Collision Control

by C. A. Szarek

* * * *

  Joe paced, cursing under his breath and glaring at the disposable cell phone. Rick had missed check-in, and he had no clue where Moose and Bran were—scratch that, he knew where they were, just didn’t want to face it.

  Moose and Bran were fucking. She’d probably dragged the big oaf behind the old trailer, or maybe even inside one of the others on site.

  Just treat her right, big guy. God knows I didn’t.

  Their hideout was quiet so far, but if Joe didn’t get them out of town—and quick—the more likely they were to get caught.

  Prison.

  Not like that was new, but this time it was for something they—no, he—didn’t do.

  Moose and Bran had both refused to leave him, even after he’d been forced to run.

  Joe knew who was trying to frame him—and that he had the FBI on his ass. Funny, that tended to happen when one of their own turned up dead.

  When he found the fucker, he was going to beat the living hell out of Carter Bennett.

  Or maybe he’d kill the asshole.

  Whaddaya know, then I’d be guilty of murder as accused.

  He was far from an angel, but he wasn’t a killer.

  Thief, yes. He’d stolen, stripped and hawked more cars than he could count. Built a nice cushion doing it, too. No one in his gang was a killer. He wouldn’t stand for that shit.

  Besides, John Donovan—Murray, as it’d turned out—had been his buddy. Joe hadn’t known he was FBI, of course—at first.

  John had talked Joe into cooperating. The rest of the team was going to get slaps on the wrist, so Joe was going to do it. No one knew.

  He’d been trying to protect them—especially Bran.

  John had promised he could go to prison alone for them. Joe was the ringleader, anyway. He’d picked up the rest of his gang over the years. One by one, raised them up, trained them all to be savvy thieves.

  For years, they’d never even been on law enforcement radar.

  When that little fucker Carter had found out, he’d accused Joe of being a traitor. John had convinced Joe to run.

  Carter was the one who’d betrayed Joe.

  He’d beaten John within an inch of his life before killing him.

  Joe couldn’t prove it. He’d fled.

  Coward. Fucking coward.

  He should have stayed. Fought beside John Murray. He couldn’t have risked Bran’s life like that, though. Stubborn woman would have insisted on staying.

  Moose, too. The big oaf saw him as an older brother.

  Hiding in Antioch, Texas—where he’d spent about a year as a teen—was reckless, though. His brother was a cop. Like, locally.

  Considering he’d abandoned the kid with foster parents number one-hundred-forty-seven, Joe wouldn’t blame Jared for arresting his ass.

  When Joe hadn’t been able to deal and had split, he’d been seventeen to Jared’s tender twelve. He made sure his brother was safe—protected—and he’d left.

  They kept in touch from time to time. No details. Just a quick ‘How the hell are ya?’

  Joe dragged his hand over his new buzz cut. “Fuck me.” None of his crew knew he had a little bro, let alone the fact he was a blueblood. Not like he went around announcing it.

  The phone rang and he jumped. “Yeah?”

  “Boss.” Rick’s voice was low.

  Something’s wrong.

  Joe gripped the crappy twenty-dollar throwaway cell tighter. “Talk. Quick.”

  “In Cali. Carter’s setting up a score. Train break.”

  “Fucker. He get in touch with my contact?”

  “Yeah, we’re going forward. Four million in Ferraris and Lamborghinis.”

  “Foolish asshole. That’s too much to go after at once, especially down three men. Not to mention the Feds are watching.”

  If confronted, Carter would shoot his way out. Putting the remainder of Joe’s family at risk. They might’ve sided with the asshole, but they were still his. He cared about them.

  Not to mention if the punk was apprehended, he’d agree to testify that Joe killed John Murray. He felt it in his gut.

  Rick snorted. “I know. He won’t listen to shit. Rowdy and Mack are totally in, though.”

  “What about you, Rick?”

  “I gotta lay low. Can’t run my mouth.” Joe’s buddy paused. “I’m going.”

  “Cover your ass.”

  “Will do. Don’t tell me where you’re at, but you safe? Moose? Sweet Bran?”

  “For now.”

