by Fiona Archer
“Then Adam and Zach walked in.”
And for the third time in his life, everything changed in an instant.
“What happened?” London’s asked.
“They taught the guard a lesson of their own.” Heath had crawled to sit against the tile wall, drawing in aching breaths, and watched in horrified wonder as the two teenagers punched the living shit out of the short prick. “I’d never seen anything like it before in my life. They were six foot each and already could fight like grown men.” Not until the guard was unconscious on the ground, blood running from his split lips and eyebrow, did they stop.
“Adam and Zach knew running was their only option. They offered me a chance to go with them.” Zach had crouched down in front of him, bloodied knuckles and all. ‘What’s your name?’ He answered and Zach looked back to Adam who stood there, a scary hard look on his face as he nodded to Zach. ‘You can hang around here or leave with us. Ferguson has you marked. Be smart.’
Considering his desperate position, Heath believed he had nothing to lose. “They took the guard’s keys and wallet. Busted open an office window, and we got out a side gate.” Darkness had provided excellent cover.
Ferguson was stupid enough to keep the PIN for his bank’s keycard in his wallet. The money proved useful. “Adam hotwired a car and drove us into Sydney.”
Heath hung close to the two street-smart boys, watching and learning. It amazed him now to think they’d avoided being caught by the cops in King’s Cross, but Sydney’s infamous red-light district had rules of its own. And Adam and Zach had contacts, the kind that wouldn’t give them over to the police.
“For twelve months it was the three of us before Adam saved Seth’s arse when he was about to be knifed in an alley, and three became four.” He shrugged. “Then we rescued Dillon from drowning at Bondi Beach and met Aurora Justice.”
And once again, Heath’s life took a dramatic turn.
When the silence stretched out, Heath glanced down to see London starting at him, her mouth partially open.
“What?”
“Your story’s the kind of plot line friends of mine write in their novels.”
“Sometimes life is stranger than fiction.”
Her brow creased. “And you lost Dillon only a month ago.” She shook her head. “That seems so unfair.”
A soul-crushing heaviness filled his chest, like a mountain of regret and grief warred for supremacy.
“Dillon…” he began, then broke off. Fuck, how the hell did he say this? Straight out. “Dillon held a side of himself secret after Aurora adopted Adam, Zach, Seth and me.” At London’s confused gaze, he pushed on. “Turns out he wasn’t so thrilled to have us join the family. Over a period of time, he planned to ruin us all. Nearly succeeded.”
When he thought back over the effort his older brother had gone to… Christ, the bastard had been committed to his goals. “Tried to sabotage Seth selling his company to Fox. Set me up for investigation by my superiors with a bogus bribe payment to my bank account. Outed Adam’s black ops history on the ’net for all his enemies to see.”
His dry laugh lacked any amusement. “The only one he didn’t target was Zach, because he’s Milly’s dad, and Dillon loved that kid.” What a twisted fucking paradox that was.
“Jesus, Heath.” London’s shocked expression stood as testament to the totally fucked up nature of his brother’s revenge.
“Dillon didn’t die in an accident or from some cancer, London.” He gazed down at her, needing to see her face as he said the words. “He took Harper hostage and was going to kill her. He’d already murdered three other people by the time we found them in a warehouse.” He paused, watching her confused frown turn into wide-eyed horror. “We had no choice. Lincoln, Adam and I shot him.”
And took out their brother.
“He, he killed people?” The horrified tone in her voice reflected the feeling in Heath’s gut. “But, hang on, who’s Lincoln? Another cop?”
Christ, he’d missed that step. “Lincoln is Seth’s brother. They were separated as kids. Lincoln tracked him here to Seattle.” At her raised eyebrows, he explained. “The guy’s in the Australian SAS. He doesn’t take no for an answer. And he wanted to find his brother. Everything happened at the same time.”
“And this was a month ago?”
“Yeah. And now Harper’s dad turns up murdered.” He sighed. “There’s…a lot going on right now. Stuff I can’t share. But I can say Adam’s been hired by Harper’s mum to investigate her husband’s death.”
