Page 42 of Missing Pieces (Brantley Walker: Off the Books #12)

“Someone wanna tell me what we’re missin ’ here?” Atticus asked when Reese tore out the door after Brantley.

“That could’ve gone better,” RT noted, glaring at Z.

“Hey. Don’t look at me. I’m just the messenger.”

“Seriously. What’re we missin’?” Atticus repeated, looking around the room.

Surely, he wasn’t the only one surprised by Brantley’s reaction. The man was always cool and calm in situations such as this. Yet, it was like he’d been in a pressure cooker for hours and was about to blow. Or maybe a teakettle and the whistle was getting louder and louder and…

Whatever it was, Atticus wanted to know what the hell set their boss off like that.

“Give them a minute to talk,” Baz said to the room, his expression as bewildered as Atticus felt.

“Do you know what’s goin’ on here?” Atticus asked Slade.

“Not a clue.”

“I feel like we’re watchin’ two different movies and only seeing clips of each one,” Becs said, eyes wide as she stared at Decker Bromwell.

Yeah. That was a good way to put it.

“The objective of this meeting is to bring the team up to speed,” Baz stated. “Since Brantley and Reese know the basics, I’d like to continue.”

The room quieted, and all attention shifted to Baz.

“I have a question,” Atticus said, raising his hand, then putting it down. “You said Meredith couldn’t have been at the scene because she was with you. Did someone mistake her for someone else?”

Everyone looked to Decker for an answer.

“No. Someone made up the whole thing,” Decker said, sounding defeated.

“Hold up,” Baz said. “We do need to wait for Brantley and Reese to return to hear this .”

“I’ll text them,” Holly offered.

“No,” several people shouted at once.

Holly’s eyes widened. “Okay.”

“Give them a few minutes,” RT told the room. “Everyone, take a break. Let’s reconvene in fifteen.”

Atticus stood. “Come on, Tesha. Let’s stretch our legs. Wanna play ball?”

She was up on all fours in an instant, her tail snapping happily.

He led the way outside, making his way to the small bucket that held half a dozen tennis balls. He grabbed one, waited for Tesha to pay attention, then lobbed it as far as he could, giving her a chance to run.

“You avoiding me?”

Turning, he saw Slade walking his way.

“What? You just watched me come outside.”

“Doesn’t mean you’re not avoidin’ me.”

Atticus remained calm, reminded himself that Slade was simply being Slade.

“Why would I?”

Slade shrugged one shoulder. “Don’t know.”

“You worry too much.”

“Do I?”

Atticus smiled when Tesha came charging back, ball in her mouth.

“Sit,” he instructed.

She sat.

“Drop it.”

She dropped the ball.

“Good girl.” He gave her head a rub before reaching for the ball and throwing it again.

“It just seems—”

“It doesn’t,” Atticus interrupted, turning to face Slade. “It doesn’t seem like anything. I’m not ignoring you. I’m not upset. I’m not anything. We’re at work. We’ve got things to focus on. I assure you, if I were mad at you, I’d let you know.”

“Would you?”

Clamping his teeth together, Atticus turned back to Tesha. They went through the motions again until she was darting after the ball.

“I—”

“Slade,” Atticus said slowly. “I can’t do this right now.”

“Can’t do what?”

“The insecurity. If you can’t trust me for a day, I’m not sure why we’re even tryin’ this.”

Slade’s mouth opened, then closed again.

Atticus could see the pain in his eyes, the fear.

Whoever hurt him did a serious number on the guy.

But as much as he wanted to heal him, to prove to him that not everyone was out to cause him pain, Atticus wasn’t sure how.

And he certainly wasn’t sure how to do that and work with the guy at the same time.

“Right now, let’s focus. Once this”—he gestured toward the barn—“is done, we need to keep followin’ leads and find that statue so we can move on with our lives.”

“Move on? Is that—”

“Stop,” he snapped under his breath. “Just. Stop.”

Taking a deep breath, he turned toward Tesha, smiling as she jogged toward him.

“Come on, girl. Let’s get you some water so we can get back to work.”

“You ready to head back over there ?”

Brantley stared blankly at the wall. “I’m not sure what I want right now.”

He wasn’t sure whether he should feel bad that Reese was perched on the back of the couch, shoulders slightly hunched, looking utterly defeated, but he did.

Guilty was probably a better word for it.

He wasn’t one to lose his cool often—or liked to think he wasn’t—but he was definitely dangerously close to the edge today.

And Reese obviously knew because Brantley could feel the concern wafting off him.

The man was watching him like he was a caged animal whose door was about to be opened.

He wasn’t too far off because that was exactly what he felt like. Only thing was, he wasn’t sure why.

“I know you’re pissed at Deck. I get it. He kept information from us.”

