by Raven Scott
“I guess we got lucky.” A distinct lilt in Natasha’s voice scraped my eardrums, and my eyelids fluttered closed as I focused on breathing. “Valerie never knew. She still doesn’t know. I know it doesn’t make a difference— it’ll only make her feel bad. That’s why I think it’s getting worse, Illya— because she’s not around as much.”
“Are you gonna tell her? Like that bomb was addressed to her because they didn’t want you anymore, she doesn’t know that?” Natasha must’ve simply shaken her head by the rustling through the receiver, and a heavy sigh flooded the car. “You protect her too much and ignore yourself. What happens when the lies start to catch up to you, huh?”
“They’re talking about some pretty heavy shit.” Rolling my eyes at Remmy’s observation, I tightened my grip on the small, square box and cracked my lids open. Glancing over, the lights on the dash illuminated his stress wrinkles and predominantly grey hair, and he casually turned onto my street to slow to a crawl. “I wonder what it’s about.”
“Whatever it is, it doesn’t sound like it has anything to do with Carlyle or the Syndicate. There’s no guarantee these girls even know who he is. There’s no guarantee that anything we know about him is even factual.” The dude was fucking loaded to Hell and back, and there was no way any single person was squeaky clean. Just because the girlfriend got a bomb delivered to her apartment didn’t mean it had anything to do with Carlyle. Sure, she was more accessible, but they’d only been dating a few weeks when that happened.
Then again, he was really quick to get everyone wrapped up and gone, and by the time we went back, the whole apartment had been cleaned out. There wasn’t even blast residue— it’d all been cleaned or taken away. The floors and walls had been redone. The manager of the place was paid off.
But being obscenely wealthy didn’t mean any of that meant he was trying to hide something.
Even if Carlyle was hiding something, that didn’t mean it was illegal, either. We were legitimately grasping at straws on a few coincidences.
“You’ve never been on a date, right? You should ask that guy out if you see him again. No one is safer than a cop, Natasha.” The hairs on my arms and face stood up at the sudden interruption to my thoughts, and Remmy barked out a laugh. Smacking the wheel with the butt of his palm, he came to a smooth stop on the curb in front of my house.
“No one is more dangerous, either, Illya.”
“You take that and let me know what freaky shit they talk about you, Erik.” Scowling darkly, I almost left the two-inch by two-inch contraption in the car, but there was a lot that text couldn’t convey. Popping open the door, I stepped out, and Remmy didn’t wait for me to get on the sidewalk before peeling off into the night. Watching his headlights dim before disappearing, I rubbed my jaw and neck furiously and inhaled a frigid breath.
“Well, even if you don’t, you have his coat now. And it’s a really, really nice coat.”
“Jesus Christ.” I didn’t become a cop to do this, and I glanced down at the object in my hand with disgust. “I’m gonna fucking quit by the time we even have a faint chance of finding out what’s going on inside the Syndicate.”
Trudging to my front door, I pulled my keys off my belt loop, and my scowl darkened. Just because the rash of executions of members started after that bomb didn’t mean Carlyle was involved. Maybe he just knew a guy and complained during a bro’s night. Maybe, those two girls were connected with someone else, and we just hadn’t dug deep enough. God only knew that all of our requests were taking forever to process, and then it’d be a couple more months before they even got glanced at.
This was bad. This was really, really bad.
5
Natasha
“Yes-s-s!” Popping up to dance around my chair, I punched the air and hummed a tune to myself. Fred and Marshal paused what they were doing, and I turned my laptop around to show off the screen. “I finally finished. It’s done. I mean, it’s far from done, but the infrastructure is there.”
“See what happens when you actually try to work instead of trying to procrastinate, Nat?” Sticking my tongue out at Fred, I braced my palms on both sides of my laptop, and his eyes narrowed on me. “You can’t leave yet.”
“Fred, come on! Let’s go get some pizza. I promise to keep working when we get back.” Puffing out my lips, I grinned broadly when Marshal quickly agreed with me, and Fred defeatedly lifted his arm to check the time. “Besides, Valerie’s coming back tonight, and I may have finished the base, but I have to integrate her pictures and stuff, and she needs to be brought up to speed about the meeting we had, and—”
“Okay! Fine. We’ll go get some pizza.” Fist bumping the air, I pranced around my chair toward the door, and the guys rustled around me to follow. “You’re not gonna regret this.”
