Book 'Em Bridget

by Danielle Norman

  “I hate to point out that you have this, and it isn’t in evidence yet,” Piper commented.

  “Oh, shush. I just found it. I’m going to take it to Eli. Why would Justin have it?” I asked.

  “And why would it be hidden under his computer?” Sadie asked.

  Piper bit her lower lip. “No. Don’t. You’re trying to come up with another argument, I know you, Piper Dupont.” I pointed at her.

  “You’re right, you’re right. I’m just looking at all the possibilities. He’s a fucking detective, but you’re a deputy . . . period. He outranks you. Sadie, Harley, and Kat are all the same rank, and have pretty much the same years invested. I’m the only one who outranks him as a corporal.”

  “Thanks for that, Sherlock,” Harley said, and her smart-ass comment broke the tension in the room, making us all laugh.

  Piper grabbed a pillow and hit Harley with it. “Seriously, though, Bridget accuses Justin of this without more proof than a piece of paper, her job is on the line. He said, she said. What if he has a viable reason? She’s now taken a piece of fucking evidence. I understand the odds of it being evidence is next to nil, but stay with me here . . . what if?” I felt like I was going to throw up. Could I fuck up today any more than I already had? Not finding something to take Oman in for when my gut was telling me something was wrong. This piece of paper. Fuck, fuck, fuck. “I’m not defending him, believe me, I’m not. I just can’t imagine anyone who works with us being involved in something so heinous. I mean, your brother has him in his unit, for Christ’s sake.”

  “Why not?” I asked. “We see heinous shit all day long, don’t you think it’s bound to rub off on some people?” Kat asked.

  Sadie reached up and grabbed hold of my hand. “What can we do to help?” Sadie’s words were soft.

  “I’m not sure . . .” I looked up at Piper, hoping that she had the answer.

  “I say you take it to Eli and you do your own research. I know you aren’t going to settle unless you have answers. Stay out of Eli’s way. If he’s tracking this . . .”

  “Oman Matim,” I filled in for her.

  “Oman, then we see what we can find on Justin. He’s a detective, which makes him ours.”

  “If we’re going to look into this, then I think we need more help than just us, we’re going to need people who can access things we can’t,” Sadie said. I loved how my friends were including themselves in the research.

  “Like what kind of things?”

  “The dark web, for starters.”

  “Do you know someone who can do that?”

  “Yep, and so do you, we need to call the Iron Ladies and get their help.” Sadie pulled out her phone. “We’re all off on Friday this week, want me to see if I can set something up?”

  “Yeah, go for it,” I agreed.

  Chapter 7

  Eli

  I pressed my foot down on the gas pedal and fought the urge that was telling me to hit my brakes. I only had one thing on my mind as I neared Bridget’s apartment, and that was to speed past it. Do not stop, do not pass go, do not collect two hundred dollars. I knew that if I slowed down even the tiniest bit, then I’d be pulling into her complex and she and I would have a coming to Jesus of sorts.

  The bluish haze from my dash lights reflected in my windshield and reminded me that it was almost midnight. I pressed the gas of my Ford Shelby even more and the engine revved. The sound was like a subtle pat on my back for winning, for not giving in.

  Even after working an almost seventeen-hour workday, I wasn’t tired and Bridget was still on my mind, so I decided to send her a text. Yes, it was late, but it was Wednesday, which meant the girls had probably only just left her place. Hell, I wouldn’t be shocked if people were still there.

  * * *

  Me: I just wanted to check in on you.

  * * *

  I stared at my phone, waiting for the tiny bubbles to pop up and tell me that she was replying, but nothing happened. Fuck. I remember the first day I met Bridget, she was still in fucking high school, getting ready to graduate and I was . . . Jesus Christ, I was twenty-six. I had my moves all ready until I realized that she was eighteen and a senior. Needless to say, I deflated very fast.

  Holy shit, that seemed like forever ago. I had just graduated from the FBI Training Academy in Quantico.

