Broken Rules: Book 3 in The Broken Road Series

by Huie,Melissa

  I sat my stuff down and logged onto the computer, waiting impatiently as the antiquated system churned and loaded. As usual, I was one of the last people in, and the office was already bustling with a flurry of activity. Printers whirled, phones rang, and the scent of our tech expert’s wife’s famous blueberry muffins wafted through the air. I had a feeling that if it weren’t for her, we would be stuck on fast food and energy drinks. I drained the last of the coffee from my travel mug, then moved to the table in the back of the room to refill it.

  “Morning, Parker,” Rick mumbled as he moved past me to get to the printer situated behind the door.

  “Morning, Simms. Did we get anything back on that phone?” I added my favorite coconut milk creamer to my cup and got back to my seat.

  “Nothing.”

  “Has forensics gotten any prints off it?” I pulled up my email while Rick responded.

  “Yeah, it’s not looking good. Not only did we find the hooker’s print, we also found a partial thumb for an unknown. We’re running that through missing persons, and all the other databases now, but I doubt we’ll come up with anything. But, on the bright side, the hooker in the hotel has a name.”

  “Yeah? Someone local?”

  “Melodye Jensen. She has all the same traits as the other girl, Elle Freeman. Early twenties. Lived in Cherry Hill. Estranged from family and friends, so no one noticed when they were gone. There’s no record of them getting on a flight; however, that’s not saying much. They could have easily been driven to Vegas, or gotten on one of those private flights if they had a rich enough john. Both had marks from the same gun, a Smith and Wesson M&P 45. Both had massive quantities of heroin in their systems.”

  “Shit. Are there any markers?” Certain drug dealers would cut heroin with different materials, such baking soda, flour, rat poison, or quinine. They tended to use the same amounts of the same material. Not only to increase their quantity of product, but to keep that edge so people needed to keep buying more.

  “No, that’s the thing. This shit was pure, uncut. It was like it was straight from the plant.”

  I groaned. “Just like Rachel Morrison.” Rachel was yet another victim of the Cruz Cartel. She’d been a friend of Megan’s, the former girlfriend of Shane’s best friend Adrian, and the sister of one of the Cartel’s former dealers. They’d killed her earlier this year with enough smack to kill three men, then they set her, along with the vehicle she was in on fire, in the park close to Megan’s house.

  “You got it. We need the find the bastard that’s selling the shit, and find the route he’s using to bring it in.” Rick threw his pen in frustration.

  I thought about it for a minute, mulling over any suspect possibilities. “What do our guys at DEA say? I mean, they’re involved with this as much as we are.”

  Rick scoffed at the idea. “We sent over the report this morning, but they’re working on the pipeline, so they’re just as clueless as we are. We’re lucky we have Shane’s info, because without that, we wouldn’t have gotten this far.”

  “I think we’ve picked all the info out of Shane that we could, but I can try and see if he has any other insights.”

  “You do that. I’m going to try and see what I can get on that new business in Baltimore, the one that took over Yankee’s.”

  “Same type of business?” I sipped my coffee and pulled up the travel accounting database.

  “Pretty much. They slapped some paint on the walls and changed its name, but a whorehouse will always be a whorehouse. Doesn’t matter whose name is on the lease, because what goes on behind those doors is the same thing. Just with a higher class of pussy.”

  I chuckled at Rick’s frank assessment of the business. “And you’re the one to check out the product being sold?”

  Rick threw his hands up. “Hey, I can’t help it if my job requires me to sample the goods.”

  “Uh-huh. Just make sure that you don’t bring any crumbs home. You know how Baltimore ranked number one in crabs. And we’re not talking blue crabs, either,” I choked out, wiping up the coffee that I spat out.

  “You got that right.”

  We worked in silence for the rest of the morning, as I prepared my report and spent way too long inputting my travel accounting. I pulled my peanut butter and jelly sandwich from the fridge when Rick came back into the Romper Room.

  “So, the new tenant for the Yankee’s building is called, coincidentally enough, Ravenous. The permit was pulled for a private entertainment establishment, cigar and scotch bar. Membership range from a three-hundred-dollar hourly guest pass, to a multi-month for an easy one thousand dollar fee. The permit puller is listed as Griffin and Associates. Looking deeper, it’s an investment firm with similar clubs in Vegas, L.A., and Miami.”

