Page 41 of Missing Pieces (Brantley Walker: Off the Books #12)

“Where should we start?” Baz asked after he provided a high-level overview of the various folders and their contents.

All eyes shifted to him. Brantley wasn’t sure why he was the one at the wheel, but he figured it was time they steered this thing in the right direction.

“Meredith Prescott,” he told the team. “From all accounts, she seems to be the root of this. She’s the reason Holt came up with his theory.”

“Who is she?” Atticus asked, his full attention on the screen.

Baz tapped a folder labeled M. PRESCOTT.

“Meredith Aileen Prescott, born February 7, 1962,” Baz read.

“Mother of Kylie Marie Prescott and Jessica Renee Prescott. Formerly married to Joseph Edgar Prescott from 1983 to 2006. Meredith left in 2005, as soon as Jessie turned 18. The assumption has always been that she left for greener pastures. At least that’s what I’ve been told. ”

“That’s the consensus,” Simon agreed.

“Holt’s uncovered some information that makes him believe otherwise,” Reese said, looking at Holt. “Care to walk us through that?”

Holt nodded.

“You want to drive?” Baz asked, gesturing toward the screen.

Shaking his head, Holt said, “You can.”

Brantley listened with half an ear as Holt walked them through his spiel about how he researched things before starting a story and how he ultimately came across Coyote Ridge as the basis—though fictional—of a new series he was writing.

On the screen, Baz pulled up various articles as Holt referred to them.

“Are we lookin’ into a real case?” Luca questioned. “Or is this somethin’ we’re doin’ to help Holt with his story?”

“This has nothing to do with what I’m writing,” Holt assured him. “There’s one article in particular that I came across that piqued my interest. Once I started looking into it, I realized something seemed off about it.”

“Which article is that?”

Baz tapped the screen, and an article appeared. The photograph was of the Adorite family. It looked to be one they likely displayed over their mantel, with a smaller photograph overlaying it, this one of Max.

“Is that real?” Atticus asked. “It reads like fiction.”

“The article’s real, yes,” Holt confirmed. “As to the legitimacy of the information, that’s yet to be determined.”

“It states that Meredith Prescott witnessed Max Adorite kill a man and cites the source as…” Luca looked over at Holt. “The FBI.”

“Correct.”

“Do we have a timeline set up yet?” Evan asked.

“I’ve started one,” Becs answered.

Baz pulled it up. The data was sparse. They hadn’t yet tied together the information in a manner that made sense, and rather than having a significant amount of insignificant data, they usually started small.

“Okay, so that article refers to the Southern Boy Mafia,” Z noted.

“I guess for the sake of full transparency, it should be noted that Max Adorite’s wife, Courtney, is as much a sister to RT as his biological sister, Marissa.

Marissa and Courtney have been best friends since they were kids.

The Kogans and Trexlers started Sniper 1 Security, and Courtney still plays a part in the everyday business dealings. ”

“The wife of a mob boss works for a personal protection agency?” Atticus snorted. “Isn’t that an oxymoron?”

“You’re an oxymoron,” Luca teased.

“It’s irrelevant,” Brantley said before they could get off topic. “Whatever Meredith Prescott did or did not see wouldn’t pertain to Courtney at all. She wasn’t married to Max at the time.”

“It would if it meant bringing down a mafia boss,” Slade stated. “If this ends up being true and this woman did see the head of the Southern Boy Mafia kill someone—”

“She didn’t,” Decker barked, getting to his feet.

Brantley stared at the man, watching Decker’s fists clench and unclench at his sides.

The room went quiet, the only movement from Tesha as she stood quickly, moving directly in front of Reese.

“It’s cool, girl,” Brantley told her, reaching down to pet her head.

She relaxed somewhat, but all eyes, including hers, remained on Decker.

“Didn’t what?” Reese inquired.

Decker’s nostrils flared as he breathed slowly. “Meredith Prescott did not see anyone kill anyone.”

Watching him closely, Reese asked, “And you know this how?”

“Because I know,” he seethed.

Something had tripped the man’s trigger. One second he was sitting there bored, the next he looked as though fire was going to flame out through his nostrils.

“Elaborate,” Brantley instructed, eager to hear what the man had to say.

“No,” Decker stated firmly. “Not in front of…” He gestured toward the room.

Perhaps he was already on a hair trigger, but Decker’s belligerence and blatant disrespect set Brantley off.

Before he even knew he was reacting, he stood tall, bracing himself for a fight.

“Bullshit. You had your chance to tell the fucking truth without an audience. You didn’t.

So it’s high time you tell us everything.

” He took a step toward Decker. “And if you don’t, I’m gonna drag your ass outside and beat it outta you. ”

Fuck.

Reese started to put a hand on Brantley’s arm but stopped himself.

Had the team not borne witness to the standoff, he might have.

The last thing they needed was a fight, but he wasn’t about to stand in Brantley’s way.

Especially since he understood the man’s frustration.

They’d been sent to New York City on a wild fucking goose chase and came up empty, and still no one had given them any answers.

Hell, Reese hadn’t even gotten excuses out of his brother.

“The truth this time, Bromwell,” Brantley snapped, his attention jerking to Z. “That goes for you, too.”

Z started to get to his feet, but RT held him back with a rigid arm across his chest.

“You brought them into this when you sent them to New York,” RT told Z. “They deserve to know the truth.”

“What truth?” Baz asked, moving around the room to stand beside Brantley, as though facing off with Decker and Z.

Shit. Shit. Shit.

Standing tall, Reese positioned himself between them.

“Obviously, there are details we don’t have.

Which is the whole reason for this meeting.

