“Eric,” he corrects. “Just call me Eric. I hear my last name enough. It gets tiring after a while.” He steps in front of me, turning to face me while walking backward. “Since we’re friends, you can stop all the formal shit.”
“Who says we’re friends already?” I don’t give him a chance to answer. “Took my last partner”—I do air quotes again—“at least a month to become friends, and now I’m not sure we ever were.”
“Ah,” he says, his voice sounding fake. “Does someone have their panties in a wad because I stole you from the mundane world of the local PD?”
He bypasses the elevator, going to a solid steel door in the corner, pulling on the handle and opening it.
“Wouldn’t know.” I shake my head, but he’s not looking at me as he walks through the door and into a stairwell. I follow him through where he quickly heads up the staircase. “The bitch hasn’t called or even text me since I got shot.”
Good to know where I stand with her. And maybe I’m better off now that I realize where I stand on her “give a shit” shelf. If your partner lacks care, then they’re the last person you need having your back. Chances are, they won’t be there to have your back when all hell breaks loose.
“So, you’re the one with her panties all twisted.” He pauses halfway up the first flight of stairs, looking over his shoulder. “Let’s leave that shit down here. Okay?”
I stop just before my foot lands on the first stair, staring at his moving form.
That motherfucker!
He asked. Why ask if he didn’t want an honest answer? So, what if I’m a little butt-hurt over the person I would have taken a bullet for without a thought? I get to be mad over this for more than two seconds. Hell, what if it were him? I bet he would care if his “real partner” did the same to him. Bet he’d be a little pissed off too.
It takes me several minutes to cool my quickly escalating anger before I trot up the stairs, entering the only door at the top, letting it close behind me as I take in the room.
The space is open with a lot of natural lighting coming through the windows that line each side of the building. There are twelve large cubicles with plexiglass windows taking up the top-half of them. There are three sections with four cubicles attached to each one, making it look like there are three teams that take up this floor.
I don’t know why that thought comes to me. In the police department, we have one partner and our desks butt up to each other with Mike being the lone one in an actual office since he’s the senior detective.
I notice a single office door in the back of the room. The office is solid glass from floor to ceiling with the blinds closed. The room is dark, telling me there isn’t anyone lurking inside. I’m guessing that’s the SAIC’s office. It would only make sense, unless the Special Agent in Charge is located on the first floor. It could be the copy/printer room for all I know.
“Yo,” Eric calls, gaining my attention. “How long does it take you to inspect the place? We got shit to do, Andrews.”
“Thought we were friends. Why the formality all of a sudden?”
I start to head toward him when another head pops up over the cubicle that is catty-cornered to Eric’s.
“He isn’t your friend, Detective. You’re just here on a consulting basis.” Summers crosses his arms, watching me with narrowed eyes as I make my way to them.
“What’s he doing here?”
“Summers is here to help,” Eric tells me, taking a seat at his desk, before swiveling in his chair to face me.
I prop my shoulder against the metal edge that connects the top and bottom half of the desks together, my eyes never leaving Summers’ deep green emeralds.
He doesn’t scare me if that’s what he’s trying to do. Sure, last week I was a little intimidated at first, but then he called me out for sleeping with Drago and getting pregnant. Maybe he did it on purpose; maybe he didn’t. Regardless, it more than stung, and the hurt I wasn’t expecting pissed me off.
“How is Internal Affairs supposed to help us find a lead on Diaz or learn if—”
“I guess you don’t understand your role here,” Summers cuts me off. “You’re only here as a consult. Nothing more. Alders and I are going to locate Diaz.”
“Again.” I drop my eyes to Eric. “Why is IA here?” I cross my arms.
“I thought I told you to check your shit downstairs?”
“I’m here because I’m part of this team,” Summers interjects. My eyes flick back up to his. “My IA role comes into play because you, yourself, think Houston is involved with Diaz. And we happen to be in agreement. But just so we’re fucking clear, the only reason I’m not hell-bent on nailing your little ass for misconduct of a police officer is because your friend there”—his eyes cut down to Eric’s before the disdain in them return to mine—“convinced me that Diaz and Houston are bigger fish to fry.”