  “Do we know the major players?” I asked, my mouth full of peanut butter goodness.

  “The firm lists a Nicholas Santori as Chairman of the Board. No priors, clean record.” Rick handed me a copy of the permits pulled, their approved liquor license, and a copy of the most recent health inspection. The signature of the manager listed had me raising my eyebrows.

  “Did you see who signed off on this?” I said with a grin, showing him the form.

  “Yeah, Paulette Sinclair. Who is that?” Rick asked with a snort.

  I rolled my eyes. “For someone who is single and into Baltimore’s nightlife, I’m surprised you don’t know who this chick is. Three years ago, before I joined this case, a certain congressman was being blackmailed by some asshole in the city. There were pictures of him and Paulette Sinclair, only she’s known as Madam Sin on the streets. She’s a dominatrix.”

  Rick snorted. “Yeah, no thanks. I like the experience, but I sure as hell don’t want some chick whipping me with a riding crop.” He typed in her name to view her file and whistled. “She’s pretty hot, though.”

  “Keep it in your pants, Casanova. You can’t handle that shit.” I looked over his shoulder to view any pending warrants or arrests, and much to my disappointment, she was in the clear. “Madam Sin is smart, toes the line. Her legit business is ‘relationship and intimacy consulting.’ Her clients pay a high price for the privilege to work with her and the privacy she secures. It’s a very few and select assortment of people, and after that whole issue with the congressman, it’s even more so. Her business is top-notch, so why is she signing for permits at a scotch and cigar joint? This doesn’t make any sense.”

  Rick’s upper lip curled into a smirk. “And how well do you know her business?”

  I smacked him upside his head. “Focus, Sims. Some asshole client of hers got smart with a video camera and recorded the congressman’s sessions with the Madam, tried to blackmail the guy for a cool three million. We were able to get ahold of the jerk and the camera feed before anything came to light. They were both grateful, but Madam Sin owes me a favor.”

  “We can always swing by there, say hello?” Rick gave me a wink.

  “And get a drink to go?” I joked, then sat back down at my desk. “No, we’ll swing by her office near the Charles Center. I’ll get ahold of her.”

  After the congressman debacle, Madam Sin gave me a special number and code to use, if I ever needed to call in the favor. Not sure I wanted to call in my favor before I truly needed it, but I wanted to get a feel of the new establishment, the owner. I pulled the black matte card from my desk drawer, listing the address and phone number of her professional offices, and dialed the number.

  “Dr. Sinclair’s office,” a formal male voice sounded over the phone.

  “I’d like to speak with Dr. Sinclair, please.”

  “She’s with a client, so I can take a message.”

  “My name is…” I checked the name on the back of the card, “Tatiana Nym.”

  There was a pause, as the receptionist comprehended my name; the unspoken code. “Just a minute, please.”

  After a brief moment of silence, the voice came back on the line. “Dr. Sinclair is not available to meet with you; h
owever, she did allow me to pass along that she will be at Marcone’s tonight after eight o’clock. Your name will be on the guest list.”

  “Thank you.” I hung up the phone with a grin. An invite to a private, exclusive restaurant always piqued my interest. Invites were hard to come by, and any sort of gossip was even harder. Marcone’s was where all the congressmen went with their mistresses, where deals were hammered out with archrivals, and where more often than not, someone was cashing in on a bribe.

  “So, are we hitting the club?” Rick asked, his brown eyes expectant.

  “No. But we are going to have drinks at Marcone’s.” I checked my accounting to ensure it had been submitted properly, then logged off my computer.

  “Shit, Parker. You know the finance folks are going to have a cow when they read that expense report.” He tossed the remnants of his lunch into the trash. “Remind me not to go to that deli around the corner,” he said with a wince, rubbing his chest.

  “Why the hell do you eat that shit?” I asked, throwing him a bottle of acid relief.

  “Same reason why I pick up pussy at bars, because it’s what I want,” he shot back, tossing back the pill with some Mountain Dew.

