Pretties in Pink

4. Ford

4

FORD

Ford Prestia shouldn’t have been taking a break from the Feinstein case to eat a mid-morning snack, and he definitely shouldn’t have been taking a break from the Feinstein case to eat that snack with a pretty woman. But f**k it. Duncan was an asshole marking time while he waited to collect Social Security, at least, he had been until he saw one last shot at glory, and the fewer hours Ford had to spend with him, the better. Back in New Orleans, he’d have picked up a drink for his partner too, but Duncan could buy his own damn coffee.

The object of Ford’s fascination sashayed to the table in the corner where she had a laptop set up. On the previous two occasions he’d seen her—this past Tuesday and early last week—she’d ordered to go. Why was she working in the café today? Didn’t she have an office? Perhaps she wasn’t from around here, which might explain the accent. She had a twang you didn’t hear much in these parts, and it only became more pronounced when she was angry. Angry. The sight of the willowy blonde laying into that stuck-up b***h shouldn’t have been a turn-on, but Ford couldn’t deny how it had affected him. At least he hadn’t been the target of her tongue today, although maybe in the future, he wouldn’t mind becoming better acquainted.

For f**k’s sake, Prestia.

Picking up women on duty was a no-no, and hadn’t he decided to focus on his job for now? He’d just gotten out of a long-term relationship—much to his sister’s relief because Sylvie had never gotten along with Eliette—and he was in no hurry to get tangled up again. But something casual…

“Do you come here often?” the blonde asked, sitting down and closing her laptop in one smooth motion. “Sorry, that sounded like a pickup line, and it definitely wasn’t.” Well, at least she’d cleared that up. “Thanks for your help back there.”

“Just doing my civic duty.” Ford took a seat opposite. “Cops don’t appreciate having their time wasted. And in answer to your question, I come here most days. They seem to serve the best coffee in this part of town.”

“They do. My boss’s boss is a real coffee snob, and this is her favourite place.”

“A coffee snob? Maybe you should introduce us.”

“Uh…”

Why did she look so horrified?

“Relax, I’m kidding. I just like good coffee, that’s all. Took about two weeks after I moved here for the assholes in the department to start calling me Esprestia.”

Now she seemed puzzled. “Esprestia?”

“s**t, sorry, I should have introduced myself.” Ford held out a hand. Usually he was smoother than this, but when she put her hand into his, he jolted as something passed between them. A connection. “Ford Prestia.”

She had the most beautifully expressive face, but instead of the smile he’d hoped to see, there was a moment’s pause, and then he got shock. Shock and—if he wasn’t mistaken—a hint of nervousness.

“You okay?”

“We shouldn’t be talking to each other.”

What? Why? “If it’s about the incident outside the wine bar on Seventeenth, I swear that was a one-off. I’d drunk too much, and I never normally sing in public.”

“Huh? No, it’s not that. You’re investigating the Feinstein abduction, right?”

Prickles rose on the back of Ford’s neck. The laptop, the endless carbs… “Ah, f**k. You’re a reporter?”

“A reporter? No, no way.”

“Then what…?”

“I’m investigating the case too.”

“You?”

She snatched her hand away and faced up to him, arms akimbo. “Yes, on behalf of Micah Ganaway. And why not me? You think because I’m young and female that I’m incapable?”

Because she was female? No, that didn’t come into it. But she was young. Hell, she barely looked old enough to have graduated college, which was another reason why Ford’s d**k shouldn’t have been twitching in his pants.

“You’re working for Ganaway? I didn’t think he had enough money to hire his own investigator.”

“His brother retained us.”

“Us?”

“I work for Blackwood Security.”

Blackwood Security. Two words that cast fear into the heart of the Richmond PD. The enemy, or at least, they were according to Duncan. The folks from Blackwood bent the rules regularly, straight-up broke them on occasion, and generally rode roughshod over the entire department. Ford had always figured their paths would cross eventually; he just hadn’t expected it to be under these circumstances.

But he couldn’t deny he was curious. Did everyone who worked for Blackwood look like this girl? If they did, then maybe he was in the wrong damn job.

“Interesting.”

