Total pages in book: 134
Estimated words: 122242 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 611(@200wpm)___ 489(@250wpm)___ 407(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 122242 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 611(@200wpm)___ 489(@250wpm)___ 407(@300wpm)
"You're serious?"
He nods, waving a sheet of paper in my hands. "The official report is on the way, but they faxed over a copy for you. Looks like Curtis Kaleo is our guy. I'm prepared to clear Kincaid if you are."
"Yeah."
Franklin frowns at me, his brows coming together. "You having doubts about it?"
"No. Kincaid is good as far as I'm concerned." I shake my head, trying to clear it of the board in front of me and focus on the matter at hand. "The only evidence linking Kincaid to the scene was a receipt for a donation to a gang intervention program. He admitted that he broke into Curtis Kaleo's house to have it out with him about prostituting girls before he left town. Kaleo was big on respect. I'm guessing he didn't particularly like being threatened. Kincaid may have dropped the receipt while he was there."
"And Kaleo saw an opening and took it," Franklin says.
I nod. "Kaleo had to be sweating bullets, worrying that Kincaid might turn over the evidence Titan James had collected on him. He would have been looking for a way to take Kincaid down with him."
"So he takes the receipt with him when he kills the Diablos, and then leaves it, knowing that it'll be traced back to Kincaid." Franklin's upper lip curls in disgust. "Or would have been traced back to him had Whitten been worth a damn as a detective."
I nod again, letting him follow it through to the only logical conclusion. It's not necessarily the right conclusion, but that doesn't matter much at this point. Kincaid has more than paid for his crimes as far as I'm concerned. Perhaps not in the eyes of the law, but the law doesn't consider personal suffering. Michael Kincaid has had years of that, and that was before Kaleo shot his girl. It's enough. Hell, it has to be enough. At some point, the scales have to be even.
"Write it up," Franklin says, holding out the fax to me. "And let Kincaid know he's being cleared, will you? I'm sure he'd appreciate the good news."
"Yes, sir."
He hands over the fax and then glances at my whiteboard, frowning. "You find anything yet?"
"Still looking," I mutter, glaring at the whiteboard. Somewhere in the mess of information scattered across its surface is the answer to why Tarasova wants Faith back so badly. I know it is. I just need to put the pieces together in the right order. I've been at it for the last three days, but the answer still eludes me.
"Keep at it," Franklin says, clapping me on the back. "You'll get it sooner or later, son."
"Thanks."
I wait for him to head back to his office before I glance down at the fax, reading through the information quickly. At least something is going right for once. I pull my cell out of my pocket and dial Roman's number.
"What's up, O?"
"We're clearing Kincaid."
"Thank fuck," he says, his tone colored with relief. "You got ballistics back?"
"Yeah. I have a copy of the report in my hands. As far as my captain is concerned, Kaleo is our guy. I'll write my report today and send it up the chain. But he's clear, Roman."
"I'll pass on the news. Any idea when you'll be home?"
I pull the phone from my ear and glance at the time. It's barely noon. "I can wrap shit up here and head out. Why? What's going on? Is Faith okay?"
"She's fine, O. But Luke is heading out to Seattle in the morning to meet up with Carter and Selena," he explains, referring to a fellow officer and a woman he helped rescue several months ago. Jose Guerrero was Selena Ortega's brother. The prick essentially sold her to Pedro Francisco, one of the most violent cartel leaders in Mexico. He forced her to let him inseminate her.
When Pledger broke into Roman's, he warned Mila that Francisco's enemies are coming for the kid. Luke is going to help Carter protect her until we figure out what the fuck to do to keep another war from blowing up over the kid.
"Mila wants you and Faith to come to dinner with us tonight at Kravings."
"What time?"
"I should be home by six. Reservation is at eight. I booked the entire restaurant so no one else will be there."
I hesitate for a brief moment and then sigh. We have to go.
Faith deserves a little normalcy, and aside from our one disastrous trip to the movies two weeks ago, she hasn't been anywhere but here to see Dr. Shapiro and home. I want to give her what freedom I can, however I can. I fucking owe it to her.
"We'll be there," I promise.
"See you then."
I disconnect and drop my phone to the desk before turning back to the whiteboard and my search for a way to free her entirely from Tarasova. The answer is in front of me. I just have to find the damn thing.