Gone Too Far (Devlin & Falco #2) - Debra Webb Page 0,27
were involved in whatever had happened to her. Her gaze stalled on his. Eddie’s. Eduardo Osorio. The only son of the most dangerous and powerful cartel leader in Mexico. He’d lost his wife only a year before the undercover operation had been launched. Sadie was no fool. Her commander hadn’t picked her for the assignment because she was the best detective on the team. Her likeness to the target’s deceased wife was undeniable. The powers that be had wanted to get Eduardo Osorio’s attention, and it had worked. He’d taken the bait like a starving rat.
A shift in her chest had her tilting up the bottle once more. She closed her eyes and let the burn overtake the memory. Her mind took her to the one constant in the fragmented pieces of her memory.
The mask. White. Horns sprouting from the sides and curling over the top. Soft, childlike voice instructing her to eat . . . to drink . . . to listen.
The masked child, or whatever the hell it had been, had come to her so many times. Sadie had recognized the person was female, small. Maybe a kid. But everything around the visitor was a blur. The memories were scattered and cloaked in darkness. The occasional sound or image. Sensations. Fear. Pain. Need. Panic. And occasionally hope.
All of it nothing more than pieces she couldn’t seem to put together.
“To hell with it.”
Sadie turned away from the mishmash she’d worked on for nearly three years now. The first year back from that dark place she’d been too much of a physical and emotional wreck to focus on anything. Over the past thirty-six or so months, the one thing that had kept her from admitting defeat was her refusal to give her father the satisfaction of knowing she’d given up.
She would not give him that. Ever.
The neck of the bottle hanging from her fingertips, she decided a long hot shower was necessary. She’d finish off the bottle and hopefully sleep like the dead for a few hours. She’d promised herself she wouldn’t let the alcohol lead her anymore, but this was different. This was just for sleep. She rarely drank before or during work. She’d narrowed any serious drinking time down to a limited hour or so before bed.
It’s a start, right? She’d even gone to AA a couple of times. Needed to go more—she got that. And she would. She definitely would.
As long as she was breathing, she had an obligation to do right by Pauley. He’d left his business and this place to her.
And she needed the whole truth. All those missing pieces. Some part of her wouldn’t let go of the idea that those pieces were essential to something she didn’t fully understand.
With Asher’s murder, those pieces were even more important. Something or someone from her lost past was relevant to his death. She had to find that thing or person. Maybe the whole concept was simply a reason to seek revenge. Revenge was a powerful motive.
The warning that someone was on the fire escape chimed. She stalled. A fist against the door confirmed it was neither cat nor another four-legged animal.
Pound, pound, pound. “Cross, I know you’re in there.”
Falco. Sadie gritted her teeth. She was not going to answer his questions tonight.
She started forward once more, and the pounding began again.
“We know you were working with Walsh more closely than you told us,” he said, the hushed accusation leaching through the wood of the door.
Sadie turned around and moved toward the sound.
“I understand,” Falco said, his voice softer now, “what it must have taken for you to trust him.”
She pressed her forehead against the cool wood surface and closed her eyes. He couldn’t possibly.
“I just need to understand what he was doing. It’s the only way we can find his killer. You know that, Cross. You have to help us. We can’t help you unless you help us. You can count on Devlin and me. You know that.”
Sadie twisted around until her back was against the door, then tipped up the bottle and guzzled another deep swallow. With the fire burning in her gut, she slid down the door until she folded into a heap on the floor.
“Go away, Falco. I don’t need your help. Or Devlin’s.”
“We know about Naomi Taylor. We found Walsh’s working notes at her house. We need to understand what the pieces mean, Cross.”
Join the fucking crowd.
“I’ll call you tomorrow,” she lied. Anything to get him gone. She needed peace. Darkness. Quiet.