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Forty-Two
Madison placed the call, arranged a meet in thirty minutes, and had a cab take her to the diner. She’d be early, but she’d also have time to select a table, hopefully in a corner and out of earshot of other patrons. She was seated in the same spot she had been a few weeks before when she’d met with Leland King about getting his help.
Leland walked through the doors, eyed her, and came over.
An attentive waitress was glued to his rear and handed out menus. “Can I get you started with coffees?”
“I’ll have a ginger ale,” she said and earned a quizzical look from King.
“I’ll have a coffee. Black.”
“You got it.” The waitress winked at Leland.
“I shouldn’t be here.”
“I’m glad you are.”
“Uh-huh. And I doubt I’ll be staying long. What is it, Detective?”
There was a long history between the two of them, and the fact he addressed her by title said a lot. He was shut off and prepared to leave given the slightest provocation.
“I was in a bad hit-and-run earlier this week.”
The waitress returned with their drinks and left.
Leland wrapped a hand around his mug but didn’t take a sip. “You okay?”
“Just a couple bruised ribs.” Brain swelling, an induced coma, and oh! I’m pregnant! But she wasn’t getting into any of that. “I was lucky.”
“What happened?”
“A truck slammed into the back of my car. Took off afterward.”
He clenched his jaw, and his eyes glazed over, seeming to focus on nothing. “You haven’t stopped looking into the corrupt cops or the mob.” Not a question.
“You know I can’t.” She’d admit that much, but she wasn’t going to get into how she’d intensified her efforts, even getting herself a headquarters of sorts.
“Well, I can’t get involved. And you know why.” He reluctantly met her gaze.
She held up a hand. “I know. I’m not asking you to. But I need to know if you found out something or know something you didn’t share with me.”
Leland took a long, slow draw on his coffee. “Just leave it alone, Maddy. Count your blessings that you walked away from the crash.”
“Even more reason to let it go,” he spat.
“I think they’re feeling threatened.”
“Sure. And you know what a wild animal does when it feels threatened? It kills.”
“I lost nearly forty hours or so of my life to a coma. I’m done being Sleeping Beauty.”
“If you keep pushing this, you could enter eternal rest.”
“I know who hit me. I saw the driver.”
Leland adjusted his posture, but he remained rigid and closed off.
“It was Garrett Murphy,” she said.
He shook his head. “Don’t know who that is.”
“He’s another corrupt officer I was going to have you investigate if…” She didn’t need to finish. They both were aware of what followed if—if he hadn’t received the threat against his mother. “He must have found out I was poking around, just as you were discovered looking into Phelps. I’m sure you know Dustin has a brother. His name is Joel, and he’s a freelance writer for Stiles Times.”
“I know him.”
“I think he’s the one who found out you were investigating his brother.”
“I have no doubt. I already pieced that much together.”
“Why didn’t you say anything to me?”
“Because I thought you should leave it all the hell alone—both brothers, your efforts to ferret out corrupt cops, and your personal war on the Russians. And for the record, I still think you should.”
“Well, I found the truck that hit me—”
“Why am I not surprised.” Leland’s knuckles were white around his mug.
“It was in Joel’s driveway.”
“But you saw this Murphy guy behind the wheel?”
“That’s right. I’m just trying to figure out how to get him held accountable and find answers to some questions I have.”
“I’ll probably regret asking, but what are they?”
“In that picture you took, there was a woman. Shoulder-length brown hair. A lean, petite build. Do you know who she is?”
“Just walk away, Madison.”
That firmed it up: he did know the woman’s identity. “I followed her. She entered a house registered to a numbered company that tied back to Roman Petrov.”
Leland’s eyes flicked to hers, and his face became shadows. “It doesn’t matter that I tell you to walk away, does it? You’re not listening.”
“He’s still alive, isn’t he?”
It seemed like several minutes before Leland spoke.
“He staged his death. He’s in Russia, and that’s about all I know. That and he makes his son Dimitre look like the tooth fairy. You don’t mess with Roman.” Leland’s complexion paled in increments as he spoke. “Please, promise me you’ll leave this alone.” A genuine, heartfelt plea but one she couldn’t honor.
“Leland, he’s messed with me. If Murphy came after me because of the mob, the order came from somewhere higher up. We both know the mob doesn’t make a habit of killing cops.”
“Doesn’t mean exceptions aren’t made,” he said somberly.
“That woman entered a house owned by him. Tell me who she is.”
“I’ll just tell you this. The mob is a family business.”
A chill ran through her. “So she’s his daughter, his lover, his—”
Leland shook his head. “His second cousin and star assassin. Tatiana Ivanova. You thought Constantine was a scary son of a bitch. Yeah, well she has him beat. And if she’s in Stiles, something major is in the works. Guess you need to decide if bringing them down is worth the risk—and if you’ll even survive long enough to do it.”
She took a few deep breaths and put a hand on her stomach. She wasn’t just gambling with her life anymore. Maybe she should leave it alone. If not for her sake, for her baby’s.