Friday, March 17
7:10 a.m.
Savannah, Georgia
Destiny groaned as she rolled over in bed. Everything hurt. Her feet. Her legs. Her back. But especially her head. She had been thinking way too much, examining the problem at hand from every possible angle. Sticking to the plan was out of the question, but what other option did she have? The easiest solution—the only solution—was the one right in front of her. She had to do what Harry wanted. Whether she wanted to or not.
She stretched her aching muscles. She couldn’t remember the last time she had been so tired. Was this what it felt like to put in an honest day’s work? She had certainly spent an honest night. Last night, she had laid herself bare. Last night, the gentle but insistent probing of Rashida’s fingers, lips, and tongue had drawn the truth out of her.
“I love you,” she had said more times than she could count. “I love you.”
She smiled at the memory, but her smile quickly turned into a scowl when she remembered what was on her agenda for the day. Today was the day Harry’s plan would finally come together. Today was the day Destiny could make a fortune but lose someone who meant more to her than money. Today was the day.
She reached for Rashida but came up empty. She opened her eyes, squinting against the glare of the morning sun.
Rashida was dressed and halfway out the door. Standing in front of the floor-length mirror in the bedroom, she carefully applied a coat of lipstick and reached for a pair of earrings. “What are you staring at?”
“You.”
Destiny crawled across the bed, grabbed Rashida by the back of her pants, and pulled her down. She pinned Rashida’s body with her own and kissed the face she had quickly grown to love. After a few minutes of girlish giggles, Rashida pushed her away. Destiny couldn’t hide her disappointment as she watched Rashida prepare to head to work. She didn’t want her to go. She didn’t want their time to end. She wanted one more day to try to figure things out.
“Are you sure you can’t you play hooky just this once? I’ve got the day off. Let’s spend it together. We can watch the parade and have some green beer in a crowded bar. Or, if you want, we don’t even have to leave this bed.”
“Like I said last night,” Rashida said with what seemed to be genuine regret, “I wish I could, but I can’t.”
Trying not to pout, Destiny dragged herself out of bed and went to the kitchen to make herself a cup of coffee. Across the room, Rashida blended herself a smoothie. Destiny felt like half of a happily married couple going about their usual morning routine. Unfortunately, her image of domestic bliss was nothing more than an illusion. She wished she could make the image real. She wished she could steal away with Rashida. Catch a plane somewhere and never look back.
“If you could live anywhere but here, where would you choose?”
“What do you mean?” Rashida’s eyebrows knitted in confusion.
She probably thought the question had come out of nowhere, but Destiny needed to know the answer. Chances were she’d never see Rashida again after today. Even if she did, their relationship, such as it was, would never be the same. She wanted to have one more piece of Rashida to take with her when they went their separate ways.
Destiny repeated her question then listened, fascinated, as Rashida shared her dream of visiting Malaysia. Rashida’s words painted vivid images in her mind. She could clearly see the things Rashida spoke about. Wizened fishermen casting their nets on the water. Street vendors sautéing a series of mystery ingredients and serving them up as lunch. Tourists taking in rustic charm one day and basking in elegant sophistication the next.
When Rashida talked about spending New Year’s Eve on an enclosed walkway that stretched between two skyscrapers, Destiny could picture herself dancing slow with her under a canopy of stars. Surrounded by people but feeling utterly alone.
“What’s stopping you from going?”
Rashida laughed as if the question was the silliest thing she had ever heard. “I don’t speak a word of Malay. That’s reason enough.”
“So learn.” Destiny wasn’t as willing as Rashida was to let go of her fantasy. To let go of her own. She held Rashida’s face in her hands and looked deep into her eyes. “I want you to be happy.”
“I am happy. Right here. With you.”
“Then stay with me.” Destiny held onto Rashida. Held on because she didn’t want to let go. “Don’t go to work today. Pick up the phone and call in sick. I promise to make it worth your while. Stay with me.”
Rashida broke free with apparent reluctance. “If it was any day but today, I would. But I can’t. I’m sorry, but I have to go to work.”
Destiny felt sick to her stomach as she followed Rashida to the living room. Rashida had no idea what she was in for. What they were both in for. Rashida tried to toss her a bone by offering to take time off next year, but next year would be much too late.
“See you tonight,” Rashida said, obviously trying to cheer her up.
“See you.”
Even before the door clicked shut, Destiny knew what she had to do. Instead of doing what was easy, she had to do what was right.
She grabbed her uniform and got dressed. Her clothes smelled like oil and she smelled like sex, but she didn’t have time to take a shower or find something else to wear. She needed to get downtown as fast as she could.