  My phone dinged, and I pulled up the text.

  * * *

  Bridget: I’m fine, still pissed at you. What are you doing still up?

  Me: I just got home.

  Bridget: Really? Is that normal?

  Me: I’m calling, I hate texting.

  * * *

  I waited for her to answer. The soft, almost faded Irish lilt that seemed to appear when she was tired trilled across the phone line.

  “Hey, I work late when someone IDs a suspect that we’ve been looking for and had actually thought was probably dead.” I unbuttoned my shirt while we talked.

  “Oh. So, you were working on finding Oman?”

  “Yes, but let’s not talk about that since I can’t really talk about an ongoing investigation.” I collapsed onto my bed and stared at the ceiling as I spoke.

  “I hate that, since I feel so vested in the case.”

  “I understand that.”

  “My gut told me something wasn’t right; I should have listened to it.”

  “You had nothing to arrest him for. And if you had arrested him anyway, you’d be dead. The guy is dangerous.”

  I moved into my kitchen and opened the fridge, wishing that Colleen were my mother. Nope, mine happened to be a congresswoman for the great state of Wisconsin, which was why I lived in Florida. I didn’t do politics, or snow, or my mother.

  The line went quiet, and when it started to reach into the uncomfortable zone, she let out a heavy sigh.

  “I know. Hey, I have something I want to talk to you about. Do you think we could meet up sometime on Friday?”

  “Yeah, is everything okay?” Something in her voice sounded a little off.

  “Yeah, I just want to show you something.”

  I chuckled. “I like the way that sounds.”

  “You perv. Will you be in your office on Friday?”

  “Should be, just give me a call when you’re headed up. If it’s important, you can come after work tomorrow or I can come by your place.”

  “Nah, Friday will be fine.”

  “Anything else?” I asked.

  “Sure, how about it’s late and time for me to go to bed?” I had to laugh at her smart-ass rebuke.

  “How about when can I take you out?” I reached into my cabinet and grabbed a cup of soup, since I didn’t have someone who stocked my house with food like the McGuires had with their mom. I opened it and tossed it into the microwave.

  “Oh, stop, you don’t have to do that. My own brothers didn’t take me out.”

  Did she not realize that I was serious? I’d held back my feelings for her long enough, and it was time. “I’m serious, I want to take you out. Me, you, a nice restaurant.”

  “Why?”

  “Maybe because I’d like to spend time with you.”

  “Are you fucking kidding me?”

  “No, I’m not fucking kidding you.”

  “What are you playing at?”

  “Nothing.”

  “You spend time with me when you’re with Callum.”

  “I spend time with Callum and you happen to be around. This will be me spending time with you. We’ll get to know each other.”

  “We know each other. You’ve picked on me for a good portion of my life, it isn’t exactly like we’re strangers.”

  “Be a good girl and play along.”

  “The only time you can ever say those condescending words to me is if you’re growling them in my ear, otherwise shut the fuck up and stop patronizing me.”

  I coughed as the thought of slamming inside her while growling “good girl” filled my mind, and I found myself adjusting my boxers.

  Fucking
hell, she had no idea. If I were completely honest with myself, I had no idea how strong these feelings were going to be once I acknowledged them. But after spending so many years watching her, being a part of her family, I wasn’t sure if being with her was worth risking my friendship and acceptance in her family. Though, I was about to find out.

  Did I want to fuck Bridget? Abso-fucking-lutely.

  Seeing her in my office earlier, and hearing her talk about righting wrongs, turned me into a moth hypnotized by the flame. And that flame was the feisty, ball-breaking redhead who had starred in my lust-filled dreams far too many times to count over the years. So, to hear her tell me that she wanted me to growl words in her ear . . .

  “Fine, that’s how I’ll say it next time. We’ll go to dinner, and then I’ll bring you back to my house and growl any-fucking-thing you want. And more.” I caught the slight hitch in her breath.

