Collision Control

by C. A. Szarek

  Anger roiled Jared’s gut. Instead of pulling away, he got right back in his partner’s face. “You’re gonna wanna let me go, before you get hurt.”

  Stress from everything stirred in his head—fucking up his thoughts like it had at Mel’s.

  Mel.

  Jared refused to add her as a causality of his situation.

  “Whoa, guys.” Pete’s voice was calm, even as he shot to his feet. He threw his palms out, but Cole and Jared both ignored their fellow detective.

  They were almost equal in height and bulk, so if they came to blows, it could go either way.

  Jared clutched the anger with both hands, because it gave him relief from the pain and confusion that had been swirling around in his head and heart for weeks concerning his brother.

  Cole was like a brother to him, too.

  It didn’t stop him.

  He shoved his partner backwards. The wall gave him leverage and they ended up in the center of the room. “I did what I had to do,” Jared bit out.

  “Fuck you, Jared.” Cole pushed him in return, and he stumbled.

  He roared, rushing his partner then taking a swing.

  Lucas grunted as Jared’s fist connected with his jaw but he absorbed the hit, planting his feet in the carpet of his and Andi’s living room. Blood trickled down his chin.

  “Cole!” Andi shouted and ran forward when Jared was making a move to strike again. She slid between them.

  Andi’s eyes widened and a gasp fell from her lips.

  Cole wrapped his arms around his wife and whipped them around, presenting his back to Jared.

  “Jesus Christ,” Pete spat, shoving the coffee table out of his way.

  Jared diverted, but his momentum made him wobble on his feet. He dropped his arm and collapsed in a heap. His ass hit the carpet hard enough to make his muscles smart. His holster bit into his hip.

  Anger deflated. His head and shoulders sagged. Regret rolled over him and his pulse pounded in his temples.

  What the fuck are you doing?

  Cole squatted down and got right in his face. “You almost hit my wife,” he growled.

  Jared crushed his eyes shut and sucked in a breath, willing his heart rate to calm. “I’m sorry.”

  “Don’t fucking tell me. Tell her.” Cole pointed to the only female detective on their squad.

  He’d always respected and admired Andi. She was a hell of a cop. And now Jared had disrespected her, her house—her man, in the worst way.

  “Cole, it’s fine—”

  “It’s not fine, Andi.”

  “She’s right.” Jared cleared his throat and met Andi’s blue eyes. “I’m sorry, Andi. I’m a shit.”

  Her partner stood next to her, and Jared winced when Crane muttered agreement.

  “It’s okay,” she repeated.

  The hurt in Mel’s eyes flashed into Jared’s mind and he pushed it away. He couldn’t deal with that at the moment, too.

  Cole, Andi, Mel, even Pete. All people he cared about.

  Jared had to make things right.

  Cole straightened, swiping the back of his hand across his mouth, wiping the blood away. “You want to fucking hit me, fine. You ever get close to harming her, and you won’t like what I do to you, partner.”

  Jared sighed and let Lucas rant. He deserved everything his partner said about him.

  Crane watched in silence, appraising as he often did, his arms crossed over his broad chest, eyes narrowed.

  Jared felt about five years old. He scrambled to his feet and planted his ass hard on the edge of the dark brown ottoman, dragging his hand down his face. “I’m sorry,” he repeated, making his voice louder.

  Cole didn’t stop pacing.

  Andi threw him a sympathetic look and patted his shoulder. At least she’d forgiven him.

  His partner still raved, but he’d moved on to their case and Jared’s secret.

  “Fuck.” Jared sucked in the hundredth breath of the day and thought about Mel against his will. He hadn’t told her much about his case—hell, he couldn’t—but he wished she was here right now. Her presence always calmed him.

  “I’ll say,” Cole said, pausing in front of him.

  Jared met his partner’s eyes and read mixed emotions there.

  He’d hurt the guy keeping a secret.

  Shit.

  “I do trust you,” he told him.

  Lucas flexed his jaw and nodded.

  “I pretty much fucked myself here. No reason to drag you down with me. I’ll handle this. I’ll call Carrigan. My brother has agreed to turn himself in.”

