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18

JOANNA

“I’ve got the ballistic comparison you requested.”

I glanced up from my computer. Hanson stood in front of me, a printed sheet of paper clasped in his hands. He rocked onto his heels, squinting as if he were trying to use x-ray vision to look inside my head.

“Thanks.” I checked the room, but we were the only ones here. Good. I didn’t want anyone to overhear this conversation. “Is it a match?”

Hanson didn’t answer. Nor did he pass me the paper. When I reached for it, he stepped back.

“Why did you want this comparison carried out?” he asked, still studying me with those narrowed eyes. “What case do you think Neal’s death might be related to? You were very vague earlier.”

“Just another sniper murder.” I forced myself to hold his gaze without flinching. Lying wasn’t my forte, but technically, I’d told the truth, so I just had to hope he wouldn’t push.

“Really?” He harrumphed. “Because when I tried to access the case file referenced in the paperwork, I was denied. The case is restricted. Only specific personnel know about it, and it would seem even fewer have access to the details. So how did you find out?”

My pulse picked up. “I must have heard about it from someone around the office. It was a similar shooting. A single bullet fired by a long-range sniper, with the shot hitting center forehead. The vic was law enforcement, same as Neal.”

Hanson crossed his arms, creasing the paper as he did. “Who?”

I pulled a face. “I can’t tell you.”

He scowled. “Can’t or won’t?”

“A bit of both,” I offered sheepishly. “I’ve told you all I’m able to.”

“For fuck’s sake, Lee.” Hanson stomped to his chair and dropped onto it. I was surprised when it didn’t give way beneath him. He wasn’t exactly a lightweight. “We’re supposed to be partners. That means we share information. You’re keeping things from me, and it makes it damn hard to trust you.”

Funny that he was having difficulty trusting me when the reason I was keeping secrets from him was because I wasn’t sure if I could trust him. I gazed over at him, torn. We were partners. We should be sharing information. But until I was one hundred percent certain of his innocence, I couldn’t risk him uncovering West’s real identity.

“Is it a match?” I asked, repeating my earlier question.

He balled up the paper and tossed it at me. I caught it and smoothed the paper out on my desk.

“It is,” I whispered.

The same gun had killed both Detective Neal and West’s dad. Most likely, that meant the same shooter had too. But why?

If the shooter had been hired by Ortez, I understood taking out a cop who was investigating him. But if West was right and Neal had been on his payroll, there would have been no reason to kill him.

Unless he was no longer useful.

Perhaps Neal had had a crisis of conscience. Or, more likely, had run his mouth to the wrong person.

“I need to know what the connection between the cases is.” Hanson sounded tired, and I felt a pang of regret at causing him any distress. He might not be the partner I’d have chosen for myself, but he’d always had my back. “You can’t keep it to yourself when it’s vital to cracking the case.”

I sighed. I was going to have to give him something, or this could cause an irreparable rift between us. “I don’t know the shooter’s identity, but it’s likely they’re involved in organized crime.”

Hanson wheeled his chair around the desks until only a few yards separated us and then stretched his legs out. “Do you think it could be connected to the Sloane murder too?”

I nodded slowly. “It’s possible.”

“Sasha Sloane was supposedly Carlos Ortez’s mistress.” Hanson folded his hands on his lap. “Neal should have been the detective assigned to the case. If not for him being sick the day the body was discovered, he would have been. Perhaps this is an attempt to shut down the investigation.”

“Worth looking into,” I agreed.

It wasn’t the worst hypothesis. It’s possible the cases were connected, although not necessarily for the reason Hanson suggested. I’d go with it because allowing Hanson to operate under this assumption might allow us to get on with the investigation without too many further questions.

“I’ll see if there are any black market mercenaries known to be affiliated with Ortez’s operation,” Hanson said, looking pleased to have a course of action.

“I need to make a phone call,” I told him. “I’ll be back in a moment.”

“Wait.” He reached for me, but then dropped his arm.

I frowned. “What?”

“Before you do, I need to speak to you about something else. Privately.”

A cold finger trailed down my spine.

Oh, God. Did he have some kind of confession to make? Because if so, I wasn’t sure I wanted to hear it.

But no. Surely if he did, this entire conversation would have gone differently.

Hanson stood, dragged his chair back around behind his desk, and collected another couple of sheets of paper with printed text on them from beneath his screen. “Come with me.”