  “Good night, Eli.” Bridget had a slight chuckle in her voice before she disconnected.

  The microwave dinged, and I carefully pulled out the cup of soup, gingerly balancing it between my fingertips. Sure, it came in microwavable cups to save on washing dishes. Thank god for that, too, since your fingers were fucking burned, and you couldn’t wash dishes anyway.

  With my back against my counter, I took a sip, and thought about all the things I was going to do to make her toes curl.

  Chapter 8

  Bridget

  Can we say tacky? Okay, I got it. The word was really kitschy, but whatever. I brushed my hair behind one ear and headed into what was known as a Central Florida staple: the Bubble Room. Why the Iron Ladies asked us to meet them here of all places was beyond me, since the restaurant always had music going, a train chugging along a track close to the ceiling, and an obnoxious wait staff that wore Boy Scout-style uniforms.

  I walked up the front path, under a cascade of bubbles floating in the air and pulled open the ornate front door. “You’re here,” Melanie said. She was one of the four Iron Ladies, and the only one looking at me. The other three—Adeline, Sunday, and Olivia—were staring into the dessert case. The Iron Ladies were private investigators who ran below the radar, and their sole purpose was to help women get out of relationships with powerful men who used their money or connections to trap them. They didn’t advertise their services, making it strictly a referral-based business, but it kept them busy and wealthy.

  “Are we still waiting on Piper and Kat?” I glanced around, expecting to see them.

  “Nope, they’re here. They went to the restroom.” Melanie turned to the hostess. “Okay, we’re ready.”

  The hostess grabbed a stack of menus. “Please follow me.”

  As we walked behind her, I leaned in and whispered, “Why here? Seems sort of noisy.”

  “Exactly. It will make it so that no one can eavesdrop on our conversation. Also, people are so busy looking at all of the tchotchkes, they won’t pay attention to us.”

  “Tchotchkes?”

  “Yeah, dust collectors, knick knacks, shit.” Melanie emphasized the last word, and I laughed. This place was wall-to-wall, floor-to-ceiling shit. But when I was a kid, I loved looking at all of the stuff as well.

  We were seated in a large, circular, red-pleather booth that was more appropriate for a sixties diner. Once our orders were placed, Sunday brought out her iPad while the other three opened notebooks. “So, what’s going on?” Sunday asked.

  “Have you ever heard of a sex-trafficking operation that works based on an order process?”

  “What?” Adeline asked.

  “I’m not sure how to explain it, but it’s where the guys buying the girls actually put in an order as to the type of girl they want. Say someone wants a brunette with blue eyes, that’s what he would . . . order. At least I think that’s how it is working.”

  “That’s actually not that far-fetched. There are places that hold auctions and sick fucks bid on the type of girl they want, the rarer a girl’s type, the more value she has,” Adeline explained.

  “Yeah, haven’t you ever seen that movie with Liam Neeson? Taken?” Harley asked.

  “I have a special set of skills,” Harley and Piper said in unison.

  “Yes, I’ve seen it,” I stated.

  “Where do you think they get their ideas from? Real life,” Harley said matter-of-factly.

  Adeline leaned forward, her brows crinkled in concern. “Why are you asking?”

  I pulled out the pieces of paper. “I saw these things written on a note in a van I pulled over earlier this week. I got this sheet”—I waved the small, cream-colored piece of paper—“off a detective’s desk. He had it sort of hidden.”

  “Is it a case he’s working on?” Olivia asked.

  Piper, Harley, Sadie, Kat, and I all shook our heads.

  “You’re sure?”

  We all nodded.

  “Fuck,” Adeline mumbled as she took the papers from me and scanned them.

  “Exactly,” I said in total agreement.

  “I’m assuming that the V is for virgin, and the point is maybe the price—like ten point five million or something like that?” Adeline tapped her red-painted nail against her lips.

  “I had assumed the point was price but hadn’t even thought about the V. How horrifying.”

