by Tessa Bailey
He didn’t have the pleasure of hearing any angry responses because the officers pulled him down a hallway, shoving him into the first interrogation room. Irritation clawed at his throat over being pushed around, but he didn’t give them the satisfaction of showing it. If he weren’t wearing handcuffs, he would have already swung on them and they knew it. They also knew he could easily take them both on and win. Fighting was in his blood. He did it often and he did it well. So he couldn’t contain his surprise when they removed the handcuffs. It even managed to distract him from his anger.
“All right. I give up. What the fuck is going on?”
“Have a seat.” The officer who’d driven them there kicked out the metal chair before leaning against the wall with his arms crossed. “You’ll find out soon enough.”
He remained standing, turning slightly when the interrogation room door opened again and an older man walked in, looking grave. Bowen’s eyebrows shot up when he recognized the man. Police Commissioner Newsom.
He’d seen the man on television doing press conferences more times than he could count. That’s what he did. Sound bites to reassure the masses. Public relations. He sure as hell didn’t interrogate street toughs from Brooklyn. Newsom tossed a file on the metal table and nodded at him. “Why the black eye, Driscol? Don’t you have men to do the dirty work for you now that you’re in charge?”
No way would he tell him the truth about his perpetual black eyes. He wouldn’t tell him that when he went to collect debts and the money wasn’t ready, he always let the other man take a swing at him before leaving his men to deliver the rest of the message. He welcomed the pain that came with that single blow, craved it even. Lately, it was the only thing reminding him he was alive. Sometimes he even hoped the money wouldn’t be available, as it hadn’t been last night. Bitterness flooded his mouth at the memory of the man’s desperate eyes when Bowen had shown up at his door.
No money for me, huh? Go ahead, take a shot at me. Do it. You’ll be glad you did it in an hour when you wake up hating me.
“Why am I here?” Bowen fell into the chair without answering Newsom’s question. “Not that I don’t appreciate the stellar hospitality.”
“Already you’re living up to your reputation as a smart-ass.” Newsom sat, scrubbing a weary hand over his whiskered face. “Look, I’m not here to play any bullshit games with you, so I’d appreciate the same courtesy.”
“Fair enough.” Bowen lit a cigarette. “Shoot.”
Newsom’s jaw hardened. Behind him, the two officers shifted, but stilled when Newsom held up a hand. “We have a situation and I’ve been informed you’re in a position to help us.”
Bowen paused in the middle of his second drag of nicotine. “Help you?” When the commissioner just looked at him, he laughed out loud. “Any minute now I’m going to wake up, right?”
“No, I’m afraid not.” Newsom flipped open the file and scanned the contents. “And in case you’re wondering, asking for help from some punk who we’ve been trying to take down for over a year wasn’t exactly my number one choice.”
“Flattery will get you nowhere.” He took a deep drag of his cigarette and blew the smoke toward one of the scowling officers. “Okay. What do you need my help with? I’d at least like to know the particulars before I turn you down.”
“You sound pretty certain.”
“Good. That’s what I was aiming for.”
Newsom muttered something under his breath, but all Bowen could make out was the word “mistake.” “How about I lay it out for you in black and white, then you decide?”
Bowen stayed silent, watching Newsom through a cloud of smoke.
The commissioner sighed wearily. “We’ve lost contact with an undercover officer. At the risk of sounding cliché, they’ve gone rogue. Went in without permission.” He considered his hands a moment. “We’d like you to make contact with the officer, first and foremost to confirm they’re alive and well. We need them extracted from the situation unharmed.”
“Undercover.” Bowen felt a tingle at the back of his neck. “Investigating who?”
“You think I’d reveal a name without your signed agreement to cooperate?”
Bowen didn’t answer, the word “cooperate” hanging in the air like rank garbage.
“The officer is looking for evidence,” the commissioner continued. “Frankly, it’s evidence I—we—need. This isn’t how I wanted to go about obtaining it, but they’re in now.”
“Evidence of what?”
