The Profilers (Born Bratva The Lost Years Book 2)

by Suzanne Steele

  “I’m not,” she returned his smile.

  “Amazing how I went from being your sub to this.”

  “That dominance has always been part of you. You know, you’re the first man I’ve ever let dominate me. Before you, I was always the Domme. Switching it up has been good for both of us.”

  “I don’t want to think about what you did before me,” he growled, his nostrils flaring with displeasure even as his cock surged to attention once more.

  “There will never be an ‘after you’. It will always be you, David. Only you. I love you.”

  “I love you, too.” He pushed a strand of red hair away from her forehead. “I can’t stand the thought of that monster following you. I felt like I’d been gut punched when I saw that wall of pictures. I want to kill him, Rene. I swear, I’m going to.”

  “Please don’t say that where anybody can hear you, David. I can’t stand the thought of working without you. They would take you off this case in a heartbeat if they knew how emotionally involved you are. You’re going to have to keep a poker face until we get this one done, babe.”

  “You know I don’t open up to anyone but you.”

  “Sometimes emotions can seep through when we least expect it; especially hurt and anger. Just be careful. I’ve got your back. You know that.”

  “I know you do. We’re working from home today.”

  “I’m sure we are. If we get caught holding out on evidence, we’re both going to be unemployed.”

  Rene got out of bed and started the coffee, then joined him for a quick shower. By the time she’d finished, he was already at the counter and had broken into the lockbox. No turning back now. She sipped her coffee as he dumped a pile of passports and paperwork on the counter.

  “Great,” he muttered. “Nothing but a bunch of fake passports and birth certificates.”

  “Not so fast. I disagree. Look closer. There are few people in Louisville who can do work this realistic.”

  Turner smiled. “It’s time to do some shakedowns.”

  Chapter Thirty Eight

  A knock at the door caused both agents to jerk their heads up. Turner shrugged, letting Rene know he had no idea who it was. Rene got up and looked through the peephole and laughed as she opened the door.

  “I knew it had to be you. Nobody else can get past the front desk.” She reached up and hugged agent Richardson. “What’s up, Richardson?”

  “Why don’t you ever call me by my first name…Corbin?”

  “I don’t know, Richardson. Old habits die hard, I guess. It’s too late to change now. You are and will forever be, Richardson to me.”

  Agent Corbin Richardson lumbered over and sat down in a stool at the counter next to Turner. “I knew you two were up to something; hiding evidence, I see. Come on, guys, let me in on what’s going on here.” He looked like a kid on the playground who’d been the last to be picked for kickball.

  Turner cut his eyes at Richardson. “I don’t want to put you in an awkward position or have you cross a line you don’t want to cross.”

  “Man, I’m already here. Too late now. Anyways, you can trust me. I expected no less from you after what he did to Bertha. I know how much she meant to you both. Seriously, don’t you trust me?”

  “That hurts,” Rene said, sliding a cup of coffee toward him.

  “Alright, Richardson, you asked for it. We took this lockbox and Benzo’s computer and brought it home instead of putting it into evidence. All I can think is that this bastard is going to get off on a technicality. I couldn’t live with myself if I allowed that to happen.”

  Richardson took a sip of coffee; more like a slurp, really. “And you don’t think hiding evidence isn’t opening the door to that?” He raised his hands in surrender when Turner gave him a dirty look. “Hey, I’m just playing devil’s advocate. Looks like you need one.”

  “He’s right, David,” Rene agreed. They all knew that hiding this evidence was something Benzo’s lawyers would jump all over, if what they’d done ever came to light.

  “I’m hoping the bastard ends up dead and it won’t matter,” Turner said through clenched teeth.

  Richardson picked up a passport and studied it. “Very nice. Not many people can do work this good in the city. Start with questioning the guys who do fake IDs. It won’t be them, but they might know who it is.”

  “That’s what we’re thinking. Let’s head out in civilian clothes and do some undercover work today.”

  “Only if I can go,” Richardson piped up.

