Desire Me (Her Best Friend's Father Book 4)

by Ayden K. Morgen

  "Okay," she says, her voice a little softer, but not by much. "I love you."

  "I love you too, baby."

  The elevator dings and then the doors roll open as I shove my phone back into my pocket. I step to the side and let one of the secretaries out before jabbing the button to the parking garage. The elevator whirs to life and starts the descent. I tip my head back against the chrome wall and close my eyes. I'm so tired it's not even funny.

  I shouldn't have said that shit to Mila though. She's been nothing but understanding and supportive since I brought her home. Unless I was with her, she hasn't as much as stepped a toe outside in the last week. But fuck me. The longer Remi is out there, the more unsettled I feel. He's up to something and I'm not convinced whatever he's doing is as simple as trying to reveal that Noel was his kid.

  Even if he did tell the world, it wouldn't save him and he knows it. As far as I know, he doesn't have any major beef with the pricks at the DEA here, so I can't see him risking everything just to spite them either. Which means he's up to something else, and I don't know what. That worries the fuck out of me.

  The elevator dings and I step out into the parking garage.

  "Gregory!"

  "Son of a bitch," I mutter under my breath as one of our data analysts comes rushing down the stairs on the other side of the garage, waving his arms wildly. He's got a sheaf of papers in his hand, flapping them back and forth like they're a white flag. He's new, fresh out of college, but smart. I don't remember his fucking name though.

  "What's up?" I ask, jogging across the garage to him.

  "He was at the house," the kid says, out of breath when I meet him halfway. He leans over and puts his hands on his knees, panting. His face is red as if he ran here all the way from his office on the third floor. "The uncle's house."

  I jerk upright, shocked. "You're sure?"

  The kid thrusts the papers at me.

  I smooth them out, only to find Remi staring up at me from a photograph. The photo is wrinkled and grainy, but it's definitely him, standing in his dead uncle's living room. His hair is a mess and he's grown a beard that's shot through with gray. A savage stab of satisfaction rolls through me at the sight of him looking disheveled and harried, like he knows we're hunting him. The son of a bitch deserves every ounce of discomfort he feels.

  The rest of the papers are similar photos of Remi as he moves throughout his uncle's house. It appears as if he's looking for something, but I don't know what.

  "When was this taken?" I ask the kid, reaching for my phone.

  "About twenty minutes ago," the kid says, still panting. "The server went down, so we didn't get it immediately. We lost about fifteen minutes of visual."

  "Fuck," I growl, already dialing Finn's number.

  "If you get anything else, call me immediately."

  "Yes sir."

  "We've got movement at his uncle's," I tell Finn, already jogging toward my truck. "He was there about twenty minutes ago."

  "What do you need?"

  And this is why I love Finn. He doesn't ask unnecessary questions or beat around the bush. He gets right to the fucking point, not wasting time.

  "Get as many cars to the area as you can. Tell them to saturate it, and stop everyone who isn't in a squad car." I hit the button for my locks. "And tell them my vehicle description and license plate. If he's still inside, I don't have time to stop and play fifty questions. Don't let them near that house though. If he's in there, I'm bringing him out." The last thing I need is for LAPD to roll up and get in a shootout with him before I can ask him a few pertinent questions.

  "I've gotta tell 'em something."

  "Fuck, I know." The motherfucker would pop up when least expected. Kincaid and Octavio are dealing with their own shit, and Luke is with Mila. "Tell them we've received a report that Remi may be in the area. If they locate him, they're not to approach until I get there." I hesitate for a second. "Who do you trust right now, Finn? Someone not connected to Remi."

  "Knox," he says without hesitation.

  "Knox Cooper?"

  "He's solid and he never worked with Remi," Finn says.

  "You trust him to keep this shit under wraps?"

  "He'll keep his mouth shut," Finn says, again not hesitating.

  I crank the engine and roll out of the parking garage. Knox isn't on the gang unit, but we've worked together a time or two when we needed someone with expertise on explosives. I don't know him well, but if Finn trusts him, it’ll have to be enough. "Fill him in and send him my way," I mutter, hoping like hell Finn isn't wrong about him.

