Mine to Hold
“Hello, Ms. Catalano. Or do you prefer your maiden name now that you and the good detective here are divorced?”
She’d retained her married name for her byline, since her readers knew that. For legal purposes, she’d gone back to her maiden name so she would match Seth. She doubted, however, that Carlson really wanted that scoop. “It doesn’t matter.”
“Probably not,” he agreed amicably.
“People know exactly where I am, so if anything happens to me, there will be questions and folks all up your ass.”
“That’s why I have the good detective on my side. He can make so many things go away and, over the years, has proven remarkably apt.”
Eric had been dirty. For years? Del turned to Eric, betrayal bleeding through her all over again. He refused to meet her gaze.
Over the last two years, he’d shocked her. Rejecting her, cheating on her, dismissing her when she discovered that she was pregnant. She’d never imagined that he was the sort of cop who’d not only turn the other cheek at crime but facilitate it. His new betrayal kicked her in the gut.
“So tell me, what possessed you to go on this witch hunt for me?” Carlson drawled, like he didn’t have a care in the world. “I’m just a public servant doing my job.”
She snorted. “Yeah, unless it interferes with you taking bribes on the side. The public shouldn’t be made to accept more gang and drug crime just because you want a fatter wallet.”
“You can’t prove any of that.”
“Actually, I think I can,” she bluffed. “I talked to Lobato Loco in depth before you had him killed. He told me everything.”
Carlson exchanged a quick glance with the thug leaning against the kitchen wall, then recovered his smile. “It’s the word of a dead criminal against mine.”
“He had audio recordings of some incriminating phone calls,” Del lied. She had to because she couldn’t think of another way to get him to talk enough about the incident to incriminate himself. If he did, Xander’s purse camera would record everything.
The ADA’s face changed instantly. “What do you mean?”
“I know about your deal. You lay off the 18th Street gang, and they give you kickbacks from their drug trade. Lobato Loco gave me some recordings outlining the details before you had his head chopped off. It’s over.”
“Really? If that’s true, why haven’t you written the story yet? Why are you here, desperate to retrieve your flash drive?” he smiled smugly.
“Who says I haven’t written the story?” She raised a brow. “Maybe it simply hasn’t run yet.”
“I think you’re bluffing. I don’t think you can prove anything.”
Del shrugged, feigning a confidence she didn’t feel. “Even the hint of this kind of scandal would be really bad for someone on the fast track to becoming DA. There could be a lot of questions asked, maybe an investigation . . .”
Carlson hesitated, clearly stifling his anger. He tapped the toe of his expensive Italian leather loafers against Eric’s hardwood floor. “This is all nonsense. I’m sure we can work something out.”
Del wanted to spit in his face and tell him that she’d never compromise with a skeevy bastard like him. But with three armed goons watching her every move, that wasn’t her wisest course of action. Besides, she not only wanted to prove Carlson’s guilt, she wanted to walk out of this house alive. Pretending to cooperate would help.
“What did you have in mind?”
“Drop this ridiculous witch hunt, and I’ll make it worth your while.”
“Meaning?” she drawled. “How will you do that?”
“I’ll surprise you.”
She snorted. “You already did. You blew up my car!”
“I’m not aware of that.” But his too-innocent expression said otherwise.
“Bullshit. Drop the act.”
Del bit the rest of the angry words on her tongue. Trying to bully him into confessing wasn’t going to get her anywhere. She was going to have to call his bluff. Her heart pounded. She might be shaving time off her life with this tactic, but as soon as she’d seen the goons with the guns, she’d known this wasn’t going to go down pretty.
“Fine. You’re an angel,” she conceded, then turned to Eric. “Can I have my flash drive?”
His eyes widened at her, his expression asking her if she’d lost her mind. Probably so.
“The flash drive is no longer in one piece. Such a pity,” Carlson cut in. “But it contained so much aimless speculation about my associations and finances. I wouldn’t want that misconstrued.”
She snorted. “I was invited here to recover my flash drive, and in the ensuing two hours, it’s been destroyed? Eric wouldn’t have done that, so I have to assume that you mangled my critical information so that I wouldn’t leak it to the public. If you have nothing to hide, why go to all this trouble? Why are you here at all?” Into his silence, she rolled her eyes. “Whatever. If my flash drive is no more, I have no reason to stay. I’m leaving.”
Maybe that would force his hand.
Del turned toward the door, angling her purse toward the ADA. Carlson was off the sofa and had a harsh hand wrapped around her elbow in an instant.
“Not yet,” he murmured. “My . . . associates want to have a private conversation with you.”
When he nodded in Double T’s direction, Del got a quick picture. The gunman would take her into the bedroom, shoot her, then Carlson would spin it so he came out smelling like a rose. He had the connections to make that happen, including Eric.
She had two choices now: fight, or keep talking and hope that her death wouldn’t be in vain.
“You’ve outsmarted me. I’ve got to hand it to you. Somehow, you’ve anticipated my every move. Before Double T and I have that private chat, will you at least tell me, if the information I had on you was all just speculation, why are you having me killed? Why did you have my friend Lisa murdered and Lobato Loco beheaded?”
“C’mon. Level with me. If I’m going to be dead in the next five minutes, why does it matter if you tell me the truth?”
“I don’t owe you anything,” Carlson told her coolly.
“True. But I admire your genius.” She stroked his ego—and nearly gagged on the words. “I mean, you’ve fooled and eluded everyone for years now. That’s a real feat. And I’ll bet you’ve had to keep it mostly to yourself. Since I’m disposable, what harm is there in telling me? I mean, if curiosity is going to kill the reporter, at least assuage mine.”
