“Luca—” I start, but I’m quickly cut off.
“My brother likes you a lot. He wouldn’t have dumped you like he did if something big hadn’t have happened.”
“Thanks for pointing that out,” I chime in.
“How did you get shot? Did it somehow involve my brother?”
Oh, jeez. He needs to drive faster. I’m not getting into this with him. I’m going to have to shut this down.
“Luca, you need to ask him all of this.”
“He’s made it clear he isn’t going to tell me.”
“Well then, neither am I.” And I leave it at that. The rest of the drive is spent in awkward silence.
10
I don’t know how much longer I can go without an ounce of sleep. It’s useless to even get in bed, so I didn’t after I got home yesterday. I showered and changed the dressings on my wound. Then I worked up the courage to knock on Ms. Lincoln’s door, only no one ever answered. I assumed she wasn’t home. Maybe her son took her back with him. Maybe that’s where she was when I tried calling her the other day.
I wish I could at least tell her how sorry I am for getting her caught up in my mess.
I’m a cop. I should have anticipated something like this. I allowed myself to get too attached and it blinded me to all of the possibilities that could have happened and did happen.
Parking my car in the parking garage next to city hall, I lean forward against the steering wheel, pulling in a deep breath. I’m exhausted, yet I can’t make myself rest no matter how hard I try. I’m on autopilot and it’s only a matter of time before I crash.
My cell phone sounds, making me groan.
Relaxing back into the seat, I snatch it up from the cup holder.
Nikki: When the fuck were you planning on telling me you were shot?
How the hell does she—fucking media. That’s how. It has to be. Why didn’t I think of that sooner?
Nikki: I had to find out from Jason. Bitch, you better be okay.
Me: I’m fine, but I won’t be in this week and probably not next week either.
Until I find Gabe, working out is of no concern to me.
I drop my phone, letting it fall into my lap, staring at the concrete cinder block wall I’m parked in front of.
If I don’t get Gabriel back, I don’t know if I’ll ever return to the me I was before he was taken. I’m not concerned with the flesh wound on my leg. It’ll heal, and I’m sure I’ll be fine in a few weeks to return to normal activity. But right now, everything can fuck right off until he’s safe.
Another chime sounds, breaking me from my thoughts. I pick my cell phone back up, looking at the message.
Nikki: Fine doesn’t cut it. Are you still in the hospital? How bad?
Me: Not bad at all. I’m lucky, and I’m already home.
Nikki: Vague much?
Me: It’s too much to get into over text. I’ll tell you when I return.
Nikki: Take care of yourself and if you need ANYTHING, let me know.
That’s sweet of her to offer. She’s never come off as anything but hard, so for a second, I start to choke up. We aren’t that close of friends, so maybe talking to her might be easier . . .
But as that thought trails off, I know all I’m doing by staying in my car this long is delaying the inevitable. It’s time to face my chief. Another message comes through, but I decide it can wait. Without checking it, I toss my phone into my purse then step out of the car.
Normally, I’d take the stairs to the ground level, but I’ve exerted my body so much as it is in the last twenty-four hours that I’ve ripped a couple of the stitches on my wound, so I make myself take the elevator.
Stepping out of the parking garage, I stare at the building across the street wondering what fate has in store for me.
Only one way to find out.
I halt just before stepping off the sidewalk as a black SUV stops abruptly in front of my path. The lock on the door pops and the window rolls down.
“Get in.”
I start to reach for the weapon that should be secured at my hip, but then I realize it’s not there. I left my badge and police issued gun at home. It feels awkward being without it. Ever since I became a cop, they’ve been a part of who I am. And I don’t want to lose my job.
Fighting the urge to curse, I take a cautious step backward.
“I’m waiting, Detective.” He leans back into his seat. He’s turned sideways, looking at me with one long, chocolate-colored arm stretched out across the steering wheel. His dark eyes look bored, but I’m not about to make a move toward him. I don’t even know him.