  Jared needed to call a lawyer. His job was probably gone, too.

  Please, God, don’t let me get jail time.

  Sorrow washed over him when he thought about his parents. Disappointment in their eyes was going to kill him.

  He was torn, because he’d known all along his brother didn’t kill anyone.

  “Fuck that,” Cole spat.

  “What?” Jared squared his shoulders.

  “We’re not calling Carrigan.”

  Shock washed over Jared and he could feel Crane and Andi staring at him and his partner. “Cole—”

  “I want to talk to your brother.”

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Betrayal hit her in the gut and Taylor’s Glock shook in her hands.

  Lucas, too?

  She’d suspected Jared Manning was a dirty cop. Sharing that info with Cole Lucas hadn’t been worth shit.

  Proof was before her eyes. The former FBI agent had deceived her as much as his partner.

  Her gut had screamed at her to stay at the house on Montgomery well after Manning had left for the evening, a few minutes after six.

  The curtains still prevented her from any clues as to who was inside, but she’d stayed. Watched. Ignored her growling—very empty—stomach.

  When Lucas’ blue Dodge Challenger had pulled in the driveway about ten minutes before, Taylor’s heart had almost exited her chest.

  What the hell is going on?

  She’d thought it now and then, but it didn’t answer her questions.

  Taylor had waited in the car. Surely there’d be some logical explanation. She’d see when they came out of the house, right?

  But the minutes ticked by, and they didn’t come out.

  When she left her Impala and approached the house, she’d finally gotten a glimpse of what—who—was inside.

  Taylor couldn’t see his face, but she saw a third dark head through the window on the side of the house. It, too, had a dark curtain, but it was too short.

  A backlit crack allowed a clue to the interior. It looked to be the kitchen and she could see three large male bodies clustered together.

  Her pulse thundered in her temples.

  Pompa?

  Taylor couldn’t be sure. She’d panted, squeezing her eyes shut and sucking in air.

  If the third man was indeed Joe Pompa, what the hell was going on?

  She’d never imagined in a million years that Cole Lucas would be involved in anything illegal.

  Did she now have proof Jared Manning was hiding the man she’d been after for months?

  Maybe Lucas’ protest about his partner had been too vehement after all.

  Taylor had run up onto the porch, anger fueling her way. She’d had to scream at herself to calm down so she could handle this.

  Properly. Safely.

  She wasn’t afraid of Manning and Lucas, but they were armed. If it was Pompa with them, no doubt he was, too.

  Taylor gritted her teeth and slunk closer, flexing her fingers on her weapon’s thick grip.

  Her mind screamed caution. She ignored it.

  There was no one to help her—no backup she could call. She needed to act now. Against her inner do-gooder, rule-follower, safely didn’t mean procedurally this time.

  Sucking in another deep breath, Taylor pushed closer to the house. Siding bit into her shoulder, but she didn’t move away. Not just yet. Needed to calm her
heart rate.

  Three deep voices carried through the door she’d managed to inch open, but she couldn’t make out their words.

  “Here goes nothing.” Her whisper rang in her ears as she shoved away from the side of the house and kicked the door all the way open.

  “Did you hear that?” Lucas’ voice rose then there was silence.

  Taylor could hear them, but she couldn’t see them yet. She glued herself flat to the living room wall and waited, her Glock at the ready.

  “Hold on a sec.” That was Manning, but still no one came into her line of sight.

  Taylor heard the crisp sound of a snap being opened and the creak of leather. Someone must’ve drawn his gun.

  Her eyes darted to the left. She could see hallway that led to unknown territory. The stairwell on the right curved slightly, but Taylor didn’t know how far the kitchen really was.

  She rounded the corner. “Federal agent!” fell from her lips like normal.

  The three males were indeed together in the kitchen, right next a marble-topped island. A round table sat behind them in a breakfast nook, right up against the bay window that matched the one on the front of the big two-story brick house. Except this was the one that had revealed the house’s secret resident.

  Three sets of broad shoulders tensed as Taylor raised her Glock.

