Dressed in jeans, oversize jacket, sunglasses, and a generic black ball cap, Kara listened to the press conference outside city hall. Damage Control 101, she thought, watching the crowd, looking for any sign of Conrad, the man she believed killed Craig Dyson. She hadn’t seen him yet, but she had his face etched in her mind and wouldn’t miss him.
As person after person spoke onstage, Kara realized they weren’t saying anything of value. It was hollow, empty, a lot of acronyms and platitudes and concern about taxpayers and the homeless. They said the exact same thing in different ways. They were conducting an audit. Concerned about waste. Cared about the poor. Apple pie and Uncle Sam, whatever. It was like each sentence had been crafted to be a sound bite alone, then strung together to make it seem they had a plan. But the plan was clear to Kara: cover our asses.
Kara didn’t understand many of the details in this case. Violet had laid everything out to her yesterday, but she barely followed. Even after talking with the group yesterday at First Contact, she didn’t exactly know what was going on. Fraud that might not be fraud, corruption that might be legal, grants given to friends and family that appeared to be part of the system and everyone said nothing to see here, folks.
But Kara understood murder. One of these people—or all of these people—had conspired to kill her friend Craig Dyson because he was going to expose them. Which told her that there was something deeply wrong with what they had been doing with all the money they funneled to the nonprofits that Violet, Colton and Will had identified. You don’t kill someone unless you fear exposure for a crime. Or if someone was threatening your payday.
Her gut told her they killed for greed and power. People in power never wanted to give it up. Once there, they would do anything to keep control. But murder? Murder was about greed and fear. The exposure Craig threatened would shut off the free-flowing spigot of dollars going to these organizations that profited their brothers, their sisters, their sons and daughters. And, by extension, themselves.
She would end it. Not alone, but with her team. She would get justice for Craig...and justice for Sunny.
The press in the audience threw out questions that the people onstage answered by simply rephrasing from their previous comments. Her phone vibrated and she stepped farther away from the crowd to answer it.
“Quinn.”
“It’s Costa. Rebecca Chavez has been relieved of duty and Brian is sending everything to OPR for a full investigation, but we have her.”
“Good. Sloane really went above and beyond.”
“She’s smart.”
“But Chavez didn’t admit to anything.”
“No. She’s still pushing the ‘Kara Quinn is behind the curtain’ card, but it’s not flying. Now that Violet is safe, I turned over the receipts to Granderson, just for the files, so you’re officially cleared. And Michael interviewed the clerk at the gas station who admired the Harley—got him on record as well.”
“Good thinking,” Kara said.
“Everyone is on this. Michael just called me about the press conference. This isn’t going to end our investigation.”
“Nope,” she said.
“Are you still there?”
“It’s wrapping up, but—”
Colton approached her. Even though he wore a low-brimmed Dodgers cap, big Army jacket and mirrored sunglasses, people who knew him well would know it was him. Bold, right in front of police headquarters, when most of your friends and colleagues thought you were dead.
“Kara?” Matt said because she’d gone silent.
“Give me one sec.” She muted the phone and turned to Colton. “What?”
“Will wants us to come to First Contact. He has something.”
“He should bring it to headquarters.”
“He says there’s a leak and he trusts you and he trusts me. That’s it. He sounds worried.”
She turned her back on Colton and unmuted Matt’s call. “Matt?”
“I’m still here.”
“Will has some info he says is important. I’m going to First Contact.”
“I can be there in thirty minutes.”
“I’ll meet you there,” she said.
“Be careful.”
“Right back at ya.” She smiled, then ended the call and said to Colton, “Costa will meet us there.”
He scowled. “Costa.”
“If Will trusts me, he trusts Costa.”
“The leak is probably from the fucking feds. I can’t believe you trust those people, and after everything Bryce Thornton put you through?”
“I trust Matt and my team. They have never let me down.”
She let the unspoken truth hang between them: Colton and everyone else she once trusted had disappointed her.
“Forgive me, Kara. If there had been another way—”
“There was another way.”
“I love you, K.”
She couldn’t believe he was doing this now. Here. “Bullshit,” she said.
“We have something.”
“We had something. But it wasn’t real.”
“What wasn’t real? I know you, Kara. Better than anyone.”
