by L. A. Witt
Teeth clenched, I knocked.
“It’s open,” came the terse reply.
Funny. I’d always imagined the gates of hell would take more work to open, but no, all I had to do was turn the knob.
As I stepped inside, he said, “Close the door and sit down.”
I paused. Something in his tone was not what I’d heard on the phone. Without a word, I closed the door and sat down.
Thibedeau leaned forward and steepled his fingers under his chin. “I spoke to your partner last night.”
My heart plummeted into my stomach. “And?”
He watched me silently for a moment. Then, quietly, he said, “Would you be willing to submit to a drug test?”
Nodding, I said, “You won’t find anything.”
“I’m . . .” He sighed, and I wondered where his usual bravado had gone. “I’m beginning to believe that.”
I folded my hands on my lap. “What’s going on?”
“The drug test will clear your name. Especially if you’re willing to do more than a piss test.”
“Such as?”
“Blood. And hair.”
I shrugged. “Fine. Take what you want, but you’re not going to find anything.”
“Yeah, I don’t imagine we will.” Thibedeau drummed his fingers impatiently on his desk. No, not impatiently. Uneasily. Nervously. He glanced past me at the door, and when he spoke again, his voice was quieter. “I can’t lift your suspension until we’ve completely cleared you. Which, even if your tests are clean, that doesn’t explain how the medication got into your locker with your ex-wife’s name on it.”
I started to protest, but he put up his hand.
“I’m not finished.”
I swallowed.
His eyes darted toward the door again. “The sooner you do the tests, the sooner I can clear you. It’s going to take some time, but at least if they come back clean, I can work with your captain. See if we can bring you back to work.”
“Even with the outstanding charges?”
Thibedeau fidgeted in his seat, folding and unfolding his hands. “I might have to twist Captain Hamilton’s arm, but under the circumstances, I think it can be arranged.”
“Under the—” I shook myself. “You’ve been after my hide for years, and now you’re going to bat for me? What changed?”
“You can thank your partner for that.”
“Come again?”
“Like I said, we talked. And after he left, I got to thinking, and I went through your files.” He paused, drumming his fingers again. “And I got my hands on Detective Newberry’s files from his precinct.”
“Can you do that?”
His eyes narrowed. “Do you want me to send them back?”
“Uh. No. I don’t think? What’s going on?”
His gaze slid toward a thick green folder on the side of his desk, and his Adam’s apple jumped. Facing me again, he said, “There’s a lot of grime in that file. Complaints from fellow officers that never went anywhere. Allegations of criminal activity that were abruptly dismissed.” He exhaled slowly. “Either Trent’s a good cop who’s got a lot of people that want to bring him down—”
I arched an eyebrow. “Can’t see that happening.”
Thibedeau shot me a glare, but went on, “Or he’s a fucking dirty cop who’s got someone covering for him.”
“Am I right in assuming you think it’s the second option?”
He nodded. “The question is, how is he getting away with it? I mean . . .” He tapped the thick folder. “I don’t know what’s happening there, but something isn’t right. And somebody—somebody who has the power to call off IA investigations—is involved.”
My chest tightened. “Oh shit.”
“Oh shit is right. And now I’ve got my ass on the line because whoever that somebody is, it won’t take much for them to find out I looked in Trent’s file.”
“Jesus.” I rubbed the backs of my fingers along my unshaven jaw. So not only was Trent working with the mayor to run a complex crime network, he had a judge running scared, a shitload of blood on his hands, and now someone in his precinct’s IA department in his pocket. And with Thibedeau putting his neck out like this, he could wind up dead if Darren and I didn’t move fast.
“I’ll do the drug tests,” I said. “And then you’ll talk to Hamilton?”
“Yes.”
“And then what?”
“Then, hopefully, you and Darren can finish your investigation and get this fucker what he deserves.” The slightest pinch of his brow added an unspoken Please hurry.
My stomach churned. You knew things were getting bad when IA was scared.
