by Tara Wyatt
“I finished up that paperwork early, so I thought I’d come meet you,” he said, the syllables running together in his Scottish accent.
“How’d you know where to find us?” asked Zack, and Mac tipped his cup at him.
“I know lots of things. Wasn’t hard to figure out where you’d be and when.”
Although Zack had worked with Mac for over a year now, he still wasn’t sure how he felt about the Scot. He didn’t talk much, and when he did, he seemed to be spouting off riddles and half-complete thoughts, leaving Zack to fill in the blanks. And that was when he could understand him at all. Mac was almost impossible to read sometimes, and mostly kept to himself. Despite the number of jobs they’d worked together, Zack knew almost nothing about him. Didn’t know how long he’d been in America or why he’d come. Didn’t know the first thing about his personal life. He knew Mac was a former Special Air Service medic and paratrooper, but the only time he’d asked him about it, he’d been met with a glare, stony silence, and, finally, “It’s not something I talk about.” Zack had never asked again.
Alexa laid a hand on Mac’s arm as they walked down the hallway. “Thanks for coming.”
He simply nodded at her and patted her hand. A flicker of jealousy burned through Zack’s stomach, and his jaw was clenched so tight that his molars were jammed together almost painfully. Rubbing a hand over his mouth, he forced himself to relax. Fuck, he needed to get it together. Focus on protecting her. Nothing else.
They stopped in front of a glass door, and Sean knocked. A woman rose from behind the desk and pulled the door open, waving them in.
“Come in, take a seat. Well, some of you. Two chairs, four people, you do the math.” She stuck her hand out in front of her. “Detective Natalie Morales.” They all shook hands and introduced themselves before Alexa and Sean settled in the two chairs facing Detective Morales’s desk. Zack and Ian stood just behind them, and Zack struggled against the urge to put his hands on Alexa’s chair. Or her shoulders. So he crossed his arms in front of him instead.
The detective looked to be in her midthirties and was tall with a fit, athletic build visible even underneath her gray pantsuit and blue blouse. Her thick dark-brown hair came to her chin, framing her pretty face. She moved around the office with confidence and authority, and Zack was pretty damn sure that Detective Natalie Morales wasn’t someone you messed around with. She sat back down in her chair and opened her laptop.
“Detective Rodriguez filled me in, but only very basic details.” She turned her attention to Alexa. “I assume you’re the woman he mentioned. He didn’t give me any names.”
Alexa nodded. “Yeah.”
“Why don’t you tell me the whole story, in your own words, from the beginning? I don’t want to start off an investigation with thirdhand information.”
Alexa nodded again and, with a shaky breath, began telling Detective Morales the whole story. What she’d overheard her father say during the conversation with Gordon Kramer, essentially confessing to the murder of Jeff Astor. The way he’d offered her up as bait in exchange for the murder of someone named Crosby. The subsequent break-in at her place.
“How long were you out of your home? I’m just trying to pinpoint a time frame during which the robbery occurred,” said Morales.
“I guess from about five p.m. yesterday afternoon until about ten this morning.”
“Where did you stay last night?”
“At Sean’s house. I didn’t want to go home.”
Morales nodded, typing on her computer as she spoke. “And there’s no security at your current residence?”
Alexa shook her head. “No. I’d asked the landlord about installing a security system, but it hasn’t happened.”
Morales sat back in her chair and tucked her hair behind her ears. She pressed a hand to her mouth, deep in thought. “Hang on a sec,” she said, pushing out of her chair and stepping out of the office. She returned almost as quickly with two thick file folders in her hands. She dropped them down onto the desk and flipped one of them open, once again tucking her hair behind her ears.
She glanced up, her eyes darting from Alexa to Sean and then back again. Finally, she nodded, as though having made up her mind about something.
“Alexa, have you ever heard of the Golden Brotherhood?”
Zack’s mouth fell open, and his skin tingled. He’d dealt with the Brotherhood only a couple of months ago, when they’d come after Taylor.
