Matt strode toward him, the rest of the crew standing in a cluster near a couple of police SUVs, everyone handcuffed.
“Emery Martin, Tori Chazov, I’m placing you under arrest,” Detective Smith said.
“What?” Tori snapped.
“You have got to be kidding me,” Emery growled.
“I’m not. Go along with it.” Matt placed his hands on his hips and stopped at the side of the abashed officer.
“Fucking hell.” Emery thrust his hands forward.
Chapter Twenty-Five
“Like I said, nothing personal.” Detective Smith sliced through the plastic restraints binding Emery’s hands. The whole crew stood in two holding cells in the downtown Miami station.
“What the hell is this supposed to accomplish?” Tori leaned on the bars separating their cells. The boys on one side, ladies on the other.
“You guys don’t exactly travel with paper.” Matt’s gaze slid toward Emery.
Most of their crew had probably lost or hidden the badges that labeled them FBI to deepen their cover. Smart, since they had enemies that would love to use that bit against them. Unfortunately, it made proving their status problematic.
“What do you want from us?” Emery asked. Matt wasn’t protecting them.
“The old man’s name is Victor Sleigh.”
Emery’s memories flipped like a mental Rolodex, pulling the bits of knowledge from the recesses of his brain. “His name was on invoices from Greenworks. The name’s fake.”
Smith’s frown deepened. “He’s real, he’s just not American. Cuban. Any second the FBI field office is going to descend on this place, and the moment I go into interrogation Sleigh is going to ask for a lawyer.”
“You want one of us to go in there and question him?” CJ paced toward them. “All right, let’s do this.”
Matt held up his hand. “I’m not letting you anywhere near my suspect.”
CJ growled something, hands curling into fists, and lunged at Matt. Aiden grabbed one of CJ’s arms, Julian the other, and together they held CJ back.
“Think about it,” Aiden barked.
The agent tried to yank his arms from their grasp.
“You need someone with credibility.” Emery glanced back at Matt. With Kathy gone and CJ ready to blow a fuse, that left Emery or Julian. Between them, Julian’s interrogation tactics relied more on intimidation and fear, which wouldn’t go over well in a law-abiding environment. Emery had actually excelled at the more diplomatic study of interrogation, which was a lot less exciting than popular media pretended it was.
“Yeah. Needs to be now.” Matt thumbed over his shoulder. “I’ve got clothes and a shower.”
“Tori comes, too.”
She might not be as legally FBI as he was, but this whole mess was wrapped around her.
“Shit.” Matt glanced at Tori and scowled. “I’ll have to find clothes. You can’t go in there looking like extras from Dexter.”
Smith motioned to someone they couldn’t see. A double buzz and both cells slid open.
“The rest of you are being released. We’ll work out a cover with the field office.” Matt gestured for Tori and Emery to follow him. Most officers they passed found somewhere else to look.
“I heard things here have been rough,” Emery said, keeping his voice low. They crossed from holding into the offices used by officers.
“Rough is an understatement,” Matt muttered.
“Let me know if I can help.”
Matt paused outside of a set of men’s locker rooms, his gaze bouncing from Tori to Emery. “I only arranged for one of the locker rooms to be empty.”
“We’ll be fine.” Tori shoved Emery through the swinging door and flipped the lock before Matt could follow them in.
He knocked on the door. “I’ll be back.”
Emery pulled Tori toward him, needing to touch her, feel her lips against his. She lifted up and kissed him. He felt the shock of that touch all the way to his feet. God, she was amazing, and he could have lost her today. He pushed his fingers into her hair, tipping her head back and deepening the kiss. She groaned and pressed closer.
“Damn.” He tore his mouth from hers. He wanted long hours to spend going over her body, showing her just how well she screamed, but they had a suspect to interrogate.
“Get cleaned up. Now.”
They descended on the row of sinks, stripping off articles of bloody, saltwater-stained clothing.