  Joe Pompa was standing slightly behind Manning.

  It is Pompa, after all.

  After all this time.

  Her gaze shot from Pompa to Manning and back. “Shit,” she muttered.

  Almost the same height as Manning. Same muscular build, but Pompa had a more streamlined torso. Short hair, instead of too-long and shaggy like the many pictures in her case file. Same dark eyes, high cheekbones, strong jaw line.

  Side by side, they were striking.

  Too similar.

  Manning and Pompa…Pompa and Manning.

  They look alike.

  Too much for it to be coincidence.

  Brothers?

  “Son of a bitch!” Taylor had meant it to be a shout, but it came out a pained whisper.

  The cop and the criminal had to be brothers.

  Both wore expressions that told her they realized what she’d just put together.

  Lucas stepped forward, one palm out flat, the other holding his forty caliber Sig. But the weapon was pointed down, held by his thigh instead of at-the-ready. “Carrigan, holster up. This isn’t what you think.”

  “Bullshit,” Taylor spat. Her voice shook.

  If it wasn’t what she thought, they would’ve had Pompa in cuffs and exited the house minutes after entering, instead of having the conference she’d interrupted.

  “Let me explain,” Manning said.

  Lucas spared his partner a glance before meeting Taylor’s eyes again. “Let us explain.”

  She glued her gaze to Joe Pompa.

  The man she’d been searching for.

  The man who’d killed her fiancé.

  “No.” Taylor raised her Glock. Ignored the curse words that Lucas uttered.

  “Fuck that,” Pompa barked. He whipped an arm around Manning’s neck and yanked the detective against his body.

  Audible breath whooshed out of Manning’s mouth. His dark eyes widened in surprise.

  Lucas tensed in Taylor’s peripheral vision at the same time she straightened her shoulders, but he didn’t raise his weapon.

  The bastard murderer jerked Manning’s gun from the holster in the waist of his jeans. A Sig that matched Lucas’.

  Manning didn’t struggle in his brother’s hold, even as Pompa aimed straight at Taylor.

  She raised her Glock in answer, fighting the shiver that threatened. It’d been a long time since she’d been on the wrong side of a gun barrel. The first kiss of fear inched into her spine, into her arms, but she didn’t let them shake as she took aim.

  Pompa’s eyes were frantic, his jaw clenched tight. His Adam’s apple bobbed and the veins were standing out on both sides of his neck.

  “Joe, what’re you doing? Let me go, give me my gun, and take a breath. This doesn’t have to go down like this.” The detective’s words were calm, betraying no fear that his brother would actually harm him.

  Taylor didn’t let her stare—or her forty—falter.

  This guy’s unpredictable.

  A murderer.

  Pompa waved the gun around. The sheen of sweat beaded his brow. “Fuck that. You know she won’t listen. She doesn’t want justice. She wants me fucking dead.”

  “Put the gun down, or I’ll shoot,” Taylor shouted.

  “No you fucking won’t,” Lucas said. His voice was hard, deadly. The former FBI agent’s eyes narrowed as he slid forward, like he was going to move between Taylor and the brothers. He hesitated, but finally took one step.

  “See? She’s got death on her mind. She doesn’t give a fuck about me. Or what really happened.”

  Taylor tensed even more until her shoulders ached. She swallowed hard.

  “Joe, please.” The plea from Manning was still calm, steady.

  Pompa’s arm around his neck flexed, but he didn’t release his hostage. If anything, he tightened his grip.

  Manning’s hands flew to his brother’s forearm, but if he tugged, it was to no avail. The detective winced, the first sign of any discomfort.

  “Joe. Listen to your brother. This is gonna work out like we talked about,” Lucas said, his gaze shooting daggers at Taylor. “Put the fucking gun down, Carrigan.”

  “No.” Taylor narrowed her eyes.

  “Taylor.” Lucas’s voice dropped. “You don’t know what’s going on. Put it down. Do it. Now.”

  “Fuck this, fuck her,” Pompa said, raising the Sig again.

  He aimed at Taylor.

  “No!” Manning and Lucas shouted at the same time.