“Interesting? Have you heard of Blackwood?”

“I’m aware of their reputation.”

“Then why haven’t you tossed your coffee over me and bolted out the door?”

“Waste good coffee? No, I don’t think so. And I still don’t know your name.”

The tension in her shoulders eased a fraction. “Hallie. Hallie Chastain.”

“Well, Hallie Chastain, you’re right. I probably shouldn’t be talking to you.”

“And yet you are.”

“And yet I am.”

So, Micah Ganaway had a team of investigators working for him, and not just any old team of investigators, but one with a history of cracking cases, one way or another. And why shouldn’t he? Everyone accused of a crime had the right to mount a defence. And in truth, Ford was glad Ganaway had people fighting his corner. Something about the case didn’t sit right with him. Duncan was convinced they had their man, but everything Ford had seen so far told him Duncan was a sloppy detective. He took shortcuts. And for whatever reason, he had blinders on when it came to Micah Ganaway. As soon as they’d gotten the tip about his car being in the area, Duncan had latched onto the kid as a suspect and gone all out to fit the evidence to the crime rather than the other way around. And now he wanted to pin a second kidnapping on Ganaway as well.

But with Blackwood involved, it might not quite be the slam dunk Duncan wanted to believe it was. How long had Hallie been working on the case? What information did she have on that laptop of hers?

“Tell me, Hallie, why does the Richmond PD dislike Blackwood so intensely?”

She tilted her head to one side. “Don’t you already know the answer?”

“I know an answer, but I want to hear your version.”

“They don’t like us because we shine a light on their mistakes. Uncover the issues they want to sweep under the rug, such as the fact that their former chief was a freaking child molester.” Now Ford got his smile, but it was sly rather than sweet. “Tell me, Ford,” she mimicked. “How many officers in the Richmond PD are still aligned with Chief Garland? How many rotten apples are still clinging to the tree?”

A question he’d asked himself many, many times. Even in New Orleans, they’d heard about the trouble surrounding the department and Chief Garland, and in all honesty, Ford hadn’t wanted to work there. He’d liked his old job. He missed his old job.

So how did he end up as Duncan’s sidekick?

Firstly, and most importantly, his sister needed his support, and she lived in Chesterfield, Virginia. Ford had applied for a deputy position at the Chesterfield County Sheriff’s Office, and although he’d been offered the role, it would have meant a step down the ladder, career-wise.

Then Richmond’s new police chief, Jerome Broussard, had heard of Ford’s plans and given him a call personally. Would he be interested in a lateral move? Yes, the commute would be longer, but the pay would be better, and he’d keep his detective grade. Which meant that when Sylvie’s divorce came through and the custody arrangements were finalised, it would be a hell of a lot easier to go back home.

Broussard had headed up the New Orleans PD before he was hired to clean house in Virginia, and Ford had a lot of respect for the man. At the start of Broussard’s tenure, the NOPD had been rife with corruption, but through determination, diplomacy when required, and a general unwillingness to take s**t from anyone, Broussard had built a culture of integrity. A real team. Ford had faith he’d do the same in Richmond, but the structural problems couldn’t be fixed overnight. Not with officers like Detective Duncan hanging on by their fingernails.

“How many rotten apples?” He shrugged, not wanting to admit the depth of the problem to a woman who worked for the opposing side. “One or two.”

She snorted. “And the rest.”

“If you know the answer, then why ask the question?”

“Because I wanted to hear your version.”

Ford liked this girl. Heaven help him, but he liked her. He blew on his Americano. Took a sip and stirred his granola, thinking. Blackwood got results, and from what he’d heard, those results were usually the right ones. They didn’t have to play politics. Sure, they wanted to please their clients, but their founder was a billionaire—he wasn’t going to lose sleep if one or two of those clients ended up disgruntled. Ford’s partner, on the other hand, spent more time watching the news coverage than he did reviewing the evidence, and the media wanted someone—anyone—to hang for Vonnie Feinstein’s disappearance. The talking heads shouldn’t have influenced Duncan’s actions, but they did. He longed for the accolades. Broussard had to be feeling the pressure too—the Feinsteins had donated a tidy sum to their congressman, and he’d called at least twice that Ford knew of.

