Hard Justice

by April Hunt

  “He drove a lot of people crazy,” Vince joked, wiping his suddenly damp hands on his pants. “That was part of his charm.”

  Dawn’s smile grew before a more somber look melted it away. “I have to admit, I didn’t think you’d call.”

  “And I have to admit, I wasn’t going to.”

  She offered him a knowing nod. “What changed your mind, if you don’t mind my asking?”

  “Something a friend said—that keeping myself chained to regrets wasn’t going to get me where I want to be in life…or allow me to be who I want to be.”

  “She sounds like a smart woman. I hope you plan on holding on to her really damn tight.”

  Vince lifted an eyebrow. The tightening in his chest eased at her little chuckle. “How do you know that friend’s a woman?”

  Dawn grinned. “Because only someone you love can make you do something you don’t really want to do. Well, that, and the day we ran into each other on the pier, I saw the pretty blonde you were with. She’s gorgeous. And she looked like she made you happy.”

  Vince didn’t bother setting her straight, or telling her about his and Charlie’s cover. Charlie did make him happy. And pissed him off. And put him at ease. And drove him bat-shit crazy. He was still figuring it the hell out.

  Baby steps.

  Vince clutched his coffee cup a little tighter than necessary, not realizing it until a splash of hot liquid ran over his hand. He forced himself to lighten his grip. “Dawn, I know this isn’t going to erase what happened to Rico but…”

  Fuck, this was hard.

  “I’m sorry.” Vince pushed through the lump forming in his throat. “I promised to bring him back to you and I didn’t. As a matter of fact, you were right at the funeral when you blamed me for his death. I’m the one that got him killed. You should hate my fucking guts.”

  Dawn watched him a beat longer and, when he’d prepped himself for a good grovel, she reached out and squeezed his arm. Instead of judgment in her eyes, there was concern.

  “I don’t hate you, Vince.” Sincerity drenched her words. “And I’m sorry if I ever made you feel as though I blamed you for what happened, because I don’t. I was in a bad place during Ricky’s memorial service. I’d lost my best friend and husband. I was pregnant and alone, recently fired from my job for having been out for so long on bed rest. My father had just been diagnosed with colon cancer, and my mother was a wreck. It felt like entire world was against me.”

  “And I added to it.”

  She shook her head. “No. Vince, I was an emotional, hormonal mess. If anyone should be apologizing, it’s me, for how I behaved.”

  He heard her words, but they didn’t make sense. He shook his head repeatedly. “No.”

  “Yes.” She gripped his arm tighter, regaining his attention. “Rico and I knew what his kind of life could mean for our future. I wasn’t delusional. Every time he walked out the door, there was a chance he wouldn’t be walking back through it. Did he ever tell you he’d wanted to put in for retirement?”

  That took him by surprise, and he finally met her gaze. “He didn’t say a damn thing about that.”

  “That’s because I couldn’t let him do it. I saw what making that decision did to him. If he wasn’t working alongside you and the others on Team Five, he wouldn’t have felt whole. I couldn’t expect him to live that way. We decided—together—that he’d stay.”

  This was all news to Vince. And he wasn’t sure how he felt about it.

  Dawn graced him with a small, sad smile and sat back in her chair. “I don’t blame you, Vincent. Of course I wish he was still here. I miss him every day, but I have a little piece of him with me forever. Richelle is so much like him that sometimes I stare into her eyes, and I swear I see him looking back at me.”

  She glanced at the shiny ring on her left hand, something he’d neglected to see on the pier. “I found someone who adores both Richelle and me. He’s good to us. He loves Richelle as if she were his own. We’re happy.”

  Vince worked his throat. “I told Rico I’d take care of the two of you, and I’ve done a piss-poor job of it, so I’m glad someone else stepped up.”

  She studied him carefully, so long that even Vince shifted awkwardly in his seat. Christ, the woman could have a lucrative career in interrogation and not even say a damn word.

  Suddenly, her mouth went lax. “It’s you, isn’t it?”

  “What is?”

