Dreamspinner Press Year Three Greatest Hits

by Jenna Hilary Sinclair

  Danny’s eyes went wide, the muscle in his jaw clamping tight as he prepared himself for the pain. Miller had always been a master at honing in on a suspect’s weak spot. And once discovered, he had absolutely no compunction about pushing it—hard. Whether it was the sobbing wife out in the waiting room, the adored child destined for the endless foster care roulette, or the actual physical injury that Danny Butler was sporting now, Miller always went for the jugular once he found the vein.

  But now, with his face pressed up into Danny’s, watching those green eyes watch him, he found he couldn’t do it. Didn’t have it in him to bring his thumb down and gouge out the answer he wanted.

  What the fuck’s wrong with you, Miller? Do it. Do it!

  He lowered his hand, pushed back slightly to give Danny some breathing room. “What’s it gonna be, Danny?”

  Danny stared at him with wary eyes, his tongue sneaking out to rub once across his upper lip. “Yeah,” he said after an endless moment of silence. “I’ll help you.” He turned toward the door and looked over his shoulder, voice mocking. “But only because you need it so fucking bad, Sutton.”

  SUTTON LED Danny into the empty hallway, gesturing him toward a wooden bench screwed to the floor with rusted bolts. The whole contraption tilted dangerously, threatening to pitch anyone seated there onto the ground.

  Danny sat anyway, his fingers sticking to the splintery wood. He didn’t want to picture the combination of bodily fluids that caused the tackiness under his skin. He watched Sutton walk away, surprised there wasn’t more swagger in his step. The bastard had gotten what he wanted, hadn’t he?

  Danny’s lips tingled, the tips of his fingers and toes numb. He didn’t want to pass out; partly out of pride, partly because he didn’t trust Sutton to pick him up off the floor. He tried to put his head between his knees and take deep breaths but his side screamed too loudly to allow that kind of movement.

  It’s not only the cut that’s making you light-headed. It’s the thought of how many pieces Hinestroza is going to chop you into when he finds out what you’re doing that’s really making you sick.

  Danny’s foot bounced against the floor, fingers drumming a staccato rhythm on the wall. He had never been good at sitting still. Or following orders. Be damned if he would sit on the bench like some dog told to stay. He stood on wobbly legs, feet heavy as lead blocks, and hobbled down the hall in search of Sutton. If he was selling his soul to the Feds, then he expected some help in return. Accepting a death-sentence assignment had to involve a few perks.

  He followed the sound of voices around the corner to a small office, where Sutton and a short guy with a bad comb-over were in the middle of an argument. Danny had a fleeting thought of retracing his steps and walking out the front doors. But Sutton would only have to follow the blood—a vampire movie version of the breadcrumb trail.

  “Hey,” Danny called from the hall, voice unsteady. “I’m not fucking around. I need a doctor.”

  Sutton turned his head, ran his eyes up and down Danny. “We’re working on it,” he said, his manner vaguely bored, as though Danny were complaining about a splinter.

  Danny leaned against the wall, and then slid down onto his ass, leaving a shiny red streak in his wake. Fuck it, whole place needed a paint job anyway. The cold linoleum bit through his jeans, revving his shivers up into high gear. Sutton and the short guy were giving each other hell, their words floating out to Danny as the volume increased.

  “He needs stitches,” Sutton said, biting off each word.

  “No shit! I tried to tell you that a half hour ago. Take him to the emergency room.”

  “Why can’t one of your officers take him and then bring him back here?”

  “Because, Special Agent Sutton, you Feds have taken over this case. He’s not my fucking problem anymore. You’re so anxious for Mr. Butler, have at him.”

  “Whenever you two are done fighting over me, I’ll be right here, bleeding to death,” Danny interjected.

  He heard the sharp click of footsteps. Sutton’s annoyed face flashed out at him as the door shut with a bang. Danny rested his head against the wall and let his eyelids drift downwards.

  “Hey. Hey!” A rough hand shoved his shoulder, snapping him back to consciousness.

  He peeled his eyes open. “What?” he asked around a throat full of glass.

  “Don’t pass out on me,” Sutton instructed, taking a cell phone from his pocket.

