by Janey Mack
The lava cake heating in the microwave had all her attention. “No thanks, baby.”
I brought Cash his beer, wanting one but holding out.
“What’s the matter?” he asked. “You get stood up?”
Mom carried her lava cake back to the table. “I fail to see how that remark is of any assistance to your sister.”
“Just curious,” he said with a cheery smile.
8:16. The phone rang. The caller ID on the bottom of the TV screen read “Hank Bannon.” “I got it.” I ran to the phone. “Hello?”
“May I please speak with Miss Maisie McGrane?” a woman’s smooth, well-modulated voice seeped into my ear. The kind of voice that embodied the word sultry.
“Uh, this is.”
“Miss McGrane, I’m calling on behalf of Mr. Bannon. He regrets he will not be able to attend your conference this evening.”
Conference? My throat tightened. Standing me up. And having his phone sex operator deliver it on his cell phone. “Why is that, exactly?”
“I’m afraid the negotiations he’s involved in require more of his attention than he originally planned.”
“I see.” I said nothing, letting the silence stretch, waiting for her to fill the void.
She didn’t.
“Thanks for the call,” I said.
“Is there a return message?”
“No.” I hung up.
Mom kept reading her files, eating cake. Pretending she hadn’t heard every word. Cash’s texting hit warp speed.
“He can’t make it,” I said, trying unsuccessfully to shrug off the disproportionately crushing disappointment.
“That’s too bad,” Mom said. “I was looking forward to meeting him.”
“Yeah.” I slunk over to the bar fridge and got a Miller Lite. Cash grabbed the beer out of my hands, making me jump. “Gah!” I hadn’t heard him get up.
He grinned smugly at me and said loudly over his shoulder, “You look too good to stay home, Snap. I’m taking you out.”
“That’s sweet of you, honey,” Mom said.
“Get changed, thrall.” He popped the top on my beer and took a swig. “The guys and I need a designated driver.”
Nothing like petting a kitten before stomping on its head.
Wearing jeans, a black Mack truck tee, and motorcycle boots, I jangled the keys to Cash’s Jeep in the doorway. “Are we going or what?”
“We’re waiting for Koji,” he said, glued to Halo mayhem on his TV.
“Well, why don’t we just go pick him up? I’m your designated driver, aren’t I?”
“Yeah, but he’s staying over. We’re taking his MDX.”
Cash’s best friend loved his shiny red Acura more than anything in the world. It was unimaginable that he’d let me hold his keys, much less drive it. “And Koji is aware of this fact?”
“You bet. He suggested it.”
“Riiight.”
Cash laughed. “He’s not so hot and heavy about his baby since some idiot rear-ended him. And anyway, it’s the only car that’ll hold all six of us . . . And you, of course.”
Six totally wasted hotshot cops. This was going to be worse than Jersey Shore meets Hooking Up. “How long till he gets here?”
A half hour later, Cash shouted from the front door, “Mai-sie! Let’s go. Koji’s here!”
I got my cell from the charging station and met Da coming in from the garage. “Hullo, luv,” he said. “Heard the bad news. A no-show, eh?”
He didn’t exactly look torn up. Which was probably where my brothers got the idea that my life would be better off without any dates, ever.
“Yeah. He had a work thing.”
“What does he do again?”
“Uh—”
“C’mon, Maisie!” Cash shouted from the foyer. “We don’t have all night.”
Yeah, I wish. If we get home before 4 a.m. it’ll be a miracle.
Da set his briefcase down. “I hear you and Cash are two peas in a pod lately. Looks like the job’s already giving you some patience.” He hugged me and kissed the top of my head. “I like it.”
If he only knew.
“Snap!” Cash yelled from the front door.
Da swatted me on the butt as I walked past. “Have fun tonight.”
Koji, an athletic Asian with a dancer’s body, reluctantly held out his keys. “I suppose you might as well drive it under my sober supervision.” He got in on the passenger side, my brother in back.
“Where to?”
“The pack’s joining up at Tom’s house,” Cash said.
I started the car and drove down the driveway, Koji stomping on the floor as I eased to a stop before turning onto the street. “Maybe you and Cash should switch seats.”
