CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR
What I didn’t tell Bree and Vince was that I wasn’t called in to my unit. No, I was summoned to headquarters to meet with the Chief Deputy.
I arrive at the station on time and am immediately directed into his office.
Chief Deputy Cain greets me with a grim smile and nods at the chair across from him. “Have a seat, Hollister.”
I haven’t been in here in a while, so obviously this has something to do with Bree.
“We got a problem,” he starts.
I don’t answer because I don’t think he expects me to.
He taps the folder on his desk. “How well do you know this Avery girl?”
“Very well. We grew up together.”
“Are you involved now?”
“Yes, sir.” I’m not hiding our relationship from anyone.
“That why you went down to the jail and roughed up her ex?” He drops the question in a casual way, expecting me to be surprised he knows about my visit.
“I didn’t rough him up,” I explain. “I told him to stay away from Bree. That’s it. I had to get a restraining order against his brother because he wouldn’t leave her alone.”
“I saw that. Entitled little prick that one.”
Thank God this is finally going my way.
Or so I think.
“The victim—” he starts.
“He’s not a victim. He’s the attacker,” I correct.
Cain raises an eyebrow. “The deceased’s family,” he continues. “have raised concerns.”
“I’ll bet they have,” I grumble. “Maybe they should’ve been more concerned about raising their sons to respect women instead of turning out two psychos and unleashing them on society.”
He ignores my outburst and continues. “They claim Bree lured Chad to the house. Then shot him in cold blood.”
Fury shoots through my veins and I jump out of my chair, knocking it backwards. “That’s fucking bullshit. You saw her. You saw what he did to her.”
“Sit down.”
I stare at him for a few seconds before taking my seat. “Where’s the proof? A text? Phone call? How did she invite him over? Telepathy?”
Ignoring my sarcasm, he flips open the folder. “They haven’t said yet.”
“Right. They’re not going to either, because it’s a lie. A million pictures of her injuries were taken.”
“They contend she got those injuries when he fought for his life.”
“Oh, please. Nothing. Not one thing at the scene supports that.”
He sighs and sits back. “I know. They won’t get far, but until they accept reality I think you need to keep your distance from this girl.”
“No.”
“Excuse me?”
“No. I’m not abandoning her when she needs me the most. Absolutely not.”
“Hollister—” he warns.
I unsnap my gun from its holster and set it on the desk. It’s not meant to be some dramatic gesture. I’m dead fucking serious. I set my badge down next to the gun.
“You’d risk your job for this girl?”
“Absolutely.”
He cocks his head and studies me through narrowed eyes. “You marrying this girl?”
“That’s really none of your business.”
“You’re being a real insubordinate ass right now, Hollister.”
“Yes. I’m marrying her.”
He lets out a long, slow breath and flicks his gaze to the wall behind me. “Take a vacation.”
“What? I didn’t do—”
“It’s not a punishment. You’ve racked up plenty of time. Use it.”
“All right.”
And I know exactly where my first stop will be.
The Joseph family lives in an affluent suburb right outside Empire City. The homes here are not the run-of-the-mill McMansions you find in most suburbs. Most of them date back to the nineteenth-century. Federal judges, neuroscientists, and venture capitalists call this area home.
A lot of crooked-as-fuck politicians and their lackeys do too.
I park my truck in the circular driveway and stroll up the sidewalk. Officially on vacation, I’m wearing jeans and a simple, untucked, button-down shirt.
I ring the bell and a woman I don’t recognize opens the door. “I need to speak with Mrs. Joseph about her son’s case.”
I hold the manila envelope to my chest and follow the woman further into the house. Mrs. Joseph is at the dining room table speaking on the phone in a low voice. She ends the call when I enter.
“I’m here to speak to you about your son’s case.”
No dummy, Mrs. Joseph looks me up and down. “Who are you?”
“Liam Hollister. A friend of Brianna’s.”
Her expression hardens and she stands. “Get out before I call the police.”
“Ma’am, are you actually aware of what he did to her? Why he was in jail in the first place?” I ask as I approach the table.
“They got into a silly argument.”
“He gave her a black eye.”
“She probably provoked him,” she argues.
That stops me cold. Is she that delusional about who her son really was? “Are you kidding, lady?”
I unclasp the manila envelope in my hand. “Sit down,” I order in my hardest voice.
She sits and I lay out a row of photos in front of her. From the first beating. The one that landed Chad in jail.
They’re harsh. Brutal.
“Please tell me what kind of provocation warrants this?”
She shoves the pictures away. “My son wouldn’t do that. She must have done it to herself.”
“That is a deep river of denial you’re swimming in, lady.”
I pull out more pictures. From the day her son was killed. The bruising around Bree’s neck. “This is what he did not even two hours after you posted bail and he was told to stay away from her. You trying to tell me she deserved that too?”
“I…” Tears well up in her eyes, but I don’t give a shit if I’ve upset her. Her son turned out to be a monster who tormented Bree and got what he deserved. I refuse to have Bree be bullied by this family ever again.
“You need to drop this she-lured-him-to-the-house bullshit and let them close this case. I’m sorry you lost your son, but he gave her no choice.”
I place my hands on the table and lean forward. “Do you understand me?”
She glares right back.
I lower my voice because I want her to listen very carefully. “If you don’t drop this nonsense, I will leak these pictures to the press and let everyone know what kind of son you raised. Not everyone’s going to be as blind as you are.”
She uses one finger to pull the first picture closer and studies it for a while. “I always thought she was so good for him. They seemed happy together,” she says.
“Chad fooled a lot of people.”
She winces. “I don’t understand it. He wasn’t abused. We raised him better than that, I swear we did.”
I’m not here to dissect her parenting skills, but I can’t imagine the pain she’s going through right now. “Some people just aren’t wired right, Mrs. Joseph. That’s not your fault.”
“We gave him everything.”
Maybe that’s the problem.
But I think I’m making progress with her so I don’t voice that opinion.
“Will you do the right thing?” I ask.
Her jaw tightens and she meets my stare. “Yes.”
“Thank you. Get Chris some help, Mrs. Joseph.”
This woman’s done taking orders from me. Her eyes narrow. “Get out,” she spits at me.
I gather up all but one of the photos because she’s still holding on to it. Maybe she needs the reminder, so I let her keep it.