  “You know you’re welcome to join us,” Rene said and bounced off toward the bedroom to get dressed.

  It would be fun to not have to wear the standard FBI black and white. With a wicked grin, she grabbed a pair of tight jeans and a fitted t-shirt and then threw her hair into a high ponytail.

  She was glad Richardson was tagging along. He was a good guy and for some reason he’d latched on to her and David. He fit right in, though.

  She bounced back down the steps, ready to get to work. Sometimes she wished he could ride with them all the time. He didn’t have a partner so they had no problem taking him in as one. Without a wife and kids of his own, Richardson considered them the closest thing to family he had. Rene worried about him sometimes but he seemed to be doing okay alone. But it was always nice to know someone had your back, especially when they carried a SIG or a Glock.

  Chapter Thirty Nine

  Benzo slumped down in his latest rental car. He made sure to change up his ride every few days so he wouldn’t be noticed. Agent Richardson entered the high-rise building that Murphy and Turner lived in. “Bingo,” he muttered as he got out of the car, grabbed his toolbox from the backseat, and crossed the street.

  He strolled into the lobby of the building directly across from Turner’s place and nodded casually at the lady at the front desk. She took one look at his coveralls and waved him past. The coveralls bore the logo of the building’s maintenance company. Procurement was one of Benzo’s strengths. He could figure out how to get his hands on anything he needed.

  He took the freight elevator to the top of the building and walked the final set of stairs that led to the roof. He pulled his binoculars from his tool box and peered over the edge of the building. Gotta love those floor-to-ceiling penthouse windows. They didn’t just make for a great view for building residents, but they served a purpose for stalkers as well. He’d been worried that Murphy would have them covered by now, but no doubt it was hard to find curtains that big. Maybe she was just being stubborn, refusing to let a stalker change her life. It certainly fit Rene’s personality, from what he’d observed so far. He didn’t really care why; he was just happy as hell to have a perfect view into her world.

  Oh, dear. It looked like somebody had absconded with a bunch of evidence and just taken it home with them. Tsk, tsk…

  It wasn’t hard to see the lockbox full of fake paperwork that Turner had dumped out on the counter. He wished he could be a fly on the wall and hear what they were saying; see their frustration up close and personal. It had been hard enough to even leave flowers at the desk for Rene. The security guard had looked at him suspiciously like he was dropping off a bomb or something, so he’d had to come up with a different way to get close to her. The building across the street was perfect.

  Benzo had seen all he needed to see. Rene Murphy and David Turner had fallen for his stash of evidence, and they had brought their buddy in on it, too. Good to know. They were all his puppets now. But he wasn’t done, not yet. By the time he returned to his car, he’d have everything he needed to make them do whatever he wanted. Even if the feds did bring him in and charge him, he’d be sure to get off on a technicality. After all, sneaking evidence home instead of taking it straight to the FBI was generally frowned upon…and made said evidence inadmissible in court.

  He pulled his camera from his tool box, zoomed in nice and tight, and took a couple of shots of them handling the evidence. He lowered the camera just as Rene parted company w
ith the two men, reappearing seconds later in the bedroom. He adjusted his position for a better view of things as she removed her t-shirt, revealing ample breasts encased in a sheer, lacy bra. Benzo’s mouth watered as he took in the glorious body her black suits had been hiding. She tossed the bra aside and gifted him with a brief flash of side-boob before she slipped on another one. She turned away from the window and moved toward the closet, arching her back as she pulled her hair into a high ponytail. Benzo groaned when he saw the dimples at the base of her spine. Perfect.

  Life was good; at least, for him. But those agents were so fucked.

  Chapter Forty

  The red brick building the agents pulled up to boasted a large ‘open’ sign and a bigger sign with ‘Value Computers and Repair’ in bold red letters.

  “I think I should go in alone. We don’t want to overwhelm the poor guy.” Rene turned around and gave Richardson the once-over. “And you look like a cop, just in case no one’s mentioned that to you before.”

  “Hey, I don’t know if I should be offended or not,” Richardson sulked.

