Full Disclosure (A Nice Guys Novel Book 2)

by Kindle Alexander

  “Jace watches my diet closely. He hasn’t gotten off the mother hen meets Florence Nightingale act. I gotta get it when I can,” Colt said, pulling a carton of eggs from the refrigerator, taking his time to carefully crack each one over a bowl.

  “You guys look like you’re doing pretty well.” Mitch lifted the steaming cup to his lips and took a welcomed drink of the hot brew.

  “I think we are. I’m picking up some broadcasting and public speaking gigs, but my main focus is to try hard to be everything he needs,” Colt answered, throwing the last eggshell in the trash can before whisking the eggs, then pouring them into the already heated skillet.

  “That’s all anyone could ask for, or at least, that’s the way I see it. Jace’s lucky to have you, Colt. Not trying to change the subject, but I was thinking that if the day turns out like I think it will, this whole mission’s gonna be a big waste of time. So maybe I can take you two out. Maybe dinner, dancing, that kind of thing. You do go to clubs, right? If not, dinner’s fine.” Mitch watched as Colt placed the cooked strips of bacon on a paper towel.

  “Nah, I go anywhere. I haven’t had the urge to drink since Jace took me back. We go to a club close to downtown sometimes.” Colt grabbed two plates out of the cabinet dividing the scrambled eggs equally, but only adding four pieces of bacon to the plate before handing it to Mitch.

  “Cool. I should know something for sure in the next couple of hours, but I’m betting I’m off tonight. I have a feeling our man’s gonna be a no-show, even though they haven’t called it yet.”

  “No problem. I’ll call Jace and let him know. We haven’t been out dancing in a while. Jace loves to dance, and I love watching him shake his ass,” Colt said and gave him a wink before shoving a few more slices of bacon in his mouth. “Oh my god. Bacon. It’s from God.”

  Mitch laughed at the ecstasy on Colt’s face, then pointed at the pile of bacon on his friend’s plate. “You really aren’t planning on sharing, are you?”

  “Hell no! I gave you a room to sleep in, but I draw the line at my bacon treat. If you’re still hungry, there’s a wide assortment of yogurt products in the refrigerator. Jace goes nuts at all the flavors. Help yourself,” Colt offered, never slowing his intake of bacon.

  “That’s okay. This’ll do,” Mitch added, eating a large chunk of the scrambled eggs.