I grit my teeth together so that I don’t open my mouth and say something I might regret.
Something in Detective Summers’ eyes soften. I guess he realizes I’m not going to come back at him with a rebuttal. It’s not like I can anyway. I am guilty of misconduct. Even I know that.
Doesn’t mean I am fully sorry for my actions, though. But it does mean I can shut my mouth and take what he wants to throw at me.
“Look—” Eric starts.
“I’m not finished.” Summers lets out a long breath of air. “I turned in my report to Mike, the Deputy Chief, and the Chief of Police late yesterday evening. Your leave ends tomorrow, Andrews, and you can go back to full-duty work starting on Monday. You’re welcome.”
I wonder if that’s why Mike called me last night?
“And what did your report say?” I ask without my earlier attitude interjecting this time. I’m curious; too curious, so I want him to tell me. I wasn’t sure if he’d find real evidence that would suggest I wasn’t deep undercover like Eric made it sound and like that NDA stated.
Oh, shit. The document both Eric and I signed.
If he did find something that would not only put me but also Eric in a lot of hot water too. Maybe that’s why he’s allowing me to return to work without any ramifications.
He’s silent, staring at me. It’s Eric that speaks.
“Basically, that you were doing your job to the fullest extent. There was nothing he found that led him to believe you weren’t doing anything unethical or out of line. His recommendation was to reinstate you immediately. And luckily for you, the chief of police agreed.”
“And Ramirez?” I ask, directing my question at Summers.
“Is pissed and wants a meeting Monday morning.”
“Great.” I roll my eyes, fearing this isn’t over.
“Worry about him next week. Let’s discuss Diaz and Houston. I’m not missing my daughter’s t-ball game.” Summers flips his wrist, looking at his smartwatch. “I have to be out of here in the next hour if I’m going to make it.”
It’s then I notice the wedding ring on his ring finger. I hadn’t noticed before. It makes me glance down, scanning Eric’s finger. Bare. Guess only one of them is married.
I can’t help that my mind briefly thinks of Drago.
He came to me yesterday. Maybe that’s something; maybe he still cares, but . . . then it makes me wonder how he knew I wasn’t okay. Could he have accessed my medical records or gotten someone at the clinic to tell him?
No. I dismiss that right away. I was fine when I left. It was when I got home that day that something happened. So how did he know?
“All right then. Let’s get to it,” Eric says, pivoting around in his chair to face his computer. “Andrews, grab a chair from that desk.” He nods his head in the direction of the one to his right; the one I passed coming to stand at the opening of his cubicle.
Pushing off the metal railing, I grab the chair that’s pushed against the desk, noting the cubicle is bare, like no one ever uses it. The chair arms aren’t worn like Eric’s and the top of the desk is clean of any clutter.
No pictures or personal items line the space to tell me this desk belongs to someone.
I don’t get a chance to ask though. Eric starts talking and hitting keys on his computer.
“We haven’t found anything on Houston’s phone, so I doubt we will.”
“I’d bet my career Houston is dirty,” Summers chimes. “Just because he’s a dirty cop doesn’t mean he’s a stupid-fuck, though. Men like Diaz don’t get away with the shit they do by bringing just anyone into their organization that can potentially take them down. Also, he’d be using a burner phone. We all know that, so there is no point in wasting any more valuable time listening to Houston’s calls. We need to go at this from a different angle. Who’s the weakest? Who do we focus on?”
Chasity’s face flashes in my mind.
“What about Gabriel’s mother? I’ve seen Chasity Carlisle and Houston together.”
I glide my chair over to the opening at Eric’s desk, taking a seat behind him.
“Yeah? You know that how, Detective?” Summers asks.
“I tailed them weeks ago. She’s the niece of the Deputy Chief of Staff to our mayor.”