“Who are you? What do you want?”
“Get in and I’ll explain.”
“I don’t think so.” I tip my chin. “You can explain while I’m out here.”
Rolling his eyes, he shakes his head while reaching into the neck of his plain black T-shirt. A badge attached to a chain pops out.
Okay, so he’s a cop. A federal agent at that. Then again, it’s not like a badge can’t be faked.
“Jesus, lady. Are you going to get in or just stand there?”
“Stand here until you tell me what you want.”
“We’re on the same side, Detective. I’m going to be your saving grace. Now”—he drops his badge, allowing it to hang on the outside of his shirt—“please get in the fucking vehicle. We need to talk.”
“I’m about to be late for a meeting, agent.”
“Special agent,” he corrects in the same mocking tone I used. “It won’t take long, and trust me, you’ll want what I’m offering.” He smiles as if going for good measure.
Isn’t he sure of himself. He certainly looks the part of confidence rolled into authority. Reminds me of Drago in a way.
Going against my better judgment, I step forward, open the door, and slide into the passenger side seat.
“Okay, I’m in.”
“Do you think you could close the door?”
“Do I look that stupid?” For all I know, I am. He could be someone Sebastian sent to finish the job he started.
“Well, you did get yourself shot inside your own home only a couple of days ago, so . . .”
“Talk,” I bite out. “Or I’m gone.”
He reaches forward, grabbing something off the top of his dashboard. He tosses it at me and I quickly realize it’s his credentials. Opening it, I look down. DEA special agent Eric Alders.
“What’s a DEA agent want with me?”
“Baby, I’m your new best friend.”
“I’m not your baby.”
He just laughs, ticking me off.
“Do you actually have something you want to tell me or is this some game?”
“I’m here to help you.” His demeanor turns serious. “I have another gift for you.”
Another?
The photos.
“It was you.” The realization falls from my lips.
Ms. Lincoln said the man that left them was tall, dark, and hot. The man sitting next to me checks off each one of those descriptions.
“What was me?” he asks, even though it’s clear he knows what I’m talking about. Eric was the guy that left that envelope with those photos inside it with my neighbor.
What’s the DEA doing involved? Did Ramirez keep this from me? Did Houston? My mind spins, wondering everything at once.
“They were a gift.”
“Explain.”
“You’re demanding for a cop that’s about to walk inside that building over there and most likely get grilled by Internal Affairs. How are you going to explain your personal involvement with Acerbi? I’m curious.”
“Why don’t you explain your involvement in all of this first?”
“I’ve been working the Acerbi case far too long to let LAPD come in and fuck up all of my hard work. Not when I’m close to nailing that son of a bitch.”
“Drago?” My gut clenches at the thought.
“No.” His eyes dance dramatically as his head shake
s from side to side. “Vincent Acerbi is the criminal, not his kids.”
“D’s dad isn’t here. Hasn’t been in the States in two years.”
“Fuck,” he draws out. “So, you did get personal with the very man you were tasked with pinning a crime on.”
“Fuck you,” I fire back at him. “Don’t accuse me of setting up Drago for something he didn’t do.”
“You need to learn right now not to put words in my mouth, sweetheart. I don’t like it and I won’t put up with it.”
“You’re a pompous ass! And don’t call me sweetheart, sweetheart,” I mock, raising one of my eyebrows in challenge.
“Well, I’m your partner, so to speak, so you’re going to have to get used to my pompous ass.”
He tosses a file into my lap.
“What’s this?” I ask, flipping the file open to one sheet of paper.
“A document.” I raise an eyebrow at him, beckoning him to explain further. “It’s pre-dated, obviously, and it basically says you’ve been working with the Department of Drug Enforcement Administration. An official NDA of sorts, saying you weren’t allowed to tell anyone, including your superiors, about your involvement with my investigation of Vincent Acerbi.” His dark eyes cast down to the paper in my hand. “You just need to sign it to make it legal.”
