Where did I hear that?
“It was a joke, Detective. I mean, you do have a nice ass, I can’t deny that, but I didn’t mean it in a douchebag kind of way.”
I hold up my hand, silencing him.
Badge.
That badge was right about one thing. You certainly are one hot piece of ass.
Diaz.
“Are you going to let me in on whatever is going through that head of yours?” He takes a step back, and I watch his feet retreat away from me. “You aren’t easy to read like most people.”
“I remembered something.”
“Well, tell a brother already.”
My eyes flick up, finding him staring curiously back at me.
“Before Diaz shot me, he said, that badge was right about one thing. You certainly are one hot piece of ass.” My entire body shoots off chills, going down my spine as realization dawns. “Eric, he was talking about a cop.”
Eric doesn’t say a word. He just stares at me with a blank face.
“Did you not hear me?”
“I heard you.” He follows up with a nod, but the skin between his eyebrows crease with a hard line.
“This means there’s a cop working for Diaz.”
“No. It doesn’t mean that—not without proof anyway. But it is likely.” He moves to sit in my recliner, propping his leg on his knee and then leans back, resting both of his arms on top of the soft armrests. “It’s been rumored there was an inside man working for Vincent Acerbi. So maybe Diaz has one, or that person is one and the same. Who knows.” He shrugs his shoulders.
“Well, I for one want to know.” I take a seat on my couch closest to Eric, placing my legs under my butt to get comfortable. “That person—if they exist—is probably who told Diaz I had Gabriel. That dirty fucking cop is probably the reason Drago’s son is God knows where and the reason I lost—” I stop myself from saying the word baby. I can’t yet.
“Don’t you find it the least bit strange that a girl walked in saying that kid was Acerbi’s? Not only that, but leaves the boy, who later gets kidnapped by the same man that has been trying to get Acerbi onto his payroll for years?”
“Years?” I question, thankful he doesn’t give me that same sympathetic look he did earlier.
His question makes me wonder what all he knows about Drago. Sure, he says he’s been working to build a case against D’s father, so he would have investigated Vincent’s children heavily too. That is if he’s worth a damn as a DEA agent.
“At this point, I probably know Drago Acerbi better than he knows himself. That, Detective, is how long I’ve been at this. Drago isn’t dirty like his dad. But Diaz? That motherfucker is hell-bent on getting his dope into LA by means of an Acerbi.”
“Yes,” I admit. “The whole thing is bizarre. It’s even more questionable now that Gabe is gone. I’ve had a lot of time to flip everything over in my head and”—I shake my head—“nothing adds up. I shouldn’t have had D’s son. He should have been in protective custody the whole time.”
“So why are you so sure that boy is Acerbi’s? If you think all of this is fucked-up, not by the book any way you look at it, then why do you still think that kid is his? Did it not cross your mind that those results could have been tampered with? And now that you believe there is a dirty cop involved?”
“Of course, I’ve thought about it. At least in the beginning, I had my doubts. That’s why I had an independent test that no one except me knew about. Gabriel is Drago’s son. That is the one fact about all of this I am sure of.”
His head cocks to the side as he looks at me as if I’ve grown two heads.
“You are sure, aren’t you?” His words are more realization than a question.
“I am positive. I just wish D would believe me.”
“All right, Detective.” He pushes up, standing.
“All right, what?”
“My case just took a turn,” he tells me with the most serious expression I’ve seen on him yet. “I still want Vincent Acerbi behind bars, but I’ll put that on the back burner for now—until we find that kid.”
“Why the sudden change?” I can’t help but ask. He was adamant earlier that locating Gabe was on the police department, not him.
“Diaz is equally as ruthless as Vincent. And taking down that son of a bitch might just get me a step closer to my end goal.” He rounds the chair he was just sitting in, heading for the door. “We start tomorrow. Be ready at seven. I’ll pick you up.”
“I thought you wanted your holiday. Wasn’t that what you were bitching about earlier on the phone?”
