Miles returns his gaze to mine with a one-sided smile. “You sound confident.”
“Who’re you gonna believe? Your own self-doubting demons, or a guy who knows sadists when he sees them?”
Miles chuckles. “All right. Next time I’ll come to you when I start doubting.”
“Tsk.”
“But I think I found something. Take a look.”
I walk around the bed and stand next to him. He’s compiled a list of all the people who visited each inmate. Two names are circled, but he’s crossed one of them out. Miles points to the remaining name—Jorge Rosario.
“An attorney?” I ask.
“No. I looked him up. He works for Worldwide Decurion. They’re a criminal analysis firm.”
“What the fuck is that?”
“An organization that collects crime statistics and data. They go into jails, prisons, police stations, sheriff’s offices, courtrooms—all manner of criminal sites—and gather up information. How many crimes were committed, what races the victims were, where the crimes took place. Stuff like that.”
I give Miles a questioning glance. “You think a number-crunching business is behind this?”
He shrugs. “This guy visited everyone, and it’s not out of the ordinary for him to do so. Even Roslyn. If he’s there to ask questions—like about the families and financial status of the inmates—it seems like he would be figuring out everything he needed to know about his potential victim.”
Miles throws down his list. “Besides, weren’t you the one who said they go after people with no one to come looking for them? Seems to me they would be the group to figure that out.”
“So we should look up information on Worldwide Decurion?” I ask.
“I think that’s our best bet.”
But do I even want to do that? We’re too late to save Roslyn. What’s the point?
“Let’s keep going with this,” Miles says. He must know exactly what I’m thinking, because there’s an edge to his voice, like he really wants to continue. “There’s no harm in looking up public information. And maybe we can tell Rhett about it at the Blue Shield Gala.”
Eh. I forgot about that stupid gala. And I’m not keen on the idea of talking to Rhett, but he wasn’t on Shelby’s list of crooked cops, so I guess it’ll be safe.
I roll my eyes. “Fine. But we’re not going anywhere to investigate. Got it?”
“Yeah, of course. We’ll research everything from the safety of our own home.”
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
“AREN’T YOU worried about your vegetables?” Shannon asks, staring out the glass of the back door and pointing to my garden box. The rain hammers down on it relentlessly.
I straighten my tie and shrug. “If the damn plants can’t handle a little water, maybe they don’t deserve to live.”
“That’s mean.”
“I didn’t plant vegetables to coddle them.”
Shannon places both her hands on the glass and gaze glued to the darkness of the storm. “No wonder all your gardens die. You’re callous.”
Yeah, just what I needed—to be judged by a prepubescent girl.
Miles walks out of the back with Jayden and Lacy in tow. I take a moment to stare as he finishes buttoning his shirt. I’ve always liked him in a suit, but it doesn’t fit quite right anymore, thanks to Miles’s improved physique. The thing is too tight, but not so taut that he can’t wear it. As long as he stands relaxed, it hugs his body just right.
“You guys aren’t going to leave us overnight again, are you?” Jayden asks, the whine in his tone an overload of insufferable. “I’m not a fan of old-lady smell.”
“Hey,” Shannon snaps. “Grammy doesn’t smell that bad.”
“It’s not like you’re denying she smells, though.”
Lacy raises a hand and quiets both her friend and brother. “It’s rude to talk about people like that. Ms. Timo is nice to let us stay with her, so we should at least be thankful.”
Miles fastens a black tie around his neck. “Thank you, Lacy. I appreciate that.”
She holds her head up and nods, self-congratulatory in her smug smile. Still—she’s the only one with an understanding of the situation. Jayden’s comprehension of the universe seems limited to his own self-absorbed bubble. I’ve known psychopaths with a firmer grip on reality.
“She has terrible food,” Jayden mutters once Miles is in the kitchen.
I turn to Lacy and motion her over. She walks up, her lips pursed and her brow furrowed. I’d guess she’s confused, but I think it borders on irritation. “Here,” I say, handing her a hundred from my wallet. “Save Ms. Timo the hassle and get whatever you kids want.”
She takes the bill with both hands. “You want me to handle it?”
“You’re the one I trust the most to get the job done.”
The one sentence transforms Lacy’s whole demeanor. She snaps her gaze to mine, her eyes wide. “Really?” My unabashed approval must go to her head, because she pockets the cash and swishes her long black hair over her shoulder with a flick of her hand. “Well, I am the responsible one. I’ll make sure it’s done, and I’ll keep the receipts.”
I turn away and smirk, content in my decision. I really did misjudge Lacy. She’s a little more stiff and stern than Miles, but they’re definitely related. They want to do right by the people around them, which is a quality I’ve only recently come to know. Most guys I’ve associated with wanted to get the job done or get as much as possible without much effort, damn the consequences. I’d say Jayden fits into that boat. I’d say I fit into that boat.
Sometimes I wonder why Miles and I get along as well as we do.
“So,” Jayden says, panning his gaze from my shoes to my head. “Now that you’re a jobless bum, I take it you’re Miles’s trophy wife? I don’t think he’s going to impress anyone with you by his side.”
I stop myself from punching the guy, but my muscles tense from frustration. Then again, there’s a terrible seed of truth to the words that haunts me. It chills my