  Rick sighed. “Good. Carter said after he moves the new rides, we’re coming after you.”

  Joe laughed, but the sound was bitter to his ears. “I wish you could tell that fucker I said to bring it.”

  “Stay safe, boss. I gotta go.”

  “You too, Rick. Call me when you can. If I ditch this phone for a new one, I’ll text you the number.”

  Joe ended the call. Rage made his blood boil. He sucked in a breath, fighting the urge to toss the cell across the shitty trailer. With his luck, the impact would make the wall collapse or something.

  He looked around at the place they’d been crashing for the last few days. Wallpaper no longer recognizable, but was probably floral or some shit. Peeling in all the corners.

  The carpet was missing in some spots. The counter in the kitchen was whole, but had seen better days. Two of the cupboard doors hung by hinges. The place had a rotted out couch and a broken recliner with a huge hole in the seat.

  It was the better of the two they could get into on site, though. There were a few other trailers, but they hadn’t approached them. One had yellow crime scene tape surrounding it. Joe didn’t want to know what’d happened in there.

  Piles of new blankets they’d grabbed at Wally-world were piled in the corner. Joe had cringed that Bran had had to sleep on the dirty floor, but she hadn’t even flinched. They had cash money—and a lot of it—but they couldn’t risk staying at a hotel or motel.

  Not close to Antioch anyway.

  What if he ran into his brother?

  “Fuck me. We have to get out of here.”

  Feminine laughter made Joe glance toward the trailer’s entrance and he tried not to scowl as Bran and Moose tumbled into the piece of crap mobile home arm in arm.

  So they were done hiding their relationship from him. Waking up that morning on the shitty carpet only to see Moose’s arm flung across Bran’s body like he owned her had been bad enough.

  Joe’s gut tightened. “Rick called,” he barked.

  The smile on Bran’s pretty face faded. Her blonde hair was tousled. Her lips swollen, cheeks still flushed pink. Joe knew that look. Had been the cause more times than he could count.

  Her glow didn’t fade even as her brown eyes became solemn.

  Dammit.

  Moose dropped her arm and squared his huge shoulders. Bald and with more muscles than three guys needed, Moose always looked harsh. Normally a grimace passed for a smile. But the look on the guy’s face when he’d entered the trailer gazing at the woman Joe still loved had been tender.

  They have feelings for each other.

  Joe was trapped with them.

  It just gets fucking better and better.

  “And?” Bran’s voice made his heart flutter.

  Joe squared his shoulders and scowled. “Carter’s making a move.”

  Chapter Six

  Mel gave a sigh of relief when the last bell rang and she lined her kids up to go out to the—hopefully—ready cars of parents and caretakers.

  She caught Val’s eye as her best friend walked with her own class. Val flashed a smile and winked.

  Chaos ensued, breaking up lines of kids as people headed into the school. Not all parents always waited in their cars outside the building.

  Mel sighed and pressed into the wall. Her temples pounded with every happy yell or exclamation.

  The older kids valued the break more than the kindergarteners and first grade classes—the little ones still liked school.


  “Daddy!”

  Mel heard Ethan Lucas call for his father, and straightened. She’d been planning to call Detective Lucas, but why wait? He didn’t usually pick up his son, so she should take advantage of seeing him.

  The very tall man laughed and scooped the little redheaded boy into an embrace before setting him back to his feet and taking Ethan’s small backpack. He threaded his arm through the straps.

  “Hi, buddy.” His voice was deep.

  Mel smiled when he ruffled his son’s copper hair. “Detective Lucas,” she called, trotting over to them.

  Gray eyes met hers. He smiled, flashing dimples. “Miss Nash.”

  “I was going to give you call.”

  His expression sobered. “Is everything okay?”

  “Oh, yes. I was going to ask you for a favor, actually.”

  “What can I do for ya?”

  “Well, I’m sorry for the short notice, but next Friday is Community Helper’s Day, and I was wondering if you could come in and talk to my class about being a police officer.”

  The detective nodded. “I’d love to.”

  “Yay, Daddy! You get to come to school with me.” Ethan jumped up and down, clinging to his father’s hand.

