“Hi, is this Professor Bright?”
“Yes, who’s this?” He sounded suspicious. I couldn’t blame him. Strange number. Strange woman. I probably wouldn’t have answered.
“This is Mateo Cortes’s wife. I need you to do a job for me.”
“I don’t know any Mateo Cortes,” he insisted.
Well played.
My heart pounded, and a layer of sweat built between my palm and the phone, but I hoped for the best. “Look, Professor, I realize you’re trying to protect your own ass right now, but we both know the bad mood my husband gets in when things aren’t done the first time he asks, don’t we?”
I held my breath until I heard him blow out a harsh one of his own. It sounded like defeat, so I pressed on.
“Right, so why don’t you spare both of us the unpleasantness of me having to tell him you’ve been uncooperative and just fucking do it.”
Papers shuffled in the background, and he sighed. “What do you need and how fast?”
I fist pumped the air.
“I need you to hack into Agent Alex Atwood’s employment records and transfer to the DEA. I want to know when it was made and who authorized it. I also need you to look into any encoded files about the night Detective James Harcourt died.”
“Mateo needs this stuff?” he asked skeptically.
Shit!
“Do I need to repeat myself?” I growled, trying to sound intimidating.
“When do you need it?”
“Now, please.”
“Are you serious?” he yelled. “I can’t do this now. I have a class to teach.”
“I guess you’ll be late then.”
My challenge hung in the air until he finally muttered to himself. “Fine. I need at least twenty minutes. I’ll call you back.”
Just as he hung up, the bedroom door opened. Panicking, I threw the phone under a couch pillow and flung myself on top of it, quickly closing my eyes and pretending to be asleep. The smell of soap and caramelized leather washed over me as he kissed my lips.
“I’m heading over to the townhouse. I’ll be back.”
Stirring, I gave him a sleepy nod, keeping my eyes shut until I heard the suite door close. Throwing on a pair of jeans and a blue knit top, I paced the floor until nineteen minutes later, my phone rang.
“Bright, what did you find?” I asked, my nerves shot.
Keyboard keys clicked in the background. “Alex Atwood called in the tip about a drug shipment arriving at a known Carrera warehouse. James Harcourt was the first detective on the scene and Atwood showed up shortly thereafter. After Harcourt was shot, it seems he did everything he could to save him. He got a lot of commendations for it too. That’s where it gets weird.”
“How weird?”
“Well, he moved up the ranks of the DEA without proper channels. He wasn’t promoted. It’s like he was just placed.”
“Who appointed him?” I asked, holding my breath.
His answer buckled my knees.
Sick. I was going to be sick. Violently sick.
“Thank you.”
“Wait,” he called out, causing me to pull the phone back to my ear. “I also found an offshore bank account. It was inactive until a few days after Harcourt died, then multiple deposits were dumped in there and randomly withdrawn.”
No more. God, please, no more.
“Is that all?”
“Isn’t that enough?”
I never made it to the bathroom. As soon as I ended the call, I ran to the sink and threw up nothing but stale whiskey. It burned, but that was nothing compared to the burn of the worst betrayal yet.
Once I’d cleaned up my mess, I reached into my purse and pulled out the clipping I’d taken from my mother’s house. Staring at Alex’s face as he stood next to my father’s casket, I dialed one last number.
“Jackie Abrams speaking.”
“I need your help.”
Her voice hardened. “Call a hotline.”
“Wait,” I begged, bracing a hand against the kitchen counter. “I know what you’ve been trying to tell me, and I have proof. Are you interested in ending this once and for all?”
“Meet me at Tranquility Park on the corner of Bagby and Walker,” she said finally.
“No, meet me at Christ Church Cathedral on Texas Avenue.” I waited for her inevitable question.
“A church?”
“Trust me,” I assured her. “It’s the last place they’ll check.”
After a few more instructions, I hung up and grabbed my car keys from the bag Eden sent over. Adjusting the brim of the hat I bought from the boutique in the lobby, I slammed the door to the Presidential Suite and left the old Leighton behind.
Chapter Thirty-Nine
Leighton
Eight words determined my fate.
“We really have to stop meeting like this.”
I tilted my head as she slid in beside me. I didn’t dare risk looking directly at her, so I settled on her shoes—hell-fire red with a skinny heel at least six inches high. Stilettos in church seemed a little over the top, but judging from her posture, she wasn’t seeking anyone’s approval.
“Shhh,” I whispered, placing a finger over my lips.
“Of course.” She gave a casual laugh as if our conversation wasn’t about to get us both struck down.
In front of me, scattered heads bowed like dominos in prayer. Dipping my chin, I watched them under the protective brim of my blue hat. Such a bold fashion statement wasn’t my usual style, but I couldn’t risk being recognized. The gossip train traveled faster than the speed of light amongst Houston’s tightly woven circles. Phones would buzz before I turned the ignition on my car.
The guilty were always the first to announce someone else's sins. Every one of them spent the last four years turning a blind eye. Now, it was too late for forgiveness.
Instinct made me pull away, forcing a much-needed distance between us. The space lifted the pressure on my chest, and I took a breath for the first time since she sat down. Unfortunately, one was all I got as she pulled out a black clutch and placed it next to me.
“Are you sure about this?” I whispered.
“Why would I lie?”
“The same reason everyone does. Greed. Money. Power.”
She gave a slight nod. “All good reasons, but this is a hard limit for the most corrupt of hearts.”
“Well, I suppose morality does grow in the most barren of fields.”
“Watch it.” Her casual tone thickened. “Stone throwing isn’t the smartest move for a woman who’s already broken two of the ten commandments.”
Five, but who’s counting.
“Nice hat.”
I sucked in a deep breath. “Thanks.”
“Who are you trying to hide from—them or yourself?”
The hairs prickled on the back of my neck. She intended to prove a point, and it worked.
“Don’t forget your purse when you leave.” Her full lips parted, flashing a brilliant smile that had kissed both the devil and an angel. “I’m out of this now. It’s all on you. I’m washing my hands.”
I swallowed hard. “I’ve changed my mind. I can’t do this.”