Alexa shook her head slowly. “Um, no. I don’t think so. Why?”
“Because I’m the organized crime liaison between the LAPD and the FBI, and we’ve been investigating your father for a long time.”
“You have?” Alexa’s voice was small, quiet. Zack could barely hear her over his racing heartbeat.
Morales leaned forward on her desk, her hands clasped on top of the open file. “Yes. And what you heard last night, it’s just the tip of the iceberg.”
Alexa’s hands were clasped together in her lap, her knuckles white. “It has to be you,” she whispered.
“Excuse me?” Morales arched an eyebrow.
“My father, when he was discussing Astor and Crosby, mentioned a cop named Morales who knew too much. If you’re the organized crime liaison, it has to be you. He knows, Detective. He knows you’ve been investigating him.”
Morales squared her shoulders and folded her hands together calmly in front of her. “Well, shit. You’re sure you heard my name? Morales?”
“I’m positive, yes.”
“There are other Moraleses on the force,” said Sean, although he didn’t sound convinced.
“Other Moraleses investigating the organized crime ring her father happens to be the head of?” challenged Morales. “It’s me. He was talking about me.” She turned her attention to Alexa. “Thank you for telling me.”
“Organized crime? What exactly are you saying?” she asked, her voice shaky.
“I’m saying that I think your father is the kingpin of one of the most elusive organized crime operations in California. And you, Alexa, can help us bring it down.”
Chapter 8
Did you find anything at Alexa’s?” asked Jonathan as he skimmed through the news headlines on his tablet. He picked up a piece of toast from the plate in front of him and crunched down. He brushed away a few crumbs that had landed on his pants. A soft breeze swirled around him, rustling the fronds of the palm trees surrounding the pool. Glancing up, he shielded his eyes as Elijah’s silhouette moved into the shaded alcove where Jonathan ate his breakfast every morning.
Elijah sat down across from him and helped himself to a freshly baked croissant from the basket in the center of the table. He broke it in half, a little puff of steam rising up and evaporating almost instantly. “No, nothing. But one of the tech guys is still going through her laptop. So far nothing suspicious to indicate she knows anything.”
“And you made it look like a robbery so as not to arouse suspicion?”
Elijah nodded and popped a piece of croissant into his mouth. “Just like you asked. We took the two televisions, some art, her jewelry, and her computer. Made a mess.”
Jonathan sat back in his chair, his fingers tented. “I’m surprised she hasn’t called to tell me about it. You know how needy she can be.”
“Maybe she’s spoken to Melanie?”
“Maybe who’s spoken to me about what?” Melanie sauntered toward them, dressed for the pool and the sun in a black one-piece bathing suit, a floppy straw hat, enormous sunglasses, and a diaphanous black robe. She held a script in one hand and a champagne flute filled with orange juice—and probably a lot of champagne—in the other.
“Have you heard from Alexa this morning?” he asked.
Melanie gave her head a little shake. “No. Why? What’s she done now?”
“Probably nothing. But…” He reached into his pocket and placed the earring on the table. “I found this in the library last night after the party.”
She arched an eyebro
w at him. “And? Spit it the fuck out, Jonathan.”
Even when she was annoyed with him, he loved her strength. He wished Alexa had inherited at least some of it, but she was all soft and weak where Melanie was angles and resilience. “I had my conversation with Kramer vis-à-vis Astor and Crosby in the library last night during dinner.”
Melanie scoffed out a laugh. “What, you think she was hiding in there? Spying on you? Please. You’re getting paranoid.”
He picked up the earring and twirled it slowly between his fingers, watching the facets catch the light. “It’s not paranoia. It’s caution. I had her place searched last night.”
She tapped her foot impatiently. “And did you find anything?”
“No.”
“So that’s it, then. She doesn’t know anything.”
Jonathan twirled the earring again, the diamonds glinting at him. Winking at him, as though they had tricked him, somehow.
“I still think we should keep her close. Just to be sure.”
