Harlequin Romantic Suspense April 2021 Karen Whiddon (best fiction books to read TXT) 📖

You would have never held her again.

As messed up as he was over coming so close to kissing her again, he knew his inner turmoil was preferable to losing her. He’d already done that once, but knew she was safe and alive, living her life. He’d convinced himself she was free from harm, living in the apartment complex on the edge of town that abutted one of Grave Gulch’s nicer suburbs. Her family and especially her twin, Soledad, who lived in the same apartment building, kept close tabs on her. He’d had to believe this, or he wouldn’t have been able to let her go so easily two years ago. Recrimination welled again, reminding him that maybe he should have accepted her offer to wait on a marriage commitment. He’d been so stung by her refusal he’d acted before he thought it out, telling her it was either all-in or forget it.

“How exactly did you get the information that led you to your interview subject’s address?”

Dominique paused and Stanton’s glance strayed from the panoramic view. Her eyebrows drew together and she played with the hem of her blouse, normally tucked in but hanging out since the ER visit. Another sign of how hard all of this was on her, because Dominique was always turned out for work. For life. She rarely fit the description of “disheveled.”

“The paper had a voice mail left on the main line, claiming to be Johnny Blanchard, the witness whose testimony helped convict Charlie Hamm. He said he had information I’d be interested in.”

“He asked for you by name?” Troy was taking copious notes.

“Yes. Said it was about the Charlie Hamm prison fight.” She leaned over and pulled one leg up on the sofa, sitting in the half yoga pose typical of her when she was working on her laptop or involved in a deep conversation. “My boss, the senior editor, gave me the information. I called the number and left a message with my cell number when no one picked up. My work cell, not personal. I have two phones.” She shot a glance at both Stanton and Troy, and he thought she wanted to make certain they understood she didn’t take her personal safety for granted. “Then he, assuming it was really Blanchard, texted me his address, which I didn’t have before.”

“Did you follow up with a search of the address?”

“Of course I did, but nothing came up. I wasn’t surprised by that, as a lot of witnesses for major crimes go off the grid as far as the internet is concerned after they testify. And this witness had every reason to hide, since he lied on the stand and sent an innocent man to jail.”

“You can’t be sure of that, can you? Until you interview him and he admits to perjury?” Troy’s query wasn’t chiding; he appeared genuinely interested. Stanton wanted to warn his cousin that those were fighting words as far as Dominique was concerned.

“What I’m certain of, Troy, is that the Charlie Hamm I met in my creative writing course that I teach at the prison was a thoughtful, gentle man. He had a reputation for helping druggies on the street, and several sources verify this. From the local food bank to the homeless shelter, to the run-down rehab place at the corner of Main and Fifty-Seventh Street, Charlie was a good player. A positive change agent. You know the rehab I’m talking about, right?”

“Sure do. Had two heroin ODs in front of it last night.”

Dominique swore under her breath and Stanton agreed with the sentiment. It never seemed to end, the countless victims of the epidemic. And yet the cartel continued to methodically expand their distribution ring, mixing higher and higher levels of fentanyl into the heroin.

“Both ODs made it, though. Thanks to the Narcan on site, and of course all of our officers carry it.”

“Thank goodness.” Dominique’s evident relief smoothed the lines between her brows. “Did you know Charlie Hamm was the person responsible for getting Narcan into that facility to begin with? The social workers were swamped and he attended the training offered to the community by the rehab on the other side of town. Charlie believed all addicts deserve the same chance to live, to recover, no matter what side of town they came from. Does that sound like the work of a drug dealer to you, Troy?”

“No, it doesn’t. But a lot of things don’t make sense in Grave Gulch these days. Who knows what a dealer or user is thinking?”

“Charlie Hamm was innocent. Just like Everleigh Emerson was proven innocent, and Len Davison is on the loose because the evidence against him was destroyed. Multiple victims of false evidence and innocent people murdered by Davison. Now that we know that Randall Bowe is officially under suspicion of maligning evidence, all I need is the information pertaining to the fingerprint on the suitcase that sent Charlie to jail, along with proof that the testimony against him was bogus.”

“I hope you get it, Dominique, I truly do. I’m all for catching any bad guy, in uniform or out. But I’m here because you were attacked while trying to do your job. It sounded like a classic setup and I wish you had called us before you went to interview your subject.”

“If I’d let GGPD know, you would have checked it out and spooked the man.” Stanton gave her points for not bringing up her concern over corruption at the department again.

“Which is exactly what’s happened. He was scared away, but not by GGPD.”

“What?” Stanton and Dominique spoke in unison.

“I took the preliminary information you gave me after the attack, Stanton, and paid my own visit to the area. The witness does indeed live at the address you had, Dominique. He’s been there for the last month or so, working hourly at a local café in the kitchen. But he’s fled the scene. Two neighbors said he was out in