  Mel grinned.

  “What time, and do you mind if I bring my partner?”

  “About nine-thirty, and two perspectives would be awesome.”

  “You got it.”

  “Thanks, Detective. I really appreciate it.” Mel stuck her hand out for a shake.

  He took it, flashing his dimples again. “No problem, Miss Nash. Thanks for being a great teacher to my kid. Ethan talks about you constantly.”

  She beamed. Couldn’t help it. That was about the best praise a teacher could ever get. And Mel had adored Ethan Lucas from the first time she’d talked with the little boy. “Thank you for the compliment. I mean it when I tell you Ethan is a delight to have in class. I’ll miss him next year.”

  “I’m sure his mother will be pleased to hear that. And hey, maybe my other one will end up in your class in a few years.”

  “My little brother’s Micah,” Ethan said. He enunciated the word brother as if was still working on it.

  Mel smiled. “I hope I meet him!”

  Ethan nodded and grinned.

  “All right, buddy. Let’s hit the road. We gotta get Micah and go to the store for your mom.”

  “Have a good Thanksgiving, Detective. Ethan, be sure to show your dad your thankful picture from today.”

  “Thanks, Miss Nash. You do the same,” Detective Lucas said. After one last wave, he grabbed the little boy’s hand and guided him down the wide corridor.

  “Can we put my picture on the fridge, Daddy?”

  Mel smiled again as they walked the detective’s deep voice melding with his son’s much higher one as they continued talking.

  She waved to other parents and children, and wished several more ‘Happy Thanksgivings’. Fatigue threatened and she swallowed a yawn.

  Dang, she was tired. Ready to go home. Maybe a nap was in order after she stopped at Marty’s. She still had to pick up a few things for Thanksgiving dinner at her dad’s.

  “Who the heck was that?” Val sidled up to her, and Mel rolled her eyes.

  “Married.”

  “So? I’m just alookin’.”

  She shook her head at her best friend. “I swear, you’re like a hormone.”

  Val laughed. “Am not. It’s just that not all of us have only recently had the best sex of their life.”

  “Will you hush? There are still little ears around! Geesh. We are at school.”

  “I wasn’t shouting.” Val stared, unrepentant. “So who was the guy? Why the heart-to-heart?”

  “One of my kids’ dads, obvi.”

  Val rolled her eyes. “Um. I get that. Everything okay?”

  Mel studied her friend, trying to determine if she was concerned or just curious. “He’s a detective. I snagged him for Community Helper’s Day.”

  “Niiiiiicccce.” Her best friend flashed two thumbs up and grinned.

  “Let me get my stuff then I’m outta here. Thank God Mason canceled the meeting. I’m whipped and I still have to go grocery shopping. You still coming over for dinner?”

  Val’s parents were gone and so was Mel’s mom, so for the past few years, they’d spent holiday dinners together with Mel’s father.

  “Sure! I wouldn’t miss a day with you and Jack for the world. What do you need help with?”

  “Wanna make a few pies? Apple? Pumpkin?”

  “You got it.” Val nodded and they headed back toward their classrooms. Her friend had farther to go, as the third grade rooms were down the hallway and around the corner.

  “Hey,” Val called when Mel had one foot in her room.

  “Yeah?”

  “I can tell you one thing for sure.”

  Mel arched an eyebrow. With the mischief in those blue eyes, her best friend wasn’t about to comment on Thanksgiving dinner. “Oh, I can’t wait.”

  Val flashed a grin. “If you didn’t notice how hot that cop was…welllllll, I guess Jared-from-the-bar did his job.”

  “Shut. Up. Valerie Hart.”

  * * * *

  Jared hit McAuley’s after five in hopes of running into Renee. No juice. Disappointment churned his gut and his head whipped around every time the door opened, but his lover didn’t magically appear.

  Dammit.

  He was waiting for a call from Carrigan anyway, so relaxing at home was out until he heard from the FBI agent. Hopefully she didn’t mind meeting him at a bar. He still wanted to wait for Renee.

  Besides, he had a feeling Special Agent Taylor Carrigan was going to be a pain in the ass. The way Jared saw it, they were in a race to get to Joe. He had to win.

