right?”

Matt rolled his eyes. “Of course. What do you think this is? Amateur hour?”

Well, at least that's something.
A small relief, but Sam would take his wins when he got them. “Have you at least talked to Jessie?”

Matt shook his head, running his fingers down the length of his trimmed goatee. It would have looked ridiculous had Sam not known the guy well enough to know that was his habit when he didn't want to admit something. “Matt—what?”

“She won't answer my calls, either,” he said, dropping his hands. “Not since we found Zooey.”

Maybe she'd finally taken his advice? Realized just what was good for her and gotten the hell out of this investigation. Now that her sister's murderer thought that they had wrapped the case up in a neat little bow with Zooey's arrest, maybe, just maybe, they'd let Jess go back to her life. Go back to Brooklyn. And even though it hurt like a sock to the jaw, it was the only way Jess could survive this. The person who attacked him at the masquerade Friday night had made that perfectly clear.

Get her out of Portland. . . .
The attacker's hot breath and raspy voice rang in Sam's ears as if it had happened seconds ago. He had tried. He had broken up with her and confessed to the one thing he was certain would make her forget all about him and move on—the fact that his mother had been the drunk driver who killed her parents in a car wreck when they were fifteen. Sure, he was just a boy when he came home that night to find his intoxicated mother sweaty and panicking. She had begged him to be her alibi.

“And . . .” Matt broke through Sam's thoughts, hesitating before continuing.

Sam froze with that one little word. His already sore and stiff muscles bunched beneath his pajama pants and undershirt. “And?”

“According to Officer Donnelly, she left this morning. And she was seen loading luggage into her trunk.”

“Why didn't they follow her? Find out where she was going?”

“He wasn't actually on watch for her. He happened to be in the area and just did a quick drive-by. But . . .”

“But
what?
”

“I mean, her leaving with a packed suitcase. It can really only mean one thing, right? She was leaving.”

Jess was leaving town. The mixture of relief and pure, empty sadness was overwhelming. She needed to get out of Portland for her own good. No matter how hollow his life would be without her. He did it once . . . he could do it again.

“It's okay, Matt. I knew her stay wouldn't be permanent.”

“Yeah, but this is sooner than you thought, isn't it? Weren't you two just getting back together—”

Sam gave his best casual smile. “Jess and I are like a carton of milk. We always had an expiration date. She's just tossing us out now,
before
we spoil, instead of after.”

“Whatever you say, man. I think it's pretty fucked up, though. She didn't even say good-bye. I thought for sure you two would work it out.”

“We don't all end up with our high school sweethearts, Mattie.”

Though it was silent, his partner held his glare, a tense energy passing between them. Matt only came to about Sam's shoulders when they were both standing tall. He was stocky, but short. And like a bulldog, he could deliver as loud a bark as any of the big dogs on the force. And he knew Sam better than he sometimes knew himself.

“Well, I need to get going. Captain Straimer is assigning me a temp partner,” Matt snarled, his lip curling. “Apparently Officer Laura Rodriguez is training to be detective and so she's gonna shadow me while you're out of commission.”

“Jesus,” Sam grunted. “Good luck with that. Keep it in your pants, man. Kelly will eat you alive if you—”

“Yeah, yeah, I know.” Matt laughed, opening the bedroom door. “But she won't know if I look or not. Just no touching.” He held both hands up at his shoulders, palms out, as he backed out the door. “I'll check on you later. Call if you need anything.”

The sound of Matt's heavy footsteps clomped down the stairs and with a slam of the front door, Sam was alone in his apartment again. For the first time in years, he felt lonely. The boring white walls, crappy particleboard furniture, and simple navy décor was suddenly massively depressing.

Without thinking, he grabbed his phone and called Jess again. Just one more time to say good-bye . . . and yet, as the phone rang against his ear, he knew it was a stupid idea. She hated him—or at least she
should
hate him. Her voice mail clicked on and he ended the call without leaving a message. And really, what was there to say? All those years; all that time he had lied to her about his mom. A lump lodged in his throat and he took another slurp of soup to help it go down. All those years of hiding the truth and covering for a woman who, nine times out of ten, would have chosen a bottle of gin over her own son. But what was he supposed to do? Turn his mother in to the authorities? Go into the foster system and be parentless? Unlike Jess, he didn't have an older sibling to step up and become his legal guardian.

