“What?” he asked, appalled. “Emily has nothing to do with this.”

“Yeah, but they don’t know that. You seem to want to stay under their radar. What’ll happen if they think you two set this whole thing up?” What thing, exactly, I had no idea.

He raked his fingers through his hair.

“Just talk to me,” I said, my voice placating. “I promise you, whatever you’ve gotten yourself into, I can help you get out of it. I’m a private investigator. I have connections.”

After a very long stare into the bottle of Jack, he said, “Not here. There are eyes and ears everywhere.”

The possibility that he might actually talk to me sent a sharp thrill racing over my skin.

He wrote quickly on a piece of paper and handed it over to me. It had an address on it and the words, Meet me here in half an hour. Alone.

I shook my head. “So I can suffer the same fate as that poor man you killed? I think not.”

He leaned over and whispered, “It’s a friend’s apartment. He’s out of town.”

“And that’s supposed to set my mind at ease?” I whispered back.

“I’ll tell you everything.”

“Meet you there in thirty.” I rose and walked out the door. When I passed by his secretary Lois’s desk, I opened up to get a full read on her. Burning curiosity was all I got. She was curious about me. She lifted her phone and pretended to text, but I was about 90 percent positive she snapped a shot of me. I’d executed that very move a hundred times, only just now realizing how fake it looked. No one texted like that. I’d have to get a new technique.

I climbed into Garrett’s truck. “Did you get all that?” I asked him.

“I did. Where we meeting him?”

“At an address on Candelaria near Lomas.”

He started his truck. “What did you get off him?”

“The more important question is what didn’t I get off him.” When he raised his brows in question, I said, “Guilt.”

17

Oh, my. What a lovely shade of bitch you’re wearing today.

—T-SHIRT

We waited in front of the apartment for Phillip to show. He was over fifteen minutes late, and I was beginning to worry we’d been stood up when he pulled around to the side of the building. The two of us got out and walked over to meet him. But when he spotted Garrett, he started to rethink.

He was about to get back in his car when I got to him. “This is a colleague,” I said to him, holding up my hands in surrender. “He’s also a PI and the best tracker I’ve ever met. You can tell him anything you’d tell me.”

I felt a wave of appreciation drift off Garrett. It was so much nicer than the annoyance or frustration I normally felt come off him.

“This was a mistake,” Phillip said, edging back into his car.

“I’m sorry to do this, Phillip, but I will tell those men anything they want to hear if you don’t let me in on this.” I decided to hit him with my big question and gauge his reaction. “Did you kill that man?”

He raised his chin. “Yes, I did.”

I gasped and glared at him. “You’re lying. You never murdered anyone.”

He jammed an index finger over his mouth to shush me. “Do you want the whole neighborhood to hear you? You’re going to get us all killed.”

What the hell was going on?

He took hold of my arm and led me to a lower-level apartment.

After pouring himself a stiff one, he offered a glass to Garrett. Thankfully, Swopes shook his head. This was no time to be getting rowdy with the boys.

When he sat down, I said, “Okay, Brinkman, spill. Why is your girlfriend saying she saw you kill someone?”

He released a hapless sigh, then said, “Because I needed a way out. Things were getting too unstable. Too unpredictable.”

“Does this have anything to do with the fact that you run way more money through your business than cars?”

His head snapped up. “How did you know that?”

“Told you, connections. What gives?” I asked, kicking a dirty sock away from me.

He collapsed onto the sofa and leaned his head back. The guy was about five minutes away from a nervous breakdown. I kind of felt sorry for him.

“I launder money for the Mendoza family.”

Garrett stilled. Clearly that name meant something to him.

“The Mendoza family?” I asked, completely out of the loop.

But before Phillip could answer, Garrett said, “The Mendozas are one of the biggest crime families from Mexico. They have been responsible for hundreds of deaths there, including cops and judges.”

I glanced back at Phillip. “How did you get involved with them?”

“They came to me, offered to help me get the business back on its feet, promised to make me a rich man. They did both of those things, but the Mendozas aren’t the most stable people I’ve ever met.”

“I still don’t understand what a murder has to do with anything.”

“It was Emily’s idea. I’m hoping that once I go to prison, they’ll forget about me.”

“So that’s the plan? Go to prison for a crime you didn’t commit? If you aren’t scared to go to prison, why not just turn yourself in?”

“Do you know what they would do to me if I did that? To my children? I moved my ex-wife and kids across the country to get them away from these guys, but their reach doesn’t exactly end at the state line. They wouldn’t hesitate to hurt them to keep me doing what I do. Or worse, kill them. This way, I go to prison for something completely unrelated. I lose everything, including this business. They have no more use for me, and my kids will be safe.”