by C. A. Szarek
“Helped them?” She arched an eyebrow.
The kid’s blue gaze burned, and he seemed a few years older. “I’m good with computers. Bubba hooked me up with a crew Bennett used to run with before he joined Joe Pompa’s. Their tech had gotten picked up. Went down for a few years, but nothing to do with them. Took me a while to get them to trust me, but I passed their test bust. We got the whole crew after the second train, but they haven’t seen or heard from Bennett since he killed his crew. Their leader knew what he did. Said he was a thief, not a murderer, so he had no intention of playing nice if Bennett reached out. Unfortunately, he didn’t get a chance to try, because we busted them.”
Taylor sighed. “I need to find the bastard.”
“We will find him.” Holman nodded.
She paused. How could Holman seem so invested in her case already?
“Well, seems like you two have work to do.” Baker’s tone was too pleased for her liking, but she held back her scowl—for now.
“Uh, Holman, can you give me a moment?” Taylor straightened from the desk and tried to smile for the kid.
“Sure.” He stood and nodded.
“Uh, if you ask Jay—Agent Palumbo”—Taylor pointed—“at his desk over there, he can show you to my—our office.”
Holman nodded. He was smart enough to close the door when he left.
“Carrigan, I don’t want to hear it.” Baker leaned back in his chair. He joined his hands and rested them across his torso. His posture was too casual for an argument.
He’d made up his mind.
Which means I’m screwed.
She lowered herself to the chair. Perched on the edge, because she wouldn’t be staying long. “Did I do something wrong?”
Baker laughed. “That’s your opener? What’s your angle?”
“Did I do something wrong?” Taylor repeated.
“You know the answer to that.”
“Then why am I being punished?”
He laughed again, and shook his head. “Punished? You think assistance for your case is punishment?”
“I work better alone.”
“Bullshit.”
Taylor knew the instant they both thought of John. Something passed through Baker’s dark eyes and he averted his gaze. He cleared his throat before looking back at her.
It just about killed her.
She bit down, locking her jaw so she wouldn’t tell him to go to hell. “Obviously, you ambushed me with Holman for a reason.”
“You’re lucky I called you in. I could’ve shown him to your office first thing. Before you got in.”
They both knew that would’ve made her a human grenade in his office before the clock struck a quarter after eight.
Baker leaned forward, his expression unreadable. “I’m gonna level with you.”
“That so?”
“This is it for you.”
“What?”
“You work with Holman. He goes everywhere you go. I mean everywhere. Hold your hand in the restroom if necessary. Or you’re off this case.”
Taylor tamped down her instant rage and fought the urge to rush to her feet. The back legs of the chair came off the carpet as she pitched forward even more. “This is my case.”
“For now.” Baker narrowed his eyes, daring.
“That wasn’t our agreement,” she bit the words out through clenched teeth and flexed her hands. She planted her fists on her lap and tried to ignore the anger threatening to overtake her.
Emotion is weak. Her father’s gravelly voice played on a loop in her head. If she closed her eyes, she could see him in full uniform, while standing at attention in front of him as if she was the one in the Navy.
“I told you when I let you do this that our agreement could change at any time. It’s all been dependent on what I think you can handle. We both know you’re too close to this. I’ve let you go it alone long enough.”
“I can do this. I am doing this.”
Baker sighed. “I know you are, but something’s changed after Antioch. I’m worried about you.”
Taylor’s heart stuttered and she tried to ignore it. She banished Joe Pompa’s bloody face and crumpled form on that kitchen floor when the memory popped into her mind. If she uttered a denial, her boss would call her on it. “Shrink cleared me.”
“I know.”
She wanted to assure him she wasn’t headed down the revenge path. She’d get Carter Bennett the right way, and get justice for John. Wanted to remind Baker that the situation had been ruled a good shoot. Joe Pompa hadn’t died.
Taylor said nothing. Didn’t want her boss to have an inkling of the guilt that was still killing her.