“Just be glad that kid of yours is more important to find right now.” He pulls the door open. “Oh-seven-hundred, be ready to roll. This stays on the down-low, you got that? You are still on leave.”
I nod, agreeing.
Without another word, he steps over the threshold, pulling the door closed behind him and leaving me speechless. Sure, I should be grateful he’s going to help me locate Diaz, but what is he really up to? What’s the motive I wonder?
That thought plagues me for hours and hours. I’m still at a loss as to why he now wants to help me. But those nagging thoughts soon vanish when the medication takes hold of me and I’m in the worst pain I’ve ever experienced in my life. Regret that I didn’t have that procedure done while I was in the hospital soon becomes my reality and this isn’t something I’d wish on my worst enemy. I wouldn’t wish this on anyone.
12
Since Thursday morning, I’ve spent every minute of daylight with Eric. In those four days, I’ve come to the conclusion that he’s annoying as hell. Every ounce of attraction I thought I had for him has evaporated. At this point, he’s the proverbial thorn in my side.
I have also come to learn he’s a damn good agent. A clever agent.
“It’s done.” He places his smartphone on the table. “See”—that megawatt smile of his makes an appearance—“easy. Just like I told you it would be.”
Eric takes a sip of his steaming cup of coffee. He just contacted the cellular carrier of Lance’s cell phone after emailing them an approved document outlining the DEA’s request to wiretap a device. It’s a common tactic of any federal agency that has probable cause. And since Lance is the only person I suspect of being Diaz’s inside man, Eric spun a few details in our favor and got his director to approve the request.
The DEA director, not his SAIC—Special Agent in Charge—his superior. The fucking director of the DEA. I’m impressed that Eric knows him personally and was able to pull strings so quickly. I’ve met the Chief of Police for the city of Los Angeles a handful of times. He swore me in when I became an officer and I’ve seen him from afar when he’s made multiple speeches. I got to speak to him when I had my last interview, but I couldn’t call him up on a whim.
“Not bad,” I tell him, leaning back into the quaint booth in the back of the coffee shop. It’s late in the morning, so the bustle from the early morning crowd is long gone, the regulars that use the coffee shop as an office and the college students milling about. All wearing headphones or earbuds and focused on whatever it is they are all doing on their laptops or tablets.
“I got pull, Andrews.” He snorts out a laugh and it’s cute, making me laugh too. It’s now I realize this is the first time I’ve found joy in well over a week. A pang of guilt hits me, slapping me across the face. I shouldn’t be experiencing joy of any sort. Gabriel is missing, and my baby is gone.
I’ve clung to that hope every second of every day since I woke up in that hospital bed.
“Hey,” Eric calls, his voice turning concerned. “I was joking. What’s got you sad all of a sudden? I thought you would be thrilled we’re making headway and we’re going to nail those cocksuckers to the fucking wall.”
I snap my gaze to his.
“I am. Just—”
God. I’m not a weak person, but lately, that’s all I feel—weak.
“Just what, Bri?”
“Nothing.” I sit u
p, picking up my less than hot coffee, taking a sip. I always order mine at kid’s temp. I’m not much of a sipper, and I’m too impatient to wait for it to cool down.
“Didn’t look like nothing?”
Before I can come up with another excuse, I hear a voice that has me flicking my eyes to the person standing in front of the barista at the checkout counter.
“This is wrong,” she complains. “I ordered skim milk. This”—she pushes her coffee, shoving it across the counter toward the kid standing behind it—“is not skim milk.”
“Ma’am,” the barista says calmly. “I assure you it’s correct. I made it myself.”
“Well,” she says condescendingly. “You made it wrong.” She crosses her arms over her chest, looking at him like he disgusts her. I feel bad for the young boy. He can’t be more than eighteen or nineteen-years-old. He doesn’t need this bitch giving him so much grief. It’s just coffee. Even if it is wrong, that’s no way to act or treat him or anyone for that matter.