  “Can’t help it. It’s that out-of-date tie and the coffee stain on your shirt. Dead giveaway. Any lowlife worth their salt could see you coming a mile away.”

  “She’s right. A pretty girl is going to get further than we will any day of the week,” Turner commented, his eyes twinkling as he took in her ‘look’.

  Richardson chuckled, “She does look young with no makeup and that ponytail. Looks kinda cute, if you ask me.”

  If any other man had said such a thing about Rene, Turner would have decked him. But he just rolled his eyes, knowing that Richardson was just fucking with him and meant no harm. That kind of ribbing was par for the course in the FBI. “Go do your thing, girl.” Agent Turner kissed her forehead. “And be careful. Don’t take anything for granted. In other words, don’t underestimate the young guy behind the counter. I’m sure he has muscle in the backroom.”

  “I know it’s hard for you to believe, but I’ve been doing this whole FBI thing for a few years now.”

  “You’ll never be doing it long enough for me to not be overprotective. I’ll always look after you, you know.”

  “Get a room guys. Damn,” Richardson guffawed from the backseat.

  Rene pulled a piece of bubblegum from her pocket, unwrapped it, and popped it into her mouth. She opened the door and stepped out, then bounced down the sidewalk like a typical teenager going in to get a fake ID.

  The twenty-year-old guy behind the counter perked up when he saw the hot redhead in the skintight white t-shirt. Too bad she was wearing a bra. He would have liked to watch those tits wiggling while she walked up to him. He couldn’t take his eyes off them; they were fantastic. He licked his lips, wondering if the nipples on those perky tits of hers were brown or pink. Could go either way with a redhead.

  Rene leaned over the counter and blew a bubble. His eyes were locked onto her lips, not the bubble.

  “Can I, I, um, help ya?” he stuttered, swallowing hard from the effort to string the words together.

  “I don’t know, can you?” Rene twirled the gum around her finger, eyeing him like he might actually have a chance.

  Okay, this is looking promising, he thought to himself. His dick was suddenly yearning for wide open spaces as it jabbed stubbornly at the zipper of his jeans. More than ever, he regretted not rubbing one out in the shower that morning before he got to work. Luckily, his break was in ten minutes.

  Rene leaned in a little more, resting her elbows on the counter. With her cleavage staring him down, he barely heard what she was saying when she giggled and whispered, “A couple of college friends of mine want to take me out this weekend for my eighteenth birthday. The thing is, I look so young that I have a really…hard...time getting in bars. Ya know? Anyways, it just seems a shame to not be able to celebrate not being jailbait anymore. I mean, that’s a good thing, right?”

  “Yes. Yes, a very good thing.” He gulped, nodding eagerly. He’d agree to anything she said if it meant he could get her in the sack. “So…you need a fake ID?” She nodded.

  “We can’t help you, little lady,” a gravelly voice declared from around the corner. Rene turned around to see that the voice was attached to a large biker body covered in tattoos. A man with thick, scraggly black hair was eyeing her skeptically from the door to the backroom. His eyes narrowed as he shoved a bunch of it off his face, leaving her at the mercy of piercing amber-green eyes.

  “I don’t know what gave you the idea that we deal in fake IDs, but your information is wrong. So…unless you’re buying a computer or getting one fixed, you need to turn around and get your tight little ass right back out that door.”

  “Sorry, my bad.” Rene pushed away from the counter and took a few steps backwards, giving the guy behind the counter one last look at her rack. With a little wave, she turned around and walked toward the door, giving her hips a little extra sway with every step she took. When she opened the door, she couldn’t resist turning around and winking at the guy behind the counter. Stepping onto the sidewalk, she stifled a laugh at his forlorn expression. The kid must have thought he’d lost his chance to bed the sexy customer who’d dropped straight out of heaven.

  “Step on it!” Rene said as she jumped into the car. She was determined to get away before badass biker dude saw their vehicle and made them as FBI.

