Gone Too Far (Devlin & Falco #2) - Debra Webb Page 0,37
Kerri figured she felt on the threshold of death’s door. Since Kerri was closer to the counter, she grabbed a mug and the carafe and poured the hot liquid.
Cross came straight to her and took the mug. It wasn’t until after she’d finished off the first cup that she spoke. “I haven’t heard anything new from my sources. I told you why Walsh was talking to me. I said I’d call you if I had anything new, but I don’t. What is it you want from me?”
Falco kicked off the questioning. “You and Walsh were working on an off-the-record case.”
“I told you that already,” Cross growled.
“Like I told you already,” Falco said, “we saw the case board he’d made in the back of his closet. Whatever the two of you were doing was a lot bigger than you led us to believe.”
Kerri added, “It was dangerous, and it’s likely the reason he’s dead.”
That part was a no-brainer.
Cross poured another cup of coffee, took a breath before meeting Kerri’s gaze. “I’m not stupid, Devlin. I know he’s dead because of me. I told him what he was doing was dangerous, but he didn’t listen.” She walked over to the whiteboard near the door, pulled it aside, and gestured to the wall. “Look familiar?”
Kerri moved to her side and stared at the wall, which looked very much like the one in Walsh’s room at his aunt’s. Sticky notes, photos, newspaper articles were stuck to the wall. The name that jumped out at Kerri was Osorio.
“This is the operation you were working on when you disappeared,” Falco said, his gaze roving over the notes and photos. “I remember it was all over the news when the son, Eduardo, disappeared.” He turned to Cross. “That was months—close to a year—before you resurfaced.”
Cross cradled her mug. “And these”—she gestured to the wall—“are the pieces I can remember from those lost months. Everything else is a fog.”
“How did you and Walsh meet?” Kerri decided Falco was right. Walsh and Cross obviously had a thing. He’d been digging around for information about the cartel, and he’d discovered the operation from four and a half years ago. What better way to learn details than by getting close to a member of that op?
“He came to me. Like I said.” Cross’s attention remained on the many fragments of her past she’d lost. “He claimed he’d come to Birmingham for a purpose: to stamp out the Osorio cartel’s connections here.”
So the hotshot had an agenda after all, Kerri mused.
Falco scoffed. “Did you remind him how many have tried?”
Cross grunted. “He was well aware.”
“Why?”
Cross looked to Kerri. “Why what?”
“Why the Osorio cartel? Why Birmingham? Why do this off the record? We’ve found nothing in Walsh’s background that gives us any sort of motive.”
The last part was the big question in Kerri’s opinion. As a part of the district attorney’s office, Walsh would certainly want to see that crime was stamped out—that justice prevailed and the law of the land was upheld. It was the whole purpose of the DA’s office. Why now? Why here? Why this particular criminal element? Where was the fire that fueled his passion? The match that lit the fire? Something or someone had to have triggered his decisions.
Cross shrugged. “No clue. All I know is I never met anyone who wanted to stamp out the big drug sources—particularly the Osorio cartel—more than Walsh. Whatever his motives, he was over-the-top antidrug.”
She turned and walked away from the wall of fragmented memories. Poured herself a third cup of coffee and focused on downing it.
“Why would you lie about how involved the two of you were?” Kerri joined her at the counter. “Is there some reason you didn’t want to share with us what he—or the two of you—were doing?”
Cross, her expression locked down like a vault, stared at Kerri. “I said I would check with my sources and see what I could find out. Otherwise, now you know what I know. Can we move on?”
Kerri shook her head. “Then why feel as if his death is on you? You said he’s dead because of you. What was he working on specifically? How exactly were you helping him? You’re sharing only vague details, Cross. Reluctantly at that. And what I’m reading in your body language isn’t vague at all. His death affected you deeply. Why, if—as you say—you don’t really know anything at all?”
“Maybe you’re not as good at reading people as you think. You got it wrong this time.”