by K. S. Adkins
He was telling the truth.
Tonight when I tally up my list, I’ve got three that want in, five that want out, and eight that need dealing with. Putting in a call to a few friends in other departments, I look into transfers for the five, make files for the three I’ll need to send over to Jules team, and give Mack (Jules’ boss) a call about the eight that will need monitoring. Just because they need extinguishing, doesn’t mean I’ll be the one doing it. Killing bad cops is above my pay grade.
Besides, last I heard Mack was approved for a joint venture with homeland security. That’s pretty huge and between the two, they can cover a lot of ground. Which brings me back to Anthony. He claims to be on break but, the CCRSB’s mission is investigating organized crime, violent crime, public corruption and drug-related crime. They also cover things like computer based crime related to counterterrorism, counterintelligence and criminal threats against the United States. CCRSB stands for Criminal, Cyber, Response and Services Branch. In other words, they are not to be fucked with. The DPD is publicly corrupt. Cops killing cops in exchange for a job, money and self-preservation.
Why hasn’t Anthony made this an official case and brought in his own team? Why? Because I think he’s full of shit. I just don’t have enough to call him on it one way or the other. But right now, he’s not my focus. My phone alerting me to another scene that requires my presence, is.
So much for sleep. The good news is, if I’m not sleeping, I’m not thinking about Anthony. Which means, I avoid sleep at all costs and it’s catching up to me in a bad way.
The following week was brutal. I’m being called out to cases like public executions are the new scarlet fever. By the time I get back to my room, I’m so shot I can’t even think straight to write my reports down. Even if I did, it’s doubtful anyone would read them. Between work and dodging Anthony, I’m running on empty. Tonight after giving myself a vitamin B12 injection, two five hour energies, and a mountain dew big gulp to keep my eyes open, I went over everything I had so far.
In the beginning my theory was that someone wanted the department’s attention with these shootings. But as I comb over the evidence, I saw that I was wrong. I was requested as the profiler on every shooting. Someone wanted my attention. Someone wanted me to figure this out.
It was right here, staring at me. It didn’t need an explanation. It was so simple. I was the missing piece I was looking for.
Maybe this should have shaken me up, but it didn’t. Not much surprises me anymore, but if you wanted my attention specifically, I could think of other ways to get it. When I finally crash and crash hard, I realize there was comfort in knowing someone was gunning for you. It keeps you on your toes. It’s been a while since someone stepped up the game. Now that I get the angle, I can prepare. The following morning, I woke by my phone and the dozens of messages waiting for me. Shoot a few cops in the head, and everybody suddenly picks a side. Writing down names and numbers, I grab a shower and come out to a call about another case. Literally, across the street. The convenience of this doesn’t go unnoticed so, I strap my 9mm to my side, cover it with a cardigan and step out into the daylight.
Not only am I the missing piece, someone wanted me off my game too, or maybe not. It’s hard to say. What I do know is, whoever he was, wanted me around. Making my way over to the tape while mainlining as much coffee as possible, I flash my badge and duck under. The scene is the same as the others. Not one variable different. All I need to know is the cop’s name. I bet he’s a match for one of the messages I received this morning. He’s been dead for approximately three hours. The coroner confirms this. The amount of time I was asleep. This cop was an offering, a gift, a warning. For a brief moment I wonder if this is my fault. I started stirring the pot and this was the end result. My musings are cut short when my phone starts ringing.
“Hello, Mother.”
“Update me,” she says. “But first, how are you?”
“Working. Dead cop, called to the scene. No suspects.”
“Cause of death?”
“Gunshot wound, execution style.”
“Shit.”
“Pretty much,” I mumble. “I’ll call you later, I have to focus.”
“Wait,” she rushes out. “Have you heard from Anthony?”
“He’s a problem for another day. I have my hands full here. You’re not tipping him off, are you?”
“What? No!”
“Didn’t think so,” I mumble, hearing the truth in her voice. “It’s disgusting how good he is at this,”
“Lina, did you ever think to him, this isn’t a game?”
