Page 50 of Z For Butterfly Man
“Detective, you need to calm down. You’re making this harder than it needs to be.”
“Harder than what needs to be?” My heart hammers against my ribs. “What did he really send you here to do? What the fuck is going on here, Gatsby?”
“Why don’t you tell me?” He gestures toward Birdie’s car. “Why would Mrs. Abel’s car show up at this location, a decoy meant to expose one person in particular?”
“What?”
“This cabin that only you knew about? This address where we supposedly kept Mrs. Abel weeks ago was specifically given to you to rule you out as a suspect. It’s a decoy. It wasn’t the actual safehouse where she stayed.”
The pieces click together too late. This is a trap. “You set me up. Morra set me up.”
“Did he? Or did you set yourself up the moment you left Mrs. Abel’s car here, Butterfly Man?”
“I didn’t leave the car here! I didn’t take her!”
“Then why are you here, Detective? Why did you race ahead of backup?”
“I’m securing the perimeter. Standard procedure.”
“Is it?” He takes another step closer. “Or did you need to get here first? Make sure everything is positioned correctly to frame Mr. Morra?”
“Your boss is the stalker. This is a setup,” I repeat. “He killed Abel, and he’s manipulating everything to have her. You have to believe me. He’s—”
Sirens blare in the distance, getting closer by the second. A small smile curves Gatsby’s mouth. “I’m guessing that’s not your backup.”
No. This isn’t how this was supposed to go. I back toward my car.
“They won’t find anything to incriminate Mr. Morra anymore.” Gatsby follows. “I can’t say the same about you.”
“Stop.” I raise my weapon higher, aiming at his chest. “Don’t come any closer.”
“Where is she, Detective? She was inside, her laptop and phone, too, along with enough evidence you made sure pointed at Mr. Morra, but then you moved her. Where is she now?”
The sirens grow louder. Lights flash red and blue through the trees. My finger tightens on the trigger. “I said back off. Now.”
“You’re not gonna shoot me, Detective. You’re not that stupid.” His eyes glint in the darkness. “But you are going to run. Because that’s what guilty men do when they’re caught.”
“This is wrong. Everything about this is wrong.”
“Then stay. Explain yourself. I’m sure your fellow officers will understand.”
Will they? After the way Morra has engineered this entire night? That son of a bitch must have sent his hound to stage this cabin as a crime scene with the evidence trail leading to me. My desperate rush to reach the cabin before backup, and Morra’s testimony…
I’m going to kill that fucker myself. I look at Gatsby. At the cabin. At Birdie’s car sitting there like an accusation. “You knowdamn well I don’t have her, but you do. Where is she? Don’t follow Morra blindly. Just tell me so we can save her. Where’s Birdie, Gatsby?”
The first police cruiser crests the hill. I have seconds to decide. Stay and fight a battle I can’t win. Or run and live to fight another day, to find a way to prove the truth.
My gaze darts back and forth between the trees and the glaring police lights. One thought takes over my mind. No one can take Reagan away from me. I won’t let anyone come between us. Never again.
CHAPTER 21
Tristan
“He shot me! Ashford fucking shot me and bolted into the woods!” Brandon shouts into the phone, breath ragged. “I’m already crashing through the underbrush in pursuit.”
Fuck. I swerve my car and head back to Aquinnah. “Negative, Brandon. Do not pursue. Break off and fall back. I’ll pick you up at the extraction point and patch you up. Stay alive, that’s the priority.”
“Sir, I can take him. We can’t lose—”
