This Love Hurts

7. Cody

"I saw your APB. Figured you'd want to come see this." Officer Brady nods his head as I walk carefully across the street while avoiding piles of litter and head to the back of the convenience store.

"Just put it in last night," I call out over the loud drone of traffic behind us. The APB for Herman Jackson went out the second I got his name from the flash drive Marcus sent. The fucker was as good as dead. Apparently someone else thought the same.

The city is bright and lively against the stark yellow tape I know so well, draping the crime scene and bringing in onlookers.

Brady lifts the tape and the two of us duck under. With my watch telling me it's 9:00 a.m., I know it's been an hour since the body was found. It took that long for me to get through morning traffic so I could see it for myself.

Someone offed Herman Jackson before I could. The rage that boils inside of me, knowing I can't question him, isn't unexpected.

"You sure it's him?" I question, keeping my pace with his as we avoid the trash bags and stand over the body. With his dark beard, height, and evidence of a long-ago broken nose, I know this is him. Herman's dead on the street in front of me.

Fuck. I stare to my right, hands on my hips as Brady pulls out the victim's wallet from an evidence bag to check for ID. The crowd doesn't try to hide their curiosity, but from this angle, I know they can't see a damn thing.

After I hired Evan's crew, we did a full sweep, we checked the camera footage. Bastard must've had Delilah's phone tapped when I told her the code. He was there before she even got there, turning off the cameras. I won't make that mistake again.

She's not allowed to be by herself. Whether she likes it or not. Dread eats me alive at the thought of Delilah and him being left alone together. She knows damn well what he's capable of; we both do.

It's not going to happen. It can't happen.

"Yeah well, judging by the body, he was already dead, probably forty-eight hours at most." Brady's voice brings me back to now. Back to the fact that this fucker was dead before Marcus even told Delilah about him.

I give Brady a nod, short and to the point. "You have any idea who did it?" Brady questions. He's a street cop who I've seen a handful of times. Enough that I know his name. I know he has a wife and kids, two, I think. Running a hand over the back of his head he adds, "If you've got any leads, I'll take them. Unless the FBI is taking this case from me?"

Clicking the side button to my phone with irritation, I note Marcus hasn't written back.

My own message to him sits there. You crossed a line going to her. If you touch her, I'll kill you. I won't think twice about it.

"This one's yours. He was only wanted for questioning. I put it out for a friend," I answer Brady, feeling a tightness linger in my chest.

"All right," he concedes, and another cop calls him over, back to the street side, her hand covering a phone and telling him someone needs him.

"You good here?" he asks me and I nod, patting his back for good measure. "Thanks, Brady."

Again I drift back to the texts, hating that he's one step ahead of me. Pain lingers in the message. Acts done in fear are harmful and lack intelligence. He told me that once and it stuck with me, because it's so fucking true. I never should have sent it. I gave him the edge. I can't deny that his willingness to approach Delilah scares me. What Marcus is capable of, terrifies me. Even if I feel pity for him. Even if I brought all this on...

"Walsh, you hear me?" Officer Brady questions, staring up at me from where he's now crouched on the ground next to the body.

"No, what's that?"

"There's a note if you want to take a look at it. Just in case it has to do with your case."

A note? Goosebumps spread in an instant, taking me back to the first case that I ever worked on where Marcus was involved.

Already tucked away in a ziplock plastic bag, Brady passes me the note.

It's not in his handwriting, it's in the font of a phone message. Same size too.

That motherfucker. It takes everything in me not to react when I read it. To stay calm and pretend to rack my brain for what it could mean when I know damn well it's from Marcus.

I'll be her hero this time.

The hero gets the kiss.

The coroner and another cop come up alongside us, distracting Brady for a moment as he watches them. With fire in my blood, I hand the note back to him, clearing my throat to get his attention. "Sorry man, I have no idea, but I'd get that to processing."

I'll be damn sure to keep an eye on the forensics for this case, but I already know it's a dead end.

There won't be any evidence. Marcus doesn't leave anything behind. He's too careful. All this was intended as a show for me.

"If you could keep me updated with the case, I'd appreciate it," I say then tilt my head to stare down at the body and add, "I want to know all of his connections."

"What is it you think he did?" Brady questions, standing up and wrinkling his nose from the stench.

I keep my tone as casual as I can. "He threatened a lawyer I know, trying to cover up a case she was working on."

"How do you know it was him?"

"A kid IDed him." That was the first call I got. This was the second.

And there's not a damn thing I can do now, but question Ross Brass without a warrant. I already know how that will end.