Total pages in book: 52
Estimated words: 51744 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 259(@200wpm)___ 207(@250wpm)___ 172(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 51744 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 259(@200wpm)___ 207(@250wpm)___ 172(@300wpm)
I shrug. “Maybe. If he’s got it so well hidden that no one could possibly ferret it out.”
He scrunches up the side of his face in a weird look of doubt. “I just don’t get that feeling.”
“Whatever.” I sigh. “Hayes is sending the DNA out to make sure it doesn’t belong to the victim himself. Or maybe we’ll get a hit in the system. Either way, he also found something else, though I doubt it has any bearing on the case.”
“What?”
“Apparently the victim was a live liver donor. Part of his liver was removed.”
“What makes you think he was a live donor?” Jarvis asks.
I gulp. “You mean…”
“Organ trafficking,” Jarvis says.
“That’s not what we’re here to investigate,” I say. “Besides, the medical examiner said the scar was there at death, meaning it wasn’t removed postmortem. The killer would have had to have kept him alive to perform the surgery. No one wants a non-working liver if they’re organ traffickers. Besides, if all they wanted him for was the liver, then why suture him back up? Why not let him die on the table, then dump him?
He pauses, thinks it through, which is a lot. “Who the hell knows, but it’s something to think about.”
I don’t buy this idea, but I want to get my partner’s take. “You think this poor guy was killed for his liver?”
He shakes his head. “Hell, no. He was killed because he knew too much about Racehorse Hauling and Jonathan Bridger, and he had to go. But if someone needed a liver…and Joey Hopkins had one…”
“There’s no evidence Bridger was into that,” I say. The medical examiner’s news is the first hint of anything like organ trafficking we’ve seen in our investigation. Same goes for Peterson’s work before us.
“True. But it might be a good idea to see if the victim has any living relatives who have, or had, liver disease.”
I glance through my notes on the victim. “His father, Curt Hopkins, is an alcoholic—a prime candidate for liver disease. He held his only daughter at gunpoint a week ago. He’s in prison.”
“We’ll need his medical records,” Jarvis says. “I’m on it.”
Then I drop my jaw as something in the report catches my eye.
“And that daughter? She’s the significant other of Miles Bridger, Chance’s half brother.”
6
CHANCE
* * *
“Come with us,” Carly says. “It’s just dinner out. Austin already gave Louisa the night off.”
“Without asking me first,” I growl.
“I didn’t realize we needed permission.” Austin drapes his arms around Carly’s shoulders. “Miles and Sadie are meeting us there. It’s the chophouse over on County Road Nine. Nothing fancy, but the ladies deserve a night out.”
“I don’t have a lady on my arm,” I remind them. I instantly think of Avery, which is ridiculous.
“Maybe you’ll find one there,” Carly urges.
“At the chophouse?” I shake my head. “If no one at the Dusty Rose caught my eye the other night, I doubt there’s a chance at that place.”
“There were plenty of gorgeous women at the Rose,” Austin says. “And any one of them would have loved some attention from you. You were the one who wasn’t looking.”
I sigh. “When you’re right, you’re right.”
Austin shakes his head. “You need to get over this FBI chick. It’s been fifteen years, man. Let it go.”
“I just want to know why.” I thread my fingers through my hair. “One day we were in love, and the next day, she’s gone. I don’t get it. I don’t get any of it.”
“You want some closure.” Carly gives me a small smile of reassurance. “That’s understandable.”
I nod, but truth be told, I want a hell of a lot more than closure from Avery Marsh.
One look at her, and fifteen years faded away in an instant.
I still want her.
I still love her.
Fuck.
“You still have to eat, Chance,” Austin reminds me.
I grab my hat off the peg by the door. “Fine. I’ll go.”
Sitting in a chair at the end of a wooden booth with my brothers and their two ladies doesn’t make me a fifth wheel at all. I roll my eyes. Every time a server walks by, I get bumped.
“Why the hell didn’t they give us one of those round tables?” I grumble.
“Let’s ask them to change,” Sadie says. “It shouldn’t be any trouble.”
“Are you kidding me?” I roll my eyes. “This place is packed.”
Another whomp to the back of my head.
“Sorry, sir,” a server says with a smile. “I’m Amy and I’ll be taking care of you tonight. Can I start you with anything to drink?”
“God, yes,” I say. “Whatever you’ve got on tap, as long as it’s cold and frothy.” Then I feel like a heel for not allowing the ladies to order first. “Sorry,” I mumble.
“I’ll have a glass of Chardonnay,” Sadie says.
“Just mineral water.” Carly smiles.
“For your beer, sir,” Amy continues, “we have Budweiser, Coors Extra Gold, and Guinness.”