“Tell that to my work ethic.” Smiling broadly, I glanced over my shoulder as I pulled open the conference room door, and Fred rubbed both his hands on his face roughly. “I guess it wouldn’t be bad to go out, though. Working too much is bad.”
“You know, you may be onto something there, Fred.” Marshal clapped a hand on Fred’s shoulder, and excitement nibbled away at my gut. “I’m honestly tired of eating stuff I have to make myself. I suck ass at making anything more complicated than a grilled cheese.”
“Whatever. Just because I agree with you doesn’t mean I agree with you. We’re a little more behind than I’d like.” We walked toward the elevator leisurely, my spirits high, and I ran my hand through my hair as relief pushed a sigh from my lips. Finally, Fred would relent a little and give me a break.
Although, it wasn’t really Fred’s permission I needed. It was my own because I’d been using work to bury the fact that I fucked up. Rolling my lips between my face, shame flushed my face as memories played behind my eyes, and I tugged my jacket tighter around me.
Valerie was coming back, but that also meant Carlyle would be back . . . and he knew about the jacket. The microphone in the collar lit up the metal detector, and if I hadn’t tried to wear it across the bridge, I would’ve never known. Jerry took it and put it in a box, but he didn’t do anything else on Carlyle’s orders.
Worse than that . . . I was stupid for thinking Erik was just a nice cop. Even he, who I didn’t know at all, tried to use me.
Just like in Dallas.
Goosebumps blanketed my arms and across my chest under my sweater, and I frowned under deeply-knit brows. I’d made it a point to never talk about anything involving Carlyle to anyone, even other employees, and I was glad I had, but . . . what was he going to do about the lapse in security? Would he kick me out?
That’d just make Valerie and I fling farther apart.
I mean, how did Erik and whoever else was behind the jacket think that their plan would really work? Ignorance didn’t breed innocence, and I was just plain stupid.
“Hey, guys?” Once in the quiet of the elevator, I glanced over at Marshal and Fred and cleared my throat roughly. “When Carlyle gets back, I may need to find a new job. I’m gonna ask him to set you up with a better programmer than me.”
“Natasha, he’s not gonna kick you out. I heard Jerry talking to him about it when I went by yesterday. You’re also not the only person in trouble right now, according to the maids. Just sit down and have a serious conversation about it when he gets back.” The elevator stopped when Marshal went quiet, but I wasn’t convinced in the slightest. I knew Carlyle would try to reinforce himself in some way— he made Illya rip off her own toenails, for fuck’s sake! He personally killed at least ten people that I knew of, not including all those gang members in Dallas or . . . the ones in the basement.
Not that they lasted long.
“If I do, I’m okay with it.” Shaking my head as I stepped off the metal box, I stuffed my hands in my coat pocket and felt for my keys and wallet. “That’s all.”
“If you do, you have your Airbnb’s, right? And they’re a lot, you said. You don’t necessarily have to get a new job. You can just l
ive off that. Maybe, get a hobby? You’re a great cook. You can always take cooking classes and stuff.” Fred’s suggestions earned a faint hum from me, and I flopped my head back to sigh heavily. I loved to cook, but what good was any food I made if no one was around to eat it?
“Natasha! Hey, wait up a second.” Twisting as Jerry came striding down behind us from a different hallway, I frowned as nerves tingled my fingertips. He held Erik’s bugged jacket over his arm, and prickles raced down my spine. “Hey, can I talk to you for a second? Just really quick.”
“Yeah.” He smiled reassuringly, and I wrung my fingers as Fred and Marshal shuffled a few feet away just to stand around and eavesdrop. “If it’s about the jacket, I’m not gon—"
“Well, it kinda is. Actually, it was Carlyle’s suggestion. He says you can keep it if you want to get a little revenge somehow.” My eyebrows nearly flew off my face at that, and Jerry slipped his hands into his jean pockets to duck his head suggestively. “I know a tiny bit of what you’ve been through. I told him I’d take the blame because it got through the front doors, and it wasn’t supposed to. I don’t understand, and maybe that’s a good thing, but I figured since we knew about the bug, and you’re pretty trustworthy, that you might wanna mess with the guy a bit.”