  “I wasn’t passed out, I was resting,” Danny corrected, not entirely sure if the distinction was true.

  “I have to make some calls. Sit tight.”

  “Easy for you to say. Your ribs aren’t sticking out of your skin like toothpicks.”

  Sutton ignored him, turned his back halfway when his phone call was answered. Danny shifted slightly on the floor, straining to hear.

  “It’s Sutton. Yeah, I’ve got him. He’s going to need medical attention for—” Sutton paused, listened. “I know. Who should take him? No. No!” A heavy sigh, then Sutton ran a hand across his face. “Yeah, fine. You got someone watching his place? Okay. We’ll be there later.” He hung up the phone with a snap of his wrist and pivoted to look at Danny.

  “Get up. Let’s get going.”

  Danny leveraged himself off the floor, a groan escaping his lips before he could snatch it back. “You taking me yourself?” he asked, running his mouth to cover the pain.

  “Looks like it.”

  “Wow, how’d I rate that?” He followed Sutton down the hall. “Thought you’d get one of your flunkies to handle it.”

  “I tried that. You’re mine to babysit, apparently. Must be my lucky night.” Sutton didn’t sound pleased and his pace didn’t slow on Danny’s account; he was already half a hallway’s length ahead, his suit-clad legs in a hurry to reach their destination.

  Sutton looked good in a suit; Danny would give him that. Danny had always liked men in suits, with their crisp shirts, shiny ties, and polished shoes cracking against the floor. Maybe because growing up in a small town he’d never seen men dressed that way. Seemed like a better world than the one he’d come from. It was sure as hell a step up from the one he lived in now. Men in suits gave the appearance of having made something of themselves, of being in control inside and out—even if it was all an illusion. Those men weren’t going to turn their lives into the kind of fucked-up mess Danny’s had become.

  Danny and Sutton rounded the corner at the end of the hall, dumping them out into the main area of the police station, where officers swarmed like flies. The room was reminiscent of every police station Danny had ever frequented: busy, loud, run-down. The same ever-present fluorescent lights as in the interrogation room, several bulbs flickering and snapping to cast gloomy shadows on the desks below. There were even a few obligatory handcuffed suspects spewing obscenities at unimpressed detectives. Danny could see a corner of the waiting area up ahead, small children crowded onto chairs for the privilege of watching their fathers or mothers paraded in front of them shackled at wrist and ankle. Just setting foot in the place sucked the life out of you.

  “Wait here,” Sutton commanded as he walked over to a uniformed cop sitting with his hip perched on the edge of a cluttered desk. Danny recognized the cop as the one who’d pulled him out of the window and slapped the cuffs on him, giving Danny’s exposed ribs a not-too-gentle nudge with his boot as a parting gift.

  The cop didn’t seem to like Sutton any more than he had Danny. Whatever Sutton said caused the cop to stand up tall, pushing his body into Sutton’s personal territory. Danny wished he had a cigarette so he could sit back and enjoy the show.

  “I said get rid of it,” Sutton barked. His voice drifted across the room, causing heads to turn from surrounding desks.

  “I already did the paperwork, I can’t just—”

  Sutton leaned forward, hand cupped around his ear. “Am I hearing this right? Are you arguing with me?” One long finger came forward and poked the cop in the chest. “Lose it. I’m not
saying it again.”

  Danny didn’t know which man to root for in this fight, considering he wasn’t exactly feeling warm and fuzzy toward law enforcement types as a whole. He’d have to put his money on Sutton, though, if it came to blows. The quiet ones always threw the hardest punches.

  The cop picked up a sheaf of papers from the desk and held them in front of Sutton’s face. He shred them with dramatic flair before letting the pieces flutter to the floor. Sutton looked down, and then stepped away from the mess as though it were a pile of fresh dog shit.

  “Come on.” Sutton grabbed Danny’s upper arm in an iron grip and pulled him toward the main doors.

  “What was that about?” Danny asked.

  “Your arrest paperwork. I want it to disappear.”

  Danny snorted. Well, it’s official. I’m fucked. “That’s your big plan? Tear up some paper? Hate to tell you this, Sutton, but that’s not going to throw Hinestroza off our scent for a single second.”