  “You’re the source of the mystery account. You have no idea how long I argued with the bank when the statements first came rolling in—that it must be a mistake. That even though my dream was to find extra money lying around, it didn’t happen in real life.”

  He couldn’t deny it, but he also couldn’t take credit for it. “Like I said, I needed to make sure you and the baby were taken care of.”

  Dawn’s smile turned watery. “I’m not going to tell you that you shouldn’t have done it—even though you shouldn’t have. But it did help us, especially in the beginning while we navigated our way through Rico’s benefits. But we don’t need your help anymore, Vince.”

  She slid her hand over his fingers and squeezed. “Richelle and I are good now. What I need is for you to find your good place too…and something tells me you’re going to find it in that pretty blonde.”

  Fuck. Was she right?

  Vince didn’t need to think about it long, because the answer flooded him like a tsunami.

  Yes.

  Charlie was his good place. She put him in a good place. It was why the harder he tried to stay away, the more he kept going back, whether it involved bickering, training, or hell, sex. She’d challenged him, but in a good way…in a way that kicked his fucking ass into gear and calmed him, both physically and mentally.

  Vince blew out a slow breath, feeling like a moron for having overlooked what was right in front of him the entire time. “It’s looking like that may be the case.”

  “Then why are you still sitting here with me?” Dawn’s coy smile made him chuckle.

  Vince’s cell rang, and he picked it up without checking the caller I.D. “Franklin.”

  “Shit, man.” Logan sighed heavily on the other end. “I hope you own stock in Chap Stick because you’re about to be doing a lot of fucking ass-kissing.”

  “And who’s ass am I supposed to be kissing?” Vince smirked.

  “Charlie has your freaking phone, smart-ass. And you have hers.”

  Logan’s meaning took a minute to sink in. Vince’s back went ramrod straight. “What did you leave?”

  “Oh, you know…not much. Just that her program linked Torres to the last four missing girls in some way, shape, or form—and that twelve years ago, Charlie barely escaped an abduction situation herself, which is why she’s been so goddamned adamant about taking the fucking case.” By the end of his rant, Logan was practically yelling.

  Vince slammed his hand against the table and hissed under his breath, “Fuckin’-A, Callahan! Why would you leave that kind of information on my voice mail?”

  “Do not shoot the fucking messenger, man. Look what the hell you’re grabbing before you leave the room…or better yet, talk to your fucking partner!”

  Fucking-A, he was right. “Tell Stone we may need the team here sooner rather than later. Something tells me this isn’t going to end up dressed with a pretty fucking bow.”

  “He’s already ahead of you. We’re about to board the jet now…should be wheels down in Miami in a few hours. In the meantime, try and use the fire extinguisher on our girl.”

  Vince hung up the phone. Fuck. He’d have to find her first.

  “That didn’t sound good.” Dawn’s brow furrowed in concern.

  “It’s not. I’m pretty sure I fucked up my happy place.”

  “Then you better haul ass and fix it.” She stood and she shooed him with her hands. “Go on. Get out of here. If you mess up your happy place because you’re standing here with me, then I’m going to be the one who feels guilty. Besides, I’m go
ing to want to meet the woman capable of keeping you in line.”

  “She may kick my ass to the curb before you get the chance.”

  Dawn rolled her eyes. “I have a feeling she can be persuaded to your way of thinking.”

  With a rushed good-bye, Vince hightailed it back to their second rental and started dialing his phone before he even turned on the ignition. When Charlie didn’t pick up, he called the club. Six redials later, Tina finally picked up.

  “Where’s Charlie?” he asked without preamble.

  “Oh, you mean Miss Personality? She finished her techie thing and booked it out of here like her panties were on fire—and not in a good way. And speaking of fire…it may have been a while since my cousin and I have spent quality time together, but I have a good enough memory to recall what it’s like when she’s about to go on a rampage. My guess is that you—somehow—screwed up. Am I right?”

  “Did she say where she was going?” Vince ignored the banter.

  “No, but I heard her mumbling something about being lied to by everyone.”