Alders and Summers both share a look.
“Care to fill me in on the private convo you two are having?”
“Harper has been trying to get Sam to step down,” he tells me, referring to Dylan Harper, Mayor Samuel García’s Deputy Chief of Staff. “Retire. Dylan wants the mayoral spot, but he knows running against García isn’t going to make that happen. Everyone loves Samuel García. Harper has been trying to get that spot for three years now, but since García took office he’s done and continues to do more than any other past mayor combined.”
“But what would García leaving office have to do with Harper being elected? What is the connection with our case?” I ask.
“Maybe nothing,” Summers says. “Maybe everything. Harper and Alessandro De Luca are brothers.” He raises an eyebrow. “You know who he is?”
Chills run up my spine when he says De Luca’s name.
“They’re half-brothers. Different fathers, but brothers nonetheless. Harper might want into the most powerful seat in the city so that he can have more control over drugs that come and go. It’s not a stretch.”
“No,” I agree. “It’s not.”
Could Chasity have planned her pregnancy? Could Gabriel have been just a pawn to get D to bend to a drug lord’s demand? As I think the words, it sounds so far-fetched, but something tells me it isn’t.
I have to find Gabe, and I have to do it soon.
What happens when Diaz finally realizes there isn’t anything that would force Drago to do something he doesn’t want to do? D told me just that when we were arguing.
“Then she’s where we’ll start,” Eric follows up.
“Andrews,” Summers calls, backing out of his cubicle and rounds to where Eric and I are. We both turn to face him. I stand when he nears. “Do you think you can talk to her without Houston getting wind of it?”
“I don’t know. I’m sure I can figure out a way, but I thought I was just here to consult, Detective.”
“Touché.” His lips tip up. “By the book.” He shakes his head. “You can’t be heavily involved. But this isn’t a black and white case. To nail a man like Diaz and to take a badge away from a dirty cop, we can’t play by normal rules. If I’d thought for a second you were just as dirty as Houston, you wouldn’t be here. So, find out what you can on the down-low. If you get caught, it’s on you. Got that?”
“Yeah. Loud and clear.”
“Good.” His grin widens into a knockout smile, and suddenly, I remember why I didn’t like him to begin with. His green eyes sparkle when both sides of his mouth tip upward, making it clear as day that smile is a weapon, and he should put it away before he hurts someone. “Call me Justin from here on out.”
He whips his head toward Eric while I’m left stunned. Who knew he could go from so mundane to attractive just from changing his demeanor?
“I’m out. Text if anything major happens. If not, I’ll catch you Monday, brother.” He leaves, making a quick exit.
Damn, how does his wife keep women off him?
“She doesn’t. That’s why they’re separated.”
“Wait. What?” Did I say that out loud?
By the shit-eating grin on Eric’s face, I did. Oh, fuck me. Way to make an impression there, Andrews, but hell, it’s not like I have a man right now anyway, so there is no harm in admiring a little eye candy.
The detective in me does wonder exactly why they’re separated, though. Did he cheat on her? That’d make him less attractive and more unappealing, which may be better for me. Not like anything would ever happen just because he’s the first cop I’ve ever found attractive. I’d never go there, married or not.
It would be impossible, even if I wanted to entertain the idea for half a second. No, there is another man that’s stolen my attention and even if he doesn’t like me right now, it doesn’t stop the way I feel about him.
Why does this have to suck so bad?
15
Monday rolls around and we finally have the green light to take over the kidnapping case. Well, the DEA’s special task force does, and I have a feeling the task force includes Alders and Summers, even if Eric hasn’t actually told me. Justin’s mention of being on this team certainly gives way to that belief, plus Eric told me his partner would be searching for Gabe.
I get it’s a conflict of interest and I can’t officially be a part of Eric’s team, but it still stings a little. As much as I want to scream bullshit, I know it’s not. In any other circumstance, I’d readily agree.
