by Mazzy King
“Listen to me.” I release her wrists and cup her face. “You’re in the middle of a sting, Hendrix. You’ve got to get out of here. I know you’re mad at me. I deserve that. When this is all over, if you still want to talk to me, I’ll tell you everything. I lied about who I am and what I do, but I was honest when I told you I loved you. No lie there.”
“Colin,” she breathes, her brows rushing together.
I kiss her. “Later. Later. Please, go.”
“Oh, no,” a voice behind her says from the shadows. “Please stay.”
Judo steps out into the pool of light above the door and points a sleek black revolver at us.
Hendrix gapes at him.
“Surprise,” he says in a mock excited tone. Then he looks at me. “Did you really think I wasn’t on to you from the second you brought up the coke? What kind of drug dealer would I be?”
I push Hendrix behind me. “Why here?”
He chuckles. “Why not? Are you kidding me? Do you know how many billionaires are members here? How many politicians? Yeah, I’m a pro shop scrub—on paper. But I’m the biggest dealer of quality blow in this whole city. College campus, restaurants, bars, clubs. And this place. I’ll be a millionaire inside of two months. This is a gold mine. You’d be surprised how many housewives and mid-life-crisis men like their blow. I can’t have you or her fucking that up for me. My suppliers will not appreciate that.” He gestures with his gun around the corner. “You need to come with me.”
“Hendrix, run,” I say over my shoulder through gritted teeth.
“No, you don’t,” Judo says, swiveling the gun back on her. “You can come with me and we can discuss things in private in a calm, rational manner, or I’ll kill you both where you stand.”
“Did you forget about those?” I say, pointing up at the corner of the roof. “Smile, you’re on candid camera.”
I wait for him to turn his head to look, but he doesn’t. “Of course, I didn’t. Those cameras have been disabled since yesterday.”
“I guess I did underestimate you then,” I reply. “I thought you were like all the other drug dealers. Stupid.”
“The coke business is not a game for the stupid, believe me,” Judo replies. “And neither is the narc game. But you’ll never know.” He levels the pistol at me.
I never hung up with Dominic. I hope he’s still on the line. If not, I hope Hendrix will know to call the first number in the call log. Either way, in a burst of motion, I shove the phone into her hands and yell, “Run!”
She doesn’t hesitate, turning to sprint away.
Judo swings the gun toward her.
I leap forward to tackle him and shove his arm up.
He reflexively squeezes the trigger. The shot goes wide, missing her, and we both tumble to the ground. The revolver goes flying.
For a skinny guy, Judo is surprisingly strong. He rolls to his knees, and his first punch to the side of my face almost dazes me—almost. But my training with the Program taught me not to have a glass jaw, so I scramble to my feet and out of the range of his swinging arms.
Then I feel a burning slash across my bicep—he’s got a knife, and he’s fast with it.
Fuck!
We don’t say a word to each other, watching each other tensely as we circle around. He lunges at me, swinging first with the knife, which I sidestep, and then catching me in the chin with another brutal strike.
Just one. I just need one opening. One chance to take him down.
I anticipate his next haymaker, and duck deftly underneath it. I grab his arm, wrapping mine around it in a locking hold, then swing him around and introduce his face to the side of the building.
He lets out a soft oof of pain and then his body goes limp.
I press him to the ground on his belly, put a knee in his back, and wrench both his arms behind him, bending and holding his wrists tight.
That’s how Dominic finds me a couple minutes later, running up with a handful of officers in bulletproof vests, guns out.
“Secure him,” he barks at the other officers.
I back off and let them take over, panting harshly.
Dominic pulls me aside. “You’re bleeding.”
I glance down at my arm. Blood pours from a three-inch-long gash, but up until now, I didn’t even feel it.
“Come on. Let’s get you to a medic.” He leads me away, an arm around my shoulders. “You did damn good, Colin.”
“Yeah, right,” I scoff. “Nothing went to plan.”