“I . . . I don’t get how I’m supposed to mess with the guy. What am I gonna do? Fuck a guy on the jacket? Um, no.” Jerry shrugged, not the least bit affected by my question, and I frowned when he handed me the previously incarcerated jacket. “Thanks, Jerry. I’m sorry.”
“It’s not your fault. Carlyle thought the police might get stupid about the bomb, so he prepared for something like this. Even though it wasn’t connected to Carlyle, the timing was just all messed up, and there was no real escalation. Anyway, I just wanted to let you know, Natasha. You can press this button here to turn it on and off.” Nodding as Jerry slunk off the short distance to disappear around the corner, I exhaled a shaky breath as my heart thundered against my ribs.
Revenge. I got my revenge. I didn’t want to get dragged down that dark, mucky road again.
Inhaling deeply through flared nostrils, my sternum popped from the sudden pressure, and I rolled my shoulders and straightened myself. I’d worry about it later. Right now, I was going to celebrate the fact that I finished those stupid program bones. Whirling around, I nodded more to myself than Fred or Marshal, and they kept their curiosity above their noses.
“Um, let’s go. I’m starving for something cheesy and greasy.” Pulling the thick, industrial jacket over my shoulders, I fingered the button installed in the collar absently. “I’m gonna turn it on, though, so no more talking about Carlyle.”
“Fine with me—” Holding up a finger to my lips, I pressed down to hear a faint click, and Fred scrunched up his face in the ominous silence. “Anyway, the important thing is you got the infrastructure done. Okay, we can slack a little until Valerie gets back, but then it’s all hands, Natasha.”
“Yeah, yeah, yeah, you said that already.” Pushing open the door, I gasped as the wind bit at my cheeks instantly, and I zipped up the jacket to pull my arms in. Even with two coats, a sweater, and a long sleeve shirt, it was frigid— it was too damn cold even to snow. Glancing around the lot, I started toward Marshal’s car, and his key’s jingle rode the harsh breeze.
“We should go to Buckley’s. It’s been a long, long time, and we used to go there every day.”
6
Erik
“I’m telling you, Remmy, this isn’t right. It’s been a week of dead silence, and suddenly it starts up again? Even if she just threw it in the back of her closet, that microphone should’ve still picked things up.” Irritation simmered in my blood, and it only intensified when Remmy cast me a disapproving frown like I saw only what I wanted to see. “I guarantee you that they found it. I fucking guarantee it. And I’m done with your glory crusade. This whole thing was a failure from the beginning.”
“Erik, we’ll at least go inside and assess whether or not she knows. If she doesn’t, you need to un-bunch your panties. If she does, I’ll admit defeat.” You’re a fucking cop, you asshole. You’re not supposed to be persecuting people who don’t deserve it, let alone failing miserably at it. Scowling darkly as I popped open the door, I shook my head roughly as I stalked to the sidewalk. The bitterly cold chill seeped through my original, issued coat, and I stuffed my hands deep into my pockets to hide my fists.
Shouldering open the glass door to Buckley’s Pizza Parlor, I headed for the takeaway counter, and the teenager behind it smiled brightly at me.
“Hey, yeah, can I get two slices of pepperoni, one sausage, and two bottles of water.” Fishing my wallet out, I handed her a ten-dollar bill, and I rocked back on my heels to scan the restaurant. Natasha and her two co-workers were in a booth against the back of the place, and I held my breath and pursed my lips in apprehension. She looked like an entirely different person when she was clothed, her hair and makeup done lightly. Big, brown eyes met mine above the heads of seated patrons, and I offered a wave before a metallic clink stole my attention.
Guilt clawed at my throat, and my appetite fled as my gut rotted with the knowledge of what I’d done. Folding the two dollars I’d gotten back in change, I tensed at the soft, long fingers wrapping around my elbow, and Natasha rubbed up against my side. Her curves muffled by the layers and layers of clothes we both wore, and I glanced over as she looked up at me from under thick lashes.
The second I met her eyes, I knew she knew, and I clenched my jaw hard as my eyelid twitched in agitation.