I just hope Eric’s partner doesn’t fuck around and does what needs to be done to find Gabe—since Drago won’t.
Gabriel is still my highest priority and I will find him. I have to believe searching for Diaz’s inside man will lead me straight to Sebastian himself, and in turn, find the baby I need back in my arms.
The last couple of nights I’ve scoured known drug places looking for anyone that might have any connection to where Diaz may be hiding out. I’ve hounded two informants that I’ve worked with on multiple occasions, but they know nothing. It was a lost cause from the get-go; even they admitted a man like Diaz could spot a NARC a mile away. I had to at least try.
This morning I’m at the Pacifica office—my precinct. Eric is meeting with Ramirez and Houston now, informing them he’s taking the case. I’m not exactly sure why Lance is in there since he’s a homicide detective, and seeing as how I didn’t die, there isn’t a murder to investigate. Who knows? Apparently, I’m not privy to this information—yet.
When Justin said the chief wanted to meet today, I had expected it to take place at his office downtown, not here on the northeast side of the county. Guess he wasn’t too happy about me coming back to work after all.
“DEA, Bri?” Connie says, the disgust evident on her tongue. “You never once mentioned your interest in the DE fucking A. They’re brainless cowboys, and you want to be one of them? Others around here might be buying that bullshit, but I’m not. We’ve been partners for two years.”
She has the audacity to be mad at me. It pisses me off, and if she isn’t careful, I’m going to tell her exactly how I feel.
Connie has been going off on a childish tangent for the last half hour. I wish Eric would hurry the hell up. I mean, how long does it take to lay down the law and tell a local department a federal agency is taking their case?
“Why, huh?”
“It’s been over two weeks and you haven’t once come by, or even returned a text or phone call since I’ve been shot. You weren’t at the hospital. If it had been you, I would have been there every second I wasn’t out looking for the fucker who shot you. But not you apparently, so I guess we weren’t that tight of partners to begin with.”
I really want to tell her to fuck off but causing a scene isn’t worth it. The one she’s causing is enough for those around us to gossip about for weeks.
“I do too care.” Her mouth drops open in shock. “How can you say we weren’t tight? I tell you things I don’t even tell my sister for Pete’s sake.”
“She was ordered not to talk to you, Bri,” Mike chimes in from his perch on the corner of Connie’s desk.
“No one asked you to butt in.”
“You’re both acting like children.” He crosses his arms, eyeing me with disapproval. I have to look away, finding something—anything—on my desk to look at instead. His respect matters most to me. His approval is something I’ve sought since I joined the detective department.
“Who told you I wanted to become a DEA agent? Ever stop to think I’m just helping them out?”
“Houston says you’ve been playing both sides of the field. Using PD resources to further the DEA’s case. What happened to looking out for your own?”
“We’re all on the same damn team. We all want the same damn thing.”
At least that’s what I thought. Isn’t being a cop about justice? Serving and protecting? But there are obviously those on the force that aren’t abiding by the laws or upholding them—Lance Houston being one.
“Oh, please. Don’t give me that BS, we’re all on the same team,” she mocks in a whine.
She acts like it’s us versus them. Who knows; maybe it is. I do know one thing, though. If Tom is on the side of the dirty, he’s the last person I want to work for.
“Can it, Bristols.” Mike scowls at her. Then he unfolds his arms as he lifts his ass off the corner of her desk. Looking down at me, he says, “Bri’s right. We are all on the same side; even she is. Right, Andrews?”
The temperature inside my head escalates.
“If your—”
I don’t get a chance to finish my thought. Mike rounds behind my desk. Bending down, he stretches his arms out, wrapping his hands around the armrests on each side of me and stalls inches away from my face.
“No,” he bites out. And then he lowers his voice so that only Connie and I can hear him. “I don’t think for a second you’re a bad cop or a bad person, but whatever shit is going on up there”—he jerks his chin up, indicating to my head—“has you so messed up, you haven’t been acting like yourself for a while now.” He pushes himself away, taking a step back.
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