Committed

by Sidney Bristol

  “They’ll hold the paperwork for you till tomorrow.” Sure enough, her IV tube was pinched. He carefully peeled the tape up and adjusted it on her arm before smoothing the tape back in place. “There you go. When do you get to go home?”

  “Tonight, if I’m lucky. Probably tomorrow.” She rolled her eyes and groaned.

  Her injury had been worse than he anticipated. But what did he know about being a doctor? His talents lay in taking down crooks. But one thing he did know. There was no way Gio was getting out of the hospital for a few days. She’d had emergency surgery. That she was moving at all was probably attributable to the strength of the painkillers they had her on and the little woman’s gumption.

  “Here, I brought you these.” He placed the flowers on the side table.

  “Oh, those are pretty,” Gio said politely.

  Damien grinned. “I’m just pulling your leg. Here.”

  He handed over a jumbo box of Junior Mints, and Gio nearly pitched forward off the bed trying to snatch them from his hand.

  “Real food,” she moaned as she ripped into the box. Gio’s addiction to Junior Mints and coffee were legendary in the office. “So get me up to speed.”

  “Will you lie back down if I do?”

  “Can you get me some coffee?” She shoved a handful of the circular chocolates in her mouth and arched a brow at him.

  “Are you supposed to have any?”

  “Do you think I care?”

  Damien laughed, comforted by the banter. “All right, all right, I’ll get you a cup. You’d better be horizontal by the time I get back.”

  Gio sighed heavily and rolled her eyes. “Fine. Whatever.”

  He retraced his steps to a coffee cart set up in the waiting room. He poured a liberal amount of sugar and cream into one cup; the other was straight, black coffee. By the time he got back to the room, Gio was lying back down in her bed, as promised. From the grumbling and muttering under her breath, he didn’t think she’d been able to do it alone. He held his tongue and offered her the black coffee.

  “You are, as always, the Dark Angel.” She saluted him with the cup and sipped its contents.

  It was Damien’s turn to roll his eyes. A few years prior, he’d had a bad feeling about a bust and pushed to change the operation last minute. He’d still taken some hard hits in a nasty hand-to-hand fight, but given what could have gone down if they’d breached the building through the front doors as planned, he was okay with it. They’d avoided a bloodbath, and he’d gained the horrible nickname.

  “We captured both Valdez and Morales. Two thugs and Molina’s wife were killed, and a few others have minor injuries. Molina got away, which you knew.” The victory of the two major players being taken into custody was overshadowed by the kingpin’s escape.

  “How the fuck did that happen?”

  Damien sighed and sank into the chair next to the bed. Any time there was coordination between multiple departments, there was confusion.

  “Local cops watching the main road thought the blue SUV was one of ours, so they didn’t follow. They just sat there with their thumbs up their asses. The SUV was found in Darien. Best we can figure out, he boosted a car and is gone.” He was still angry about it. Emilio was on the streets.

  “Fuck.” Gio shook her head and her curls bobbed around her face. “How do you miss a vehicle with that many bullet holes?”

  “They thought it was us.” The sarcasm was unavoidable at this point. In a month, maybe, he’d cool off, but for now, he was pissed.

  “Okay, you need to get into the office so you can keep me updated.” Gio set her coffee down on the hospital tray table.

  “Kicking me out already?”

  “Yup.”

  “Fine.” He stood and stretched. “I’m glad you’re still kicking, Gio.”

  “You and me both.” A smile flickered across her face. “Do you think you could stop by my place and check on Huxley?”

  Damien mock groaned. “I don’t know about that. Are you sure your attack dog won’t go for a black man?”

  “Shut your face.” Yet she laughed.

  “All right, all right, I’ll go see about your dog. If I lose an arm, it’s all your fault.”

  They said their good-byes and Damien headed out of the hospital and back toward the parking garage. As soon as his feet hit the pavement, he dug his personal phone out of his pocket and dialed the number he’d been itching to connect with.

  It rang twice before a male voice growled, “What?”