“Hallie Chastain.” Her name slipped from his lips before he could stop it, and she quirked an eyebrow. “Are you going to be a pain in my ass?”

“Probably.”

At least she was honest. “Have you spoken with Micah Ganaway?”

“Yesterday.”

“And do you think he did it?”

A poor PI would have said no. A lawyer would have said “no comment.” But Hallie considered the question, then gave a one-shouldered shrug.

“Honestly? I don’t know. I’ve only had the case for three days. But I do know that your case is thin as it stands at the moment.” Couldn’t argue with that. “I mean, he went for a walk, took some pictures, and had gardening equipment in his trunk.”

“Don’t forget the knife concealed in his glove compartment.”

“He wasn’t in the car when you found it, therefore it wasn’t about his person.” She made a noise like a game-show buzzer. “No crime.”

“It’s circumstantial evidence.”

“Was there blood on the knife? Hair? Skin cells? Any other trace of Vonnie Feinstein?”

“No, but there was blood in the trunk.”

She froze momentarily, and he realised he’d caught her off guard. That little snippet of information hadn’t reached her delicate ears yet, probably because he’d only just heard the news himself. The forensics team had turned up a darkened spot on the very edge of the carpet. Preliminary indications suggested it was a bloodstain, although whose blood it was or whether it was even human were questions that still needed to be answered.

“Fresh blood?”

“It’s still being tested.”

“Micah bought the car second-hand.”

“As I said, it’s still being tested. Plus we found a footprint outside Vonnie’s window from a size eleven sneaker. Micah Ganaway takes a size eleven.”

“Did you match the print to a pair of shoes he owns?”

“We’re working on that.”

Hallie’s turn to take a drink. This was the weirdest coffee date Ford had ever been on. Except it obviously wasn’t a date, no siree, more of a…verbal duel.

“Why did you tell me about it?” she asked.

“That we found blood and a footprint? You’d find out from him in a day or two, anyway.”

“But you told me today. Are you trying to help me? Or distract me?”

Truthfully, Ford had no f*****g clue what he was doing. His sanity had taken a hike the moment he followed her to the table.

“I’m not trying to distract you.” Now she had Ford off balance. “Ganaway should have somebody on his side other than Del Farmer.”

“Do you think Micah did it?”

“I’m on the fence. And I guess I’m hoping that by throwing you a bone, I might get something in return.”

Hallie smiled and held out the apple. Ford had to laugh.

“And deprive you of the only healthy thing you might eat today?”

“One of the muffins had blueberries in it.”

“One of the muffins? If you work at Blackwood, why have you been exiled to the Grindhouse?”

“Maybe I was hoping a handsome cop would come in and charm me with whispers of inconclusive evidence and tenuous theories.” She reached across and cupped Ford’s cheek in her hand. “Plus maintenance is testing the emergency lighting system, and it was giving me a headache.”

He removed her hand, but he didn’t let it go. Nor did he break her gaze.

“You sure know how to sweet-talk a guy.”

“Wait, aren’t we meant to be at war?”

“I’m looking forward to the battle, as long as it’s a fair fight.”

And he truly was. Hallie was smart—their all-too-brief conversation had shown him that much. A breath of fresh air after Duncan’s ham-fisted attempts at investigation. Three months as Duncan’s partner, and Ford was already counting down the days until the man’s retirement.

“I only want justice.” When Hallie bit her lip and lowered her gaze, Ford’s traitorous d**k made its presence known. “But what if I like to fight dirty?”

“You already are. An apple? That’s all I get?”

“It’s all I have right now. But if you give me your number, maybe I’ll throw you a bone sometime?”

“And maybe I’ll throw you a nice, juicy steak.”

Such as the eyewitness. Not a particularly reliable one seeing as she was only four years old, but an eyewitness nonetheless.

“You have more?”

“There’s more,” Ford confirmed. “But this isn’t a one-way street. You show me yours, I’ll show you mine.”

“I want everything.”

At that moment, Ford realised this case might just be the death of him.