  “Hey, Bri.”

  Once again, Brian McAuley was tending bar. He was in the corner by the double doors leading into kitchen, mopping up a spill. The guy swept the last of the broken glass into a dustpan and dumped it in the trashcan.

  The tall redheaded man offered a head nod. “Detective.”

  “Can I ask you something?”

  “Sure.” Brian trotted over to Jared. “You need a drink?”

  “Nah, not staying long. Just wondered if you’d seen the woman I was with last night?”

  Brian shook his head. “Not today. The one with three other girls, right? They left together, ’cept for her?”

  “Right.”

  “Never seen her before. Not a regular.”

  “Didn’t think so. You know her name?”

  The bartender arched an eyebrow. His eyes asked You don’t? “Nope.”

  “Thanks anyway, man.” Jared dug out a business card and slapped it on the bar. “If you see her, can you tell her I’m looking for her?”

  Why the hell had she snuck out of his apartment—his bed—that morning?

  Jared knew he was a considerate lover. She’d had a good time. He’d made sure of it. And the sex had been…awesome.

  He didn’t even know her last name.

  Damn. It.

  “Will do.” Brian grabbed Jared’s card and thumbtacked it to the corkboard on the wall behind the bar.

  You have a case. Stop thinking about her.

  “Can I ask you one other thing?”

  “Shoot.”

  Jared grabbed Joe’s picture from inside his jacket and flashed it before the bartender. “Have you seen this guy around here?”

  Brian gripped the picture and studied it. Then he shook his head.

  Relief mixed with a second dose of disappointment washed over him. All day his thoughts had zoomed from Renee to Joe and back. Chaos in his head. He couldn’t make sense of either of them.

  He’d read the FBI case file—twice. Stared at all the pictures. A few more shots of Joe. An oversized bald guy—Michael ‘Moose’ Gentile. A pretty girl named Brandelyn Willis, who didn’t look much like a car thief. According to the files, the girl was the gang’s computer genius. It al
so said she’d been involved in a relationship with his brother.

  Four more guys, Richard Wilkins, Eric ‘Rowdy’ Vargas, Sean McKinley, who went by ‘Mack’, and lastly a blond guy named Carter Bennett, who was cited to be Joe’s second in command.

  Report after report from the dead agent, John Murray. Detailed dossiers on all of Joe’s gang. Crimes, contacts, the works. Even things they were suspected of, but there was no proof they’d pulled off.

  His brother’s gang wasn’t average car thieves. They were organized, did their research, and were most definitely high tech. They were allegedly responsible for the theft and sale of millions and millions of dollars’ worth of every luxury and sports car brand imaginable.

  Bottom line—they were good. More than good.

  Rarely did anyone get hurt. No one killed. Which only solidified that Joe Pompa wasn’t a killer.

  So who killed the FBI agent found in their midst?

  The rest of the gang was suspected to be out west, Nevada or California, but Joe was said to have fled with the girl and the bald guy, Michael Gentile after the murder.

  John Murray’s body had turned up on a riverbank on the Texas-Oklahoma border. Several hundred miles from the location of the gang’s last job—and the last place Murray had checked in from.

  “On second thought, this guy does kinda look familiar, Detective.”

  Brian’s voice jarred Jared and his fingers shook when he accepted the photo back from the bartender. He made his eyes graze the picture before sticking it back in his pocket. “Yeah? So you’ve seen him?”

  Has Joe been here after all?

  Casual. Just act casual.

  “Hmmm, maybe. But if I have, I don’t know if it was here or somewhere else. A lot of people come and go, not always regulars.”

  Jared forced a smile. “I get it. If you see him again, or remember anything, can you give me a call? My cell’s on that card I gave you.”

  “You bet, Detective. You sure you don’t want a drink?”

  “No thanks, I’m actually working.”

  Brian nodded. “Lemme know if you need anything.”

  “Will do.”

  A guy slipped onto the barstool two down from Jared and ordered a beer. With one last head nod, the youngest McAuley left to do his job.

  It was happy hour until seven-thirty, so people were pouring into the bar.