He shook his head, tossing the almost-empty bowl of soup back onto the nightstand.
Fuck.
Turning his mother in was exactly what he should have done. He had been a total and utter coward. A young coward, yeah, but even as he got older, even now that he was a grown man and knew his mistake, he never took steps to right that wrong. Not to mention that he was also the world's biggest hypocrite, serving as Portland, Maine's lead detective.

And now he had lost Jessie for good because of it.

Which was precisely what should have happened, because she deserved better than him. Her very life depended on finding someone better than him.

3

“S
o, Jessica . . . why don't you tell me what you
think
you know?” Elliot's eyes glistened, ripe with authority in a smug way that Jess just freakin' hated. It elicited anger and a frustration deeper than she cared to examine.

“Let's see,” she said, and dropped the handle of the suitcase she'd found in the back of Cass's guest closet, kicking it out of her way. “I know that my sister was involved in drugs. Not doing them herself, but distributing. It was pretty obvious when I started putting the pieces of her life together. I know that the two of you started as some sort of master-apprentice, dominant-submissive relationship before you fell in love. I know that the masquerade parties are some sort of front to get the drugs transported out of my house through the hidden tunnels in the basement and that you were the man who began these parties.” She paused for emphasis, and stopped pacing, standing in front of him. His breath was shallow and he smelled like a mix between coffee and whiskey. Grabbing his cup, she took a drink of his spiked coffee and then thrust it back into his hands. “And I know that I fucking go by
Jess.
Not Jessica.”

“That's a lot you
think
you know.”

Jess jerked her head toward the luggage, not breaking eye contact. “Why don't you have a look?”

He gave her a curious glance before bending and lifting the suitcase, dropping it on a side table. He carefully unzipped it with a tenderness that reminded Jess of unzipping the back of a silk dress.

Elliot inhaled sharply as he flipped the suitcase open. Inside were stacks of cash from Cassandra's floorboards and her fake passport.

“
That's
how I know,” Jess sneered. “Now, can you stop treating me like a child?”

“Did you touch these?”

“What?”

“Did. You. Touch. These?”

“Yes, I—”

“Did you wear gloves?”

Jess gulped and suddenly she felt like she was back to being a chastised little girl. Just as she thought she was gaining some traction with this man. “No. But, I mean, I found them. I haven't
done
anythi—”

“Shit,” Elliot grunted, running both of his hands through his inky hair.

“What the hell are you freaking out about? None of this is even
mine
.”

Elliot's eyebrows jumped as he shot her a fiery look. “You think that matters?” His voice was gruff and he rushed to the window, scanning the parking lot below before pulling the blinds closed. “You think that innocence ever matters in times like these? You believe your friend Zooey to be innocent, right?”

Jess nodded slowly, her throat burning.

“And did the cops care that the evidence didn't quite line up?”

Jess didn't answer. She didn't need to. They both knew the truth.

“You need a place to hide this money,” said Elliot.

“Cass had it all in the house—”

“Not a literal hiding place. A place to invest. Tie the money up in a way that won't raise any flags when and if they search your financials. It's what Cass should have done initially. I should have helped her.”

Jess backed away from him and the cash. Her stomach turned like she had a loaded gun pointed directly at her chest. “You can't actually think I plan to keep this money? I'm turning it over to the police.”

Elliot grunted his opinion of that. “Don't be ridiculous. You're a photographer, right?”

“But this money isn't
mine
—”

“It was Cass's,” he snarled, and Jess jumped as he swiveled away from the window, nearly knocking her over. He barely noticed and continued walking, backing her against the wall.

“Yeah, but—”

“And Cass left everything to you, yes?”

“
Yes,
but—”

“Then this money
is
yours. There is no but. Cass put her life on the line. I doubt it was for the cash, but even so. She worked for this money. She risked everything for it. And now it is
yours
.” He spoke with such authority. Head high, eyes straight ahead, shoulders stiff. He truly was magnificent to watch and Jess couldn't help but stare at him in awe. She'd always tried to hold that sort of command in conversations—hell, in life. And compared to this man? She was worse than a rookie. She was the runt on the little league team.

But that didn't mean she was ready to back down just yet. Jess snapped her mouth shut, her jaw twitching, and stood a bit taller. “It's illegal. And I don't want it.”