Melanie sighed and took a sip of her orange juice. “Fine. Whatever floats your boat.” She paused and took a few steps closer, then set her glass down on the table. Slowly, she pulled her sunglasses from her face. “And if she does know?”
“Then we’ll have to deal with it.”
* * *
Alexa dug her fingers into her thighs, trying to anchor herself against the onslaught of emotions crashing through her, twisting her into knots. She felt as though she were drowning, choking on confusion, disbelief, and fear.
“What…what did you say?” she asked, her voice sounding far away, muted by the blood rushing through her ears. She took a shaky, shuddering breath, and for a brief moment she wanted to scream. Her entire world was unraveling around her, spinning out of control, and she didn’t know what to do with herself or how to process any of it. Breathing and blinking were all she was capable of, and she could feel herself getting swept away by the nauseating chaos of the situation.
Zack’s hand—strong, but gentle—landed on her shoulder, and she dropped her head forward, some of the tension going out of her neck. Two wet splotches appeared on her leggings, and she realized she’d started silently crying.
“I know it’s a lot to take in. I’m sorry,” said Detective Morales, her tone sympathetic. Zack’s thumb traced slow, soothing circles at the base of her neck. The room spun for a second but then settled back into place. Alexa looked up, past Detective Morales and out the window.
The sun still shone. The windows of the Los Angeles Times building across the street winked metallically in the light. The sky was still blue. Horns still honked occasionally from below. Phones rang in the offices adjacent to Morales’s. A photocopier hummed, people laughed.
Everything was still so normal, despite the fact that Alexa’s world had just tilted on its axis, upending everything. Upending her life, and everything she thought she’d known.
Despite the shock of the detective’s words, Alexa realized that she believed her. “How do you know?” she asked, her throat thick.
Without a word Morales slid one of the file folders across to her. With shaking hands Alexa accepted it, and the rest of the room dropped away. On one side were full-color mug shots, held in place with a paper clip. She sorted through them, recognizing face after face. Men and women she’d seen in her house growing up, who she’d assumed were friends of her parents and nothing more. Not loan sharks, and blackmailers, and drug dealers, and arms traffickers. Pimps and fraudsters and corrupt businessmen.
Murderers.
Alexa gasped when she landed on a very familiar face. “It’s Jack,” she whispered, pulling the photo free from the pile and handing it to Sean. He stared down at the picture of Sierra’s ex-boyfriend, a former state senator now serving twenty years for kidnapping, forcible confinement, assault, election fraud, and stalking, plus other fraud and weapons charges. Jack, who’d tried to kill both Sierra and Sean, two people Alexa loved dearly. Heat flushed through Alexa’s body as a flicker of anger rose up, sharpening her focus. “Jack’s involved with this Golden Brotherhood?”
Morales tipped her head. “It’s complicated, but yes, I think so. There was never enough evidence to prove it, and he wouldn’t talk. Probably because he knew he’d have a date with a shiv the second he found himself in gen pop.”
“Fucker,” Sean ground out before tossing the photo back on Morales’s desk.
Alexa continued flipping, her heart pounding faster and harder with each face she recognized. Faces of criminals she knew to be associated with her father in some way.
“Wait, go back,” said Sean, twirling a finger in the air. She did, and he snatched a pair of photos up off the desk. “Son of a bitch.”
She knew she’d seen the men in the photos before but couldn’t seem to get her brain to work fast enough to place them. “Who are they?”
Sean jabbed a finger at the first mug shot, the one of a bald biker-looking guy. “Frank Ross. Taylor’s father.” His expression grim, he flipped to the other picture. “Ronald Baker.”
“Taylor’s stalker…Holy shit,” Alexa said, tracing her fingers over the face in the picture as recognition snapped through her. “They were involved with the Golden Brotherhood too?”
Morales nodded. “Yes. Again, no one will talk, but there’s a lot of uncorroborated evidence pointing in that direction. The FBI is still investigating.”
