The Poet (Samantha Jazz)

Lang climbs into the vehicle and I don’t look at him when I say, “Take me home. I’ll drive myself to the station.”

“Jazzy—”

“Take me home, Lang.” I glance over at him. “I’ll self-report and give my statement. As we’re both aware, I’m far more by-the-book than you are. I’ll do what I’m supposed to do.”

“I protected you in there.”

“I asked you not to lie, but apparently, you offer my dead father more respect than you do me. Don’t say a word, either. If you know me at all—”

“If I know you at all? Really, Jazz? You know what? You’re right. Why would I say a damn thing when you think I’d take a bribe from your damn father? He loved you, Jazz. He threatened me with my damn life if I didn’t protect you, and I do mean that literally.”

I don’t say a word. That’s the thing about being in a job like this one; too many people tell you lies. Honesty becomes everything.

Five minutes later, Lang pulls up beside my building and I get out without saying a word. In a measured pace, I walk to my building to find Daniel, our ex-gangster security guard from the other night, by the door. “Good morning, Detective Jazz.”

I’m about to walk past him when my gaze lands on his hairless arm. I halt abruptly, a gut feeling churning inside me before my gaze jerks to his. His brows dip. “Something wrong?”

I wait to feel that familiar evil, but there’s nothing there. “Why do you shave your arms?”

He laughs. “Kind of girly, right? I’m having the tattoos removed. I have to shave.”

A breath I don’t know I’m holding slides from my lips. What am I doing? Newman is dead. This is over. Or it will be soon. Supported by the fact that Lang was right when he said The Poet was obsessed with me. He was also too smart to ensure I got shut out of the case, which is exactly what happened tonight.

Unless he was part of the team and the other half of the team decided I was a problem.

“Detective Jazz?”

At Daniel’s prod I snap back to the moment, a scold to the crazy places my head is going.

“Good decision on the tattoo removal,” I say, and I hurry inside the building and to my door.

Once I’m inside, I fight the urge to search my apartment. He’s gone, dead, there is no need. With that in mind and the fact that I won’t be questioned for hours, I head into the bathroom and take a long, hot shower. Once I’ve dressed in my standard pantsuit with a pale blue blouse, I gather my work bag and stick my badge inside. My personal weapon is left behind this time, as I’m going to be questioned in a death investigation. I then do what I should have done days ago.

I face down the demons The Poet has left in his wake. I walk across the street and grab a coffee, but I’m not wearing my badge when I do. It stays in my bag. I just can’t seem to make myself put it back on.

Chapter 88

I call Nicole, who is still acting as my union attorney, while waiting in line for my coffee, and she agrees to meet me at the station. Once we’re there, the captain is already there too. My attorney heads to the interrogation room to meet with him, Evan, and Detective Martinez, who’ll be taking my statement. I head to my desk to check my messages, when Chuck catches me in the hallway.

“Is it really over?” he says.

There is a clawing sensation in my chest that defies my full agreement which I cannot offer. Instead I say, “It appears that way.” I do my best to give him a reassuring smile. I’m pretty sure I fail. “Great work, Chuck,” I add, offering him a heartfelt compliment. “I mean, Superman. And you really are Superman.”

I chitchat with him for a few minutes before heading to my desk, where I begin a review of anything that might have been overlooked while I worked on The Poet case. Wade calls, but I text him rather than answer: Later. It’s crazy here.

I heard, he replies. All of it. I know you have a rough few hours ahead of you. Call me when you can.

I send a quick reply and set my phone aside as Lang sits down at his desk across from mine. We stare at each other, a crackle of tension between us that has never existed before now. We aren’t good. I don’t know if we will ever be good again.

“Detective Jazz.”

It’s the captain’s voice, and I swivel around to find him towering over me, a scowl on his face. “We’re ready for you.”

I glance at Lang, and there’s a warning in his stare. “Live and die together,” he says, reminding me of the lie he told between us.