A Twisted Love Story(55)

Doyle is her most important ally. The fact that Joey’s case was ignored because someone else was more important has to upset him.

“But you don’t have enough to arrest the suspect,” her sergeant says. “Or any connection between him and Joey Fisher.”

“Not directly, no,” Karen says. “However, some of her former coworkers at the Fine Line might be more willing to talk if they know there’s a connection to Joey Fisher. The case was a big one, at least for a few days, and some are bound to remember it. It’s also been seven years. The club is closed, and many have moved on and no longer work in the industry, so they won’t be putting themselves at any risk.”

Another nod from Doyle.

“So the point is,” her lieutenant says, “you want to work on a case that you weren’t assigned to and never worked on.”

Karen doesn’t like her lieutenant, who has always been more concerned about the politics of policing instead of the actual work. It makes sense that he zeroes in on this particular point. As if the only reason she’s here is to get a promotion.

“I don’t want this connection to be ignored,” she says. “That sounds like a public relations nightmare to me.” She keeps her voice level, matter-of-fact. Not angry. Not emotional. Two things a woman can never be at work, especially in a room full of men.

“Are you threatening to go to the press?”

“I’m not threatening anything,” Karen says. “I’m simply presenting what I found.”

Doyle holds up his hand, ending the back-and-forth. “Enough. Karen, thank you for bringing this to our attention. Your work here is admirable,” he says. “We’ll discuss it and get back to you.”

Exactly what she expected. She had spent a lot of time thinking about whether she should present this case or not. The last thing she wanted to do was reveal she had been working on cases she had no business working on, but she had hit a concrete wall. There were only so many ways to get around the rules. To continue investigating, she needed police resources.

Right now, she doesn’t have enough to get to Wes. And rescue Ivy.

“Thank you.” Karen closes her file and puts it into her briefcase. Brand-new and too expensive, but worth it because it matches her new suit. “I appreciate your time.”

She walks out of the room and exhales, finally able to breathe. She did the best she could. And she has enough evidence to back it up.

They have no choice but to move ahead with this. She can feel it.





46




As soon as Karen drives away from the station, her phone rings.

Siphon.

She puts on her earpiece. “Karen Colglazier.”

“My name is Abigail Wright,” a woman says. “I work at Siphon. We spoke last week when you called for Wes Harmon.”

Karen pictures the tall, redheaded woman who sits where Bianca used to. Beautiful, poised, and icy.

“Yes, Abigail. I remember.”

“I understand you wanted to speak to Wes about Ivy. Because someone had been stalking her a while back?”

Interesting. Karen hadn’t asked him any more questions about the stalking, only more questions about that stolen car. “Do you know something about it?”

“I understand that Siphon and its employees have been under a great deal of scrutiny due to Tanner Duncan,” she says. “But I can assure you, Mr. Duncan and his behavior were not representative of anyone but himself. I personally have worked with Wes Harmon for years. I have also met Ivy Banks.”

“Is that right?” Karen says.

“Yes. I was here the day she came in and nearly destroyed Wes’s office. She disrupted the office, smashed his computer screen, and broke a lamp.”

“Were the police called?”

“The incident was handled by our internal security.”

“I see,” Karen says.

“My point is that from what I’ve heard and experienced, Ivy is the one who is unbalanced,” Abigail says. “Not Wes.”

“Thank you.”

Karen ends the call, making notes about it in her phone. Abigail certainly made her position clear, blaming everything on the woman being abused. A woman at the end of her rope.

Abigail is firmly on #TeamWes.

Karen thinks for a minute, considering her options. Her approach. When the script is written in her head, she calls Ivy.



* * *



—

The banging sound Wes hears isn’t a dream. It’s at the front door. One o’clock in the morning.

Only one person it could be.

He goes to the door, flinging it open. Ivy stands on his porch. Black leggings, a UC Davis sweatshirt, and sneakers. Like she threw on the first clothes she found and came straight to his house.

They haven’t spoken in over a month, haven’t seen each other since the night they were both at Liver.

“What the—”

“About time,” she says, walking past him to go inside.

Wes follows her into the living room. She stands in the middle of the room, showing no signs of relaxing or sitting down. Wes plops down on the couch and rubs his eyes. “Why are you here?” he says.

“Didn’t Karen call you?”

“Today?”