Last year she would have believed him. Hell, three months ago she would have believed him, been so relieved that he was alive and well that she might have forgiven him. But now? Kara was finally beginning to know herself. And that was because of Matt—not Colton. Matt saw her—not the woman she wanted people to see, but deep down to who she actually was. He saw who she wanted to be. No one had ever needed her like Matt.
She had never needed anyone, until Matt.
Need was the wrong word. They had a symbiotic relationship. They were stronger together.
With Matt, she felt like she had someone standing for her: standing behind her in support, standing in front of her to protect, standing at her side to join her in the fight.
For the first time, she had a hint about the true meaning of love.
She said to Colton, “We’re not having this conversation. Not now, not ever. I’ll get the keys to the rental car and—”
He gestured with his thumb over his shoulder. “I have my bike.”
The Harley was parked illegally on the street. She couldn’t help but smile. That was so much like Colton.
But if he thought reminding her that sometimes they had fun together, that sometimes they were good together would bring her back to him, he was wrong.
That part of her life was over after she thought he had been killed when she wasn’t there to protect him. She might be able to forgive him, but she’d never forget the deep, painful guilt, sorrow and rage she harbored when she thought he was dead.
They walked around the diminishing crowd and he said, “Campana is sending out a memo to everyone that I’m alive and kicking and have been in deep cover. My part is over and done with.”
“Scheduled, or because of all this bullshit?”
“It would have been out after I testified in front of the grand jury,” he said. “But now that they—” he waved toward city hall “—are closing ranks, I won’t be able to get much more even if I stayed on the streets.” He slipped onto his bike, handed her the extra helmet. She put it on, climbed behind him.
“I missed you, Kara,” he said and, without waiting for a response, started up the bike and pulled into traffic.
Will was pacing the First Contact office when Kara and Colton arrived. Gina and Fletch were sitting at the table drinking coffee and looking nervous.
“You didn’t tell anyone you were coming down?” Will said.
“She told Costa, the fed,” Colton said wryly.
“Oh. That’s—okay. It’s not him. But he can’t tell anyone.”
“What’s got you so stressed?” Kara asked.
“This morning, I was at LAPD headquarters and realized that almost all your reports,” he said, nodding toward Colton, “weren’t there.”
“I sent them directly to Craig because Gomez was concerned about a potential leak or if someone saw my name, they’d realize I wasn’t dead.”
“But after Craig was killed, everything from his office was sent to the sheriff’s—the detective running the investigation, I talked to him.” He snapped his fingers trying to remember his name.
“McPherson,” Kara said.
“Right. McPherson. He said he had the files and would be looking through them, but he was working closely with this detective Caprese from LAPD. I went today because I wanted to check on Violet, make sure she was okay after everything that happened, and saw the box from Dyson’s office. It was open there on the table and it had hardly anything in it. Someone stole your files—specifically, all the pictures you took outside the group homes and nonprofits.”
“You’re jumping the gun, buddy,” Colton said, trying to calm Will down. “Gomez could have ordered copies made, or she sent them to someone else for analysis. This was a tight case until now.”
“No. There were no photos listed in the log of files taken from Craig’s office. I know he had them—I saw your reports in his office last Friday. Pictures with names, organizational charts, financial statements.”
Colton frowned, and Kara said, “Could he have taken them home? Put them somewhere for safekeeping?”
“Maybe,” Will admitted, “but that’s not the only reason I’m suspicious that someone might have destroyed them.”
“First,” Colton said, “I have copies of everything. You think I would send my only copy?”
“Yes, but your house was tossed, and the police were here. Gina, tell them.”
Gina was biting her thumbnail, but she spoke clearly. “I came in early this morning with Fletch. As soon as I opened up, that detective who was here Tuesday? He walked right in. Said he had a warrant to search the place. Showed me a piece of paper that looked official, but didn’t let me keep it. He was with another guy—the guy from the sketch.”
Kara tensed. “Conrad.”
“Yeah. I guess. Will showed us the sketch and told us to call the police if we saw him. But... I was scared.”
Fletch took her hand and squeezed it. “It’s okay, baby. Finish it.”
“This place isn’t big, but they went through the offices, they looked in the cabinets and they took the computer. Gave me a receipt, but...it was weird. I called Will as soon as they left.”
Will put his hand on her shoulder. “You didn’t do anything wrong, Gina.”
