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

by Ayden K. Morgen

  "Knox is going in with me," I tell Braxton, clipping the radio on my hip and then passing one of the lights to Knox. "Keep your men outside with their eyes on the building. If he comes out, do not approach him, but don't let him through. And someone get ahold of Finn Bethel and get him down here."

  I'm assuming Luke passed on that I've got his phone, but I haven't heard from Finn yet, so I'm not sure if he knows how to get ahold of me. I need him here in case this shit goes bad. Remi said he wanted to talk, but that was before LAPD backed him into a corner. I don't know where his head is at right now.

  "Got it," Braxton says and then starts barking orders into his radio.

  "We're sticking together this time," I tell Knox. It'll slow us down, but if Remi does have a kid in there with him, I don't want to spook him any more than necessary. "Watch your footing and keep your eyes peeled."

  Knox rolls his head around on his neck like he's trying to release tension and then nods. "Let's do it."

  We both check the flashlights and pull our weapons. Once they're in our hands, we jog through the rusted gate and then pick our way through a mass of trash, tumbleweeds, and crumbling leaves littering the cracked pavement. There's no way to approach silently with so much shit littering the ground, but we place our feet carefully, avoiding as much of the debris as possible. We circle around, staying out of sight of the shattered front doors in case he's waiting inside to ambush us.

  "Scan left to right, high then low," I mutter, adjusting my grip to hold my gun steady and sweep with the flashlight at the same time like Finn trained us to do when searching a building. "I'll scan right to left, high and low. We'll take it one room at a time."

  Knox mimics my grip on his gun and flashlight and then nods, letting me know he's ready.

  As soon as we're through the door, we start sweeping the room. As expected, the building is falling apart. Like most abandoned buildings in the area, the homeless population has used it for shelter—on more than one occasion, from the looks of the place. Graffiti blares from the few walls that aren't ripped all to hell. The floor is littered with trash and debris. Light filters in through crevices and cracks around the boards nailed over the windows, but it does little to penetrate the darkness. Dust motes hover in the weak beams of light. The building smells like mold, mildew, and sewage.

  The long desk running across the length of the room on the far side is the only furniture. Three doors branch off from the main reception area, leading deeper into the heart of the building. Once we've done an initial scan for Remi, I jerk my chin, motioning toward the desk.

  Knox nods to let me know he'll cover me. I plant my feet carefully, picking my way across the room. Despite taking care, my crossing isn't by any means silent. There's no fucking way we're going to be able to take him by surprise with so much garbage strewn around the building.

  I do what I can to minimize sound, moving slowly and carefully until I'm pressed up against the low wall surrounding the old receptionist's desk. A quick look lets me know Remi isn't hunkered down behind it, dashing that hope all to hell. We're going to have to search this entire goddamn building for him.

  Fuck my life.

  Half an hour later, we've cleared ninety percent of the building and we still haven't found him. I'm ready to call it when a soft sound echoes through the basement, coming from our right. My heart sinks at the small sound.

  Knox tenses beside me and I know he heard it too.

  The motherfucker really has a baby with him.

  His comment about Elijah Noel being Francisco's son floats to the surface of my mind. I quickly push it away. I saw the DNA results myself. Noel was Remi's kid. There's no doubt about that.

  The soft cry comes again, louder than before. It seems to be coming from the other side of the wall to our right.

  Knox watches me, his expression impassive…waiting for me to decide how we're going to play this. Sometimes, being the guy who calls the shots is a pain in the ass. If this goes badly and anything happens to that baby, I'm the one who will have to live with it. As much as I want to get Remi under control and end this bullshit, the safety of that kid is the number one priority.

  "I'll try to talk him out," I mutter to Knox. "The kid is the priority."

  "Agreed," he says, grabbing my flashlight out of my hands so I can holster my weapon. "I'll watch your six."

  "If you get a shot—"

  "I'll take it," he says without hesitation, something dark flaring in his gray eyes. He tosses my flashlight to me, keeping his gun in his hands. I don't think he has much use for dirty cops like Remi either. Works fine for me. If Remi's dead, he can't talk. It's not what the DEA wants, but at the moment, their desires don't matter much. We'll do whatever we have to do to save the kid. Because if that kid is Francisco's, we can't let Remi get him across the border.

