Total Control (Alpha Crew)

by Laura Griffin

  She got quiet again and looked ahead. Clearly, she felt guilty for taking him away from his plans.

  “Look, to tell you the truth, I’m relieved. My brothers and I don’t really get along, and I was happy to bail.”

  She looked at him but didn’t seem convinced. And he didn’t want to explain any more, so he let it go. She had no idea how incredibly glad he was not to be there. Especially since not being there meant spending time with her.

  Jake still didn’t know what it was about her, but she was different from any woman he’d ever met. She had a kick-ass attitude and the training to match, and their verbal sparring always got his blood going. He liked that she wasn’t afraid to speak her mind with him. The only thing she seemed afraid of, really, was trusting him on a personal level. He was determined to change that. Opening up to him about her ex was a good first step. It also helped Jake understand why this investigation was complicated for her.

  “Thanks again for helping me,” she said, obviously still hung up about derailing his weekend.

  “I haven’t helped you yet.”

  “You chased off my burglar.”

  He shot her a look. “I really doubt he was a burglar. He could be connected to your case somehow. Maybe someone following you to get an idea of what you know.”

  “Well, whatever he was, thanks for running him off. Also, thanks for reaching out to your PI friend. Plus, you’re giving up your personal time to be here, and I appreciate it.”

  How much did she appreciate it? He was about to make a joke but thought better of it. Constantly ribbing her wasn’t helping him with the trust thing.

  Spotting his exit, Jake shifted lanes.

  “I’ve never actually been to this place before.” He checked the map on his phone again. “You know the area?”

  She looked out the window. “We did a sting operation on that street once. Human trafficking.”

  “I’m not surprised. There’re a lot of factories and warehouses. Trucks and shipping containers in and out.”

  “I know.”

  Jake took a few more turns and slowed. The neighborhood was about what he’d expected, mostly industrial-looking buildings punctuated by parking lots and the occasional abandoned building covered in graffiti.

  Mario’s business had no sign out front. It was a nondescript beige warehouse, like several others nearby. Jake read the number painted on the door as he drove by. Instead of stopping, he continued for another five blocks and then circled back to an In-N-Out Burger they’d passed. The parking lot was about half filled with cars, and he pulled into a space facing the street.

  “I won’t be long,” he said.

  She blinked at him. “You’re kidding, right? You don’t actually think I’m staying here.”

  “You’re staying here.”

  “I want to meet this contact. What if he has a tip for us?”

  “I’m hoping he does, but why do you need to meet him?”

  She rolled her eyes. “So I can see his face, read his body language, gauge his credibility.”

  “I can do all that.”

  “I’m coming, Jake.”

  He looked at her. “Lex, get real. This guy’s in the gun business, and you look like a fed.”

  “I’m in street clothes, same as you.”

  “Not same as me. My clothes are crap, and I haven’t shaved in three days.”

  “Just pretend I’m your girlfriend.”

  “Not happening.” He nodded at her crisp white shirt. “You look too conservative. Anyone will take one look at you and know you’re a cop.”

  “How? I’ll act like I’m—”

  Jake leaned over and kissed her, completely without warning. At first, she froze up. But then he combed his fingers into her hair, and she relaxed a fraction. He pulled her close and delved into her mouth, the way he’d wanted to since he’d first laid eyes on her, and she seemed to melt into him. She was hot and sexy, and he could practically taste all those pent-up emotions she tried so hard to keep in check all the time. He tipped her head to the side to get a better angle, and she slid her fingers around his neck, pulling him closer and making him wish they didn’t have the damn console between them. She made a little moan against his mouth. The sound sent a shot of lust through him, and he slid his hand around her waist.

  She jerked back. He opened his eyes, and she stared at him, panting.

  “What was that?” she demanded.

  “You just proved my point.”

  “What point?”

  “You can’t pretend to be my girlfriend. You’re too uptight around me. No one would buy it.”