“Taylor—”
“Matthias—”
They stared at each other after playing the rare first-name game. He broke eye contact first, giving another sigh.
“I’m okay. I can do this, and I don’t need Holman. This case is mine.”
“Holman is non-negotiable.” This was hard, a command that made her angry all over again.
“I don’t need some baby agent following me around like a lost puppy.”
Baker smirked. “Buy a collar and a leash, because he’s a keeper.”
She couldn’t even crack a smile. “So that’s it? This is an ultimatum?”
“Call it what you want. Now go get acquainted with your new partner. Show him around the office and introduce him to everyone. Get him up to speed on what’s going on and what’s next.”
Anger melted into defeat and she tried not to let her shoulders slump. Baker wasn’t going to give in. Not this time. Losing didn’t taste right in her mouth. “I have a case to solve, I don’t have time for that,” Taylor grumbled.
Amusement darted across her boss’s face and he quirked a half-smile. “I’ve never seen you pout before, Carrigan.”
Taylor growled. “I don’t pout.”
He grinned. “Leave the door open so you’re not tempted to slam it on your way out.”
She narrowed her eyes at the dismissal and wanted to flip him off, but didn’t. She really didn’t like losing.
Taylor stalked to her office, glaring at the maintenance man who was mounting a nameplate outside her open office door. He scurried out of her way so she could enter the room, but not before she saw what it’d said.
The top line stated Taylor Carrigan, Special Agent but underneath was etched, Alec Holman, Special Agent.
She growled and made a fist. “The jerk had this planned for today.”
“I’m sorry, what was that?” Holman glanced over his shoulder from what used to be John’s chair. He wore a friendly smile she wanted nothing to do with.
Emotion rushed up, and she flashed back to a man with much darker hair, greeting her with a similar smile and sitting in the same place.
She’d finally gotten the balls to clean out his work area and empty his desk a month or two before. Since she’d taken his things home, the office had been forlorn.
Baker had been smart enough not to challenge her need to do so herself. He hadn’t even pressured her, but she’d heard the whispers of fellow agents about her shrine to John, so she’d gotten it all out of the office. She could still grieve in private.
Taylor barely looked at John’s side of the room, if she could help it. Hadn’t even managed to turn the calendar to the proper month, but Holman must’ve, because it was correct now.
She forced a breath and called herself on her weakness, then straightened her shoulders and shook her head for her new partner. The two words still left a bitter taste in her mouth. “Nothing. Talking to myself.”
“Ah. I do that from time to time, too.” The smile never left, despite the fact Taylor had neglected to offer one in return.
“I bet you do.” She looked away before he could answer, but he didn’t. Swallowing a sigh, she tugged her chair away from her desk and took a seat. Reached for her mouse and woke her computer up.
Taylor had entered her login information and opened her email
, and was starting to read one of the several demanding her attention when Holman cleared his throat. She rolled her eyes and refused to turn to him.
“What now?” he asked.
“What d’you mean?” She glanced over her shoulder, spotting the half a dozen brown boxes in the corner of John’s—Holman’s—side of the room.
Damn, that’s gonna take getting used to.
They were perpendicular to the two filing cabinets in the corner, as if they belonged, but they hadn’t been there yesterday.
Case info. All the reports, files and perhaps a piece of evidence or two.
Baker must’ve ordered them brought up, because she only kept the latest stuff in her office. Would venture down to the file room if she needed to look something up. Tried to avoid John’s reports from his time inside Pompa’s crew unless absolutely necessary.
Those six boxes contained her life.
At least, since she’d lost John.
Taylor turned back to her computer. She threw a nod toward the boxes, but didn’t look at Holman. “You might wanna get to reading.” She wasn’t about to hold her new partner’s hand. He’d have to figure it out on his own.
“I already have.”