  I take a deep breath and backtrack out into the hallway, following the muffled cries of the baby. We're in the far back of the building, in a basement or subbasement…I'm not sure which it is. Like the rest of the place, this area is a mess. The concrete walls are holding up better than most of those on other levels, but the smell of sewage and mold is even stronger down here.

  The cries lead me down the hallway to the right. About twenty yards in, there's an intersection, with hallways branching off to the north and south. I stand there for a moment, listening. Knox stops moving behind me. There's a steady drip coming from the north hallway, like water dropping into an overflowing bucket. The baby is quiet for a long moment and then whimpers again.

  I follow the sound down the hallway to the south, passing through an opened metal door. The door is rusted, streaks of the metallic brownish-orange stuff running down the walls and floor. A few yards in, the baby's cries grow louder. My flashlight beams across the wall, showing a doorway to the right. It looks as if it butts up against the room we just checked. The crying comes from inside.

  "Remi, it's Roman," I say, moving slowly and carefully. "My gun is in my holster. I'm coming in and I'm going to be fucking pissed if you shoot me or that kid."

  Knox snorts from a couple feet behind me, but Remi doesn't respond.

  "I'm guessing the kid is one of those you were talking about when you called me this morning," I say, moving a little closer to the door.

  The baby whimpers and then cries louder. Something shifts around, but the sound is so soft I can't tell what it is or exactly where in the room it's coming from.

  "You want to tell me where you found the kid?" I take another couple of steps, stopping right outside of the room and pressing my back up against the wall. "Or why the hell you aren't running for the border? I know your boss isn't coming here to take custody. He'd never make it into the United States." Since Francisco's plans for Los Angeles came to light, every agency on the border from California to Texas has been on red alert. He'd have to be an idiot to try to cross into the United States right now.

  Remi doesn't say anything, and my patience starts to fray.

  "This morning, you wanted to meet to talk. I'm here. Start talking."

  Nothing.

  "I really want to put a bullet in you for everything you've done," I confess softly. "But you and I both know I want that kid safe more, even if it is his kid. So how about we make a deal? You don't shoot me or the kid, and I promise not to kill you. I'll take you in and let the DEA do whatever the fuck they want to do with you."

  The baby's cries intensify, but Remi still doesn't say anything.

  "I know you're in there, man. The building is surrounded. Your face is on every news station in California right now. You're smart enough to realize there's no fucking way out of this for you other than in handcuffs or a body bag." A dark chuckle erupts from my mouth. I set my light on the floor and kick it into the room. The light rolls a few feet and then hits something with a metallic thunk. Remi doesn't react, which I take as a good sign. He didn't immediately pull the trigger. Fuck, he better not shoot me. "But you knew that shit the day you went to work with your godda
mn son and his boss, didn't you? You were one of our best agents. And now you're hiding out in a fucking warehouse in Skid Row with a baby and no way out."

  Still no response from him.

  "I'm coming in, Remi. Do not fucking shoot me."

  Not so much as a fuck you passes his lips.

  I take a deep breath and then step into the doorway, both hands in the air. I quickly take a mental inventory of the room. Compared to the rest of the rooms we've searched, this one is actually in decent shape. My flashlight landed up against a massive boiler. Ducts and piping crisscross the ceiling. Most of them are corroded and falling apart, but the room is neat, clean. The floor has been swept of debris. Someone—Remi, I'm guessing—has been staying inside. There's a lawn chair against one wall, with a bassinet set up beside it. A thick pallet of blankets is laid out in one corner. Boxes of what looks like baby supplies are stacked against the wall, with a mini-fridge off to the side.

  I don't see Remi though. I keep my eyes peeled as I cross the boiler room to retrieve my flashlight. The kid is screaming bloody murder now. Little arms and legs flail in the bassinet. I grab my flashlight and make a quick sweep of the room, trying to make sure Remi isn't hiding somewhere, but he's nowhere to be found.