  “Uh-huh. And that’s when your ass is going to catch something. Better watch yourself, Simms.” I picked up my purse and grabbed my leather jacket. “I’m taking some personal time. Pick me up at seven…and wear your suit!”

  I climbed into my Jeep, cranked up my satellite radio, and headed to Annapolis Mall. I hadn’t been to a place like Marcone’s in forever. A little bit of retail therapy, and a new hair color would do me some good. After sitting down with my colorist, Julia, for an hour, I walked the lengthy mall, wandering in and out of stores, letting my mind zone out. I found a sexy, sleeveless, little black dress with a deep V-neck that would go perfectly with the raspberry, peep toe Jimmy Choo’s I’d scored from a consignment shop in Miami.

  After checking my watch, I knew I should get home soon and get ready, so I made my way toward the parking lot. I was paying more attention to my phone than I was watching where I was going, so it was no surprise when I bumped into someone right outside my Jeep.

  “Oh, I’m so sorry…” My voice trailed off when the guy looked down at me. My eyes immediately got lost in his brown ones, and my breath caught. His scent of citrus and sea air, mixed with the smell of his leather jacket, formed an intoxicating aroma that sent my heart racing and my pussy clenching.

  “Was wondering when I was going to run into you again.” His southern drawl had my stomach in knots.

  “Oh. Hey, Noah.” I tucked my phone into my purse and brushed a newly black-cherry strand of hair behind my ears, and tried my best to look like I didn’t want to drag him into the dressing room and have my way with him.

  “Where you off to in such a hurry?” He trailed his finger down my arm, then entwined my fingers with his. The simple act of intimacy unnerved me.

  “I have things to do, places to go,” I said, as I gently removed my hand and held up my bags from Nordstrom’s and Victoria’s Secret. “What about you? What drags you up this way?”

  “Had to pick up a few things. What are you doing tonight?” He stepped into my personal space as a car passed us, overwhelming my senses with his closeness.

  “Got a work thing,” I replied vaguely. Sketch wouldn’t have told him much about what I did for a living, because if he had, Noah wouldn’t have been so eager to talk with me if he knew I had been lying to him for the last year.

  “Yeah? Meet up with me after that,” he said in a low voice, brushing a stray hair off my forehead.

  I chuckled. “Are you asking me, or are you telling me?”

  He smirked. “Whatever you want to think, Princess.”

  I flirted back, despite what my brain was yelling at me to do. “What if I already had plans afterward? You don’t know, I may be seeing someone.”

  Noah’s full lips turned upward into a big grin. “Because, Princess, if that were the case, your pulse wouldn’t be racing right now.” He lightly ran a finger over the pulse point in my neck, then cupped the back of my neck. “And if you are, it doesn’t matter anyway. You’re mine now.” He lowered his head, and his lips grazed mine.

  I stepped back from his grasp, before it went any further. It was time to nip this in the bud. “Noah, I’m not anyone’s. We had a fling, that’s all there was.” It hurt to do it, but knowing my luck with relationships, and the stresses of my job, there was no way in hell that anything good could come out of it.

  “Okay, we’ll see about that.” His eyes darkened to the color of melted chocolate, and he smiled mischievously before he walked away. My insides fluttered. Noah loved a challenge, and I didn’t think he would give up so easily.

  I hopped into the Jeep and maneuvered my way down Interstate 97 toward Odenton, when my phone rang. Clicking on the Bluetooth, I answered.

  “Parker?”

  “What’s up, Rick?” I asked, passing a minivan.

  “I’m calling in the second string. Lunch caught up with me. I think I have food poisoning.”

  I busted into laughter. “Are you serious?”

  Rick groaned. It must be serious if he was passing up drinks at a fancy, exclusive place. “Do you honestly think I’d pass up a government expensed trip to Marcone’s? That’s, like, the holy grail, a trip to the Super Bowl, and the fountain of whisky all wrapped into one box. The only shit that comes out of that place are the reviews for food, and those steaks are supposed to be second to none.”

  I chuckled again. “All right, I hear ya. Too bad I can’t bring any samples home for you. Who’s my backup?”