Thibedeau handed me a card for a local medical clinic. “To make sure everything is completely on the up and up, here’s the place you’ll go for the test.” He nodded toward the card. “I took the liberty of booking it already. You’re expected there in an hour.”
Any other time, I’d have snidely asked how he knew I’d agree to the tests. And since when did drug tests require appointments?
I wasn’t asking questions today. Not when I had this unexpected ally.
I took the card and tucked it into my pocket. “Thanks.”
“Oh, and . . .” He reached into his desk drawer, pulled out a small white envelope, and slid it across the desk. “Darren asked me to give this to you.”
I picked it up, but didn’t ask what it was. It was probably for my eyes only, hence the sealed envelope. “All right. Thanks.”
“Don’t mention it.”
I started to go, but hesitated. “There’s, uh, one more thing.” I faced him, thumbing the edge of the envelope, and took a deep breath. “If I’m not running low on favors.”
“At this point, I think I owe you one or two.”
I’d been waiting my whole fucking career to have Mark Thibedeau’s balls in a vise, but it wasn’t nearly as satisfying as I’d imagined. It was unnerving because mine were in the same one.
“My daughter is interviewing this week at city hall,” I said. “For an internship. Apparently she was handpicked for it.” I shifted my weight. “The day after Trent threatened me if I went near his family.”
“Jesus . . .”
“Yeah. I can’t tell her not to go because that’ll just tip off Trent. And I don’t know if you have access to anything connected to city hall. But if you can do anything, even if it’s just postponing her interview and buying me some time . . .”
Thibedeau nodded. “I know some people. I’ll see what I can do.”
“Thanks.”
I left the same way I came in, down the back staircase and out to my car. All the way down, that envelope burned a hole in my pocket, but I didn’t dare open it until I was absolutely certain no one was looking over my shoulder.
Finally, when I was in my car with the engine idling—had to keep my followers on edge, of course—I slid my thumb under the sealed flap.
Inside was a folded piece of paper with Darren’s handwriting on it.
Your contact reached out to me. Mtg tonight. 11pm. Same place as before. D.
“What?” I muttered, turning the paper over to see if I’d missed something. I read the words again. My contact? Same place? What did that even mean?
I looked closer at the letters, and realized his initial didn’t quite match his handwriting. It was less of a D and more of a . . .
Bowling pin?
The pieces fell together.
Blake. He was meeting Blake. At the bowling alley.
I laughed as I stuffed the note back into the envelope. “Darren, you fucking genius.” At least one of us could keep the ball rolling with Blake. I’d never forgotten the timer he’d set, and that every day we didn’t make a move was one day closer to all-out war between Crawford’s dirty cops and Blake’s desperate drug dealers.
I’m counting on you, Darren.
This entire investigation is on your shoulders.
I wanted to send up a silent prayer that he wouldn’t l
et me down.
But something told me I didn’t need to.
The tests were simple enough, of course, and within fifteen minutes of walking into the clinic, I was on my way out. Now to go home and try to entertain myself until Thibedeau convinced Hamilton to let me come back to work. I did have a few TV shows I could binge-watch, assuming I could concentrate on—
“Andreas.”
The voice stopped me in my tracks, and I looked down the hallway to my right. Darren met my gaze, then slipped through a doorway and disappeared.
What the hell? This medication didn’t cause hallucinations, did it?
I glanced around to make sure no one was tailing me. A woman with a couple of toddlers was coming toward me, so I milled around for a moment until they went into a pediatrician’s office a few doors down. When I was absolutely sure I was alone, I followed him.
The doorway led to a stairwell, and as soon as I stepped onto the landing, another door shut on the floor below this one. I followed, and when I stepped into the next hallway, yet another door closed, this time to a maintenance closet.
I hesitated. There was no window on the door. Was I sure it was Darren?
At the door, I put my hand on the butt of my gun—the captain had only confiscated my issued weapon, not my personal one. With my other, I reached for the handle on the door. Slowly, ignoring the relentless throbbing in my sprained wrist, I pushed it down and leaned into the door.