“The plan,” Dominic says, “was to get the dealer. That’s exactly what happened.”
“You were still on the line?” I asked.
He nods. “Heard every word. And we passed your girlfriend on the way over. She told us where we could find you.”
“I don’t think she’s my girlfriend anymore,” I say glumly.
We walk over to an ambulance set up in the parking lot across the street, where I sit on the back cargo ledge while a police medic stitches up the gash in my arm and shoots me up with antibiotics.
“Heads up,” Dominic says lightly. “You got some company.”
I glance up from my bottle of water to see my dad and Mr. Whisler walking toward us. Dominic winks at me and walks off back toward the club.
“Son,” my dad says, relief in his voice. He reaches down and hugs me fiercely. “You did an amazing job. Are you all right?” He examines my face.
I nod, becoming aware of my aches and pains with every passing second. “That guy’s got a mean right hook and he’s good with a blade, but I’ll live. I’m guessing the party’s over?”
Mr. Whisler nods. “Yes, we cleared the building out.”
“Is this going to hurt business?” I ask.
“Probably,” Mr. Whisler says quietly. “But I’d rather lose this business than to continue having one where drugs are being dealt and used. I couldn’t live with myself.” He stretches a hand toward me. “Thank you, Colin. Thank you for what you’ve done.”
I shake his hand and nod.
He sighs. “I’m sorry for meddling in your and Hendrix’s relationship. It’s clear to me how much you care about each other.”
I lift a shoulder. “I think that’s a moot point now, sir. I’d be surprised if she ever wanted to speak to me again.” My dad squeezes my shoulder.
But Mr. Whisler smiles slightly. “I wouldn’t be too quick to say so. She’s the kind of young woman who needs time to process things, but she always makes the right choice in the end.”
“Did she get home all right?”
“I think one of the officers gave her a ride.” He tilts his head. “Try her in the morning, okay?”
I smile politely but say nothing.
After Mr. Whisler walks away, my dad looks down at me, ruffling my hair the way he used to when I was a little boy. Strangely, it makes a lump form in my throat.
“Normally, you’d need to come down to headquarters and give a statement,” he says, “but I think that can wait until tomorrow.”
“Thanks,” I say gratefully, standing. “I think I just want to go home and lie down.”
“Want me to come with you?” he asks.
I shake my head, gesturing toward the club where half a dozen squad cars are gathered. “You probably got your hands full.”
“I do,” he admits. “I figured something would go down tonight. That’s why I didn’t bring your mother.”
“Always working, huh?”
“Even when I’m not.” He gives me a tired smile. “Let me walk you to your car.”
He makes sure I’m okay to drive, then heads to join his fellow officers to clean up the mess I can’t help but feel responsible for.
At least Judo’s in custody now. He’ll be forced to give up names or face a long-ass time in prison. The smug elite of the country club will go down, and hopefully, so will his suppliers.
My stomach grumbles, but I just want to get to my apartment and crawl into bed. I can eat later. On the drive, I think about Hend
rix. How much I need to make up to her. I pat my pocket for my cell phone, then remember I gave it to her before she ran off.
And, since I’m a lying liar, I never brought my work phone with me. It’s at home.
Guess I’ll have to wait to call her…
I stop short down the hall from my door. A beautiful, dark-haired woman in a white dress leans against it.
Hendrix gives me a small smile. She’s holding a paper grocery bag in one hand and my cell in the other. “Hey. I figured you’d need this.”
I walk toward her slowly. “What’re you doing here? Your dad said you went home.”
“I asked the officer to bring me here,” she replies. “Your dad gave me your address. Um, if you want to be alone, I’ll leave. I just wanted to make sure you were all right.”
“I’m gonna be fine,” I say, taking another step closer. “I’m more worried about you.”
She draws a deep breath through her nose, then looks up at me. She holds her hand out. “Hi, I’m Hendrix Whisler.”