“Vital information,” Brantley pointed out.

“Yes. What we don’t know is why he did. I’m sure he has a valid reason.”

“You really think so?” Brantley pivoted, dropping his arms to his sides.

“The guy was in New York talking to the woman he’d been screwing since he was a kid.

” A shudder ran through him at the thought.

“A woman who everyone claims is missing. You think Z and Decker wanted us chasing our asses in New York for a reason other than that?”

“I’m not sure Z—”

“Don’t,” Brantley bit out. “Do not defend your brother right now.”

“I’m not.”

Brantley grunted. “He obviously knew Decker was up to something when he sent us up there.”

“I’m not arguing with you.”

No, he wasn’t. And that was the problem. Brantley was itching for a fight.

“He was with her,” Brantley stated.

Reese’s forehead creased. “Who?”

“Deck. With Meredith. Eddie . Whatever the fuck you wanna call her. She was in New York. Right under our noses.”

“We didn’t know about her at the time.”

“Maybe we should have. For fuck’s sake, maybe we could have if Z hadn’t kept us in the dark. At some point, your brother needs to be upfront with us about his agenda. He’s got one. The man doesn’t do much without a plan.”

“I agree.”

“So what is it? What the fuck is Z up to? Did he hope we’d stumble upon Deck and Meredith? Did he expect us to tow her back here, though we didn’t even know who she was? Or was that supposed to be a field trip to help us with this moment? Maybe your brother’s fucking psychic.”

Brantley grabbed his head, tipping it forward as he paced. He didn’t expect answers to those questions, and he didn’t get any. They remained in silence for a moment while Brantley tried to cool the fire in his veins.

He stopped and turned to look at Reese. “Why? Why does this piss me off so much?”

“Because it dredges up painful memories.”

It did that. Really painful memories. Losing Kylie had been … he couldn’t even put it into words.

“It would be so much easier to just pass this off to someone else. To ignore it. To pretend Holt didn’t find anything. How is finding her gonna benefit us? How is taking down some corrupt FBI agents—alleged—gonna help us?”

“It might not. But that’s not who we are. We have to see this through, no matter the outcome. Like it or not, Meredith Prescott is family. She’s your cousin’s wife’s mother.”

“His dead wife,” Brantley grumbled, choking the emotion that clogged his throat whenever he thought about it.

“We’ll work this the same way we do all the others. With an open mind.”

He didn’t bother telling Reese that he could not be open-minded about a woman who’d taken advantage of a fourteen-year-old boy. That was disgusting, and he wasn’t sure he’d ever get past it. However, he could find her, bring her home, and figure out what kept her running all these years.

Brantley nodded. “All right. Let’s get this over with.”

He followed Reese back to the barn. As soon as they walked in, the team took their seats. Brantley could feel their concern, knew they were wondering when he was going to flip his lid.

“Let’s pick up where we left off,” Baz said, taking control of the meeting. “Decker, you mentioned someone made up the story of Meredith seeing Max.”

Brantley looked from face to face, wondering if they’d continued the conversation while he was gone.

“Yeah.” Decker held a cup of coffee. “As I said, Eddie was with me that night. At my apartment.”

“You’re saying there wasn’t a witness to a hit?” Simon asked, driving the back-and-forth between him and Decker.

“Since we were told Eddie would testify exactly as instructed, I’m fairly sure there wasn’t a hit at all.”

“Told by who?”

“The FBI.”

“What’s the agent’s name?”

“Martin Calloway.”

“He approached you?”

“No. Eddie said he cornered her when she was leaving school.” Decker’s gaze dropped to his coffee cup. “Told her she had two choices: testify that she saw Max kill someone or go to prison, and the world would find out she had sex with a minor.”

“You were over eighteen at the time, correct?” Evan asked.

“There’s no statute of limitations on statutory rape,” JJ noted.

Decker ignored her. “Yeah. I’d graduated already. I was an adult.”

“But not for the four years you were in high school,” Brantley stated, distraught by the thought. “And we all know sex with a minor is illegal.”

Decker shot him a glare. “Her career would’ve been over if it got out.”

“Did she really give a shit?” Brantley snapped. “Or was she scared her ass would’ve been put in jail for having sex with a child?”

“It wasn’t like that,” Decker argued.

“The fuck it wasn’t. You were fourteen. The same fucking age as her daughter, for Christ’s sake. She was in her goddamn thirties, Decker. That’s a fucking felony.”

Decker’s jaw bunched, and Brantley could tell he was holding back his rage. Barely.

“Worst case, it was indecency with a child,” Decker said through clenched teeth.

Oh for fuck’s sake. It made Brantley’s stomach turn that the guy had already looked up the penalties for it.

“You mean best case,” Evan corrected.