“We’re alone in here,” I pointed out.

He shook his head. “Trust me. This needs to happen in a private room.”

A thread of dread unspooled in my gut as I got to my feet and followed him to an interview room. He didn’t sit, so I remained standing too. After a brief hesitation, he handed me the papers. On the top was a printout of West’s undercover driver’s license and passport. I flipped to the next page. His name was at the top of the document.

“What’s this?” I asked, afraid to know the answer.

Hanson drew in a deep breath and then slumped. “Your husband isn’t who you think he is.”

Oh, shit.

The bottom dropped out of my stomach.

I struggled to keep a neutral expression. “What do you mean?”

He couldn’t know, could he? There’s no way he could have figured it out. Not with another agency using all their tools to hide West’s trail.

His eyebrows pinched together. “Something about him is off. First, we saw him with that other woman, and then at the fundraiser, he pulled a gun. Don’t bother denying it. I saw itmyself on the security footage.”

“Plenty of people carry concealed.” It was weak, but the best I could do.

“Maybe,” he allowed. “But most people don’t have gaps in their ID.”

I clasped my hands together behind my back so he wouldn’t see them shake. “Excuse me?”

He nodded. “It’s a convincing fake, but it’s just that: fake. Westley Gallo isn’t real. I don’t know who the hell you married, but he’s hiding things from you.” His expression became even grimmer. “It gets worse.”

My head was spinning, and his voice was beginning to sound muffled. I was dissociating. I dug my fingernails into my palms and forced myself to focus on the present. The interview room smelled faintly of cigarettes and antiseptic. The floor was solid beneath my feet, the air cool. A metallic taste filled my mouth. I’d bit the inside of my cheek.

“How can it get worse?” I asked, feeling strangely distant from the situation, even though Hanson was less than two meters from me.

Hanson laid his hand on my arm. Warmth soaked through the fabric of my shirt. “Are you okay?”

“Fine.” I shook myself. I was a professional, damn it. I would not fall apart just because West’s tower of lies was crumbling. “You were saying?”

He gave my arm a slight squeeze. “West has been in contact with known associates of the Ortez crime syndicate. If you need proof, I have it. Joanna, I need you to consider this carefully. Is there any chance that your husband could be using you to help Ortez stay ahead of the law?”

“No.” The denial escaped before I could think through whether it was the right course of action. Perhaps it was better for Hanson to think West worked for Ortez than for him to know he was investigating the police force itself. “I mean, I don’t understand. How could you possibly know that West has been associating with criminals?”

Hanson’s cheeks turned splotchy and red, and he scratched the back of his head. “I’ve, uh, been surveilling him on and off since you said you were working things out. I didn’t want him messing around on you.”

My heart swelled. I’d never have expected him to care about me so much. “Thank you. That’s very sweet.”

I just hoped he hadn’t seen me and West speaking with Portia.

“Yeah. Well.” He cleared his throat. “You’re my partner.”

“That means a lot, Denny.”

The blush deepened. “You don’t seem as upset as I thought you’d be.”

I stayed quiet for a moment, debating how much to share with him. He’d already put a lot of it together himself, and while I was on the fence about his involvement with Ortez, the fact he’d come to me with this rather than using it against West went a long way toward assuring me of his innocence.

“Damn.” Hanson stilled. “Did you know all of this already? Are you in on it with him?”

My breathing stuttered. He thought I was the dirty cop?

Incredible.

“No,” I told him. “I’m not. But West isn’t who you think he is either. Yes, he lied about his identity, and I didn’t know that when we met, but I do now. I just can’t tell you the details.”

He looked confused. “The guy pretended to be someone he’s not and you stayed married to him?”

I groaned. Of course he’d question that. My low tolerance for deception was well known. “I left for a couple of nights to get some perspective, but once I had all of the information, things changed.”

His jaw jutted out, bulldog-like. “But you won’t tell me what’s going on?”

“Not won’t,” I corrected. “Can’t. I’m sorry.”

His nostrils flared, but he managed to keep his temper in check. Considering how he’d gone out on a limb for me and in return, I was keeping him in the dark, I was impressed by his self-control.

“Just be careful,” he warned. “Maybe you think you know what he’s up to, but you can’t be certain you aren’t being played.”

