“Are the only lead I had up until today.”
Anton or Henry would never harm anyone. The idea made absolutely no sense.
“You’ve met my fathers. How in God’s name could you ever take them for killers?” Another possibility popped into her head. It would have knocked her to her knees if she hadn’t already been sitting. “Was taking my case just a way to get closer to them? Was this whole thing a setup?”
He rocked back on his heels and studied the worn couch. “At first,” he admitted.
“You bastard.” Bitterness landed like a rock in her stomach. “Tell me everything, and do not leave anything out.”
He strode past the rolltop desk, across the thick, gray carpet to a bookcase jam-packed with football players’ biographies and framed photos of gap-toothed kids and smiling adults. He pulled one of the pictures down from the top shelf. His face pinched with pain as he gave it a long look and then strode back over and shoved the picture into her hands.
She stared down at the two men in dress blues mugging for the camera. Tony stood a few inches shorter than the man next to him who had two mile-deep dimples that had probably turned girls’ knees to jelly and made their mothers worry.
“I fucked up, and because of that, Keith died. I couldn’t walk away from even the slimmest of leads. And your dads were all I had.”
She stopped his words with an upraised hand. “Back up and start again.”
“Keith and I grew up together. He was at my house so much we might as well have been brothers. When we got partnered up together on vice, we had a snitch who happened to
be a photographer. He told us about a major player in Harbor City’s fashion scene that was keeping the models in blow. We went undercover as photographer assistants.”
Nothing shocking in models buying drugs. More than one used cocaine to keep their weight down to an insane level, deal with the hectic hours, and let off steam. Getting a nice powder high added zero calories to their daily diet, unlike alcohol or chocolate cake. Ugly but true.
“And you thought Henry and Anton were dealers?” Not likely. Anton had been clean for more than a decade by the time she estimated Tony’s partner died.
“We traced a delivery to BC Designs. Then another. About two weeks before Keith died, we got word something was wrong with the cocaine. Someone had cut it with PCP and people were losing their minds. At least four deaths were tied to it. We had to go in.”
“Emily Rossi.” Her heartbeat sped as she remembered the six-foot-tall Nordic goddess who had been a regular at the BC Designs shows. She’d been Harbor City’s runway darling until she’d stepped in front of the number six bus while screaming about the demons stalking her every move.
Tony nodded. “Her death was one of the four. Whoever the dealer was, they were high up the ladder at BC with plenty of no-questions-asked access to fashion events. Everything went to shit before we got a chance to infiltrate the company.”
“What does that mean?”
“We were following a bike messenger with a package we knew was destined for your dads’ studio across town. The messenger made us and took off. We were on foot but went after him anyway. Keith and I got separated. He ran track in high school. There was no way I could keep up. I was crossing Delany Street so focused on not losing sight of Keith or the bike that I never saw the car come around the corner. Next thing I knew, I was waking up in the ambulance, my leg a fucking shredded mess.”
He sank down next to her on the couch and rubbed his right knee. “It wasn’t until after surgery that they told me about Keith. Two shots to the head. Close range.” He inhaled a ragged breath. “We never caught the guy who did it. Every lead fizzled out. Requests for overtime got turned down. Snitches went to ground. Rumors started about the brass shutting down the case.” He shook his head in disgust. “I left the force and started Maltese Security. But I kept copies of my case files and notes—including Anton’s mug shot. Keith wasn’t just my partner; he was my best friend. I still see his mom around the neighborhood. I won’t stop until I find his killer, no matter how long it takes. I owe him that.”
Tension held Sylvie’s muscles so tightly it felt like her tendons were going to snap off her bones. She sympathized, and admired his loyalty. But there wasn’t a chance in hell— “Do you still think my fathers were involved?”
“My gut says no, but I can’t scratch them off the list yet. Not until I solve the case. Someone at BC Designs knew what was going on.” He looked at her, and agony, raw and uncensored, shone from his eyes.
“Is that everything? Nothing left out?”
He hesitated, then nodded. “That’s it.”
“There is no way my fathers had anything to do with Keith’s death. You know it here.” She laid her palm on his chest, feeling the hard beat of his heart. “It had to be someone else. And I’ll help you prove it.”
She went to the desk, flipped open his laptop, and clicked on the document labeled BC Designs. It listed every company employee at the time of Keith’s death. She scrolled down the list, trying to remember when that little shit with two-toned magenta hair had quit in a huff. The cursor blinked over the name she was looking for, and her pulse pounded in her ears.
“Anders was working for my fathers then. BC Designs was his last job before he started his own line. And after what Ivy said today… Are you thinking—”
“Theories and feeling aren’t the same as proof. And without proof your fathers stay on the suspect list.” He rubbed his temples with his thumbs and groaned. “But hell, no, I don’t like Henry or Anton for this. Not anymore.”
Relief soaked into Sylvie’s bones. “If Anders was dealing, it would explain how he got financial backing for his line. And how he manages to keep it going despite the shit he produces. So what do we do now?”
“Eat.” Tony stood and held out a hand to her.
“But we—”