Pierce sat there, staring at her as if her answer wasn’t good enough.
And it wasn’t. Taking the car hadn’t been her brightest move. But she couldn’t turn down the chance to find out who Armand was working with. “Look, I didn’t hurt anyone.”
“Obviously you’ve never been kneed in the balls.” He lifted one brow.
She held up a hand. “You’re right. I did do that. The police officer was about to arrest me when Armand’s Porsche drove by. All I could think about was the picture of my sister—dead, naked, and chained to that filthy bed in some Guatemalan whorehouse. Tell me you wouldn’t have done the same thing!”
When he didn’t answer, she said, “See.”
“I’m going to have to take you in.” He started to stand up.
“Not yet. I have backup coming to watch over Carlos. As soon as they arrive you can take me in. And once I solve my sister’s case and find out who did this to Carlos, you can toss my ass in jail.”
His green eyes narrowed. Their color darkened. “You don’t get to call the shots, Agent Ryan.”
She knew her only out was to reason with this guy, but was he reasonable? “They should be arriving in a couple of hours—”
He shook his head. “I’ll have an officer—”
“The officer on duty has slept more than half the time he’s been here!”
“Officer Heyes left. I’ll get someone different.” He reached for his phone.
“I can’t accept that.” She frowned.
“Look, this whole thing sounds…”
“Crazy. I know. But I’m not willing to bet the life of my friend on it. I’m the one who pulled Carlos into this, so this is on me.” She inhaled and hoped her air of authority would at least earn her some respect. “All I’m asking for is time. Let my backup get here, then as soon as I catch who did this, you can lock me up for all I care.”
She watched the debate happening in his eyes.
When he didn’t seem happy, she added, “Didn’t I go to y’all when someone came in looking for your witness at the club a couple of months ago? I gave a description of him. I didn’t have to do that.”
He stared at her. “Do you think this Armand guy is on to you?”
“No.”
“Well someone is.” He pulled up his sleeve and showed her what looked like claw marks up his arm. “Your attack cat did this to me.”
“You were in my apartment?”
“Only after someone broke in.”
“Broke in?”
“You haven’t been notified?”
She remembered she’d missed a call earlier. “I got a message but haven’t listened to it.” She struggled to wrap her head around what he was saying. “Is my cat, Psycho, okay?”
“Fitting name,” he said. “I locked him in the bathroom with his litter box and food.”
“Thank you.” She realized what he was insinuating. “I don’t think my cover’s blown. Other than Carlos, no one knew I was here, until now, and the FBI still don’t know I’m working at the club.”
“Maybe Agent Olvera told—”
“He’d never do that.”
“Then it’s one hell of a coincidence. The agent you brought in to confirm your lead is shot, then your place is broken into.”
“Wait!” She grabbed her phone. “I have a nanny cam.”
She pulled up the app and hit rewind. He leaned in so close, his shoulder brushed against hers.
The fast-moving film showed someone walking into her place. She paused it and went back. The gun-toting guy on the screen was big, blond, and sitting next to her.
“It happened right before that.” His deep voice came right at her ear with a warm breath.
She started playing it again. The film showed her front door being kicked in.
“There,” he said.
She hit rewind. The guy moving into her living room was equally big and had red hair, and his back was toward the camera. He finally faced the camera. He looked familiar, but…her mind played connect the dots trying to identify him. “Fudge.”
“You recognize him?”
“Yeah. It’s one of Mr. Dunn’s construction guys.”
“Who?”
“Dunn. The owner of the Mustang. He runs a construction company and brings his workers in sometimes. Someone might have noticed me take his keys. Or I guess he could have figured it out, since my car was still at the club. He must’ve sent this guy to my house.” She looked at Detective Pierce. “Did you release my name to the cops about the car?”
“No. But how would this Dunn character know where you live?”
“Grimes, the club owner. Dunn probably accused me of stealing his car and Grimes gave him my address. They’re friends.”
“Excuse me.” A doctor walked up. “Are you Mrs. Olvera?”
Brie glanced at Detective Pierce, hoping he’d stay silent. “Yes. Is everything okay?”
The doctor eyed Connor.
“It’s okay,” Brie said. “Just tell me!”
Chapter Five
Connor listened. The doctor’s update wasn’t good. He said things like “blood pressure dropping,” “prepare yourself,” and “call other family members.”
“Can I see him?” Her voice shook.
“Perhaps in a few minutes. They’re working to get his blood pressure up.”
When the doctor walked away, she sat stoically. No tears. No words. No outward emotion. But he felt it. He recalled in detail the gnawing grief that losing Adkins had brought on. “I’m sorry.”
Anger filled her blue eyes. “He’s not going to die. The doctor doesn’t know Carlos. He won’t give up.” Her intake of air sounded like pain.
Knowing there were no words to offer, he let the silence take over.
It was Brie who spoke next. “Where did they find Carlos? Do you have any leads? Why aren’t you out there looking for whoever did this?” The edge to her voice said she was close to losing it.