She whirled her chair around, abandoning her email for the second time. So her new partner was an overachiever? Taylor ignored the little voice in the back of her head that told her that was probably a good thing. “You have?”
Holman nodded. “I was briefed on your case yesterday. Already looked through the case as a whole.” He pointed to the boxes. “I have a bit of a photographic memory, so…” He shrugged and his cheeks reddened.
Taylor resisted the urge to roll her eyes again. “So, what do you think our next move is?”
“Ross Catrone is the prosecutor on the case, right?”
“Yes.” She wanted to snap at him for answering a question with a question.
“And you had a meeting with him yesterday?”
She arched an eyebrow. “Keeping tabs on me?” Had Baker given her a partner or a spy?
He shook his head. “No, it’s just that, I was here when you were there.”
Taylor clenched her jaw. She hadn’t seen him at the office yesterday, but she’d only spent an hour or two in. The rest of the day, she’d run a few things down that had ended up being a waste of time.
Not too different from this morning so far. Go figure.
Come to think of it, Baker had left her alone all day yesterday, even after their argument in the morning. How convenient. New boy must’ve come in right after she’d stormed out of her boss’s office.
“So, how’d it go?” Holman prompted.
“It didn’t.” She wasn’t about to tell him about the lasagna incident. Or about Sergeant Shannon Crowley.
Taylor stilled when the handsome uniform cop from Antioch popped into her mind.
Where did that come from?
She’d had a nice evening with him, even if by accident. But she wasn’t allowed to think about him. It had no purpose.
“It didn’t?” Holman’s question jolted her and he shot her a funny look.
Taylor shifted in her chair. “Right. Didn’t have much to share. I need to find Rowdy Vargas. He’s the key to finding Bennett. I feel it in my gut.”
“I don’t disagree.” Holman looked thoughtful for a moment, then reached for a gray folder on his desk.
There were two casefiles there, and one was open. It had to be Carter Bennett’s—she’d recognize his blond head from his picture at any distance.
He thumbed through the other one, and leveled her with a serious gaze. “Joe Pompa.”
“What?” Her heart skipped and she cleared her throat.
He flashed a photograph paperclipped to the inside of the file.
She avoided the dark eyes staring out at her—and the guilt that curled up to her throat. Started to shake her head, then stopped herself and ordered her gut to unclench. To no avail.
Holman glanced down at the file, then back up at her. “Pompa is the next move.”
No. “How so?” she croaked.
“He’s the key to finding Rowdy Vargas.”
“How? He’s in prison. Awaiting trial in Texarkana.”
Her partner gave her a long look that called her protest weak, even if he didn’t say it. “We won’t know if he’s heard anything new unless we go talk to him.”
I was afraid you’d say that.
Chapter Eight
“So, how we doin’ this?” Carter looked at the five men scattered around the makeshift table of stacked milk-crates with rough panels of wood resting across their uneven tops. Plans, stolen train manifests and maps lay on top of the wood.
A few laptops were perched at the end of the setup, along with a police scanner. Various other electronics weren’t far, including listening devices. All the equipment was high tech, more so than he’d seen the likes of before. They’d put money into their equipment and intel—not so much their table.
The techy stuff, Bran, from his old crew, would’ve drooled over.
The scanner was on, but the chatter sounded more like a buzz, since the volume was low. Every once in a while he’d catch a word or two, or a shout.
The sprawling warehouse they were in was full of enough cars to make Jay Leno jealous, but they were all suped up modern hotrods, no classics in sight. Mostly Japanese in make, with the occasional American muscle car, but nothing like Carter’s favorite 1963 Charger.
Kai March, Bubba’s old friend and the crew leader, was half Asian, and seemed to be a collector as much as he was a thief. Too bad he was an asshole, too.
“First of all, you’ll remember your place,” Kai growled. His spiked hair was three colors—bright hues of green, purple and pink. He had nose rings and ear gauges, and a smattering of other piercings all over his face, and up the curve of his ears.