  “If you hear from her, tell her not to do anything stupid. And if you hear from Brock Torres, don’t say anything, and call me. Immediately.”

  “Why would I—” Tina’s head must’ve been spinning. “You can’t possibly believe Brock is behind what’s been happening at the club.”

  “He has access to the club. He’s been at the club. And he has a link to the last four missing girls.”

  “No. You don’t understand he wouldn’t—”

  “I mean it, Tina. Be careful.” Vince hung up and dialed one more number as he navigated the busy Miami streets and headed downtown.

  “Calling to apologize?” Logan’s voice teased. “I’m fond of bluebonnets. They remind me of home.”

  “Ping my phone and tell me my gut’s wrong.”

  Logan must’ve been prepped because, a few seconds later, he uttered the location Vince dreaded hearing.

  “Goddamn it, English, what the fuck do you think you’re doing?” he grumbled softly before addressing his teammate. “When you get here, use our phones to follow our trails. I have a feeling my hands are going to be too full to answer any calls.”

  “And what the fuck are you going to be doing?”

  What he should’ve done from the very fucking beginning. “Backing up my partner. And Logan?”

  “Yeah?”

  “Hustle the fuck up.”

  Vince blew the upcoming red light and cut off a cabbie in the middle of the next. A few dozen blocks had never seemed so far away.

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Charlie parked outside of Inked Up and glanced around the block. Nothing looked out of the norm for the industrial area of town. What few cars were parked along the streets were either abandoned or belonged to city workers who’d shuttled into their work sites.

  After grabbing Gregor from the glove box, Charlie checked her ammunition clip and stuffed the gun into the back of her pants. Bells jingled when she stormed into the tattoo shop, but unlike the last time she’d been there, no one blocked her route toward the back. The shop stood suspiciously empty until Eric came around the corner, eyes widening in surprise.

  “Charlie! Not that I don’t like seeing you, but what are you doing here?” His attention shifted toward the hall and back.

  “Where’s Brock?” She kept walking in the direction of his private office.

  Eric hustled after her. “I think he’s in the middle of something. Maybe you could try back later…or better yet, I’ll tell him you stopped by.” When she didn’t slow, he skidded into her path. Points to him for looking a little wary, if not scared. “I’m sorry, Char, but I can’t let you go back there right now.”

  Charlie kept her voice even. “And I’m sorry, Eric, but if you don’t move aside, I’m going to have to move you myself.”

  Eric nibbled on his bottom lip, looking nervous. “Charlie, please.”

  “Sorry, love. But I’m not going to ask again.”

  With a hefty sigh, he stepped aside. Brock’s office door hung wide open, and when she walked through, he was on the phone. He glanced up casually, almost as if he expected her visit.

  “Yeah, she’s here,” he said to the person on the other line. “I’ll call you back.”

  “Why?” Charlie demanded angrily. “Why the bloody hell would you do something like this? Help me understand because I’m drawing a blank.”

  “Why don’t you explain to me what it is I’ve done.” Brock leaned back in his seat, eerily calm as he folded his arms across his chest.

  “Do not play games with me!” Charlie smacked her hands on the desk. “After everything we’ve been through together, are you really going to sit here and lie to me?”

  He remained frustratingly quiet.

  “What the hell happened to you, Brock? Huh? You went from hating everything Arturo and your father stood for to jumping on their payroll? And what about Homeland? You’re seriously choosing to be one of the bastards you’ve sworn an oath to put in jail?”

  Brock looked momentarily surprised by her knowledge, but he reined it in quickly. “According to you, I’ve gone off the deep end already. Kidnapping, right? I’ve been luring women from my past to Sinful Delights and then nabbing them?”

  Charlie’s blood went cold. “Who was on the phone, Brock?”

  “Does it matter? You’ve stormed in here, acting the part of judge and executioner.” Despite the fact that Charlie had once seen the man in front of her as a brother, she prepped herself to be ready to move at a moment’s notice. Brock stood, no longer laid-back and easygoing. “I’m not going to waste my time or yours in trying to convince you of my innocence. But it hurts, Sunshine…you believing I’ve stooped so low as to trap and sell innocent women.”

