“Can I ask why you’re willing to tell her all this?” Beckett asked, arms crossed, expression serious as a heart attack.
Not even a little flustered by Beckett’s demeanor, Louis laced his fingers between his knees. “I did my time in a Baltimore gang, and I did my time in prison. Now I work on the city’s gang task force and run a community program that gives kids alternatives to gangs and helps gang members transition to civilian life. I met Charlie a few times and liked him. Would hate to know he’d been caught up in something with Church. And now it seems my pop’s in danger. I thought my expertise might be of some help.”
“Thank you, it does help,” Becca said, looking from Louis to Beckett, who gave a nod and eased off. For the first time, his abrasive intensity struck her as being more like big brother protectiveness than just being a hard-ass for hard-ass’s sake. She even found it a little endearing.
“Good. Now, my turn for a question,” Louis said. “Am I right in thinking that the three of you are here discussing this with me instead of the police because you’re trying to find Charlie without them?”
Becca rose and glanced to Nick, unsure whether to answer.
“Why do you want to know?” Nick asked.
“Because you might not find the police as useful as you’d think on this. Church has people on the payroll everywhere. Deep pockets, man, and widespread influence.”
Nick’s expression was a brick wall, but Becca felt way too awkward to just pretend the question wasn’t still hanging in the air. “Can we just say we’re not sure who to trust yet?”
“Yeah, that’s cool. Well”—he lifted a half-inch-thick spiral-bound report out of his green canvas messenger bag—“in case I’m right, this might be useful to you.” The title appeared through the clear laminated cover: Maryland Gang Survey: Church Organization. “When you’re done with it, just get it back to my dad.”
Becca leafed through the pages. The organization’s history, known membership, gang identifications, businesses, criminal records, and more fluttered through her vision.
“It’s not everything there is to know, but it’s a lot of what we do know,” he said.
Overwhelmed by the threat an organization like this could pose to Charlie—hell, to them all—she let the booklet flip closed with a snap of pages. “I know I keep saying this, but thank you.”
He rose and met each of their gazes. “Don’t thank me yet. If Church has your brother, this situation is real serious. And it’s likely to get worse before it gets better.”
Chapter 17
“Hey, Nick? I found something,” Becca said when they got back in the Charger.
He and Beckett turned in his seat toward her. “What?” Nick asked.
She fished the necklace they’d retrieved from the maid out of her pocket and opened it. “Look at the inside surfaces in the light.”
Nick turned on the overheads and held it up. Someone had carved letters and numbers into the silver. “Were these here before?”
“No. The pictures that were in there were mine, so I know there wasn’t writing in there before. Charlie had to have done this after he took it. No idea what it means, though.”
Beckett reached for the necklace. “You drive. I’ll call this in to Marz. He can start running searches on both strings.”
Not long after, Rixey eased the Charger into a spot across the street from Becca’s house. His gut told him bringing her here was a bad idea on about fifty-two levels—especially with what they’d just found at Charlie’s. But if he was going to live up to his word, he had to be a partner and not a dictator, much as that sometimes sucked—not because he wanted to control her but because he wanted Becca safe and happy.
And her house was damn unlikely to achieve either of those goals right now.
He turned in the driver’s seat and met her expectant gaze. God, even with everything the day had thrown at her, she was beautiful and brave and still clinging to hope. And with what they’d learned at Walt’s tonight, holding onto any kind of positivity was a damned act of heroism.
“No more than ten minutes, Becca. You’re not going to have time to tour the whole place. Find the things you want to take, throw them in a bag, and we’re back out the door.”
She nodded, clearly eager to go inside.
Shane was on the sidewalk, weapon drawn, methodically scanning the street.
“Okay, here we go.” Nick unholstered his gun and nodded at Beckett, then the two men got out and Rixey released the seat forward for her. Bracing herself on his hand, she stepped onto the pavement, and Nick was on her like white on rice. He hustled her across the road, Shane and Beckett flanking them. Key in hand before they hit the steps, Rixey reached around her when they got to the door and slid the grooved metal home. Inside, he flicked the switches on the front wall and urged her in so the guys could enter behind them. Last in, Shane secured the door.
Nick was wishing they’d made this trip during the day so the interior lights wouldn’t have advertised their presence when he heard her.
“Holy shit. Ho-ly shit. Holy freaking shit.”
Standing in the middle of what looked like a tornado’s debris, Becca surveyed the damage as she turned in a slow circle, her face pale with shock. When her eyes landed on him, it was like being sucker punched in the solar plexus—her pain and fear sucked the wind right out of his lungs.
He crossed the room and took her hands. “When this is all over, we’ll make this right. Okay? Important thing is your safety. You weren’t here when they did this, and I don’t want you to be here should they decide to return.”
She heaved a shaky breath. “Right. Okay. Um, I think everything I want is upstairs.” A series of expressions played out over her pretty face, and he literally watched her shove back the panic and steel herself.
Shane and Beckett took up positions at the first-floor doors as Rixey followed her up the stairs. He felt her sense of loss like a jagged rock in his gut. And, man, he would’ve done anything to bear that burden for her. But sometimes life forced you to walk through the shit whether you had a good pair of boots or not—and it was apparently Becca’s turn.
Sonofabitch.
From the steps, she made for the bathroom, but stopped abruptly with an “oh” when she turned on the light. The mirror was shattered, shards everywhere. “Jesus. I’ll never get the glass out of the bottom of my shoes if I go in there. Who would do this?”
“Tell me what you need, and I’ll get it.”
“I’ve got a professional first-responders-type first-aid kit in that closet over there,” she said. “Thought it might be good to have on hand.”
Hanging onto the molding, Nick leaned in and grabbed a towel off the bar. He flipped out the fabric and settled it over most of the glass. The terry muted the sound of the crunching as he crossed the narrow room.
“It’s a red backpack.”
In the closet, the pack easily stood out. He slung it over his shoulder. “Anything else?” Something caught his eye and he grabbed and tossed it to her. “How ’bout that?”
Becca squeaked but caught the yellow rubber ducky in her hands. She laughed. They didn’t have time to play around, but the thirty seconds it took to distract her from the horror that was her house was worth it. “Actually, Shiloh might like this. She doesn’t have any toys.”
He grimaced. “That’s not a dog name. She’s a guard dog. She needs a strong name.” Under his feet, the glass crunched again as he made his way out. He dropped the backpack at the top of the steps.
“I know. I just need five concentrated minutes to really think about it,” she said, stepping into her bedroom doorway. “Oh, God.” She hit the overhead light switch and went utterly still as her gaze scanned over the room. The sudden gasp and sob ran ice down Rixey’s spine. Becca bolted over the wreckage, her feet slipping.