  Joe Pompa’s shot went wide, up above her head. Glass shattered from somewhere behind her and made Taylor jump.

  The miss was intentional, but it didn’t change her mind.

  Despite the continued shouting of Lucas and Manning, she pulled the trigger.

  “You fucking shot him!” Jared’s voice had a frantic edge but he didn’t give a shit. “He fired a warning shot. You fucking know he missed on purpose. He just wanted to get away! You fucking killed my brother!”

  He wanted to shake her or choke the shit out of her, but Carrigan watched him rail on with an unreadable expression in her eyes.

  “I called nine-one-one. See if he’s alive, partner.” Cole’s voice was calm.

  It was what Jared needed.

  His gut clenched when he lowered himself to the linoleum floor. Next to his brother’s crumpled form.

  Blood was everywhere, including all over Joe’s clothing and face.

  Jared’s too.

  “Joe.” His brother’s name fell from his lips.

  His brother didn’t move.

  Jared’s chest constricted. Anguish rose from up from his gut and breathing became even more difficult. His hand shook when he felt for a pulse. “He’s alive!”

  Barely.

  The slight press-back on his index and middle fingers was thready at best.

  “Fucking bitch!” Jared barked, looking up at the FBI agent. “He didn’t kill your fucking fiancé. Carter Bennett did.”

  Lucas had told him what her game really was with this case. John Murray hadn’t been her partner. He’d been her lover.

  “Jer.” Cole’s use of his nickname was an admonition, but Jared didn’t look away from Carrigan. “Concentrate on your brother, partner.”

  He looked down at his brother’s face. Too-pale skin underneath the five-o’clock shadow made the blood spatter stand out even more. The right side of his face was covered in blood and a pool had already started beneath his head and shoulders.

  “Head wounds bleed a lot,” Cole was saying. “It might not be as bad as it looks, dude.”

  Jared ignored the words, as well as his partner’s encouraging squeeze on his shoulder.
“Where the fuck are they?”

  They should’ve heard sirens by now. The closest fire station—his dad’s station—was only the next block over.

  Unless the medics were already on a call. There were only two squads.

  No…Joe needs them. Now.

  “They’re coming. Don’t worry.”

  He shook his head, disregarding Cole’s attempt to make him feel better.

  How could he not worry?

  “I just found you again, big brother.” Jared blinked, but his vision didn’t clear. “Don’t leave me now.”

  Cole’s grip on his shoulder tightened, but he couldn’t look up at his partner. He’d never meant to say the words aloud. Great, the guy was going to think he was a pussy. Crying at a scene.

  The word made him still.

  Scene. Like crime scene.

  Murder scene. Death scene.

  He searched his brother’s pallid face. Jared was afraid to feel for a bullet hole—entrance or exit wound—but the thready pulse still pushed against his seeking fingertips.

  Carrigan stood too close for comfort, but Jared couldn’t look up at her, either. He saw shiny wet spots on her black loafers.

  Joe’s blood.

  Jared crushed his eyes shut as soon as sirens finally—fucking finally—greeted his ears.

  It was forever until the paramedics and cops poured into the kitchen of the big house.

  How long’s it been?

  He had to force his legs upright and lock his knees in order to hold himself on his feet as he watched them work on Joe. Jared’s stomach jumped when his brother’s arm flopped off the side of the gurney, but one of the medics just placed it beside him.

  They wasted no time getting Joe up into the ambulance. The slam of one door then the other, resounded in his ears…his heart. Rocked him.

  Please. God. Let him live.

  Over the years, he’d never asked whether they thought someone would live or die. Good thing he didn’t have the balls to start today.

  Jared looked at the FBI agent hovering near the door as Sergeant Crowley and his guys started to set up a perimeter.

  Anger and crippling pain boiled up from his gut and he stomped over to her, ignoring Cole’s shout of his name.

  Maybe his partner thought he was going to hit her.

  Good.

  “He was going to turn himself in,” Jared barked at Carrigan. “You just rushed in here and shot him. You didn’t know what the fuck was going on. He could’ve helped your case.”