Exposing Ethan (Cassidy Kincaid Mystery Book 4)

He shook his head. “I think that really got to him.”
Cassidy knew that frustration firsthand. “So, Pete was helping you.”
“You know, that’s just it…we were just talking. After that first time when we met at Lo and Behold, we kept in touch. I was working on a bunch of other stories, but we’d check in once a week or so, share ideas, research…”
“Who was he meeting the night he was killed?” Bruce asked.
Brad’s gaze focused on a point somewhere behind Cassidy. “He came to town to see his publisher. Remember that story about the janitorial company executives forcing their immigrant workers into sex acts in exchange for job security?” He waited for Cassidy to nod—Pete had researched this awful lead for his book. “Apparently, those assholes took the girls to this clinic when they roughed them up too bad to work. Or they got pregnant.”
Cassidy could almost feel Bruce’s hackles rise.
“Are you saying the clinic turns a blind eye?” he asked.
Brad’s expression darkened. “We thought it was more than that.” He adjusted his cap again. “Pete was working on a source who said she’d been there. The cops did a bust on the building she was squatting in. At the time, she said she was so sick from what she later found out was pneumonia that she couldn’t walk. Instead of taking her to jail, the cop took her to this clinic. A week later she’s blowing twenty guys a night.”
“Wait…so young girls go there for medical treatment but end up…what?…being forced into prostitution?” Cassidy asked, her head swimming.
“Looks that way.”
“Where is this clinic? Who runs it?” Bruce asked, his voice tense.
Brad shook his head. “I don’t know.”
Cassidy had the urge to ask Bruce if the task force was aware of the clinic but her instinct told her not to in front of Brad.
“I think it’s an underground setup. Legit during the day but takes in street kids at night.”
“Only some of them don’t come out,” Bruce said, his voice thick.
“Yeah,” Brad said softly.
“So, Pete was going to meet someone involved that night,” Cassidy said, picturing Pete at Quinn’s breakfast bar sipping whiskey, mentally gearing up to meet a source who could potentially bring down the people responsible for this. Her gut dove into her heels as she pictured Pete in the outfit the hospital had given her in a clear plastic bag—the yellow and red plaid dress shirt, Levi’s, worn leather belt, and retired running shoes.
“We had talked that night. He wouldn’t tell me who he was meeting, but he sounded excited. He said he would share when he could.”
That sounded like Pete. Always willing to protect his sources, until the very end.
She inhaled a steadying breath. “Could it have been someone inside the clinic? Someone willing to talk?”
Brad shook his head, regret playing across his features. “No idea.”
“Do you have anything? Notes, or names?”
“Sorry,” Brad said, his eyes diverting from theirs.
“So, you’re not working on it now?”
“After I heard about the accident, I took off, man. No way am I dying for this crap.”
“So, what are you doing up here?” Cassidy asked.
He shrugged. “I freelance, so I can work from anywhere.”
“Nobody’s contacted you about what Pete was working on?”
Brad shook his head. “I write under a different name now.”
The three of them sat for a long moment, the sound of the children on the playground and the soft crush of summer waves filling the silence.
Bruce checked his watch, and Cassidy remembered their flight.
“I just want you to know how sorry I am,” Brad said. “I had no idea that something like this could happen.”
“Did you tell the police about your theory?” Bruce asked.
“Yeah, right.” Brad looked away. “A cop took that girl to that clinic. Don’t you think he knew exactly what would happen to her?”
“So, you’re saying we’ve got dirty cops acting like recruitment officers?”
Brad’s eyes narrowed, as if rising to some kind of challenge. “Maybe, look, I don’t know!” His voice rose. “It’s freaking scary, okay? Everywhere I go I’m looking over my shoulder.”
“But you don’t know anything,” Cassidy said, confused. “If you don’t know who’s behind this, why would they harm you?”
“Because he knows enough,” Bruce interrupted. “We can protect you,” he added cautiously.
“Ha, no thanks,” Brad said, stepping back from the picnic bench. “I’m doing fine on my own. I got a nice little cabin on the beach, a great exchange rate, and the fishing is unreal.”
Bruce plucked a card from his wallet and slid it across the table. “If you change your mind.”
Brad put up his hands up in protest. “I won’t.” He took a step back.
Cassidy watched him stride purposefully toward the boat launch.
“I think we’re gonna miss our flight,” Bruce said, tapping the card on the table.
As they walked back to the car, a boat engine kicked to life, and Cassidy turned to see Brad’s athletic frame behind the console of a white powerboat with maroon stripes. While she watched, it motored away from the dock.
A shiver seized her spine as she reviewed what they’d learned. She recalled the relief on Brad’s face to unload the secrets he’d been keeping. Was he just paranoid? Or was someone still waiting for their chance to eliminate him the same way they had Pete?

Five
The next morning, Cassidy paced the length of Quinn’s living room, her coffee cup warming her hands. She had arrived at Quinn’s the night before after barely making their flight.
A flutter of nerves scratched at her insides. She reminded herself that Bruce would be with her during the interview. That their friendship had survived her impulsive rush to meet Brad Sawyer filled her with gratitude, but also made her feel anxious. At what point would he realize that she wasn’t worth the trouble?
“Maybe he wrote the name in his notes. Have you looked?” Quinn asked from inside the kitchen. The night before, she hadn’t bothered waiting up for him—a wise choice because he hadn’t come home until three a.m. Cassidy suspected a woman was involved but