“Holy cow.” London did a slow blink. “I don’t know what to say.”
“Nothing to say.” And he’d said more than he’d intended to. “Life happens, and you deal with it and move on.” He rolled onto his back and tucked her into his side, done with this topic—and the feelings the memories had stirred up.
“Heath—”
“Red, you asked me about my family. I shared. And that has more to do with me thinking you have a right to know since I’m liking you, enjoying our time together, and what I told you about Dillon would come out sooner or later, and I’d rather you hear it from me.” He squeezed her with his arm. “I’ve had a really good night with a great girl, and I don’t want to spend the next hour picking over the details of a man who, it turns out, never wanted me as a brother in the first place. What I want to do is hold you while we both get some sleep.” He rubbed the back of his knuckles over her hip. “Can you do that for me, babe?”
Her body softened against him, and she rested her hand over his chest. “Yeah, honey, I can.”
“Look, up,” he ordered, before he caught her mouth in a kiss. If he was honest, the gesture was more for him than her. He wanted the taste of her sweetness and the memory of her soft lips filling his head and banishing away other thoughts. For a few hours at least.
Hours later, the ring of his phone woke him. He reached over, muttering a soft apology to London who stirred, then rolled back to sleep.
He glanced at the caller ID and then answered. “Adam?”
“We got a lead on Fox’s deal with the Russians,” he stated. “About to see a contact. You want in?”
Heath swung out of the bed. “Of course.” Then a thought struck him. “Have you called Agent Tollison? What about Kennedy and Faulkner?” His fellow detectives would want to be included.
“No, I want to check this out first. Meet us at The Brown Jug in thirty minutes.”
Heath froze in the process of reaching for his pants. “That’s Declan Bishop’s place. The only time a cop visits the Bishops is because he’s on the take or arresting one of their family.”
“Haven’t you heard? The Bishops are legit now. Declan inherited the family’s business ventures and is modernizing.” Adam could probably guess Heath’s reply and didn’t wait to hear it. “Don’t be late.” He said before ending the call.
Fuck. Heath wanted to stay with London, to hold her in his arms and wake up with her wrapped around him. But the chance to get closer to solving the mystery of Fox’s death and, therefore, provide answers for Harper won out.
He dressed before scribbling a note to London on a notepad he found in the drawer of the nightstand. He leaned over and kissed her forehead before reluctantly leaving the bedroom.
Taking care to make sure the front door locked behind him, Heath drove away. Whether the Bishops knew anything about Fox and the Russians was up for debate, but one fact wasn’t. The Bishop family was as corrupt now as ever.
And if they were stupid enough to provide any evidence of same, Heath would use it to his full advantage to bring them down.
If for no other reason than taking him away from London the morning after their first night together.
CHAPTER SIX
Heath pulled up outside The Brown Jug and parked behind Adam’s black Explorer. No sign of his brothers. They must be inside already. After beeping the SUV’s locks, he moved toward the default headquarters for what had been Old Man Bishop’s criminal enterprise.
Faint laughter could be heard on the breeze as two people walked way in the distance. The streets of Seattle’s Pioneer Square area were nearly deserted at 3 a.m. Most folks had moved on when the surrounding bars and clubs closed an hour ago.
Heath knocked on the bar’s glass and mahogany entry. Seconds later, a man dressed in a black t-shirt and pants opened the door. Tall. Crew cut. Muscled. A bouncer?
Heath flashed his ID. “Detective Justice.” He wasn’t sure how quiet Adam wanted word of this meeting kept, but Heath would not hide the fact he was a cop. Strapped to his ankle was a 9mm, an added assurance to the Glock in his shoulder holster worn under his navy jacket.
“Mr. Bishop’s expecting you.” The bouncer moved to allow Heath inside. “Go through to the back. Door on the right. Knock and Jimmy will let you upstairs.”