  “Let me worry about the details.”

  “Why is that not comforting me? Shouldn’t—”

  “That’s him, right there! Right there!” The shriek cut across the din, pulling Danny up short.

  “Oh, shit,” he breathed, following the sound of the voice to its source.

  “What?” Sutton looked in the direction of Danny’s gaze. “Is that Amanda?” he asked sharply.

  Danny cocked his head. “How’d you know about my ex-wife?”

  “Told you already, Danny. I know everything about you,” Sutton said, not taking his eyes off the woman in front of them. Only her upper half was visible from where they stood: all glossy auburn hair, vibrant red lipstick, and a skin-tight T-shirt that hugged every curve.

  “Danny!” she yelled, waving both hands. “Danny!”

  Sutton stepped in front of him, obstructing Amanda’s view. “Get rid of her,” he demanded as Amanda came barreling past.

  “Oh my God, Danny! I’ve been worried sick. You never called me back after you were pulled over.” Amanda belatedly noticed Danny’s blood-soaked shirt. Her already strident voice went up an octave or two. “Danny, what happened?”

  “I got hurt during the traffic stop, hon. It’s nothing,” Danny soothed.

  “Nothing? You’re bleeding!” Amanda focused angry eyes on Sutton. “Is he under arrest?”

  “No, ma’am.”

  “Then why the hell have you kept him here?”

  “Amanda—”

  “We had to fill out reports, ma’am,” Sutton cut in.

  “While he was hurt?” She shot Sutton a withering glance. “Typical. Come on, Danny. Let’s get you to the hospital.”

  Sutton moved forward, blocking her progress. “Actually, I’ll be taking him. Liability reasons.”

  “Liability?” Amanda’s eyebrows snapped together.

  Oh, fuck. Danny was on a first-name basis with that look. Amanda’s fuses were blowing faster than an overloaded circuit breaker. And if this dustup escalated to punches, Sutton would definitely be the one going down.

  “It means we’re taking care of our legal obligations,” Sutton explained, his voice patient but the muscle in his jaw a ticking time bomb.

  “I know what liability means. Jesus Christ. Don’t think because you’re taking him to the hospital that means we won’t sue your asses!”

  “Yes, ma’am,” Sutton managed through gritted teeth.

  Danny rubbed Amanda’s back lightly and said, “Hon, it’s okay. Let me get patched up and I’ll give you a ring later.”

  “You’d better call me the minute you get home,” Amanda instructed. She jabbed at his chest with a hot-pink nail to let him know she meant business.

  “Sure thing,” Danny nodded. He and Sutton were quiet as they watched Amanda walk out the door.

  “She seems like a handful,” Miller remarked once she was gone. His voice was mild enough, but his nose wrinkled up as if he smelled yesterday’s garbage.

  “You have no idea,” Danny said with a laugh, and instantly felt like a bastard. God knew he owed more loyalty to Amanda than to the asshole standing beside him. He cut himself off mid-chuckle.

  Sutton sighed, rubbed the back of his neck with one hand. “Make sure you check in with her, like you said. We need to keep this contained. If she gets worried, she’ll start making phone calls. We don’t want that.”

  “Fine,” Danny said, pushing his way outside. Chill air hit him full in the face. Fall had definitely arrived; not quite six o’clock and it was already dark, the streetlights illuminating small patches of sidewalk, the rest left to drown in shadowy pools. “Shit, when’d it get so cold?” He crossed his arms, feeling the loss of the leather jacket forgotten in the backseat of his car. Probably in some impound lot by now.

  “It’s not that bad yet,” Sutton remarked, tilting his face upward. The slight breeze blew his blond hair off his forehead. His face relaxed for a split second, giving Danny a glimpse of the man behind the badge. Danny was surprised to realize it was a face he might be interested in getting to know better under different circumstances.

  Yeah, like circumstances that don’t involve Sutton being willing to sell your ass out if it gets him a better shot at Hinestroza.

  Sutton returned his eyes to Danny. “I’ll bring the car around so you don’t have to walk.” It was the first time all night he’d given any indication that Danny’s injury mattered in the least.