“Of course it is,” I tell her, taking photos of the body, pretending to be working. That way when I log my hours, no one will bitch that I was chatting on the phone. “It’s all a game. Let the best man win. Which is me, by the way, even though I don’t sport a cock. I might as well, given how these idiots at the scene are a bunch of pussies. They are an embarrassment to pussy everywhere.”
“You’re getting off track,” she says. “Wrap it up.”
“Fine,” I say, blowing out a breath. “No one wants this solved, Red. They don’t care about this cop. They care about themselves. Same goes for Tony. He doesn’t care about us. He cares about himself. It’s survival of the fittest, darling girl, and if we know anything, its survival.” Another thing I decided today was calling him Tony like everyone else does. Anthony was too intimate for me. He doesn’t deserve familiarity anymore.
“True,” she says. “But I think you may be reading him all wrong. He could help you.”
“He helps those who help him, Red. He’s an opportunist. He has too many secrets and I have a job to do. I get that you’re Team-Tony, but he’s holding back on all of us. We don’t need him for this. I have it under control.”
“I never thought I’d say this, Lina, but you are a terrible liar.”
“But you love me, I’m lovable. You can’t help it.”
“Yeah you’re right,” she says, laughing. “Watch your six.”
I hear her, but I can’t respond. I’m too fucking tired to even be as pissed as I should be right now. I’m not interested in playing games, especially when I’m running on reserves.
“Lina!” she squeals, getting my attention.
Looking straight ahead, I tell her, “He’s here.” Then I disconnect.
I don’t have time for this shit.
“What?” asks Rogan, growling into the phone. I don’t take it personally because growling is how he speaks.
“Is she busy?”
“No,” he grumbled. “What do you want?”
“I want to talk to her about Lina.”
“She’s giving Boner a bath,” he said. “You can ask me.”
“I’m having trouble getting through to her,” I told him, scratching my head, extremely uncomfortable to be discussing this with him. “I was hoping Venessa could give me some pointers.”
“What, like I don’t know nothin’ about women?”
“Do you?”
“No, but that ain’t the point,” he argued. “You just assumed I didn’t.”
“Christ,” I groaned. “Look she knows her, alright? I just thought she could---”
“What can she do that you can’t?” he asked. “She knows her, but the male/female shit ain’t like friendship. All I know is Lina don’t trust people. Give her a reason to trust you.”
“It’s not that easy with her,” I argue back. “She gets distant and vacant and I---“
“All women do that shit,” he said, laughing “You like gettin’ your way, having people do what you say. Don’t know Lina that well, but she don’t work like that. Maybe you should take the time to find out why she does it instead of giving her shit for doin’ it.”
Speechless, I just stare ahead. Jesus, who is this guy? That’s the most he’s ever spoken to me and hell, he even made sense. “Ain’t looking to spend my day off on the phone with you, Gallo,” he said, interrupting my thoughts. “Angel and me,
we don’t keep shit from each other. We ain’t got no need to lie, neither. The only secret I kept from her was you, and she’s still pissy about that. Point is, women like honesty, or at least mine does. Gotta believe that shit’s universal.”
“Thanks, Rogan.”
“Whatever.”
Disconnecting, I mull over what he had to say. I don’t have an issue admitting when I’m wrong, it’s just rare that I am, is all. I will admit I have a vision in my head of what my ideal woman would be and then I meet her and she shattered that vision and created a new one in its place. Lina went beyond all of my expectations.
She’s fucking adorable when she’s worked up. When Max called and told me her whereabouts, I was in the car and at her location with the hour. Watching as she talks on the phone, I notice she’s beyond pale. Her jeans are sagging and she’s past exhausted. She’s barely standing up on her own. Oh, hell no. For three weeks she’s evaded me and in that time I’ve done a lot of thinking. I’ve come to realize, I’m an idiot and though I criticized her for making bad choices, I made even more and it stops now.