She finger-combed her hair under the spray and wiped away streaks of dirt and dried blood. He barely paid attention to his own cleaning routine, too fascinated by Tori, the way she moved, how she breathed.
“Got any plans for next weekend?” He used soap from a wall dispenser to scrub his hands and forearms, trying to ignore the magnetic pull between them. There just wasn’t time for anything of that nature right now.
Tori glanced at him. One brow arched.
“What do you have in mind?” she asked.
“A bed. A damn big bed.” No more of this doing it in the heat of the moment in a garage or up against a fucking wall. A bed, with pillows and sheets, and takeout only a call away. They might have to make do with his place, or a safe house if things got hairy, but he was willing to bet they could make it work.
“Really? I was thinking about working on the Bel Air. You never even got to see the backseat or that trunk. You could fit a body or two back there.” She grinned and her nose wrinkled.
“Come here, you.” He grabbed her hand and pulled her to him.
One kiss wouldn’t delay them much.
“What about tonight?” she asked between the moments their lips were touching.
“What about it?”
“I don’t know, just curious.”
Tonight, tomorrow, everything was still up in the air, but they had each other. But for how long? CJ had Kathy, and now she was gone.
“Emery.” She pushed at his shoulders.
“I’m in love with you.” His voice was lower, rougher, but damn, he loved her. All the time. Now she was inside him. He didn’t have to think about it. That was just a truth that was. He loved her. Had for a long time.
Tori stared at him, her lips parted and eyes wide. Red hair clung to her face, her lips were swollen and damp. Her chest heaved and she blinked rapidly. Yes, he loved all of her.
“A-are you serious?” she asked.
“Yeah.” He swallowed around a knot in his throat and stepped back, out of reach. This was not the time for emotional declarations, but if he didn’t tell her now, when should he tell her? When they weren’t in danger? Because that was never going to happen. “We need to get going. Now.”
“Emery, no, stop.” She grabbed his arm. “Just hold on. I wasn’t ready for that.”
Tori slid her hand down to clasp his.
“Matt will be back any second,” he said.
He grabbed a paper towel and scrubbed it over his face. Clothes hung on a hook he could only assume Matt had left for him. He was right, they couldn’t walk into an interrogation covered in blood. Emery turned the water off, but remained rooted to the spot.
He dressed in the borrowed clothing. There was everything from socks and shoes to a belt, besides the slacks and dress shirt. He hated the silence and awkward tension resonating from Tori. He should have waited. Now wasn’t the time to focus on them; they needed their heads in the game, not each other. It didn’t change how he felt though.
He was halfway ready when someone pounded on the door.
“Stay here,” he told Tori.
He’d hate to have to kill Matt for seeing Tori in nothing but jeans and a sports bra, though from the way the man was acting, Emery didn’t think it was Tori Matt was interested in. Between the man leaping into the ocean and his numerous instances of pulling Roni over, Emery was going to have to keep a closer eye on them. Matt knew how to pick a challenge. Tori and Roni might be twins, but there was a world of difference between them.
Emery paused before unlock
ing the door.
“Who is it?” he asked.
“The Muffin Man. Open the fucking door.”
Emery snorted and flipped the lock, pulling the door open. Matt shoved a plastic bag at him, still scowling.
“It might not fit her,” Matt warned.
“Haven’t dried out yet?” Emery noted the water still weighing down the man’s trousers, the darker color of his cuffs and collar.
“Yeah, I smell like a damn sewer.” Matt swiped his hand down his chest, lips twisted into a frown.
Emery glanced at Tori, softly padding toward him along the wall and out of sight. He stepped between her and the detective, shielding her from view, and held out the proffered clothing. She took the bag, winked at him, and scurried back to the relative safety of the showers to change.
Matt still stood in the hall, staring at the wall.
“Let me guess. You jumped in the water as Roni was climbing out?” Emery asked.
Roni had never struck Emery as the kind of woman to accept help. It was half the reason she didn’t work in the garage as much as her sister, and instead manned the front desk. Does not play nice with others was an understatement.
