Give Me Grace (44 page)

To Burns, I said, “That could be anyone.”

“Agreed, but we also have eye-witness accounts from people inside the party and outside the bar that attest to a volatile argument between the pair. One man said Casey threatened him where he stood with friends out the front. His friends corroborated his account.”

“So why are you making the call of probable homicide?” Tate asked.

Burns opened the folder in front of him, spreading out an array of crime scene photos. Tate leaned forward in his seat and Gabriella and I stepped up to the desk, shoulders brushing as we leaned in for a closer look. The photos showed enough blood spatter over the brick wall of the building for a fatal shot.

“Forensics?” Gabriella questioned, tapping at the blood spatter.

“Matched it to Grace,” Burns answered.

She pointed to the photo of the shell casings. “Ballistics?”

“Semi-automatic forty calibre Glock,” he replied, passing over a photo showing a similar gun.

My brows drew together, ignoring Gabriella’s closeness and her husky voice. “That type of gun could belong to anyone,” I said, “I have the same one.”

My boss shook his head. “This was the actual gun found on scene. We’ve already matched the registration back to Casey. The only prints on it belong to him and the gun’s been fired. Twice.”

I glanced
up, eyes widening in disbelief. “The gun was found on scene?”

Gabriella looked across at me. “You think it’s a plant? Someone’s setting your friend up?”

“It’s possible,” I muttered, thinking hard. Travis and Casey had apprised me of yesterday’s events at last night’s party. The fact that Morgan was linked to the Sentinels MC was a topic I needed to broach with my boss, but Casey and Travis had asked me to sit on the information for two days. I didn’t like agreeing to the condition. The only reason I did was because Casey was like a brother. He deserved to find out the truth about what happened to his family.

Now sitting on the information was
an impossibility because if I was right, and this
was
a set up, it could only point back to one person.

Morgan.

I opened my mouth, ready to share the information when my mind flashed back to the coiled snake on Gabriella’s ribcage. Was she working with us … or against us? I shut it quickly.

“Valentine?” Burns watched me closely. “You got something to share?”

“I do.”

“And?” he prompted.

“The information’s highly sensitive, boss.”

He sat back in his chair, his gaze speculative. “You can speak freely in front of Detective Valdez.”

I turned my head, staring at Gabriella and letting her feel every inch of my distrust. “With all due respect, boss,” I replied, not taking my eyes from hers. “I don’t think I can.”

“
Arrghhh!” Gabriella shoved at my chest and I stumbled backwards, surprised at the force behind it. “
Cula!
” she spat, waving her hands around angrily. “You don’t trust
me
? You stand here wasting time with your bitch talk when your friend is in trouble. Get over yourself!”

Her chest heaved angrily and my hands fisted, ready to go nose to nose in an all out argument when Burns interrupted. “A word, Mitch.” I looked at him. “In private,” he added with a pointed glance at both Tate and Gabriella.

Gabriella huffed and stalked out. Tate followed behind, throwing me a questioning glance before shutting the door behind the both of them. I turned to face my boss.

“Sit,” he ordered.

I took a seat, elbows resting on my knees as I rubbed at my eyes.

What a goddamn
clusterfuck.

“What I’m about to tell you is none of your damn business, but you’re the best goddamn detective I have and I need you to pull your head out of your ass. I also need you to keep this quiet because trials are still pending and making this information public could put the case, and Valdez’s life, in serious jeopardy.” He paused before continuing
. “Valdez’s transfer was an unexpected one. She’s been with the feds for years, working deep undercover.”

Undercover?
Damn you, Gabriella!
Why did you have to go straight for the most dangerous division of law enforcement in Australia?

“Her last assignment with them ran for over eighteen months. Despite getting the guys they were after, it ended badly.
Very
badly. A lot of people died, including her partner. Valdez almost died too. She came out of it scarred and addicted to drugs.”

My boss
steepled his fingers, watching me carefully. I gave nothing away on the outside. But on the inside my heart began to break for the girl I used to know and for the woman she was now.

“She’s worked hard to get where she is now,” Burns told me. “Damn hard. She doesn’t need to earn your trust because she already has mine. Got me?”

I let out a breath, realising I’d been holding it, and stared at my hands. “Her last undercover assignment …” I looked up. “She was with the Black Vipers, wasn’t she?”

“I’m not going to ask how you know that
because I’m starting to get a fair idea already. Now…” he nodded at the door “…send them back in.”

I kept my face impassive as they filed back in and with short, sharp sentences, filled them in quickly on Casey’s background, right up to yesterday’s run in with Morgan, both Burns and Gabriella firing questions at me during the recount.

My boss was rubbing his temples by the time I finished. He growled out a curse after allowing the information to sink in. “Okay,” he said eventually, sitting back in his seat. He looked to Gabriella first. “Valdez, I need you to get hold of Internal Affairs. Morgan needs to be investigated. I don’t want anyone else on this but you and your immediate team. Furthermore, the information relating to Morgan and the Sentinels does not leave the team, got me?” He eyed each of us in turn, getting our agreement. “Not until I work out where the fuck we go from here.”

