Bailed Out (The Anna Albertini Files #2) - Rebecca Zanetti Page 0,107

like this?” Looking absolutely glorious, in fact.

“I did.”

“What did he do?” I asked.

She blinked. “Nothing. He just sat there looking kind of stunned. I don’t think people yell at him very often.”

Yeah, that was it. Not. I smiled and patted her arm. “Everything will be okay, Tess.” Yes! I made a mental note to call Nonna Albertini to ramp up our plan.

I drove away from town and my phone buzzed. “Albertini,” I answered. Yeah. I liked that. Now that I owned my own law office, I’d answer with my last name.

“It’s Grant. How’s your head?”

I smiled. “Detective Pierce. It’s kind of you to call. I’m a little achy, but all right overall. Thanks for checking in.”

“That’s not the only reason I called,” he said.

Yeah, I already figured that. Pierce was a good guy but not exactly empathetic. “What’s up?”

“Just wanted to give you a heads up that the fingerprint on the bullet that killed Danny Pucci matched one of the guys caught up in the ATF raid. I’m having him brought in later today for questioning. All I know is that his name is Spark. What a dumb name.”

Relief felt nice and cool through my heated skin. “What time?”

“The feds are delivering him around three. You’re welcome to watch the interview because I know you will, anyway. Just be careful until then, all right?” Paper shuffled in the background. “I’m not sure we’ve caught all of the BGC men yet, and more than one will want a little revenge for the death of Pucci. They had that whole brotherhood thing going on, and most of it seems illegal.”

The hair rose at the back of my neck. “So long as you have Spark’s twin brother, we’re fine.”

Silence came from him.

My heart sank. “You don’t have Rhino?” God, what a terrible name.

Pierce audibly flipped over papers. “No. I have the mugshots and names, and there’s no Rhino or guy who looks like Spark. I’ll let the ATF know he’s still out there. For now, keep out of sight.”

My great day was turning crappy. “You think I’m in danger?”

“I don’t know. Between the ATF and us, we’ll have everybody even remotely linked to BGC caught up in a net very soon, so just stay under the radar if you can. I know it’ll be difficult.” Sarcasm came naturally to Pierce. “I’ll let you watch the interrogation if you then go under until I say it’s safe to come up for air. Deal?”

I twisted my lip and thought it over. “Deal. After the interrogation, I’ll head over to my parent’s house for the rest of the week. But that’s it. Today is Monday, and I’ll give you the week.” I could order furniture and office supplies while relaxing at my mom’s. “All right?”

“Yeah. We’ll have them before that.” He disengaged the call.

I looked down at my phone. That man never said goodbye. Rolling my eyes, I reached for the address and asked Siri to give me a hand finding it. My Siri had a male Australian accent, and he quite kindly directed me to my destination. The entry to the farm was out in the vicinity of Walker’s Funeral Home, and I navigated it easily until reaching a private drive with a square log entryway.

Flower beds overflowing with weeds lined the drive up to the white clapboard house, while fields extended in two directions, dotted with cows. It was peaceful and pretty, except for the neglected flowers.

I took a deep breath and parked my car near the steps to the wraparound porch. Cheerful yellow cushions covered the porch swing.

A man stepped out onto the porch, his hair grizzly, his overalls stained, and his expression grumpy. “Who are you?” He wiped down what looked like some sort of engine part with a dirty rag.

“Mr. McLerrison? I’m Anna Albertini, and I represent Oliver Duck. He’s the kid who rode his dirt bike on your land?”

McLerrison kept wiping off oil. His eyes were a faded blue, and laugh lines extended out, but it was hard to imagine him as happy. “I know who he is. I had him arrested.”

“I know.” I smiled and tried to use charm, but it didn’t seem to be working. “I’d like to ask you to drop the charges.”

“Why would I do that?” McLerrison asked. “The kid damaged the dirt right by my pond. He deserves a slap on the wrist.”

I jumped at the language. “True, but the prosecutor has lost her mind and wants to get him prison time. Like real prison