“Thank you for coming,” Shelby continues as he waves me over to the side of his bed. “I need someone I can trust.”
I walk over and exhale. The sterile room is soaked in cleaning chemicals that burn my nose. “You don’t have anyone else you can trust? What about your wife?”
“We divorced twenty years ago.”
His ring finger is still adorned with a gold band. I always thought he was married, but I guess he hasn’t moved on.
“What do you want?” I ask.
Shelby motions me closer. I lean down. “I need you to go to my office,” he mutters. “And I need you to continue this case.”
“What case?”
“The case we were working on. These scumbags can’t be allowed to go free. I’m so close.”
“Are you talking about the human traffickers?”
“Of course. Who else would I be talking about?”
“No,” I say. “I’m not going to do that. Do you remember what happened just a few days ago? This is a suicide case. Leave it to the police.”
“I can’t,” Shelby hisses. He grabs the collar of my jacket and pulls me closer—to the point his two-day-old stubble scratches my ear. “They’re in on it.”
“What?” I ask.
“The police. Not all of them. But some of them. Enough that I can’t trust them. I gave them information in the past, and they let those villains get away. Not anymore.”
I laugh once and shake my head. “So you want me to continue investigating an entire organization of murderous human traffickers, and you want me to go against a corrupt police force, all while you sit here in a hospital, warming your feet with an electric blanket? What kind of fool do you take me for, old man?”
“That’s why I needed more evidence,” Shelby mutters, his voice heated. “I need to figure out who’s behind all this, so I know who it’s safe to leak it to. Anything to bring them all down.”
I say nothing. His crazy mission will get him killed for sure.
“I’ll make you a deal,” Shelby says, staring me straight in the eye. “Help me do this and I’ll sign off on all your training. All of it. All three years. You could strike out on your own or work with some larger firm if you want. What do you say, Pierce? Will you help me?”
CHAPTER FOUR
THIS IS a terrible idea. I’m one guy, not an army or a member of some greater organization I can call upon for aid.
Then again, all he wants is irrefutable evidence. I don’t have to fight anyone or do anything too risky. I’m a pretty accurate judge when it comes to questionable situations. Plus, it would eliminate the long years of training before I can work on my own—away from idiots like Davis—and under no one else’s authority.
And, if Shelby is right about the cops, who else is going to help those kids get back to their lives? But the how the hell did I become their last line of defense? There’s got to be other, more altruistic people out there who would help them. Right?
“Just evidence?” I ask.
“Just evidence,” Shelby repeats. “Nothing more.”
“Credit for three years?”
“Credit for three years.”
I run a hand through my hair and sigh. “Fine.”
Shelby smiles. “Good.” He claps once, a liveliness to his mannerisms unbefitting an injured old man. He grimaces right after, though, and rubs at his shoulder, like he forgot he’s wounded.
“Listen,” he says, “go to the office and get the keys out of my desk. Open the bottom drawer of my filing cabinet. I have all my information tucked away there. Get it, and check all the locations I have marked.”
“All right.”
“And you need to stay on them.” Shelby holds up a finger. “They don’t keep strict schedules.”
“Yeah, I understand. They’d be a lot fucking easier to track if they had a set weekly schedule of illicit activity.”
“I knew you were a man I could turn to. You have this look about you. Like you know your way around a dark alley.”
“Tsk.” I step away from his hospital bed and shrug. “Don’t die before I get you what you need,” I say. “Your face has been all over the news.”
“I’ll keep it in mind.”
With another long exhale—to clear out the terrible chemicals burning in my nose—I exit the hospital room and step out into the corridor. Miles leans against the wall, Rhett nowhere in sight, and I walk up to him. The place has thinned out, and I glance at my watch. 8:05 p.m. We should be leaving.
“Pierce,” Miles says as he pushes away from the wall. He gets close and lowers his voice. “Look over there.”
I follow his gaze to the far end of the hall. The only people walking around now are nurses, technicians, and the occasional doctor. But one guy stands out like a sore thumb. He’s dressed in a thick, puffy jacket—perfect for concealing all sorts of objects—and he glances over at Shelby’s door like he’s waiting for us to leave.
“How long has he been there?” I whisper. I take Miles by the shoulder and lead him away like we’re set to leave.
“He’s been there since we arrived,” Miles replies.
I never saw him. I can thank my terrible vision for that fact. I’m glad Miles is here to make up for my weakness, but a piece of me curses my diminished perceptions. I glance over my shoulder and spot the man ambling toward Shelby’s door, his hand tucked inside his jacket.
“We’re gonna turn around and question this guy,” I say to Miles. “Got that?”
“Sure.”
We both stop and turn. The jacketed man doesn’t like that. He freezes in place, and when Miles and I head straight for him, he takes a step back. I pick up my pace—he’s only thirty or so feet away—but that agitates the man more than I thought it would. He
