No one wanted to get the person responsible for Derrick’s murder more than she did. In fact, no one had believed her when she named him. The ones—and there had been more than one—who carried out the execution had been following orders. Giving them up to the police would not have prompted the desired result. They would get theirs, just like the asshole who’d bled out on the floor of that convenience store on Saturday.
One down, two to go.
Three, actually. But she was saving the one who gave the order for last.
Not until she exited the building did her lungs fill fully with air. The scent of wisteria mingled with the thick humidity of July in the South was as familiar as the smell of her own skin. Heat wrapped around her like a wool coat, and instantly the sparse dab of makeup she’d bothered with felt ready to slip down her cheeks.
In the cross-body messenger-style bag draped against her side, her cell phone vibrated. Before she could reach for it, her attention snagged on the man propped against her car. Matt. She paused. He grinned and gave her a little wave.
Finley waved back as she closed the remaining space between them. “I’m thinking your timing isn’t coincidental, Mr. Quinn.”
Another of those broad grins split his face. The way that grin made his eyes sparkle never ceased to catch her off guard. Blue eyes, sandy-blond hair, tall, inordinately handsome. Had she mentioned smart? Like uber intelligent. She and Matthew Quinn had been best friends since they were children. Lived on the same street in Belle Meade growing up. Matt graduated from law school one year ahead of her and was promptly invited to clerk for one of the state’s premiere justices. Three years ago, he was handpicked to serve as the liaison between Metro, the DA’s office, and the mayor’s office. Sort of like a mediator of the unholy trinity. And he was good. Very good.
The man would be governor one day.
He pushed away from her car and gave her a hug. “I had a meeting with the three in the chief’s office, then a briefing with the commander here.” He hitched his head toward her decade-old Subaru. “Saw your Outback as I was leaving and decided to hang around. See if you had plans tonight.”
“No plans.”
She never had plans beyond work. Not the kind he meant. Not anymore. Except when Matt decided she needed to get out or when her dad persuaded her to attend some family function that just wouldn’t be the same without her. Saying no to her dad was something she’d never learned to do well.
“Good.” Matt opened the driver’s side door for her. “Then I’ll swing by at seven. You pick the place.”
She pulled the strap of her bag over her head and tossed the worn, comfortable leather into the passenger seat. “What’s the occasion?”
Had he finally met someone and decided to settle down? He’s not getting any younger, her mother, the Judge, would say. She certainly had pointed out Finley’s advanced age—at least until she’d met Derrick, and suddenly Finley was moving too fast. You scarcely know him. He’s not in your league, dear. You’ll never be happy together. Is he the father you want for your children? For my grandchildren?
Finley forced the echo away. The concept of the Judge and grandchildren was completely incongruent. Judge Ruth O’Sullivan wouldn’t think of taking time from her prestigious career for anyone. Just ask Finley’s dad. He’d retired last year to help Finley with physical rehab after . . . what happened. The idea wouldn’t have crossed the Judge’s mind. But Barton O’Sullivan, a mere director of community and social services, was expendable. His career had always come a distant second to her mother’s.
Finley turned to Matt. “Are you sure the Judge didn’t put you up to this? I know how you love staying on her good side.”
He braced his arm on her door. “You know better, Fin. I’ll see you at seven.”
A little salute, and he was off.
She watched him walk away. Yes, they were friends. In truth, he was her only real friend. It wasn’t that he didn’t invite her to dinner fairly regularly, actually.
It was the timing.
He must have heard about her follow-up interview with Detective Graves.
Which meant tonight wasn’t just two old friends getting together to catch up.
Matt had gotten a heads-up on something that concerned her . . . something related to the shooter at the Shop Easy, maybe. The thought unsettled her more than it should have.
Apparently, she really was a suspect.
Oh well. It wouldn’t be the first time.
3
3:00 p.m.