“You planning on ticketing me for backseat driving, meter maid?” Koji said, to Cash’s hoot of delight.
“No,” I said, “but I’ll sure as hell make sure I ticket your double-parking peanut butt, the second you stop to run in and get a Cinnabon.”
“Promise?” Koji asked, “Baby, you’ll be my Monday morning trifecta. Cinnabon, you give me a ticket in that cute lil’ neon vest, and then I get to drop it on Jensen’s desk to clean up.”
Great. They’re gonna force-feed me crow all night. With chopsticks. I tapped the brakes. Hard.
“Hey!” Koji said. “Treat my baby with respect, ticket tyrant.”
Cash leaned up in between us. “Got it out of your system, Koji?”
“Dude, you can’t tell me—”
“Zip it,” Cash said. “You want her to screw with our hookups?”
I shrugged in agreement. “I mean, it’s not like you’d care if I told them you both still live at home, right?”
“Damn, Maisie.” Openmouthed, Koji stared at me, aghast. “Now, that’s just cold.”
I shrugged and glanced in the rearview.
Cash winked. Only a McGrane can torture a McGrane.
Lithium was packed. Half-naked women shivered in the cool night air, waiting for access. Cash’s wolf pack had no such problem, waved in by the bouncers. I trailed behind, surprised as much by the pals they invited along as the clubs we were hitting. Then again, maybe cocky hotshot cops were the only ones they could drum up after scoring me as a designated driver on such short notice.
I hung at the bar, counting the bubbles fizzing in my third Diet Coke, the oontz-oontz of techno numbing my brain. Koji bought the pack, minus himself and Cash, yet another round of shots. My Spidey sense started tingling. He wasn’t exactly the spread-it-around kind.
A girl blew water vapor from an electric cigarette in my face, as she reached across me for a handful of nuts. Why is it when you’re drinking, the mixed nut bar bowl is a tasty treat, but sober, it’s more disgusting than a swab of the inside of a McDonald’s Playplace tunnel?
My steel G-Shock watch read 22:30. Women swarmed around my brother and his gang like honeybees to a cone of cotton candy.
And they haven’t even flashed their stinking badges yet. Ugh.
“Yo, chica,” Ernesto said in my ear. “What’s my favorite hard-ass doing in a pop-tart lounge like this?”
“My date stood me up so I’m stuck designated-driving for Cash.”
“Date? You?” Ernesto’s eyes popped. “With who?”
“Who do you think?”
Ernesto’s eyes got even wider. “Huh. Really? I mean . . . I guess I just didn’t think he’d ever—”
“Well, he didn’t. His girl Friday gave me the Heisman.”
“Her.” He gave a low whistle. “Oh yeah. I could talk to her all day.”
Thanks a lot, Mr. Sensitive Best Friend. “Ever meet her?”
“Nope. But with a voice like that . . .” He gave a happy shudder.
“She’s probably sixty-five, topping the scales at two-fifty with a ratty old beehive.”
“Not a problem. I’ll keep my eyes closed as long as she keeps talking.”
“Aig!” I tapped my temple. “Thanks for that.”
E
rnesto took a sudden interest in his shoes. “I’m glad, actually, you didn’t go.”
“What? Why?”
“Hank started asking me to fill in for him around the time you took off for . . . you know.”
The Police Academy. I waited.
Ernesto put his hands in his back pockets. “Some of the rehabbers—they’re not so quiet when Hank’s away.”
“Oh?”
“I’ve heard some things. Bad things.”
Part of his appeal. “I need a little more than that.”
Ernesto chewed a thumbnail, trying to break it to me gently. “How about wet work?”
“Oh my God, Ernesto.” I rolled my eyes. “Those guys were totally jerking your chain.”
“I dunno. I don’t think so. You’ve grown up in a house full of Clint Eastwood macho badasses, so of course you’re gonna go for the toughest guy around, but Hank’s a killer. Straight-up.”
My fingers clenched into fists. “He was an Army Ranger, not a Boy Scout.”
“This training he’s doing? It’s more like recruiting for whatever Blackwater/Academi organization he’s working for.” Ernesto shook his head. “I like Hank. I do. But he’s carrying some fucked-up black-cloud baggage, is all I’m saying, chica. He’s one dark guy.”
