Will had almost forgotten about the dead kid in the laundry room. What he clearly remembered was that Amanda had skated over the fact that she knew Boyd Spivey well enough for him to call her Mandy. Will had to assume that Ben Humphrey and Adam Hopkins were on the same familiar terms, which meant that yet again Amanda was working her own case within the case.
She told him, “I’ll make some calls to parole in Memphis and Los Angeles to reach out to Chuck Finn and Demarcus Alexander. All we can do is send them a message that Evelyn’s in trouble and we’re willing to listen if they’re willing to talk.”
“They were all very loyal to Evelyn.”
She stopped at the gate, waiting for the guard to find the key. “Yes, they were.”
“Who’s Ling-Ling?”
“We’ll get to that.”
Will opened his mouth to speak, but the air was pierced by a shrill alarm. The emergency lights flashed. One of the guards grabbed Will by the arm. Instinct took over, and Will jerked away from him. Amanda had obviously had a similar reaction, but she didn’t stop there. She ran down the hall, her heels popping against the tile floor. Will jogged after her. He rounded the corner and nearly knocked into her when she came to a dead stop.
Amanda didn’t speak. She didn’t gasp or cry out. She just grabbed his arm, nails digging through the thin cotton of his T-shirt.
Boyd Spivey lay dead at the end of the hallway. His head was turned at an unnatural angle from his body. The guard beside him was bleeding from a large slit in his throat. Will went to the man. He dropped to his knees and pressed his hands to the wound, trying to stanch the flow. It was too late. Blood pooled onto the floor like a lopsided halo. The man’s eyes locked on Will’s, filling with panic, and then filling with nothing at all.
CHAPTER FIVE
FAITH SLOWED THE MINI AS SHE NEARED HER HOUSE. IT WAS past eight o’clock. She had spent the last six hours going over and over what had happened at her mother’s house, saying the same thing again and again, as her lawyer, her union rep, three Atlanta cops, and one special agent from the GBI asked questions, took notes, and basically made her feel like a criminal. On some level, it made sense that they believed Faith was wrapped up in whatever had gotten her mother kidnapped. Evelyn had been a cop. Faith was a cop. Evelyn had shot and killed a man. Faith had shot two men—two possible witnesses—seemingly in cold blood. Evelyn was missing. If Faith had been on the other side of the table, she might’ve been asking the same questions.
Did she have any enemies? Had she ever taken a bribe? Had she ever been approached to do something illegal? Had she ever taken money or gifts to look the other way?
But Faith wasn’t on that side of the table, and no matter how much she racked her brain, there was no reason she could think of that anyone would want to take her mother. The worst part about being trapped in the interrogation room was that every minute that ticked by reminded Faith that five able-bodied officers were wasting time in an airless interrogation room when they could all be out looking for her mother.
Who would do this? Did Evelyn have enemies? What were they looking for?
Faith was just as clueless now as when the interrogation began. She pulled the car up to the curb in front of her house. All the lights were on, something she had never allowed in her life. The house looked like a Christmas decoration. A very expensive Christmas decoration. Four cars were parked in the driveway. She recognized Jeremy’s old Impala that he’d bought from Evelyn when she’d gotten the Malibu, but the two trucks and black Corvette were new to her.
“Shhh …,” she shushed Emma, who was getting antsy now that the car had stopped. Defying all laws and basic common sense, Faith had put Emma in the front seat beside her. The drive from Mrs. Levy’s was just a few minutes, but it wasn’t laziness so much as neediness that made Faith want to keep her child close. She picked up Emma and held her tight. The baby’s heart beat a soothing staccato against her chest. Her breathing was soft and familiar, like tissues being pulled out of a box.
Faith wanted her mother. She wanted to put her head on Evelyn’s shoulder and feel her wiry, strong hands patting her back as she whispered that everything was going to be all right. She wanted to watch her mother tease Jeremy about his long hair and bounce Emma on her knee. Most of all, she wanted to talk to her mother about how awful today had been, to get her advice on whether or not to trust the union rep who was telling her she didn’t need a lawyer, or to listen to the lawyer who was telling her the union rep was too tight with the Atlanta force.
“Oh, God,” she breathed into Emma’s neck. Faith needed her mother.
Tears flooded into her eyes, and for once she did not try to stop them. She was alone for the first time since she’d stepped foot inside her mother’s house hours ago. She wanted to fall apart. She needed to fall apart. But Jeremy wanted his mother, too. He needed Faith to be strong. Her son needed to believe her when she said that she would do whatever it took to get his grandmother back in one piece.
Judging by the cars, there were at least three cops waiting inside with her son. Jeremy had been crying when she called him from the station—confused, worried, terrified for his grandmother as well as his mother. Amanda’s warning came back to Faith. Standing in Mrs. Levy’s living room, Faith had been surprised by Amanda’s hug, but not by her words, whispered in a low warning: “You’ve got two minutes to pull yourself together. If these men see you cry, all you will be to them for the rest of your career is a useless woman.”
Sometimes Faith thought that Amanda was fighting a battle that had been waged long ago, but sometimes she realized her boss was right. Faith used the back of her hand to wipe her eyes. She pushed open the car door and slipped her purse onto her free shoulder. Emma shifted, startled by the cold air. Faith pulled up her blanket and pressed her lips to the top of the baby’s head. Her skin was warm. The fine hairs tickled Faith’s lips as she walked up the driveway.
She thought of all the things she had to do before she could go to bed. The house would need to be straightened, no matter the circumstances. Emma needed to be put to bed. Jeremy would need reassurances, and probably dinner. She would have to talk to her brother Zeke at some point. If there was any grace in the world, he was somewhere over the Atlantic right now, flying home from Germany, so she wouldn’t have to speak with him tonight. Their relationship had never been good. Thankfully, Amanda had handled the phone calls or Faith would’ve wasted most of the afternoon yelling at Zeke rather than talking to the Atlanta police. Faith felt a modicum of relief as she climbed the front stairs. Only the threat of having to talk to her brother could make the way she’d spent the last six hours look inviting. She reached for the doorknob just as the door swung open.
“Where the hell have you been?”
Faith stood with her mouth open, staring up at her brother Zeke. “How did you—”
“What happened, Faith? What did you do?”
“How—” Faith felt incapable of forming a complete sentence.
“Dude, chill.” Jeremy pushed past his uncle and took Emma from Faith’s arms. “You okay, Mom?”
“I’m fine,” she told him, but it was Zeke who had her attention. “Did you come from Germany?”
Jeremy supplied, “He’s living in Florida now.” He pulled Faith into the house. “Did you eat? I can make you something.”