I stare at it for a beat, then grin. I gently clasp her hand in mine. “Colin Leary. It’s very nice to meet you.”
Her eyes crinkle at the corners. “You too.”
“I, uh, don’t mean to be forward,” I continue, “but do you believe in love at first sight?”
She smiles. “I didn’t use to. Until now.”
I pull her close, and she finishes the distance, pressing her lips to mine for a long, exquisite moment. When she pulls back, she gazes up into my eyes.
“Feel up to talking?” she asks lightly. “I brought food. And medicine.”
I nod. “Yeah. I owe you some answers.”
“I have lots of questions, but…there’s something I want you to know.”
I wrap my arms around her waist. “What’s that?”
Her soft hands cradle my cheeks, her thumb lightly stroking the bruises on my face. “I’m proud of you. And I think you’re a hero.”
I swallow hard. “Thanks.”
She tips her head toward the door. “Want to go inside?”
“Yes. I do.” I reach into my pocket and unlock the door, then lead her in by the hand.
We shuck our fancy clothes. She wears one of my oversized T-shirts, and I pull on a pair of sweats. We climb into my bed and spend the next three hours talking—about everything. I tell her about my life. My drug charge. My work with my dad’s program—careful to only discuss my part in it.
“So, this is the real you,” she says, tracing a finger across my chest.
“The real me,” I reply. “How much do you hate me now?” I’m kidding, but I’m also on edge, anticipating her response.
She puts a finger on her chin, glancing up and to the side as if pondering the question. “Not too much.”
I chuckle. “That’s a relief. I guess I can work with an unrequited love situation.”
Hendrix leans forward and presses her lips gently to mine. “Colin, I do love you. Period.” She carefully slides herself onto my lap, straddling me, and lifts my T-shirt over her head. “How much pain are you in?”
“None at all,” I breathe, beholding her beautiful, naked body.
“Good.” She leans down and kisses me again, deep and hot and moist. “Then let me show you how much I love you.”
Epilogue
Colin
Three months later
“I miss you,” I say into my cell phone, walking toward Ridge City PD headquarters.
Hendrix’s beautiful, musical laugh fills my ear. “You just left me thirty minutes ago, silly.”
“I know. And I miss you.”
“Well, hurry back to me then,” she says in a husky murmur.
“As soon as I can,” I promise. “I’ve got a very special date planned for you tonight.”
“Oh? I thought last night was pretty special.”
“We never left your bedroom.”
“Precisely.”
I grin, my toes curling. “Ah. Well, this date involves actually leaving the house. We need to take advantage, you know. Once the next academy class starts, I’m going to be Ridge City PD’s little bitch.”
“True,” she says. “You don’t sound too upset about it though. I’d say you sound elated.”
“I definitely am.” How could I not be? My dad got my drug charge dropped from my record following my work with the Program. Judo sang like a little bird, giving up his extensive clientele list—my friend being on it—as well as his suppliers.
Finally, being a police captain’s son paid off. My dad and I are closer than ever, and I finally got the chance to follow in his footsteps. I just missed the academy class that’s about to graduate in a couple months, where I hear another former Recruit is training to be a full-fledged officer. But my chance is on the horizon, and now it feels like my future opened up.
And in more ways than one—I’ve been looking for a new, bigger, nicer apartment to live in, and hopefully, I won’t be moving by myself. I plan to ask Hendrix to move in with me. I’m sure she’s going to say yes.
Finally, I reach the doors and head inside. “Gotta go, Henny-Bunny,” I say, and grin at her hiss of amused annoyance at the nickname only I call her. “Time to interview a new recruit.”
“Talk to you later,” she says. “And Colin? I love you.”
I smile into the phone. “I love you more.”
Then I ride the elevator up to my dad’s office, where he and an arson detective are chatting. A few minutes later, there’s a knock on the door.
“Come in,” my dad says.
