NYPD homicide detective Ryce Marshall doesn’t remember what happened to her before she woke up in a dirt parking lot in Pennsylvania. She doesn’t know why her lover is so afraid she’ll walk away. She doesn’t know that she’s already neck-deep in things beyond imagining.
One of the UNSETIC Files, Truth Will Set You Free is the introduction of Ryce Marshall and Jesse Stole into the universe, two NYPD cops on a collision course with the supernatural in more than a few forms.
Three
“You two are both idiots,” the man outside my door hissed. He’d strategically placed himself just outside the view of my peephole and glared at Jesse and I through the cracked-open door, blue eyes narrowed. “Now let me in, Detective Marshall. We don’t have much time.”
Jesse snarled but tugged gently on my shoulder. “Let him in, Ryce.”
“Agent Scarborough,” I murmured. The man’s eyes narrowed.
“Are you going to let me in?”
I sighed and stepped back, clearing the way for him to shoulder his way into my apartment. He slammed the door behind him and glared not at me, but at Jesse.
“What hell were you thinking, coming here? You could have blown everything. You don’t think you’re being watched?”
“I know I’m not being watched,” Jesse growled. “You’ve got the mafia princess wrapped around your little finger. They’re not worried about what we’re doing because anything we do must be some kind of errand for her.”
“She’s got enemies herself. Don’t think that folks aren’t suspicious about what she’s doing while the don’s locked up, especially in a culture where women aren’t supposed to do the shit that she’s doing.”
I was a little lost, but I wasn’t about to admit it. I locked the front door and knifed between them, headed back to the kitchen to pour myself a cup of coffee. “Either way,” I called over my shoulder, “the damage is already done. Are you going to stay for a cup of coffee, Agent Scarborough?”
“None of us are staying for a cup of coffee, Detective.” He followed me into the kitchen, Jesse on his heels. “The three of us are getting out of here now before someone starts doing a little too much math or far too much digging.”
“What?” I looked back at him, my brow furrowing. “I’m afraid that I don’t quite understand what you’re trying to say.”
“I’m saying that if you don’t throw some clothes in a bag and the both of you don’t come with me now, not only is my entire operation going to fall apart, but a lot of people—including everyone in this room right now—could be dead inside of the next week.” He took the coffee carafe from my hand and emptied it into the sink. “Go pack. Make it look like you’re off for a week or two. Call your partner. Call your boss. Tell them you’re taking time. No one’s going to argue with you about it.”
“How do you know that?” I demanded.
“Because I’ve already made the phone calls,” he snarled. “Now pack a goddamned bag, Detective.”
I looked at Jesse. He just shook his head slightly and mouthed the words do it. I swallowed and brushed past Scarborough, heading back to my bedroom even as he rounded on Jesse.
“You’re going to get the both of you killed.”
“I had to see her.”
“What the hell happened on the shore?”
“I told you that I didn’t want to talk about it.”
“Then maybe she does.”
“She doesn’t remember, Will. I don’t know what happened to her, but after she bailed…something did and now she doesn’t remember what it was. Maybe it should stay that way.”
“You keep saying that, but you won’t tell me why.”
“That would be because I don’t want to talk about it. I told you I didn’t want to talk about it. Let it drop. For the love of god, just let it drop.”
I sucked in a ragged breath, squeezing my eyes shut. What the hell is it that I don’t remember? I started stuffing clothes and toiletries into a duffle bag. It must have been awful, whatever I can’t remember. I wonder why I can’t remember it. My fingers bunched in the clothes I was shoving into my bag. Hell. What did I do? What did he and I do? Why did I run?
“Why the hell are you listening to some Federal agent you don’t remember knowing?” I asked myself, then choked on a laugh. Because I’m running out of options, fast.
And I want to know what I’ve bloody well forgotten. The only one who can tell me that is Jesse—if anyone can.
I zipped the bag and slung it over my shoulder, glancing at the bed, my bedside table, the windows and walls. It felt empty, this place, impersonal—because it was. There were no childhood photographs, no stuffed animals from a girlhood long past, only an old quilt and a picture of Jesse, Alex, and I somewhere by the sea that sat next to a jar candle and a conch shell.
I grabbed the picture on my way out of the room.
“Are you two done fighting yet?” I asked as I came back into the kitchen.
Scarborough shot me a baleful look. “You haven’t heard fighting yet, Detective. You have everything you need?”
“Everything except my memory.”