“Corruption. Something you should be familiar with.” He formed a steeple with his fingers. “Which leads me to your secondary task. If the officer is indeed alive and well, allow them a small window of time to continue the mission. If it proves fruitful and they uncover what we’re looking for, you bring that evidence to me before they have a chance to lose it or get killed.” He shook his head. “A damn rookie cop. No business whatsoever this deep in the game.”
“This idea gets more appealing by the minute.” Bowen sent a pointed glance toward the two flunkies. “Cops aren’t exactly my jam on a good day. Some inexperienced rookie with a death wish? Why would I agree to that?”
“Because, Mr. Driscol, we can make life very difficult for you otherwise. We know about the circumstances surrounding your father’s incarceration.” Newsom paused, as if to let that statement sink in. Bowen kept his features carefully schooled so he wouldn’t betray the shock pounding through his blood. He hadn’t seen this coming. Couldn’t have anticipated it in a million years. “We know you were aware of your father’s impending arrest and didn’t warn him because it would have put someone very close to you in danger. I think some of your associates would find it interesting that your sister was working as an unofficial informant, don’t you?”
Grinding out his cigarette on the bottom of his shoe, Bowen felt sick. With guilt, with dread. “You can’t prove that.”
Newsom smiled without humor. “We wouldn’t need to. The mere suggestion would put a target on your back. Her back.” The commissioner paused as that horrifying statement sank in. “Until now, we haven’t fully committed resources to ending your little run as king. That could very easily change. I suggest playing ball, Driscol. Unless you want to end up behind bars, just like dear old dad.”
The impact of that statement sent Bowen back in his chair, but he made it look casual at the last minute. Just like his dad. He couldn’t think about that right now. Not with these cops staring at him like a science project. He’d had Ruby’s back since childhood and vice versa. She never would have given the police leverage to use against him. It would be a cold day in hell before she told another living soul. Unless…
“Let me guess.” Bowen swiped a hand through his hair. “Troy Bennett is on the other side of that glass. He’s the one who so graciously offered my services.”
Newsom’s lips twitched. “You catch on quick. Ever think of joining the force?”
The officers behind him laughed as if the mere idea of him being anything but a criminal was hysterical. For once, he didn’t really blame them. Bowen turned toward the two-way glass and showed it his middle finger. Ruby’s boyfriend, the man who’d managed to put the pool hustler on the straight and narrow, had been a fucking thorn in his side since day one. He should have known when Ruby hooked up with a cop that this was inevitable.
Seconds later, the door opened and Troy strolled in holding a cup of coffee. “Bowen.”
He didn’t return the greeting, jerking his chin at Newsom instead. “Before, my answer was no. Now, it’s hell no.”
Troy’s mouth tightened. “Can I have a moment with him, Commissioner?”
Newsom gave a brusque nod and left the room, followed by his two flunkies. Bowen lit another cigarette and tossed his lighter onto the table. “You’re wasting your time.”
“Why haven’t you been returning your sister’s phone calls?”
The question threw him, before it circled back around and pissed him off. “What the hell is this? A family the
rapy session?” He pushed to his feet and paced. “There was a time when you didn’t want me within a hundred yards of her.”
“She misses you.” Troy shrugged. “When she’s unhappy, I’m unhappy.”
Bowen ignored the stabbing feeling in his chest. “Yeah? She has a funny way of missing me. Telling her cop boyfriend the one thing that could fuck me over.”
“It won’t fuck you over, because you’re going to help us.”
“Not. Happening.”
Troy walked to the metal table and flipped open the file. Bowen watched as he sifted through some papers and pulled out a picture. “I’m not supposed to show you this until you agree to help, but I’m going to anyway. You know why?”
“I couldn’t care less.”
“Because I trust you,” Troy enunciated. “Enough to convince Newsom that you’re redeemable and could make a difference in this case. This is my ass on the line, too.”
I trust you. Bowen didn’t want to hear those words. Didn’t like the way they made him feel. He shouldn’t be trusted. Not after the things he’d been compelled to do. Not after he’d let his own father get put behind bars. Let his sister nearly get murdered. “Sorry to let you down, but I’ll take my chances with a bull’s-eye on my back.”
