Brody (Hope City Book 3)

by Kris Michaels

  "We don't have the budget for that. Hell, as it is now, our supervisors have doses, but not all patrols do." Derek Watson shook his head. "Sucks the criminals are better funded than we are."

  "Nothing we can do about that. We'll need to start thinking about an education campaign. When we break here, I'll head to Briar Hill and brief Colonel Wells. He can set up the educational briefs." Terrell reached for the file he'd dropped. "Our songbird indicated his bosses had meetings, and he heard the words ‘airport’ and ‘small planes’ repeated in connection with the drug."

  "Small planes." Brody pushed away from the table and walked to a map of the city. "We have no less than ten small airports within two hours of this city. Did he indicate any particular one?" He turned back to the group when he asked.

  "No, but I had an idea about that. We've been dissecting Masters and Treyson's travels in the months prior to Masters killing Treyson. Treyson's routine didn't vary, but Masters? He made several trips out of the city." Terrell got up from the chair and moved to the map. He, Amber, Colt, and Derek made their way forward also.

  "We don't have precise locations, but two weeks before he was arrested, he traveled to this area." Terrell circled an area north of Hope City. "It could be coincidence, but there's an airfield here."

  Everyone leaned in and stared at the map. Brody frowned. "In a neighborhood?" He saw the runway depicted, but seeing houses line the runway was weird.

  "A bedroom community for those of affluence who fly their small planes into other cities to work. Hangars where they keep their puddle jumpers are situated behind the houses. It would be the perfect cover for importing drugs." Terrell rubbed the back of his neck. "Unfortunately, it is a guess. I can't justify expending resources without something solid."

  "What do you need?" Amber glanced up at Terrell.

  "Something that could tie that airfield into this investigation."

  "Something like flight plans to cities or areas suspected to manufacture the product?" Brody interjected.

  Terrell nodded. "That might work, but how do we access the plans? Swanson, since you have the contacts, get us a best guess on the hotbeds for manufacturing this shit."

  "Can do. A couple of calls and we'll have it."

  "Brody, you're the fucking pilot. Where are you going to get the flight plans, and do we need a court order?"

  "You're a pilot?" Amber's question pivoted everyone's head in her direction. She snapped her mouth shut and cleared her throat. "Sorry."

  "I have my license, yes." Brody turned back to Terrell. "We'd need a search warrant. We couldn't get a federal judge to approve it. It would be too vague for a judge to approve. Even if we have the FAA serve it at the hotbed locations, it wouldn't tell us anything except who is regularly making the flights to and from the area. There isn't a law against flying to a certain location. If we want to build a case, we'll need to go in undercover and work it."

  "You could probably rent one of the houses for sale in the area." Colt was staring at the map. "Once you're in, you could check shit out, make friends with others in the neighborhood. You'd know pretty damn quick if someone was making routine runs." He tapped the map. "That's an affluent neighborhood. Renting a house would be expensive."

  Damn right it would be expensive, and they worked on a shoestring budget. Brody glanced at Amber and then at his captain. "Maybe we can get some money from our Federal agencies?"

  Terrell nodded. "I've already asked the FBI and the DEA." He put his hands on his hips and stared at the map. "Getting this shit shut down before it becomes an epidemic of overdoses is a priority."

  Amber held up a finger. "Excuse me, I know I'm catching up here, but I'm getting stuck on what you said about Masters. He was driving around in this neighborhood. Why? Was he picking up or delivering? Was he meeting someone? I can't see this guy, an affluent lawyer, being a mule. I mean it's happened, but what else is in the area besides this airport community? Why would he drive up here when his corporate headquarters is in the city? Does he have other business in the area which would suggest a legitimate reason for his presence?"

  "Damn good questions. You and King take a drive up there, get eyes on the community and see if there is something that would draw Masters to that location. Rayburn and Watson, you pull up all the information we have on Masters. Sift through that shit and work this through. Also, get Taylor brought in and re-interview him on this topic. Get anything he can remember, the smallest detail. Find any holes before we decide on a direction."