  “Yeah, that’s the way I feel about yogurt, too.”

  ~~~

  “Fuck you. Fuck this team and fuck this state.” Mitch glared at Brody Masters, head of the Dallas field office and a longtime friend. Just like he’d assumed, Carlos Chavez was a no-show even though they had been told by their most reliable source he would be there today. Fucking informants sucked shit, and this was turning into nothing more than a big, bad joke as everyone flexed their muscles, trying to hide from becoming the scapegoat in the deal. What Mitch couldn’t understand was why in the hell they had even bothered to call him in. He’d have been happy staying tucked in that badass room, getting a little shut-eye.

  “I can see why you might feel that way,” Brody started, but Mitch wasn’t ready to hear any more on the subject.

  “No, fuck you. I’ve got a case needing some serious attention, and your fucking guys can’t even figure out there’s a cop conference in town. It took me about a minute to know they were here and about another minute to figure out that no fugitive would be dumb enough to show his face in a town full of official enforcers of the law, thereby making it impossible for me to make the arrest.” Mitch paced the back of the office, letting the venom spew from his lips. As a matter of fact, most of the frustration he’d been feeling for quite some time fueled this rant, making everything that much worse.

  “Mitch,” Brody started again, but he cut him off.

  “No, the fucking Omni Hotel has likely been flashing ‘Welcome to Dallas, International Law Enforcement conference’ on the side of their building for the last week. The fucking American Airlines Center has had banners posted for the last two weeks. The barista at Starbucks downstairs told me that little bit of information when I walked into the building.” Mitch gestured with his hands as he spoke, completely wound up.

  “And while we’re on it, why haven’t any of your men been able to ID Chavez for themselves? Why am I needed in your field office? There has to be two dozen deputy marshals housed right here. The FBI’s been working this case for three fucking years.” Mitch stalked forward and flipped the file folder open on the desk separating the two of them. He knew the answer to the question. Chavez was a sneaky son-of-a-bitch. He could become anyone and had no problem paying people to pose as him.

  Mitch only knew of the guy because fifteen years ago, way before he’d ever gotten a job with the Service, he’d been partying it up in Mexico and ran into the guy’s car.

  “Are you through?” Brody asked, not looking at the pages and pages Mitch flipped over with no photo of Chavez.

  “No! Because I just realized why you take weapons away from your staff at the front desk. Because you know I would have had to shoot someone over all this. Now, I’m done.” Mitch plopped down hard in the seat facing his friend. “I can’t believe you went admin. Doesn’t that suit and tie suck your will to live?”

  “No, not at all. And I can see you didn’t feel the need to dress up today. Wait! I think we actually bought that T-shirt together at the Grateful Dead concert in seventy-eight.” Brody leaned back in his black leather chair, a smug grin pulled at the corners of his mouth.

  “Har. Har. Har. I wasn’t even born in seventy-eight. You’re an old man if you even remember back that far,” Mitch teased, running his palms over his T-shirt. “And there’s nothing wrong with my shirt.”

  “I am an old man. I’ll be forty-five this year. You aren’t so young yourself, you know. Too old to be chasing after everything that walks.” Brody’s smug grin returned.

  “Speak for yourself, and I don’t chase everything that walks.” But his friend had him. Brody was right, he wasn’t getting any younger and absolutely went from guy to guy. He’d never admit it to anyone, but on some level, he envied what Brody and his wife had. He saw that same connection in Colt and Jace, but it was such a foreign concept for him.

  Mitch’s job demanded all his attention, and most of the guys he slept with couldn’t get past the hours he worked. And he certainly didn’t do clingy, he had no time for that. Maybe that was why he’d accepted the fact he’d remain single. Honestly, he blamed Jace and Colt for that little nagging feeling in his heart that insisted something was missing. Was he lonely? Hell, he didn’t know. Colt and Jace made it look easy, but he knew better. He didn’t have time to deal with all the problems, questions, and baggage, not to mention the work a relationship would bring. His job came first, end of story. It wasn’t a bad thing.

  “Listen, Margie and I want to take you to dinner tonight. She was just asking about you not two days ago.” Brody’s voice pulled him from his thoughts.

  “No way am I letting you off so easy. Did I tell you I couldn’t even get a room last night? I’m staying with friends. So I’m taking them to dinner for taking me in at midnight last night. Hell, I should have called and woken you up last night. Would’ve served your sorry ass right,” Mitch declared.

  “Are you staying with Colt Michaels?” Brody asked, straightening the papers Mitch had shoved all over his desk. Mitch narrowed his brow at the change in Brody’s tone. He sounded a little curious and as though his mood elevated.

  “Yes, how did you know that?” he questioned carefully.

  “My son’s been hounding me to get his autograph. He wants his Uncle Mitch to hook him up.” Brody glanced up at him, a big goofy grin plastered across his face.