That set him back on his heels for a moment, despite everything Jesse had been saying, and he arched a brow slightly at me. “You’re actually serious.”
“I’m pretty sure that I’m not the type to joke about that kind of thing.” I shoved the picture into my bag and slung it over my shoulder. “If you’re dragging us out of here, let’s get on with the dragging. I’m sure you can start explaining shit in the car, right?”
Scarborough shook himself, glancing between Jesse and I before he sucked in a breath and exhaled it in a rush. “Right. Come on, you two. Let’s go.”
The two men led the way out the door and I shut off the lights and locked up before I followed them. Scarborough had parked around the back of my building instead of in the street or the garage, an act that left my brow furrowed.
What kind of rabbit hole am I about to get sucked down into?
Jesse caught my hand and squeezed. I squeezed back, deciding I didn’t care. Alice hadn’t known what she was getting into—I was at least as smart as she was, probably smarter and definitely more worldly.
I could handle this.
I’d better be able to handle this. I hope I can handle this.
Shit. What if this is what cost me my memory?
Another mystery to consider.
The car was silver-gray, the kind of non-descript sedan favored by most major corporations as a fleet vehicle. It would look completely unremarkable on the streets of the city, even with three people in the car. The only way we would have looked even less conspicuous would have been to take the subway—and with the bag I was carrying, Scarborough in his suit and Jesse and I in jeans, we probably wouldn’t have looked very inconspicuous at all.
Scarborough took my bag and opened the rear passenger door for me. “Get in and keep your head down for a block or so. Please.”
I nodded and eased into the backseat as Jesse slid into the front passenger seat. Scarborough tossed my duffle into the trunk and took the driver’s seat. I ducked down below the level of the windows after I buckled up, half laying across the full length of the backseat and peering between the two front seats at the dashboard and at the men in front. Nobody spoke until Scarborough had the car started and we were pulling out onto the streets of the city.
“So what was that about your memory?” he asked.
I frowned. “Just what I said. My memory’s in pieces right now. I don’t really remember much of anything—not in any kind of useful, coherent fashion, anyway. Nothing really recent.” The doctor that had seen me, the people that I’d talked to upon my return, had called it partial retrograde amnesia—my world before a few years ago was in pretty good shape, but everything else was a jumble of half-remembered fragments.
Everything after the day I’d been promoted to detective was hit-or-miss and mostly a mess.
“How the hell did that happen?” Scarborough demanded, looking at me in the rearview mirror but not daring to turn as the vehicle knifed its way through mid-afternoon traffic toward wherever he was taking us.
“I have no idea,” I said evenly. “But it happened sometime between me parting company with Jesse in Jersey and then ending up in Pennsylvania.”
Scarborough scowled. “You shouldn’t have gotten her involved.”
“You weren’t going to help,” Jesse said. “I asked and you said no. You knew I was in over my head. What the hell was I supposed to do?”
“Not call in your girlfriend.”
Jesse exhaled through his teeth and I swore softly.
“You would have hung him out to dry?”
This time Scarborough did twist toward me. I sat up, meeting his glare with one of my own. A muscle twitched at the corner of his jaw. He was the first to look away, back toward the red light we were waiting at.
“Fuck it,” he muttered. “I don’t know what I would have done if he hadn’t sucked you in and that’s the truth of it.”
“I needed help,” Jesse said.
“Yeah. I know.” Scarborough’s knuckles were white on the wheel. “I would have figured something out without sucking her into this, though.”
I set my jaw. “Sounds like getting involved was my choice. Now is someone going to explain to me exactly what I made a choice to get into?”
The two men exchanged a look. Scarborough practically snarled and laid on the horn at someone outside the car in at least half an attempt to work out his frustration at Jesse and I before he let up and started talking.
“Your boyfriend and I have gotten ourselves involved with the mob,” he said. “The Mancini family in specific. Angelo Mancini took over for his brother eight years ago and was in charge until he went to prison two years ago. Natasha Mancini is nominally in charge these days—and I do mean nominally, since God knows that mafia princesses aren’t supposed to take over the big chair. Detective Stole’s status as the grandson of a capo has gotten us further than I ever could have hoped to get on my own.”
“So you rode on his coattails,” I said. My gaze flicked toward Jesse. “How deep are you right now?”
“She trusts us,” he said. “More than any of Angelo’s old consigliere or most of his capos. Maybe all of them.”