  She blinked at him in confusion, but for once she didn’t argue. That kiss had definitely thrown her off. It had thrown him off, too. He’d done it on impulse, mainly to mess with her head after she’d made that pretend-I’m-you’re-girlfriend crack. He hadn’t realized the intensity would ramp up in only a few seconds.

  She was staring at him now, all flushed and ticked off, and he had to get out of here before he kissed her again.

  “I won’t be long.” He nodded toward the restaurant. “Go grab a burger or something.”

  “Are you kidding? I’m not going to grab a burger while you go in there alone and—”

  “Fine, stay in the truck, then.” He pushed open the door. “But keep your phone on.”

  Jake struggled to get his head in the game as he approached Mario’s place. It was time to concentrate. Time to focus on the job and not the woman who’d roped him into it. Getting distracted was a good way to get killed.

  Mario’s didn’t look like much from outside, which was intentional. He got most of his clients through word of mouth, so there was no need to draw unnecessary attention to his business. Mario was a legend in the SEAL teams. He’d worked in the armory for fifteen years before losing his left hand in a grenade accident. Jake had never personally met the man, but some of the older guys in Alpha Crew swore by his skills, especially when it came to mounting scopes. According to his reputation, Mario could do pretty much anything with a firearm. The man was a perfectionist, as meticulous about his work as he was guarded about his privacy.

  Mario’s brother-in-law Sam was another story, evidently, and Jake noted the neon sign for Sammy’s Custom Choppers that hung over an open bay at the south end of the building.

  Jake walked past the sign, catching a glimpse of a disassembled bike through the open garage door. A man with orange goggles looked up from his work and nodded. Jake nodded back and then surveyed the area. Most of the buildings were corrugated-metal warehouses surrounded by chain-link fences, some topped with razor wire. Interspersed between the warehouses were concrete lots packed with metal drums or shipping containers. The air smelled of diesel fuel, and Jake could hear the sound of a forklift reversing, along with drills and heavy machinery coming from the property across the street.

  Jake stopped in front of a glass door. The painted number on the window matched the address he’d been given. He tried the door, but it was locked.

  “We’re closed.”

  He turned to see a short, wiry guy watching him from the bay of the bike shop. He wore gray coveralls and had a pair of earbuds tucked in his ears.

  “I’m looking for Mario,” Jake said, wondering if the guy could hear him. “Kyle said I’d find him here.”

  He looked Jake over and gave a slight nod. “This way.” He motioned for Jake to follow and led him through the open bay. “Kyle” was the magic word, as his teammate had told him it would be.

  The workshop was busy for a Saturday evening. Besides an array of bikes in various stages of completion, Jake spotted a few cars up on blocks. His guide led him past a wall of tires. He stopped in front of a solid gray door, knocked twice, and then pushed it open. Jake followed him into a windowless room with several tables made from sheets of plywood on sawhorses. In the far corner was a workbench where a spotlight shone down on a man hunched over a rifle.

  “What is it?” He didn’t look up.

>   “Friend of Kyle’s.”

  The man walked out, and Mario swiveled on his stool.

  “I’m Jake Heath.”

  Mario leaned back, resting his elbow on the workbench. He wasn’t tall, but he had wide shoulders and muscular arms, and his left hand had been replaced by a metal hook.

  His gaze narrowed. “You’re Alpha Crew?”

  “That’s right. I came after you left.”

  “How’s Kyle? Haven’t seen him in a while.”

  “We’ve been gone a lot.”

  He nodded at an empty wooden stool. “Sit down.”

  Jake stepped over and studied the gun on the workbench, a bolt-action rifle with an ornately carved stock. A layer of wood dust coated the table.

  “That a Ruger?” Jake asked.

  “A Sako.”

  Jake had seen custom engraving before but never anything so intricate.

  “Nice work.”

  Mario nodded. He grabbed a plastic cup with his hook and spit tobacco juice into it. “What can I do for you?”