  “What can we do to help?” Melanie asked a moment before the server brought our lunches. We waited until we were all served before continuing.

  “I need to figure out if Justin Camfield is involved, but if I go to internal affairs and I’m wrong, it won’t be good for my career. I’m a rookie, I’m still on my ninety-day probation period. But I can follow him—”

  “We can follow him,” Harley said, interrupting me.

  “Okay, we can follow him. But I need you to try to find out if you can uncover anything about any kind of sex-ordering service. The guy I pulled over went by the name Oman Matim, but the FBI has him listed as Nazari.” Sunday typed away on her iPad while the other three furiously scribbled down notes.

  “What can you tell us about Justin?” Adeline asked.

  “He’s a detective, I’d say he’s about thirty. Blond hair, about five-ten or so in height.” I tried to think about him, but he’d never really stood out in my mind.

  “He isn’t married, and he went out with a bunch of us one time and got hammered, so we had to take him home. He lives off Conway,” Piper added.

  “Sunday, can you try to access Camfield’s bank accounts and see if he’s getting huge deposits?” Adeline asked.

  “On it. It’ll take me a bit to figure out where his bank account is first. I’ll do some digging into his background while I’m at it.”

  “Mel, we need to get some equipment up around Camfield’s home so we can create a timeline of when he comes and goes and who is stopping by his place,” Adeline read off her sheet.

  “Already got my list going of the equipment I’ll need.”

  “If, for some reason, you feel that your job is on the line or that Justin is on to you, call us, Olivia can take over tailing the guy.”

  I nodded. “Will do. I hope that it doesn’t come to that. I want to nail him. I need it. I let the first guy go, I’m not letting this one out of my sight.”

  “Bridget, stop blaming yourself, you couldn’t do anything about it. You had no idea that the guy was wanted under a different name, and his license came back clean. What were you supposed to do? Book him because you had a bad feeling? Your job would have been toast. You followed the rules, which is what you’re supposed to do.” Kat reached over and grabbed my hand. “The guilt is going to drive you crazy.”

  I knew that, and I knew that my dad and brothers had seen some awful shit over the years. They’d each found their own way to decompress and leave work at work, and I needed to discover mine. Too bad there wasn’t a hot man to come home to at night to fuck away the bad day.

  Eli’s promise to take me back to his house and growl all sorts of things into my ear had me wiggling in my seat.

  T
hen, as if someone had a pin and popped me, the air in me deflated. What was I thinking? He didn’t mean it. He was just trying to get a fucking rise out of me.

  Okay, Mr. Elijah Grey, get out of my head, you need to take your growling, albeit sexy, panty-melting growling, elsewhere. Go bother some other girl.

  I thought that and immediately hated the idea of it. It would hurt me if Eli started dating someone else.

  Chapter 9

  Eli

  “This is Grey.” Some days, I felt as if my phone were attached to my ear, and today was one of them.

  “Hey, it’s Chiu.”

  “Hey, what’s up?”

  “You know your girl—”

  “My girl?” I was totally confused.

  “Yeah, the redhead who was in the office the other day.” My heart sank. “She’s at the Bubble Room, and she isn’t alone.”

  I wasn’t sure why he was calling me to tell me Bridget was out to lunch with someone. If a guy was taking her there, then it wasn’t serious, and I had nothing to worry about. “Grey, aren’t you going to say anything?”

  “Like what?”

  “Like who is she here with?”

  “Does it matter?” I snapped.

  Chiu laughed and then cleared his throat. “When she’s sitting with those four women from that private-investigator firm we’re always hearing about it does.”

  Well, fuck. “You mean the Iron Ladies?”

  “Yeah, the hot ones, that’s them,” Chiu confirmed.

  I grabbed my keys off my desk and strode from my office. “I’m on my way.”

  “Do you think she’s trying to go after Nazari?”

  “I think she’s trying to find out more than she needs to know. Are you still there?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Good, let me know if she leaves, I should be there in about twenty minutes.”