Carter presented his palms, high and flat. “Hey, I was just askin’. Not trying to run the show, believe me.”
Someone snorted and he wanted to stab the guy to his right, but Carter plastered on a pleasant—grateful—expression.
“I’m doin’ Bubba a favor, and I have no idea why he vouched for your traitor-ass. I know all about you, Carter Bennett.”
Perfect, because I don’t know jack about you. That bugged him, actually, because gathering intel and making plans had always been his strong suit.
There was a muttering of agreement among the other crew members, except the blond computer geek. That guy—Carter couldn’t remember his damn name—didn’t look up from the laptops’ screens. His fingers were flying a mile a minute over one of the keyboards, but he kept glancing at the other screen, too. Multitasking.
“Hey, this is business, man,” Carter told Kai—whose dark eyes were still locked onto him. They both ignored the rest of the crew. “Just a little business, then I’ll be outta your hair. I don’t want any trouble, just some rides and some dough. Then I’ll get gone.”
They’d talked money already, and Carter hadn’t gotten his way. Kai and his boys were getting way more than he’d wanted to allow, but it was the price of working with a traitor—or so the crew leader had said. They had all the power, so it wasn’t like Carter had much of a choice. He couldn’t hit a train on his own.
At least they were knowledgeable about the routes, carriers and such. The plan was for a massive order of Hummers. Not Carter’s first choice, but they’d have to do. He would have preferred something higher dollar, but Kai had told him he already had a buyer. A local guy, which meant Bubba wouldn’t get a cut.
He’d have to go with the flow—as much as he hated that idea. He had a feeling that, because of him, Bubba now owed this asshole a favor, and had probably paid him off to take Carter on. The big guy had had him deliver a package to the dickhead, and even though he hadn’t asked questions, or opened it, his gut said it was money.
Just more shit for him to pay back later. Dammit. But he had to respect Bubba for having his back when no one else would touch
him.
Kai smirked and crossed his arms over a broad chest. He was tall and solid, like a linebacker. No one Carter would want to tangle with in a physical fight. Dressed in all black leather, too. Thought he was some sort of badass, no doubt.
“Okay, listen up,” he said, as if Carter had never asked his question moments before. “We do this like always.”
He wanted to roll his eyes. That was the kind of opener Joe Pompa used to do.
“We got five semis lined up to take the rides away, so we’ll get as many as we can. This will be a big job, and a lot of money is at stake. We need to be concise, and fast as hell. In and out, and no one gets hurt.” Kai started lecturing about being reckless in the next breath, and it was almost like Carter had been transported back in time. Joe always used to impart that little nugget of wisdom to their crew, as well.
Too bad the Arizona asshole stared at him directly, as if Carter would be his crew’s downfall. Hell, he probably believed that shit, anyway.
Fuck him.
He didn’t say that out loud, of course. Still had to be cool, and play for team thanks-for-doing-me-a-favor. But he wasn’t about to bow down and lick anyone’s balls. He had skills, too.
Carter paid attention, asked questions when necessary, and threw visual daggers at the crew members who snorted and snickered like little girls every time he opened his mouth.
Their leader consistently wore a smirk Carter wanted to wipe off his face—using his fists, or the butt of his Heckler and Koch forty.
“So, we’re all set, three weeks from tomorrow. Any questions?” Kai’s eyes swept his audience, and didn’t land on Carter for once. Like he wouldn’t have given a crap if Carter had a genuine question.
“Wait. Three weeks? Why so long? According to your plans, there’s a shipment tomorrow night.” Carter pointed to one of the manifests on the table.
“I said three weeks, traitor.”
“Three weeks it is,” one of the crew said, beaming when Carter threw him a glare.
Kai’s assholes fell into line right behind him. All backing his word like it was law, nodding one by one.
“I’m just asking why, is all.”
“I don’t recall giving you that kind of permission.” Kai arched a pierced eyebrow, his gaze full of challenge.