“I hope you’re committed, Erik.” Natasha reached to tap my chest with an unadorned nail, and I frowned at the darkness that flashed in her eyes. “Why’d you do it? Oh, wait . . . you were probably ordered to, right? Because the bomb has to be connected to Carlyle. It’s not like we’re capable of having demons chasing us.”
“Natasha—” My attempt to speak earned me a frown, and I scratched my neck with my free hand as I struggled to think of something to say. “I’m sorry.”
“Cool. Do you wanna know a secret?” My stubble bristled when she lifted herself onto her toes, her nonchalance turning icy, and my eyelids fluttered as her warm breath rolled down my collar. “I killed my mom. You can arrest me now, but you’ll just have to let me go because you’ll never get any evidence. Or . . . you can listen in, and I’ll tell you the story of ‘why.’ It’s up to you. You wanted this, Erik.”
“Natasha—” She held a slender finger to my lips when I turned to her fully, and my eyes widened in shock when she reached up to press a button where the bug should’ve been. Does that mean nothing she just said was recorded?
“It’s up to you.” All I could do was stand there, frozen, as Natasha sauntered off back to her table, and I blinked hard. Did that really just happen? She admitted to murder, but no one else could have heard her, and the fucking microphone had a brand-spankin’-new on/off switch. Turning back to the counter slowly, I gazed dazedly at the edge as my brain worked a mile a minute.
That was why the bug went dead for a week— they found it almost immediately, and they devised a plan to fucking toy with us.
“Officer—” Snapping out of my daze, I grabbed the box and both waters, and I shot Natasha one final look before heading out. She didn’t look satisfied. Now that she wasn’t so far, I could see how . . . how sad and alone and distanced she was from her coworkers. The way she moved and smiled was robotic, and I pursed my lips thinly as self-disgust threatened to spew from my mouth.
“So? Does she know?” Closing myself in Remmy’s car, I sat back and handed him his water before popping open the box. What did I tell him? If he knew we were busted, the bug would be deactivated, and I’d never know Natasha’s story. Picking up a slice of pepperoni, I sat back a little and glanced out the window as cars zipped past, kicking up salt dust in their wake.
To anyone looking, Natasha would’ve just been flirting heavily with me, and there was absolutely no way to prove differently.
The bug was off, the people around us not paying attention, and any security cameras wouldn’t show anything of note. I had no choice but to play this out.
“No, I don’t think she does.” Glancing at my phone to read the time, I took a bite of my slice before gesturing out the windshield. “I’m off shift in fifteen. You mind dropping me at home?”
“Sure. I’m gonna go back and let the Captain know we’re good. You worry too much, Erik.” Frowning as I swallowed harshly, the pizza was ash in my mouth, and I grabbed a napkin from the cupholder to hide my displeasure. “I bet being a police officer isn’t nearly as exciting as being a SEAL. Granted, there’s a lot more cop shows than SEAL shows.”
“You’d know, wouldn’t you, Remmy. To be honest, I didn’t want to be a cop, but it seemed like the route to go considering my background. I can’t just sit at a desk forever.” My confession earned me a gruff sound, and Remmy snatched the other pepperoni slice with a hard sniff.
“Cops who want to be cops don’t stay cops for long, Erik. In a city like this, everything’s corrupted because of Carlyle Santino. Even our bosses bend under his weight.” Remmy spoke with such disdain, and I knew it was because he’d been passed over for promotions before. Even I knew he had a grudge against the top brass for ignoring him— it was all I heard when I was told he was my partner. On the verge of retirement, he was still basically a meter maid, and he hated it.
“I doubt that’s true for most officers, Remmy. You’re just a crusty, old bastard.” He grumbled loudly, but I didn’t care to decipher what he said. “Why’d you become a cop, anyway?”
“It was the Eighties, and I was young and stupid.” Man, I just wanted to go home and sleep, and I let the conversation die as my thoughts overran my attention. Working a job I didn’t like was bad enough, but nothing happened in this city. We were close to Connecticut, but too far for the nasty tendrils of Bridgeport and New York City to reach us. I’d signed up for the Academy right after being discharged, and I knew now that that was a hasty, ill-prepared plan to keep me where I was comfortable.