Page 35 of Bait and Switch (Subtle Deceptions #2)
TWENTY-ONE
Casey
Thursday morning
“I’m gonna take a damn shower,” Elton announced. “And then we’ll deal with this, as Gabe would say, fuckery.”
Casey responded with a grunt. It was the best he could manage after watching Gabriel leave. His heart hurt. It was impossible not to recall Mickie’s arrest, how Rizzi had dragged him off. Mickie had never come home.
He and Elton had watched the sheriff drive off with Gabe handcuffed in the backseat and under arrest for the murder of his ex-boyfriend.
The asshole had had the temerity to wink at them and blow kisses through the glass, as if the situation wasn’t dead fucking serious.
When they got him back, Casey would happily strangle him.
And kiss him again. The jury was out as to what would happen first.
Kissing Gabriel last night had almost been an act of desperation on Casey’s part.
He hadn’t been able to sleep with the man squirming beside him.
But once he had felt Gabe’s lips against his, Casey’d known he needed to do it again.
For whatever reason, the dissolute con man was who Casey wanted, and Gabe seemed to want him back.
While Elton cleaned up, Casey worried as he gulped his first cup of coffee. Relived the kiss. When Elton was done with his morning routine, they’d put their heads together and decide next steps for getting Charming back ASAP.
Who would’ve predicted that Casey would want the infuriating man back?
Dammit, who would have predicted he’d want the guy back here and not on his merry way elsewhere.
He was just about to refill his cup when yet again someone knocked on the fucking door, startling him and interrupting his brooding.
“Who the fuck now? Bowie, quiet.” Casey’d had about enough of unexpected visitors for the rest of his life.
Bowie huffed and darted his trademark Look toward Casey, but quieted and headed back to his spot in front of the couch.
Setting his mug on the kitchen counter with a decidedly grouchy smack, Casey went to find out who wanted something now.
Hopefully, the cops weren’t back and ready to arrest him or worse, Elton.
He did not have the patience for Rizzi’s bullshit but also couldn’t come up with a legitimate reason why the sheriff would be back so soon.
Through the window, he saw a recognizable brown van idling at the end of the drive. The delivery guy hopped back in behind the wheel just as Casey opened the door.
“Your package is right there,” the perky driver called out. “Have a great day!”
At least someone was having a good day .
Glancing down, Casey saw a cardboard One-Day Delivery envelope leaning against the siding. Picking it up, he went back inside.
“Elton, there’s a package for you.”
“Who’s it from? I haven’t gotten my shower yet.” Elton emerged from the hallway, a worn, red-checkered robe wrapped around himself.
Casey read the return address. “John Stevens.”
“Huh. What would he send me?” He held his hand out. “Pour an old man another cup of coffee, the shower can wait.”
Casey stood his ground. “Open that first.” He had a weird feeling, almost as if the envelope was demanding to be opened.
Elton squinted at him like he was planning to argue that coffee was more important.
Instead, he perched on the edge of his recliner and ripped the envelope open.
Inside was a slim sheaf of papers. Pulling them out, Elton started to set the envelope aside but, out of habit or because he felt something, he peered into it first. Then for good measure, he turned the packet upside down and shook it.
“Nope, nothing else.”
Casey sat on the arm of the couch so he could read over Elton’s shoulder.
Elton: by the time you read this, I will be dead. Consider this document a confession and admission of my guilt, which stretches back almost thirty years and Affects many people who thought I was a good and decent person.
I was not. I used protected information for personal gain.
I entered into an illegal contract with Eli Rizzi.
We began working together when he was just a deputy and I was a relatively new prosecutor.
Over the years I received monies and gifts from Eli Rizzi and others to influence criminal and civil cases to their, and my own, benefit.
By the time you read this, Eli Rizzi will be dead too.
“This is not good,” said Casey, rising to his feet. His heart was thundering, trying to pound out of his chest. “Very not good. We need to get to the station.”
Quickly, he punched in the number for the Sheriff’s Office, but the phone rang several times with no answer before going to voicemail.
He could think of only one reason why and that was because John Stevens was already there, and he had a weapon.
Like many folks in Twana County, Stevens was comfortable with guns.
And Gabe was there. In custody. In fucking handcuffs. And Althea Mortine. Bree Eagan.
Casey thought he might throw up. He was ready to race out the door, but Elton was mumbling through the last few sentences of the confession aloud.