Cash slung an arm around my neck, making me jump. “Sorry to interrupt, Pads. But our driver’s on the clock.”
Gee, having a brother is so awesome, I just want to share him. With someone else. Forever.
Ernesto gave me a small wave with a sympathetic smile chaser as my brother and Koji hustled me toward the exit, where the wolf pack was waylaid by a bachelorette party wearing more perfume than a Glade factory makes in a month.
“Who’da thought?” Cash said in my ear. “Flynn was right.”
“About what?”
“Your Mr. Wonderful. Ernesto the Earnest disapproves, as well.”
“Ooh, burn.” Koji squealed. “Squee!”
I glared at him. “Settle down, Preteen Patty.”
Koji laughed. “Don’t get mad at me. I showed up.”
“It’s a good thing we’re leaving. I’m done for the night.”
Cash put his nose to mine. “You’re driving if you wanna be working on Monday.” He jerked a thumb at an opening in the crowd. “Let’s go.”
We hit two more bars—phone numbers dropping on the guys like confetti at a ticker-tape parade. All the while, Cash and Koji nursed their beers like they had nipples attached. They were up to something—hamming it up like they were as blasted as their crew when they were stone sober.
The MDX reeked of aftershave and alcohol. “Where to?” I asked the wolf pack. “Home?”
“Not!” Koji said. “How about Hud’s?”
Really? We’d spent the night trolling twenty-dollar-cover techno clubs only to end up at a knockdown dive?
Chapter 13
I pulled into Hud’s parking lot. Pickups, Crown Vics, a few Tauruses and even a couple blue and whites. The ultimate cop bar.
Smoky and dark and packed to the gills, Hud’s was corner booths, wobbly scarred tables, and the only place in town where Clapton, Fleetwood Mac, and .38 Special still played on a coin-operated juke. The wolf pack bellied noisily up to the bar while my brother and his best friend drifted casually away.
“McGrane.” A densely muscled man in a black T-shirt raised a hand at Cash from a corner table. “Plenty of room here.” He sat in the leather booth that ringed one side, two men sitting in chairs across from him.
“I’ll wait.” I pointed at the bar.
“No way.” Cash put his hand between my shoulder blades and gave me a short shove toward the booth.
The man slid out. “Hop in.” He was handsome in the way that all hard, über-fit guys are good-looking. About twenty-eight, five-ten, brown and brown, with the thick, defined muscular build that only a shorter guy can carry. Clean-cut and tatt-free, he still had that lil’ something extra that screamed badass.
Cash slid in first, I went next, and the tough guy sat next to me.
“Lee Sharpe.” He held out his hand and jerked his head toward Cash and Koji. “What’re you doing with these knock-arounds?”
I shook his hand. “Maisie McGrane.”
Lee leaned forward and said to Cash. “Sorry, man.”
My brother’s eyes closed halfway. “She’s my sister.”
“Well, that’s okay, then.” Lee smiled and rested his elbow behind me on the booth. “What are you doing with these knock-arounds, Maisie?”
The other men laughed.
Lee Sharpe was a master of the friendly banter that talks most girls into bed before they realize they’re already naked. I flirted with him distractedly, unable to get off the squeaky hamster wheel of Hank standing me up.
My unintentional disinterest only fired Lee’s interest in me. “Your brother and Koji,” he said. “They’re definitely riding at the top of the heap.”
For what? “Yeah?” I said as I got a load of the AT on one of their Windbreakers hanging over the back of the chair. AT as in SWAT.
Holy cat. Cash and Koji, the Vice Kings, were applying to SWAT.
The night fell neatly into place. What better way to set yourself apart than to show up with your competition drunk off their asses? Across the table, Koji and my brother were already in the thick of it with the two other SWAT guys.
Free at last. I covered my mouth with my hand, trying to squish the grin off my face. The silver lining to being stood up by Hank. Cash’s run as Master Slaver was over. Almost as quickly as it had begun. Mom and Da are going to kill him.
I realized Lee was talking to me. “Huh?”