” He looked at Decker. “If you’ve got something pertinent to this case, we need to know what it is.

” He looked at Brantley. “We’re gonna keep this civil. We have to.”

Brantley’s eyes narrowed, but a moment later, he nodded, his shoulders relaxing.

Reese exhaled his relief. The last thing he wanted was a knock-down, drag-out. Sure, it might be warranted, but the team did not need to be witnesses to it.

“Tell them,” Z hissed, relaxing in his chair.

Decker slowly sat down. He was silent for several beats before finally speaking, his tone cooler than before. “Kylie’s mother did not witness a mob hit.”

“You sound certain,” Evan said, resting his elbows on the desk.

“I am.”

“How do you know this?” Reese probed.

Another lengthy pause filled the room with the loudest silence Reese had heard in a long damn time.

“Because Eddie was with me the night she supposedly saw it.”

Son of a bitch.

Reese recognized the name. He looked over at Brantley and saw the same recognition in his husband’s eyes. Eddie was the name of the person Decker had been talking to when they found him in New York outside of the brownstone.

“Eddie? I thought we were talking about Meredith. Who the—”

Charlie cut Atticus off. “Eddie’s a nickname for Meredith.”

“Oh.” Atticus’s eyes widened. “Wait. You were with her?”

Decker glared at Atticus, not confirming or denying.

Slade sat up, his bored expression sliding away. “Like y’all were hangin’ out? Or y’all were…?”

“We’re talkin’ about the same person, right?” Reese asked. “Meredith Prescott. Kylie’s mother.”

“Yes,” Decker said through clenched teeth.

“For fuck’s sake. Tell them the fuckin’ story,” Z bellowed, elbowing Decker.

“Kylie and I went to school together from the third grade until graduation,” Decker explained. “Her mom was a teacher. Ninth grade English. That’s when I met her.”

“Met who? Kylie? Or her mom?” JJ asked.

“Eddie,” Decker clarified.

“Were you and Kylie friends?” Reese asked.

“Not so much friends. Acquaintances, I guess you could say.”

“You hooked up with the teacher,” Darius stated. Not a question.

“Yeah. I started … seeing her when I was in ninth grade. We continued to see each other even after I graduated.”

“I assume seeing is a euphemism for fucking ,” Luca noted, looking downright disgusted by the idea.

“You were dating your teacher?” Evan asked, his tone lacking any judgment. That was the detective in him, seeking answers without formulating an opinion.

“I was in love with her,” Decker countered. “And she was in love with me.”

Reese was grateful the peanut gallery kept their opinions to themselves that time.

“Were you and Kylie the same age?” Baz asked.

“Yes.”

It was obvious everyone was doing the math, but Reese had already figured it out for himself. Decker would’ve been roughly fourteen when he started having a sexual relationship with his thirty-six-year-old teacher.

Brantley spoke up. “What did Kylie think about you fucking her thirty-six-year-old married mother?”

“She didn’t know. We kept it on the DL.”

“How’s that even possible?” Atticus asked. “You’re tellin’ us no one ever saw the two of you together?”

“No.”

“Where were these dates taking place?” Evan asked, sounding like the detective he was.

“I’m not on trial here,” Decker countered hotly.

Evan replied easily. “Maybe not, but if you expect us to believe you were having a sexual relationship with a married teacher for four plus years and no one knew about it, we’re gonna need more to go on.”

Reese appreciated Evan’s candor, as well as his professional demeanor.

“My dad was an alcoholic,” Decker said, his tone laced with fury. “When he wasn’t on the road and he wasn’t beating on me, he was out getting drunk. Most of the time, he was too fucked up to find his way to the house.”

“Meredith Pres— Eddie ,” Evan corrected. “Was coming over to your house and having sex with you in your childhood bedroom.”

“It wasn’t like I had Superman posters on my fucking walls,” Decker snapped. “You try living with an alcoholic asshole and you’ll see how fucking fast you grow up.”

Reese could see Decker unraveling, knew they needed to pull this back some.

“So you and Eddie had a relationship for several years. You mentioned she did not witness a mob hit. I assume you’re her alibi for the night in question,” Reese mused.

“You could say that,” Decker said, looking at him for the first time. “Or you could say that I’m the reason the asshat FBI got their hooks in Eddie in the first place.”

“Blackmail,” Brantley said softly.

“Yeah.” Decker exhaled heavily. “There is no night in question. To my knowledge, Max didn’t kill anyone. At the time, his father, Samuel, was the head of the Adorite Crime Family. Max would’ve been nineteen years old.”

“Doesn’t mean he wasn’t capable of killing someone,” Baz noted.

“Sure he was,” Decker acknowledged. “But on the night in question, Eddie wasn’t strolling by some warehouse downtown. She didn’t happen upon a hit.” He swallowed hard, his eyes locked on the wall. “She was in bed with me. At my apartment, roughly twenty miles away.”

“Is this before or after she walked out on her husband and kids?” Brantley asked, and there was no disguising his disgust for Decker.

“Before. Eddie wanted to wait until Jessie graduated from high school before divorcing Joe. She didn’t love him but was trying to do right by her kids.”

“By fucking you on the side.” Brantley snorted. “Keep tellin’ yourself that.”

Decker narrowed his eyes on Brantley. “I don’t have to explain my actions to you, asshole.”

“The hell you don’t,” Brantley bit out, stepping forward. “If there’s even a remote chance you’re responsible for this...”

All eyes were on Brantley as he trailed off, making his way to the door.

“What?” Decker shouted. “If there’s a chance, then what ?”

Reese watched Brantley walk out the door without looking back.

“Give us a minute,” he told Baz before following.