  “Evan Sarcozi. I’ll text you a picture.”

  I started to say more, just as Rick groaned, then gave a strangled, “Gotta go.” I felt bad for my partner, truly I did. But I couldn’t help but take a little joy from of his discomfort.

  I pulled into the driveway and headed in, set on getting ready. Jax waited, dancing at the door for me.

  “Hey, buddy, what’s going on?” I put my bags on the sofa and gave him a good belly rub. “Where’s Cole?”

  “Right here,” Cole announced, walking into the room. “Did you go to the store yet?”

  Crap. I needed to get groceries. “Nope. Totally slipped my mind.”

  He picked up a lock of my newly colored hair. “Yeah, okay. You remembered to color your hair, though.”

  I shrugged. “I needed a change. What time are we leaving in the morning?”

  Cole leaned against the doorframe to the kitchen. “As early as possible. I’m hooking the bikes up onto the trailers once Sketch gets here with his.”

  I nodded. “That works. I’ll swing by the store on my way home. I have a meeting with a dominatrix at eight.”

  Cole shook his head. “I don’t want to know. There are some things a brother doesn’t need to hear about his baby sister.” I chuckled as I took my bags into my bedroom, and threw them onto the bed. After a quick shower to shave my legs and freshen up, I got dressed. The dress hugged what little curves I had, and it’s V was so deep that I couldn’t wear a bra. Luckily, I was blessed with small boobs, and some breast lift tape to fix that problem. I left my hair down, the black and cherry colored locks gently framed my face and made my bright blue eyes pop. A little mascara and blush, and I was ready to go. I slipped on my shoes, grabbed my black trench coat, and my purse, and headed toward the living room.

  “Cole, I’m heading out. What do I need to grab from the store for tomorrow?” I slipped on my coat. No answer. “Cole?” Must be getting the bikes ready. I grabbed my keys and walked out to my Jeep. I didn’t see Sketch’s Camaro, but a black, jacked up truck sat in my side yard with a trailer hitched to it. I sent Cole a quick text, hopped in, and took off.

  Chapter 5

  Kate

  MARCONE’S WAS LOCATED in a posh area in Baltimore, in the heart of the Capital Tower district on the top level of an otherwise ordinary office building. There was no sign indicating
its presence, but then again, it didn’t need the advertisement. Word of mouth alone from area power players kept the place in business. I gave my keys to the valet, and made my way into the posh lobby to the waiting host in front of the doors.

  “May I have your name, Miss?” The British accent gave the air of importance and elegance, but the bulge at his hip told me that he meant business.

  “Tatiana Nym.”

  “Of course. Thank you. Right this way.” He led me into the small, dark paneled elevator and pressed the button for the fourteenth floor.

  The doors opened to an elegant corridor. As I had expected, security was tight, with large men in suits stationed throughout the hallway. I checked my coat and slipped into the bar area, glancing around for my date for the night. It was after eight, so he should have already shown up. Thinking a drink would do me well, I claimed a seat at the mahogany wood bar and ordered a glass of Prosecco. I took a sip as I glanced around me, taking note of the exit points, the people, and the servers.

  All the pretty people were there. The finest the city had to offer, dressed to the nines, sipping champagne and consorting with those who only wanted what they could take. It made me wonder what Paulette Sinclair had to offer. My thoughts were interrupted when a sexy stranger stepped up to the bar. I took him in while he asked the bartender for a scotch on the rocks. Black hair, on the longish side, with a dimple in his strong chin. No facial hair. I could tell the man was built like a tank because of the way his shirt stretched across his shoulders. I snuck a quick look at his taut ass and nodded slightly. It doesn’t take much to get me to notice you.

  “Hello.” The smooth tenor of his voice was enough to send shivers down my spine, but I played it off.

  “Hello.”

  “Evan,” he tried again, sticking out his hand. Ah, my backup.

  “Tatiana,” I replied with an eyebrow raised, and extended my hand.

  “Tatiana.” The name rolled off his tongue like pure sex. I gripped my glass, just a smidge tighter, imaging what else he could do with that tongue. “It’s nice to meet you. Have you ever been in a more pretentious room?” he asked, sipping his scotch.