“Blah, blah: The sordid details of our working relationship are saved on my home office computer. I’ve included my password among the documents here.
I trust you will get the evidence and this letter to the correct authorities so a proper investigation can be instigated.
This confession does not absolve me of my crimes, but maybe in the end I will have done some good by ridding the world of Eli Rizzi, at whose feet I lay the blame for the murder of my only son. ”
“Goddammit all to hell,” Elton said as he set the papers down on his puzzle-slash-dining table. “I need to get my damn clothes back on. You’re not going down there without me, I forbid it. I only hope we’re not too late.” Elton glanced at his wall clock on the way to his bedroom. “And I’m driving.”
Casey didn’t immediately respond, he was too focused on trying to drag oxygen into his lungs. There was an unstable man at the station. With a gun. Where Gabe was. And Gabe was not known for keeping his trap shut when he should. He snatched up his keys and parka, ready to bolt.
Some days—the ones that ended in Y—there was just no arguing with Elton Cox, so he waited while Elton got ready to go.
Casey wasn’t sure what he’d expected when they arrived at the Sheriff’s Office. Maybe sirens wailing and a SWAT team dressed in black, toting massive weapons?
Things were quiet. No one was rushing out of the building.
There was no screaming or shouting. And best of all, no gunshots.
He reminded himself that they weren’t one hundred percent certain Stevens was there.
Maybe the ex-prosecutor had somewhere else in mind, a different convenient venue to ambush Eli Rizzi and erase him from the planet.
However, when he spotted Stevens’s Mercedes parked in the lot sans driver, his stomach twisted into a more painful knot.
“Dammit, he’s here. Or at least his car is.”
Elton grunted and didn’t bother messing with the lot, he just double-parked directly in front of the entrance. “What are they going to do, give me a ticket?”
One of Rizzi’s wet-behind-the-ears uniformed deputies appeared as they approached the entrance. He tried to stop them from entering, but Elton just shook his head and Casey glared. The deputy stepped aside.
“Sirs, we have a situation,” the kid called after them.
“We know and that’s why we’re here.” Elton flapped Stevens’s confession in the officer’s face and kept moving. The old man could be surprisingly fast.
At first glance, they didn’t see anyone else in the small lobby.
Shit .
“Althea?” Elton called out.
A whimper was followed by a soft rustling, then a pale and frightened-looking Althea slowly rose from underneath her desk.
“Oh, Elton,” she whispered.
Tucking the papers under one arm, Elton stepped around to gently grasp Althea’s outstretched hands. If they hadn’t been an item before, they were now.
A gunshot exploded in the quiet. Althea whimpered and shook. “Oh no, another one.”
“Go,” said Elton, nodding toward the bullpen with his chin.
Stomach clenching, Casey went.
A weight lifted from his shoulders when he spotted Gabriel lingering between several law enforcement officers, one of whom was Bree Eagan. They were huddled near the front of Rizzi’s corner office, presumably trying to figure out what was going on inside.
Casey had a height advantage. He stopped behind the group and peered above their heads through the glass wall.
Rizzi was perched on the edge of his desk and focused on the man sitting in front of him. John Stevens, who had a weapon pointed at Rizzi’s crotch. Casey winced. At four or so feet, there was no chance he’d miss, and a shot to the groin was not how anyone wanted to go.
“It’s time for you to start talking, Eli, telling some truths.
Maybe some highlights? Share with these good people what you’ve been up to all these years.
How you coerced confessions and framed the innocent.
More recently, why you had my son murdered and killed Deter Nolan yourself.
And maybe why you needed Gordon MacDonald behind bars for a little while earlier this year, safely out of the way. ”
Rizzi didn’t speak, and Stevens waggled the gun.
“If you want to do this the hard way, that’s fine with me.” He squeezed the trigger and then there was a ragged hole in the leg of Rizzi’s slacks. Stevens was good—the bullet missed Rizzi’s calf—but Casey would bet Rizzi had felt the heat of it.
Rizzi jerked backward. “Jesus Christ!”
“Stay fucking put. You have one more chance.”
Why hadn’t Eagan or one of the other officers taken Stevens out yet? Casey glanced around. And where was Emmett Spurring? As the sheriff’s right-hand toady, it seemed like he would be in attendance. He also wondered what had been said before he and Elton arrived.
“No one is going to believe a coerced confession, John,” Rizzi countered with remarkable calm.