“Yes. Remember that conversation we had about not feeling all that bad when the bad guys end up dead?”
“Yes.”
“I may have been trying to identify how you felt about that sort of thing. And…you seemed to understand it was sometimes necessary.”
“In the hypothetical,” I grind out.
“Well, the hypothetical is real. We were going to slowly introduce some concepts over time, but then Preston Whitaker decided you should not be alive anymore.”
Yep. None of that makes any of this any clearer.
“Why doesWhitakerhave it out forme?” This conversation is one giant non sequitur. “I didn’t do anything. I’m not even the one who got his son to turn on him.”
“I know that. We all know that. But then Maverick posted that selfie of the two of you, and Whitaker put two and two together.”
Maverick looks stricken.I’m so sorry.
I hold out my hand.It’s okay.
“Well, he must have been going on vibes because I don’t know what he put together.”
“Whitaker thinks you’re already working with the Bashes.”
I look at Hopper’s phone.
“Alreadyworking with the Bashes?”
“Yes.”
“The billionaire Bashes,” I say, Hopper’s words slowing turning over in my beleaguered mind.
“Yes.” Joni clears her throat before continuing, “The Bashes have destroyed a number of trafficking organizations. They do good work. They’re necessary. And they like you.”
Maverick looks as stunned by this information as I feel.
“Well, that’s fucking great.” I wonder if I’ve lost my mind when I ask, “Why do they like me? Do I seem murderous? Or like I might be in the mood to disregard the years of education and training I undertook to become a detective?”
Ah shit.
“Did they send me to school so they could recruit me?”
Hopper’s already shaking his head. “No, we could see you were really interested in justice. But we’ve been carefully following your career. No interference, just wanted to see the kind of man you are. And you are a very, very good man.”
I turn to Maverick. “And you didn’t know anything about this?”
He shakes his head. “I found out some things by accident, but it’s like I told you, they don’t trust me with anything. They keep things from me.” He looks at Hopper, tapping his temple. “They say it’s not because of the processing shit, but…”
Hopper rocks back and forth, clearly taking issue with Maverick’s words. He opens his mouth to, I don’t know, disagree? Then closes it again. He clasps his hands behind his back and drops his chin to his chest.
“I wish they would have seen the way you took down those guys, Mav,” I say, even with the ambivalence of what he does and does not know. “Brutal, accurate, without hesitation. You’re strong as hell, smart as hell, and you work harder than any person I know.”
Silas pushes his sunglasses up onto his head. “Hop filled everyone in on the drive over. The dads know they fucked up—and they’re trying to fix it.”
Oof. Maverick’s hands, still shaking, ball into fists, and the glare he sends to Silas feels dangerous. Like maybe he’s trying to convince himself not to deck the baby psycho.
“Don’t shoot the messenger,” Silas says, raising his hands. “They know they owe you an apology. They just haven’t figured out how to go about it.”
“They’re strategizing an apology?” Maverick asks, anger and hurt at war in his voice.