  “I’m looking for someone. Name’s Jerome Matapang.”

  “Never heard of him.” He leaned over the spittoon again. “Why?”

  “I need to track him down.”

  Mario gave him a long look, and Jake sensed he knew more than he was saying. Jake couldn’t pinpoint the tell, but he trusted his read. Body language mattered, which was exactly why Lexie had wanted to be here.

  “It’s important,” Jake added.

  Mario lifted an eyebrow at the unspoken message. He had spent his career around SEALs and knew what Jake meant.

  “You have a description?”

  Jake took out his phone and pulled up the surveillance photo Lexie had sent him. Mario studied it. With his right hand, he reached over and zoomed in on the face.

  “Jerome, you say?”

  Something in his tone made Jake’s pulse pick up. “That’s right.”

  “He was in a while back. Gave a different name.”

  “What’s ‘a while back’?”

  “I don’t know. Six, maybe seven days ago?”

  “He was in here this week?”

  He turned and spit into his cup again. “Friday night, I think it was. Said his name was Joe.”

  Lexie sat in Jake’s truck, watching the neighborhood as she tried to keep a lid on her temper. She hated being sidelined. Hated it. She couldn’t count the number of ops she’d been on where she’d geared up with everyone only to be told by the team leader to wait by the car. Other times, she’d been asked to hang out in the van, where she was supposed to obediently bide her time until a woman or a child turned up and needed to be interviewed.

  Lexie didn’t mind taking statements from women and kids. Her interviews often yielded useful information. The part she hated was missing out on the action and being treated like a babysitter merely because she was a woman.

  Those days were over, for the most part. Lexie had paid her dues and been promoted. But Jake’s command that she hang back and wait while he met with this contact was a reminder of those early days that she wanted to leave behind her.

  Another thing she hated? Being caught off guard. Jake’s kiss had come out of nowhere, and she’d completely frozen up. Her cheeks warmed as she thought about the way he’d tasted, the way his fingers had felt in her hair. He’d completely taken charge of the moment and kissed her with the same bold confidence with which he did everything else, and she’d melted right into him. One kiss, and all her logical reasons for keeping things platonic between them seemed to vanish.

  Lexie thought about his mouth again and felt a rush of heat. She had to get control of this. She couldn’t control Jake, but she could control her reaction to him, and she needed to get things back on a professional footing.

  She looked at her watch and glanced around. What the hell was taking so long? He’d been gone almost an hour, and it was getting dark. Lexie checked her phone, but she hadn’t missed a message.

  Headlights flashed in her side mirror as a low-slung yellow Corvette turned the corner. It eased down the street and rolled to a stop in front of a two-story warehouse with blacked-out windows. A man got out with his phone pressed to his ear and a black duffel bag slung over his shoulder. He cast a furtive look around. The Corvette’s taillights flashed as he locked the car and walked into the building.

  Not suspicious at all.

  Lexie looked around, her cop radar on high alert. This whole neighborhood was sketchy—block after block, warehouse after warehouse, with only a handful of signs that revealed anything about the businesses operating inside. And who knew whether the signs were real or phony? Even the ones that seemed legit, such as the windshield repair shop directly across from her, might well be a front for some illegal operation. Lexie had personally been on at least half a dozen raids within a five-mile radius of this exact location—people moving everything from counterfeit goods to sex workers.

  Lexie glanced at her watch again. It had been more than an hour now, and that was it. She’d had it. She was done being sidelined. She wasn’t going to barge in on Jake’s meeting, but she could station herself outside to get a look at the players and copy down some vehicle tags. She grabbed Jake’s keys and got out of the truck, locking it as she closed the door. Lexie crossed the street, ducking into the dark shadow along one of the warehouses. She racewalked several blocks, scanning the area for suspicious people or activity.

  A vehicle zoomed by her. It was a pickup this time, black with tinted windows.

  Her blood ran cold.

  It was the truck from last night.