  “Oh my god. You did not just play the kid card?” Mitch shook his head and tried not to smile.

  “You know you’re his god-uncle,” Brody chuckled, going in for the kill.

  “I am not his god-uncle. I’ve only met the boy once. And I’ll get the autograph if you just shut up.” Mitc
h ran his hands down his worn jeans and stood. “I’m gonna use a conference room for the next few hours.”

  “Sure thing. For what it’s worth, I’m sorry about all this,” Brody said, extending a hand to Mitch.

  “Yeah, funny, I don’t believe you,” Mitch shot back with a smile and shook the offered hand.

  “Don’t let that stop you from doing the right thing for your god-nephew,” Brody retorted. Mitch barked out another laugh as he opened the door. Heads turned from the weekend skeleton crew. He must have been louder in the office than he realized. Mitch ignored them all, heading back to the room he’d used as an office on many occasions throughout the years.

  Hours later Mitch sat kicked back in the conference chair, his entire focus trained on the computer screen in front of him. His online gaming buddy and NSA security hacker, Aaron Stuart, had discreetly put together a report of all the known hate groups in the country. Somewhere in investigating four murders and three attempted murders, linked only through the victim’s sexual orientation, he’d narrowed the suspects down to United States citizens. Since gay men were the only known targets so far, they had to be driven by homophobic hate.

  What Mitch hadn’t been prepared for was the extensive list of documented groups that opposed homosexuality. There were thousands and thousands of names listed. On the concept of leaving no stone unturned, he took the time to review each potential suspect, whittling down the possibilities. Age, financial ability, and background were the key qualifications as to who went where on the list.

  There was a better chance of finding a needle in a haystack, but he was just getting downright desperate at this point.

  On a heavy sigh, Mitch pushed away from the desk and stood, stretching out his long limbs. He ran his fingers through his close-cropped hair, then across his chin, agitated as he thought over everything he’d done off the clock and on his own dime to build this case.

  He’d gone to each victim’s hometown and interviewed as many of their friends and family as he could find. He’d investigated the crime scenes, gotten all of the police reports, and did everything he knew to do, trying to find how these cases tied together. He called in favors from his partner, Kreed Sinacola, who had gone over every bit of information he could put his hands on. He’d also used Aaron Stuart to gather the information he couldn’t obtain easily on his own. Between Kreed’s gut and Aaron’s amazing hacking skills, this case should have come together easier, but it hadn’t, proving the person behind these acts was very well-trained and well-funded.

  If he could just have found something substantial, he was certain his director would have pulled some strings to get this case noticed, but he needed help on this one. Whoever was behind this was too clever. There were too many different methods of attack, even if the underlying cases screamed similarities.

  The million dollar question surfaced again. What was Mitch missing? Over and over, he asked himself this question. And every time, he mentally ticked off the facts, hoping to identify the missed element. All of the victims were regionally high profile gay men, but none of them had contact with the others. They didn’t hang out in the same social circles, nor were they in any of the same areas of the country. The only other common denominator was that all of these men were out—they accepted who they were.

  It was at Aaron’s insistence that they added notorious hate groups into the mix. Mitch didn’t see the fit. For him, this was a one-man operation. Groups would have leaked the information by now. Somebody would have been talking or bragging, no way they could have held all this in.

  Now, desperation had Mitch trying anything. If he could narrow down the groups, then dig through their hierarchy, maybe he could find a lead. From what he’d read so far, none of those groups were that well-organized, and whoever did this had his shit together. Mitch learned years ago that hate breeds hate, and those groups always had too much internal fighting to have mastered these types of crimes without someone getting pissed off in the process and blabbing their secrets.

  Mitch pulled his wayward thoughts back together and sat down to continue isolating the groups. Who knew how long had passed when his phone vibrated on his desk, drawing his attention. He looked over to see Colt’s name on the caller ID. Reaching for the phone, he clicked the accept button, pulling up the text.

  “Jace is off tonight. We’re good to go if you are. Let us know.”

  “Cool. I’ll let you know if anything changes. Your cheer-boy’s treat, right?” Mitch texted back.

  “What? You said something about a thank you dinner… Thank you to me for taking you in off the streets,” Colt responded immediately.

  “Yeah, that’s before I saw where you live and what you drive. I’m a USMS public servant. I make shit.”

  “I’m not overly happy with your obsession about my guy. I think I need to kick your ass.” Finally! He’d had to wait almost twenty-four hours for Colt to go there this time.

