Page 24 of Conflicted Lies

Ican’t prove that it was her who left the “special gift” at my door. Not yet, anyway. She was in another country, so that makes it a little bit harder to point blame when she has that kind of alibi. But I just know it was her. I take the small statue from its box. Hues of blues mix with the glass as I turn it over in my hand, fascinated by the detail of the drowned man.

I still have no idea how she’s getting the images from the forensic team. I plan on investigating the team members personally just in case any of them are leaking photos. But a woman like Hope Ivanov has enough money to afford any bribe or service, so it might be an outside source entirely.

The statue is impressive.

And grotesque.

The perfect display of the darkness pumping through her veins.

I know it’s her. I just do.

I slide it under my bed with the other one. The detail in the art is quite intricate but also fucked up. How she keeps on getting hold of these cases that I’m working on is interesting to me. I always knew her family had deep connections, but that also means the connections run very deep in the police force.

I did plan to give Hope another surprise visit today at the diner, but I drive out to see my mother instead. I basically want to see if she was still alive.

She’s been calling me non-stop, and she only ever does that when she needs something. I never entertain her, but I don’t delete her number either. Maybe I have a morbid curiosity myself. I wouldn’t go as far as to say I care about her, but there will always be an attachment between us, whether I like it or not.

I don’t stop to talk to her. I just drive past the trailer she’s lived in for almost fifteen years, and there she is, sitting out front on a ratty lawn chair, a bottle of beer in one hand and a cigarette in the other. It’s like time hasn’t changed at all except that her leathery skin drapes off her bones worse than ever. I don’t remember a time when my mother ever had life in her, but as the years go by, it only worsens. I know one day she’ll prove me right, continuing the same patterns I warned her about that will most likely put her in an early grave. But that’s not today.

I don’t know why I put myself through this shit to check up on her. Perhaps I’ve been feeling sentimental lately. I forsake Hope because of her family name, but at least she can stand proudly. I, however, have done everything I can to clean my hands of any association with my family.

I’m sure my therapist would love to talk about it, but I just don’t care. Some things can’t be changed, and some things are better left behind.

When I’m driving back into the city, my partner calls.

“It’s ten in the evening. Shouldn’t you be asleep?” I tease Lucas.

“I have an interesting update I thought might interest you.”

“In the case?” I demand.

“Maybe. One of my friends is following two of the Ivanov’s. You might be shocked to discover who’s with them.”

My grip tightens on the steering wheel because I don’t like the idea of Lucas being perceptive to my interest in Hope. Then again, he probably has a personal grudge since her friend stole his wallet. He doesn’t even have to say it’s her because I know it is. “Where?”

“I’ll send you the coordinates.”

The location pops up on my screen. “You stay put. I’ll investigate it myself. Send me a photo of your guy.”

He does as I request, and a photo of a bald man with brown eyes comes up on the screen.

It looks like everything is in full swing already.

It takes me forty minutes to get there, and when I do, I don’t give a flying fuck as I flash my badge and waltz in like I own the place. This club is one of the few establishments the Mafia families don’t own. Which means this is neutral turf.

People call out and grumble complaints as I skip the line and walk inside.

The minute I enter, the music hits me hard, and I realize it’s been a long time since I’ve had a night out. I don’t even know the fucking music that’s playing. The last time I had some fun on a night out was when I first crossed paths with Hope. I find it ironic how similar that night is to this one. I’ve fucked plenty of women since her, but I haven’t taken interest in one like I did with her that night. The one woman that I should avoid.

The one woman who thinks she’s out of my reach and circle of influence.

That night seems to be repeating itself because here I am, on my night off, in a fucking club, searching for a little redhead with glasses and a sinister smile.

I’m on the hunt for the little monster that rarely leaves her cage. And I’m hoping to catch her in the act of something damning.

CHAPTER14

Hope

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