“Why would I do that?”
“To save your ass.” His eyebrows turn inward. “To save your badge, Andrews.” He removes a pen from the breast pocket of his T-shirt, holding it out in front of me. “You want to keep it, right? You want to get IA off your ass before they start digging around and find validation that you were, in fact, fucking a man you were supposed to be investigating?”
“Why do you care? What does me keeping my badge have to do with you or the DEA’s interest in Acerbi?”
“You don’t worry about that. Just sign the piece of paper and we’ll both go hand it to your boss. I’m looking forward to seeing the look on his face actually.”
“I’m not signing shit until you tell me what’s in this for you and the DEA.”
“I want to wrap-up a case I’ve been working on for far too long. I want to put the man who is responsible for countless murders and trafficking more drugs than you will ever see in your lifetime into our country, behind bars. Even if he deserves far worse than prison.” His tone is bitter, angry. Personal. “And I want your help in taking down the dirty cops that help keep him and men like him out of prison.”
“Which cops are dirty?”
“That’s still to be determined, but I have a good idea who they are. Sign the paper, so we can get this on the way, Bri. I can call you Bri, right?”
There is something about him that strikes me as good. He’s mouthy for a guy. But for whatever reason, I think I might be able to trust him and work with him.
“No. We aren’t friends.”
“Oh, yes we are, Bri.”
I take the pen he stretches out in front of me.
Entering the elevator, I turn and place my back against the back wall, clutching my purse with both hands in front of me.
“So, we’re just planning on walking in there and expecting the deputy chief to accept that falsified document?” I eye the file folder clutched in his hand.
He presses the button that will take me up to my dreaded fate.
“Only you and I know it’s falsified,” he whispers as if this isn’t a big deal, which in hindsight it is, and I can’t fathom why I’m even going along with it. Other than the fact I don’t want Internal Affairs to recommend I need to be let go.
Eric sidles up next to me as we ascend.
Just the thought of getting fired almost brings tears to my eyes. Pulling in a deep breath of air, I blow it back out in a steady stream, calming my emotions and nerves—or at least trying to. I shouldn’t have had that extra-large coffee with an extra shot of espresso in it on the drive here. The caffeine has only amped me up with jitters I don’t need right now.
I can do this.
I can walk into Tom’s office with a straight face and lie to my boss.
Fuck, I’m going to Hell for this.
“With the look you have on your face, Ramirez will have an opening to question this.” He holds up his hand. “Get your shit together, Detective. Confidence. You need it, and if you don’t have it, fake it.” He smiles, his face softening. “You can start with tipping those lips up. Yeah?”
His hip knocks lightly into mine.
“Son of a fuck.” I slam my palm against the wooden panel to my back. Pain shoots up my side and down my leg so fast and unexpected.
“Jesus, Andrews,” Eric sounds off. “What the hell is your problem now?”
My jaw snaps shut, locking down on the pain until it passes.
“You asshole,” I bark at him. “This is the leg Diaz shot, fuckwad.” I point to the thigh he bumped into.
“Oh shit!” His voice does a one-eighty. “I didn’t mean to hurt you, Bri. I forgot you were shot. You’re walking and moving normally. I figured you must not have been injured too badly.”
“It’s fine.”
“I’m sorry,” he continues. “I normally don’t assume shit like that.”
“I’m fine,” I assure him.
The elevator comes to a soft halt, so I take one last deep breath. Eric is right. I do need to conjure up every ounce of confidence I have. The best method for someone believing you is if you believe it yourself, and although it is a lie, this is my life, my job, and my career on the line. I need to do whatever it takes to ensure I have one when all of this is said and done.
“Lead the way.” Eric steps out, waiting for me to exit.
Steeling myself, I look Eric in the eyes, giving myself one last mental pep talk.
I can and will do this.