  “Why not? I foolishly believed you befriended me without any ulterior motive…Agent Torres.” Charlie lifted her chin, refusing to back down. “I’d told myself I’d hallucinated you being on the dock that night because I’d wanted so badly to be rescued. But I didn’t imagine it. You were there. You lied about who you were twelve years ago, and you’re lying again. Admit it.”

  “You’re right. I am lying. Because I hate my father and Arturo more than I did even back then.”

  “So you wanted to kill two birds with one stone? Is that it? Get back at everyone who ever did you wrong while simultaneously bringing down my uncle?” Charlie asked the question, but it lacked venom. Something in Brock’s eyes didn’t scream evil human-trafficking mastermind.

  “Revenge isn’t my style, Charlie. I’m a firm believer karma’s going to come for people when their time’s due. I don’t need to do anything to help it along.” Brock looked almost…weary. “And as for frequenting Sinful Delights—you’re right. I do go there pretty frequently, but I’m sure as hell not scoping victims. Hell, I’ve been trying to end all the damn trafficking since that night I found you in that fucking crate—which by the way, I’m convinced wasn’t a random occurrence.”

  Charlie’s breath hitched. Focus. Head on straight—and on the immediate problem.

  “But you guessed that already, didn’t you?” Brock came around the side of his desk and leaned his ass against the edge. “Otherwise, it wouldn’t have been so easy to convince you to leave Miami. Something told you that you’d pushed things too far and that if you didn’t make tracks, it was a matter of time before something happened, and no one would be around to save you.”

  Something knotted in Charlie’s stomach, bringing a wave of nausea. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. I wasn’t the only one taken. They found five other girls.”

  “Runaways. Street kids. Kids who already had one foot over the border. You never fit the profile, Charlie. They were targeted because of who they weren’t. You were targeted because of who you were.”

  “Arturo’s niece.”

  Brock shook his head, his eyes almost returning to the warm brown of the man she used to call friend. “If they wanted to shake up Artur
o, they would’ve nabbed Tina. They took you for a reason and, even though I can’t prove it, I think it has something to do with your conspiracy theory involving your mother’s death.”

  Charlie’s blood turned to ice. “What does my mother’s accident have to do with my abduction?”

  “I think you got too close to finding out the truth, Sunshine,” Brock stated gently. “And I think whoever was responsible for tampering with the car panicked, and tried to get rid of you to save their own ass.”

  * * *

  Vince pointed the hunk-of-junk rental car in the direction of Inked Up, wishing like hell for the power of his truck’s V-8 engine. Every second that ticked by solidified the cement brick resting in his fucking stomach.

  No amount of meditation would lessen the jumble of nerves making his foot press harder on the gas pedal.

  “Goddamn it,” Vince growled, practically pushing the damn thing to the floorboard and getting only a faint hum for his efforts. “Hunk of fucking junk.”

  Vince’s phone rang. He picked it up immediately. “Franklin.”

  “Where are you?” Logan sounded more than a little tense.

  “I’m a few blocks out from Torres’s tattoo shop. Why?”

  “It’s not Torres.”

  Vince held his phone so tight it creaked. “What the fuck are you talking about? You said there was a goddamned link.”

  “Let me rephrase that for you, it’s not Brock Torres.”

  It took Vince a second to register. “Anthony. Arturo’s head of security.”

  “Looks like he’s had his eye on more than Arturo’s safety for the last few years. Ever since Arturo’s health began failing, the man’s slowly been naming himself Franconi’s successor. One guess who wasn’t behind Arturo turning all his holdings on the straight and narrow?”

  “How do you know this for sure?”

  “Charlie had me digging into the firm currently running the club’s security specs. The owner has a rap sheet a mile long that even a few name changes couldn’t hide. Trey went to New Jersey and rattled the guy up a little bit. Turns out Anthony Torres paid him—and not any measly little sum—to not only tamper with the club’s security system, but make it look like the goal was guest information when in reality—”