My friend Khalil Robinson steps in. We went to the university together and had a few of the same general classes. Then he went on to study journalism and now runs a very successful investigative reporting website.
His handsome face is apprehensive but also sharply keen. “Hey, Colin,” he says, glancing around the room. “What’s this all about?”
I exchange a look with my dad, then smile at my friend. “Khalil, we want to talk to you about a special opportunity with Ridge City PD. Top secret. You interested in hearing more?”
His dark eyes hold my gaze for a long moment. I can practically see the wheels in his brain turning.
Then he shuts the door behind him, takes a seat, and folds his hands. His white teeth flash against his dark-bronze skin.
“Absolutely.”
The End
4 | KHALIL
1
Khalil Robinson
“Are you clear on the assignment?”
Ridge City Fire Department Chief Jonas Rollins, a fit, middle-aged man with one hell of a moustache, leans across his desk toward me. Beside me, RCPD Arson Detective Sully O’Connor glances at me, brows raised.
“Yeah,” I reply through a big, exhaled breath. “Yeah, I’m clear.”
The past few months, there’s been a weird rash of arsons in the city. Now, it’s not like Ridge City is some idyllic location with low crime rates and happy-go-lucky citizens. This is Gotham City.
And I’m Batman.
No, I’m just kidding. I’m not Batman, but I am a vigilante journalist, with a tight network of informants all across the city. I’m known as the Harbinger on the dark web, and I’ve tipped off local law enforcement and federal agencies to child pornographers, murderers-for-hire, weapons dealers—you know, the really upstanding citizens in a society.
Only two people know my true identity. My friend Colin, who stumbled across the truth when we were in college, and I swore him to secrecy on pain of death—after all, I do “know a guy”—to keep that to himself. In the four years since we graduated, he hasn’t let me down.
The other person who knows my true identity is my research partner Elodie. We started the site together in our senior year of college, intending for it to be another news entertainment site. But it quickly morphed into something bigger, deeper than that.
Kind of like my feelings for her.
She’s a freelance academic researcher by day, assisting colleges and technical gr
aduate programs with research and curriculum-building. I’ve never heard of such a job before, but it seems to pay her very well, which is good, since Harbinger pays nothing at all. I supplement my own income with contract coding work.
Elodie doesn’t know about my recent involvement with RCPD’s top-secret program known only as…the Program. Colin recruited me for my journalistic ability. It doesn’t seem like he revealed my other persona, since no one in the Program has asked me about it.
Over the course of two months, I’ve learned how to fight, how to surveil, how to case a location. I’ve learned what I can only describe as tradecraft, on a local level. Most of the time, I can’t believe this is part of my life now. I can’t believe I agreed to this.
“It’s important we get to the bottom of this, and fast,” Detective O’Connor says. “None of these arsons have a link we can identify, other than we believe they were committed by the same person.”
“People have been getting hurt,” the chief adds. “It’s becoming pretty clear that whoever this is doesn’t care much about that. It’s only a matter of time before someone dies. He has to be stopped.”
“Yeah,” I say. “It’ll be like looking for a needle in a stack of needles.”
“But that’s what you do, right?” Detective O’Connor’s gaze bores into me. “You find the needle.”
So maybe Colin did rat me out. Either way, I have a feeling my Harbinger days are nearing their end.
“Yeah,” I reply. “I find the needle.”
“All right then.” Chief Rollins rises from his desk chair. “As of now, you’re Cadet Robinson. You were a last-minute addition to the academy due to your stunning credentials and some made-up heroics. You start tomorrow.”
“How far behind am I?” I ask, standing.
The chief hands me a huge binder. “This is the last week of lessons and assignments. I recommend reading up as soon as possible.”
I gape at the binder. “Jesus Christ.”
He pats me on the shoulder. “Welcome to the academy, Cadet.”
After the meeting, I lug my brick of a binder out of the fire station. Detective O’Connor trails, slipping on a pair of dark sunglasses. He grins at me.