“It’s just me,” Darren said.
Releasing my breath, I stepped inside, and he immediately grabbed the front of my shirt, used me to push the door shut, and kissed me. Disbelief kept me still for a couple of seconds, but then . . . Jesus, it was really him. I wrapped my arms around him and returned his kiss with equal force.
“How the hell—” I panted. “I’m being tailed. I’ve got half the force following me around right now. You don’t—”
“I know. That’s why I got here before you did. And I won’t leave until you’re long gone.”
I blinked. “But how did you know—”
“Thibedeau told me when and where your appointment was.”
“He . . .” I held his gaze, then smiled as I started to relax. “You know, I really did underestimate you in the beginning.”
Darren laughed. “Ya think?”
“And apparently I was wrong about Thibedeau too.”
Sobering, Darren nodded. “Yeah. He told you about the shit he found on Trent?”
“Yep. And now he’s got a target on his back, so we’ve gotta move fast.”
“I know. So I’m meeting with—”
“Blake, I know. Smart move. And I can create a diversion. Keep everyone interested in where I am so they’re not following you.”
“They might follow me anyway.”
“Maybe, but I think they’re more worried about me. You’re just the rookie detective, and everyone knows I don’t keep my partners in the loop.” I half shrugged. “As far as anyone knows, you’re as clueless as they are about the case, so you’re sure as shit not going off to meet my deep-cover informants.”
Darren chuckled. “Who knew your reputation for being an asshole would pay off like this?”
I couldn’t help but laugh. “Well, at least it’s good for something.” I paused. “Okay, tonight—I’ll leave my apartment around seven. Drive around in circles, stop in a café here and there and make it look like I’m waiting for someone. Maybe pretend to be talking on a phone and drive them crazy because they can’t track it. I can lead them all over the city for a few hours, so that should give you time to get to Blake and get out.”
Darren nodded. “All right. That should keep them interested.”
“We can hope.” I rested my hands on his sides. “Whatever plan you and Blake come up with, start moving forward as soon as you can.”
“Even if you’re not back off suspension?”
“We can’t afford to wait for that.”
For the first time since we’d been partnered, some fear crept into his expression. He wasn’t like a kid or a clueless rookie—more like someone who knew exactly what he was up against, and was beginning to realize just how much everything depended on him.
“You’ll do fine,” I said. “There isn’t another cop in the city I’d trust with this.”
“I have a feeling it’ll go down smoother if you’re there.”
“Maybe. But that might not be an option. At this point, we have to assume you’re on your own.” I cupped the side of his neck and looked right in his eyes. “You up for it, Corliss?”
Darren nodded slowly. “If I have to do this myself, I will.” He held my gaze with those puppy-dog eyes that had annoyed the shit out of me in the beginning, but were suddenly endearing now. “I won’t let you down.”
I smiled and drew him in for another kiss. “I know you won’t.”
Setting up the meeting with the kingpin hadn’t been as hard as I’d expected. In fact, it had been so easy that I was half-worried I was walking into an ambush when I went to the bowling alley that night.
I’d asked Andreas if he had any advice for dealing with Blake. He’d raised one eyebrow at me and said, perfectly deadpan, “Don’t try to bullshit him.” Great. Super helpful.
I had dressed down for the meeting tonight―no suit and tie, just me in jeans and a long-sleeved T-shirt. I was armed, of course—I wasn’t an idiot—but the Kahr was a lot smaller than my service pistol. The whole thing fit, along with its holster, in my side pocket. I resisted the urge to run my fingers over the outline of it as I got out of my car and headed for the door.
I wasn’t Andreas. I didn’t have a history with this guy―I didn’t have a feel for how to approach him. Fuck, I didn’t really even know what he looked like—mugshots only showed so much—although his people clearly knew way more about me than I was comfortable with. Someone waved me through the smoky interior of the building over to a corner, and a minute later, I was sitting across from an ordinary-looking man, average in every way except for the sharpness of his eyes as he took me in.