“What a bitch,” I whisper under my breath.
Eric looks over his shoulder and I swear I hear a grumble fall out of his mouth. He quickly turns back around, downing the rest of his coffee like it’s a double shot of whiskey he’s throwing back.
“Not a fan of your boyfriend’s future wife?” Eric asks.
“D is not my boyfriend,” I mumble. Anymore that is. Then it hits me what he said. My eyes snap to his. “Wait. What?”
“Your boy’s future misses.” He jerks his head toward Rebecca De Luca without looking away from me. “The bitch over there at the counter.”
“She’s not Drago’s future anything,” I snap, not caring about the sudden venom in my voice.
“That shit has been planned for ages, Detective.”
“What the hell does that mean?”
“He’s Vincent Acerbi’s son.” Eric laughs, but it’s pissing me off. I don’t find anything coming out of his mouth funny at all. “Don’t you get that he’s supposed to fall into line—eventually?”
“D doesn’t want anything to do with his father. Or his father’s corrupt legacy.”
“Maybe not today.” Eric eyes me, gauging my reaction I imagine. “But how long before he does what his father demands of him—what’s expected of him? How long before he starts pedaling Diaz’s dope?”
“Never,” I bite out with so much conviction I nip the side of my cheek with my teeth.
“How sure are you?”
“I know him.”
“Are you sure?” he questions, making me second-guess myself. A part of me hates him for it. “What happens when he finds out that kid really is his? What do you think he’ll do to get his own flesh and blood back?”
“Anything and everything, I hope.” And I mean that. I do hope he’ll do any means necessary to get his son back unharmed. “But he doesn’t believe Gabriel is his.” I sit up, suddenly ready to be out of this coffeehouse and away from the man sitting across from me. “So this is a moot point, isn’t it?”
“I don’t know, Bri. Because I can tell you if it were me and it were my son that sick psycho motherfucker had, I’d put a bullet in his head.”
And something tells me D would do the same.
13
My eyes grow heavy as I listen to the last audio file from Lance’s cellular device.
I’ve listened to all of his calls and I’ve gone through all of his text messages since Eric gave me access two days ago. Yet, nothing has stuck out. I wonder if Eric had any luck with his email or getting approval to access the chief’s device.
Eric said he could get it, but it would take a little longer and a couple of chains higher to get a sign-off.
The thought of Tom being dirty doesn’t settle in my stomach right. Sure, he’s hell-bent on getting any scrap of dirt on Drago, but I can’t see him being the one to bow down to Diaz and do his dirty work.
I shake my head, grabbing the corner of my laptop, I move it off my lap, placing it on the coffee table.
Since Detective Summers hasn’t completed his report, I’m still on administrative leave, which is getting on my nerves more and more as each day passes. Being stuck at home, these walls seem to be closing in on me. To say I’m restless is an understatement.
Eric, on the other hand, would rather me work from home though. I’m sick of this resting bullshit. I’d rather be framed into a tiny cubicle at his field office than here, lounging on my couch. At least then I’d feel like I was doing something productive. His field office is only a five-minute drive from my condo. I could probably walk there and get the much-needed exercise I’ve been missing.
My phone chimes with an incoming text, so I swing my bare legs off the couch while snatching my smartphone off the end table, pulling it from the charging cord.
Nikki: What gives? I haven’t seen you in 2 weeks. You’re making me think you really aren’t okay.
Me: Just because I’m out of commission for a few weeks doesn’t mean I’m not okay. I am, really. I have a case that I’m working on though, so I’m busier than usual.
Nikki: Anything to do with that missing kid that’s been all over the news?
Before I can reply, there is a knock on the door. Hopping up, I toss my phone behind me, letting it fall to the couch.
Pulling the door open, I gasp involuntarily. Not because I’m seeing him for the first time in far too long, but because everything hits me all at once.
His beautiful, sexy face that now has more than a five o’clock shadow gracing it.