  “You’re not up yet?”

  “It’s ten a.m. on a Monday. No.” Yamamoto’s clipped tones were a little rough around the edges, but Damien had no doubt the man had been up for a while. His guests would be leaving today if they hadn’t the night before.

  “How is she?” Damien’s gut knotted up. He hadn’t heard from Rapunzel. Not a peep, and it concerned him.

  “She left.”

  “Okay, but how was the rest of the weekend?” Damien paused at a light, waiting with two dozen other people for the walk signal.

  “She left on Friday after you did.”

  “What? Why? You let her?” The light changed and he jogged through the crosswalk and turned into the garage.

  “Nothing was going to keep that woman here. She was pissed.”

  “Did you give her my note?” He slid into the front seat of his SUV, parked in a spot reserved for law enforcement.

  “I did. She was still flying hard and high. It was all I could do to get her to let me stick around while she packed and came down a little. Never seen anything like it.”

  Rapunzel was amazing, and she’d been ethereal after play. She’d glowed. There was no other word for it. He’d lain there, scared to breathe for fear he’d wake up and it would all be a dream.

  “You still there?” Yamamoto asked.

  “Yeah, I’m just … I don’t get it.” He’d left a note. There were people there to take care of her. “What did she think I did?”

  “I don’t know. She wouldn’t speak to me, but she was clearly upset. I don’t think she was in the right state of mind.”

  “What?” He started the truck and let it idle.

  “She was pretty upset, and I can’t blame her. A note, dude? That’s fucked up. I gave her a complete refund, but I’m pretty sure she thinks I’m a devil.” A little emotion flavored his voice, his words short and clipped.

  “What was I supposed to do? I had to go.”

  “Yeah, but the slaves could have packed your things. You could have taken a few minutes to talk to her. But, whatever. It’s done and that ship has sailed.”

  “No. What’s her phone number? I’ll talk to her.”

  “That’s not a good idea.”

  “Why not?”

  “For one, if she wanted to talk to you, she would have called you.”

  “Just give me her number and I’ll talk to her.” He’d sketched out a romantic evening in his mind, intending to apologize, make it up to her. Couldn’t she see that the chemistry they shared wasn’t easy to find?

  “I can’t do that.”

  “I get why you can’t do that in normal circumstances, but—”

  “Listen to yourself.”

  Damien stared out of the window, watching people on the sidewalk. “This is different, man. I can’t tell you why, but it is.”

  “Then you fucked it up. She wants nothing to do with you and I’m not about to go against her wishes or the rules. I understand clicking with someone so powerfully you feel it in your bones, but no can do.”

  “Yeah.” A chill ran up Damien’s spine. Pretty damn perfect.

  “I know you want to do the right thing and check up on her. You’re a good man, a good dominant. But I have to abide by the wishes of my client, and I can’t give you her information. Do you understand?” There was both compassion and steel in Yamamoto’s voice. Damien knew that tone, could picture the man’s eyes narrowed, and the set of his jaw.

  “I could ask you to tell me as a
federal agent. You’d have to, then.” Even as he said it, he knew he wouldn’t. For one thing, it was an abuse of power, but he’d also be outed to his entire department. The ramifications outweighed connecting with Rapunzel.

  Yamamoto’s dry chuckle said he believed Damien would do that just as much as Damien believed it himself. “Yeah, right.”

  Damien sighed in defeat and slumped in his chair. “Fine. But what else am I supposed to do?”

  “Let her go. If it’s meant to be, you’ll find her again. Or she’ll find you. The winds blow as the winds will. I’ve got to go oversee departures. You going to be okay?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Everything go down okay Saturday?”

  Damien shifted into reverse and eased the large vehicle out of the garage. Among the kink crowd, few knew what Damien’s career entailed. Yamamoto knew more than anyone else. He knew the truth. “We got two big dogs, but lost the local kingpin. If you hear anything about his whereabouts, think you could let me know?”

  “I might be able to do that,” Yamamoto said slowly.