“So you’re Ruffner’s Boy Scout, huh?” He didn’t sound particularly pleased, but what could I expect?
“I’m his partner.”
“Yeah? Even though he’s suspended right now?”
“He won’t be for long,” I said confidently. “But yes, even though he’s suspended. I trust Andreas with my life. And you obviously trust him with yours, or you wouldn’t be meeting with me now.”
“Eh.” Blake shrugged. “I don’t know about trust, so much as I know what to expect out of Ruffner. He’s like a dog with a bone, that guy. He keeps at a problem until he cracks it, even if he’s gotta break a few rules to do it. You, though? Kiddo, you’re so new you still shine.”
“Which is why I’m not suspended right along with him. People will listen to me if I need them to.”
“Are you sure about that?”
“I am.” Pretty much. “But it’s a trigger I can only pull once, so if we’re going to do this, it has to be done right. I need a setup, and I need it fast.”
Blake stared at me for a moment, then nodded and reached for his beer. “All right. Montrose Airfield, you know it? It’s a little regional airport, mostly caters to private citizens. There’s next to nothing in the way of security out there. Once a month, a plane flies in late at night, no identification; unloads an unmarked shipment of drugs into a storage hangar; and then flies out again. The drugs are usually gone the next night. And the guy who picks those drugs up is a cop named Trent—”
“Newberry,” I finished.
He mockingly toasted me with his beer. “Got it. He transports them in a police van to a warehouse on the edge of town, where my people take over. He never touches the stuff where anyone can see it, though, and he’s got people around here scared good. You cross Trent, you’re crossing the mayor, and that doesn’t end well for anyone.”
“Zoe Dugan,” I recalled.
“Yeah, Zoe. She had her problems, but she wasn�
��t going to snitch. Didn’t matter, though, not once Carter started naming names.” Blake sneered. “I hope he’s enjoying his goddamn witness protection, after giving all the rest of us up to a bunch of dirty fucking cops.”
I changed the subject as gracefully as I could. “So Trent moves the drugs the night after they’re flown in. Alone?”
“Maybe with one or two other guys there, but he doesn’t make a production out of it.”
“And Mayor Crawford is never there.”
“He doesn’t stir from his hole in the city, not when it means he could get hurt. He’s got brains, but he’s a coward through and through. I don’t know how you’re going to get him out there, much less get him and Trent to go after each other, but that’s not my part in this.” He shrugged and sat back. “My part is to tell you that the next shipment comes in to Montrose Airfield tomorrow night. That’s how long you’ve got to slap cuffs on these guys, because after that? My people won’t wait for them to shoot first.”
“I understand.” I did, all too well. There might be dirty cops on the mayor’s payroll, but in a gang war, it wasn’t going to matter who you sided with: everyone would be fair game if they got in the way. “We’ll handle it.”
“You better.”
Fuck yeah, I better.
I left Family Bowl in all its smoky, neon luster behind me and got back in my car. Tomorrow night didn’t leave us a lot of time to get things in place, but at least I knew where I had to start.
Trent.
“Oh, Darren.” A slim hand ruffled my hair, and I groaned as I picked my head up off my desk. “Hey there, sleepyhead.”
I smacked my lips and rubbed the numb side of my face as I tried to get my eyes to open. “Paula?”
“Got it.” She was smiling at me, but it was the kind of smile you made when you were trying to talk someone down from a ledge—way more worried than sincere. She set down a Starbucks cup in front of me. “You look like you need this more than I do.”
“Oh my God, yes.” I sucked down a third of the latte before my taste buds caught up with me. Soymilk, ugh, but fuck that, it was caffeine. “Thank you,” I said gratefully. “I needed that.”
“I guess so, if you’re sleeping at your desk. Have I not convinced you of the many attractions of the break room sofa yet? At least it gets you horizontal.”