“My father was involved in almost killing my friends. In almost killing the people I love.” Her voice came out flat, almost monotone as she tested out the words, weighing them as she spoke. She pulled the folder closer, flipping through page after page of evidence. Interviews, investigations, words blurring together. A litany of awful things her father was allegedly responsible for.
Given what she knew from her own experience with her father, the only word in that sentence that felt out of place was allegedly.
“How do you know I’m not involved?” asked Alexa, frowning up at Morales.
“Because we’ve been investigating you too. I don’t think you’re involved. And I don’t think you would’ve given me the heads-up about your father’s threat against me either. If you were here simply for information, to try and find out just how much I know, I don’t think you would’ve tipped me off.” Morales clasped her hands in front of her on the desk and leaned toward Alexa. “I’ll ask you once, and then we’ll be done with it. Alexa, are you involved with the Golden Brotherhood?”
Alexa met the other woman’s gaze and shook her head slowly. “No.” For several seconds Morales held her eyes as though searching for something, and then she nodded once.
“Has he ever hurt you?” asked Morales.
Alexa’s fingers tightened around the folder, the manila bending slightly under her grip. Shame crackled over her, hot and prickly, and she swallowed, her mouth dry. “Not…not intentionally.” She forced the words out, struggling with what to say. Zack’s hand tightened the slightest bit on her shoulder.
“What do you mean?” asked Morales, her eyes narrowing slightly.
“I don’t…It’s far in the past, and it wasn’t criminal. It doesn’t matter.” She already felt as though she’d been hit by a truck after everything that had happened over the past day, and she could barely make sense of everything as it was. Now wasn’t the time to layer on another complication. And especially such a personal one.
Especially in front of Zack.
Morales stared at her for several seconds before letting it go. Alexa had a feeling she wasn’t off the hook indefinitely, but she could handle only so much right now. Opening up that old wound wasn’t happening. Not today.
She reached for the second folder and began paging through it, not really taking in any of the information in front of her as her mind reeled and spun with what she’d already found out. Her eyes skimmed over the terms money laundering and larceny, and her mouth opened before she even realized she was going to speak. “My father is a mobster who played a role in hurting my friends. He’s
hurt a lot of people. He’s dangerous. And I can help you? That’s what you’re telling me?” She pushed the folder away. She’d seen enough, and she swallowed thickly, fighting a wave of nausea. “He’s a criminal, who’s hurt people I care about,” she murmured, letting the words sink in. Wishing that they weren’t so easy to believe. Wishing she had even the tiniest bit of doubt that Morales was telling the truth.
But everything in front of her, coupled with what she’d learned yesterday and over the past ten years of her life…it made sense. A damn boatload of it. A shard of guilt pierced her, but she shoved it away. If all this was true—if he’d tried to kill her friends, if he’d hurt other people to feed his own selfish need for power—he wasn’t worthy of her guilt. That much she knew for certain.
Morales nodded, flipping the first folder closed. “You present an opportunity this investigation has never had before. The biggest problem is that no one will talk, and the Brotherhood is pretty much impossible to infiltrate. Believe me, we’ve tried.” She pressed her index fingers to her lips before pointing at Alexa. “But you…You’re in a unique position, because you have inside access and aren’t involved. He has no idea you’re here?”
“No, I don’t think so.”
“Okay, let’s just back the fuck up for a second here.” Zack’s voice came from behind her, sending a ripple down her spine. How was it possible that she was so aware of him, so responsive to him when she shouldn’t have room for anything except the chaos of the past day?
Alexa swiveled around to look up at him. A muscle in Zack’s jaw ticced, and his gaze swung down to meet hers. His deep-brown eyes were hot, an angry glower knitting his eyebrows together and sending a pulse of heat straight through her. “You’re not doing this,” he said, his voice almost a growl. “It’s way too fucking dangerous.” He turned that glower on Morales. “I can’t believe you’d suggest something like this.”
“You don’t even know what I’m suggesting,” said Morales, a hint of irritation adding an edge to her voice.
“It doesn’t matter. She’s not doing it.”