“Maybe? Hell if I know.” Matt shrugged and stuck his hands in his pockets.
“A bit of advice?” Emery set his shoulder against the door frame. Water trickled down the back of his neck, but he ignored it and the throbbing of various body parts, not all of which hurt. “Find someone else to rescue.”
Matt’s gaze narrowed.
“You’ve got a hell of a picker, man.” Emery shook his head. If the detective wouldn’t be deterred, well, that was his business.
“Can we get one more moment, Matt?” Tori spoke from right behind him.
Emery turned a bit to catch a glimpse of her.
She’d slicked her hair back into a wet bun high on her head, elongating her neck. Damn, she was beautiful. The clothes didn’t work for her at all. The skirt suit and white shirt were too big, but the shoes appeared to fit. They were, however, black-and-white. A staple of the Fed wardrobe. Ill-fitting would work in their favor. Agents weren’t exactly fashion plates, not that he was one to judge.
“Sure, but make it quick.” Matt’s glare said they didn’t have time, but he wasn’t pushing them.
Emery let the door close, though he really wanted to flee after the detective. He’d never told anyone he loved them before.
Tori stared up at him, her hands clasped in front of her. She seemed just as off balance as he felt.
“You don’t have to say anything back,” he said. He hadn’t expected her to, but perhaps he should have added that to his earlier declaration.
“That’s not it. It’s just . . . I’ve liked you for a long time, but I liked this imaginary version of you in my head that was quiet, a doormat, and obedient. You’re not anything like what I thought, and I don’t really know where or why I assumed those things about you, because they aren’t traits I like in a man. You’re different. You’re you. You’re better. You’re . . . You make me feel—things.” She shrugged. “I don’t know what to call how I feel. I think it’s love, but it’s new, and with everything else going on, it’s a little scary.”
The hand holding on to his throat loosened its grip and he took an easier breath.
“I’ll take that.” He held out his hand. She was right; a lot had changed and would continue to shift in the coming days and weeks.
Tori’s hesitant smile spread into a grin. She took a step toward him and wrapped her arms around his neck, pulling him down for a quick kiss.
“We can figure it out later?” she said.
“Later.”
He opened the locker room door and almost ran into Matt.
“Let’s go.” Emery gestured for Matt to lead the way.
Once more, the few officers and staff found somewhere else to look when they passed. A show of solidarity? Support? By all rights Emery and the others should be treated like the rest of the Feds, or maybe worse considering they barely obeyed the laws, but it appeared the Miami-Dade officers were on their side. He wanted to know who at the local field office had pissed off the cops, the better to keep his distance.
“Something happen?” Tori asked, pitching her voice low.
“Yeah. Guy killed three cops, fourth might still die, and we all know the Feds will bury this just like what they’re doing with Evers. You think he’d be out if the Feds hadn’t taken evidence we needed for the case against him?” Matt shook his head, fury radiating from him. “You’re the best damn hope we have of getting any answers or justice.”
Emery glanced at a clock as they reached a room situated in a back corner. They weren’t going to have much time.
“Here’s everything we could pull up on him. You’ve got a couple minutes. When the Feds get to the front doors I’ll pull you out, sneak you out the back—unless you want to join the fun?”
Tori scowled. She flipped through the folder of information Matt had for them.
“Hell no.” Emery knew the hammer was going to come down hard on him once they reported in detail the recent events. He wasn’t trying to hasten his professional suicide.
“Okay. I’m not recording this because this technically never happened, but I’ll be watching. Just me.” Matt gestured to a TV mounted to the wall. The station was a bit more high tech than he’d realized. Good for them.
“Do we have a plan?” Tori asked.
“Not really.” Emery shrugged.
“Great.” She rolled her eyes. “Has he asked for a lawyer yet?”
“Haven’t given him the opportunity,” Matt replied.
“Let’s do this.” Tori tugged the jacket into place and nodded.