  “Good.” Damien knew Yamamoto’s connections went back to Asia, and that his family operated seedy businesses. Yamamoto had come to America to start fresh, to pay family debts. He wound up with a contractor gig Damien could only speculate about. His clearance wasn’t that high.

  “Anyone hurt?”

  “A few superficial injuries. Remember that short Italian woman I brought to the vanilla New Year party last year?”

  “Sicilian, five three, dark brown curls and eyes?” Yamamoto rattled off.

  “Uh, yeah. That’s the one.” Damien chuckled. Yamamoto had a memory for faces and names that was uncanny.

  “Something happen to her?”

  “Gunshot. She had surgery and will be down for a few days. I’m stopping by her place now to check on her dog.” He merged onto the main drag headed toward the Loop. He wasn’t in a hurry to get to the office to do paperwork; he was itching to be on Emilio’s trail, but that wasn’t allowed. They were supposed to focus on the players they’d caught.

  “What kind of dog?”

  “I thought you had to go.”

  “Call me curious. What kind of dog would a special agent of the DEA have?” From the squeak in the background, Damien imagined Yamamoto in his office, reclining in an old leather chair.

  “Huxley is a retired German shepherd scent dog. Gio used to work the canine unit in New York with him. When she got word a few years ago that he was being retired, she petitioned to take him.” Huxley was technically a nonactive asset. In a pinch, they’d tasked the dog with small jobs, but for the most part, he enjoyed long runs, chewing Gio’s shoes, and slobbering on her. Anyone else, he was potentially aggressive toward.

  Yamamoto chuckled. “A big dog for a little woman.”

  Damien shook his head. “Don’t ever let her hear you say that or you’ll be eating the ground. I’ll let you go, man. You hear anything you can tell me, please do.”

  “Will do, Special Agent. Will do.”

  Damien ended the call and pocketed his phone without looking at it. He’d obsessively checked the messages for two days. It was time he accepted that she was out of his life. He didn’t like it, but he had to accept it.

  Chapter Eight

  Two weeks later …

  Damien leaned against a table piled high with drug paraphernalia, and even a Santa Muerte statue. Not on record with the Catholic Church as an official saint, Saint Death, or Santa Muerte, was a symbol carried by those involved with narcotics, be it trafficking, selling, or use. It was like waving a flag to a narc officer. Which was why Damien stood in front of three hundred students at Lake View High School for the fourth time that day, a video of an inmate playing on the screen behind him.

  He watched the faces of the teens carefully, noting the ones who appeared uneasy, or kept touching their skin. Officer Carney, one of the local police force assigned to schools in this area, was surveying the kids and doing the same.

  The video depicted a meth user, high as a kite, raving about bugs under his skin. The man had picked sores all over his face, and half his teeth were gone from meth use. It was a sad way of life for a man who’d first been seen in the video as a wealthy, high-powered lawyer.

  Damien noted four students who appeared to have more than a passing knowledge of meth. It was in the way they wouldn’t watch the video, and held their hands in check to keep from picking at meth bugs. It was disheartening to step into a school and find users so young. Just last week, they’d busted two meth houses that were part of a production ring. But it was a drop in the bucket. For all the strides toward eradicating meth labs, the dealers found other ways of smuggling it in, usually from Mexico, but the growing trade from Canada was an issue, as well.

  The video came to an end and Officer Carney gave him the five-minute signal.

  Damien nodded and stepped to the center of the room. He’d donned his DEA jacket and vest for this little presentation, and it was hot as hell. But if it got through to one kid, it was worth it.

  “Meth doesn’t care who you are. You use it, you’re going to end up like this man. I can actually say I knew him. I worked with him. And he is not the same person he once was. Using has cost him his family, his job, his money, his ride. All of it.”

  “Say no to drugs,” a boy called from the middle of the group.

  The teens snickered and it seemed as if everyone shifted, relieved to have an excuse to not listen. Probably most of the kids had a friend or family member who was long gone, the result of some form of narcotic.

