Gone Too Far Page 63

“Go,” Brooks ordered. “I don’t want to see your faces again until you have something concrete for me. This investigation is dragging on way too long. Find some damned answers.”

The two walked out without another glance at Kerri.

After the door closed, Brooks settled his attention on her once more. “Detective, as of this moment, you are on paid leave.”

“What?” Kerri surged to her feet. “But, sir, I—”

“No buts, Devlin. This is all too close for you.”

She shook her head. Before she could argue, he said, “You think I don’t know something happened last year?”

Shock kept her quiet.

“Oh yeah, Detective, I’m aware. I know you far too well not to have seen it. That case changed you, and it’s because of whatever part you and Falco left out of your final reports. I may never know what that part was, but I will not watch history repeat itself. Now go home and take care of your daughter.”

Kerri wanted to argue. She wanted to show how offended she was that he would even suggest such a thing. But she couldn’t.

Because he was right.

She had crossed a line during that investigation.

The memory would haunt her for the rest of her life.

29

9:05 a.m.

Sadie’s Loft

Sixth Avenue, Twenty-Seventh Street

Birmingham

Sadie sat cross-legged on the floor, leaning against the door to her loft.

She’d slept here last night. On the floor. Her body pressed into the wood like a wedge to make sure no one got inside.

Hours and hours she had studied all those damned pieces of paper—fragments of her past she had posted on her wall. Trying to remember more. To somehow shift those pieces together in a way that made sense.

Hadn’t happened. Eventually she’d collapsed into a nightmare-filled sleep—without the aid of alcohol. The two beers she’d had at Devlin’s didn’t really count. This crash had been caused by utter exhaustion.

What she needed now was caffeine, preferably an IV infusion, but since that wasn’t possible, she’d have to make do with the brewed stuff. As soon as she could convince herself to get up and walk across the room.

She stared longingly at the coffeepot on the counter about twenty feet away.

In a little bit.

She’d dreamed about Eddie.

Sadie closed her eyes. He’d kissed her stomach and smiled up at her. Te quiero. He had loved her. Air shuddered into her lungs on a harsh inhale. She’d felt something for him. Naming the feeling love wouldn’t be precise. But she had felt something for him. Something she’d never felt for anyone else.

She coughed, wished for a cigarette.

Blocking the concept of deeper emotions, she reminded herself that she’d played the part. She’d pretended to adore the family, even the old man. No one had suspected her of being anyone other than the food truck girl who’d stolen Eddie’s heart.

Even Isabella had grown attached to her. The feel of her small hand in Sadie’s filtered through her brain. Her laughter and the way she had twirled around the room like a ballerina. She had giggled and begged Sadie to join her. Sadie had danced around the child, clapped and smiled. She could see herself smiling, but it didn’t feel like her . . . it felt like someone else. Someone from another life.

Those months had been another life . . . a lie.

Screams of agony. Pain like she’d never endured before roared through her body. She’d felt the baby moving . . . and then it was dead.

Cries . . . a baby’s cries echoed inside her.

Sadie flinched. Only her imagination. The baby had died. She’d seen the tiny body. Felt the cold flesh . . . the little chest that failed to rise and fall.

Maybe it was for the best. She was too broken to take care of a child. Hell, she couldn’t even take care of herself. And if the baby had lived, it probably would have ended up growing up in the cartel.

Her dead baby was buried on the compound somewhere. She would never know where. Maybe next to Eddie.

He was dead too. Though, like the rest of her memories, the parts about him during that time were fragmented and unclear.

Over the months and years there had been speculation that he was still there, in hiding at the compound.

Anything was possible, but deep in her gut she was certain he was dead. She should know. She was the one who had killed him.

At least he’d sure as hell looked dead.

Sadie squeezed her eyes shut and blocked the scattered voices and images from those missing months. No one could help piece the puzzle together. She was like Humpty Dumpty. All the king’s horses and all the king’s men couldn’t put her together again.

Asher had tried.

Asher.

He was the first person she had allowed so close since her infamous disappearing act. He’d made promises about finding the truth and stopping Carlos Osorio where it counted—through his backers. One night after they’d had sex he’d laughed and promised to bring her the old bastard’s head.

She’d tried to pretend he might even be able to do it. To win.

But she had known he wouldn’t.

She’d warned him that it was too dangerous. Then he would insist she had survived; why couldn’t he?

Maybe because deep inside she was made out of the same shit as the Osorios. Maybe that was why she’d fit in so well and ultimately survived.

Asher had been too good.

It didn’t actually matter who’d pulled the trigger that had put the bullet in his head; Sadie knew who had ordered his execution.

Carlos Osorio.

She might not be able to get to him, but there could be another way.

Was it possible this girl, this Alice Cortez, was Isabella? She had many of her facial features and her coloring. Sadie thought of the photos Devlin had shown her. It had taken every ounce of willpower she possessed to maintain her composure after seeing those pics. She’d had to get out of there before she went over the edge.

But she couldn’t be sure. Her mind played tricks on her far too often for her to be sure of anything from that part of her past.

What Sadie needed was to see this girl up close. To hear her speak . . . to see her move.

Then she would know for sure.

30

Noon

Cortez Residence

Eleventh Avenue South

From the passenger-side window of Jen’s car, Kerri stared at the Cortez home. She shouldn’t do this. It was bad enough to take the risk herself, but to ask someone else . . .

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