  MILLER LEFT Danny sitting on the stone balustrade outside the police station. He didn’t worry about him running. There wasn’t anywhere he could go that Miller wouldn’t find him. Miller’s footfalls crackled loudly on the deserted sidewalk, his passage breaking the brittle backs of newly fallen leaves. He could smell the acrid scent of smoke, someone in a nearby home eager to embrace the coming winter. A few lopsided jack-o’-lanterns leered at him from empty porches.

  He pulled the dark blue Crown Victoria around to the front of the police station, fumbling in the glove compartment for some cigarettes as Danny limped down the steps, his face a twisted grimace. Miller leaned over and pushed open the passenger door.

  He was not in the mood for this. It may have been the local cops who had delivered Danny Butler to his proverbial doorstep, but he didn’t feel particularly grateful. He hadn’t busted his ass all these years to play nursemaid. It should be some doughnut-eating patrolman’s job.

  “Can I ride in the back?” Danny asked, leaning down.

  “Sure. If you want.” Miller shrugged and hauled the door closed again.

  Danny climbed into the rear of the car, stretching his long legs out on the seat. “Don’t know if I can sit up straight,” he explained, leaning back against the door. “Jesus, do all cops drive the same fucking car? No wonder we can spot you a mile away.”

  “We vary the colors,” Miller said, deadpan, eyes on the road.

  “Got an extra smoke?”

  Miller held the pack over the seat and Danny snatched a cigarette with nimble fingers. “Which hospital?” he asked.

  “St. Luke’s.”

  “I usually go to St. Joseph’s.”

  “What, you’ve got a frequent patron card there or something? They patch up two gunshot wounds, your next one is free?”

  “Funny,” Danny breathed, his exhaled smoke floating forward to tangle with Miller’s mid-air. “For your information, I’ve never been shot.”

  “I know.” Miller waited a beat. “Knife wound to the right lower back, done with a homemade shank while in Marion. Knife wound to the left thigh, almost bled to death from that one, wouldn’t tell the hospital how it happened. And a fractured skull while in Leavenworth. Scar underneath your hair, back of the head.”

  “Somebody’s done their homework,” Danny observed, unimpressed. “Want a gold star? And don’t forget to add tonight’s to the list. Have a feeling it’s going to leave a nasty mark.”

  Miller grunted, rolled down the window to let some fresh air into the smoky interior.

  “Hey,” Danny said suddenly. “I
’m not feeling so great. Think I might be sick.”

  “For God’s sake,” Miller muttered, throwing a crumpled McDonald’s sack into the back seat. “If you’re gonna puke, puke in that.”

  “Anybody ever tell you that you’ve got a lousy bedside manner?”

  Miller’s mouth quirked up, a grin flirting with the corners. “It has been mentioned,” he said, catching Danny’s eye in the rearview mirror and then looking away quickly.

  The last thing Miller wanted was to become friends with Danny Butler. Miller had a mission. He had to remain focused on a single goal: Hinestroza. In order to achieve it, he needed to draw Danny in while at the same time maintaining professional distance. Feelings couldn’t enter into the equation. All part of the game.

  When did a man’s life become a game to you, Miller? He may be a drug dealer, but that’s still pretty fucking cold. You got ice in your veins now?

  The emergency room was relatively quiet when they arrived. They’d beaten the wee hours’ rush, when all the drunks with smashed-bottle lacerations and head trauma from flying through their windshields would come rolling in. The bored front desk clerk handed them a pen and reams of paperwork to fill out, pointing them toward a row of beat-up chairs. The ripped vinyl spewed dirty pieces of foam that clung to the bottoms of their shoes.

  Miller would have loved to cut through the red tape, flash his badge and start rapping out orders. But he couldn’t risk it. Danny’s future breathing prospects would take a nosedive if Hinestroza found out an FBI agent had accompanied him to the hospital.

  Miller settled in to wait, something he was fairly good at once he accepted the need for it. Not so Danny, who was driving him nuts with his constant fidgeting, shifting, humming, and clicking of the pen he was using to fill out the hospital forms.

  “Jesus,” Miller snapped. “Can’t you fucking sit still?”

  “Apparently not.” Danny didn’t glance up from his lap where he attempted to balance the papers on his knees and write, while clutching at his side with his free hand.