Emery pulled the door open and they walked into what might as well have been a human freezer. Tori strode ahead of him and set the folder down on the table between her and Sleigh.
“It’s kind of cold in here, don’t you think?” She glanced at Emery, but kept her question aimed at Victor. “Would you like a coffee? Anything to drink?”
Victor merely snorted.
“I think I’d like some coffee. Could you see if they could get us some?” She gestured to Victor. “Black, no cream or sugar, right?”
That made Victor pause. His fingers stopped tapping on the desk and he actually looked at her. Tori simply smiled back, radiating warmth.
Good girl.
One of the first tactics of real interrogation was to put the interviewee at ease. He’d let her take point on this. Victor would probably see Emery as a threat, considering he’d held the man at gunpoint. Of the two of them, Tori was the less intimidating.
Emery stuck his head out of the interrogation room door. Matt was already pouring cups of coffee from a rolling cart that hadn’t been there a few minutes before.
Go team.
* * *
Tori pulled out one of the rolling chairs provided for officer use. Victor sat in a heavy, uncomfortable metal seat. Both were intentional. Everything about interrogation was done with purpose. It wasn’t the yelling, throwing, or abusing the suspect often portrayed on TV. True interrogation was far less overt. Now, if only she could get her head into the mind-set and not think about the locker-room chat.
Emery loved her? It was fast, but it felt right.
She pushed the jittery feelings away and focused on the man handcuffed to the table.
“Victor, may I call you Victor?”
He curled his lips downward and flicked his fingers, as if to say it didn’t matter to him. There was something off about him. She’d seen a number of interviews over the years. Suspects in his shoes were nervous and jittery, or sneering and overly confident. Not him. He was . . . waiting. On what? A rescue? A plea bargain? What?
Sweat broke out along her hairline.
There was a ticking time bomb in the room and she had no idea what the trigger was.
“The last address I have for you is a couple of years old, but you don’t live there anymore, do you? Uni
forms had been there, and according to the current residents, they purchased it a little over two years ago. Where do you live now?” She wiped her palms on her thighs and counted to ten, willing herself to be calm.
Emery returned, sliding one coffee to Victor, the other toward her, before taking a seat at her side.
“Around,” Victor replied.
She kept her smile firmly in place. Emery remained quiet, but his body language was anything but passive. Even pretending to be relaxed, he was still in motion. She could feel his mind at work. Had he picked up on the impending doom in the room? What else were they going to face next?
“Do you live with your daughter?” Tori tugged a photograph of a charming young woman from the folder and slid it across to Victor.
He refused to even look at the snapshot. Either he didn’t care about her, or he wanted to protect her. She’d come back to the young woman.
“You’re originally from Cuba? Sleigh, that’s not a Cuban name, is it?”
Again, Victor deigned to reply.
“Isn’t that more of an Anglo name? I think I read somewhere that it means crafty. Cunning. You’re a smart man, Victor. What is your daughter going to tell us about you? You know officers have been dispatched to her home to question her?”
There.
His brows lifted slightly. The lines around his mouth deepened.
“What do you think Evers’s people will do to your daughter when they can’t get their hands on you?” She sat back and glanced at Emery. “We’ve seen some of their work. They can get pretty—creative.”
He turned his head, gazing out of the narrow windows, clinging to the disengaged act.
Victor Sleigh was a smart man, she had no doubt of that, who made unfortunate choices. Had his little coup gone off without a hitch, well, she might be looking at the next kingpin of Miami instead of the lockup’s star prisoner.
“Have it your way, Mr. Sleigh.” Tori flipped the folder closed, but left the photograph on the table.
“You’re not Feds or cops.” Victor glanced at Emery. “Who are you?”
“People who can help.” Emery reached out and put a hand on her arm, as if he were insisting she stay.
“You can’t help me. No one can help me.” Victor reached out and straightened the image of his daughter. His face softened, and for a moment he was just a father.
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