“Valentine and Miller. Go pick up Daniels.
Send a forensics team to follow behind you so they can sweep his loft. Valdez,” he said, standing up from his desk as he shoved all the papers from his desk back in the folder and handed it to her. “Come with me. I’ll introduce you to your team and we can find out where they’re at with the search for Grace.”

Leaving the office, Gabriella and Burns peeled right and Tate and I went left.

“Gabriella,” I called out.

She paused, waiting as I walked back. I handed her my card with my contact information. “The minute you hear about Grace, could you let me know?”

She glared.

“Please?”

Her answer was to simply snatch the card from my fingers, jam it in her jeans pocket, and walk away.

We hit the downstairs carpark and I tossed Tate the keys to one of the
squad cars. “You drive.”

I slid in the passenger
seat, clicked on the seat belt, and was dialling Travis’s number before Tate even started the car.

“Yeah?” he answered, his voice croaky and feeble.

“Rufus! Peter!” I heard Quinn screech in the background at the dogs. “Outside! Now!”

“Fuck,” my brother muttered. “This place is a fucking zoo. Jared and Evie crashed here last night, and then
Mum, who was watching Sam this morning, brought him home an hour ago, along with Peter, because apparently it’s not a family gathering without all the dogs,” he added sarcastically, “
and
she’s still here.”

“Travis,” I said quickly before he kept going. “We’ve got a problem. A big
clusterfuck on top of a steaming pile of shit kind of problem.”

“What?”

“Tate and I are on way to pick up Casey.”

“And take him where?”

“Into custody.”

There was a pause and
then, “Fuck. What happened?” I could tell by his tone that he was already on the move.

I explained it all as quickly as possible, leaving out the part about Gabriella and the
fact that I’d shared the information relating to Morgan and the Sentinels. I’d worry about that later.

“Meet me at the loft, okay?
Casey’s going to lose it. He’s going to need you.”

The throaty growl of his Subaru barrelled down the line. “Already on my way. See you there.”

Travis pressed the intercom at the entrance to Casey’s building after we arrived. There was no answer so Travis used his key. We all had keys to each other’s place in the event of an emergency. This definitely qualified as one.

After unlocking the front door, Mitsy barrelled us up by the entryway, his shrill bark splitting my head clean in two. The three of us took a step back. Mitsy took a step forward.

“You take the dog,” Travis told me as he began inching sideways into the room.

Grabbing Travis by the bicep, I shoved him in front of Mitsy. “You take the fucking dog.”

Tate pulled his gun. “If neither of you take the damn dog, I will.”

“Christ, I’ll take—”

“Wait,” Travis muttered, pausing to scan the loft. Furniture was overturned, a broken lamp sat in the corner and Casey was on his stomach on the couch, passed out and completely oblivious.

He began to stir when Mitsy kept up his aggravating tirade. Rolling over, he sat up with a wince, rubbing his face. I ran a critical eye over his clothing. He was sans jacket, but still wearing his shirt and pants from last night.

There was no blood spatter on his shirt, I noted with relief. If he shot Grace, there would be spatter. That was one tick in his favour.

“What are you three doing in here?” He paused
and I could see his mind ticking over for a brief moment before his eyes flared with panic. “Grace,” he muttered. Then he stood up and stumbled.

Travis rushed over and Mitsy ran for cover, hiding beneath the dining table at the far end of the huge space.

Casey shoved him away, his expression confused. “I need to find Grace.”

Travis opened his mouth to speak and I shook my head, silently telling him to let me handle this. He shut it quickly.

“Casey, do you remember anything about last night?” I asked.

Ignoring me, he grabbed for his phone and began dialling. “I don’t
…” He put the phone to his ear, shaking his head at me. “Nothing. Not after leaving the bar.” Casey looked at Travis. “Is Grace at the duplex? We had a fight. She … Oh God.” He ran a hand over his face. Pulling the phone from his ear when it went unanswered, he tossed it on the coffee table. “I need to get over there.”

This was not the Casey I knew. The Casey I knew had it together. If someone asked me to name the coolest guy I knew, I would instantly say Casey Daniels.
The guy in front of me was shaking and incoherent like he was coming down from a major high. His clothes were a rumpled mess and his eyes bleary and red.

If he
was being set up for this, being drugged would make sense. It would explain his actions at the party last night and the memory loss. Tate and I shared a quick glance and I mouthed, “Roofied?”

Roofies
were the street name for Rohypnol—a drug easily slipped into someone’s drink when they weren’t looking. I’d come across its use more often than not in the homicides I investigated. It had no colour, no smell, and no taste—making it popular. After a half hour, the drug had you in its control, making you weak, confused, and by all appearances, drunk. Your speech would slur, you would black out, and when you woke, your memory was wiped.