  The bell rang, cutting off Damien’s closing remarks. The teens rose and rushed for the doors.

  Officer Carney passed through the students, pausing to slap hands and bump fists with a few of them. In the predominantly African American area, Carney fit right in. Hell, he could have passed for the older brother of many of the teens.

  As the last of the students filed out, the smile faded from Carney’s face. He sighed, dropping into one of the first-row chairs, rubbing a hand across his brow.

  “What’d you see?” Damien crossed his arms over his chest. He’d come to the school as a favor to Carney, but he would have done it for anyone who asked. Educating people about the reality of what they were doing to themselves was one of the only ways they were going to stop things.

  “What I expected. There’s a couple of kids who use. And one I’m pretty sure has started selling. Well, you heard him. He was the troublemaker in the middle of the room.”

  “Ah, my peanut gallery.”

  “Yeah. Kid’s name is Sidon. Comes from a really good family. Mom and dad who care, little sisters, and he just doesn’t give a fuck. How do parents who do everything right turn out a kid like that? I just don’t get it, man.” Carney’s face creased in real concern. By all accounts, Carney should have been like Sidon, having come from a low-income, single-parent family, with multiple siblings. But Carney had gone straight into the military, seeing it as a way out. Four years in the military police, then he’d moved easily into the Chicago PD, hitting the same beats he’d lived in growing up.

  Damien sank into the chair next to him. “I don’t know, man.”

  For a few moments they were silent. The weight of the world sat between them, an arm around each of them, holding them down.

  “What you working on now?” Carney stretched out his legs and leaned back.

  “Officially, just some local activity. You heard we took down Valdez two weeks ago?”

  “I heard, and I was pretty hurt you didn’t include me on that.” Carney stared down his nose at Damien, mock disapproval on his face. Any cop west of Lake Shore Drive wanted a piece of Valdez.

  “Sorry about that.” Damien grinned and spread his hands in defense. “Emilio got away though.”

  Again they were silent for a moment.

  “That’s not good news.”

  “Nope.”

  “Any leads on him? Anything at all?”

  �
��Nothing. All of his street thugs have jumped to new crews or fled. There’s no one out there now we can find without contradictory alliances, who might be helping him. If he were smart, he’d be gone, but I don’t know. He’s a pretty sick bastard, and I can’t shake this feeling he wouldn’t leave his turf.” He tapped his chin with his knuckle. “I might have something, though.”

  “If I can help out in any way, let me know?”

  Damien nodded.

  The young man experienced the clash daily, and no doubt had a personal stake in the matter.

  “Well, we going to do this, or what?” Damien rubbed his palms over his thighs.

  “Sure. Scent dog here yet?”

  Damien pulled out his work phone and pulled up his recent messages. “Huh.”

  “What is it?”

  “Gio’s outside with Huxley.”

  “Huxley? Have I met him?” Carney’s brow furrowed.

  Damien chuckled. “No. Huxley is her retired scent dog. She’s still on restricted duty. Supposed to be off today, but I guess she found a way to get in on some action.”

  “Let’s pack this up first,” Carney suggested, gesturing to the elaborate setup.

  Between the two of them, they broke down the visual aids and packed them back into Damien’s plastic storage cases.

  “Dude, some of this shit is fucked up.” Carney eyed a bust of Jesus Malverde, considered by many Mexicans to be a “narco-saint,” almost mythic. “Where do you keep this stuff?”

  “My garage.”

  “And that doesn’t creep you out?”

  Damien stacked the boxes on a borrowed handcart with the word Library scrawled across every flat surface. They barely got everything on it.

  “Nope. Just reminds me of the sad souls who think Santa Muerte and Malverde actually care if some druggie gets their fix. Makes me think there’s a little more scum off the streets.”

  “I’ll keep my beat.” Carney shook his head again and wheeled the cart out of the auditorium.

  They crossed through the historic brick school, and Damien couldn’t help but notice the glimpses of beauty. He’d never seen stained-glass windows in an inner-city school.