  “Bring it, jockstrap. I’ll meet you at the house later. Pick a steakhouse,” Mitch responded back, grinning at their banter. He began to pack up his work. He needed to make time for a quick workout, and he could access just about any gym anywhere—part of the Marshals’ perks package. He also had to do some shopping, which he hated, but he hadn’t brought anything decent to wear.

  Chapter 6

  The sound of the newscaster’s voice had Cody looking up at the big screen television. He sat in his spacious room at the Embassy Suites hotel in the uptown area of Dallas. He halfway listened as the reporter spoke on the law enforcement and Geekfest conferences being held here in town this weekend. From Cody’s perspective, outside of the intense traffic, he couldn’t have picked a better time to visit the city.

  The conference hadn’t even crossed his mind at the time he made his reservations, but on the upside, the hotel he’d chosen was overrun with good-looking men and that couldn’t be a bad thing. Honestly, he’d worked out in the hotel gym for about an hour after he first checked in, and there were so many hot guys pumping iron that he’d had to concentrate in order not to stare.

  Heck, Cody had even considered going down to the free cocktail hour the hotel offered, but eventually decided against it. He really wanted to see what this JR’s nightclub was all about. After all, the club was the main reason he’d come all the way up to Dallas in the first place.

  For a while now, he’d tossed around the idea of taking this trip and checking out the famous night spot. Any gay club in Dallas that had made its reputation all the way down to Austin had to be experienced firsthand. It had just been a lucky coincidence that he could help Mason out by going to Anna, Texas, and checking out that horse. He’d even let Mason believe that he’d made this whole trip just for him, since Mason couldn’t find the time right now to get away. Cody had justified that little white lie because that was just what brothers did to each other. But truth be told, he’d had this reservation for about a month now, right after he’d gotten his schedule and noticed he had both Friday and Saturday nights off. When had that ever happened?

  The horse for Mason had been a no-brainer. She was exactly what had been sent to Mason in pictures. Cody had spent a couple of hours with her around lunch time, but he’d known right away they’d be buying her. He’d even negotiated a slightly better deal to purchase her.

  As for his new patrol mount, Ranger, he spent hours with him early this morning. He really couldn’t have asked for anything better. He was a five-year-old chestnut Thoroughbred mix and stood around seventeen hands tall. Cody liked the bigger horses because they held his large frame a little easier.

  After Cody completed the department-required paperwork, they’d saddled Ranger up, and Cody took him out for a ride. He was truly a perfect animal, one he’d enjoy helping care for. He’d gotten lucky with that horse.

  Last night, he’d stayed in Waco after several hours of touring the Texas Ranger’s Hall of Fame Museum. He had to have looked at everything he could find, and he spent about a hundred dollars in the gift stor
e buying up books for himself and souvenirs for his nieces and nephews. He absolutely loved that place, and the stop had given him a renewed vigor of wanting to be one of those men someday.

  Cody forced himself to stop his nervous energy masked as musing over this trip. He’d spent the last hour grooming himself, shaving, plucking, and debating over which cologne to wear. When he came out of the bathroom, he’d stood in front of the closet, looking at the choices of clothing he’d brought. When he couldn’t make a decision, he sat down in the chair because he was stressing the fuck out. He had a way of doing that to himself.

  It took some time to justify that it didn’t matter that much what he wore. He wasn’t hoping for a hookup tonight. He really wasn’t a one-night stand type of guy, but he had clipped and trimmed himself down there just in case something presented itself as an option. Hell, in all honesty, he didn’t know exactly what he hoped for from the club tonight. He’d never really put himself out there like this before, but he wanted to have a good time, enjoy a few drinks, celebrate his new job, and let off some steam. He also wanted to look good doing it.

  Okay, that sounded reasonable, and one thing Cody knew for sure, he wouldn’t have any fun sitting alone in this room, worrying about his clothing. Screw it! He got up, walked across the room, pulled his favorite Wranglers from his duffel bag, and slid them on. Decision made. It didn’t take long for him to finish getting dressed. Ready to go, he put his wallet in his jeans back pocket, grabbed his cell phone and truck keys before placing his beloved Texas Rangers baseball cap on his head. That was sure to give him some confidence that seemed to be failing him right then.

  ~~~

  Mitch sat across from Colt and Jace at the Dish Restaurant on Cedar Springs. Apparently the place was a hop, skip and a jump from JR’s, the club they had mentioned wanting to take Mitch to. The restaurant was packed up tight. The bar area led right into the restaurant, and there wasn’t a lot of space differentiating the two. The noise levels were moderate, and there was absolutely no privacy. It also seemed to be filled more with regulars than the legions of officers who packed the city. To Mitch, he didn’t think this restaurant’s spin on froufrou fusion Southern comfort food was really that big a draw to the normal manly man who wore a uniform.