“I said, how—”
“You gotta be fuckin’ kidding me!” Tommy Narkinney’s voice splattered over me like hot grease. He was sitting at the head of six little tables pushed together, surrounded by blue-shirted beat walkers. Nine of them. “If it isn’t our favorite meter maid.”
Cash set his beer down. I gave him an imperceptible head shake.
“Mai-sie Dai-sy McGrane!” Narkinney yelled in a singsong voice. He smacked his thigh with his palm. “Why don’t you come on over here and write me a ticket?”
Lee’s mouth twitched, but he said nothing.
I rubbed the bridge of my nose. Shake it off. Narkinney’s not worth it. Hank’s Law Number Seventeen: Deescalate. The true fight is won without fighting.
I gave Koji a tight smile. “Hey. How ’bout them Cubs?”
“Yeah.” Koji nodded and put his hand on Cash’s arm. “Crazy how bad they always suck.”
“Meter maid!” Narkinney stood up. “I’m talking to you.”
Lee looked lazily across the table at his two teammates, letting it unfold. Koji kept up the Cubs chatter, his hand never leaving Cash’s arm.
Narkinney crossed the bar, headed straight for me. The beat cops tight behind, backing him up. Of course they would. He’d been drinking with some of these guys in his backyard probably before he could even spell beer. Nark was beat-born. A beat cop from a long line of beat cops. All with the same bellyful of disdain for rank, division, and don’t even get them started on spe-cializeds like SWAT.
He stopped at our table, leaned over, and rapped his beer bottle against the table in front of me. “Jesus, you sad little wannabe washout.”
I rolled my tongue in my cheek, willing myself not to respond. Not staring, not ignoring, not escalating.
He was drunk. And judging from his chubby partner’s glassy eyes, so was Peterson. Celebrating my comeuppance at the Brothers of Allah Prayer Center. The rest of the blue shirts all wore the same smug smirk. They’d heard all about me. In great, embellished detail, no doubt.
Deescalate.
“Hey, Tommy. How you doing?” I said in the calm voice I’d cultivated for a run-in with a Deliverance hillbilly. “It’s really nice of you to come over and say hi.”
That stopped him. His brows knit together, trying to figure my angle.
Caveman not understand ni
ce.
Lee’s hand slid down onto my shoulder. Marking me as his as surely as pissing on my leg.
Damn.
Narkinney eyed Lee’s hand with a leer. “Humping SWAT ain’t gonna get you reinstated at the Academy.”
Lee was on his feet, chest inches from Narkinney’s. “I don’t like your manners, son.”
“Fuck you, Sharpe.” Tommy Narkinney had four inches on him, but that was it.
Lee Sharpe had twenty pounds, Hank’s same thousand-yard stare, and all the cussedness of a wolverine. “Back off, flat-foot,” he said, wanting Nark to push it, looking for a scrap.
His two SWAT buddies got up from the table. Cash and Koji followed suit, engines revving.
“So it is true,” Narkinney said. “You SWAT ass-wads can’t do anything without holding each other’s dicks.”
The beat cops laughed, feeling pretty good about the odds.
I got to my feet. “Hey, Tommy. C’mon.” Palms up, I edged Lee backwards. “You got your licks in.”
“I haven’t even started to lick you, McGrane,” he said, loud enough for everyone to hear.
Cash’s wasted wolf pack got up from the bar.
I closed my eyes and blew out a slow breath. I asked for that. A lousy choice of words. Deescalate. I opted for what had saved my butt more times than I could count with furious brothers.
I jerked my elbow uncomfortably above my shoulder, letting my wrist and hand dangle limply. “Ouch! Uncle. Lemme go. Uncle!”
I almost had him.
But the beat-cop hyenas behind him wouldn’t let up, egging him on. Narkinney thrust his face inches from mine. My nose filled with the stink of his beer-sweat cologne.
Narkinney smiled at Lee. “So you being team lead—you get first crack?” He waved his finger between us. “Does she fuck like a boy, too?”
And with that, deescalation was off the table. My lizard brain crawled out from under the rock and turned velociraptor.
“You got something to say to me, Nark?” I bit my index finger in mock flirtation. “Or is your dick in a twist because I can do more push-ups than you?”
Cash’s wolf pack erupted into hoots and catcalls.