  Where the fuck is he at?

  "Knox," I shout, my heart pounding with adrenaline. "He's not in here."

  "Fuck," Knox mutters from outside the room.

  I hurry toward the baby in the bassinet to scoop the kid up.

  A loud metallic squeal comes from outside, so loud it has me gritting my teeth.

  "Son of a bitch!" Knox roars and then I hear him running, his footfalls heavy.

  I check the baby over as quickly as possible, looking for any signs of injury, but don't find any. Deciding a more thorough examination will have to wait, I snatch up the blanket draped over the side of the bassinet and then the kid, holding her carefully against my chest. She can't be more than a couple of months old.

  Fucking hell. She's tiny.

  Knox roars loudly from down the hallway and then the squealing stops.

  "Motherfucker!" he yells and then I hear a banging sound. "He locked us in."

  What the fuck?

  I stride across the room and duck back out into the hall, the screaming baby tucked carefully against my chest. Despite the fact that my hand is damn near as big as she is, she kicks and flails like a little hellcat, screaming at the top of her tiny lungs.

  Knox is at the end of the hallway, trying to force open the metal door by throwing his full weight against it and yanking on the handle at the same time. The thing doesn't even budge.

  "He's surrounded," I remind him, patting the kid on the back in an attempt to calm her down.

  "Not likely," Knox growls and then kicks the door before turning to face me. His face is grim, almost sinister in the glow of the flashlight. "That sewage smell is more than likely the actual fucking sewer. I'm guessing he's found a rabbit hole. By the time we get out of this goddamn room, he'll be long gone."

  "Son of a bitch," I swear, juggling the baby and flashlight in one hand while reaching for the radio on my hip with the other. As soon as I get it free, I hit the mic button. "Braxton, it's Roman."

  Static hisses from the radio and then a few distorted sounds that are completely indistinguishable come through.

  "Braxton," I try again.

  The distorted, jerky sounds come again and then nothing.

  I feel around for the little red emergency button that blares an alarm to dispatch and hit it.

  Nothing.

  There's no radio reception down here. Even if they get the alarm, they can't reach us.

  "Motherfucker," I growl, heading back into the boiler room with the baby. "Try your phone."

  Knox follows behind me.

  Once we're inside, I lay the baby back down in the bassinet, which pisses her off more than she was to begin with. Poor little thing. She's adorable, with a shock of dark hair, deep brown eyes, and a little button nose. Why the fuck has Remi been hiding out down here with her instead of trying to get her to Francisco?

  "Hey," I croon to her, searching around for a bottle. "It's okay, sweetheart. I'm going to take care of you. Just give me a minute to find you something to eat."

  The baby screams bloody murder, her little face going red with rage.

  "Goddammit," Knox growls.

  I don't even have to ask to know that he's got no reception on his phone.

  Why am I not surprised?

  "I hate this city," I mutter, my hand finally landing on the kid's bottle. It's still half full, thank God. I toss my light to the pallet in the corner and pick the baby up again, popping the bottle in her mouth. She continues to cry for a second, and then grunts and latches on. Her little body immediately stops flailing. I cradle her in the crook of my arm, twisting my hand at an awkward angle to hold the bottle. Even with one hand free, I can't manage to get my phone out of my pocket.

  Knox stalks across the room and grabs it out my pocket, holding it out.

  As soon as I lay eyes on it, I tip my head back and curse loudly. I have Luke's phone and the goddamn thing is locked. The baby in my arms jerks and lets loose a little wail.

  Knox shoots me a reproachful look. "Here, you work on getting us the fuck out of here; I'll deal with the baby."

  I hand the kid and bottle over, making sure Knox is holding her properly. Once he's set, I hit the power button on Luke's phone, powering on the screen. He has reception…I just can't break in to use the damn thing.

  Ingenuity strikes and I hit the emergency dialer.

  "Thank fuck," I sigh when the phone rings. And then rings again and again and again. Getting through to a dispatcher in Los Angeles can take forever. "I hate this city."