“We don’t have any other options here, man. You’re a part of that world, and if the alternative is Newsom dropping a dime on Ruby—and finding a reason to put you in a cell—you have to do it.” Troy shook his head. “You know I’ll protect your sister. Even if it means we have to leave the city and never come back. Leave behind everything she’s worked for. But I don’t think that’s what you want.” With a curse, Troy threw the photograph down onto the table. Resolutely, Bowen kept his eyes up, refusing to look. Troy pointed down at the picture. “This is your chance to make up for the shit you’ve done. A chance to do something good. Ruby sees the good in you. Are you going to prove her wrong?”
“Fuck you,” Bowen said through his teeth, hating Troy with every cell in his body for using his weakness against him. He didn’t care about many things in this world, but he cared about his sister. Which is why he’d completely cut her out of his life. “And while we’re on the subject, keep her the hell away from me. I don’t want to see her in the neighborhood.”
“Still protecting her?” Troy asked quietly. “We both know that’s my job now.”
“Then do it. Keep her out of Brooklyn.”
Troy nodded thoughtfully, still watching him closely. Wanting to escape that observation, Bowen glanced away, his gaze accidentally landing on the photograph.
Everything inside him went still. He’d scooped up the picture to get a closer look before his brain registered the action. “Who is this?”
“That’s the officer we’ve lost contact with. Going on a week now.” Troy lowered his voice, putting his back toward the two-way glass. “She’s investigating Trevor Hogan.”
Bowen couldn’t hide his astonishment. “This girl? This girl with the freckles and the rosary beads around her neck? She’s undercover with Hogan’s crew?” When Troy simply nodded, Bowen cursed under his breath. He didn’t understand the reaction he was having to the photograph, but he couldn’t deny the unwelcome surge of protectiveness. A pretty brunette smiled up at him, squinting into the sunshine, hand closed around the cross at her chest. She didn’t belong anywhere near the ruthless Hogan, the man who had recently taken over North Brooklyn. If he suspected her for one second, she would be killed without hesitation.
Bowen knew something Troy didn’t, though. He and Hogan had an upcoming deal, set to take place on May ninth. Little over a week away. A shipment of stolen computer hardware would land in neutral territory, thanks to a Brooklyn defector who had taken his theft operation overseas. At their contact’s request, he and Hogan were going to split the hardware down the middle as a gesture of goodwill between North and South Brooklyn, since warring over the goods would up his chances of being caught. If Bowen wanted to cooperate with the police, he had a perfect opening to do it.
If he cooperated? Jesus, was he actually considering this? Absently, his finger smoothed over the picture. “What’s her name?”
“Seraphina.” Troy cleared his throat. “Hogan killed her brother and walked. Seems to me you can relate to wanting what’s best for a sibling. Only she didn’t get that chance.”
A wave of sympathy moved through him. Could he do this? Turn…informant? By going in and protecting this girl—Seraphina—he kept himself out of prison and let his sister keep her shiny new life. And dammit, someone needed to bring this impulsive rookie cop home, right? This might be an old photo, but if she’d retained an ounce of that innocence, Hogan would have her for breakfast.
Who the hell was he kidding? There was no choice.
“How long do I have to get her out?”
“The sooner the better. No more than one week.”
Perfect timing. “You have to tell me what she’s looking for. I’m not going into this blind.”
Troy lowered his voice. “Financial records. A ledger.” He crossed his arms over his chest. “Men have gone undercover with Hogan before. They…didn’t last long, but were in communication long enough to confirm he keeps track of business by hand.”
Bowen decided it wouldn’t be wise to mention he’d seen the damn thing himself. He reached into his jeans again for his packet of cigarettes. “Let’s get this over with. I hate paperwork.”
Chapter Three
Sera hated the man on sight.