“I’m really sorry,” she said.
“You and Fletch, go home. Stay clean—okay? You need a meeting, go to a meeting. But lie low and I’ll call you later.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yes,” Will said and walked them out. He locked the door behind them.
Kara asked Colton, “Where is your copy?”
“Safe.”
“Tell me.”
“You can come with me to retrieve it.”
That told Kara nothing, but before she could argue with him, Will said, “That’s not all. I listened to the press conference and something bothered me. So I listened again to the podcast that exposed Lydia Zarian’s sister as running some of these nonprofits. And it clicked.”
“Explain,” Kara said. “Clearly, as if I’m a child.”
“The press conference was clearly damage control, but they talked specifically about Sunflower Group Homes. The podcast didn’t mention Sunflower at all. Violet had never given them the Sunflower information. That was all Colton’s theory, one of the tipping points for Craig. But the Sunflower files aren’t in Craig’s documents.”
Colton tensed. “I gave him everything on Sunflower last week.”
“Let me get this clear,” Kara said. Her head pounded trying to put the information together. “You think that they knew Craig was investigating this Sunflower group and because none of those files were in his office, that they somehow destroyed them because they have someone on the inside? Anything could have happened, including Craig hiding them himself, especially if something in there was explosive.”
Colton said, “Sunflower ties Angel Homes and all the other group homes together. It shows how Zarian’s brother and sister used the system to make millions of dollars. And I had pictures—pictures of every person going into the Sunflower offices over the last six weeks. If they are concerned about something I found, why would they put it out there at all?”
“I don’t know,” Will said, “but why bring it up if they didn’t know we were looking at it? And the only way they could have known we were looking at it is if they had access to Craig’s files.”
“I see your point,” Kara said. “So who had access?”
“Just Craig,” Will said.
“And Peter Sharp,” Colton said. “I’ll be damned.”
“His investigator?” Kara asked. “Why would Sharp be working with these people?” As she said it she knew it could happen. Steve Colangelo was a bad cop. Tom Lee was a bad cop. Why not a bad investigator in the DA’s office? She felt angry and sick to her stomach.
“Craig brought Peter in well after the investigation started, and he didn’t know I was undercover—few people did. Craig, Lex, Elena, Will, Violet. That was it. All Peter knew was that Elena had someone in deep cover.”
“Could he have found out it was you?” Kara asked.
“Not until this week. I’m good, Kara. Just like you.” He shot her one of his charming smiles, but she didn’t smile back. “Anyway, Peter met with Elena and Lex on Monday night. I don’t know what he learned at that meeting, but Elena and Lex trust him.”
“We still don’t have proof that he took evidence,” Kara said, but she was thinking.
Will ran both hands through his hair. “This is fucked.”
“He won’t get away with it,” Colton said.
“The FBI—my team, not LA FBI,” Kara said, “believe the files from Dyson are light. That there are things missing that are referenced in his personal notes. They are operating under the assumption he may have locked up the files or hid them for safekeeping, but Sharp had access to Dyson’s office immediately after the murder and was the first to access it Tuesday morning. He could have hidden the files, destroyed them, taken them. But so could anyone who had access to Dyson’s office.”
“The simplest explanation is usually the correct one,” Colton said. “Sharp knew about Violet’s role and about Chen talking about a deal. He knows about Violet’s history, her work with First Contact, her mother—and that she was working on the computer crash.”
“Why didn’t he have city hall fire her?”
“It’s not easy firing a civil servant, and she’s in the technology department, not working directly for the mayor’s office. But he could keep track of what she knew and what she fed to Craig.”
Kara remembered what Craig told her on Monday. “She had something for him, she was bringing it to him Monday when Chen was killed. But we now have it. So whoever had Chen and Dyson killed only delayed the inevitable.”
“What she had was evidence of how the crash happened and why the deleted files could never be recovered except at the data storage facility. It’s the original backup drive that she needs. And we’re waiting for a warrant to get it. Dammit!” Colton pulled out his phone, pressed a button, frowned. “I can’t make a call.”
Kara grabbed her phone, looked at it.
No signal.
“Someone is jamming our phones,” she said.
She had the awful feeling that they were trapped.
The door rattled, then the glass broke.
There was nowhere to hide.