The scent that is Drago—salt water and dust. He must have been pulling long hours at his warehouse today. The smell surrounds me even though I just opened the door.
And those fucking eyes. Why do I love staring up at them so much? Who knew a set of brown irises would be my undoing. Gabriel shares the same dark gaze as his father. I realized that not long before he was stolen from me.
Maybe that’s why I fell so hard and so fast for Drago. Maybe it had to do with his son already owning a piece of my heart.
Seeing Drago hurts on too many home fronts. The longing to reach out and touch him is almost unbearable. We have this pull that I still don’t understand. It’s been there from the beginning and it’s only gotten stronger the closer we get.
“You said you were fine,” he barks, making me take a step back. “You aren’t fine, Bri.” His brows furrow together. “You lied to me.”
I let out a frustrated sigh, dropping my hand from the doorknob and crossing my arms. It’s a protection barrier I feel I need.
“I am fine, D.”
Why does he even care? He pretty much kicked me out of his house. Maybe not by force, but it still had the same effect. He wanted me gone. He wanted us over. “What are you doing here?”
“You look stressed, ” he pauses, taking me in. “And something else.” His head cocks to the side. He’s analyzing me, and this time, I hate it. I hate that he can read me so well when I can’t read him. It pisses me off.
“Well, you look like you don’t have a care in the world.”
He doesn’t actually. I know I’m stressed, and I see my stress mirrored in Drago’s appearance. He hasn’t shaved; even his hair is longer. His white T-shirt is wrinkled, and his jeans look like they’ve been worn all week.
Has he even showered? Maybe that’s why the smell of the ocean is more prominent on him today than it has ever been before.
“I care about a lot of things. More than you’ll ever know.”
“What do you want?!” I stress, not biting on his words. If he cared so much, he wouldn’t have tossed me out. He wouldn’t have dismissed Gabriel like that little guy’s life means nothing when it means everything to me.
Resolve washes over me. I can’t be with someone or want someone that doesn’t want him.
“You know what? I don’t give a shit.”
Stepping back again, I wrap my hand around the door and then slam it shut.
“Go fuck yourself, Acerbi!” I yell at the closed door loud e
nough for him to hear.
“Bri,” he says just as equally loud, but his comes out as a growl.
I stand there, the resolve I just felt moments ago wearing by the second.
Why can’t I turn my feelings off for him? Why are they so strong? It’s like a rope tightening around my heart.
Silence lingers between us, and then with a hard thud, I know he’s just walked away after slamming his hand against my door.
I finally let out a breath I didn’t know I’d been holding.
Looking up at the ceiling, I blink away the unshed tears I don’t want to fall. Falling tears mean there’s more I need to face that I can’t right now. I can’t deal with my shit. I have to find Diaz and I have to rescue Gabe.
Soft rapping on my door pulls me from my clouded mind. Can he take a hint? I don’t want to talk to him. I don’t want the see him.
Yanking the door back open, I go to tell him to fuck off, but I stop just before the words fall from my lips.
“Alana.”
“You have three seconds to tell me what the hell is going on?”
She crosses her arms over the green vintage wrap dress she’s wearing. The plunging neckline enhances her cleavage.
My sister-in-law has always had a thing for vintage style clothing. She doesn’t wear them often, but when she does, stunning doesn’t come close to describe her. Her blonde, pixie haircut is longer than it’s been in a while. For the last five years, she kept her hair short, only leaving the top with longer layers that you can still comb your fingers through.
“Thanksgiving. I know, I’m sorry.”
“Sorry doesn’t cut it or even put a dent in explaining what the fuck is going on. Robert says you’re working an intense case and forgot.” Her hands go to her hips. She’s fuming. “Maybe I could buy that, except you aren’t answering your phone.”
For a second, I smile on the inside. She revealed my dad hasn’t told them anything and he’s even covering for me. For some reason, it warms me, even if it is all a lie. He did exactly what I asked. Robert Andrews bent to me rather than the other way around.
Dirty War Page 11