But Joey had been so convincing when he’d told me where he’d been the night of the shooting. And Mrs. Haggerty claimed she had indeed had a conversation with a police officer that night, specifically one that had been driving a sedan and had been talking with something in his mouth, like that damn omnipresent toothpick Joey was always chewing whenever he was somewhere he couldn’t smoke. “I’m still not sure,” I said, reluctant to let go of my suspicions. “What about Roddy and Tyrese? You spent a lot of time with them.”
Vero shivered and cranked up the heat. “Tyrese is a definite no. He’s greener than that stack of cash Kat was waving around. And he’s too damn eager to please. EasyClean’s too confident to be a rookie; he’s definitely been around the block. Now, Roddy,” she said thoughtfully, letting his name sit a little longer on her tongue, “he might be worth checking out.”
“Why do you say that?”
“Roddy was doing surveillance in front of your house the night of the shooting. If Joey’s telling the truth, he was parked in front of Mrs. Haggerty’s that night so Roddy could take a break and grab some dinner. But what if Roddy didn’t go to dinner? What if he went after Steven instead?”
“Roddy?” I stole a sideways glance at her. Roddy was a middle-aged beat cop, and by the looks of the strained buttons at his waist, he’d been wearing the same uniform for quite some time. “Huh,” I mused as I considered that. “Why do you suppose Roddy hangs out with all the big shot detectives from OCN?”
Vero put her fingertip to her nose. “I wondered the same thing about Wade. A firearms instructor would definitely know how to shoot.” She raised an eyebrow. “And then there’s Samara…”
“What about her?”
“Who’s better equipped to find and manipulate an internet forum to her own advantage than someone who works in cyber forensics? She was probably the first person Nick called after Cam tipped him off to the website. Don’t you think it’s a little convenient that the forum had already disappeared,” she said, punctuating the word with air quotes, “by the time Sam tried to find it the next morning?”
“Feliks’s people took it down overnight.”
“Or did they?”
Vero had a point. Feliks had agreed to take the site down, but that doesn’t mean he was the only one who’d had a hand in erasing it—or a reason to.
Salt from the truck in front of us peppered the hood of my minivan. I put on my turn signal, checking my mirrors as I switched lanes. The vehicle behind me switched lanes, too, pulling in close behind me. The driver’s features were obscured by the bright shine of his headlights. All I could make out was the slap of his wipers and the Chevy symbol on the grill.
“What’s wrong?” Vero asked as the light changed.
“I think we’re being followed.”
I accelerated around the salt truck and merged back into the right lane. Vero angled in her seat, watching the Chevy change lanes, too.
“We’re definitely being followed, Finn. What if it’s another one of Marco’s guys?”
I sped up. “Maybe we should call Georgia.”
“And tell her what? What if this guy knows what happened in the salvage yard last night?” Vero sank low in her seat, gnawing her thumbnail as I was forced to stop at a red light. My eyes leapt to the rearview mirror as the Chevy rolled to a stop behind us and the driver opened his door.
“Crap.” I jerked the wheel hard, darting into the entrance of the strip mall beside us.
“What are you doing?” Vero braced herself against the dashboard as I cut through the parking lot, searching for another exit. I slammed on the brakes, skidding on the sleet as a black Camaro cut in front of my hood and jerked to a stop.
The driver’s side door flew open and a hooded figure stormed out. He strode toward the passenger side of the van, his silhouette distorted through Vero’s ice-crusted window.
“Put the van in reverse!” Vero shouted. I shifted into reverse and hit the gas. My tires whined, spinning uselessly on the ice. “Why aren’t we moving?”
“My tires are bald!”
“Why the hell didn’t you have them replaced?”
“Because tires are expensive and you gambled away all our money!”
* * *
The man pounded on Vero’s window, cussing as the tires kicked sleet at him. He reached for the handle of Vero’s door.
“Hell no, you don’t!” She unbuckled her seat belt, put her right foot flat against the passenger door as she released the handle, and kicked the car door open. The doorframe bounced off the man’s forehead. His hood fell back and his feet flew out from under him, dropping him on his ass in a pile of slush.
“Oh, shit.” Vero ducked back in her seat, her eyes wide as she slammed her door. “It’s Javi.”
I lowered the passenger window. Javi’s cheeks were flushed with anger and his lashes were dotted with ice. A goose egg–size bruise was already darkening the middle of his forehead and blood trickled over one irate eyebrow. Vero cringed and raised her window as Javi slowly stood up.
He slid the back door open. It smacked against the end of its track and bounced off his shoulder. Teeth gritted, he climbed into Delia’s seat and slammed the door shut. A puddle was spreading from the hems of his jeans, and he did not look at all happy to be sitting in my daughter’s booster seat.
I put the car in park and rummaged in my purse for a wet wipe. “Here,” I said, passing one back to him. He took it with a begrudged “thanks.”
Vero peeked over the back of her seat and gestured to his forehead. “A little rose hip and some vitamin E will help minimize scarring.”
“You know what else minimizes scarring? Not beating the crap out of me when I’m trying to help you!”
“Help me?” Vero snapped as she rose on her knees.
“I’ve seen you three times in three days, and I’ve got a concussion, a soup burn, and I probably need stitches! If I thought you had it in you to kill someone, I might actually be worried!”
Vero whirled to me. “Not one word!” she warned me as a dark laugh bubbled out of me. “What the hell are you doing here anyway?” she asked, turning her glare back on Javi.
“I’ve been waiting outside that bar for you all night.”
“How did you know I was at the bar?”
Javi pulled a phone from his pocket. His eyes bored into hers as he held it up and depressed a button. A faint ring started deep in Vero’s purse. The ringtone wasn’t Vero’s, and judging by the slightly murderous expression on Javi’s face, I was guessing he knew that, too. “Traced my stolen phone to the bar. You want to explain what it’s doing in your bag?”
I dropped my head to the steering wheel.
“Not exactly,” Vero answered. With a roll of her eyes, she fished his wallet and phone from her purse and dropped them in his outstretched hand. “You could have just come into the bar instead of running us down in your car like some kind of lunatic.”
He pulled a face. “You’re kidding, right? That place was crawling with cops. Figured I was better off waiting for the asshole who mugged me to come out. Didn’t figure half the FCPD would be walking you to your car.”