of myself. “Speak. Now.” The tightness of my jaw doubles when the noise of Grayson scrubbing his beard sounds down the line. “If you fucking lie to me, Grayson, I’ll tell Alex everything. Every. Thing.”
“It didn’t go down how she’s saying—”
“Then how did it go down?” When my question is met with silence, I growl out his name. “Did you falsify evidence?”
After a beat, Grayson murmurs a simple, “Yes.”
“Grayson… fuck! Why would you do that? Why fuck with evidence in a case that’s a slam dunk?”
His voice bellows down my eardrums when he shouts, “Because it wasn’t a slam dunk case. If I didn’t forge his prints, Crombie would have walked. He would have gotten away with attempted murder.” When I balk, physically shunted by his admission, he uses my silence to his advantage. “Crombie wasn’t in Melody’s apartment because he had a fascination with her curtains. He was there to finish the job a member of his association failed to complete.”
“A job?” I’m shocked I can talk. My mind is reeling as it struggles to slot in all the pieces of the puzzle.
Mercifully, Grayson loves a good puzzle. “The Greggs’ accident wasn’t an accident. They were targeted.”
“By who?”
I hear him swallow. “That’s what Tobias and I were endeavoring to find out when I broke protocol to speak to you.” He exhales a big breath before he continues, “Do you recall your father saying Liam didn’t brake for the stop sign?”
I lift my chin since words are above me right now.
“That’s because someone severed his brake lines. There was a trail of brake fluid from the front gate of his property to the intersection. Even if he’d pushed down on the brakes, they wouldn’t have responded.”
“Melody asked you specifically if there were any links between Crombie and her parents’ accident. You told her there wasn’t.” Nothing but unbridled anger sizzles in my tone. I’m beyond pissed. All of this should have been admitted years ago.
“I had to follow protocol. Their accident was way above my paygrade.”
My roar projects over the music bellowing out of Isaac’s nightclub. “So you lied? You lied to the two people who trusted you to be honest!”
The whooshing noise sounding down the line has me picturing him nodding. “Yes.”
I almost crush the micro camera in my hand when I squeeze down on it with all my might. Instead, I growl my frustration into the street. I’m pissed—beyond fucking outraged. I trusted Grayson because I thought he was the only person being honest with Melody and me.
I know better now.
“I’m done. You’ll have to find Katie without my help.”
As my hand moves to my ear, Grayson recites his last plea. “Brandon, you need to think about this. This is bigger than you realize. This is about more than Liam stumbling onto something he shouldn’t have. Cutting me off now won’t help anyone. We’re so fucking close to finding out the truth—” His words are cut off when I rip the earpiece from my ear, throw it to the ground along with the camera button, then stomp on them.
Once I’m confident they’re destroyed beyond repair, I toss open the door of my BMW and slide into the driver’s seat. As I reverse out of the dusty lot at the speed of lightning, I demand Siri to bring up my call history. I throw my gearshift into first gear before tapping the screen on the dashboard. An operator at the Federal Bureau of Investigation answers my call two rings later.
“Brandon James, Agent 443567. I need you to patch me through to Agent Russell.”
“Phillipa Russell from the New York Division of Internal Affairs or her father, Phillip, Acting Director of the Bureau?” the operator queries, doubling the knot twisted in my stomach.
15
Melody
“Ms. Gregg, it’s a pleasure to meet you,” introduces a pretty brunette with a kind smile and bright, glistening eyes. “My name is Phillipa Russell. I’m an agent at the Federal Bureau of Investigation. Thank you for taking the time to meet with me today.” She gestures her hand to a seat across from her and a male agent wearing a similar suit as hers, he just has a striped tie curled around his neck. “I asked Agent Moses to sit with us during your interview since he’s familiar with ASL.”
Phillipa’s head slants to the side when I say, “I can talk.” Her pale cheeks bloom with heat when I add, “I can also hear you.”
“Oh… ah… okay.” She straightens her suit jacket before screwing up her face. “I