  Knox stops crooning to the baby long enough to snort.

  Eventually an operator answers the phone.

  "911, where is your emergency?"

  "This is Agent Roman Gregory with the ATF. I need you to get ahold of Sergeant Braxton and tell him that Remi Pledger is using the sewer tunnels under Skid Row to get around," I bark into the phone.

  The 911 dispatcher is silent for a brief moment.

  "Braxton is currently stationed somewhere near Stanford and Fifth," I say, impatient even though I know it's not her fault she has no fucking clue what I'm talking about. I quickly explain the situation, gritting my teeth when I have to admit that we're locked in on the basement level.

  "I'll get ahold of him for you, sir," the dispatcher says, not requiring any further explanation. "Is anyone injured?"

  "No, but we've got an infant in here with us. She may need to be checked out."

  "Yes, sir."

  I stay on the line in case she needs anything else, and then begin prowling through Remi's shit. Aside from baby supplies and a couple changes of clothing, he doesn't have much here. There are a few beers and a half-eaten sub sandwich in the mini-fridge. The rest of the space inside is full of bottles of distilled water.

  "You're such a sweet little girl," Knox coos to the baby while she eats, pacing around the room with her in his arms. "You're so brave."

  I shake my head at him.

  "I've got nieces," he growls at me and then goes right back to soothing her.

  He's surprisingly good at it. As far as I know, Knox is a bachelor with no interest in a wife or kids. Last I heard, he was breaking hearts by refusing to date. Other agents thought he was gay, but I think he's just married to his career. I get that. Most guys like him and Octavio are the same damn way.

  "What the fuck?" I mutter when I shake out the pallet and a small notebook lands in the floor. I toss the blankets aside and squat down to pick it up. "Bring your light closer," I order Knox, rising to my feet and flipping it open. Once he comes closer, shining his light on the notebook, I start thumbing through it. The first few pages look like a list of gang holdings in the city. The third is a list of numbers marching down the page in neat rows.

  "Street values?" Knox asks.
/>
  "Maybe." I flip to the next page, which is blank. As is the one after that.

  "Agent Gregory?" the dispatcher says.

  "Yeah?"

  "Sergeant Braxton and his men are on their way in to find you, sir. You said you're in the basement?"

  "Fucking finally," Knox mutters.

  "Once they come inside the building, they need to follow the hallway on the right all the way to the end and then make a left," I instruct. "They'll come to a stairwell. Follow it down and then take a right. At the intersection, head south. They're looking for a large, rusted metal door."

  "Yes, sir."

  "Need anything else?"

  "I believe that's it."

  "Thanks. I'll let you disconnect now. I know you've got shit to do."

  "Thank you, sir. Good luck."

  "Thanks." I end the call and then shove the phone into a pocket on my vest before flipping through several more blank pages in the notebook. About halfway through, I stop flipping and tilt the book closer to the light, frowning. A list of women's names has been scrawled across the page, alongside addresses and dates. All of the dates are within the last three months. Half the names have been scratched out, but a handful remain. Midway down the page is one I recognize—Selena Ortega. Her name is circled in red. Another name near the end of the page is also circled.

  "Guadalupe Medina," I murmur out loud. There are five or six others that haven't been crossed out, which makes my blood run cold.

  "If all of those women are pregnant with his kids," Knox says, his tone grim, "we're going to have a big fucking problem."

  What feels like an hour later, Braxton's guys finally arrive to let us out. Knox has the baby asleep on his shoulder, cradling her little body in his hand. I created a rucksack of sorts out of a blanket and packed up most of her shit so she'll have diapers and formula and clothes. I've gone through everything else, but haven't found much of use aside from the notebook.

  I tuck it into a pocket on my vest, hiding it.

  "We didn't find anything," I mutter to Knox, knowing we can't let that fall into LAPD hands. There's no way they'd be able to keep quiet that Pedro Francisco may have half a dozen kids running around the Los Angeles area. If other gangs get their hands on that information, they'll turn the city upside down trying to get their hands on those kids. We can't let that happen.