  "What about requesting an interview with Masters?" Brody braced his hands on his hips. The bastard had granted a few interviews since he'd been convicted. Maybe they could get something from the guy.

  "I've put in the paperwork. Since his conviction and sentencing, he's been playing ball. Word is the man wants a move to a facility out of state. Fucker even demanded his name be altered when he's moved. He's afraid of reprisals from the cartels. Even though the man didn't give us shit, he must know enough to be a legit target. The DA is inclined to use him and keep him in isolation to keep him alive, so we should get approval."

  "Swanson, go make those calls, and get an idea of where this shit may be coming from. King, I'll need a minute. Rayburn, Watson, you two hit the documents. Find me something." Terrell dismissed everyone and waited for the conference room to clear before he shut the door.

  "What's up?" Brody strolled over and sat on the conference table.

  "I'm going to ask you to make a few calls, too. Grey Death is nothing to mess with. Our patrolmen, detectives, and our people are at risk."

  "Guardian?" Brody arched an eyebrow. His captain had never asked him to use his family ties before.

  "No. Your old man. I hate to ask you to make this call, and damn it, I swore I never would, but this shit can't take root in the city." Terrell rubbed the back of his neck. "We need a push from above to get my funding requests noticed by the Feds, and I don't think the colonel will do it. We get enough to survive and that's it."

  The colonel in charge of Criminal Investigations wasn't anyone's favorite, including his father's. Colonel Fenton had aspirations. Specifically, his father's job, so any successes in JDET, which was developed based on his father's impetus when he took the position of Police Commissioner, was a thorn in Fenton's side. Even though the JDET wins fell under Fenton's division, the man gave them the bare minimum needed to operate. It would be a fucking honor to do an end run around Fenton.

  "You know if we do that, he's going to be hunting for your ass."

  Terrell sneered, "I say bring it on. It's about time the asshole remembered those he left in the trenches."

  He appreciated the intestinal fortitude of the man. "Copy that, although I'm not going to call him during duty hours; I'll talk to him tonight."

  "That works for me. Now get out there and do your job." Terrell indicated the door with a nod of his head.

  Brody gave the man a two-finger salute and headed back to his office. He passed through the bullpen and noticed Amber on the phone. Her head was down, and she was writing as she listened. Watson and Rayburn's noses were buried in files. Mozinga had three teams working, sorting through documentation from the trial and the interviews of their newest songbird. The energy level in the pen was high, and the focus of his people was intense. Each of the team members had been hand-picked. They were dedicated cops. He was damn lucky to be a part of the team.

  He glanced at the door to his office and rolled his eyes. That damn tux. He really needed to make time to take that thing back to the store he rented it from before he owned the damn thing.

  "Ready?" Amber walked into his office.

  "I am. Did you get anything with the calls?"

  "The general consensus is the cartels are the only ones dealing with this shit. Penã's organization was mentioned twice in association with Florida, in particular. The favored route from Mexico is still believed to be I-10 as the southern corridor to the east and to the west. Atlanta and Jacksonville are the hot points for
supplying the eastern side of the country. Not a lot to go on." She shrugged her shoulders.

  "Actually, it is. An ultra-light wouldn't be used for such a trip. Single engine planes could make the distance depending on fuel and efficiency." He nodded to the door. She fell into step with him as they made their way to his truck.

  "When did you become a pilot?"

  "After the accident. I was going crazy. Physical therapy and rehab were so damn slow. My body couldn't move and my brain was constantly going. It was recommended I find a hobby." He shrugged. "So I did."

  "You couldn't walk, but you flew?"

  He snorted a laugh. "Ah, no. I could walk, and I was on the mend, but you know me, I was bouncing off the walls. So, I started classes."

  "To get your pilot license?"

  "Yeah. I have a cousin who flies. I went up with him once or twice."

  "That's right, I remember you telling me about him."

  "Yeah, Jason flies some expensive planes, and it was amazing up there, so I started classroom instruction for ground and flight school. By the time I finished classes, I was able to pass an FAA flight physical. Then I did my practical hours, which was when I was amping up my physical conditioning so I could pass the physical qualification test for HCPD. It helped me to deal with... everything."