“Just take some breaths.” He understood exactly what she felt. The anger. The need for justice. He’d been there when he lost Adkins. For Connor, however, that justice had been swift and bittersweet. It hadn’t helped that the kid’s bullet wasn’t the one that took Adkins’s life. Fortunately, the lowlife drug dealer was caught two weeks later and now sat on death row.
Officially, what happened that night had been deemed a good shoot. The media, however, crucified Connor. He became a stain on the department. They didn’t like stains.
He pushed back the past and focused on her questions. “He was found under the bridge at Fifth Street and Chestnut. My partners are at the crime scene now.”
“Brie?”
Agent Ryan shot up. Two men, one black and one white, both in their late fifties, came striding in. While one of them walked with a slight limp, both of them were big men, who carried themselves with authority. Agent Ryan literally fell into the arms of the black man.
Connor tried to assess the relationship but couldn’t label it, though with the age difference it didn’t appear intimate.
“How is he?” the man holding her asked, as his dark eyes found Connor.
Head still on the man’s chest, Agent Ryan answered, “His blood pressure’s dropping, but he’s not going to die. He can’t!” Her tone was brittle. Forced. She looked extra small in the man’s arms. Almost fragile.
The embrace ended and in seconds Brie Ryan’s spine stiffened.
“You okay, kid?” the other man asked.
“Fine.” Her light blue eyes met his, and the brief seconds of vulnerability were gone. She looked back at the African American man. “How did you get here so fast?”
“I know someone who knows someone who has a plane.”
“You always know someone.” She half-smiled. “Thanks.” She focused on Connor. “Detective Pierce, this is Eliot Franklyn”—she motioned to the man she’d hugged—“and this is Sam Keith.”
Connor and Sam shook hands. Then Connor extended his hand to Eliot.
; “A detective?” Eliot asked in lieu of shaking Connor’s hand.
Connor nodded, dropped his hand, then looked back at Brie. “Is this your backup?”
“Yes.”
“Then we should go.”
“Slow down, bucko.” Eliot held up his hand
“That’s Mr. Bucko to you,” Connor countered.
The man’s jaw clenched. “Go where?”
“To the precinct. We have some matters to discuss.”
Brie looked prepared to argue, then stopped herself.
“What matters?” Eliot barked.
“It’s okay,” Brie offered. “I confiscated a car. I just—”
“Did you return it?” Eliot directed the question to her, but his dark gaze never shifted from Connor.
“Of course.” Brie brushed a strand of hair off her cheek.
“Was it wrecked? Damaged?” A frown tightened Eliot’s lips.
“No,” she answered.
“Then what’s the problem?” The man’s tone deepened.
“She assaulted an officer,” Connor answered.
Eliot’s shoulders widened. The man was as tall and almost as thick as Connor. Not that Connor flinched. He had the guy by twenty years, but his gut said the man wouldn’t go down easy.
“I’m sure she had a good reason,” Eliot said.
Connor countered. “I think the department’s policy is that there is never a good reason for stealing a car.”
“It’s okay.” Brie put her hand on the man’s arm.
She looked back at the ICU doors. “Don’t let anyone see him alone. No one.”
“I got it,” Eliot said. “Sam, go with Brie.”
“No, I’m fine,” she said as Connor motioned for her to start walking.
Before she moved, Eliot spoke up again. “Detective.” The man looked him dead in the eyes. “Treat her with kid gloves.” His tone was more threat than suggestion.
Connor nodded curtly before he and Brie headed out.
When they got in the elevator, she asked, “Could we stop at the crime scene? I need—”
“We’re going to the station.”
“Time’s wasting,” she insisted. “First let me figure out who did this, then—”
“Sorry.” Neither of them said another word as they made their way to his car.
When they climbed into his Malibu, his phone rang. He hit the locks before grabbing his phone. Mark’s name flashed across the screen. Connor answered the call. “You at the office?” Connor cut Brie a look. She looked both pissed and exhausted.
“We just got back,” Mark said. “You get anything?”
“Yeah.”
“What?” Mark asked.
“I’ll tell you when I get there. I’m on my way.” Connor hung up, started the car, and looked at her. “So Eliot’s your stepfather?”
“No.”
“You seem close,” he said.
She stared at him. “He raised me.”
“I could tell.”
“How?” she asked.
He half-smiled. “I’ve seen that look on every father of every girl I’ve ever dated.”
“We’re dating? How did I miss that?”
“Let’s just say I know that touch-my-daughter-and-I’ll-kill-you look.”
She lifted her chin. “Thing is, Eliot means it.”
He grinned and backed out of the parking lot. “Are he and Sam ex-FBI?”
“No. Military. Special Forces.”
“I’m impressed.”
She watched him drive. “This is a waste of time. We should be trying to catch who did this to Carlos.”
“But first, we need to get the facts.”
* * *
Connor, with the evidence bag from the hospital in his hand and Agent Ryan at his side, walked into the police station and up to the front desk. Mildred, the receptionist, looked up and smiled. Her ready smile was something he looked forward to every day.
But then her gaze landed on Brie and that daily ray of sunshine faded. He remembered the two of them meeting when Ryan, aka Star, had stopped by the office. Brie hadn’t followed Mildred’s wait-here orders, and it hadn’t sat well with Mildred.