Approaching her with purpose, she looks dazed until she sees me. Once our eyes connect though, she just looks pissed. I can work with pissed. Unfortunately, she fully ignores me, tells the lead detective she’s leaving, and slowly walks over to the MGM. Christ, it’s taking all of her effort just to walk at all.
As I watch her disappear into the elevators, I head over to reception and finesse my way into getting a room key. Right away, I notice this place smells like people sold their souls for hope here and I decided it is no place for her. Wasting no time, I open her door, ready for anything. But when I enter, nothing happens because she’s in the shower. Packing up all her data, lap top, phone, note books and cords, I put the bag next to the door. Doing the same with her duffel, I leave a few items out for her to dress in and wait. Fifteen minutes later, she still hasn’t come out which isn’t like her. Opening the door, I look into the glass shower and see she’s asleep standing up and in truth, at that moment, my god damn heart broke.
Shutting off the water, grabbing a towel from the rack, I wrap her up and carry her out. “Don’t,” she mumbles in polish, leaning her face into my neck. “Please.”
Setting her on the end of the bed, I attempt to dress her, but can’t even get her bra on when she keeps going unconscious and falling over. Putting the shirt over her head and pulling her sweats up, I said fuck it, and grabbed her, her bags and took her with me in a fireman’s carry. Typical of any casino, no one stopped me or gave a shit, which was a blessing and fucking depressing at the same time. Thank fuck she’s tiny, because if she were an ordinary size woman, I’d never have made it. Gently stuffing her in my car, I buckle her in and take her home.
Carrying her to our bed and covering her up, she doesn’t move a muscle except to clutch my pillow, kick the covers back off and snore. I lose track of time as I sit there watching her, wishing I knew the key to getting through to her. Reaching into her bag, being reminded of how little she owns, I grab her notebook. I realize that I have indeed misjudged her once again. Jules was right when she told me Lina keeps her sanity by shutting down to process. If I had even a fraction of her skill, my sanity would have disappeared as a kid. To accuse her of not being stable behind her back, was not only wrong, but a regret that weighs on me. Especially when I look over her writing. As the days have passed and I thought about her out there talking to these cops (alone), I try not to flip out when I see she is, in fact, amassing an army and she did it without any protection. Every page of notes she writes at the very end the missing piece is…
On yesterday’s final page she wrote the missing piece is… me and I’ll admit, after reading the notes then that, I ran to the bathroom and threw up the contents of my stomach. Never leaving the room except to check on her, I look over her work repeatedly. Fuck, she is good and at the same time, she’s too good because it got her noticed, too. All these years I busted my ass to keep Venessa off the grid, but I didn’t do that for Lina. No, I threw her to the wolves.
I’d failed her.
I should have let her stay behind the scenes, where she was safe. But no, I had to push. She knew though, she fucking knew what coming all aboard would mean and she did it anyway. Rubbing my eyes, I undress and climb into bed with her, needing her heat. Turning to face me, she yawns, then opens those eyes I always drown in.
“Will you ever show me who you really are?” she asks, looking at me like she’s seeing me for the first time.
“I’m just yours,” I tell her, tucking her in further.
“That’s nice to hear,” she says, clutching me.
“It’s the truth,” I tell her, kissing her hair.
“I can feel it,” she whispers.
“And how does it feel?” I ask.
“Like I found home,” she says. “I’ve never had a home before. I didn’t plan on coming home but I can’t stay mad at you either.”
“Welcome home,” I whisper, rocking her back to sleep. “I missed you, Sherlock.”
“Never been missed before. Never had a nickname either,” she confesses. “That feels good too.”
“Do you know what else feels good?” I ask her, taking advantage of this window I’ve been given.
“Hmm?” she asks me.
“You, in my arms. You’re home now for good.”
“I’m home now,” she says, peeking up at me. “I’m going to need a key, coach.”
“I’ll have a key waiting for you when you wake up.”