I didn’t reply to that because honestly, however much I might believe West’s claims, Hanson had a point. The only other person I’d dealt with directly who was associated with West’s cover was Portia, and she had all sorts of reasons to lie if West asked her to. No matter how much I might want to, I couldn’t trust anyone.

WEST

My phone rang as I stirred the beetroot risotto that was simmering on the stove. The savory aroma of herbs and cheese wafted through the apartment, and my mouth watered. I leaned over the counter to check my phone. My heart lurched at the sight of a familiar number in the center of the screen.

I raised the phone to my ear. “Mamma? How did you get this number?”

“You’re not the only one who has law enforcement contacts,” she reminded me. “It’s been too long since I heard from my son. Is it safe to talk? ”

I glanced around. I was alone in the apartment, and it was clear of electronic listening devices. The phone was a burner and I’d swap the number tomorrow. Perhaps Adam would frown on me accepting the call, but Mamma mattered more to me than placating my boss.

“Yes, Mamma. It’s so good to hear from you. I missed you.”

“I’ve missed you too,” she wailed. “It’s been too long. Here I am, never knowing if you’re alive or dead, and I’m sure you’ve been fading away with no one there to feed you properly.”

Guilt sank its claws into me.

“I’m sorry, Mamma. I wish there was a better way to keep you up to date, but it’s too dangerous to talk regularly or to send messages. My boss would let you know if anything happened to me though, I promise.”

“They had better.” She huffed. “Tell me. Have you been eating? And I mean real food. Not those awful prepackaged, just-add-water monstrosities.”

I laughed. Mamma was an excellent cook, but because of that, she was also quite a food snob. “You know I can cook for myself quite well.”

“Well, yes,” she agreed reluctantly. “I did teach you.”

“And I listened to every word,” I promised.

She grudgingly accepted this but moved onto the next topic of questioning. “Aren’t you terribly lonely, cucciolo?”

“Actually…” I hesitated, unsure how much to share. But I was in a pickle, romantically speaking, and my parents had enjoyed a long and happy marriage. “There’s a woman.”

Mamma gasped. “Who is she?”

I stirred the risotto again, noting that the water was evaporating, and it would soon be done. “I can’t tell you her name, but I love her. ”

“You do?” She squealed, but then got a hold of herself. “Does this woman love you too?”

Suddenly, my limbs felt heavy. My heart sank as I realized… I really didn’t know.

“She used to.” My eyes pricked, and I tried to tell myself it was from the onions in the risotto, but the lie wasn’t fooling anyone. “I deceived her. I’m not sure if we’ll be able to move past it.”

“You did it for your job?” she asked, no judgment in her voice.

“Yeah.” I ran my hand through my hair and tugged at the ends as frustration crept over me. “She’s well within her rights to be mad.”

She scoffed. “I’m sure she is, cucciolo. Tell me more about her. I know, I know, you can’t give me her name, but I want to know what kind of person my son fell for.”

I grinned despite my heavy heart. “She’s amazing. Strong, smart. She seems sharp on the surface, but beneath that, she’s so many other things.”

“Ah.” Her tone was knowing. “She has needed to protect herself before.”

“In her line of work, she’s something of an outsider. I guess that made her tough.”

Fiorella paused. “Is your lady a criminal, Weston? I don’t judge. I’d just like to know so I can be prepared.”

I snorted, amused by her willingness to accept anyone into her family. “No, Mamma. She isn’t a criminal.”

Her sigh of relief was audible. “Then you’d best grovel. If this woman deserves you, and you’ve hurt her, she needs to see you take responsibility for that and do better. Get on your knees if that’s what it takes. I want to meet her. I need someone else to spoil. Don’t mess it up.”

“I’ll do my best not to.”

Metal scraped on metal. I glanced at the door in time to see the lock turn.

“I’ve got to go,” I whispered. “We’ll talk soon, but don’t try this number again. I love you.”

“Goodbye, darling. Love you.”

I ended the call, quickly removed the sim card from the phone and snapped it.

Joanna stepped inside and immediately narrowed her eyes. If she’d been a cat, her tail would have been swishing. “What are you up to?”

“Nothing.” I discreetly slid the broken sim card into my pocket. “Cooking dinner.”

“Which is it?” she asked, shutting the door. Nothing, or cooking?”

“You’ll regret making fun of me if I don’t let you eat any risotto,” I teased.