She ran downstairs, climbed in her car, and headed home. After she grabbed what she needed, she drove to the Savannah Chatham Metro Police Department faster than the law allowed. Frankly, though, a speeding ticket was the least of her concerns.
The desk sergeant took in her disheveled appearance and eyed her with suspicion. “May I help you?” he asked, his hand easing toward his gun.
“My name is DaShawn Jenkins and I need to see Chief Wilson.”
“The chief is a busy man. What can I do for you?”
“If you don’t want to be shackled to that desk for the rest of your career, you’ll get off your ass and take me to the man in charge.”
“Give me a reason.”
Destiny pulled her video camera out of her pocket. “A bank’s being robbed and I have the proof right here. Is that reason enough?”
“Which bank?”
Destiny shook her head. “I’ll divulge that information as soon as I’m standing face-to-face with Chief Wilson.”
The desk sergeant licked his lips as if he were envisioning the commendation and resulting promotion he could receive for breaking a high-profile case. “Come with me.”
Destiny followed him through the crowded police station.
“Wait here,” he said before disappearing into Chief Keith Wilson’s office.
She stood outside the door while the desk sergeant conferred with the chief and two detectives. She looked at her watch as several precious minutes ticked by. Finally, the desk sergeant opened the door and waved her inside.
Chief Wilson sat behind a desk overflowing with paperwork. One detective leaned against the desk, the other spilled over the sides of a chair positioned in front of it.
Chief Wilson steepled his fingers and leaned forward as if he were trying to earn her trust. That might have worked if his hands hadn’t been resting on copies of her mug shots from past arrests.
“Sergeant Anderson says there’s something you want to tell me.”
“Low Country Savings Bank’s main office is being robbed. A team of three is breaking into the vault.”
“When?”
“Right now.”
“If that’s the case, we should have received an alarm call. No one has been dispatched to that location today.”
“The alarm’s disabled. An employee let them inside. She’s the fourth member of the team.”
Chief Wilson’s eyes widened slightly, but his face remained impassive. “And you know this because?”
“I’m the fifth.”
Cashing in her insurance, she played the secret recording she had made of Harry’s confession. When the playback ended, she expected Chief Wilson to send every available officer to the bank to thwart the crime. Instead, he allowed the detective leaning against his desk to do the talking.
“Miss Jenkins, you’ve got a record a mile long.” His expression and posture broadcast his skepticism. “Why should we believe this tape is anything more than a hoax? From my perspective, it could be real or it could be part of a scheme to extort money out of Harrison Collins. She’s an upstanding member of the community. It makes no sense for her to be involved in the crime discussed on the tape.”
“Whether it makes sense or not, she is involved. You saw it for yourselves. Why would I lie?”
The detective reached back, picked up the copy of her file, and rattled off a list of her past charges. “You’ve lied about everything else. Why should today be any different?”
“Look,” she said, sighing in frustration at her inability to escape her past. “We don’t have a lot of time. This thing is going down as we speak. My team works fast. They won’t be in the building a minute longer than they have to be, which means we need to stop jawing and get moving. If you think I’m lying, fine. But give me a chance to prove I’m not. Put a wire on me and follow me to the bank. My team is expecting me. My presence won’t come as a surprise. Yours would. Hang back and let me go inside alone.”
“Not a chance,” the detective said.
Destiny had expected one or all of them to balk at the suggestion. “If you bull your way inside guns blazing, you’ll wind up with a bloodbath on your hands. If you play it my way, everyone makes it out alive and you’ll have the FBI asking you for pointers.”
They responded to the ego stroking with the expected acquiescence. She could feel their icy demeanors begin to thaw so she turned up the heat.
“You’ll be able to hear every word I say. If it turns out I’m not telling anything but the God’s honest truth, slap the cuffs on me, toss me in jail, and throw away the key. Just don’t sit here and do nothing.”
Chief Wilson leaned back in his chair. “What do you want in return for coming forward with this information? Immunity?” He spread his hands to indicate his helplessness. “You need someone in the DA’s office to offer you that, not me. I’m a police officer, not a lawyer. It’s not my job to worry about sentencing. I put people in jail and let the guys in the expensive suits fight over how long they get to stay there.”
She had expected him to take the hard line. She hadn’t expected not to give a rat’s ass about it. “I don’t care about me.”
If she went to prison branded as a snitch, she’d have to sleep with one eye open and be prepared to fight at a moment’s notice. But every bruise would be worth it if it meant she could clear her name.