“Why wasn’t this done before?” I ask.

“A good deal of it was, but we didn’t have a lot of information, because Raide never gave us the chance. Then, during investigation, he bolted and our efforts were then moved to getting him back so there could be a trial.”

“Okay, so if you find calls or messages on Kelly’s phone, or someone admits they suspected her boyfriend of abusing her, how much will that help?”

He runs his hands over the papers in front of him. “It depends on the extent of what we find. We’re looking into every lead available. Even if we determine that Dean was beating her, that still doesn’t prove he killed her.”

I bite my lip.

“But,” York says. “Dean isn’t a saint himself. He’s been arrested a few times for drug possession.”

“Then why was Raide automatically put under the spotlight?”

“As I said, Raide was the one with the knife. Dean swore Raide beat him, and Raide said nothing. Not to mention Raide has priors for assault.”

“I know,” I say.

God, why didn’t Raide defend himself? Is he so proud? My guess is that he figured if he was going down, he was going to make it worth the ride. He waited patiently, and the moment he was released, he went after Dean.

“If Dean were to make a confession?” I put out there.

“That’s what we’re hoping for. It could be risky, but I think that’s our best chance.”

“Any idea how you’ll do that?”

“Yeah,” he says, meeting my eyes. “I’m going to wire you.”

I blink. “Excuse me?”

“You heard me, I’m going to wire you and send you to him. It’s risky but it could work. Because of your profession, I can pass you to go in and do this. He doesn’t know you, so all you have to do is get him to admit it and he’s done.”

“He’s not going to tell a random stranger he killed someone.”

“He might if he thinks you’re a broken girl left by Raide.”

I shake my head, confused. “Pardon?”

“You’re broken, devastated. He talks to you and you tell him about this pig of a man who hurt you. You keep the conversation going, you drop Raide’s name. Dean is going to jump and the reason he’s going to do that is because he wants Raide to suffer. He’s enjoying this game. So much so that he might be willing to boast about it. You play your cards right, you can get what you need.”

It’s not a bad idea, and in the end, I’ll do anything, anything, to get Raide home to me.

“So, when do we start?”

He leans back in the chair. “Whenever you’re ready.”

I’m ready.

For Raide, I’ll always be ready.

Chapter Twenty-five

York turns me around, strapping wires and tape to my body. “Now, this isn’t bulky but you don’t want to rub up against him. He’ll pick up on it quickly. That’s something we don’t want. I’ve got three cars on you, and there’ll be at least five undercover men at the bar, watching. If Raide shows, you get out of there.”

I never thought of Raide showing. I swallow. “Do you think he knows where Dean is?”

“He probably has a good idea, but I’m hoping we’ll get there first. I have contacts, those contacts know where he is.”

I nod, taking a deep breath.

“Are you sure you’re ready for this?” York asks, pulling my shirt down and making sure I’m good to go.

“I am.”

He places his hands on my shoulders. “Anything goes wrong, you run, Grace.”

“I can do that.”

“Okay, the car is waiting outside. I’m going to watch you, I’ll have my eyes on you at all times, Gracie.”

“Thank you, York.”

“Don’t thank me yet.” He kisses my forehead and leaves. I turn with another deep breath and walk out to the car waiting in the parking lot of the police department. I climb in with two uniformed officers, who explain some basics about the wires and what to do if I panic. Things such as scratching the left side of my nose or tilting my head from side to side five times, like I’m stretching. If I do this, they’ll come straight in. I’ve got a gun in my purse anyway, just in case.

We arrive just down the road from an old bar and the officers clear everything with me once more before letting me out. When I’m gone, they disappear but I know they’re not going far. I walk slowly down to the bar, scanning the lot for Raide. I’ve been given clear and strict instructions not to engage him. I’m doing this for him, so I can’t risk him losing it. I can only pray he doesn’t show up and blow all of this. I’m doing it for him whether he wants me to or not.

I think about the situation as I approach the door. I know it’s not illegal for cops to send a person in wired, but they wouldn’t usually send a civilian in. I’ve been given clearance because of my profession and training. Not to mention York is the head of his team and has never done anything to risk someone’s life. He’s a smart man. He thinks before he acts, and he wouldn’t send me in if he didn’t think I could do this. However, there’s still a small chance this could go bad.

When I reach the door, I look up at the large man standing beside it. I flash him my best smile and he narrows his eyes. My guess? I’m not the usual kind of girl who comes to these kinds of places. I can already tell the bar isn’t the nicest. It’s old, run-down, and there are shitty cars parked all around it. Not that that means anything sinister, but usually people who own cars like those don’t have a great deal of money. So it’s a cheap bar, and with cheap comes drama.

“You got ID?”

I raise my brows. This guy is asking me for ID when I’ve seen at least three underage girls go through the doors. “Are you serious?” I say.

He crosses his arms. “Yeah, I am.”

With a sigh, I pull out my ID and hand it to him.

He actually holds it up to the light to see if it’s been tampered with, squinting his eyes and running his fingers over the surface. Seriously? I mean, I guess I should be flattered but honestly, this guy is just being a jerk. He finally nods and hands it back to me. “Go in.”

“Gee, thanks,” I mutter.

I step past him into the club and stare around the crummy space. I know what Dean looks like, I was presented with recent photos before I came in here. I push past the groups of people and receive a few catcalls. When I sit down at the bar, I order a vodka and orange so I don’t look suspicious. Then I settle in, sipping it while I stare around the bar, looking for Dean.

“What’s a pretty girl like you doin’ in here?”

I turn and see a skinny, strung-out, scary-looking dude grinning down at me. He’s got two teeth missing and his blond hair is flopping over his head, covering most of his eyes, which I can clearly tell are bloodshot. A junkie. Wonderful.

“Just waiting for a friend,” I say, turning back to my drink.

“Say, girly, do you have a buck I could borrow?”

A buck? Honestly? “Nope.”

“Not even one.”

“Nope.”

He stands there for a minute, silently, and then I feel his fingers touching my purse clutched by my side. Seriously? I spin and take hold of his hand, twisting it hard.