It wasn’t working; she could tell from his mulish expression. She’d try to prick his vanity instead.
She frowned. “Oh, or did I misread the situation? Was this someone else’s idea and you’re just reaping the benefits of their genius?”
Carlson paused, a muscle twitching in his jaw. Then he looked at the gangbanger who’d patted her down. “Did you check her thoroughly?”
The goon nodded. “She’s clean.”
The asshole’s gaze fell on her purse and narrowed. Del gripped it, doing her best to breathe through the fear and act like nothing troubled her. Quickly, he grabbed it, rummaged through it, shoving her stuff this way and that. Satisfied, he threw it on the ground at her feet.
“You want a story, honey. I’ll give you your story since you’re going to be dead in the next five minutes. After I’m done talking, I’ll let Double T take you back to your ex-husband’s bedroom and put a bullet in your brain.”
Del glanced at a smiling Double T and tried not to panic. She had to stay calm if she wanted to bring Carlson down.
“Don’t think for a minute that this was someone else’s idea,” Carlson growled. “No one knows exactly how to manipulate the system like I do. No one is better at it than me, you stupid whore.”
“You had someone plant the bomb in my car.” She didn’t ask; she knew.
“Of course. You were becoming tiresome, digging into my affairs and my finances. The intent was to end you quietly.” He sent a look of displeasure to the thug against the kitchen wall. “Someone didn’t get the memo.”
Euphoria swept through Del. She might die for this, but Carlson had already said enough to incriminate himself. Still, she didn’t just want to nail him for conspiracy to commit murder or accessory to murder, she wanted him to go down for fraud, money laundering, racketeering, bribery . . . the whole nine yards. She glanced at Eric, wondering if he’d go down, too. He looked shell-shocked.
I didn’t know, he mouthed. About the car bomb, she supposed. Would it have made a difference if Carlson had told him? Maybe. Del could see the panic and anger on his face. He might be a douche, but he didn’t want her dead.
She couldn’t linger on that now. She had to get Carlson to admit as much as possible on tape.
“It took me a long time to piece together your system of funneling drug money from the 18th Street gang to your dummy company, Communications Redirect. You sometimes used your wife’s interior design business or your brother’s car dealership, which kept me guessing. You were clever, spreading it around like that. What was the cut you took from the 18th Street crew, five percent?”
Carlson scoffed. “As if I’d settle for such a paltry amount or go to that much trouble for mere pennies. I take fifteen percent, and I earned every bit of it. Besides, I used a portion of that to pay others, like your ex-husband.”
Her disappointment must have been all over her face. Eric sighed, his shoulders drooping. “I know what you’re thinking. I’m . . . sorry.”
“You cheated on me, accepted bribes from scum. How far would you have gone the other day if I hadn’t kicked you in the balls?” He didn’t respond, and Del’s anger grew. “What is wrong with you? You are not the man I married. You’re not the man I thought you were.”
“Yeah, I’m kind of discovering that, too. When we were married, I just wanted . . . more than I had. Carlson made me an offer. I took it. I liked the girls and the cash. The more I had, the more I craved. I’d finally gotten kind of happy right before the shooting. Then one fucking bullet changed everything. All my anger was magnified. I . . . don’t even know what the fuck happened to me after that.” He sounded miserable, his voice full of self-loathing. “Maybe I just went bad.”
He hadn’t always been, and she felt sad for him. But he’d made his bed. And this wasn’t about her baggage with her ex. She had to get the dirty ADA to keep incriminating himself.
“How much money have you made in this scheme, Carlson?”
“In the last three years? Millions. Every year just gets more lucrative.”
God, the whole thing disgusted her, but she’d gotten her story. Xander should have all that footage captured. Now, she had to hope that Tyler could help her or find some way to escape.
Del struggled for something to ask, anything to live a few minutes longer and try to find a way out of this. Maybe Tyler and McConnell had a plan. Tyler wouldn’t let her die without giving his all to rescue her. No matter what, he would have her back. She had to buy him more time.
“Does your wife know?” she asked Carlson.
“Of course not. Marbella is beautiful and likes everything lovely. She leaves all the finances up to me.”
“Your brother?”
Carlson nodded. “We often used his shipments of new cars to make deliveries. His reputation as a very legitimate businessman is invaluable. No one suspects a thing.”
Del turned to Eric. “And how much did you make?”
“Babe, don’t do—”
“I am not your babe. After everything you did to screw up our marriage and my life, and you owe me the courtesy of one answer. How much money did you make?”
He sighed. “A couple hundred thousand dollars. I used the money from Carlson to buy you out of your half of the house.”
So she’d unwittingly taken drug money. Damn it, that pissed her off even more. “Bastard! And now you’re just going to let me die?”
Eric turned pensive but said nothing.
“After I’m dead, I hope the fact that you’ve left a little boy motherless keeps you up at night.”
“Touching,” Carlson sneered. “I think we’re done here. I’ll be leaving the house shortly and calling the office so there will be witnesses to the fact that I had nothing to do with your murder. In ten minutes, I’ll be long gone, and Double T can end your miserable life. Detective Catalano, you will call nine-one-one and say that you’ve just arrived home to find your ex-wife dead in your bedroom. It will look like a tragic suicide, because she pined for you terribly and no longer wanted to live without you. I’ll have Detective Hines in Homicide smooth it over.”