  "Meaning me."

  He glanced at her. "Meaning everything. You included."

  They exited the building and headed toward his truck. "Can we hit a drive through on the way up?" She strapped her seatbelt on and glanced at him.

  "Miss breakfast?" He started the truck.

  "Yeah, and dinner last night. I was too worried about how you'd react to finding out about Gage."

  His head snapped around. "Did you talk to him?"

  "Yeah, this morning. I told him I contacted you like he suggested. He was stoked, and then he got quiet. When I asked why, he wanted to know if you were mad because he was born."

  "What did you say?" His heartbeat raced at over a hundred rpm's for sure.

  "I told him you were very happy he was born, and you wanted to meet him."

  Thank God. He wanted to meet Gage so damn bad. "Was he okay with that?"

  "He was, but he's a thinker, so he'll come up with a thousand and one questions. I'll field them as they come." She chuckled quietly. "It's going to be a long, long week."

  Chapter 5

  Amber sipped her coffee and looked around the neighborhood as they meandered down the wide avenue. A small airplane came in for a landing and then taxied down the runway to one of the hangars as they quietly walked through the neighborhood. The houses were custom built on large lots. Manicured lawns bordered by spring flowers, green shrubbery and white picket fences sat facing the street while large hangars dominated the vistas beyond the homes. Several people had waved as they drove by, one lady even shouted a 'good morning' from a flowerbed where she was kneeling.

  "Doesn't strike me as a drug haven." She took another sip of her coffee.

  "Granted."

  "I sense a ‘but’ coming." She glanced at him as they strolled along.

  "Not three miles from here is the Treyson Shipping and Storage facility." He glanced right and left before they crossed the street. "Speculation was that Masters and Samuel Treyson were instrumental in setting up a distribution system for the Peña Cartel."

  "Through a legitimate shipping company? That would take some balls." She swirled her cold coffee in the paper cup.

  "Good morning!" A middle aged woman driving a van full of kids shouted and waved as she drove by.

  She waved and smiled as did Brody.

  "The thought process was they would receive from the global parent company, Treyson Logistics, and funnel the drugs via the parcel service." They stopped to watch another small plane land.

  She watched the thing taxi, turn on a dime and pivot into a hangar behind a three-story brick colonial. "What if it wasn't coming in, but going out?"

  Brody turned and frowned at her. "Say what?"

  "Think about it. Peña has been building a distribution network. He's a businessman. What if he's bringing in the components, making it here, then shipping it out through Treyson's system?"

  Brody stared at the airfield. "Too many possibilities and not enough information."

  "I guess it's down to Masters, then." She started walking when Brody did. "Do you still fly?"

  A woman exited her home with a broom. She waved and said good morning as they passed. They returned the greeting and kept on walking. "I do occasionally, to maintain my proficiency and certification." He glanced at her and grinned. "Maybe someday I can take you and Gage for a ride?"

  She shook her head vehemently. "No. Nope, no way."

  His smile faded, and he looked away.

  "Damn, I meant I won't go up in a plane with you, but I'm sure Gage would love to go. I get so airsick in small planes you'd end up buying a new interior. I swear the last time I was up in a Cessna I puked for days. The agent and pilot I was with… well, they had to shower." She shivered at the memory.

  The corners of his mouth twitched in what could have been the start of a smile, and he stooped to pick up a rock on the sidewalk before they wandered on again. "I forgot about you getting sick on the Ferris wheel."

  "And on the merry-go-round. Don't even get me started on roller coasters... gah!" She made a gagging sound. "I'm doing you a favor. Saving the interior of your plane."

  "I don't actually own a plane, but I'm guessing a cleaning or replacement bill would be over my budget." He screwed his face up. "Barf gets everywhere."

  "You have no idea! Hey, how do you fly if you don't have a plane?" They started the stroll back to where they'd parked his truck.

  "I rent a plane from my instructor. Todd has three of them he lets students use to keep their certifications up to date."

