“I don’t know.”
Reed leans back, and I feel like I can take a deep breath for the first time since he sat down across from me. “Will you try?”
With so many competing priorities, it’s all I can do to keep my head above water. This isn’t my fight. It isn’t even Clara’s. But I can’t let this slide—I can’t let kids be sold. And if Clara were here, she’d be asking what we can do to help, what weight she could lift from my shoulders so those kids are safe. “When are they coming?”
He writes the names and dates on the back of his business card, sliding it across the coffee table. “You do this, and I’ll do my damn best to keep anybody from asking questions about what you kids are doing here that has you walking so close to the line of legality. If you’re even still on the right side of it.”
I sigh. “I’ll do the best I can, but if nobody is talking about it, I won’t be able to get you what you need.”
“You could tell me where you find the intel.”
“Would that promise of not looking deeper apply?”
“Depends on what you’re doing.”
I stand up, done with this conversation. “The internet has a lot of dark corners. Look in them and you’ll find enough shit to bury just about anyone.”
He pushes to his feet, a hint of a smirk on his face that makes me wish he weren’t a cop. You can’t go slapping theback of a cop’s head without major repercussions. “Enough to bury even me?”
“I checked. You’re honest, if a bit obsessive. It’s the only reason Clara agreed to work with you.”
He laughs, but it feels like a weapon. “I guess I shouldn’t be surprised. Tell your artist friend that his…reproductions…on the walls are pretty good. And that as long as you deliver, I have no reason to figure out exactly how good they are.”
Walking him to the door, I risk saying what I’m thinking, not wanting him to think I’m a complete pushover. “I don’t much like threats.” Even good cops need firm boundaries, otherwise, the power goes to their heads.
“I don’t much like the things I’ve seen working on this sex crimes task force. And I’m there because I stumbled into this house more than a year ago. We’re both less than happy.”
He gives me a weighted look before I shut the door behind him, dropping my head to the wood.
“How bad is it?” Walker asks from somewhere on the stairs.
“How much time do you have in your schedule? This is going to take up most of mine.”
“Is it worth it?”
I fill him in, both on the problem and on the promise to leave us more or less alone.
“Shit,” he whispers, slumping to sit on the stairs. “Trips was our second-best computer guy, but…”
“But so far, he doesn’t have access to technology.”
“Who’d be better at this? Me or Jansen?”
“You. I’m not sure we can trust Jansen. Not on this. Not yet. He needs to focus on healing. Because otherwise…”
Walker nods, not needing me to finish that thought.
We both know the plan is fucked if Jansen can’t play his part. We can try to cover for him, but there’s no way either of us will be up to cracking a safe within the next month.
At least tonight he seemed fine. A little spacey, but fine. He came up with a pretty good plan for celebrating Walker’s birthday while we’re being watched.
Still, when he laughed too hard, he’d cough, and there were significantly fewer acrobatics than we’re used to seeing when he’s having fun. No climbing statues or front tucks off retaining walls. Which might have been him keeping his cover.
Or it might have been because he can’t.
If our thief is grounded, everything just got a lot harder.
A knock at the door has both of us on edge. But after checking, Walker swings the door open, his face grim.