“Then you're fucking stupid,” he said, forgetting his coffee and pouring himself a highball of straight whiskey, neat, instead. “I could hire you to photograph images of my buildings that are on the market and slowly put the money into your account as a paycheck. You'll have to pay taxes on it, but considering you were going to turn it over to the police department, I'm going to guess you're okay with that.”

There was a knock at the door as another man, also in an immaculate three-piece suit, poked his head into the office.

“Excuse me a moment,” Elliot said, and followed the man outside the office keeping the door propped open with his foot. There were murmurings, but Jess wasn't listening.

Her cheeks burned hot as she stared at his marble floors.

Elliot finished with his colleague, coming back in and shutting the door behind him. Jess opened her mouth to speak but Elliot cut her off.

“Just think about my offer. Don't answer now.” He swirled his tumbler in his palm, and whiskey sloshed along the side of the glass. “So. What else did you find?”

“What else?”

“Well, you found the money. Her passport. Obviously, you found me.” If Jess hadn't been so utterly convinced this guy had no sense of humor, she would have thought she heard a twinge of amusement in his voice at that. “So, yes. What else?”

Jess racked her brain . . . other than the skeleton key and the tunnel, there was nothing else.

Elliot's rigid shoulders tightened around his ears. “You didn't find her stash?”

“Stash of what?”

He cursed before tossing his head back and swallowing the rest of the copper whiskey in one motion. “Jesus, Jessica. Her stash. The drugs she's been sneaking in and out of the house—hell, probably even the country.”

“There are drugs still in that house?”

Elliot pressed his lips together, not answering. Not that he needed to.

Jess fell back into the club chair that was behind her, landing on the soft leather. It groaned in protest beneath her weight. “What—what do I do?” she asked herself more than Elliot. She knew exactly what she needed to do. She needed to call Sam. Get the DEA in her house immediately and sweep it.

A hand on her knee caused her to jump and she looked to find Elliot on his knees in front of her. His velvety, dark blue eyes seared into her. How the hell did he move so quietly? Or was she just that zoned out?

“You came to me for help, Jessica. Let me help.”

She nodded. “Can you c-call the police for me? I don't think I can do it.” Even as she reached for her cell, her hand trembled. Pulling it from her pocket, she handed it to Elliot. The screen felt smooth beneath her quivering touch.

He gently took her phone, but instead of calling anyone, he tucked it into his back pocket. “The police in this town are dirty, Jessica. There's a mole down there. Maybe more than one. Calling them will only get you killed.
Especially
if you show knowledge of the drugs. You need to trust me.”

“Trust you?” her voice cracked with a bitter laugh. “You mean like Cass did?”

Sadness washed over his face, the waves of sorrow pulling his expression deeper under water. “And I'll never forgive myself for not trying harder. . . .” His voice faded away, eyes drifting somewhere over Jess's shoulder. “She trusted me as much as she could,” he finished, bouncing back into his usual hardened demeanor.

“Why would she do this? Why did she allow herself to get caught up in this? And who—”

His jaw tensed. “I don't know.”

Right. Yeah, fucking right
. “Bull. You know something. Okay, fine. Don't tell me. But then don't sit there and wonder why I can't trust you when you won't tell me everything.”

“Look,” Elliot growled “The less you know, the safer you are. Why do you want to find out, anyway? Because if it's for some vigilante reason, then you can count me out. I already feel responsible enough for Cassandra's murder—I'm not going to take part in yours, too.”

All the moisture in her mouth evaporated.
Well, if he can keep secrets, then so can I.
With what little she knew about this man, she doubted he'd ever agree to join her on a quest to find her sister's killer and avenge her death. Nibbling her bottom lip, she took a slow breath, channeling her theater classes from high school. “My life is in danger. I want to find whatever it is these assholes want from me, get it to them, and then get the hell out while I can.”

A smile flickered briefly at Elliot's lips. “That's what I needed to hear,” he said. He pulled her phone from his back pocket and handed it back to her. “I don't know where Cassandra's stash is, but I think I know who does.”

“Okay . . .”

His eyes flashed. “And you're going to call him.”

Rolling the phone over in her hands, Jess circled her thumb over the smooth plastic. “Who would know that?”

Elliot worked his jaw hard, grinding his teeth. A cloud darkened his eyes before he spoke. “Dane.”