But since hating another person was a sin, she decided to strongly dislike him instead. He’d walked into Rush, Hogan’s nightclub, five minutes ago and hadn’t taken his eyes off her once. Nursing a glass of whiskey at the bar, he somehow fit in and stood out at the same time. He was in possession of a wicked black eye, yet he’d walked through the door with the confidence of a man who doled them out, not received them. Tall and broad-shouldered with the cut muscles of a working man, he caught the attention of women and men alike, drawing looks of appreciation as well as apprehension. The way he moved said do not fuck with me, louder than if he’d shouted the statement. His dark blond hair had been tousled in a way that looked purposeful, like a woman had just been holding on to it for dear life.
Sera shook herself, realizing she’d been openly scowling at him. These were not the type of thoughts she normally had. She shouldn’t be picturing a woman in the throes of ecstasy with her fingers clutching some stranger’s hair.
With a muttered admonishment directed at herself, she picked up her tray and turned, resolving to ignore the stranger. She’d been waitressing at Hogan’s nightclub for two weeks and she’d gotten no closer to incriminating him. He’d given her a room upstairs and ordered her to heal his cousin, whose condition began to decline, much to her alarm. She’d wondered if the man even wanted to survive. She’d begged Hogan to take him to a hospital, knowing the action would ruin her chances of bringing him down. No matter how hard she’d pleaded, Hogan had refused to pursue medical attention and against all odds, she’d managed to stabilize the patient after several days.
Once she’d made him reasonably comfortable and he appeared to be out of the woods, she’d thought Hogan would send her packing. He’d thrown her an apron instead. Whether he’d decided her healing skills might come in useful in the future or he simply didn’t know what to do with her, she couldn’t decide. Not having answers had begun to wear thin, making her jumpy. She’d even requested to be allowed to leave and return home several times so she wouldn’t appear eager to stick around, but he continued to put her off, using his injured cousin as an excuse to keep her there. Sera had caught him watching her on a few occasions, a thoughtful expression on his face, as if he were deciding her fate. That cold calculation unnerved her, and his wariness hadn’t exactly been conducive to her investigation, but she’d gotten a glimpse of the ledger book early yesterday morning. She refused to give up her chance at him.
Hopefully, all of her time-biding would come to an end
tomorrow. She’d overheard Hogan on the phone yesterday as he sat at one of the tables in her section. He was going out of town for a week to check on operations at another nightclub he owned at the Jersey shore. If he let her remain behind to care for his cousin, she would finally have her chance to access the office downstairs he always kept locked.
Against her will, her gaze landed on the man at the bar again. Something about him was familiar, but she couldn’t place the reason for such a feeling. Before he’d been appraising as he watched her; now he simply looked angry. Talk about confusing.
“Sweetheart, I’m dying of thirst over here.”
Sera turned with a pasted-on smile and cleared away the three men’s empty pint glasses. “Same round again?”
Grunts served as her answer. With a nod, Sera slipped through the rows of tables to retrieve their order from the bar.
At early evening on a Friday, Rush had started to fill up, and she knew from even limited experience the regulars were demanding. Rush lacked any similarity to the nightclubs she’d been to, which was admittedly very few. No frilly, overpriced drinks or coolly sophisticated customers. Here, they were rough and suspicious of newcomers, herself included. After a few shifts, they seemed to accept her only because she was with Hogan.
Sera propped her elbows on the wooden bar hatch until the bartender scanned her through bloodshot eyes. “Two bottles of Bud, one Carlsberg.”
“You got it, honey.” As he shuffled toward the other end of the bar to drag her beers out of the ice, Sera felt the staring man move closer. It annoyed her, the way her skin prickled as he sauntered toward her, taking his sweet time. She didn’t want to talk to him and silently urged the weary bartender to hurry up with her order. No such luck, though. She’d be willing to bet he’d never hurried to do a single thing in his life.
“You know, if I were working for tips, I might smile more.”
The words were spoken so close to her neck, the small hairs at her nape shifted, sending a wicked shiver down her back. An unusual stirring took place in her belly before exploding through her veins, hot and liquid-like. Her lips parted on a small gasp. At his audacity? At her reaction to this stranger? She didn’t know.