It wasn’t quite the answer I was hoping to get. I wanted to know how deep he was, how high he’d risen in the organization in a short time. I knew that as operations went, this one could be long-term, but I also knew that they hadn’t been at it for more than maybe six months at the outside.
Fuck. They’re not that high, right? They couldn’t be. High-ranking soldiers. Maybe—maybe—a capo for one of them. They couldn’t be her right and left hands, could they? I felt sick.
What if they are?
“Deep enough,” Scarborough added, “that the members of Angelo’s inner circle who’re on the outs with Natasha are watching us very, very closely.” He glanced sidelong at Jesse, then looked at me in the rearview mirror. “That would be why I barged into your apartment like some kind of Federal caveman today. You’re a cop. They’d start digging.”
“Haven’t they already started digging and found out about Jesse?” I asked.
“We’ve got the wool pulled over their eyes,” Jesse said, sounding tired. “They think I quit the force after a bad shoot and disciplinary action. It’s a load of bull, but for the moment, the story’s sticking.” He looked over at Scarborough. “We’ll just have to convince them that she’s working with me and not them, that’s all.”
“You think I didn’t already think about that?” Scarborough snorted. “It’s going to take a little more than our word to prove it.”
“I have no idea what you’re planning, but I already don’t think I like it,” I said. “Now quit talking about me like I’m not sitting right here. What you’re going to do is make them think that I quit, too. I don’t care how, but you make that happen.” If they’re going to drag me away from a life I barely remember, I might as well go all-in, right? “I don’t know exactly how I got sucked into this, but I don’t think it entirely matters at this point, either. You guys need me.”
Scarborough opened his mouth to protest. Jesse’s hand shot out and wrapped around Scarborough’s bicep, squeezing hard, fingers digging into the other man’s flesh. Scarborough’s mouth snapped shut and he grimaced.
“Fine. I’ll make it happen.” He glanced at Jesse again. “But let’s be clear about who’s responsible if something bad happens to her.”
“Understood,” Jesse said quietly. “But I’m not going to let anything happen to her, either.”
That’s comforting. I chewed my lower lip, staring at him in profile. It seemed almost like some kind of weight had lifted from his shoulders between the time he’d shown up at my front door and now. I couldn‘t be sure if was something I’d said or done or if it was something else, but he seemed lighter, less worn—comforted.
I wanted to reach out to him, but something held me back. He looked back over his shoulder and smiled faintly at me.
Sprawled on a couch in some kind of safehouse, he looked ghastly, like someone had stretched all of his skin over nothing but his bones—the face of a strung-out junkie, the only thing alive were his eyes, sunken into the darkest shadows I’d ever seen. They were his eyes, Jesse’s eyes, but the figure before me couldn’t possibly be him—could it? But it was his voice, and it moved like him. My heart was in my throat as he told me everything but I couldn’t hear the words over the thundering in my ears…
“Ryce? You okay?”
“I’m fine,” I lied, trying to make it seem like my heart wasn’t going at three times its normal speed. “I’m fine, Jesse.”
“You don’t look fine,” Scarborough said, glancing at me in the rearview. “You look like you’re going to puke all over my backseat.”
“I’m fine,” I said, jaw clenching. As sick to my stomach as I felt, I was still fairly confident that I wouldn’t be making a mess in the car—not yet, anyway.
Dammit, what the hell was that I just saw? I looked at Jesse and saw no trace of the strung-out figure on the couch, even if I knew that had been him.
But how long ago was that? Why did he look that way? I swallowed hard and counted to ten, breathing deeply and evenly. “I’m fine,” I said again, sounding more like myself this time. “Just…this is all going to take some getting used to.”
A shadow crossed over Jesse’s features, his brows knitting briefly before he reached back to squeeze my knee. I smiled at him before he turned around again.
I wondered if he’d believed me. I wasn’t sure I would have, if I were him.
Time enough to sort that out later, I guess.
“Where are we going, anyway?” I asked.
“The lion’s den,” Scarborough said. “After you get changed, anyway.”
“What?”
Jesse grimaced. “Was that today?”
“It’s today,” Scarborough said, then gave me a death’s head grin over his shoulder. “Dinner with the mafia princess herself—and then to a party about three hundred of the biggest movers and shakers in the city, give or take. I hope you packed something nice to wear.”
I swallowed hard and sank lower in my seat.
Damnation, Marshall, what the hell have you gotten yourself into this time?