She laughed. “Please don’t. It smells great.”

“I suppose I’ll let you have some. It’ll be ready in a few minutes. Would you like a glass of wine?”

She considered for a moment, then shook her head. “I’d better not yet.”

Something in her tone was off.

“What’s wrong?” I asked.

“I’m going to change, and then we can talk.” She stalked past me and out of sight.

To distract myself from worry, I sliced crusty bread and placed a slice on each of two plates, then checked the risotto and, satisfied it was done, turned off the stove and scooped the delicious creamy meal alongside the bread.

I carried the plates to the table and poured a glass of water for each of us, then gathered cutlery and waited for her to return. When she did, she came straight to the table and sat.

She inhaled, a smile on her lips. “Mm. I love your beetroot risotto.”

My gut heated as my libido mistook her interest in dinner for something else. Determined not to let her notice my reaction, I enjoyed my first mouthful of risotto, silently congratulating myself on getting it just right. Of course, Mamma could do it better, but it was still excellent.

“Hanson suspects you,” Joanna said.

The creamy rice turned to ash in my mouth.

“Excuse me?”

She nodded, yet to start eating herself. “He presented me with evidence that you aren’t who you say you are and warned me to be wary of you. Obviously, I didn’t tell him the truth, but if he mentions his concerns to others, it could be bad for your investigation.”

“It could be lethal, if he mentioned something to the wrong person.” We still didn’t know exactly who was involved. The chances were that Hanson had already alerted someone that he’d been digging into my cover. He wasn’t the most subtle guy. “Do you trust him?”

With long fingers, Joanna began shredding her slice of bread, breaking it into smaller and smaller pieces. “I’d like to. He accused me of being in on your activities when I wasn’t as surprised as I should have been about your alter ego, and I doubt a dirty cop would do that, but I’m not certain. I wouldn’t stake your life on it.”

“I’m guessing you have thoughts about what we should do.”

She wasn’t the type to raise a problem without having at least idly considered potential solutions.

She dunked a piece of bread into the risotto and popped it into her mouth. “Have you thought about reading Thackery into the operation?”

“We can’t.” The denial burst from my lips automatically.

She frowned, taken aback. “Why not?”

“I don’t know.” I wished I had a concrete answer for her. “Something about him just doesn’t sit right with me.”

“Thackery pushes people’s boundaries, and he may be more of a politician than I’d like, but he’s always been a solid cop,” she protested.

I forced myself to eat another spoonful of risotto and mull over my response before speaking. I had to keep in mind the fact that she’d worked under Thackery for years and believed him to be an upright policeman, whereas she’d known me for less than six months and I’d proven myself a liar.

“It’s not always the bad cops that turn,” I said mildly. “It wouldn’t be much use to crime bosses if their pet policemen were useless at their jobs.”

She inclined her head. “I take your point. What did Thackery do or say to earn your distrust?”

“According to Beth, he frequented Neal’s poker evenings.”

“Ah.” She ate another piece of bread. “We have no evidence linking the poker games to Ortez’s illegal activity, but I can understand your hesitation.”

I continued my meal, trying not to let on how much I appreciated the fact that she’d listened to me rather than immediately jumping to Thackery’s defense.

She sighed, her palms flat on the table. “So, we don’t tell either Hanson or Thackery. We continue to trust only each other.”

My heart stuttered. She trusted me?

Her expression grew wary, as if she realized what she’d said, but she didn’t take it back. Perhaps she trusted me in a professional capacity but not a personal one. Even if that was the case, I’d accept it. When it came to Joanna, I’d gladly take whatever I could get .

I stood, rounded the table, and held my hands out to her. Hesitantly, she took them. I pulled her to her feet.

“Thank you.” My voice was thick with emotion. “It means more than you know that you’re allowing me even the slightest bit of trust. I won’t let you down.”

To my surprise, she didn’t snatch her hands back or glower. If anything, her lips curved slightly upward.

“You’d better not.”

My smile grew. “I spoke to Mamma earlier tonight. I’m under orders to make things right with you and take you to meet her.”

Her lips parted, and she didn’t seem to know what to say.

My heart pounded out her name. God, she was so beautiful.

I cupped her cheek. “May I kiss you? I understand if the answer is no, but—”

Her lips pressed to mine, stealing the last of my words.