  "Will do. I'll head that way too."

  I disconnect and then curse loudly. Mila's going to kill me for missing her appointment.

  "What's up, Gregory?" Knox says, jogging up the sidewalk toward my truck half an hour later. If it weren't for the shield hanging from a chain around his neck and the hard glint in his gray eyes, no one would believe he's an explosives expert or a cop. Knox comes from money and it shows. His tailored button down and black slacks stretch across his broad frame. He's clean cut, with close-cropped dark hair and playboy good looks.

  "Knox." I hold my fist out to bump his before moving my gaze back to the uncle's house. I'm a good block away, trying to avoid notice, but the street is more or less empty at this time of day. We don't know if Remi's still inside or not. LAPD has a perimeter set up around the house, and he hasn't come out as far as anyone can tell, but there's no movement inside either. "Finn fill you in?"

  "Yeah." Knox doesn't ask any questions or otherwise comment on the situation. He just grabs the borrowed LAPD vest I hold out to him and starts pulling it on over his shirt. "I'm guessing we're going in?"

  "As soon as Finn gets here. We don't have the luxury of calling in SWAT to back us up on this. It's the two of us going in or no one. Any problems with that?"

  A feral grin stretches across his face, that hard glint in his eyes turning lethal. "Not a fucking one," he says.

  I jerk my chin in a nod, not surprised by his answer. He works with explosives. One rogue agent is a walk in the park to guys like Knox. But it's nice to know he's down for whatever the fuck we're about to walk into. I can't ask Remi's former teammates to walk in there when there's a chance we'll have to kill him. I can't guarantee they'd be able to do it. And I can't ask them to live with it on their consciences if it does go down that way.

  "Any idea if Pledger's still inside?"

  "He hasn't been spotted leaving, but there's been no movement inside." I grimace, frustration rolling through me. "Our fucking server went down, so we lost about fifteen minutes of coverage inside the house."

  Knox grunts and yanks the straps on the borrowed vest, securing it. "Are the cameras active now?"

  "Yeah."

  "What sort of coverage are we talking?"

  "Living room, bedroom, kitchen, and I've got one in the backyard."

  "Are they live feeds or triggered?"

  "Triggered by movement."

  Knox nods and then pulls his gun from the holster on his hip. He pops the magazine and meticulously checks it over before sliding the magazine home and dropping the gun back into the holster, safety off and holster clip undone for easy access. Once I've got my vest strapped down, I do the same, making sure my Glock is ready in case I have to use it.

  By the time we're finishing up, Finn jogs up with a blond from LAPD. The guy is maybe my age, with a face carved from granite and a hawkish nose.

  "Knox," Finn says, nodding a greeting at the younger man before he introduces the LAPD guy. "This is Lieutenant Michaels. Michaels, Roman Gregory and Knox Cooper."

  "You going in with us?" I ask, eyeing Finn. He's got his own vest strapped on, ATF emblazoned across the front in bright lettering.

  "Figured you could use a third set of eyes in there," he says and then shoots a look at Michaels. "Michaels is going to have his guys close ranks around the house."

  "If you flush him out, we'll catch him," Michaels says with cool conf
idence.

  "I want them covering every window and every door out of the house."

  Michaels nods like that's no problem.

  "Anyone got a pen?" I ask, grabbing an old envelope out of the truck.

  Knox tosses me a pen.

  I quickly sketch a drawing of the house, marking an X to indicate each door and window. "The backyard butts up against the east corner of the park. There are a couple of jogging trails he could reach without being noticed. Make sure those are covered."

  "Got it," Michaels agrees. His sharp gaze tracks over the drawing, committing it to memory.

  "We'll make entry through the front and back doors." I tap each to show him where we'll be and where we'll need coverage. "Make sure the windows in the bedroom are covered in case he is in there and tries to bail when we go in."

  Michaels nods. "Give me ten to get my guys briefed and in position, and then I'll give you the go signal," he says before jogging back toward the end of the block.