Heath nodded. The smell of beer pervaded the room as he strode toward the doorway. The mellow light from the wall sconces and hanging lamps exposed century-old brick walls decorated with framed posters of boxing matches. On his left was a long dark wood counter with a brass foot rail. Empty wooden stools ran down its length like a sharp line of soldiers. Behind the counter was a mirrored wall with shelves holding various bottles of liquor.
A barman lifted a dishwasher rack filled with glasses from below the counter, steam rising from the glassware. His gaze landed on Heath before quickly moving back to his task. Well trained. In previous years, many of Seattle’s power-brokers and criminal elements had visited The Brown Jug, some of whom would want to go unnoticed.
Heath rounded a group of empty wooden tables and ignored the open doorway on the left, signposted for restrooms and the bar’s kitchen. He headed to his right and the metal door secured with a key-code panel.
He raised his finger to push a buzzer, but the door swung open.
A man, maybe six feet six, stood in front of Heath. Jimmy O’Dwyer. Bishop’s…chief thug? Enforcer? The man’s gray-suited attire and clipped brown hair gave him the air of an upmarket bodyguard. Bullshit. Heath knew of two murders that should have landed Jimmy a conviction except for lack of witnesses.
O’Dwyer greeted Heath with a blank expression. “Saw you on the CCTV.”
Nothing went unnoticed by Bishop’s crew.
Heath had expected nothing less. He glanced up the narrow, dark wooden stairs. “Then we shouldn’t waste any more time.”
“Follow me.” Jimmy turned and led Heath upstairs to a landing with three doors. All were closed. Jimmy knocked on the middle one.
“Enter.”
Jimmy obeyed. “He’s here, boss.” The enforcer waved Heath inside.
Heath noted the soft click of the door closing behind him as O’Dwyer stepped out. The room was small, with cream colored walls, which needed a new coat of paint, and a tired looking brown velour couch against the far wall. The room hadn’t been updated in years. He glanced to Adam and Seth seated in chairs in front of a large wooden desk, and then to the man sitting behind it.
In a crisp navy shirt, Declan Bishop looked the respectable entrepreneur. But the man’s sharp, assessing blue gaze and the way he held his muscular frame—with the same razor-edged energy of a deadly animal—hinted he knew when to strike to achieve maximum impact.
Bishop leaned back in his battered red executive chair, the old leather groaning under the stress. “Detective Justice. Take a seat.” He inclined his dark head toward the seat next to Seth.
“Adam said you could provide information on Fox’s business dealings with the Russians.” Not interested in playing games, Heath gazed directly at Bishop.
Champion ex-cage fighter and the current head of the Bishop clan, Declan couldn’t be described as handsome, not with a nose that had been broken at least once, but the bastard always had a gorgeous woman hanging off his arm when he attended a newsworthy social event.
Not that Heath gave a shit about Seattle’s social scene, but he was a cop; the Bishops were criminals, so Declan’s name in the press didn’t go unnoticed.
Adam sat back and linked his fingers over his stomach. “We know Fox was involved in a nightclub venture with the Russians.” At Declan’s nod, he continued. “And that he was forced into that venture by another party, one based out of town.”
Declan went still. The atmosphere in the room sharpened.
“You’re treading on dangerous ground, Adam.” Declan stared back at the oldest Justice brother.
Adam shrugged. “I tread were I need to go.”
The tiny muscles around Declan’s mouth tightened. “I like you. We’ve done business together before.”
What the fuck? Heath swung his gaze to Adam, who ignored him and kept looking toward Bishop.
Heath kept his frustration in check. He’d be having a chat with Adam later.
“So when I say you need to be careful,” Declan continued, “I’m saying that knowing you aren’t an amateur.”
“You’re aware Homeland Security is investigating Fox.” Seth shrugged. “They’re making noise.”
The kind of noise that would provide Adam and Seth with a modicum of cover if they didn’t create too many waves with their questions.
“Agent Tollison hasn’t been subtle these past few weeks.” Declan’s gaze narrowed on Seth. “You’re trying to find answers and protect your woman. I get that, but the three of you are stepping into something bigger than you can imagine.” He turned his stare on Heath. “Bigger than anything you imagine my family would be involved in.”
