Bailed Out (The Anna Albertini Files #2) - Rebecca Zanetti Page 0,55

Georgiana’s to take care of their plants before driving across town to Kelsey Walker’s house. She didn’t answer the door, and by the darkness of the house, I figured she’d gone to work.

I was actually jealous. Work would be great.

So, planning quickly, I stopped for hot lattes and a bear claw before parking at my office and striding past it toward the police station fronting the park. A wink to the guy at reception had me up the stairs and in Pierce’s office without any problems. “Howdy, Detective,” I said, stepping inside.

He looked up from his computer, sighed, and leaned back in his chair. “Is that a bear claw?”

“Yup.” I handed over his latte and the pastry before taking a seat across from him. “I’m not above bribery.”

Today Pierce was dressed down in a polo shirt and beige slacks with his badge at his belt. His hair was smoothed back, his face clean shaven, and his green eyes clear and alert. “Bribing a police officer is a crime, Albertini.” I’d noticed he’d started to use my last name more, probably to distance us. He’d asked me out in June and apparently regretted it, although we’d never made that date. “Although a bear claw is the way to do it.”

I caught sight of the front page of yesterday’s paper at the edge of his desk. “Are you going to lecture me?”

“Would it do any good?” He hummed happily as he dug into the donut.

“No,” I admitted.

He shook his head. “You wouldn’t be the first woman to dump her career over the wrong guy. I figure I’ll be helping you out when I finally put Devlin away for good.” He reached into his desk drawer for a file folder, this one a bright and sparkling purple. “I printed out Devlin’s rap sheet for you, just in case you’d like a reminder.” His eyes were hard, but his voice resigned.

“Huh.” I took the folder. “Where are you finding these bizarre folders?”

“In the supply closet,” he said, finishing the bear claw and reaching for his coffee again. “They pretty much scream your name to me, so there you go.”

I didn’t need to see the rap sheet again. Sometimes it kept me up at night.

“Let me remind you,” Pierce said. “Armed robbery, grand theft auto, drug distribution, assault, and battery—all with not nearly enough prison time. In addition, he was a person of interest in several homicides connected to the motorcycle gang he rode with in Portland before they were patched over by the Lordes.”

I flattened my hand over the file folder. “Yeah, and I’m not buying it all. There’s no way he wouldn’t have done more time for those crimes.” Yet, the prison system wasn’t the best right now, and felons were let out all the time.

“You know I can have him picked up any time for a weapons violation, right? Felons can’t have guns,” Pierce said.

“I don’t think he has one,” I said. “At least on him, and he’s not going to admit to having one.”

Pierce sighed. “Tell me you really haven’t convinced yourself that those charges are fake. I’ve checked with every contact I have with the FBI and DEA, and Devlin isn’t working for them. He’s not even an informant.”

Yeah, so had Nick. They were both trying to help me out, but my instincts had to count for something. “If they are true, then he’s turning his life around.” I sounded lame, but I couldn’t help it. “He’s trying to remake the Lordes into pursuing legitimate businesses.”

“Bullshit,” Pierce said bluntly. He shook his head. “Just stay out of the way when we take him down. I’d hate to pinch you as an accessory for anything.”

“You’re not being a very nice friend.” I jerked my head toward the very nice latte I’d purchased for him.

He rolled his eyes. “We are not friends.”

Well, that hurt a little bit. “What are we, then?”

He shook his head. “Until you get fired, we’re colleagues. I’d try to help out any woman throwing her entire life away like this.”

When Pierce wanted to be a condescending ass, he excelled at it. Even so, I held back on calling him on it. “Have you received the autopsy report on Danny Pucci yet?”

“Yep.” Pierce finished his latte and tossed the empty paper latte cup toward the garbage can in the corner, easily nailing it. “Pucci died from a bullet to the head, which is not surprising. He had lacerations from a beating from a day or so before, more bruises