I have to if I’m going to give myself every opportunity to get Gabriel back unharmed and safe where I need him to be. Even if that means he gets fostered with someone other than me. Nothing matters at this moment other than doing what it takes to ensure I have the means to locate him.
I still don’t know why I’m being called into the department today, but if the internal investigation hasn’t been completed and I’m stuck on admin leave, then finding Gabe will be way more difficult without PD help. It’ll be like my hands are shackled with no key to get free. That is unless what Eric fed me out in his vehicle earlier was the truth and not bullshit, then he can and will help me find Gabriel. He has the resources to do so.
There’s no doubt in my mind that I have to do this. I have to lie through my teeth. Is it wrong? Sure. But what other choice do I really have? Not accepting Eric’s “get-out-of-jail-free” card would mean I’m giving up. I don’t give up. I’m not a quitter, not even if it means I get inducted into the Dirty Blue.
They say the path to Hell is paved with good intentions. Maybe that’s true. Maybe it isn’t. All I know is if this helps me get one step closer to finding that innocent little boy, then I guess I’m on the next train to Hell.
“Let’s do this.”
“Now that’s the right attitude to have, Detective.” He snickers. “Or soon-to-be Special Agent.”
“Doesn’t it take months of interviewing just to get a chance at becoming part of the DEA?”
“What the fuck do you think you’ve been doing for the past two months?”
I walk past him, down the quiet hall until I see Tom’s office door come into view. Becky, his assistant, has her spectacle-framed eyes glued to the computer screen in front of her.
She doesn’t look up when I stop in front of her until she hears my voice.
“Tom is expecting me,” I inform her.
“Detective.” She jumps, smiling awkwardly. She obviously knows why I’m here and why wouldn’t she?
“Hey, Becky.”
Eric’s large frame stops behind me. Becky’s eyes glance up and over my head, seeing him. Warm air fans the back of my head when he lets out an amused laugh.
Eric and I might have gotten off on t
he wrong foot when he demanded I get inside his SUV half an hour ago, and I can’t say we’re on the path to friendship yet, because I don’t know him, but even I can admit he’s a looker. Like my neighbor said, he has a dreamy appearance. But he’s a cop. And there is something about fellow badges that I’ve never been physically attracted to.
“I thought only you were meeting with the chief and Detective Summers? He didn’t tell me anyone was accompanying you.”
Ah, hell. Justin Summers? That man has a reputation that precedes him—and not in a good way. As much as cops don’t like IA, even I know they are necessary; a check and balance on policies. But Justin Summers?
Eric leans forward, his mouth stopping behind my ear. “You’re tensing up. Relax. Summers won’t be a problem.”
“Easy for you to say.”
“No, Bri,” he corrects. “Not easy for me. My ass is on the line, same as yours,” he whisper-yells.
“Can we head on in, Becky?” I say a little louder than necessary.
“Let me take you.” She scoots her chair backward, stands, and then walks over to Tom’s door, knocking. After a beat, she pivots around. “You both may go in now.”
“Thanks,” I say, sliding past her to enter Tom’s office.
He’s seated behind his desk, forearms stretched across the center, looking every bit in-charge until his mask slips the second Eric enters behind me.
Glancing over, I see whom I’m guessing is the Internal Affairs detective. He’s seated in a relaxed position at the end of the leather couch in Tom’s office. He sits up, taking me in as I do him. Detective Summers is dressed in a dark gray suit with a light blue shirt that makes his striking blue eyes pop. The jacket is tight along his biceps, showcasing exactly what’s beneath the material. His blond hair is cut short in the back and styled longer on the top. The trimmed goatee and beard make him appear older, but I’m betting we are about the same age.
He’s not at all how I’ve imagined him. And very easy on the eyes.
“Andrews,” Tom greets, standing. I look away, giving my boss my full attention as Eric comes to stand beside me. “I don’t recall telling you to bring a guest.”
Dirty War Page 8