Not impossible, that’s true. But Declan’s family weren’t amateurs in their field either.
“We know this isn’t small-time. That’s why we’re speaking to you.” Adam sighed, clearly over the sidestepping. “Mrs. Fox hired me to find the truth. You can make that less painful for everyone if you share what you know.”
“Then ask your questions. I won’t give you names, but I’ll steer you to the right path.” Bishop stated.
The man wasn’t an idiot. If the advice given was known to a big enough circle, nobody could point the finger at Bishop directly as a snitch.
Adam obliged. “Fox was being blackmailed to be the public face in the nightclub deal with the Russians?”
Bishop nodded.
“Did he use his own money in the deal?”
“Yes,” Bishop said.
Heath blinked. What? They had assumed Fox had used laundered funds provided by his new masters as the set-up costs.
Adam’s gaze narrowed. “What was the leverage used to force him?”
Heath saw Seth tense, and he held his breath. Christ, he hoped Harper hadn’t been used as a bargaining tool.
“Fox had a secret hobby. Boys. Barely legal.” Declan’s mouth twisted with obvious distaste. “He only indulged when on business trips. The guy had a taste for some sick shit. Rumor has it Fox was set up with an underage kid on a trip to New York. There’s a video.”
“Jesus fuck,” Seth muttered, likely feeling relief Harper wasn’t in danger but repulsed at the same time.
After years on the force, little shocked Heath. But disgusted him? Sure. And to think Fox, the sanctimonious prick, had judged his daughter as unworthy of his respect. Fucking bastard.
“Fox became this organization’s new bitch?” Adam asked.
“Yes. Fox explained to anyone who asked that the nightclub deal was him having a convenient outlet to showcase Brooke-Porter Digital’s products, including their music catalogue, and having talent perform.” Bishop shrugged. “The amount of money invested was tiny for a man of Fox’s wealth. People assumed he was acting on a whim.” He picked up a highball glass containing amber liquid and sipped. “The real prize is the cover a club like that provides. That would be why Fox was blackmailed into setting up the club.”
“Drugs? Money laundering?” Heath stared unflinchingly at Bishop as he named key activities the man’s family had done over the years.
Declan didn’t blink. “Those are two options. Plus, Fox was vulnerable to more blackmail.”
Adam frowne
d. “Did the Russians know Fox was being forced into the deal?
Declan shrugged. “Of course. The deal for the venture was constructed between the Russians and whoever forced Fox’s hand. Fox’s name gave the club legitimacy, but he was a silent partner in the daily running of the club.”
“What else?” Adam asked. “There must be more that tempted the Russians?”
“Fox’s blackmailers have substantial power and influence, offering new possibilities the Russians could tap into. And don’t forget, they could also look at Fox’s friends and business contacts and see if they could have some blackmail fun of their own.”
“So it wouldn’t be in the Russians’ best interest to put a hit on Fox?” Adam asked in a deceptively calm voice.
Declan held Adam’s gaze for a long moment before he lowered his glass to the desk. “Agreed.” He turned the glass in his fingers. “I’d look elsewhere.”
Heath pressed harder. “In what direction?”
“I can only guess, and that’s worthless to you.” Declan stood and shoved his hands in the pockets of his black pants. “Whatever information I have comes via contacts with Sergei Petrov and his associates.” He named one of the top lieutenants in the local Russian mafia. “I have no dealings with the other…party you’re seeking.” Declan reached for a black jacket hanging over the back of his chair.
Heath guessed the meeting was over, but he had one question as he and his brothers stood. “You kept The Brown Jug.” He ignored Adam’s frown and focused on Declan. “Why? You have new headquarters in an office building in downtown. This was your dad’s favorite place to do business. I thought you’d let go of everything from those days.”
Declan shrugged into his jacket. “Keeping the bar doesn’t mean I haven’t moved on. We all carry our past with us in one form or another, Detective. For some, that’s an easier weight to bear than others.”