“You changed your hair,” Mildred said.
“I did,” Ryan said, her frustration visible. He reminded himself not to judge, since her partner’s life was still on the line.
“Good, you two know each other,” Connor said.
“I don’t think we were properly introduced,” Mildred said.
“Then let me fix that. Mildred Lincoln, this is Brie Ryan.”
“I thought it was Star something.”
“We all kind of thought that.” Connor saw Ryan’s lips thin. “Can she visit with you a minute?”
“Sure.” Mildred waved to the chair across from her desk.
Connor pulled the chair around and motioned for Ryan to sit. She frowned but sat. He reached back and pulled his handcuffs off his belt.
Mildred’s eyes widened.
“It’ll be fine,” Connor said.
“How is this fine?” Agent Ryan’s frown deepened. “Seriously? This is not necessary.”
“How’s the weather in Florida?” he asked.
“Florida?” Mildred pondered aloud.
Agent Ryan’s eyes tightened to slits, and all he could see was a sliver of angry blue. “And I thought I liked you.”
“He has that effect on a lot of women.” Mildred chuckled.
Connor motioned for Brie to hold out her hand. “Only for a few minutes.”
When she didn’t follow his request, he caught her hand and cuffed one of her wrists and then connected the other cuff to a drawer pull. “I need…” He paused. “I’ll be right back.”
She looked at Mildred. “Is he always a hard-ass?”
Mildred lifted a brow. “Only when provoked. Did you provoke him?”
“Yes.” Connor stared down at the blonde with a mix of emotions. He empathized with her for being worried about her fellow agent and felt equally bad about her half sister, but he needed to play this right. Which meant he needed to run everything by his partners first.
“Only to protect someone.” Brie glared up at him.
“Interesting,” Mildred said.
“What’s interesting?” Connor asked.
“Nothing.” Mildred looked at Agent Ryan. “Are you good at crossword puzzles?” She picked up the newspaper from her desk.
“Uncuff me,” Brie ordered him. “I’m not going anywhere.”
“Be right back.” He left the two women to work puzzles while his own mind puzzled over his growing respect and maybe even admiration for the little spitfire.
* * *
Mark and Juan looked up when Connor walked into the office. “What you got?” Mark pulled a pencil from behind his ear.
“I found Billy’s ballbuster.”
“What?” Mark asked. “You were supposed to be at the hospital.”
“I was. That’s where I found her.”
“I don’t understand,” Juan said.
“Get this. She’s FBI,” Connor said. “Her real name is Brie Ryan.”
“No shit!” Juan said.
“No shit.” Connor dropped the bag that contained Agent Olvera’s clothing and phone. “She’s been looking into the Ronan case. Alma Ronan is…was her half sister. She’s dead.”
“Why didn’t she tell us this when we met her?” Juan asked.
He shrugged. “She’s got a little issue with telling the truth. But in her defense, she probably didn’t have anything to tell then. She just got her first lead recently and that’s why Agent Olvera was here.”
“So Agent Olvera’s shooting is related to the Ronan case?”
“That’s where it gets confusing and interesting,” Connor said. He gave them the whole spiel. The two cases, Dillon Armand being the connection between the cases, and Brie’s suspicion that one of the FBI agents was behind Olvera’s attack.
“Damn.” Mark’s tone sounded amused. �
�So, not only are we going to be butting into the FBI’s case, we’re also going to be looking at one of them as possibly being dirty. We’re really going to chap some special agent asses.”
“Probably.” Connor rotated his shoulders.
“At least this explains how she was able to take down Billy.” Juan looked back at the door. “Where is she?”
“Cuffed to Mildred’s desk.”
Mark chuckled. “You cuffed an FBI agent to Mildred’s desk?”
“She might be a little annoyed at me right now.”
“Did she really steal the Mustang?” Mark asked.
“Confiscated it.” Connor wiped a hand over his smile. “She was following the suspect in her sister’s case.”
“How’s Olvera holding up?” Juan asked.
“Doctors aren’t hopeful. And if we are going to get to the bottom of this, we’ll need Brie Ryan’s help.” He ran a hand over his unshaven chin. “Did either of you tell Billy I’d identified the car thief?”
“No,” they both answered.
“What do you say we hold off on that and work with her on figuring out who shot Agent Olvera?”
Mark seemed to consider it. “You trust her?”
“She thinks someone with the FBI is responsible for her partner’s shooting. So I think she’ll work with us.”
“Okay,” Mark said. “But if Billy finds out, he’s your problem.”
* * *
Mildred tapped her pencil on her desk. “Hoover’s area. Three letters.”
Brie looked at the older red-haired woman and wondered about the irony. “FBI.”
“And here I was thinking about a vacuum cleaner.” Mildred wrote in the answer. “So what did Connor bring you in for?”
“It’s a mistake.” Brie tried to formulate a plan, one that included catching Carlos’s shooter and still keeping tabs on Armand, but her brain felt fried from no sleep.
“Yours or his?” The woman’s brows arched.
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