  Once he's gone, Knox, Finn, and I start making our way toward the house, sticking as close to neighboring houses as possible to keep out of sight. It takes us less than five to reach the ranch-style house next door. We stick to the bushes, crouching down to avoid notice in the thick bramble.

  "I'll take the back," Finn says, keeping his voice to a murmur. "You two take the front."

  Knox murmurs his agreement, keeping his eyes trained on the house next door.

  "Once we're through the door, go right," I mutter to him. "The living room, dining room and kitchen are on that side of the house. There's also a laundry room and a pantry through the kitchen. Back door opens into the laundry room. I'll take the hall, bedroom, and bathroom."

  "Is there an attic or basement?" Finn asks.

  "There's an attic access in the hall, but there's no way he can get inside." The door is little more than a foot wide. I don't even think a toddler could safely squeeze through it, and Remi is considerably bigger than that.

  Finn's radio squawks softly.

  "We're moving into position," Michaels says.

  A familiar tension mounts between the three of us, anticipation and excitement mingling together while we wait. Despite the adrenaline coursing through me, my heart thumps in steady beats, an eerie sense of calm stealing over me. It's a welcome feeling, one as familiar as the gun in my hand and the weight of the vest strapped across my chest. I've trained my entire life for situations like this, and Finn's a harsh taskmaster. He expects perfection and doesn't stop until he gets it. I hope like hell I'm half the SWAT Commander he's been for the last decade.

  Even though Knox didn't have Finn breathing down his neck, drilling the importance of keeping his shit together into his head, he's as calm as I am. He breathes in a deep, even rhythm. The gun in his hand is steady. So is his gaze as he keeps it locked on the house, looking for any signs of movement inside.

  The sound of an engine breaks the utter stillness. And then a dozen others roar to life.

  LAPD squad cars swarm the residence, tires squealing as they come to a hard stop. Doors pop open and half a dozen officers jump from their cars and circle around, using their patrol units for cover.

  "Go," Finn barks as soon as they're in position, their guns trained on the house.

  Knox and I bound to our feet half a second behind Finn. With our guns in our hands, we dart around the bushes and then use the side of Don Pledger's house for cover, crouching low to avoid the windows. Finn circles around toward the back.

  "On ten," I mutter to Knox once we're pressed up against the side of the house, less than a foot from the front door. I count it off in my head, giving Finn time to make it to the back door.

  "Ten," Knox says a moment later, keeping the count. "I'll cover you."

  I don't even bother knocking or announcing myself. Instead, I bring my foot up, kicking the wooden door next to the handle as hard as I can. The wood splinters with a loud crack. One more kick and it separates from the frame in jagged splinters.

  I bring my gun up, quickly scanning the living room. Nothing's out of place and Remi isn't inside. I step through the door and go left as Knox goes right, his gun steady in his hands. As I clear a blind spot where a bookcase blocks visual of the hallway, I hear the back door give way beneath Finn's heavy kick.

  The hallway is clear. I keep my back to the wall and move quickly, clearing the bathroom. There's condensation on the glass shower door and little beads of water on the mirror, but it's clear. I pop open the closet door and check it before moving back out into the hall.

  The bedroom door is closed.

  I kick it open, sending it flying back into the wall. Something on the dresser on the other side falls off and then rolls across the hardwood floor. I catch a glimpse of a small bottle out of the corner of my eye and quickly dismiss it before scanning the room. It's empty too.

  Remi isn't here.

  Fuck my life.

  Just to be sure, I check the closet and then under the bed, but the room is empty. He's not here.

  "Clear!" I hear Finn shout from the kitchen.

  "Clear!" Knox yells back.

  "Clear." I shove my gun back into the holster and kick the closet door, cracking it. Fury pulses through me. He was here and we missed him. I should have kept someone on the house instead of leaving it up to cameras. I fight the urge to put my fist through the wall and battle back the frustration pounding through my veins. My gaze falls on the little bottle that fell from the dresser.

  I stride toward it, frowning.