  "Do you enjoy it? Flying?"

  "Yeah, I do. But it's expensive."

  "What else do you have to spend all that sergeant's pay on?" She pointed to the truck. “You don't have the same old truck, but this one isn't a spring chicken either. It has to be paid off by now."

  "Her name is Wilma and don't pick on Gertie. She was a good ride."

  "Wilma? Yeah, I can see it, and I have some very fond memories of Gertie. I'd never disrespect her." She snapped her mouth shut when she noticed the way Brody tensed beside her. Damn it. "Look, we have a past. If you want me to stop mentioning it, I'll do my damnedest."

  He stopped and leaned against the bed of his truck. His gaze traveled the neighborhood. "Our past is something I tried hard not to think about. When you ran out, I was..." He shrugged a shoulder. "But that's my baggage. I get you had your own response to the proposal. You need to respect mine, too." He drew a deep breath and stared at her. "I loved you. I was willing to spend my life with you, to take you on those adventures you wanted to experience, but you didn't give me a chance to say anything. I dropped to one knee, opened the box and barely asked the question before you bolted."

  She moved and leaned on the truck bed, too. "I've already apologized for my actions and I explained why I did what I did. I tried to contact you."

  "Until you didn't."

  "Until I didn't." She bit her bottom lip and raked her teeth over the flesh. "I'll admit my actions were driven by fear. Fear you wouldn't forgive me. Fear you'd turn me away and want nothing to do with your child, or worse, take him away. When your mom said you'd contact me, to give you time, I did that. You knew I was looking for you. You didn't reach out."

  "I also had no idea you were pregnant." He cut his eyes to her and then arched an eyebrow.

  "Point, but you didn't contact me... I figured you were done with me. I wasn’t going to use a pregnancy to make you see me. Hell, yes, it was flawed logic, but..." She shook her head. "Look, I can't change the past. I can only do better going forward. Gage is excited to meet you. He's nervous and doesn't understand why you didn't know about him. That's on me. I'll be truthful and explain it to him as many times as he nee
ds to hear it, but what happened between us can't be used to poison how Gage feels about either of us. I'd never allow it."

  He nodded. "I agree. I'd like to introduce him to my parents on Sunday if Saturday goes well."

  She jerked away from the truck. "Sunday?" She flicked her ponytail over her shoulder and combed through it. The repetitive motion helped her calm her nerves and think. God, Gage may be ready to meet his grandparents, but whoa, she sure as hell wasn't ready.

  Brody's forehead creased. "You’re nervous about him meeting my parents."

  She paused her hands in mid stroke. "No, not about him, about me. I mean, your mom never did like me, and now she's going to hate me. I mean what's she going to say to Gage about me?"

  Brody moved away from the truck and walked up into her personal space, forcing her to look up at him. She trembled when he put a hand on her shoulder. God, the smell of his cologne, so familiar and comforting, enveloped her. "Come with us on Sunday. My mother isn't an ogre. She isn't hateful. She would never malign you to anyone, especially Gage. She liked you. She wouldn't say a cross word, ever."

  "Yeah, maybe not in front of you, but she's always looked down her nose at me. I never was good enough in her eyes. What makes you think she's going to change her mind when she learns about Gage?"

  Hannah King was the most in-your-face woman she'd ever met. She'd never been comfortable enough to be herself around Brody's mom. God, she could imagine the condescending looks and sugar-coated words which probably meant the opposite of what the woman said.

  "I'm sure you're imagining it." His hand cupped her cheek and his thumb traced her cheekbone. The tender gesture, so familiar and yet such a distant memory. She looked up and gasped at the sadness and longing in his eyes. He blinked, cutting the connection. He dropped his hand and stepped back. "We should call in and see if Masters is willing to cooperate."

  She cleared her throat. "Yeah. That would be... good."

  She clambered up into his new 'old' truck and put her seatbelt on. The case. They should talk about the case now; except the only thing she could remember at the moment was the feel of his touch. God, she'd missed him so damn much. The smallest gesture from him fed her starvation like manna from heaven.