  But it was too late. When she looked back at the storefront, the hulking man was standing there, arms crossed over his chest, smiling broadly. And he couldn’t resist giving her a wink.

  “Damn it!” Rene muttered.

  “What?” Turner said as he pulled into traffic.

  “It was the fucking captain of Dauntless MC.”

  “Preacher?” Turner asked in disbelief.

  “Yeah, Preacher.”

  “Well, hell.”

  Chapter Forty One

  Preacher turned away from the window and locked the door, then turned the ‘open’ sign over to ‘closed’. The click of the deadbolt sounded like a bomb going off in Tommy’s ears.

  Preacher sauntered across the room like he had all the time in the world. He grabbed Tommy by the ear and held on as he pulled him to the backroom. “Stop squealing like a fucking pig, Tommy,” Preacher growled irritably. “If I didn’t know any better, I’d think you were about to let that little micro dick of yours get you in trouble.”

  “I wasn’t going to say anything, Preacher. I swear.”

  “I don’t believe you. You stupid little shit! You were stupid enough to believe that girl would fuck you? Got news for you. She’s FBI.”

  “No way,” Tommy said, momentarily forgetting about his throbbing ear.

  “Go home for the day, fuck face. I don’t even know if you have a job anymore.”

  “Hey, I got family in Dauntless MC, man.”

  “Not if you’re dead. Now get the fuck outta here,” he muttered as he shoved him toward the rear exit. That was all it took for Tommy to grab his backpack and run out of the store that served as a front for the biker’s club. Preacher locked the door, then went back to the office to make what promised to be a very interesting phone call. “Novak, my man.”

  “How’s it going, Preacher?” Novak asked, recognizing Preacher’s unmistakable gravel-and-glass voice.

  “I’ve got some interesting news for you. I just had a visitor. FBI.”

  “No shit.”

  “Yeah. One of those FBI agents you been having a hard time with. She dropped in today trying to get a fake ID. Bitch was dressed like a teenager, shaking her tits at the boy I’ve got working the cash register. And she was a regular wet dream, too, at least for dirty old men who are into that sort of thing. But can you believe that shit?”

  “Are you still as OCD about surveillance as you used to be?”

  “Worse, my brother. So much worse,” Preacher laughed.

  “Good. I’ll be over there this afternoon and we’ll get this shit figured out.”

  “I’
ll be here.”

  Preacher hung up the phone. There were few people he’d bother to give a heads-up on such seemingly trivial Intel. But the peace treaty Dauntless MC had with the Bratva meant he covered all his bases, no matter how ‘OCD’ it might seem. Getting on Glazov and Novak’s good side could only be a good thing. Getting on their bad side was a never-gonna-happen thing.

  He unlocked the front door and flipped the sign back to ‘open’. No sense in not keeping up appearances.

  Chapter Forty Two

  Rene took a sip of her caramel macchiato and licked the froth off her lips. “Mmm, soooo good.”

  “You and your froufrou coffee. We’re trying to do business here,” Turner huffed, angry at how his cock jumped in his pants. Then again, he could hardly blame the damn thing as he took in the sight of her tongue sliding across her bottom lip…just like it had been sliding up and down his dick the night before.

  She dramatically batted her eyelashes. “I’m surrounded by death. It’s important to enjoy life’s simple pleasures.”

  “Mm-hmm,” Richardson agreed, oblivious to how Rene was tormenting her man.

  Turner cleared his throat and discreetly adjusted himself beneath the table. “Seriously, though, I’m pissed that we didn’t know Dauntless was running that front for fake IDs.”

  “I don’t know, Turner,” Richardson said in between slurps of his Latte. “I don’t think we can assume anything here. Whoever it is does beautiful work, though.”

  “We need to get a look at their surveillance tapes,” Turner mused.

  “Yeah, but we don’t have enough cause for a search warrant,” Rene groused.

  “Not legally, anyway.” Richardson kept his voice low as he glanced around the office. It was business as usual in the FBI’s Louisville branch, with rookie agents earnestly following up on leads while most of the more experienced agents talked strategy.