  "What the fuck?" I mutter, unease twisting through me when I get close enough to see it clearly. It's a baby bottle, full of what looks like milk. I squat down and nudge it with my gun, sending it rolling a couple of inches.

  "Is that a baby bottle?" Knox asks from behind me.

  I glance over my shoulder to find him and Finn crowded in the doorway, both looking as confused as I feel at the moment. Why the fuck does Remi have a baby bottle? Does he have another kid we don't know about?

  Another wave of unease rolls through me, sending chills up and down my spine.

  "Selena Ortega," I mutter, catching Finn's gaze. She and Francisco's son are on the way to Seattle, along with Declan Carter. With Fuentes sniffing around, moving her somewhere safe had to be done. We thought her baby was the only one, but what if we were wrong?

  Finn's brows snap together and then his eyes widen as he reaches the same conclusion.

  Knox steps back out into the hallway, making room for Finn to step inside.

  "Jesus fucking Christ," he breathes, squatting down beside me.

  Knox ducks out of sight. A second later, the bathroom door opens.

  "It'd explain what the fuck Remi was doing in the warehouse," I murmur to Finn. There may have been something inside that would have tipped us off to the possibility of another Francisco heir, something he didn't want us getting our hands on.

  "Here," Knox says, stepping into the room and tossing a towel in my direction.

  I snag it out of the air and use it to pick up the bottle, being careful not to touch it with my bare hands. I don't want to risk whatever is inside dripping on my hands in case it isn't milk. Once the towel is wrapped around it, I bring it toward my face and sniff. The unmistakable odor of baby formula—that almost metallic smell of iron and vitamins—wafts toward me. I grimace and hold the bottle away from my face.

  "Baby formula," I confirm to Finn.

  "What the fuck?" he mutters, glaring at the bottle like it holds answers to the thousand questions that just popped up.

  "Check the house again," I order Knox, climbing to my feet.

  "And I'm looking for what? A baby?" He cocks a brow at me like he thinks I've lost my damn mind.

  "Formula, diapers, clothes, anything like that," I mutter.

  He shrugs and heads out to do as requested.

  "I know you're thinking what I'm thinking," I say to Finn, rising to my feet with the bottle in one hand and my gun in the other. "If Remi is trying to hide a k
id, there's a good chance it's Francisco's."

  Finn grunts, shoving his gun back into his holster. "Then you better fucking find him before he decides to deliver the kid to that son of a bitch."

  I know something's wrong with Mila the moment I step through the front door a few hours later. The normally bright green of her eyes is dull, her expression inscrutable. She's wrapped up in a blanket like it's the middle of winter.

  "Hey," she says, tipping her head back to look up at me. Her smile doesn't reflect in her eyes.

  When I glance at Luke, he subtly shakes his head and then nods in Mila's direction, letting me know something is definitely up with her. My guess is that she's pissed I missed her first appointment with the obstetrician here. Before I even have the door closed behind me, Luke climbs to his feet, muttering that he needs to use the bathroom.

  I push the front door closed, dropping my keys and phone on the credenza table.

  "How mad are you right now?" I ask after Luke disappears down the hall.

  Mila blinks up at me, surprised. "I'm not mad."

  "No?"

  She shakes her head, a little frown playing around her lips. "I know you wanted to be there today," she says, shifting her gaze away from me for a moment to stare at a spot over my shoulder. She swallows hard, her throat working. "It's not your fault something came up."

  She might not be mad at me, but she is hurt. Sadness lurks in those gorgeous eyes of hers, giving away her little lie. I take slow, careful steps in her direction, not entirely convinced she isn't going to kick my ass for missing her appointment or for being a dick and threatening to spank her for no reason. I wouldn't blame her if she did. Hell, I wouldn't blame her if she threw a fucking fit. But that's not who Mila is. She asks for very little.

  I step up in front of the chaise. She tips her head back against the seat to look up at me.

  "I'm sorry I wasn't there."

  "I know what I signed up for when I came back here," she murmurs with another little frown. "I know you can't drop everything. Your job is important."