“Rad,” she says smiling with her eyes closed. “A key.”
“Sherlock?” I ask, nudging her. “I’m proud of you.”
Looking down, I see she’s out cold. She needs her rest, so pulling her closer to me, I relish having her here, with me.
Finally.
Falling asleep, I know that for the first time in almost three weeks, I’ll wake up rested. Because of her. It could have been minutes, maybe hours, but when I woke up to her straddling me, I know even though she wasn’t smiling, I was.
“Good morning, Sherlock,” I tell her, grabbing her hips. “As far as wake up calls go, this one is in the top ten.”
“Did you drug me?” she snarls. “And choose your words wisely.”
“No, I didn’t drug you.”
When she tries to crawl off me, I flip her to where she’s under me, helpless. She starts thrashing, but I hardly notice she’s so small. Although, to be fair, she did graze my balls once and I didn’t appreciate that. “If you persist, I will cuff you,” I warn her and she stops thrashing immediately upon hearing the truth in my words. “Thank you,” I tell her, sitting up. “If I made you breakfast, would you throw it at me or eat it?”
“Why can’t I do both?”
“Are you tired?”
“I’m always tired,” she says, crawling on her hands and knees to the water I left on the bed side table. “But no more tired than usual, I guess.”
“So then you’re alert right now?”
“What kind of question is---” cutting her off, I slap her ass extremely hard.
“Ow fuck! I said I’m awake!” Ignoring her, I slap the same spot on her ass cheek deepening the red. “Do not fucking slap me---” cracking her ass a third time, I see she’s turned on and I feel like I’m missing something but I’m too worked up to figure it out.
Getting in her face and holding her, I still speak my mind. “Don’t you ever fucking leave me like that again,” I growl at her. “I couldn’t find you.”
“You hit me,” she whispers, moving away from me.
Grabbing her ankles, I pull her right back to me and keep her there. “I didn’t hit you. I slapped your ass because you deserved it. Clearly you need a reminder of who you belong to.”
When she looks away from me, I look down to see my hand steel gripping her ankle. If I let go, she’ll run and I can’t let her do that. She didn’t run, instead she blew my god damn mind. “Do you want to hurt me, Anthony?”
Before I can apologize for her perceiving this as hurt of any kind, she donkey kicks me off the back of the bed and I’m staring at the ceiling. I blink once and by the next second, she is on me. “You like seeing your hand prints on my ass?”
“Yes,” I growl at her. “I like seeing my hand prints on your ass. That’s my ass and I fucking missed it. I wasn’t trying to hurt you. And you aren’t hurt. You were caught off guard.”
“Okay,” she says nodding once and crawling off of me. “That’s true.”
Then, just like that, she was over it. Strange, fascinating woman. Helping me up and handing her a shirt, she ignores me and walks buck ass naked down to the kitchen. Okay, so this works too.
She really is fucking magnificent and I couldn’t help but notice that my hand prints matched her temper perfectly.
“This dick ain’t gonna suck itself,” he said, jerking it like he stole it from his momma. (HUH?) Turning away to look for my clothes, he grabs my wrist, no doubt thinking I owe him something.
Taking my arm back and grabbing my shirt, I roll my eyes at the idiot before me. “I bet if you could reach it, you’d never leave the house,” I tell him, rooting around for my bra. “In fact, if you could suck your own dick it would go a long way toward you keeping your mouth shut. I’m all for making that happen.”
“What’s your name, again?”
“Doesn’t matter,” I told him, grabbing my bag. “You don’t matter and that dick you’re beating the hell out of doesn’t matter either. Take another step toward me,” I growl, reaching into my bag, “and I’ll blow your hand off. If I do that, your dick would thank me, for sure. Poor little thing.”
Of course he took another step while yanking on it. Producing my 9mm I hold it loosely in my hand. My baby has no safety. She’s a point and shoot, and I love her for her sassiness. “You have a gun,” he said, blinking while still working himself over.