  The pickup slowed and turned the corner, disappearing down the same street where Jake had gone. Based on the map on her phone, Mario’s workshop was only a few blocks away.

  Lexie’s pulse pounded. Was it the same truck that had been tailing her? It had to be. What were the odds of another truck just like that showing up here?

  She darted across the street and into the shadow of a crumbling brick building with boarded-up windows. Peering around the corner, she looked for the black pickup. It was nowhere in sight.

  Her phone buzzed, and she pulled it from her pocket to read the text: Good mtg. On my way back.

  She texted a response: Just spotted bk Dodge truck!!

  Fm last night? Jake asked.

  Possible. Where ru?

  Jake read her message as the pickup whisked past him. He heard it slow down and resisted the urge to turn around and watch.

  Instead, Jake kept walking, keeping a low profile as he tapped his cell phone to activate the videocam. He held the phone at his side, subtly studying the image on the screen.

  It was a black Dodge with tinted windows and flat black rims, just as Lexie had described. Was it the same truck that had been following her? Jake didn’t like coincidences.

  The truck turned the corner, headed for a four-lane street. Jake made a quick right, taking a side street that ran parallel. He briskly walked past a warehouse and saw the pickup cut through a gas station without stopping for gas, then turn into the parking lot of a Pizza Hut.

  What was this guy doing here? Had he followed them from Lexie’s? The possibility sent a chill through him. But Jake had been careful. He’d been on alert for a tail ever since Lexie mentioned possibly seeing someone last night. He didn’t miss shit like that, and definitely not when he was looking for it.

  The truck circled the parking lot and then slid into a space. No one got out, but Jake saw the silhouette of the driver, and it was a man. Could it be Jerome, back to see Mario? He’d been using the name of his brother, Joe, but Mario had ID’d Jerome’s photo with a high degree of confidence. Or was this someone else? Jake wanted to get a look at the driver and the license plate.

  His phone vibrated as a text landed from Lexie.

  Where ru?

  Pizza place on the corner. Sit tight. I have eyes on the truck.

  Jake walked toward the parking lot, keeping a casual pace that wouldn’t draw attention. He se
arched for distinctive details about the truck, but he wasn’t close enough to read the tag.

  The windows were tinted, but he could see the bluish glow in the cab as the driver looked down at his phone. He was distracted, so Jake quickened his pace. As he reached the parking lot, the truck cab went dark.

  Jake didn’t change his pace. The brake lights glowed red as the truck backed from the space. In the side mirror, Jake made eye contact with the driver.

  Only an instant, but it was enough.

  The driver shifted gears and shot across the parking lot. He hung a right into traffic, prompting a blast of horns.

  Shit.

  Jake glanced around, searching for options.

  A black motorcycle pulled into a handicapped space near the restaurant entrance. On the back of the bike was an insulated box for pizzas. As the delivery guy pulled off his helmet, Lexie raced up to him, flashing her ID.

  “FBI! I need this motorcycle!”

  Jake rushed over to them.

  The delivery guy looked confused. “But—”

  “Police business.” Lexie threw her leg over the bike, and the stunned kid stepped back.

  “Hey!” Jake hopped onto the seat behind her. “What the hell do you think you’re doing?”

  “Hang on!”

  “Lexie—”

  The bike shot forward. Jake grabbed her around her waist as she zipped across the parking lot.

  “Where’d he go?” Lexie asked.

  “Hang a right.”

  She did, and Jake searched ahead for any sign of the pickup.

  “Next intersection!” he told her.

  Lexie rolled the throttle and swerved around a car, and Jake squinted as the wind buffeted his face. The light ahead turned green. The black pickup moved forward. The driver didn’t seem to know he had a tail, though.

  “I told you to sit tight!” Jake yelled above the noise.

  “I want that license plate.”

  Jake wanted it, too. He wanted to know who this guy was and why he kept turning up. Was he here for Mario? Lexie? Had he been at her place earlier, waiting to ambush her?